Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 106: Greenberg the Horse Trader (Part Five)

After saying this, Beryon sighed deeply. "Ah! There's no other way. As knights leading troops, this is what we must do. But today, I’m fortunate to have received this news from you. I’ll hurry back to prepare and train my infantry regiment. When our sovereign gives the order, I’ll lead my men to the front lines and give those foolish Valendi pigs a good thrashing!"

“Good!” Baron Enshima praised warmly, then sighed with feeling. “Sir Beryon, you truly are a young hero. Come, let us drink a toast to your future glory on the battlefield.”

“Thank you, my respected Baron Enshima,” Beryon replied, raising his cup in gratitude.

After setting down his cup, Beryon prepared to take his leave. “Baron, I appreciate your generous hospitality, but it grows late. I must hurry back to pack and purchase supplies. Training the soldiers at Norland Castle is a matter of great importance.”

Baron Enshima insisted several times that Beryon stay for dinner, but Beryon knew these were merely polite invitations and could not take them seriously. After expressing his thanks repeatedly, he bid farewell and departed.

Upon leaving Baron Enshima’s residence, Beryon mounted his horse with Bran and Hack and headed directly to where Lochill and his comrades lived. This time, Beryon had solid grounds to persuade Grimber.

When the three arrived at the small courtyard rented by Lochill and company, they were met at the gate by Olomi, who was standing guard as a punishment from Lochill. Seeing Beryon arrive, Olomi smiled broadly and hurried over to take his horse.

“Uncle Lochill and Grimber at home, Brother Olomi?” Beryon asked as he dismounted.

Olomi nodded. “They’re both here. These past days, Grimber has been sulking at our leader Lochill. Then Lochill’s been sulking at me. It’s been tough,” he said, looking thoroughly aggrieved. Such a burly man looking so pitiful was hardly endearing.

Beryon smiled and strode inside, heading straight to the hall. Lochill was seated there, frowning over their recent bills.

“Sir Beryon, what brings you here?” Lochill was surprised to see Beryon, then relieved, having feared that the trouble Grimber caused last time might have soured Beryon’s feelings toward them.

Being well acquainted, Beryon wasted no formalities and sat opposite Lochill. “Brother Lochill, call Grimber here. I have a way to make him and the men he brought willingly come with you to Norland Castle to serve under me.”

“Ah! This…” Lochill was astonished. “Good! Good! I’ll go get him right now.” He repeated eagerly and turned to leave.

“If, after you speak with him, he refuses, tell him there’s a chance for him to rightfully kill Viscount Mirkol. Whether he comes or not is up to him,” Beryon added.

Lochill nodded firmly. “Don’t worry, Sir Beryon. I’ll drag that fool over, no matter what.”

Lochill hurried to Grimber’s room, troubled these days by the discord caused by Grimber. Following Sir Beryon to his domain was a promising opportunity for them, especially since they had made enemies of Harald, the Viscount of Brick, the region’s most powerful tax collector. Business in Brick was surely going to be difficult.

But Grimber was the second-in-command of Lochill’s group; nearly half the men were either brought or trained by him. If Grimber refused to go, Lochill’s ability to bring men over would be limited, reducing their value in Beryon’s eyes.

Lochill, a former horse trader, understood well that despite Beryon being a lord not even twenty years old, he was no fool. Although Beryon’s character was decent enough, loyalty was like a business transaction: the value one brought determined the status and rewards one received. If Lochill could only bring half the men, the value he delivered would be halved, and naturally, so would the rewards.

Moreover, with many men at Norland Castle, they could band together. Fewer men meant risking being marginalized by existing factions, as more newcomers meant splitting the pie thinner, and his comrades would receive poorer treatment.

For these reasons, both publicly and privately, Lochill had to find a way to bring Grimber along. Together they’d win; divided, they’d lose.

Pushing open Grimber’s door, a pungent stench of alcohol wafted out. Grimber had barely left his room these days, drowning his despair in drink — drinking to sleep, waking to drink again — a broken man.

Lochill grimaced at the foul smell and the chaotic state of the room. Grimber had once been a refined man, attentive to his appearance and lifestyle to project nobility, following the fashions of the city’s knights.

Since his family’s downfall, Grimber had fallen into despondency, but his thirst for vengeance remained. Accompanied by loyal brother Lochill, he had managed to maintain some order in life despite his solitude.

Now, his disheveled drunken state revealed his heartbreak; he felt betrayed by Lochill and sought solace in the bottle.

Lochill grabbed him roughly, shouting, “Get up, you good-for-nothing! Where is the hero from Blue Mountain’s foot? How did you become a blind drunkard?”

Grimber slowly opened his bleary eyes, belched a foul-smelling burp laced with alcohol and halitosis, and laughed heartily at Lochill. The stench nearly made Lochill retch. Letting go, he threw Grimber back onto the bed and turned away, panting with anger.

After a moment, Lochill calmed himself and said, “Sir Beryon is here. He brought you an offer you can’t refuse. Want to hear it?”

Grimber grabbed a nearby jug and drained it, spilling wine onto his bed and clothes without concern. After finishing, he said, “If you have something to say, say it. If not, get out. Don’t waste my time with your nonsense!”

Lochill smiled at his defiance. Such bluntness proved Grimber was still the proud hero he’d always been, not yet numbed by drink — a man worth saving.

“He wants me to tell you there’s a chance to kill Viscount Mirkol honorably. Will you go?” Lochill said slowly, tossing out the ultimate bait.

As expected, Grimber sprang up, serious now, meeting Lochill’s eyes. “Is what you say true?”

Lochill looked him over, noting the lack of even underwear, and replied, “When have I ever lied to you? If you want to go, go. If not, forget I said anything.”

A smile broke across Grimber’s face, excitement shining through. “I want to go. I’ll go right now, okay?”

He grabbed some trousers to put on and tried to follow Lochill, but was stopped.

Lochill frowned, appraising him, then sighed and ordered sternly, “You, right now! Go wash yourself up! Do you really think it’s appropriate to meet Sir Beryon like this?”

Grimber scratched his tangled hair, chuckled foolishly, and said, “Brother Lochill, you entertain that dog lord first. I’ll clean up and come see him soon.”

Lochill kicked him in irritation. “You ungrateful fool! Sir Beryon is not only my and Olomi’s savior but also here to help you avenge your family. How can you speak of him like that?”

“Smack!” Grimber slapped his own face, then laughed. “I’m just used to it. I promise I’ll change. Don’t worry.”

Saying this, he scampered to the well in the courtyard, grabbed a bucket of fresh water just drawn by a companion, and doused himself.

“Ah! Refreshing! What a thrill!” Grimber shouted. The autumn well water was icy cold; anyone less hardy would collapse from such a shock.

Lochill shook his head with a bitter smile at his brother’s antics. Just as he was about to return to Beryon, he found Beryon leaning against the doorframe of the hall, watching Grimber bathe naked at the well, yelling loudly.

Lochill approached Beryon with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry you had to see that. Grimber’s a good man. If not for his tragic loss, outsiders would think he’s just another minor noble…”

He tried to explain further, but Beryon raised a hand to stop him with a smile. “Uncle Lochill, we’re all men and warriors here. We appreciate straightforward, genuine heroes. No need to explain Grimber’s manners to me. I judge by ability, not empty formalities.”

Lochill laughed. “Exactly! Fancy courtly rituals won’t defeat enemies.”

“Let’s go inside and wait for him,” Beryon said. It was hardly proper to watch a grown man bathe, and lingering might invite misunderstandings about one’s own inclinations.

Seated inside, Lochill brewed some fresh chamomile tea from this year’s harvest. They sipped and chatted idly.

Soon Grimber entered, clad in clean clothes, looking much more spirited, though his hair was still dripping wet. He hurried straight to Beryon and stopped, locking eyes with him.

“I heard you have a way for me to kill that Viscount Mirkol honorably?” he asked.

“Grimber! That’s rude! Apologize to Sir Beryon at once!” Lochill scolded.

Grimber showed no intention of apologizing. Beryon exchanged a glance with Lochill, then spoke firmly, “Yes. On the battlefield, you can kill him with honor.”

Grimber nodded solemnly and then dropped to one knee before Beryon. “Sir Beryon, forgive my earlier rudeness. It’s not that I don’t know manners; I’m just driven by my thirst for revenge.”

Beryon helped him up with a smile. “No need for that, Grimber. Before Lochill told me your story, I never held it against you. How could I now?”

Once Grimber sat, Lochill breathed a sigh of relief and poured him a double cup of tea, smiling. “Sir Beryon, please tell us the details. Why do we have this chance to kill that bastard Viscount Mirkol honorably?”

“If you don’t ask, I’ll tell you anyway,” Beryon said. “Our land of Brick is about to go to war with Valendi. The one who started this war is that detestable Viscount Mirkol. He’s currently leading a regiment ravaging the villages beneath Blue Mountain in Highland Province. I’m going to lead troops to the front lines. Wouldn’t you say this is the perfect opportunity?”