Chapter 86: The Round Table of Marshals

The rough oak field table sat at the center of the Chief of Staff's command tent.

On a floor covered in a tattered felt rug, twelve generals and marshals of the 4th Legion, chests heavy with medals of honor, knelt down on one knee, all at once. At the front, General Morid raised a dragon-jade-inlaid command sword in both hands, offering it forward.

"Supreme Commander! We hereby yield absolute command of the entire western front to you!"

Lucian sat in the chairman's seat, chin propped on both hands, a five-page supply acceptance report clipped with a red-ink stamp pad in front of him.

He didn't look at the sword. He slid the report across to Morid instead, voice dry.

"Put the sword away. Sign the acceptance form for four million five hundred thousand gold in mana-ore, rations, and equipment wear costs. Quickly. I need to file this with the Tax Bureau by Monday."

Morid lifted his head, eyes overflowing with reverence.

"Supreme Commander! The battle at Broken Wind Ravine was a living masterpiece, perfectly recreated straight from chapter fifty of the sacred text! That flick of the rusted nail just now... you deliberately chose not to use an expensive blade, using a rusted nail instead to neutralize a 1.2-billion-Combat-Power colossus, to teach us the lesson of subtlety and true warrior's humility, wasn't it?!"

Lucian tapped his index finger sharply against the table.

"I used the rusted nail because your swords cost twenty silver each! Slash that ten-meter chitin armor with a real blade and chip it, and who's paying to resharpen it? Now pick up a pen and sign the payment invoice for the recovery potions, and stop dodging your financial responsibility!"

Morid clutched the command sword to his chest, eyes brimming with tears, and turned to the other officers, choked with emotion.

"Do you see this... even now, he still insists on using a merchant's coarse language to hide his noble heart! He doesn't want us to feel indebted to him for saving our lives!"

"Exactly!" A grey-haired marshal beside him wiped his eyes and nodded. "He'd rather be labeled a money-grubber than accept credit for saving a hundred thousand lives!"

Lucian leaned back in his chair, staring up at the tent ceiling, completely giving up on explaining himself.

Ting!

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A dim black Unified System v2.0 notification appeared before him.

[SYSTEM LOGGED: NATIONAL-TIER DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN COMPLETE.]

• Actual mana expenditure report: 0.0004% of total reserve capacity.
• Combat Power conversion assessment: [Effective Combat Power: Sufficient to defeat 4,200 clinically depressed dragons.]

Lucian frowned at the last line.

"What the hell is a 'depressed dragon' unit?"

System: [Standard measurement units refuse to accommodate the Host's degree of absurdity.]

Click.

Eleanor stood with her arms crossed, leaning against a wooden support beam beside the meeting table. She wore her silver-white knight's cloak, golden hair loose over her shoulders, a teasing smile pulling at her mouth as she watched Lucian sit there rubbing his forehead in defeat.

She walked over to the table, pulled a jade royal seal from her coat, and stamped it firmly onto the corner of the invoice.

"Your four-and-a-half-million-gold invoice... I've had a Crown war-compensation advance authorized through my royal treasury fund and personally guaranteed it, 'Savior.' The western region's tax and mineral allotments will remain pledged to House Vance until the advance is settled."

Lucian turned to look at her, a chill running down his spine.

"You paid it out of your own fund? What interest rate are you charging?"

Eleanor tilted her head, her smile growing brighter.

"Zero percent interest. But in exchange, once we're back at the capital, you come to my office two hours a day to help me review the Ministry of Defense's financial reports."

"Forced labor in disguise..." Lucian muttered, though his hand was already stamping the Vance Commerce seal over Eleanor's signature, completing the paperwork.

Under the Solaris Empire's war-compensation system, Eleanor's Crown-guaranteed advance would be recovered through land-tax quotas and mineral-extraction rights across the western region, both pledged to House Vance as security.

House Vance had officially become the largest creditor holding the economic lifeline of the hundred thousand troops stationed at the border.

General Morid stood, holding a freshly laundered black cloak, neatly folded, and set it on the table in front of Lucian.

"Supreme Commander... this is the cloak of a soldier who fell in the outermost trench. We offer it to you as an eternal oath of loyalty from the 4th Legion."

Lucian looked at the black cloak, patched with coarse thread, sitting on the table.

He didn't say anything sarcastic. He silently reached out, took the cloak, and tucked it into his spatial ring.

Click... click...

In the corner of the command tent, a Demon-race courier disguised among the supply troops quietly slipped a small scroll — a full written record of the meeting — into an arcane beetle, then released it into a crack beneath the snow.

Meanwhile, a dispatch from the Ministry of Defense's Chief of Staff was already flying by magical pigeon straight for the Royal Palace of Solaris.

'Urgent report to His Majesty: Young Master Lucian Vance has officially assumed supreme military and financial guardianship over the entire Western Frontline Legion.'

Eleanor stepped up beside Lucian, took hold of his wrist, and pulled him gently toward the tent entrance.

"Let's go."

Lucian let himself be pulled along, grumbling.

"Go where? It's a blizzard out there in the middle of the night, can't a person just sleep?"

Eleanor stepped out into the sheet of white snow, looking up at the mountain range behind the ravine, her voice softening.

"Come with me. There's something you need to see before we head back to the capital."