Mercenary System: I can increase innate potential !

Chapter 64 Charles

Hypocamp.

In the subdued shadow of his study, Baron Irut stood by the window, hands folded behind his back.

He watched the twilight begin to descend on his lands, the fields in the distance gilded by the fading sunlight.

The soft glow that bathed the room contrasted violently with the inner turmoil bubbling up inside him. Beside him, Chevalier Jack stood motionless, waiting for his lord to react to the news he had just reported.

The Baron remained silent for a few moments longer, his eyes lost in the horizon, a kind of forced calm weighing on his shoulders.

He should have been satisfied, shouldn't he? Plouta was well protected. Thanks to the mercenaries, the enemy had been annihilated.

But a bitter smile played on his lips.

"Saber-toothed tigers, eh." he thought.

They'd done the job they'd been paid to do, and more. They'd delivered a decisive victory on top of the fact that 3 precious apprentice knights, 2 of them geniuses, were still alive.

But, as he'd learned the hard way, in war, even victory can have a bitter taste. And this victory was overshadowed by what had happened elsewhere.

He turned slowly to Jack, his gaze hardening.

"So the mercenaries... did exactly what was expected of them," he said calmly, almost too calmly.

"The enemy is no longer a threat to the mine. With last night's fighting, Baron Barton should calm down for a while to digest the losses. The victory, in part, is ours."

Jack nodded with some admiration.

"Yes, my lord. The first village is saved, and your apprentice knights are safe, including Killian who is a very good apprentice knight but also Henry and Ultia, our young geniuses."

"How did you know that the mercenaries would have a great chance of defeating Baron Barthon?"

Baron Irut shook his head, surprising Jack.

"I didn't."

"Baron Barthon must not have known of their strength, so I gambled."

"Who could have predicted that a new mercenary group could be so strong?"

"But..."

The "but" hanging in the air crashed like a stone into the Baron's mind, weighing down his pent-up anger.

The Baron closed his eyes, his jaw twitching with burning anger.

He inhaled deeply, trying to contain the rage rising within him. His soldiers had died almost needlessly in Enor. These lands, so precious to his domain, had been reduced to ashes. All for the price of a mine.

"Was it really worth it?"

He turned abruptly, striding up and down the room, his boots pounding the floor with restrained fury.

"How could this happen?! With so many apprentice knights and soldiers, the village should have been safe!"

The baron stopped suddenly, staring intently at Jack. "What about Ron? Where's Ron?" he asked in a lowered voice, but one heavy with icy concern.

Jack took a deep breath before answering.

"My lord... Ron, carried away by rage, followed in the footsteps of Baron Barthon's soldiers. He left the battlefield on horseback, alone."

"Since then... there's been no news of him."

"No one knows where he is."

The baron's face hardened even more. Ron's temerity had put him in danger. A danger he should never have faced alone.

"So he's lost?" he asked without waiting for an answer.

The Baron turned away again, approaching the large fireplace at the far end of the room. He stared at the flames, his mind whirling.

On the one hand, he was pleased with the mercenaries' work. They'd done their part, and their brutality had wiped out the enemy.

But for Enor... it was a disaster. Her lands burned, her soldiers dead, and one of her knights missing. It all irritated her deeply. Victory had a bittersweet taste, and the losses were hard to digest.

But there was nothing he could do for Ron; a knight was already in the realm of the extraordinary.

Sending people would be completely useless, while sending Jack would increase the risk of something happening.

"So let's get on with exploiting this damned mine.

Baron Irut's words echoed around the room.

3 days passed quickly.

After the attack, Maxime's men began recruiting men from both Plouta and Hénor villages.

Recruitment was a great success, particularly in the village of Hénor.

Candidate after candidate poured in.

Maxime had limited recruitment to 60 mercenaries in the village of Hénor and 15 mercenaries in Plouta.

With the remaining 25 mercenaries, this brought the total to 100 mercenaries, not including logistics personnel.

Maxime knew this was a lot, but after a few battles and missions, this number would drastically decrease to keep only the elite.

"Holy shit, how is that possible?"

[Charles: Four-star potential, affinity with dragons. Physique: 1.5.]

"So you're Charles, are you?"

Maxime stood in the village inn of Plouta and before him was the source of his surprise.

A young man of 15/16, with dark, curly hair. He looked thin, but everyone in the village of Hénor knew how impressive his strength was.

Many people said he was born with divine strength.

"Yeah, and you're Maxime, aren't you?" replied Charles with a dark face but also a slight air of arrogance.

His parents were among the few victims in the village of Hénor after the attack.

He had seen his parents killed before his very eyes by a few men in black as they robbed his home of its few precious possessions.

He was therefore filled with hatred and thoughts of revenge.

However, he had always been praised for his powerful physical strength, and everyone was already saying that he undoubtedly had knightly talent and would become an exceptional knight.

So he retained a lot of arrogance.

He was so arrogant that he wouldn't have joined Baron Irut's forces for the world.

He wanted to create his own group of mercenaries and then rely on this group to perform meritorious deeds in order to gain his own territory.

Recent events had disrupted his plans, but the arrival of the saber-toothed tigers was just the thing.

He planned to climb the ranks quickly, defeat the mercenary leader and then become the group's leader.

When he felt the change in his body, he was already taken aback, making him question himself.

But for the time being, he kept to his plans, making no direct link with his integration into the mercenary group.

However, this was without knowing Maxime's temperament.

Maxime brought his face slightly closer to Charles'.

"Call me by my first name again when we don't know each other and I'll cut your head off, is that okay?"

Maxime's cold words refreshed Charles' thoughts directly as he nodded with a few drops of perspiration.

"I didn't hear anything!"

"It's okay."

"Louder!"

"It's okay!"

"It's okay, who!?"

"It's okay, chief!"

"Good."

The little exchange of greetings ended quickly, as Maxime resumed a normal position in his chair.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Maxime's sudden question disturbed Charles.

"A glass of water, please...chief."

Maxime waved his hand at the inn's waitress.

Normally there wasn't one, but with soldiers and mercenaries pouring in, not only a waitress but a cook as well as cleaning staff were needed.

"Hi Maxime, hello young man, so what would you like?"

The waitress greeted the two guests enthusiastically and with a beautiful smile.

"Hi Sandrine, that'll be two glasses of water as well as a charcuterie platter please."

"Will that be all?"

"That will be all."

"Okay, I'll be right back."

Maxime and Charles looked at each other for a long moment, without saying a word.

The noise and enthusiastic chatter around them only increased with time, but the atmosphere remained heavy between the two men, or rather for Charles.

It wasn't until Sandrine returned that the tension dropped a notch.

"There you go!"

"Great, thanks Sandrine."

"My pleasure."

Maxime casually took a small piece of charcuterie.

"So tell me Charles, what are your ambitions, your dreams?"

Charles seemed surprised, wondering whether he should really reveal them or tell lies that might please a mercenary leader.

But either way, he knew it was worth it for him to tell the truth.

"Grow up, train, get stronger, defeat you, take control of the mercenary group and then perform meritorious deeds to become noble."

The next moment, he was beginning to regret having said that.

It was like telling the King that he would stage a coup and take all his power by rebelling.