Chapter 364 - 356: I Will Personally Attend

Chapter 364: Chapter 356: I Will Personally Attend

The next day, at first light.

Outside the Court of Silence, the moss on the stone bridge looked exceptionally verdant in the damp early April air. The carriage stopped at the head of the bridge. Diana did not allow the coachman to proceed further—it was a basic show of respect for His Highness the Prince.

She stepped down from the carriage, wearing a long, gold-and-white gown. The style was dignified and elegant, with a high collar and fitted cuffs embroidered with intricate, subtle patterns in silver thread—the crest of the Dawn Territory. She had barely slept the previous night, her mind endlessly rehearsing the day’s meeting and picturing Lilia’s teasing smile. 𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

She smoothed the front of her gown, her movements somewhat stiff.

Velin approached from behind her, his gait steady. He wore a simple, dark gray coat today, free of any superfluous ornamentation, which gave him a serious and meticulous air.

"Let’s go," he said.

Diana nodded and took the lead, stepping onto the stone bridge. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, one beat after another.

She attributed the feeling to the nervousness of acting on an ally’s behalf.

’It must be.’

The butler was already waiting at the entrance to the residence. He had the same impassive expression as before, but his gaze lingered on Velin for a moment longer than necessary.

"His Highness is waiting for you in the study."

Crossing the empty, silent corridors and ascending the thickly carpeted staircase, Diana once again arrived at the somewhat dimly lit study.

Prince Willandar was sitting behind his desk, a heavy tome in his hands. He looked up at the sound of footsteps and set the book down.

His gaze passed over Diana and landed on Velin.

A flicker of astonishment appeared on the Prince’s face, quickly replaced by an expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"Oh? My dear Diana, your swiftness is truly astonishing," Willandar said, his words laced with a teasing tone only the two of them would understand. "We spoke only yesterday, and today you’ve already brought this ’special friend’ of yours."

Diana’s cheeks began to grow warm.

’I knew this would happen!’

She composed herself, forced herself to ignore her awkwardness, and took a step forward to perform a proper curtsy. "Uncle Willandar, this is the Pioneer Baron of the Grey Marsh Territory, Velin Klein. Velin, this is His Highness, Prince Willandar Orange."

"Your Highness." Velin gave a slight bow, a gesture both concise and proper.

Willandar’s gaze scrutinized Velin. He was a young man—handsome and composed, with a calmness in his wine-red eyes that belied his age. He showed none of the typical reverence or sycophancy a young man might display before a high-ranking individual.

’Interesting.’

"Sit," Willandar said, gesturing to a chair before his desk. The smile on his face faded somewhat, but the atmosphere remained amicable. "Baron Klein, I have heard your name. What you are doing in the Grey Marsh Territory is no secret in the Royal Capital."

After some brief pleasantries, the study fell into a brief silence.

Diana felt her mission was not yet complete. She took a deep breath and subtly steered the conversation to the matter at hand.

"Uncle, Baron Velin came to the Royal Capital regarding his investiture as a Count. However, it seems he has run into some opposition in the Council of Nobles..."

She had not yet finished speaking when the last trace of warmth vanished from Willandar’s face.

He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together on the desk. As he gazed at Diana, the fatherly affection in his eyes was gone, replaced by deep disappointment and vexation.

"Investiture? Opposition?" He repeated the two words, his voice laced with a cold fury. "Diana, I thought you came to me to discuss the future of the Dawn Territory, to talk about the southern defenses. I never imagined that what you’d be concerned with is the promotion of a baron."

Diana froze solid.

"I... I’m not..."

"You’re not what?" Willandar’s interrogation was merciless. "Certain matters have left me deeply agitated these past few days. The Empire is like a ravenous beast, liable to tear us to shreds at any moment. And yet the nobles of the Duchy are still bickering endlessly over titles and territories!"

From a pile of letters on his desk, he pulled out the one from Roland Sun, unfolded one of its pages, and slapped it onto the table.

"Look at your brother!"

Willandar’s finger jabbed at the letter.

"He is on a journey of study and experience, and this letter details his observations in a remote village in the Sunset Mountain Range. The miller there is preparing to abandon his mill due to the crushing tax burden. The local farmers must spend an extra two days transporting their grain to market because the roads are in disrepair. In his letter, Roland contemplates what constitutes a reasonable tax rate, and how to repair that critical road with the least amount of money. That is what a lord should be thinking about!"

He raised his head, looking directly at Diana.

"Not personal honor and disgrace, not empty titles, but the land and the lives of the common folk! Do you understand, Diana!"

Every word struck Diana’s heart like a hammer blow.

She was speechless, her face pale. She felt she had botched it. Not only had she failed to help Velin, but she had also caused the Prince to form a terrible impression of him.

A sense of grievance and helplessness washed over her.

She wanted to argue, but she didn’t know where to start.

Just then, Velin, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke.

His voice was calm, yet it managed to slightly ease the heavy atmosphere in the study.

"Your Highness, are you worried about a coming disaster? A disaster... related to the Empire?"

Willandar whipped his head around to stare at Velin.

A flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes, but it was quickly masked by a grim expression. He neither confirmed nor denied the assertion.

"What makes you think that?" he countered, every word dripping with scrutiny.

Velin did not answer directly.

He stood up and walked over to the massive map of the Duchy hanging on the wall.

"Your Highness, I have experienced several incidents."

His finger landed on Tarry Port.

"The Golden Sail Commerce Association encountered a unique species of ship-borer, an unprecedented alchemical creature that nearly destroyed their entire maritime shipping capacity. The investigation traced it back to the shadow of the Hand of Blackrock, and the Hand of Blackrock has close dealings with the Empire."

His finger moved to the Gray Sea Marsh in the center of the map.

"The Level 5 Magical Beast deep within the Gray Swamp, the ’Lord of the Gray Swamp,’ was a giant python modified by alchemy. It was awakened with the intent of creating a Magical Beast stampede that would sweep across half the Duchy. And the ones who awakened it were, again, the Hand of Blackrock."

Finally, his finger landed on the Southern Islands.

"The pirates known as the Bloodsail Brotherhood, who aimed to occupy the Southern Islands. They possessed excellent warships and weapons, even standard-issue military equipment. The source of these provisions points to the Imperial Army."

Velin turned to meet Willandar’s eyes.

"An Extraordinary disaster, a Magical Beast stampede, and a proxy war. These three incidents, occurring in different places and targeting different sectors, all point to the same source. They are not isolated events, but a meticulously planned, multi-layered, asymmetrical war. Their ultimate goal is very likely to systematically weaken the Duchy in preparation for its final annexation."

A dead silence filled the study.

Diana stared blankly at Velin. She knew he had resolved these crises, but she had never imagined that connecting them would paint such a terrifying picture.

Willandar’s body trembled slightly.

’The Bloody Edict!’

’The term he had been chasing, the nightmare that had made him flee the Imperial Capital... In Velin’s description, its shape was beginning to form.’

He had thought he was the only one to have peered into the abyss. He never expected that this young man, relying on just a few scattered pieces, had also walked to its very edge.

He rose slowly and began to pace back and forth in the study. After a long moment, he stopped in front of Velin.

"Your territory, the Grey Marsh Territory. How do you govern it?" he asked, a question completely unrelated to their previous conversation.

"Let the right people do the right things," Velin replied.

"And how do you define ’right’?"

"Anything that maximizes the overall productivity of the territory is the right thing to do," Velin replied without hesitation. "Your Highness, the traditional manorial economy of the nobility is an inefficient model of exploitation. It binds the subjects to the land, having them perform the simplest repetitive labor. This might be serviceable for an agricultural territory, but for our commercially and industrially developed Duchy, it is a tremendous waste."

Willandar listened quietly, not interrupting.

"My ’merit point system’ is, in essence, a selection mechanism. It encourages subjects to take on more complex and valuable work through labor and study. An excellent artisan, a literate bookkeeper, an agricultural technician who understands crop rotation and fertilization—the value they create for the territory far exceeds that of ten serfs who only know how to dig the earth with a hoe. The Transcendents are the territory’s sharp sword, but these commoners who have mastered knowledge and skills are its very foundation. Only when every single cell making up the flesh and blood is full of vitality can the territory make the leap from quantitative to qualitative change."

At that moment, Willandar’s breathing hitched.

He remembered a territory he had once visited while in the Imperial Capital, one managed by a reformist noble. In its factories, commoners operated complex hydraulic machinery, and the literacy rate was higher than in some of the Duchy’s own small cities. The economic and military potential that territory unleashed had made the entire Empire take notice.

And yet the Duchy, possessing the best ports and the most brilliant artisans, had seen its development stagnate—even regress—under the Empire’s layered oppression.

Velin’s words were like a lightning bolt, splitting apart the fog that had clouded his heart for years.

He knew full well where the Duchy’s chronic afflictions lay, but he had never found a sword sharp enough to sever the rot.

Now, he saw it.

He saw a ruler utterly different from all the other nobles, a pragmatist who fought not with bloodlines or divine favor, but with knowledge and reason.

Willandar walked back to Velin and scrutinized the young man. For the first time, a stir of emotion showed in his deep-set eyes.

"They say you come from a branch family, that the system you’re implementing shakes the very foundation of our nation, that it is heresy."

The Prince’s voice was low but filled with power.

"But in my eyes, you are the true foundation of the Duchy."

He paused, having made his decision.

"Proceed with your plans. I will personally attend the next Council of Nobles."

(Word Count: 2018)