"Our food is spoiling—it's all your fault," Nimrod accused him, intruding into his tent early in the morning. "We need salt. Why didn't you order your peddlers to bring some?"
Konrad groaned, still drowsy with sleep.
For the last few days, it felt like he was dealing with a wayward son, rather than a twin.
"So in one week, you went from starving to having too much food? Mhm, you're welcome," he mumbled, trying to get up. At least his morning wood was no longer a problem.
Being a hormonal teen with all those beautiful girls pestering him—
No, focus. His body might've been the same age as Nimrod's. But since his mind had an extra fifty years to mature, he had to control his urges.
"Eat the food first that'd otherwise spoil," Konrad yawned.
Formulating plans was his specialty—and these days, that was all he did.
"That's not enough. Even with the Black River tribe refugees, half the meat will go bad in two days." It felt like Nimrod was only adept at bringing him more problems to solve.
As much as he wanted to learn new spells instead, being on his council ate up all his time.
Which reminded him—
"Don't you know ice magic?" He scratched his head before pulling on his clothes. "Although in two days we could throw a feast to celebrate our raid—and it's actually on a salt mine, anyway."
He didn't want to jinx it—it wasn't his plan—but Vargas knew what he was doing.
Konrad put him in charge of military planning the moment he arrived.
Not that he trusted him. When even Lily was on his suspect list, the captain was somewhere at the very top. Or bottom, depending on how he looked at it.
But he was still more useful than his idiotic twin.
"I can't mock the spirits by wasting their spells like that," he scoffed. "And what is there to celebrate in stealing from the Church? That's the lowliest task for my warriors I can imagine."
Konrad couldn't help but laugh.
"Because wasting their lives on nonsensical attacks is much better." He would never miss a chance to rub the Halaima disaster in his brother's face. "And you talk about former bandits."
"You're still on about that? I had to do something about the Inquisitor."
"That doesn't mean you had to make things worse," he noted. "And I also doubt the spirits would allow food to go to waste when you let your people starve for weeks."
Nimrod puffed his cheeks like a pouting kid, missing his chance to respond.
In Konrad's book, he was no more than a bully, so he deserved a taste of his medicine.
"Someone as powerful as you should take better care of their men," he pointed out. "It's not all about brawling and being the strongest. They rely on you—disappoint, and they'll leave."
Tribesmen would've deserted after the Halaima blunder if he hadn't taken over logistics.
The way Nimrod treated them—while claiming he was fighting for their honor—was abysmal.
How the Council could elect someone like him was still beyond Konrad's understanding.
"All you did was cheer the men up, and now you think you're better than me?"
Ugh, yes, he was definitely pouting.
"I beat you in a duel, in case you forgot." Well, it was a tie, but considering their huge gap in experience, he could beat his twin now. "And morale is the most important thing in an army."
At least according to Vargas, and in that regard, Konrad's troop rotation was a huge success.
It had many skeptics early on, but the warriors' mood convinced even the elders. This must have been oil on the fire of Nimrod's jealousy—so he made a big deal out of everything.
"You can't say you helped when you create more problems than you solve," he yelled.
What a ridiculous claim. Konrad grinned, making his twin puff his chest and storm out like a kid—bumping into Eyna on his way.
"I'm sorry, Master, a salt caravan left only yesterday, and I didn't think of trading with them."
She wrung her hands, still sleepy-looking, and Konrad gave Nimrod a side eye.
"So I wasn't your first pick to bother this early in the morning," he scoffed.
He couldn't decide if he was mad about it or glad that he got an extra few minutes of sleep.
"It's fine, we didn't expect such an influx of fresh meat," Konrad said, patting her head. The girl preened like a purple-eyed puppy. "Besides, we're about to raid a salt mine, remember?"
"T-the 'problem' is that the tribesmen are such excellent hunters," she explained.
An odd way to put it, but it was true.
In the two days they have spent in their villages, they'd solve their food shortages by themselves. They even brought back so much meat that it was now about to spoil.
Nimrod stopped, spinning around to point a finger at him.
"That raid was a secret, you—traitor." The pause indicated that he at least tried to think about a proper insult. The irony was that he said the same to Vargas when he arrived.
The one who made the plans.
"She did more for the tribes than you," Konrad smirked. "If anyone, we should keep things a secret from you instead. Otherwise, you might ruin everything."
"I'm still the leader here," Nimrod's voice pitched up, his words sounding hollow.
"And I'm still the legitimate heir to Halaima and the lands surrounding it," Konrad said with a shrug. "You know, the future home of all these tribesmen once I take everything back."
"A home that the Church holds, and you want my soldiers to take it for you."
"Well, not exactly." The tribesmen were all naturals with the bow and adept in stealth—but they were no soldiers. "I'm helping them survive and fight the Inquisitor, unlike you."
They wouldn't have been great material, anyway.
It took him one exercise to realize what Nimrod refused to accept for months.
"These people never heard of a shield wall or figured out how to fight in formations," Konrad noted. "The one thing you expected from them is what they're the worst at, so I won't force it."
Unless it was an honorable duel, they were hopeless in a melee.
Against armored enemies who knew what they were doing, the tribesmen didn't stand a chance. They were perfect scouts, ambushers, but unsuitable for assaulting fortified positions.
"Not everyone is born an expert," Nimrod pouted again. If only he had realized that earlier—
"And this is why I invited Vargas," he pointed out. "So that we can leverage their strengths, rather than having them massacred. And over time, they can learn what they lack now."
"When?" his twin asked. "How long do you want to treat them as bandits and force them to rob back what was ours? You talk about morale, but this is humiliating."
Nimrod must've thought he had to do everything by himself, that he was capable of doing so.
That he was never wrong—that his will was enough to reshape reality.
He was arrogant and young, way too powerful for his own good.
But in the end, he wasn't evil. He only lacked the means to do the right thing.
"The king'll come to investigate by the end of the month," Konrad said, determined to bring him back to the right path. "By that time, we'll be marching on Halaima. And that's a promise."