Setting Out

"Richard, are you sure about this?!" Annie's voice trembled, sweat beading on either side of her delicate nose.

"I wouldn't say 100%, but I'd say 30%," Richard said. He never needed to prepare his boasts, because preparing would hinder a master from performing at their true level.

Annie put a hand to her forehead. The High Mountain Keep lord's way of doing things always made her feel he was a heavy gambler, but in truth… hadn't she always been someone who loved to bet small to win big?

Or perhaps, that was just the nature of merchants: as long as it was profitable enough, they couldn't spare a thought for the risks.

"Richard, I represent the Voya Merchant Guild in joining this operation." Annie understood that her current mindset was twisted, greedy, a natural embodiment of how people die for wealth.

She was conflicted, but then immediately felt relieved. Merchants pursuing profit, just like warriors pursuing honor, was perfectly justifiable and beyond reproach.

The lord turned his back to Annie, looking into the distance, leaving her with a calm and composed figure. "It's a pleasure to work with you."

He had to turn away, because if he didn't, Annie would see the smug smirk on his face, pleased that his scheme had succeeded.

The entire High Mountain Keep crew had put on a show all morning, and the fish had finally bitten. There was only one kind of miracle in this world: the natural outcome of meticulous preparation.

For the lord, bringing the Voya Merchant Guild into the fold was significant. The mercenary troop of over a hundred men was an important reason, but secondary; the truly indispensable factor was Annie.

"If we don't coax her over, how are we going to connect with the Dwarves?" Before setting off, Richard secretly called a special meeting with the various leaders of the territorial guard, a pre-battle pep talk to unify their thoughts.

The guard leaders, seated around the table, quickly nodded vigorously, feigning sudden understanding.

"Everyone, be clear, what is our objective?" Richard sat on the table, his gaze sweeping over their faces.

"Occupy the mine," Gunther quickly stated, showing he knew.

"So, what do you all think of this idea?" The light in the dugout was dim. The lord lowered his head and poured himself a cup of tea.

His head was bowed very low, so the others couldn't see the lord's expression at that moment.

The Barbarians quickly seized the opportunity to lavish praise, and the Centaurs, initially reserved, soon followed suit, quickly surpassing the others in their flattery.

Something about "the cunning of a Snow Fox and the bravery of an Ice Bear," something about "possessing both Napoleon's charisma and Frederick's strategy," something about "far-sighted and uniquely insightful," filled the dugout with a cheerful atmosphere.

The lord, holding his teacup, listened to the torrent of flattery for a full fifteen minutes, thoroughly enjoying it. Then, he kicked each of the sycophants.

"A bunch of idiots!" Richard slammed his cup down on the table, tea splashing.

"Do you think each of you is a God of War descended? Occupy the mine, look how capable you think you are. How many chances of victory would we have if High Mountain Keep threw everything in?" The lord didn't wait for their answer, instead holding up an index finger and shaking it.

"One percent, at most one percent, maybe even less!"

This barrage of scolding left the guard leaders in collective silence.

They weren't fools; of course, they knew that participating in such a meat grinder of a battle with their own forces would be an understatement to call it a tremendous disadvantage.

The reason they had seemed so confident before was their firm belief that their invincible lord would find a way. Now that this bubble had been burst by the lord himself, they inevitably felt a sense of dread.

It was Hert who read the mood, picking up the thread at the right moment. "My Lord, if we have so few people, why must we still go?"

"Strategic vision, I've emphasized strategic vision many times." Richard took the opportunity to lecture these future officers. "It's precisely because we have so few people that we must wade into this muddy water. If High Mountain Keep had a thousand warriors, we could sit back and watch the tigers fight, but the truth is we only have a hundred, so we have to go in ourselves."

"I told Gunther before, a large tribe moving south is like throwing a Dogtooth Characin into a pond, smaller tribes have to reshuffle, and that's just moving south." Richard patted Gunther on the shoulder, who was scratching the back of his head with a bewildered expression.

"My Lord did say that." Hert's expression was convincing at a glance, subtly pulling Gunther's hand away from the back of his head.

"Once iron ore is acquired, any tribe, unless they're fools, will expand as fast as if they grew wings." Richard crossed his arms, his eyes practically glowing in the dim room. "They are far too close to us."

"The Dwarves, who like to keep to themselves, are one thing. But if a tyrannical tribe like the Bearfolk expands, how is that different from casting a lethal net in our pond? How will we survive?"

Richard's gaze swept over each face. The leaders straightened their backs, their fists clenched.

The more powerful one was, the stronger their territorial instincts. Coincidentally, they all were.

Faced with a sudden threat, their first reaction would definitely be to smash through the wall, not to retreat and find another way.

"Whether High Mountain Keep occupies the mine or not doesn't matter. What matters is that they don't win so comfortably." Richard slammed his hand against his chest, every word resonating with force. "To be clear, we are going there to be troublemakers, truly significant troublemakers! To stir this muddy water until it's turned upside down!"

Richard's voice was almost a roar: "No matter who wants to occupy the iron mine, I want them to bleed dry! To feel agonizing pain! Don't even think about recovering for twenty years!"

"Yes, My Lord!"

They stood up in unison, a chaotic clatter of overturning chairs and tables, as the leaders roared their assent.

"Depart!"

The High Mountain Keep guard had already assembled outside, fully equipped and ready to march.

Time was not on their side; if they couldn't arrive before the Dwarf tribe was destroyed, all tactical plans would become meaningless.

"Annie, you coming with us is enough." Richard pointed in the direction of the mercenaries. "Have your people protect the civilians on the hills, just don't let bandits in."

The previously anxious mercenaries collectively breathed a sigh of relief. They were just paid to fight; many were waiting to go home and get married after this war and had no desire to participate in such a huge gamble.

"Richard, even a small amount of military strength is precious right now." Annie herself carried a soft bow and a quiver of light arrows.

However, if her target was the Bearfolk, known for their tough hides, it was foreseeable that the combination of a soft bow and light arrows would pose no threat whatsoever.

"The military strength has been precisely calculated. I can only take you, not one more person." Richard didn't explain how this precise calculation was so precise.

Given his solemn demeanor, Annie could only believe that it was indeed precise down to the single digit.

"So now we're in this together?" The Half-Elf extended her hand to Richard. "This is truly a special bond. Let's reintroduce ourselves. My name is Annie Margaret, descendant of Mr. Lynch, the owner of the Voya Merchant Guild, and Ms. Leah, the Prairie Elf."

Richard shook her hand.

Just considering the various magic items and Holy Water she had previously produced, he had already suspected that Annie's identity was more than just a caravan manager. He hadn't expected her to truly be the second generation of a merchant guild.