Reborn as the Failed Lord with my Resource Gathering System.

Grak's eyes widened in shock the instant it happened.

In the blink of an eye, two of his men, whom he had expected to act as protectors, had been wiped out.

Angered, Grak tried to reach for his blade at the lower part of his back, but before he could grab the hilt—

Pheww!

Ciel shot him precisely in the knee.

A loud cry left his mouth, and he collapsed instantly onto one knee, his face twisted in raw pain and paralyzing fear.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to fight the pain for as long as he could.

From a far distance, he could hear the agonizing cries of his men getting slaughtered left and right. He could also tell that they were massively outnumbered.

This realization led him to wonder how such a huge number of people could have sneaked into the city without anyone raising a single alarm.

The fact he could see a flaming cat and a white dragon playing at a distance further raised multiple questions in his mind.

'Who the hell were these people?'

Right then, he noticed a pair of boots suddenly stop right beside him. This was immediately followed by a voice.

"All the bandits have been dealt with. Shall we dispose of their bodies?" Aces asked, slightly glancing at Grak, who still refused to raise his head.

"Faster than I expected. But the plan goes on regardless." Dorian responded, then took a couple of steps forward.

Once he was close enough, he went down, staring intently at Grak, with an evil look on his face as whispers began to leave his lips.

"Come now, how long do you intend to keep your head lowered like that? You heard correctly, right? All your men have been killed. Call for backup. Runaway. Do something…"

Grak began to sweat profusely.

He wasn't sure why, but he felt that if he were to raise his head by mistake, he was going to face a very serious, possibly fatal, problem.

And it wasn't like he could run either, since everywhere looked to have been surrounded by his enemy.

If he could curse, he would in that moment.

Suddenly, he heard Dorian sigh.

"Looks like he is not willing to cooperate. Too bad, and here I was hoping to release him if he could just give me a bit of information. Hell, I was hoping to pay him for it as well. Sad. Kill him."

Grak's eyes widened at the last statement.

Not only had Ciel raised her finger to send yet another beam, but even Aces had stretched his short blade right at him as well.

"Wait, you don't need to go that far. Really, there is no reason for you to do this. I am willing to cooperate."

Grak didn't waste any time to show his cooperation. Both his arms were raised, and his head was slightly lowered.

Dorian's grin grew even wider, even though he tried his best to hide it. "Now we are talking. So you agree to cooperate?"

"Yes, I do." Who wouldn't? Not when a True Dragon was wandering not so far away from him.

'For someone this big, I expected him to put up more of a fight. Works for me.'

Dorian raised a single finger, indicating he was about to ask his first question.

From afar, they could hear the cheers of the villagers celebrating with the Aurelain army on the first victory they had ever had against the Yaima group, and it was just enough to make Grak panic some more.

"Firstly, how many camps do you people have scattered in this city? How many territories and leaders? Total number of men? Who is in charge, and what are their ranks? Where are you all receiving your funds from? Which noble is working with you? Where do you sell all the oil?"

The torrent of questions kept rolling out of Dorian's lips—a deliberate strategy to overwhelm Grak—so that at some point, Grak began to lose track of whatever lies he had rehearsed.

"Uhm… I don't…"

Dorian sighed out loud, loud enough to put a flicker of fear in the man's heart.

"We have 200 camps. We have about 600 scattered men; some are unregistered, so the number might be higher. Most are Adept ranks, and we don't have that many Master ranks to maintain a strong hierarchy. The one in charge is Sir Temao; he is a Master Rank Tamer. We have five territory leaders, and we sell the oil to different countries for cheaper prices. We don't know why they want it, but they always order in large quantities."

Dorian stared at the man, a disappointed look on his face.

"Wow. You might look big and strong, but you are really just a snitch."

Grak lowered his head even more to hide his embarrassment and deep, wounded shame. Even Aces couldn't help but stare with disgust as well.

After that, a serious look played on Dorian's face as he quickly looked to the side to gather his thoughts on the newly found information.

'This changes things quite a bit. Foreign countries are ordering the crude oil. I doubt they know what crude oils can be used for, but the fact they are buying it regardless proves something really is happening here. I feel rather uneasy about this.'

"Master—" Ciel's voice immediately snapped him from his deep thoughts.

Dorian looked at her, and she continued, "I am afraid he passed out."

"Eh?"

Dorian looked at Grak and noticed that he had indeed passed out. He chuckled, a dark sound that held no humor.

"Well, that was anticlimactic. I was hoping for more begging," Dorian mused, standing up and dusting off his knee. "Aces, tie him up and let him wake up in a cage. We'll extract the rest of the information later. He's obviously not high-ranking enough to know everything."

"Understood, Master Dorian." Aces sheathed his short blade and expertly produced a length of sturdy rope, quickly securing Grak's unconscious body.

Dorian looked out at the scene of the battlefield.

The Aurelian soldiers and the local volunteers were already beginning the tedious work of body disposal and cleaning up the oil spill.

The sight of Flare and Celes relaxing nearby had indeed kept the locals compliant and the enemy soldiers terrified.

He turned back to Ciel.

"Ciel, go assist with the mop-up. Make sure the wounded are being treated, both ours and any of the enemy who surrendered—if there were any."

"As you command, Master." With a graceful nod, Ciel moved to follow his instruction.

Dorian sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

The core mission was successful: disrupt the Yaima operations in this area and gain intelligence. But the information about foreign powers buying crude oil for unknown purposes was highly disturbing.

He figured it had to be something relating to that. Yet, it was another thought he had hoped to not be factual.

'200 camps is quite a lot. But I wouldn't be so worried about it.' Dorian stretched to the side, his eyes soon scanning the horizon. 'Okay. back to work.'

…

The following day.

Directly at one of the major camps in the Red District, Sir Temeo, the leader of the entire Yaima group, was seated on his bed when he received a knock on the door.

Two women, both of whom were naked, turned their gazes to the door until one of them decided to finally attend to the visitor.

The moment she got to the door and she opened it, a man covered in dirt and blood dashed into the room and immediately collapsed right in front of Temao.

Temao, upon seeing the man struggling to stand to his feet, reached for his knife at the side of his waist and began looking through all the windows around him.

"Are we under attack?" He asked, already sensing the growing tension.

The man coughed, a terrible, rattling sound that tore through the comfortable silence of the room, forcing the two women to scramble for cover, their expressions shifting from lust to horror.

"Sir... Sir Temao!" the man finally gasped, clawing at Temao's trouser leg. His voice was hoarse, filled with terror and exhaustion.

"They... they hit the Western outpost! The entire camp is gone!"

Temao's hand paused on the hilt of his knife.

His initially fearful expression hardened into a chilling mask of disbelief and rage.

"Gone?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "What do you mean, 'gone'? That camp had over fifty men, Grak was in charge! Who attacked us? The Lumberg army? They don't have the guts, or the time, to pull off an attack that size."

"It wasn't the regular army, sir," the messenger wept, his body trembling violently. "It was... a small group. But they had monsters! A flaming beast... and a dragon! I saw it, Sir, a white dragon!"

Temao slowly withdrew his hand from his knife. The mention of a dragon was enough to freeze the blood in his veins, but he quickly dismissed it as the ravings of a terrified man.

However, the mention of Grak, his high-ranking bandit, and the total destruction of an outpost was no lie.

"A dragon," Temao scoffed, though his eyes narrowed in calculation.

"You're delirious. Focus. How many attackers? Did Grak put up a fight? Tell me everything, and don't omit a single detail, or I'll feed you to the hounds myself."