Rakshas: Tales of the Summoned Lord

For the next half a month, Allen's army remained stationed at the Steven Bastide, using the time to finalize preparations for their long journey.

The most pressing issue was the construction of additional carriages, as their current numbers were insufficient to transport the entire convoy efficiently. The success of their journey depended on crossing the Redlis Kingdom smoothly, after which the rest of the route would be relatively trouble-free.

Once they passed Redlis, Allen planned to leave the convoy under trusted command and return ahead of time with a select group to attend his succession ceremony in the Northlands.

To accomplish this, Baron Miranda's aid was crucial. The baron's dominion had a strong workforce, and if he allowed his people to assist in constructing the carriages, the convoy would be able to depart within a month, avoiding unnecessary delays.

During Baron Miranda's visit, Allen officially renamed the bastide in his honor, calling it Miranda Bastide. The baron was visibly delighted by this act of goodwill and, in response, pledged his support for Allen's cause. He offered the manpower needed for the carriages, along with 1,000 workhorses for free.

However, Allen was not naïve. He understood that the baron's generosity wasn't purely out of goodwill. Baron Miranda wanted the convoy to depart as soon as possible so that he could claim full control over the bastide.

The baron made no attempt to hide his intentions. He candidly expressed his desire to make Miranda Bastide his new home and the administrative center of his dominion. The bastide's strategic location, natural defenses, and existing fortifications made it an ideal place to establish his rule. Additionally, controlling the bastide meant strengthening his grip over Talbot Harbor, a lucrative trade hub that he intended to invest in and develop further.

"I can already smell the coins rolling into my pockets," Baron Miranda had said with a hearty laugh.

Allen, appreciating the baron's keen business acumen, expressed his gratitude and gifted him three of Steven's ships in return.

The baron's long-standing dream had been to own a fleet, and now, thanks to Allen, he finally had one. Though the cost of 300 carriages and 1,000 horses was roughly equal to that of a single barque, nobles did not engage in direct trade like common merchants. Instead, they offered gifts freely, expecting goodwill and favors in return.

True to his word, three days after Baron Miranda's departure, he sent his chief supervisor and nearly 100 servants to assist in the bastide. Along with them, he had also sent two young and beautiful maidens as personal attendants for Allen, but Allen sent them back, refusing the offer.

As the days passed, Miranda Bastide became a hive of activity. Managing over 5,000 people was proving to be a greater challenge than Allen had initially anticipated.

Clothing was the least of their concerns—Allen had stockpiled supplies from Redbrook City and confiscated a substantial amount from the previous bastide's residents. Their entire group was well-equipped in that regard.

Food, however, was a major challenge.

The convoy consumed over 5,000 kilograms of food daily, which was currently being supplied by Baron Miranda. The sheer volume of food required caused the baron's supervisor to panic, forcing him to import extra supplies to meet the demand.

Allen knew that the reason Baron Miranda was willing to offer so much food is because he offered the bastide free of cost to him.

Generally speaking, in accordance to noble tradition the bastide is now Allen's property and to reclaim it, baron should compensate him handsomely but Allen couldn't be bother with such formalities at all, mostly because he had to leave anyways but Baron Miranda showed true nobility by following the tradition and providing rations to such a huge group free of cost.

To further ensure they had enough provisions for the journey, Seraphine proposed the idea of making black bread—a food that could last for months without spoiling.

Although Aryana Continent already had its own version of black bread, Seraphine introduced a far superior method.

Her black bread could sustain an adult for ten days and was softer than traditional hard bread, making it easier to consume by simply softening it with water.

Aside from black bread, Hilter oversaw the preservation of meat. They had received 300 cattle and 2,000 sheep from Baron Miranda, which were turned into dried provisions. He also stocked pickled fruits and vegetables, ensuring that the convoy had some variety in their diet.

The next issue was shelter.

Given the massive size of their group, it was impossible for them to rely on inns. Instead, Hilter organized the group into a structured tent system—one tent for every carriage of people, with the camp at the center and carriages forming a protective wall around it.

As for transportation, four-wheeled carriages would be their primary means of travel. However, the journey to the Northlands was far from ordinary. Unlike regular convoys, Allen's army carried a large amount of supplies, weapons, and military personnel.

Additional herbalist units were assigned to tend to injuries and illnesses during the journey.

By the 3rd day of the 1st month, the convoy was fully prepared.

Allen bid farewell to Baron Miranda and led his massive convoy onto the main road, covering 60 kilometers on the first day.

On the 4th day, they traveled another 20 kilometers before leaving the main road and taking a forest path detour. After crossing a small hill, they entered the territory of a noble from the Redlis Kingdom.

On the third day of their journey, just as they were about to depart in the morning, a messenger arrived with an urgent report from Knight Fredrick.

A local viscount, along with more than 20 knights, had arrived at the convoy's location. The viscount was demanding a toll—10% of all their supplies—or else he would order an attack.

Allen laughed upon hearing this and asked the scout,

"Did Fredrick tell the viscount that this is the army of the Styles Family, and that we are only returning to our dominion without conducting any trade along the way?"

The scout replied, "Sir Fredrick has already told him multiple times, but he refuses to listen. He insists that we are smugglers pretending to be nobles. He even mocked us, saying that if we were going to impersonate nobility, we should have chosen a more well-known family name instead of 'Styles,' which he has never even heard of."

At that moment, Hilter's expression darkened. The viscount had not only insulted his master but also disrespected the nobility of Styles Family.

Hilter turned to his side and called out, "Bale, go forward and invite the viscount over. I'll teach him personally what the Styles Family is made of."

Without hesitation, the silent and ruthless Bale led his knight brigade on a charge.

The viscount's men panicked—some fled in terror, while others surrendered on the spot. Within minutes, Bale and his knights captured all 27 of the viscount's men and brought the viscount himself forward.

The viscount, however, refused to break.

Even in chains, he stood with his head held high, maintaining his pride as a noble.

"You actually dare defy me, the head of the Mestre Family?! Are you looking to start a war?!" he roared.

He then smirked and offered Allen a chance to redeem himself.

"If you wish to avoid trouble, I will be merciful. Offer me a tribute, apologize for this insult, and… Ooooh…" His lecherous eyes landed on Seraphine, standing beside Allen. "This maidservant looks rather exquisite…"

Allen simply burst into laughter.

He turned to Hilter and smirked, "I suspect this man doesn't have a brain."

"Show him his place."

"No! No, you can't do this...!"

...

Viscount Mestre, arrogant and full of himself, had been stripped of his noble dignity and now stood strapped to a wooden pillar. His fine clothing had long since been torn apart, his once-pristine tunic now nothing more than bloodied rags clinging to his battered form.

At Hilter's command, two burly soldiers stepped forward, their hands gripping thick, barbed whips.

"Begin," Hilter ordered coldly.

CRACK!

The first lash tore into the viscount's back, splitting his flesh open. A shrill scream tore from his lips, but it only seemed to fuel the soldiers' enthusiasm.

CRACK! CRACK!

Blood splattered onto the dirt, his back reduced to a network of deep, raw wounds. His body trembled in agony, yet his prideful nature refused to break so easily.

"You… you dare do this to me?! I am Viscount Mestre! The noble ruler of these lands! You will all—AAAAH!" Another lash cut off his words, the barbed whip digging into his spine.

Allen, watching from a short distance, remained unimpressed. He leaned lazily against his horse, his gaze cold and unreadable.

"This is the difference between a noble who rules with power and one who only relies on his name," Allen remarked. "You think being called 'Viscount' makes you untouchable? Out here, only strength matters."

Fredrick, standing nearby, snorted. "His arrogance is the only thing keeping him alive. If he had begged for mercy, I might've considered sparing him."

A scout approached Allen, bowing slightly before speaking. "Lord Allen, after some investigation, we've confirmed that Viscount Mestre is at war with a neighboring baron. Just last night, he tried to raid a small village, but it was empty. He and his men returned to their castle empty-handed. That's when they saw our convoy and thought to make up for their failure by extorting us."

Allen raised an eyebrow, smirking. "So this fool was already losing a war, yet he thought he could extort me?" He turned his gaze toward the bloodied viscount. "How pitiful."

The scout continued, "His castle is located just thirty kilometers from here, near the lake. Most of his forces are stationed there."

Allen's eyes flickered with cold intent. "Dale," he said smoothly, "drag this fool back to his castle. Have his men surrender. If they refuse, hang him right outside his gates as an example."

Dale, a man of few words but immense skill, merely nodded. He grabbed the viscount by the hair and hauled him forward like a sack of grain.

Allen then turned to his other commanders. "Jasper, Serena, you will accompany Dale. If they refuse to surrender, besiege the castle immediately. We'll be lodging there tonight."

Seraphine, standing beside Allen, whispered an incantation, her hands glowing faintly. A surge of power coursed through Dale, Jasper, and Serena, enhancing their strength and speed.

Viscount Mestre, barely conscious, let out a weak chuckle. Fools... they think they can storm my castle? I'll have them slaughtered the moment we arrive.

Little did he know, his fate had already been sealed.

---

The Castle Gates

By the time they reached Viscount Mestre's castle, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the land. The towering stone fortress stood by the lake, its walls weathered but sturdy.

The guards at the gates, seeing their lord being dragged like an animal, immediately moved to raise their weapons.

"Hold!" Jasper bellowed, his voice carrying authority. "This is the army of Lord Allen, and we are here to discuss your surrender."

"Open the gates!" Viscount Mestre croaked,"You dare treat me this way, I will kill you all. I will murder that bitch fake lor—"

His guards hesitated. The viscount had already been humiliated—his bloodied and broken form was not one of a leader in control.

Then, before he could say another word, THUNK!

An arrow whistled through the air and buried itself in his forehead.

His body twitched once before collapsing, his lifeless eyes staring at the ground. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the dirt.

Serena, lowering her bow, sneered. "Vermin like you dare insult my lord?"

Silence fell over the battlefield. The viscount's men stared in stunned horror, realizing their leader was gone.

Serena wasted no time. "What are you waiting for?! Attack! Kill every last one of them! Ransack the entire castle! Not a single stone is to be left unturned!"

With her cry, the battle erupted.

---

Dale led the charge, his spearmen crashing into the enemy ranks like an unstoppable tide. His movements were precise, lethal—every thrust of his spear claimed a life.

Jasper, atop his warhorse, stormed through the battlefield with his cavalry, trampling over the scattered defenders.

Fredrick and his knights fought with disciplined ferocity, cutting down enemy soldiers who dared resist.

And Serena, standing atop a nearby hill, commanded her archers to rain death upon the castle. Arrows darkened the sky before piercing through the panicked defenders, cutting them down before they could retreat.

Within minutes, the outer walls were breached. Soldiers flooded the castle, cutting down nobles, knights, and servants alike.

The viscount's officers, realizing their doom, attempted to flee toward the lake—but Dale and his spearmen cut them down mercilessly.

"Take all the supplies!" Jasper ordered.

"Kill the remaining soldiers!" Fredrick shouted.

Serena, her voice filled with cold amusement, added, "And make sure to search for hidden treasure. It would be a waste if we didn't take everything."

The castle burned. Screams echoed in the night.

By dawn, the once-mighty fortress of Viscount Mestre was nothing but smoldering ruins, its banners torn down, its people slaughtered.

Allen arrived shortly after, surveying the destruction.

"Efficient," he remarked. "I see no survivors."

Hilter stepped forward. "The castle had enough food and supplies to last us for months. We took everything of value before setting it ablaze."

Allen smiled coldly. "Good. That will teach others not to stand in my way."

With that, the army resumed their march northward, leaving nothing but ash and corpses behind.

Their path was now clear.