Perlo approached the crowd and asked, "What happened?"
"Lord Helmon," someone spotted the honeysuckle family crest on his chest, "we're talking about the Lord of Border Town. He confiscated the Noble family's properties in the town." "Call me Perro, what's the situation?" "Let me explain for Mr.Perro," Simon stepped forward with a fawning smile. "We live in Border Town under the Duke's orders, managing the North Slope mines for the Lord. Every winter we return to Long Song Fortress with townsfolk to protect them from evil beasts. This year, after the Demon Month ended, one of my colleagues, Corris from the Fletcher family, was told by the Lord of Border Town that his house had been demolished by townspeople without compensation!" "Either admit the house doesn't belong to you, or send you to prison and hang you for desertion," he mimicked the Fourth Prince Roland's words. "Listen, sir, what's desertion? That's what every mine manager has done in a century." Perro couldn't help recalling the young gray-haired man's appearance. Though Prince was widely despised, Roland Wimbledon wasn't just any ordinary man based on his two personal encounters. The desertion charge in this case was merely a pretext—Prince never intended to reason with these people.
He had completely severed ties with the Castle of Changge. Pei Luo mused—could Prince really be unaware that every year, townsfolk and Nobles sought refuge there? Clearly not. Knowing full well, he still sought to impose a charge, forcing a choice, and even had the brutal outcome reported back to the Castle of Changge. What was Prince truly plotting?
"But he is the Lord of Border Town," the man who had mocked Simon earlier said. "The Lord has the authority to establish laws within his domain." "Border Town is also under the jurisdiction of the Western Frontier Command!" Simon retorted coldly. "Do you question Lord Rhien's authority? The Lord's decision to station troops in the town to oversee mining operations. Now that Roland has seized all Noble houses for himself, this is openly defying the Six Houses. Lord Rhien will not stand idly by." "Are you referring to the executioner who hanged Hill Medd without issuing any formal documents?" Rhien approached at an unannounced moment. "My father was furious about this." "Lord Medd," Simon bowed. "That's the man. His actions have grown increasingly audacious, and only the Duke can stop him. I hope you'll convey this message." "Don't worry. Whether or not this happened, Lord Rhien is ready to take action against him." Rhien said nonchalantly. "I came back specifically for this matter. My brother is negotiating a trade deal in the Royal Capital, and only I can lead the elk family's delegation." "Really? That's excellent." Simon exclaimed with delight.
Perro furrowed his brow. Though he had known since the winter document was issued that Your Royal Highness would eventually choose to remain in Border Town, he never expected his friend to don armor and join the fray. Ignoring the puzzled stares of the crowd, he pulled Rein aside and urged him, "Don't go. That's the Prince." "I know he's the Prince—the Prince in the mountain," Rein Mede patted Perro's shoulder. "Rest assured, Lord Laine wouldn't harm a royal bloodline. We might even make him surrender outright. If he resists, just a few galloping horses would scatter the miners and farmers. The Fourth Prince isn't a swordsman—I doubt he'd harm a single hair." "No, I'm afraid you'll be harmed..." Perro opened his mouth but held back. He knew the other man wouldn't believe him, for even he found it hard to believe the Prince could defeat the Duke's allied forces with just a handful of miners. Yet for some reason, an unease lingered in his heart.
"Mr.Pei Luo, your father has sent you back. He has urgent matters to discuss with you." A white-haired butler suddenly hurried over to Pei Luo and whispered in his ear.
"I understand," Perro nodded. After bidding farewell to Rhien in advance, he and the butler boarded the carriage and returned to the Earl of Gold and Silver Flower's estate.
"Father." He entered the study, where Charafel Hermann was writing on the desk.
Hearing Perro's voice, the Earl didn't stop writing. "Go compile the territory's output, population, and revenue for me. This will help me plan the spring campaign. The Duke of Lien's summons has been issued. Once the snow melts, all five major families must provide knights and mercenaries to support his campaign against Border Town." "How many?" The Earl paused briefly, then looked up. "What's the matter? You've never cared about such matters before." He opened a letter on the table. "At least twenty-five knights, along with their entourage and horses. Forty mercenaries, fully armed. Over a hundred free men or serfs, equipped with basic weapons." Perro mentally calculated that the five major families combined numbered around a thousand. With the Duke's own troops, this force was formidable in the western borderlands. Even if Changge Fortress didn't mobilize its entire garrison, this army would be unstoppable against Border Town's mere two thousand-strong forces.
"Father, could you not go to the battlefield?" He hesitated for a moment before speaking.
"What is wrong, my child?" the Count asked in surprise.
"I'm worried about your safety," Shalafi couldn't help but laugh. "Do you even know what you're talking about? What's the danger of an elephant trampling an ant? Your Royal Highness has only a few Knights and a retinue of fewer than fifty, while we outnumber him tenfold!" Theoretically, that's true—Pero would have believed it before meeting His Highness. But... "Father, everyone says mud walls collapse in rain, yet the walls Your Royal Highness oversaw never did. They claim Border Town's miners alone couldn't stop the evil beasts, but Your Royal Highness not only achieved that—by the end of the Demon's Moon, not a soul had escaped back to the fortress." His voice grew heavier with unease. "Now everyone thinks Duke's victory over Roland Wimbledon was just an elephant crushing an ant. Father, will it really turn out that way?" "Enough!" Shalafi slammed the table. He shook his head, stood up, and walked to a wall adorned with portraits of his ancestors. "It's natural to prefer trading and business over riding into battle. But being a merchant doesn't mean being cowardly! Those ocean-crossing traders face death threats every day." He pounded the wall and bellowed, "Look at this! Your grandfather, your great-grandfather—each of them fought with swords and bows to survive in this land of beasts, refugees, and bandits. Your fear of battle is utterly disappointing!" "No, Father," Perro lowered his head, ceasing the argument, but muttered to himself, "You know they were grandfathers and great-grandfathers. See those muscular faces, and now your loose belt and double chin. Father, can you still draw a bow with a horse?"