Karl El lightly nudged the horse's flank, and Night Wind, sensing his intent, took a few steps forward, closing in on the encirclement.
Unlike Bacari, Karl El did not raise his visor. A muffled voice, echoing with metal, emerged from beneath his helmet, clearly reaching the ears of everyone present.
"Bacari? That settles it. I haven't come to the wrong place." Karl El's voice was devoid of emotion.
He paused, as if recalling something. His tone was level but carried an invisible pressure as he continued.
"The warhorses ridden by these knights under my command were purchased from your domain not long ago, at the exorbitant price of twenty-three oren per head."
The moment these words were spoken, Bacari's heart plummeted, as if he had been doused in icy water.
The adversary deliberately mentioned the horses and the price, which, combined with the recent large-scale horse procurement originating from the Terra domain where oren far above market price were paid...
He instantly realized the identity of the golden-armored knight before him.
The one rumored to have gotten incredibly lucky, gaining the King's appreciation and a large sum of prize money in Vizima.
The young lord who recently renamed Badov to Terra: Karl El.
He had originally believed his counterpart was just a lucky fellow who had suddenly become rich, lacking Foundation and military might—a fat sheep he could easily exploit and fleece for a massive profit.
But the dozens of knights standing before him, armed to the teeth and clearly hostile, completely shattered his illusion.
This was—what kind of impoverished noble was this? This was clearly a lion that had hidden its fangs!
This level of armed force was enough to easily flatten his Carias. And realizing that he hadn't just inflated the horse prices—
The Lord of Dorndale, who was even closer to Terra, seemed to have done the exact same thing by hiking up prices.
Bacari felt a wave of icy dread rush from the soles of his feet straight up to his head.
He forced a smile that looked worse than a grimace, and his body, seated on his horse, unconsciously tilted forward, displaying extreme humility.
His tone was practically pleading: "I—I see. It is the distinguished Lord of Terra, Karl El Your Excellency."
He quickly added: "This—this whole matter is absolutely a mistake! A monumental misunderstanding!"
"Because—because horse traders have been scarce recently, and supply has been inadequate, that is why the price of the steeds has—has increased."
"I—I am completely willing to compensate Your Excellency for the extra funds paid for the purchase of those warhorses."
"Double, no! Triple compensation! I only hope Your Excellency can forgive this oversight on my part."
Karl El's words, transmitted through the helmet, were cold and utterly devoid of emotion, making Baron Bacari feel as if he had fallen into an ice cave.
"Triple? Ten times! Not one oren less will suffice."
"Ten—Ten times?! Karl El, isn't this—isn't this a little—too much—"
Bacari gasped in shock, his lips trembling uncontrollably, and the color instantly drained from his face.
His mind raced, and his heart bled. The market price for an ordinary warhorse was typically around ten oren.
Relying on the other party's urgent need and seemingly "foolish wealth," he had forcefully inflated the price to twenty-three oren per head, gaining an exorbitant profit of thirteen oren per horse.
The other party had purchased fifty horses in a single transaction, meaning he had pocketed an extra six hundred and fifty oren.
But now, the opposing side was demanding ten times compensation, which amounted to six thousand five hundred oren—
This was nearly the sum total of his domain's net income for the past decade. This was nothing short of cutting his flesh and draining his blood.
Karl El seemed to see through his internal struggle and stinginess. He sneered and said mockingly, "What? Do you think I'm asking for too little? How about you compensate me thirteen times? That perfectly corresponds to the thirteen oren you overcharged."
"Eight thousand four hundred and fifty oren. That number sounds much neater."
"No! No! No!" Bacari was terrified out of his wits. He quickly waved his hands, his voice cracking.
"Karl El Your Excellency! Ten times it is! Six thousand five hundred oren! I—I am willing to pay you that!"
He practically wept as he shouted this, but immediately showed a look of distress, attempting to stall: "But—
Your Excellency, as you know, this is such a large sum of money."
"I—I'm afraid I truly cannot produce it in the short term—could you grant me a few days' grace?"
He attempted to use delaying tactics, hoping time might soften the situation or allow him to find some room to maneuver.
However, Karl El was having none of it; he didn't even bother to reply.
He simply turned his head slightly and nodded to Dalton beside him.
Dalton understood the signal. He raised his arm and waved toward the supply train responsible for transporting provisions and baggage, located to the side and rear of the main formation.
Immediately, a Blood Angels stepped quickly out of the formation, carrying a wooden tray.
On the tray were conspicuously placed a quill pen, a roll of good quality parchment, and a small box of bright red sealing wax.
Seeing these three items presented to him, Bacari's face turned utterly green.
The adversary was clearly prepared and had no intention of trusting any of his verbal promises.
They had even prepared the tools for the IOU in advance, intending for him to commit this massive compensation to paper, in black and white.
Dalton was expressionless, urging him in a businesslike, official tone: "I must ask, Bacari Your Excellency, to write clearly on this parchment the reason for the debt, the specific amount owed, and the repayment deadline."
"Then, sign your name, and press your seal or handprint above the signature."
Bacari stared at the tray, his heart roaring and bleeding internally.
But after glancing at the dozens of knights surrounding him, their silent yet crushing pressure utterly destroyed any lingering hope or thought of resistance.
He knew very well that the other party was still willing to use the honorific "Your Excellency," maintaining the superficial noble etiquette, which was already a great concession.
If he failed to cooperate, what awaited him would certainly not be a pleasant outcome.
The best-case scenario would be to be beaten and disarmed.
Then, to be forcibly made to sign the IOU like a head of cattle, which would be a hundred times more humiliating than the current situation.
And the worst-case scenario—he dared not contemplate it—was that the other party might not care about the money at all and simply execute all five of them on the spot.
Disguised as having encountered bandits or Kaedwen scouts during this sensitive period of rushing to the border, who would dare to investigate?
Therefore, Bacari, wearing a twisted smile that looked worse than crying, said in a dry, strained voice, "As—as it should be, as it should be—"
He shakily dismounted his horse, nearly collapsing because his legs were weak, but was thankfully supported by the attendant behind him.
He accepted the tray, his fingers trembling as he picked up the quill pen, dipped it in ink, and began writing on the unfurled parchment according to Dalton's demands.
He wrote extremely slowly; every single character felt heavy as a thousand pounds—it was like tearing flesh from his own heart.
But he was ultimately a sensible noble. When writing the "Reason for Debt,"
He hesitated for a moment and did not write that the compensation was due to maliciously inflated horse prices.
Instead, he wrote that due to a shortage of investment for operating his ventures, he was borrowing six thousand five hundred oren from the Lord of Terra, Karl El.
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