In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

"Enough!" someone finally exclaimed. "If we delay any longer, the reinforcements from the Holy Radiant Kingdom will arrive, and our share will diminish. We must decide before then."

The noisy nobles fell silent. The logic was undeniable.

"What should we do, then?" one asked.

Baron Crassus stepped in with an answer.

"Let's first establish the distribution ratios. Once we secure what we're owed, we can reassess contributions after the campaign ends. Then we'll have time for proper discussions. What do you think?"

No one objected.

Having gained unanimous agreement, Baron Crassus exchanged a knowing glance with Michael. As expected, the plan was proceeding smoothly.

"Then let's appoint five representatives to negotiate with Count Charles and finalize the distribution ratios," Baron Crassus declared.

From this point, the representatives would be chosen based on their influence and abilities.

The five representatives were chosen based on the remaining strength of their forces, and naturally, Baron Crassus was among them. Clearing his throat, he offered a suggestion.

"Count Charles is a cunning man, capable of anything. Why not bring a squire with each of us?"

Being accustomed to having attendants, the other representatives agreed. For Baron Crassus, the "squire" he brought along was, unsurprisingly, Michael.

The idea of bringing a knight as a squire was absurd, but no one objected. Meanwhile, the other representatives began quietly looking for clever and perceptive aides to bring with them.

"Good luck to us all," someone remarked. "We must elevate the banner of our alliance."

Now that they had survived the battle, rewards were inevitable. Even if some of them perished, their heirs would inherit the glory. With Count Charles's missteps so evident, they were confident they could extract significant concessions.

After dinner, Michael and Baron Crassus endured waves of flattery from other nobles.

Exaggerating only slightly, Michael estimated that a third of the nobles present had some familial connection to the Crassus family. Now, these connections swarmed them, seeking favors or scraps of advantage.

It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. As long as their own interests weren't compromised, having mutual support from allies could be beneficial—not only in negotiating the spoils but also for future campaigns. The tight-knit noble society might be treacherous at times, but outright betrayal was rare.

As Michael left Baron Kensington's tent, he noticed smoke rising beyond the fortress.

It was from the cremation of corpses to prevent their use by necromancers.

"What a waste!" Michael thought, an idea striking him.

He quickly returned to his camp and summoned his squires, along with the serf-soldiers and "lost" soldiers from other domains. Handing them each a sack, he led them out of the fortress.

Fortunately, many of the corpses had only been partially burned. Michael urged his men to strip the bodies of usable clothes and gather their weapons.

Most of the bodies were those of soldiers, so the haul wasn't particularly valuable. But for the poorly equipped serf-soldiers and "lost" troops, the salvaged items were a godsend.

While the regular troops of Crassus Barony had standard uniforms and supplies, the serf-soldiers had little more than rags. The retrieved leather armor, sturdy clothing, weapons, and other items were a windfall for them.

The men eagerly filled their sacks, showing no guilt. These were ownerless goods that would have been incinerated. If not for Michael's quick thinking, they would have missed this unearned fortune.

Recycling was a necessity in times of scarcity.

Inspired by Michael's example, other nobles cautiously followed suit, sending their own men to scavenge from the cremation piles. By the time Michael returned to the fortress, however, he had already claimed the best items.

The haul included armor and weapons, though most bore the insignias of other houses. While they couldn't be used as-is, they could be reworked in the forge back home.

Equipping the serf-soldiers with proper gear was another victory. Even a few horse carcasses had been salvaged, which would provide much-needed meat for the soldiers' meals.

Back at camp, the men eagerly poured out their loot, each looking for gear that fit them. Weapons went to whoever claimed them first, while clothing was swapped among the men until everyone was outfitted.

Some lucky soldiers now boasted leather armor and steel weapons, cutting impressive figures.

Fights broke out over the best items, with the strongest soldiers inevitably claiming the most valuable gear. Michael didn't intervene—better that the strongest were the best armed. Giving premium equipment to weaklings would only serve the enemy.

Leaving his men to their merriment, Michael reflected on the day's battle.

It had been his first combat experience, and despite the challenges, he had achieved significant results. He was confident of securing a large share of the spoils.

Now, his focus was on achieving even greater feats—a goal he believed was well within his reach.

Meanwhile, Count Charles was nearly at his wits' end.

The onslaught of nobles, whom he likened to a swarm of gnats, left him wanting to cry.

His losses were staggering. Three of his knights had been killed, falling from their horses and being torn apart by fanatics.

Despite this, his achievements were meager—only one enemy commander slain.

The nobles' earlier reactions made it clear they deeply resented him. Even the court count had scolded him for his delayed response to the reinforcements.

"How could I have known things would turn out like this?" Count Charles thought, frustrated.

Mistakes had piled up, growing into an uncontrollable snowball. He was certain he would lose significant power and influence over this debacle. If he failed to satisfy the nobles, he risked losing his position as the leading noble of the northeastern region.

"Bring the representatives to my tent," he ordered.

Better to face the consequences sooner rather than later.

Despite the bruises to his pride and reputation, Count Charles resolved to recover. He believed in the resilience of his family and its legacy.

Having cleaned himself up and straightened his attire, he welcomed the representatives. Most of them bore visible signs of loss, except for Baron Crassus, whose success was evident.

As they exchanged glances, many nobles couldn't help but recall that Michael was still unmarried. Their predatory stares made Michael shiver uncomfortably.