Chương 40: Iron Vows. Golden Oaths.
Planning out the story is taking a bit longer than expected. Apologies to the P@treons for not updating that too. Expect a chapter in 10 hours.
***
The scattered papers told a story—one of betrayal, treachery, and impending doom. Stormveil was hanging by faint threads, slowly snapping one by one, and it didn't help that the traitors held the scissors.
"Speak, and spare me not a single truth," Godrick commanded, his voice low but firm. "I would have all laid bare, in full detail. No deception. No half-truths. Let there be no room for falsification."
Taraghlan flinched, wincing as he sifted through a thick manuscript.
"My Lord, if I may," Orlan spoke up from his seat, still pale as a sheet but with eyes suffused with unbridled excitement.
Earnan internally grinned, recognizing the expression. It was the same one he had when he first set eyes on the lord.
With a nod from Godrick, Orlan stood up and took a deep breath before delivering his report.
"The battle against Godefroy the Grafted was a success. The Lord Regent, along with the Dragon Knights, fought valiantly by our side, but we suffered heavy losses. Godefroy, realizing our betrayal, flew into a rage. In the chaos, Knight Commander Giselle fell, along with much of her legion. Our forces then dwindled to 82,347, further thinned by the long march to Limgrave, and it was there that…" Orlan's voice trembled with barely contained rage as he steadied himself.
"Knight Commander Draegon had been restless since Giselle's death. His defiance grew with each passing day, and by the time we reached Stormveil, he snapped. He disappeared, taking a significant portion of several legions with him, along with our supplies—including my own. Dissatisfaction with the Golden Order festered among them."
"It was chaos after that," Edgar added. "The traitors claimed that the oaths we swore to the Golden Lineage were rendered void when we were exiled, and many believed it. Nobody knew who to trust."
"Willful traitors," Forthus spat, gripping the table in rage. "An oath is not so easily broken!"
"Indeed," Orlan growled. "Draegon was just the first. Alenor, Verros, Isolde, Torren, Cyra—comrades I once called friends—stabbed us in the back, again and again."
"We tried to fight back, my Lord. We did," Edgar bowed his tired head. "But it only made things worse. Villages were razed, alliances shattered, and innocent blood spilled. It's no wonder Haemrick declared us all monsters. He wasn't wrong."
"Edgar!" Orlan glared at his friend, but Godrick waved him off.
"Where are they now?" Godrick asked, resting his chin on his fist.
"Alenor has seized Castle Morne, and a vast portion of the Weeping Peninsula. Verros now holds Brayden's Rest, while Isolde has claimed the Evershade in the Mistwoods. Torren commands Rivenwatch, and Cyra, though lacking a fixed home, has pledged her legion to the Iron Vows, just like the others."
"Iron Vows?" Earnan spoke, his calm demeanour slightly shaken by the tales of treachery and war, yet seething anger bubbled beneath his exterior. He knew those names all too well. His blade itched to scratch them off the list of the living.
"The Council of Iron Vows," Edgar nodded. "Those bastards pledged themselves to each other. Fools, the lot of them."
"Iron Vows? They insult our oaths with that name," Forthus grit his teeth.
"What of Draegon?" Gilika questioned from the side. Taraghlan, Orlan, and Edgar turned to her, their faces betraying shock.
"What?" she asked, confused.
"It's nothing," Orlan shook his head, but Edgar looked as though he'd seen a ghost.
"You can talk?"
"Of course I can," Gilika snorted, looking rather miffed. She glanced down at the brown-haired commander. "I could talk before you were even born."
"I am a hundred and three years old."
"Barely a man then."
A tap on the armrest from Godrick instantly silenced the argument.
"What of Draegon?" he repeated, and Orlan answered.
"He's a wild card, my lord. He and his men are no better than bandits. They attack both the Council and us, striking from the shadows. He's been terrorizing Evershade lately, much to Isolde's chagrin."
"Hmmm..." Godrick mused, fingers tracing the line of his chin before his gaze settled on Taraghlan. "I desire a full account—inventory, expenditures, and every detail of Limgrave's current state of affairs. Leave nothing unchecked."
"At once." Taraghlan scrambled to the table, lifting a thick roll of papers before handing it to Godrick.
They were akin to sticky notes in his hand—comically small but effective nonetheless. He flicked through them in seconds, surprised by what he found.
Limgrave was nothing like he had expected. In-game, it was a broken land, populated by hostile enemies and secrets. In reality, it remained a broken land, but now filled with equally broken people.
Everything was bigger, more expansive, and more epic. Scattered across the land were countless villages and territories, but none stood as tall as the Big Four—the largest and most vital settlements, akin to miniature cities, housing much of Limgrave's population.
Gatefront, still under Castle Stormveil, remained his only stronghold in the region. In the Mistwoods, Evershade stood under the rule of Isolde. South of the Forlorn Hound Evergaol, near cliffs plunging into the sea, lay Brayden's Rest, held by Verros. Lastly, Rivenwatch, perched atop a craggy hill northeast of Limgrave, near the Third Church of Marika and bordering the edge of Caelid, was under Torren's control.
Their populations varied, with Evershade at around 150,000 and Gatefront reaching 280,000 to 300,000.
People meant prosperity. People meant taxes, and tax they did.
Land taxes and trade tariffs made up the majority of their income, but the Council, particularly Verros, held most trade routes in a stranglehold while sanctioning Gatefront. This dealt a hefty blow, compounded by the instability of their only remaining trade route—Liurnia.
Rogue Albinaurics, ancient Crustaceans, spirits, and wraiths made the journey perilous and unprofitable for most merchants. As if that wasn't bad enough, the economy was in shambles.
The shattering of the Elden Ring had broken the land. Fertile areas were now barren, while barren areas were fertile. Livelihoods were destroyed, and faith was shattered. Broken people led to a broken economy.
He flicked through the expenditure report and raised an eyebrow. The figures were grim. Not only did they need to maintain and repair Castle Stormveil, but they also had to sustain an army of 40,000—not a small feat in wartime.
In this economy, a hundred coppers equalled a silver coin, and a hundred silver coins equalled a gold. With three coppers, one could purchase an apple. A single gold coin could sustain an average civilian for a long time.
Yet, the weekly expenditure for Castle Stormveil averaged a staggering 1,134 gold, translating to nearly 4,900 gold a month. This was alarming given the average monthly income for an individual barely reached a single gold coin, while the castle itself brought in only 897 gold a week—or 3,812 gold a month.
In essence, they were bleeding around 1,000 gold each month just to keep the army and Castle Stormveil in decent condition. The treasury was dwindling rapidly, with only 42,690 gold remaining. Even with Godrick's personal stash bolstering the total, it was limited, particularly when they operated at a continuous loss.
If the economy were to be revitalized, significant reforms would be necessary, along with a purge of the land's traitors. Verros especially, since he was holding the economy in a chokehold, draining resources by imposing heavy tax rates on the territories and trade routes he controlled.
Godrick placed the papers down with a sigh, before turning to Taraghlan, who bowed his head in shame.
"My vault in Leyndell now swells our coffers," he proclaimed. "Six hundred thousand gold in weight. That alone shall aid us in rising to our feet and weather the sanctions and attacks of the Council."
Edgar and Orlan exchanged looks of shock and happiness. Now, they truly had a fighting chance.
"But there is one thing..." Godrick mumbled, pulling out a page and handing it to Taraghlan, who looked through it in confusion.
"Why do the 'gardeners' require more compensation than the stablehands?"
It was no small discrepancy. It was ten times the amount. Even corruption was more discreet.
"Ah, that!" Taraghlan perked up. "It was something I should've informed you of earlier, my Lord. Apologies."
"No matter. Out with it."
"You see, after the infighting and the treachery that spilled blood and killed good men, we found quite a marvellous sapling growing in the courtyard where one of the bloodiest battles took place. It seemed to eat up the bodies and blood ravenously."
"So thou didst nourish it?" Godrick gripped his armrest in mild excitement. Was this what he thought it was?
"W-we didn't know what it was, but it radiated an aura of healing and peace, my Lord," Taraghlan gulped, looking at Godrick's hand squeezing the armrest. "The soldiers agreed that the bodies should be buried at the roots of the tree. It gave them peace."
"You mean an Erdtree sapling?" Earnan asked in shock, looking at Gilika, who shrugged.
"Erdtree?" Taraghlan frowned at Earnan. "That is impossible. The Erdtree can never have saplings. It is seedless..."
Taraghlan trailed off as Godrick stood up from the throne, summoning his massive Greatspear, which burst out with a suspiciously familiar aura of vigor and healing.
"It is an Erdtree sapling," Godrick affirmed, cracking his neck with a satisfying pop. "Pray tell, what be the whereabouts of Kenneth Haight?"
"Haight?" Orlan perked up. "He remained loyal, my Lord, but his fort is currently under siege by the Council and is as such not much help to us."
The Knight Commander looked at Gilika.
"His army of Demi-Humans is the only thing preventing his immediate collapse, but it is practically inevitable. We did not have the resources to help him."
Gilika gasped.
"My sister. She's there!"
She gripped her greatsword. "She has to be."
"Forthus, Gilika, Orlan," Godrick commanded, his voice firm as he fixed his gaze upon his men, who promptly snapped to attention. "Gather as many soldiers as ye deem necessary and fetch Kenneth Haight to my presence. Let this task be your utmost priority."
"Yes, my Lord!"
Forthus', Orlan's, and Gilika's voices rang out with glee. One happy to serve, another with a longing for family, and the last with a desire to prove himself.
"Taraghlan. Have your men ventured below Stormveil?"
"No, my Lord. It reeked of dea—"
"Hmmm, await my orders whilst I attend to a few matters. Furthermore, should the tree indeed be an Erdtree sapling, I have much to do," Godrick declared, marching forth with the Great Axe in hand. "But heed my warning: my domain shall not be confined to Limgrave alone. The vastness of the Lands Between shall scarcely quench my thirst. I seek not the company of the feeble."
"To Glory and Eternal Dominion!" Earnan, Forthus, and Gilika saluted, much to the surprise of the rest.
But they soon joined in, their previously sullen countenances blazing with hope.
"To Glory and Eternal Dominion!"
"To Glory and Eternal Dominion!"
Godrick pushed open the massive twin doors with a faint smile dancing on his lips. He had a basement to clear and things to graft.
It was about time he used that skill.
***
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