Chapter 162 (Part II): The Mad General's Redemption
The Legend of Viktor Longbaton
Bennett's lips twitched as he recalled the infamous exploits of General Viktor "Two-Fifty" Longbaton—a man whose nickname stemmed equally from his tactical lunacy and his uncanny ability to infuriate half the imperial court. The general's chaotic career unfolded like a ballad of absurdity:
The Bribe That Backfired: Longbaton once accepted 300 gold coins from a tribal chieftain to annihilate a rival clan. After succeeding, he promptly sold out his patron to the aggrieved tribes, pocketing both the bribe and 5,000 stolen cattle. His troops paraded in luxurious new coats stitched from the hides of their victims.
Bandit in Uniform: When the military delayed replacing 500 aging warhorses, Longbaton led 5,000 men disguised as desert raiders to pillage two border tribes. He slaughtered a 2,000-strong clan, leaving their livestock charred with the sneer: "Not a damn hair left for those savages."
The Bride Heist: Interrupting a tribal wedding procession, he ripped off the bride's veil—a sacrilege in steppe culture—and declared her "pockmarked and uglier than my concubine." When her kin demanded blood, he offered to marry the "spoiled" woman himself, snarling: "I'll beat her four times a day if it pleases me!"
Yet beneath the madness lay method. By sabotaging tribal alliances and hoarding iron shipments meant for草原 warriors, Longbaton had crippled the nomads' ability to arm themselves. His final undoing came when he raided a noble family's caravan smuggling metal ore to the tribes—a scandal too brazen even for his patrons.
"A madman… or a genius?" Bennett muttered, intrigued.
The Price of Whores and Whiskey
Baron Robersky, the prison's weaselly overseer, fidgeted as Bennett interrogated him outside Longbaton's cell. The duke's sudden interest in the disgraced general's recreational habits had thrown the baron into a cold sweat.
"What does Longbaton crave most here?" Bennett asked, feigning casualness.
Robersky's mind raced. Does the duke seek revenge? Or worse—alliance? "W-Women, Your Grace. The… ahem… cheaper sort. He calls high-end courtesans 'prissy saints' and prefers tavern wenches who…"
Bennett cut him off with a chuckle. "Arrange it. Ten of his favorite harlots, rotated every two days. Send the bill to my estate."
The baron nearly choked. Two thousand gold upfront? He'd been skimming 200 coins monthly from Longbaton's already meager prison allowance. Now, he'd have to refund every stolen copper—and pray the general never learned of his theft.
A Father's Silent Agony
The visit to Raymond's cell struck Bennett like a dagger. The once-proud Earl of Rolin sat hunched over military treatises, his fingers ink-stained and trembling. Sunlight filtered through barred windows, illuminating the shackle scars on his wrists.
"Come to mock the fallen, Duke?" Raymond's voice dripped acid.
Bennett gestured to the Art of Desert Warfare open on the desk—a text detailing Longbaton's old tactics. "Still plotting with ghosts?"
"Merely studying how clever pawns become corpses." The earl's smile chilled. "Chen's pet wolf should know: crowns chew up even their favorites."
A guard coughed outside. Raymond's eyes flickered to a hidden compartment in the desk—a blade's glint? Bennett filed the detail away.
The Regent's Web
As Bennett exited the prison, Robersky dogged his steps. "Shall I prepare interrogation tools for Longbaton, Your Grace?"
"No." Bennett's mind whirred. Why did Chen keep this loose cannon alive? The answer struck him as he passed the general's cell, where a woman's throaty laugh mingled with Longbaton's booming:
"Another cask! This cell's drier than a nun's—"
Bennett froze. Of course. The Mad General wasn't just a prisoner—he was Chen's insurance. Should草原 tribes ever rebel again, who better to unleash than the butcher they both feared and respected? A rabid dog kept leashed… until needed.
Epilogue: The Puppetmaster's Gambit
That night, Bennett stood atop the palace's Starfall Tower, the Spear of Alaric cold against his palm. Below, Chen's spies scurried like ants, forging the Regent's new narrative.
Longbaton the Brute. Raymond the Schemer. Bennett the Loyalist. All roles in Chen's grand theater.
He smiled grimly. Let the Regent believe himself playwright. Every actor knew: the best performances came when the script burned… and improvisation began.
Chapter 163 (Part I): Blood and Betrayal in Stone
The Prisoner and the Prodigy
The innermost cell of the dungeon reeked of damp stone and unspoken regrets. Bennett paused at the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the man who had once commanded fleets and shattered nations. Earl Raymond of House Rolin sat with aristocratic poise, his fingers tracing the gilded pages of A Comprehensive History of the Continent: Volume II. Sunlight filtered weakly through a fist-sized iron grate, casting jagged shadows across his face—a face that bore no trace of defeat, only the quiet intensity of a general dissecting his final battle plan.
"You're early," Raymond remarked without looking up, his voice as dry as the tome in his hands. "I expected you to dawdle longer with that circus outside."
Bennett said nothing. The cell's austerity mocked his father's former glory: moss crept through cracks in the walls, and a rusted waste bucket lurked in the corner like a silent sentinel. Only the desk—solid oak, incongruously elegant—hinted at the jailers' lingering fear of the man who had once made emperors tremble.
A Reckoning in Shadows
Raymond closed his book with deliberate slowness. When he finally met his son's eyes, the ghost of a smirk played on his lips. "Shall we pretend this is your childhood study? Sit." He gestured to the cot's threadbare mattress. "Unless His Grace prefers to stand?"
The barb landed true. Bennett stiffened but obeyed, perching on the edge as Raymond leaned back, fingers steepled.
"Your mother?"
"Alive. Fading." Bennett's jaw tightened. "The priests say grief is a slower poison than hemlock."
"And your brother?"
"Furious. Confused. Unfit for this game."
Raymond nodded, as if cataloging weaknesses. "And you? Do you still flinch when called 'duke'?"
The air thickened. Somewhere beyond the door, a guard's boot scuffed stone.
The Unwritten Epitaph
"Why?" Bennett's voice cracked the silence like a whip. "Why cling to this charade? Reading history while your empire crumbles?"
Raymond's laughter startled a rat into the shadows. "History is the only truth left, boy. Kings rise, traitors fall—we're all just ink on a page." He tapped the book's spine. "Your precious Regent? A footnote awaiting his paragraph. You? A dangling clause."
He rose abruptly, chains clinking, and pressed a palm against the steel-reinforced wall. "You think me broken? I've orchestrated rebellions from worse holes. But you…" He turned, eyes blazing. "You terrify them. The upstart who played both sides and kept his head. The bastard saint who gutted his own bloodline to save it."
The Chessmaster's Confession
For the first time, Raymond's composure fractured. "I sent assassins. Poisoned your tutors. Let your brother believe you weak." His voice dropped to a whisper. "All to forge a weapon sharp enough to survive this." A skeletal finger jabbed at the dungeon's gloom.
"And now?"
"Now you ask how to protect the family you publicly disowned." Raymond's smile held no warmth. "Fool. You already have. By becoming Chen's favorite lapdog, you've made yourself too valuable to kill—and by extension, made our name untouchable."
He leaned closer, the scent of mildew and madness clinging to his words. "But listen well: your Regent's love is a snare. Refuse his lands. Spurn his titles. Let the vultures think you tamed."
The Price of Survival
Bennett stood, the cot's frame groaning. "And if I want more than survival?"
"Then you'll die as I nearly did—choking on gratitude." Raymond seized his son's arm, grip iron. "Chen didn't spare me out of mercy. My cell is his lesson to you: See how easily I break what you cherish?"
Outside, Baron Robersky's nervous cough echoed. Raymond released him, retreating into scholar's calm. "Go. Mourn your mother properly. And when Chen offers you a duchy…"
"Yes?"
"Take the smallest, rockiest scrap he'll allow. Let them laugh. Only the hungry hunt in silence."
Epilogue: The Puppeteer's Shadow
As Bennett emerged into the prison's sulfurous torchlight, Robersky scurried forward. "Your Grace! Shall I increase the earl's rations? Perhaps a thicker blanket—"
"No." Bennett didn't glance back. "Let the historians write him a martyr."
Somewhere in the dark, a quill scratched parchment. Chen would hear of this meeting within the hour.
Let him, Bennett thought. Let them all see the dutiful son.
He smiled faintly. Martyrdom required witnesses.
Chapter 163 (Part II): Crowns and Compromises
The Unspoken Calculus
Raymond's laughter echoed hollowly against the steel-lined walls. "So you understand why Chen keeps us alive? These cages are his insurance."
Bennett nodded grimly. "The great families' private armies still linger like wolves at the border. Slaughter us now, and our territories rise in revolt. Chen's no fool—he'll strip our power grain by grain before swinging the axe."
"Precisely." Raymond's eyes glinted with reluctant pride. "By summer's end, Rolin Plains will answer to imperial stewards. My castles garrisoned by Chen's dogs. But you—" He leaned forward, chains clinking. "You've made yourself his favorite scalpel. Sharp enough to excise tumors, harmless enough to sheathe."
A Father's Final Gambit
"Two demands," Raymond said abruptly, his voice hardening. "First: when Chen orders my death, you must not plead. Let him play the merciful regent. Second…" His throat worked. "Let one of your future sons bear our name. A seedling for Rolin's ashes."
Bennett's silence stretched taut. Beyond the cell, water dripped like a metronome counting down dynasties.
"Gabriel?" Bennett finally rasped. His younger brother's face flashed before him—furious, fragile, forever barred from nobility.
"A pawn sacrificed," Raymond dismissed. "But you—Chen's golden hound—could rebuild everything. If you survive."
The Regent's Grand Design
In the weeks that followed, Chen's machinations unfolded with clockwork precision. Solomon estates were dismantled brick by brick, their private armies disbanded under the watch of imperial garrisons. The treasury swelled on confiscated gold, and the once-sneering courtiers now clustered around the regent like moths to flame.
Yet when the purge reached Rolin Plains, Bennett's shadow fell across the proceedings. Chen's decree spared the ancestral castle—a "gesture of goodwill" that fooled no one.
"Your Grace's mercy humbles us," the new stewards simpered, avoiding Bennett's eyes as they inventoried his birthright.
The Choice That Shook Empires
The summons came at dawn. In the Map Chamber, Chen lounged like a contented panther, surrounded by sycophants.
"Well?" The regent tossed a vellum scroll across the table. "Pick your duchy. The Adrias coast? The Jade Delta?"
Bennett unrolled the map. Murmurs swelled as his finger traced westward—past fertile valleys, beyond trade routes, into the jagged teeth of the Kilimaros Mountains.
"Here." He tapped the wasteland marked Desa Province.
Chen's smile froze. The room plunged into ice.
"A jest?" the regent hissed.
"No jest." Bennett met his gaze. "Let historians say you granted even this barren rock."
The Price of Defiance
Later, in the shattered wreck of his private chambers, Chen's rage erupted. Jade figurines exploded against walls.
"He chooses loyalty over power!" the regent roared. "After all I offered—dukedoms! Influence! Yet he clings to that traitor's blood!"
A counselor dared whisper: "Shall we revoke—"
"Grant it!" Chen smashed a ancestral sword against marble. "Let him choke on his nobility. But mark this—" He whirled, eyes wild. "The day Raymond dies, that mountain rat hole becomes Bennett's tomb."
Epilogue: The Road Less Traveled
At the city gates, Bennett watched the Rolin exodus—his mother veiled in mourning gray, Gabriel glaring at imperial banners. Raymond rode ahead, back straight despite the shackles.
"Was it worth it?" A familiar voice drawled. Robersky sidled close, reeking of opportunism.
Bennett studied the northern horizon where Kilimaros' peaks tore at the sky. Somewhere beyond those crags lay a province of bandits and blizzards. A place where ambitious regents rarely looked.
"Ask me in a decade." He swung onto his horse.
As hooves clattered against cobblestones, Bennett smiled. Chen thought him tamed. The court thought him mad.
But in the wilderness, even emperors lose their way.