Inside the council chamber of Crystal Radiance Palace, the newly delivered intelligence was thrown violently to the ground, the rolled-up paper sliding a long distance across the smooth marble floor.
"You treacherous steppe barbarians!" Rodney XVIII's roar shook the crystal chandelier slightly as he ripped open the gold button of his collar. "Only a few years after signing the treaty? You're already so eager to tear it up!"
Count Merlin bent down to pick up the scroll containing intelligence, and said softly, "Your Majesty, my men have confirmed that Abar's Golden Tent has been moved to the border of Blackrock Fields."
The king slammed his knuckles on the long table covered with maps, which were densely packed with small red flags representing the southern garrison— the defensive force that had to be left behind after the Giles rebellion had just been quelled.
His gaze swept over the shadowy area in the northeast of the kingdom marked "Occupied Zone"—now a springboard for the orcs to advance south.
"At least we won't be attacked from both sides anymore."
Rodney XVIII suddenly let out a cold laugh, grabbed a silver glass, and took a swig of wine. A few drops of the deep red liquid spilled out as his Adam's apple bobbed, dripping down his chin onto the gold-embroidered collar.
"The last time these beasts attacked, that old fox Giles was still lurking to the south."
A court attendant carefully offered a handkerchief, but the king waved it away. He turned to look out the window; the rooftops of Crystal Radiance shone like burning armor in the setting sun. He could almost hear the faint sounds of a new batch of troops drilling on the training grounds outside the capital—a confidence far stronger than during the last war.
" Notify Lakeheart Town via Telegraph!"
Rodney XVIII suddenly turned around, wine stains leaving dark red marks on his chest. "The orcs are preparing for war. Have Paul's army keep a close watch on Blackrock Fields."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Earl Merlin replied, though he guessed that Lakeheart Town had probably also obtained some information about the orcs, and that the two sides should exchange information.
The king traced the still-unresolved southern towns on the map with his finger. "Bring back two main regiments. The remnants of Giles can't cause much trouble anymore. The second-line troops should be enough to deal with them."
He pressed his hand heavily on the royal emblem on the map, his knuckles turning white from the force.
" Lord Merlin, do you remember the gossip among the northern nobles after the last war?" The king's voice was low, yet as hard as tempered steel. "They said that Alda's guns and cannons saved Aldor's dignity, while the army under your banner only retreated again and again."
"This time is different, Your Majesty," the Minister of Intelligence replied cautiously. "Our new army has completed its training and has been tempered in the fires of war."
"You're right!" Rodney XVIII said firmly. "The royal family must make a name for itself in this war. The lords in the north are watching closely, and if the Alda army gets all the credit again… I can't believe how they will view the royal family."
...
The carriage wheels rumbled rhythmically over the smooth cobblestone streets of Lakeheart Town. Antigone Bradley huddled in a corner of the carriage, his hands unconsciously rubbing his knees—where old wounds from his escape from Yellow Earth Land still lingered.
The hustle and bustle of the market outside the car window reached his ears in waves, a stark contrast to the gloomy and oppressive Bradley Family Castle in his memory.
Antigone licked his chapped lips, his gaze sweeping over the two cold-faced soldiers opposite him, who sat motionless like stone statues.
" How has Lord Glaeman been lately?" Antigone asked tentatively, his voice hoarse as if his throat were rusty.
The older soldier merely raised his eyelids slightly, while the younger one pretended not to hear and glanced out the window. Silence fell again in the carriage, broken only by the Duke's heavy breathing.
"We've arrived," a soldier suddenly said, startling the duke.
The carriage stopped in front of the gates of Lords Manor, where the badges hanging on the porch gleamed in the sunlight— the emblem of the Gleiman Family.
Antigone's throat tightened, and he seemed to see two versions of himself from the future struggling before his eyes: one bound hand and foot and led to trial, the other leading the Alda army back to Yellow Earth Land.
How will Paul Greiman treat him?
As the guard opened the car door, a ray of sunlight shone directly on Antigone's trembling fingers. There she still wore the emerald ring that symbolized the Bradley Family, though the gemstone had long since lost its luster.
The oak door to the reception room was gently pushed open, and Antigone Bradley hunched over as he entered, like a startled mouse. When he saw Paul standing by the window, his knees visibly buckled, and he almost collapsed to his knees.
"Sit." Paul gestured to the armchair opposite him, then slowly opened a document. "The orcs are amassing a large army, preparing to invade Aldor again."
"What?!" Antigone sprang up from his chair, then slumped back down, his withered fingers gripping the armrests tightly. "That unfilial son! He dared... dared to let a wolf into the house to hunt me down..."
Paul raised an eyebrow, almost bursting out laughing. He put down the documents and looked at the down-on-his-luck duke with interest: " Lord Bradley, you don't actually think... the orcs mobilized tens of thousands of troops just to hunt you down alone?"
Antigone opened his mouth, his sallow cheeks suddenly turning bright red. He then realized his lapse in composure and hurriedly released his grip on the deformed armrest, but his fingernails still left several deep scratches on the leather.
"I…I mean…" he stammered, his voice trailing off, " That beast Leimoste might very well take this opportunity…to eliminate me, this threat."
"It seems you are indeed out of touch with the world."
Paul tapped the table lightly. " Abar's goal this time is absolutely enormous, and you're probably not even an appetizer—if you're even one of the targets."
"Alright, enough chit-chat."
Paul placed his hands on the table, his gaze fixed intently on Antigone: "I need to utilize your remaining influence in Yellow Earth Land."
Antigone's back straightened unconsciously, and a sharp glint flashed in his cloudy eyes.
He unconsciously twirled the worn family ring on his right hand, his knuckles turning white.
"My old subordinates…" the Duke's voice suddenly turned low and cautious, "there are indeed a few reliable ones. But what do you need them for?"
Paul's lips curled into a slight smile: "Let the orcs see what we want them to see. Can you... still do it?"
"Of course!"
Antigone was somewhat agitated, but believed the Marquis was making a deal with him.