Weakest Beast Tamer Gets All SSS Dragons

The 3 were tamers he recognized. Old members of the Goldcrest faction who’d maintained a low profile during the last open confrontation.

He knew their names… Knew their capabilities.

All carried confident postures suggesting they didn’t feel particularly threatened by Selphira and Arturo’s presence, arrogance that was unsettling considering the power disparity that should have been obvious in the mana.

Either they were idiots, possible but unlikely given their survival to this point, or they knew something that justified the confidence.

Arturo suspected the latter. Which meant the trap was deeper than just numerical advantage.

The trio’s leader, a man of approximately 50 years with hair beginning to show gray at his temples, spoke first.

“Lord Arturo. Matriarch Selphira.” The greeting was formal. Almost exaggerated in its courtesy. “We’re pleased you’ve accepted our invitation to discuss the terms for Victor’s release. Lord Orion awaits you inside the ruin where the situation can be explained appropriately.”

It was an invitation that was obviously a badly disguised trap.

Entering the Goldcrest ruin where Orion controlled the terrain and with an army at his back was exactly the type of tactical error a competent instructor would warn against in any basic military strategy course.

But simultaneously it was the only way to verify if Victor genuinely was being held there and in what condition, information they needed before they could formulate an appropriate rescue plan.

If they didn’t enter, they couldn’t verify Victor’s status or assess the actual threat level. If they did enter, they walked into an obvious trap with eyes open.

Sometimes there were no good options. Only less bad ones.

Selphira exchanged brief look with Arturo.

Do we eliminate them all before entering?

Not spoken aloud. Not even transmitted through bond with beasts. Just expression and timing that conveyed complete thought through minimal gesture.

Arturo considered it.

The army wasn’t small. It would take considerable time and energy to defeat them completely. Maybe longer if the Golds were competent at tactical retreats and regrouping.

And they seemed to be part of the wall defense around the zone that wasn’t in its proper place for this reason.

4000-5000 people pulled from the defensive perimeter meant 40,000-50,000 meters of wall inadequately guarded. Maybe more if these troops had been spread across multiple sections.

That was an invitation for a mutant attack. The creatures didn’t think tactically, but they seemed to sense weakness. Detecting gaps in defense through mechanisms nobody quite understood.

And a mutant attack after this operation would be a disaster for common citizens of the city.

Not the nobles or the military… The ordinary people who couldn’t defend themselves. The farmers, workers, merchants and craftsmen who’d done nothing wrong except live near a territory that happened to be of strategically valuable to these rotten nobles.

Killing this army might save Victor. But it might also doom thousands of civilians who’d done nothing to deserve it.

Arturo felt the weight of that calculation settle in his chest like lead.

This was the cost of leadership. Like going against the reason he worked until exhaustion managing logistics, coordinating defenses and dealing with nobles who made everything more difficult than it needed to be.

Because when you made decisions at this level, people died based on what you chose. Not enemies, not criminals, nor people who’d wronged you.

Just people…

Still Victor was family… ‘Family came first right?’

But thousands of civilians were also his responsibility. Their safety was his duty.

Two imperatives in direct conflict. No solution that satisfied both.

♢♢♢♢

The trio’s leader was a Goldcrest who hadn’t participated in the past war, a distant cousin from the main line who’d maintained a relatively low profile for years.

Not a coward or incompetent… Just politically astute enough to recognize when battles were not profitable enough and to position himself accordingly. The kind of person who survived regime changes by never being quite important enough to purge but always being useful enough to keep around.

Arturo knew the type… Had dealt with dozens of them over the years. They were reliable when winning. Flexible when losing and always, always positioned to benefit regardless of which side ultimately prevailed.

The two tamers accompanying him were a woman in her 40s with an expression attempting to seem friendly but not quite reaching her eyes, and a younger man of perhaps 35 with military posture suggesting extensive formal training.

The woman was familiar too…

Minor noble from a family that had lost most of its influence around 10 years ago. She’d been rebuilding connections ever since, attaching herself to whichever faction seemed likely to restore her family’s status.

The younger man was unknown. No family markers Arturo recognized. No distinctive features that marked him as a member of an established bloodline. Which meant either he was genuinely talented enough to reach Gold rank without too many family resources, or he’d been adopted by someone who wanted capable hands without complicated loyalties.

Probably the latter, given the company he kept.

“Lord Arturo. Matriarch Selphira,” the leader repeated with exaggerated formality making each word sound like it was being carefully weighed before pronunciation.

His accent was interesting. Not quite the crisp pronunciation of central Yano nobles. Not quite the rougher speech of border families. Something in between that suggested education received in multiple locations, adaptation to whatever dialect his current audience preferred.

“We would be enormously pleased if you’d accept our invitation to discuss civilized terms. As you can see, we’ve prepared appropriate forces to ensure this encounter proceeds with… shall we say, guaranteed mutual security.”

He gestured toward the army deployed behind him with movement intended to intimidate through demonstration of numbers.

4000 people minimum. Maybe 5000. Spread across the terrain in formations that were loose enough to avoid appearing threatening but tight enough to respond quickly if orders came.

“Let’s not keep Lord Orion waiting, he expects you inside the ruin where the situation can be explained with appropriate privacy, away from curious ears that might misinterpret the delicate nature of the negotiations we must conduct.”

It was the same insistent invitation that couldn’t have been more obviously a trap if they’d hung a sign saying “DANGER: AMBUSH AHEAD” over the entrance.