There are six or seven banquet halls in Kostanyn.
Usually, Ellie Miller dines in the small dining room on the third floor of the south side, but today she was invited to the second floor of the north side where the Duke resides.
The entire banquet hall was illuminated by Magic Lamps, with the long banquet table adorned with blooming flowers.
Menservants in black tailcoats stood on either side of the banquet table.
One servant respectfully stepped forward to pull out a chair for Ellie Miller.
Just as she sat down, the tall, handsome Duke entered.
Artor Coldcrest wore a deep red velvet cloak draped askew and a sapphire blue sash decorated with gem-encrusted medals.
He possessed the utmost beauty and the irresistible charm that captivated women, all attributes of the Duke of Coldcrest.
This was the first time Ellie Miller was dining with the Duke of Coldcrest since their marriage.
The servants began serving the dishes.
The appetizers were a variety of cold dishes, including cold sausages, some salad, and some sweet and sour pickles.
The Duke, seated at the other end of the long table, waved his hand, and all the servants in the banquet hall respectfully withdrew.
"I need you to provide that kind of red potion. What are your conditions?"
The food from the Duke's side was significantly better than that of the south side; Ellie Miller had grown sick of the grilled meat and smoked meat over the past few days.
At this moment, she picked up a piece of cold sausage with a fork, the sausage was mixed with chopped spices and served with a tomato onion sauce, smelling very nice.
She curiously stuffed a small piece into her mouth, chewing like a hamster.
Artor Coldcrest rested his chin on one hand, quietly watching her chew and swallow the entire plate of cold sausages.
"Those conditions... I've thought of three so far, can you agree to them?" Elegantly wiping her mouth with a napkin, Ellie Miller fearlessly met Artor Coldcrest's gaze after regaining the initiative.
Not hiding her intent to add insult to injury, Ellie Miller arrogantly smiled sweetly at her "Duke husband" opposite her, "Darling, don't you think that's a bit much?"
The Duke of Coldcrest lifted a goblet, swirling the deep red wine inside, "Let's hear it, darling."
"First, I want a divorce."
The Duke paused, spilling red wine onto the embroidered tablecloth, leaving star-like spots.
"No."
Ellie Miller shrugged and began to focus on the Ronanzo Salad in front of her. This culinary creation is the innovative dish of a noble from the Fernan Empire, named after himself.
Artor Coldcrest watched Ellie Miller lower her head and finish a small plate of salad. His slender fingers casually tapped the table.
"You know the Radiant See does not permit nobles, especially great nobles, to divorce."
Ellie Miller secretly curled her lips, "If you'd said this earlier, I'd believe you."
The Duke of Coldcrest dared to brazenly imprison members of The Holy Court in the dungeon.
To say he doesn't dare to divorce, even a dog wouldn't believe it!
Artor Coldcrest watched her for a moment, then slowly said, "But I at least need a year. After a year, we'll divorce."
Ellie Miller couldn't help but haggle, "Three months."
Artor Coldcrest said expressionlessly, "Then there'll be no divorce."
The tone of Ellie Miller changed, "I think a year is perfectly fine!"
Artor Coldcrest: "..."
He picked up the Shaking Bell, signaling the servants to serve the next dish, "Second condition."
Soon, the servants served today's soup, Suik Cream Soup.
Ellie Miller said, "I need a piece of territory as my residence after the divorce. Hey, just to be clear, you give me a piece of land, I want to be a Lord."
The secrets she carried were too important, and it's always unsafe to remain on someone else's land, and inconvenient to rely on others. Thinking carefully, establishing her own estate was the safest and most reliable option.
This time the Duke agreed exceptionally quickly, "I can do that, but I also have an attached condition."
"Your territory cannot be too far from Kostanyn."
Ellie Miller widened her eyes in displeasure, "Why?"
The Duke raised his eyelids, glancing at the stunning woman in front of him, "Do you want to be assassinated daily by The Holy Court and the Potion Brewers' Association?"
Ellie Miller immediately nodded, "I think you're right, but distance creates beauty—not too far, not too close. Then I'll build a Magic Teleportation Array to link the castle with my residence, so if there's danger, you can come quickly."
Artor Coldcrest let out a laugh, the meaning of which was unclear.
Ellie Miller's pointed ears turned slightly red.
"Ahem," Ellie Miller also felt a bit hot-faced and cleared her throat to continue, "Thirdly, you burned down my little shop in Campbell and my three-month savings of gold coins. I believe you must compensate me, and also give extra for emotional damages."
"Additionally, for our future potion trades, you'll have to pay in gold coins; business is business." After speaking, she elegantly took a small sip of wine.
"Agreed. So, when can you give me the potions? Give me 1,000 bottles to start."
"Pfft—" The mouthful of red wine Ellie Miller had just drunk sprayed out.
26 points of goodwill reputation, and today she had only collected 33 magical plants, with materials for Healing Potions numbering only around 20.
Fortunately, Water Flower and Terra Root are basic materials, but counting tomorrow's harvest from The Rear Garden, she could at most ensure 10 bottles of Healing Potion would be ready by tomorrow.
Ellie Miller took a deep breath, "Your Grace, do you think I can conjure these things out of thin air?"
Artor Coldcrest quietly finished a bowl of Suik Cream Soup, set down his silver spoon, and looked up at her, "What do you mean?"
"I mean, with my materials on hand, I can give you at most ten bottles tomorrow," Ellie Miller said.
This amount wouldn't suffice to heal the severely wounded knights of the Order of Knights.
As she saw the Duke's face visibly darken, Ellie Miller's mind quickly spun, and she instantly thought of a ploy.
"Well, actually, I have an idea..."
...
If Kostanyn was as luxurious as the Platinum Palace of the Royal Capital, then its underground Dark Cell was as terrible as the Abyss of Hell.
Drip, drip—
Muddy water seeped through rock crevices, dripping into a chipped dirty bowl.
The bedraggled Bishop Hillman was sprawled on the ground, staring intently at the broken bowl. Once he saw the water nearing the brim, he greedily lifted it to drink every last drop.
Gulp, gulp.
The sound of swallowing was especially conspicuous in the pitch-black, silent cell.
"Damn it! Who's stealing food?" The bishop, whose Divine Robe no longer bore the slightest trace of white, crawled from a heap of rat-infested straw and cursed.
"Save your breath, Lowell," said the hoarse voice of an old man, curled up in a straw heap, speaking feebly.
"I can't stand it anymore... How about we relent and heal a few knights, but only if that son-of-a-bitch Artor Coldcrest kneels before us—no, before the God of The Radiance and apologizes!" the bishop named Lowell lay back into the straw, his chapped lips muttering on.
"Hold on, Lowell; they won't dare kill us. Look, besides the Archbishop who infuriated Artor Coldcrest, aren't we all fine, with not one of us missing?" The old man, full of silver hair, tightened the stinking robe of The Radiance around himself.
"Don't worry. As long as we hold out, even if we save not a single knight, they won't dare do anything to us."
"After all... we disappeared within The Duchy. The God of The Radiance will protect His earthly proxies."
After saying this, there was a creak, and suddenly a blinding light shone into the dark dungeon.
A knight descended the narrow stairs, holding a torch, lighting along the walls with torches one by one.
The sudden light made the clerics of The Holy Court inside the cell close their eyes.
The old Bishop Solomon, his head full of silver, squinted a slit open to observe the outside situation.
They saw that the knights had brought someone down.
It was a severely injured knight, his belly pierced, the wound already festering. Without treatment soon, the knight would return to the embrace of the God of The Radiance.
Old Solomon feigned resting, lying back in the straw pile but in fact, he watched through narrow slits in his eyes.
"Do you really think that apart from you and the Potion Brewers' Association, there are no other options?" The knight who had been intimidating and threatening them over these past days sneered.
He pulled out a bottle of strange red potion.
"Today, let me show you a true miracle."
The potion was poured into the mouth of the severely injured knight. Before their very eyes, the horrifying wound on his stomach visibly healed.
"That's impossible!" Solomon bolted upright, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.
The knight, upon seeing his severely injured comrade healed, repressed with emotion, offered a cold, grim smile to the stunned missionaries inside the cage.
"Brothers, drag them out, kill them all!"