met free Chapter 35 Mercenaries
Chapter 35 Mercenaries
The atmosphere immediately quieted down.
If it's the first scenario, then these elders can naturally get a share of the pie. They'll essentially rise to the top in one step, just like in Westeros, becoming local landowners and transforming into knights of Jules!
This meant a complete end to their nomadic lifestyle. However, their brotherly cooperative relationship with Jules would be transformed into a clear and insurmountable lord-vassal relationship.
If it's the latter... that's fine too, the brotherhood remains. Everyone is still "brothers," the estate is a shared property of the legion, and the brothers simply have an additional stable foundation. In this case, the benefits that individuals can share will inevitably be limited, more like working for the legion, far less enjoyable than being their own lord.
The problem with the latter is that, ultimately, this isn't their own land. It's the legion's public property, and they can only get a limited share, let alone any ownership or inheritance rights.
The question posed by "Red-haired" Calvin was like a cold dagger, precisely piercing the core of everyone's tacit understanding, yet one that no one dared to easily touch.
The mercenaries, who had been restless just moments before over women, land, and ships, now held their breath, all their eyes—filled with longing, worry, and calculation—focused on Le.
As soon as Calvin finished speaking, the clinking of gold coins and the sight of a woman's waist seemed to become very distant in the hearts of these mercenaries, replaced by a more fundamental tension concerning the future.
If it were the private fief of the commander Jules Maud, they would receive land and people that could be passed down through generations, but from then on they would become true superiors and subordinates to their leader.
But that doesn't seem to make much difference. Where are you going to find a leader like Jules?
Or is it that we still have to live a life of constant danger, except that with a stable income, we won't have to go out and beg for work when there's no other option?
Vito opened his mouth, wanting to scold Calvin for being so talkative, but he swallowed the words back.
Because just as he was about to reprimand him, he realized that he was actually waiting for this answer himself.
He even glanced at Tiberius unconsciously and found that the boy was also staring intently at his uncle.
[Uncle, what will your choice be?] Tiberius wondered to himself.
The choice was to make these private soldiers of the White Legion completely become knights of "The Keeper of Faith" Jules Maud.
Or is the goal to turn the White Army into a company where everyone is just an employee?
Jules showed no sign of offense. He had expected this question. He slowly stood up, not answering immediately, but walking to the center of the tent, his gaze slowly sweeping over each familiar face, now filled with expectation.
Jules tapped his fingers on the scabbard without saying a word, his gaze sweeping over the twenty-odd people in front of him. These were all his trusted men, either centurions of the White Legion or veterans who commanded the assault knights.
In short, these people are the pillars and backbone of the White Army. Without them, the "Guardians of Faith" White Army would truly be back to square one.
The silence lasted for the duration of a few heartbeats, enough for unease to spread in the air.
"Alright, boss, since you won't say it, I'll say it first!" Calvin couldn't hold back any longer and came out with a desperate stance.
Calvin glanced around at the mercenaries, all of whom were his old friends. However, under the torchlight, their eyes avoided his gaze, but where Calvin couldn't see, their eyes held more gratitude for him.
I'm grateful that he spoke out everyone's true thoughts.
[Remember the fastest online novel website: 1 ...
"If you ask me, this place naturally belongs to you, Boss. After all, your name is on the contract, and this case was solved by Boss Tippill. Without the Bloodwave Cape operation, who knows how long it would have taken us to save up enough money to build such a large property! Without you, Boss, where would we have gotten such a large sum of money?"
"The land is naturally yours. You can give it to whomever you want, after all, the land deed is in your name!" Calvin said sincerely.
"The business, brothers, we really don't want it. We know we're not cut out for it; besides, the boss always eats the scraps and drinks with us bastards, cleans up our messes, and mends our broken baskets. This money-making hen, if anyone dares to ask for it, don't blame me for being heartless, I'll chop off their head and use it as a chamber pot tonight!"
At this point, Calvin placed his hand on his sword, his eyes sharply fixed on his brothers below.
Calvin's voice then gradually lowered, almost to the point of murmuring.
"But boss...we old brothers have been following you through thick and thin for so many years, and we all want a piece of land to pass down to our families, a stable home."
"Boss, what we do looks glamorous on the surface, but only we know the hardships: today we're drinking and eating meat with women in a brothel, tomorrow we might be feeding stray dogs! We...we also want a piece of land! Boss, a mercenary is a mercenary until the very end!"
"We've sold our blood half our lives, and who knows, in the end we might not even have a proper burial plot to pay for! If the land is yours, at least our worthless bones will have a place to rest, and our brothers will have something to remember us by! But if we go through official channels, what if the White Legion's name is gone one day, or they change leaders? Our bones will probably all be dug up and thrown into the stinking ditch!"
"I'm not good with words, and I know I'm just spouting nonsense here. But... but the brothers are thinking, could we... could we also benefit from your generosity and get a small piece of land, so the brothers have something to look forward to?"
He finally couldn't hold back and spoke his true feelings.
"Red-haired devil!" Before Le could even speak, Old Tom immediately cursed.
"What are you yelling about? Huh?! The boss hasn't given the order, and you're spouting this bullshit! Have you eaten too much horse manure and got it stuck in your head?"
Old Tom turned around, looking at the twenty or so old buddies with eyes like a fierce wolf, his hands clenched tightly, his whole body trembling, as if he were ready to punch one of the bastards who jumped out at any moment.
"The brothers should know how the boss treats us: he's never given us lead-filled, cheap, worthless silver coins; his compensation and bonuses have never been withheld; and sometimes when you were captured, the boss would hire those bloodsuckers to pay exorbitant interest rates to ransom you from the enemy!"
"Calvin, I'm asking you a question! Tell me, who ransomed you when that foreigner Tyrosy captured you? It was the boss! Otherwise, you'd be reporting to the underworld and working for that skull-headed stranger by now!"
"Vito, what are you doing standing there like that, all droopy? If you weren't the boss, you would have been chopped into twenty-seven or twenty-eight pieces by the Iron Men and thrown into the sea to meet the damn Drowning God!"
"Silver Hammer" Halwin, what are you muttering about again? Damn it, the boss paid for your mother's coffin! And now you're grumbling about it behind her back?"
"Leon, you 'henchman,' don't you dare give me that nasty look! I get angry just looking at you! Back when the semi-solid gold coin was involved, you were the one barking the loudest! Wasn't your riding skill taught by the boss? Back in the Meereen gladiatorial arena, who redeemed your brother? And you mercenaries who fought to the death, you guys..." However, his voice gradually turned into a muttering.
Because he knew that Calvin was telling the truth.
A mercenary who works until death is still just a mercenary; Calvin was speaking of the bloody reality.
Those in their line of work consider it a good end if they die on the battlefield; most end up dead in the wilderness or crippled and begging for a living, where living is worse than dying.
A piece of land that can be passed down, a stable and respectable status as a propertied person—these are dreams that every person who lives on the edge of a knife dares not easily touch, yet yearns for with all their heart.