British hegemon

Chapter 118 Last Words

An eerie tension permeated the entire Brodick area.

The once bustling town street was deserted; the blacksmith shops, tailor shops, woodworking workshops, bakeries, and taverns were all empty.

Leatherworks and pottery shops all closed down, and even the Moulin Rouge was shut down.

A squad of castle guards armed with spears patrolled the streets, and any townspeople who ventured out were immediately herded back inside.

Roger's group crossed the main street in the center of the town. At the central intersection, a one-armed sheriff, wearing a cotton armor with empty sleeves hanging down, stood. Roger wanted to go up and greet him, but the usually warm-hearted one-armed sheriff simply nodded and turned to continue performing his duties.

Brodick Castle's gates were tightly shut, and every few steps on the castle walls stood a soldier in full armor, carrying a spear and wearing a half-helmet.

"What's wrong with me today? This feeling is really... really..." Bald Neil, walking in the group, tried his best to express his strange feelings at the moment. After running out of words, he could only wrap his brand new robe around himself.

This robe was just made for the soldiers by Campbell Textile Factory; it's fairly warm, but a bit too big.

"My lord, this tastes wrong. It's not what a lord should taste like after his death. Are you sure you want to go in?" As they approached the castle gate, Olaf instinctively became alert, his hand involuntarily reaching for the hilt of his sword.

Roger remained silent, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings of the castle.

When the group arrived at the castle gate, the gate slowly opened, and two soldiers holding spears came out.

"Sir Roger, the orders are that you can visit the Baron alone," a soldier said.

This is clearly not right. How could Roger have gone in alone? He scoffed, "Up there? Which up? You mean God?"

As he spoke, he lightly kicked the horse's belly and stepped into the doorway.

The soldier blocked the horse's head, pleading, "Sir Roger, please don't make things difficult for me, I'm just a lowly guard."

Roger ignored him and continued riding forward. The soldier actually grabbed the reins of the black mare. "Sir Roger, please don't make things difficult for me. They will kill me."

Roger was enraged. "They can kill you, I can make you wish you were dead. Get out of my way!" With that, he yanked on the reins, and the horse reared up, throwing the soldier off balance.

Two more soldiers emerged from the fortress gate, their spears already slightly tilted forward.

Roger's men were no pushovers either; they immediately stepped forward to control the outside of the fortress gate, surrounding several soldiers in the doorway.

"I entered the castle on the Baron's orders, and you have repeatedly obstructed me. Aren't you afraid I will kill you for disobeying military orders?" This is outrageous! Roger has already decided to kill.

The soldiers who tried to stop them hesitated, neither daring to stop them nor letting them go.

At this moment, a Baron's inner court knight, clad in fine chainmail and with a longsword at his waist, descended from the castle wall and bowed to Roger. "Sir Roger, the Baron did indeed only order the lords and gentry of the island to come and obey orders. You—"

Roger had a good impression of this Inner Court Knight, and after witnessing his performance in the tournament, he even befriended him.

"Sir Liam, if you insist on stopping me, I can turn back. Also, I must explain to you that those behind me are all gentry from Milkhouse Manor who own land and property, and their identities are already recorded in the Baron's register of persons."

The Knight of the Inner Court was in low spirits today. He should have been by John's side protecting him, but instead he hid in the castle.

"Open the door." The Inner Palace knights did not continue to press the issue of the identities of Marne, Olaf, and the others. At this moment, several more gentry from the islands arrived one after another.

Several soldiers made way for Roger, who then dismounted and led his horse through the castle gate.

Upon entering, Roger saw no sign of the castle officials and servants who were usually bustling about. Apart from the soldiers under the baron's command, he only saw seven or eight unfamiliar warriors standing outside the bakery in the courtyard, chewing bread and holding wine glasses.

They were dressed in various armors, with swords, hammers, and axes hanging from their waists. The scars on their faces and their ugly appearances showed that they were no benevolent people.

"They are the Baroness's family, servants of McDougall," Marne recognized the insignia on the warriors' armor and identified them.

The fact that a group of ruthless warriors from the Baroness's family had arrived made Roger even more wary.

"Marne, Blackie, come inside with me. Olaf and the others stay outside and guard the retreat route." Roger pretended to turn around and look around, then quietly gave the order to Marne and Olaf beside him.

Mann stayed with Roger, dragging the black dog Sigurd along, while Olaf casually told the rest of the group to rest and wait, while giving Donald and Connor a meaningful look.

The training they had been doing recently had proven effective. Donald and Connor each instructed their soldiers to stand or lean near the castle gate and the mansion gate, keeping their positions neither too close nor too far apart, so that they could both disperse and provide mutual support.

Meanwhile, the baron's soldiers and the foreign warriors inside the castle kept a close eye on Olaf and his group.

While Olaf was setting up the outer defenses, Roger, along with Marne and the black dog Sigurd, had already gone up the stone spiral staircase of the Baron's mansion to the second floor, led by a servant. There were also armed soldiers guarding both sides of the staircase.

Upon arriving here, Roger and Marne unloaded their weapons and handed them to Blackie, asking him to wait there.

The two exchanged a glance, walked about ten steps down the corridor, and entered a spacious bedroom.

There were already quite a few people in the bedroom—the Baroness, John the White-faced and his wife, the Baroness's brother, Father Matthew and his two assistants, a group of officials from the Baron's castle, and several lords and gentry from the surrounding Brodick area.

A faint, intermittent sound could be heard.

The fat priest and his two assistants were drawing blood from Baron John's right arm with a hollow needle, while the Baroness sat on the bed wiping the sweat from Baron John's forehead.

The young clerk held up the parchment on the wooden board and recorded Baron John's last words. The parchment was already densely covered with characters.

Seeing Roger enter the bedroom, Baron John tried to get up but had no strength left, so he could only lie half-reclined.

"Uncle, I was training the soldiers when I heard the bad news and rushed over." Roger stepped forward half a step to the foot of the bed to bow, giving himself an excuse for storming into the baron's castle fully armed.

Baron John raised his left hand and gently beckoned Roger closer.

"Good heavens, we...we may have misjudged you before..." Baron John suppressed a cough, raised his hand to cover his mouth, and continued, "Your father and brothers are dead in battle, and I am nearing my end as well."

Baron John coughed violently again, causing the veins on his face to bulge.

The baroness, who was sitting beside him wiping away tears, tried to stop the baron from continuing, but Baron John waved his hand to indicate that he should not interrupt.

"Campbell of Arran Island~ Now it's just the three of you left. Louis is still young, you have to do your best to assist John~"

Baron John had said quite a bit, and by this time his forehead was covered in sweat, and his face was growing paler. He took a deep breath and said to the young clerk who was taking notes by the bedside, "I appoint Roger Campbell as the First Deputy Commander of the Army of Arron Island. He will be by the side of the new Baron John, just like his father."

Baron John took a breath and continued, "At the same time, Roger Campbell will take over my trade in Glasgow, and he will trade with Glasgow merchants on behalf of the Campbell family of Aran Island."

Having said all this, Baron John turned back to Roger. "I want you to swear an oath to the saints that you will defend the honor and interests of the Campbell family to the death, uphold the duties of a vassal, and wholeheartedly help your brother John rule the Isle of Arron."

Roger was somewhat bewildered. It turned out that all the promises of official titles and commercial privileges were ultimately aimed at preventing Roger from rebelling during the transition between the old and new rulers and the period of political instability.

This plot is so melodramatic.

"Sir Roger Campbell, are you willing to swear an oath to the saints?" Baron John's voice suddenly turned stern, and he couldn't help but cough violently again, which took him a long time to calm down this time.

Roger looked up and glanced around; everyone was staring at him.

How could I refuse in this situation? After a moment's hesitation, I immediately took a few steps forward.

Everyone in the bedroom was startled, and John's uncle stepped forward to protect him.

Roger knelt on one knee and declared loudly, "In the name of St. Andrew, I, Roger Campbell, swear to defend the honor and interests of the Campbell family to the death."

This time, everyone was surprised again; Roger had really changed his ways.

Even the Baroness, who had always looked down on Roger, couldn't help but glance at him a couple more times.

At this moment, Baron John seemed to have taken a reassurance, composed himself, and gestured to the clerk to hand over the parchment.

Baron John, leaning forward, trembling with a quill pen in his left hand, drew his final signature on the parchment covered with characters.

Having done all this, Baron John was exhausted. He closed his eyes and stopped speaking. His energy was gradually draining away with the hollow needle. Only the increasingly weak rise and fall of his chest proved that his soul still lingered in that pale body.

The fat priest's clothes were already soaked with sweat. Looking at the half-full jar of blood in the silver pot, he knew he couldn't continue bleeding. He slowly straightened up, his obese body swaying, and shook his head. "Madam and Young Master John, please stay. Everyone else, please leave. We should offer our final prayers for the Baron."

The fat priest looked utterly helpless, his sorrow stemming from the depths of his heart.

Roger followed the others out of the bedroom and waited in the corridor. Soon he heard Father Matthew praying.

Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven, and deliver us from evil. For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours forever…

About half an hour later, the Baroness's wailing echoed from the bedroom...