Chương 108: 108：Blackmailing an Imperial Commander

"And then!" Soren leaned forward, his voice turning hard.

"It was I, Soren, who led my brothers—men who carry their lives on the edge of a blade—to brave the torrential rain and scale a hundred-meter vertical cliff bare-handed!"

"It was us who charged headlong into the maces and battleaxes of the Blackiron Orcs! We butchered our way through Bone Ridge, spear by spear, blade by blade, until the entire camp was wiped clean off the map!"

"What we pry from the dead hands of outlaws isn't 'supplies'. It is the supreme spoils of war, bought and paid for with our own flesh and blood!"

"The moment those goods passed into the hands of those bandits, their origins were washed completely clean!" To utterly crush Alaric's impulse to argue semantics, Soren leaned back slightly, pressing his attack:"Commander Alaric, you are a general who has fought wars your entire life."

"Let me give you the most brutally straightforward example. Suppose tomorrow, my brothers are entirely wiped out, and my hundred armor-piercing halberds are stripped from our corpses and claimed as loot by Blackstone brutes."

"Then, a month later, a massive battle breaks out."

"In this battle, your Royal Griffon Knights launch a suicidal, massed charge. Through the sacrifice of hundreds of your elite knights, you slaughter those Blackstone Orcs and loot my former hundred halberds from a field of corpses." Soren paused, his gaze locking dead onto Alaric's icy blue eyes.

"So tell me, Lord Commander. At that moment, simply because I, Soren, was the original owner of those halberds, could I shamelessly march into your military encampment, point at those weapons, and demand: 'Give them back to me'?" The question dropped. Absolute, suffocating silence descended upon the cramped wooden cabin. Alaric's lips twitched. For a man historically renowned for his silver tongue and sharp intellect, he was actually left completely, utterly speechless!

Not just him—Archmage Valeriu's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull, his mind completely trapped in the airtight cage of this flawless logic. Alaric knew full well that this logic was pure, unadulterated sophistry! And yet! He realized with a terrifying jolt that he couldn't find a single word to refute it! Spoils of war did not ask for a pedigree! If every piece of gear looted from an orc required tracking down the original human owner to return it, then how the hell was anyone supposed to fight a war?

Everyone would just sit on their asses waiting for someone else to do the bleeding, then knock on their door for a refund! Alaric's face turned exceedingly ugly. But he was, after all, an elite Imperial Commander. Knowing that reclaiming the armaments for free was now an absolute impossibility, he instantly pivoted his strategy, attempting to cut his losses.

"Heh. Captain Soren's philosophy of war is truly... refreshing." Alaric reined in the intensity of his gaze, his tone softening as he chose to step back:"Fine. Since Your Excellency insists they are spoils of war."

"Then how about this? As long as Captain Soren returns that batch of military longbows and arrows, as compensation, I am willing to personally fund the delivery of thirty wagon-loads of winter rations, one thousand Silvermoon coins, and a full stock of healing potions to Greywater Village."

"Consider it an exchange. Let's make a friend out of this. What do you say?" Soren, completely impervious to the bribe, shook his head. Then, adopting an expression of absolute, self-righteous integrity:"The Lord Commander is truly generous and charitable."

"However, since these are standard Imperial military supplies, why would you need to pay for compensation out of your own pocket? That doesn't align with military regulations." Soren threw his hands up in a helpless shrug.

"In my humble opinion, My Lord, you should simply write a formal incident report."

"As the Supreme Commander of the front lines, having military assets hijacked by outlaws is merely an unfortunate accident. Submit the report directly to the Supreme Military Council of the Holy Empire, and officially list this batch of longbows as combat losses."

"Given the bottomless wealth of the Holy Empire, getting a new shipment of longbows approved and sent over would be a perfectly logical procedure. And more importantly, you wouldn't have to spend a single copper of your own money, right?"

"So why bother haggling with me?"

"You!!" This lethal, throat-slitting counterattack stabbed directly into Alaric's most sensitive nerve! Archmage Valeriu was so enraged he nearly snapped his staff in his grip. Write a report? Claim it as combat losses? That was a black-market smuggling operation he was running behind the Empire's back! If he actually dared to submit that report to the Imperial core, his political rivals would launch a full-scale investigation.

By the next day, he would be stripped of his command on charges of high treason and smuggling! Alaric's patience finally, completely evaporated. The high-born, blue-eyed general abruptly shot to his feet! BANG! He slammed his palm violently onto the wooden table.

"Soren. I offered you face. Do not force my hand." Alaric's eyes blazed with unrestrained fury.

"Have you considered the consequences? The Holy Empire is the absolute leader of the Alliance against the Blackstone Orcs!"

"Your actions right now are actively sabotaging the already fragile human coalition!" Alaric leaned dangerously far forward.

"Believe it or not, I can draft a single letter to the Silvermoon Kingdom right now. Using the charge of forcefully seizing allied military assets, I can have you dragged out of here in chains and thrown straight into the Silvermoon Supreme Military Tribunal!" The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"You are nothing but a lowly Captain! I only need to flick my finger, and I can crush your miserable Greywater Village like a cockroach, wiping you utterly out of existence!" This was the pure, suffocating suppression of political class! Had it been any other captain from the Crimson Moon Knights—even Commander Leona herself—standing here right now, they would undoubtedly feel a chill shooting down their spine from the sheer weight of Imperial pressure. But Soren sat as steady as a mountain.

He didn't flinch back a single millimeter. Instead, he casually dug at his ear with his pinky finger, his tone sickeningly calm:"My, my. Such terrifying Imperial authority, Lord Commander."

"Send me to a Military Tribunal? Be my guest. Pin the crime of sabotaging the human alliance on my head? Go right ahead."

"In fact, I am very much looking forward to that trial."

"Because in that courtroom, I will make absolutely sure everyone knows exactly what I, Soren, did."

"I led my troops up a sheer cliff and severed the heads of outlaw orcs who ate human flesh raw!"

"From beginning to end, my swords and spears were drawn only to spill orcish blood! Throughout the entire campaign, we did not have a single, microscopic conflict with any soldier of the Royal Griffon Knights!"

"Everything I did was to avenge the brutalized, slaughtered innocents of humanity!"

"When the time comes, even if this matter is escalated straight to the King of Silvermoon and the Holy Halycon Emperor themselves, I'd love to see who exactly stands on the wrong side of justice!"

"Will the countless officers and soldiers bleeding on the front lines point their fingers and condemn a commander who refused to retreat?"

"Or... will they demand a full investigation into how the illustrious Royal Griffon Knights managed to secretly drag a massive shipment of Imperial armaments into the fog, practically handing them over to the orcs?" Every single word was a lethal, heart-piercing dagger! Alaric's right hand, which had fiercely gripped the hilt of his sword, froze rigidly in mid-air. He had originally intended to use the crushing weight of his nation to force a submission.

Yet, not only did Soren completely deflect the pressure, but if this matter truly blew up and went public, Alaric himself would be the one plunging off a cliff with no way down. At this moment, Alaric saw it with crystal clarity. This man before him, Soren, didn't just possess god-tier military command capabilities—his political instincts were lethally sharp. This was absolutely not some crude, meat-headed grunt who could be cowed by a few threatening words! Retrieving those armaments?

Any hope of that was dead and buried. Unless he immediately ordered his troops to assault the village this very second. But that was a zero-sum game he had no desire to play. Alaric closed his eyes. His chest heaved violently twice. When he opened his eyes again, that world-ending fury had been forcibly chewed to pieces and swallowed back down into his stomach.

"Hahahaha!" Alaric suddenly burst into raucous laughter, slowly clapping his hands.

"What courage! What brilliant, razor-sharp eloquence!" Alaric stood up straight, shifting his posture into one of sweeping, magnanimous grace.

"Captain Soren, please forgive me. Everything just now was merely a trivial little test of character on my part."

"It is exactly as Captain Soren said! You break the enemy ranks and slaughter your foes; the spoils naturally belong to the victor!"

"The environment of the Misty Swamp is unbearably harsh, and the frontline soldiers indeed require superior standard-issue weaponry. Therefore, I hereby declare..." Alaric's heart was bleeding a literal river, but he forced the words out:"For the sake of the united strength between the Holy Empire and the Silvermoon Kingdom, I, the General, generously gift this batch of military armaments to you today!"

"Consider it my own personal, unwavering support for your heroic unit!" A Commander truly was a Commander. With this masterclass in political backpedaling—turning a forceful seizure into a "generous donation"—he instantly converted a massive loss into a political favor. And right on cue, the look in Soren's eyes underwent an instantaneous transformation. The icy, blade-like glare vanished, replaced by an expression of overwhelming, spring-breeze warmth and profound gratitude.

This transition was so buttery-smooth, so terrifyingly natural, that Archmage Valeriu and Fina, watching from the sidelines, felt a momentary sense of dizzying whiplash. Soren stood up sharply, his posture ramrod straight. With a gaze full of utter reverence, he pressed his fist deeply over his heart, delivering a flawless, high-noble salute.

"Ah! So the Lord Commander's previous harshness was entirely out of well-intentioned concern!"

"Grand Commander Alaric's boundless magnanimity—treating allied forces as brothers and opening your coffers so generously! It is truly like a guiding star cutting through this dark swamp!"

"The seven hundred souls of Greywater Village shall remember the Lord Commander's monumental grace for the rest of our lives! May the glory of the Holy Empire shine brilliantly forever!" In the center of the cramped, leaky cabin, the two men tightly gripped each other's hands. Their gazes collided heavily in mid-air. One radiating profoundly fake gratitude; the other forcing a stiff smile while swallowing a river of internal blood. And with that, the two factions reached an "understanding."