Chapter 469: Please Enter the Urn

The night was deep, the moonlight like water, plating a lifelike silver glow onto the lively hall of the Dusk City Governor's Mansion.

Facing Princess Ailin Campbell, who had saved the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng, all the prominent figures in Dusk City sent her praise without stinting on rhetoric at this victory celebration banquet.

Dealing with those flattering words, Princess Ailin felt her ears were about to grow calluses. She maintained a polite smile on her face, tasting the toasts, but her thoughts couldn't help but drift outside the city.

If Lord Kelin were here...

At this moment, her biggest regret was not being able to share the glory of victory with the Lord who had "gone through fire and water" with her.

According to Lord Kelin, he was now the Grand Duke of the Kelin Duchy and was not suitable to appear in the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng at this sensitive time.

The reason he rushed to the front line day and night was merely out of worry for her. Now that the Chaos turmoil had subsided, he would wait for her triumph in Lei Ming City.

Princess Ailin was very understanding of Lord Kelin's statement.

Rather, she was incredibly surprised, and even moved, that he appeared by her side when she needed him most.

Prioritizing family interests is the basic code of conduct for any Imperial noble.

Yet he made decisions that went against his ancestors time and time again for her, and even made those overbearing remarks in front of the lord of the High Mountain Kingdom...

Thinking and thinking, Princess Ailin's thoughts flew further away.

"... Your Highness?"

Looking at Princess Ailin, whose cheeks were dyed with red clouds, Theresa, standing on the side, couldn't help but worry if she had drunk too much, so she called out lightly.

"What happened?" Princess Ailin, who was daydreaming, suddenly came back to her senses, her right hand subconsciously placed on the sword at her waist.

A baron with exaggerated clothes cleared his throat, wanting to come up and say a few words of closeness, but was scared by her sudden movement and turned a corner on the spot, chatting awkwardly with a pillar.

"No, Your Highness, nothing happened," looking at Princess Ailin, who almost drew her sword, Theresa was also startled, hurriedly comforted her, and then asked in a low voice, "Are... are you okay?"

"... I am fine, Theresa, don't worry about me."

Realizing she had been abrupt, Princess Ailin coughed with a red face.

To show she was indeed fine, she pretended to be calm and drank the champagne in her hand in one gulp, but because she drank too fast, she was choked by the bubbles and coughed several times before stopping.

"Is... that so?" Theresa, who had never seen such a careless Highness, was even more worried.

In order not to fail the expectations of her brother far away in the Campbell Principality and Prince Kelin, Princess Ailin quickly pulled herself together and threw herself into this banquet that had yet to end.

And just when Lady Princess Ailin regained her spirit, someone was as dejected as a frost-bitten eggplant, sitting in the courtyard drinking away his sorrows.

That gentleman was none other than someone else.

It was Seron Gade, who had made a fool of himself in front of everyone during the day.

Only to see this Count sitting alone on that cold stone bench, with two almost empty wine bottles placed messily on the table.

"Damn it! Where are the maids in this Governor's Mansion! Did they all die on the city wall? Why is no one coming to pour me wine!"

"Come here! Fill it up for me!"

That bloated cheek made a rude shout; his puffy face was as red as a persimmon, making it unclear whether it was from drunkenness or anger.

No waiter dared to come over to touch his bad luck; no one wanted to have red wine splashed on their face on this happy day.

What's more, those servants knew how to read faces.

Everyone saw the unlucky expression of Governor Alaric during the day. As long as Alaric didn't come to find him, no servant would come to serve him.

Seron shouted for a while and seeing no one paying attention, he felt a bit bored, so he cursed twice and stopped speaking.

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The clamor coming through the stained-glass windows of the main hall drifted further and further away, the elegant piano music like a candle blown askew by the wind, and the banquet seemed to be entering its end.

Everyone was revolving around Princess Ailin Campbell, making this courtyard appear increasingly lonely and cold.

Seron only felt that the whole world was his enemy, his teeth biting tightly, but after only a moment, he relaxed dejectedly.

It... doesn't matter anymore.

Princess Ailin refused his invitation to send troops, even though he promised to use "the tax revenue of the Count territory for the next ten years" as an exchange, it was of no avail.

And if the Campbell Duchy didn't send troops, no one in the entire Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng could help him take back his territory, and he was destined to be sent to the defendant's bench of the Inquisition.

Inquisition...

Thinking of this name, Seron's body couldn't help but tremble, as if he had been drenched from head to toe by a basin of ice water.

Once those guys knew that he had handed over the territory granted by Saint Xisi to that group of so-called "Salvation Army," what he would lose would not just be the territory, but all the honor and family foundation accumulated by the Gade family for thousands of years!

The King and the Church would eat him like eating mutton, roasting him on the fire, and then peeling every piece of meat off his body one by one.

The King wouldn't eat people like that group of farmers.

But it was just not eating them directly.

"Saint Xisi above... I, Seron Gade, have been kind all my life and have never hurt anyone; why do you punish me like this?"

Just when Seron was in pain because of his tragic fate, a very light laugh suddenly came from behind him.

Seron jumped, thinking it was a servant, and didn't expect a mere servant to dare to mock him, so he immediately turned his bloated body and roared.

"Who is there!"

He looked back, but didn't see anyone, and before he could recover from what had happened, a breeze blew to his side.

Followed by a "thump," which scared Seron into a cold sweat, and even the drunkenness on his body was discharged along with the cold sweat.

He tremblingly turned his head back, only to see a wine bottle placed on his table, and a middle-aged man wearing leather armor resting his arms on the table, sitting opposite him on his own.

"Seron Gade, Count of Quemu Territory, it seems you have had a not-so-pleasant night." That voice was hoarse and steady, without any emotion. "Since no one is drinking with you, why don't I drink a cup with you."

"You... who are you?!" Seron stared at the stranger in front of him, forcibly suppressing the fear in his heart and the urge to flee, and asked with a stern voice.

At the same time, those small eyes moved quickly, like moths flying under the lights, quickly remembering the appearance of this person.

Only to see that person was of medium build, wearing a set of inconspicuous, old leather armor, with a faint scar on his face, extending from the corner of his eyebrow to his cheek, like a poisonous snake lurking in the bushes.

This kind of person couldn't possibly be a noble of high status!

However, what made Seron feel at ease was that he didn't look like a person from the Inquisition either!

"Grega, 'Surging Hatred'... that is the name of my mercenary group." The man didn't hide it, his tone gentle, and even politely answered his question.

That name was truly bluffing enough.

But it was very much like a group of uncultured people thinking of it.

Seron's small eyes narrowed, staring straight at him.

"Mercenary? This is a banquet for distinguished guests; how can a mercenary be here!"

"Allow me to correct you, Count. This is a victory celebration banquet; any victor is qualified to sit here, at least that's what the Baron said."

Looking at Seron, who was full of guard, the man calling himself "Grega" grinned, clasping his hands together at the tip of his nose as if praying.

"As for why I am here... because while the Count was praying in the church, my brothers and I were standing on the city wall resisting the tide of Chaos."

This was a reasonable reason.

Seron's guard in his heart relaxed a bit, but the hostility in his eyes did not dissipate because of this.

A commoner, actually daring to sit at a table with him!

This group of guys was truly becoming more and more lawless!

If it weren't for the fact that he couldn't lift this stone table, he swore he would have already flipped the table!

"Do you have anything to do?" Looking at Grega, who was pouring wine for himself, Seron raised his chin slightly, speaking from a high position.

"Of course, I am here to talk business with you."

"Hah, then you found the wrong person," Seron sneered. "I won't do business with commoners; you should go find my steward."

"Just the opposite, Count. This business can only be talked about with you," Grega placed his hands crossed on the table, staring at Seron calmly. "Let's be frank, I can help you take back the territory you lost... and your dignity."

Seron froze first, then let out a burst of exaggerated laughter as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world, trying to save the face he had long since lost.

"Just by you? A mercenary? Do you know how many lunatics are entrenched there? One hundred thousand! And there were that many a few months ago! Not to mention that even the Sword Saint is following them crazy now; can a mercenary like you beat the Sword Saint?"

"The Sword Saint won't stay there forever, and he won't aim his sword at enemies outside of Chaos for them. As for one hundred thousand people, they are just a mob, not to mention they have now come out in full force, and the main force is outside the city, so the interior must be empty."

Grega responded calmly, his voice clear and logical, as if he hadn't taken the mockery of this Count at all to heart.

Pausing, he continued.

"... Moreover, we never fight a battle without preparation. Since we found you, it means we have the confidence to win beautifully."

"Are you serious?"

Seron stared at Grega, trying to find traces of bragging on the other party's face, but only saw a deep, bottomless calmness.

Honestly, he was truly a bit moved.

Just as this mercenary leader said, the Salvation Army and their Saintess were currently waiting for rewards outside Dusk City, and the distance to Quemu Territory was not short!

If this group of mercenaries was truly as god-like as they bragged, maybe they could really help him take back Quemu Castle!

However, Seron still couldn't make up his mind in his heart.

Who could guarantee that this group of people wasn't here to cheat him of his money?

Right now, the fattest sheep in the entire Dusk City were these nobles who had left their territories. They didn't have a single knight who could fight, but they had plenty of money.

Grega took in the hesitation and greed that flashed in Seron's eyes, and the corner of his mouth couldn't help but reveal a trace of imperceptible smile.

He could guess with his butt that this Count was worried about nothing more than himself being a swindler, taking money but not doing things.

He had to say, this kind of worry was superfluous.

Swindlers at most cheat money.

They were the ones who took people and all.

"I understand your concerns; I know you are penniless now, and... there is no reason to trust people like us who come from nowhere."

Grega's tone slowed down, full of "understanding" consideration.

"So, we can change a way of cooperation. We can help you take back Quemu Castle first, and after you sit on the throne of the lord, pay us the reward. As for the reward... we don't want too much; you are willing to pay the tax revenue of the Count territory for the next ten years to the Campbell people, we only want nine years."

This sentence was like a thunderclap, exploding in Seron's brain!

Pay after use?!

There's such a good thing?!

Seron's heart beat fast, his breathing became rapid, and his eyes looked at Grega suspiciously, trying to find flaws on that calm face.

Intuition told him there must be a trap behind this, but he really couldn't think of what this group of people could cheat from him?

"Do I need to pay a deposit?"

"Not even a copper coin."

"Why should I trust you!"

"Hmm... you say that, and I also feel my proposal is a bit abrupt," Grega sighed and was about to get up. "Just pretend I didn't say anything; I'll ask someone else."

His face was full of regret, like a good person who had been rejected.

"Wait!"

Watching the mercenary leader who was about to leave, Seron hurriedly called him, and even took the initiative to pour a cup for him.

"Gre... that..."

"Grega."

"Right! Cough... Mr. Grega! I was negligent just now; I shouldn't have doubted a pious and generous gentleman!" Seron squeezed a stiff smile from his face, looking at him and saying. "But to be safe, can I ask how many people you have?"

Grega raised two fingers.

"Two thousand people."

Seron's smile froze, and a trace of disappointment flashed in his eyes.

"Only two thousand..."

Grega smiled.

"Enough, do you think we are going to siege the city? We have horses, we can grab the lead of the Salvation Army and arrive at Quemu Castle first, and then we disguise ourselves as their own people and mix in. As long as we take the city gate, we can clean them up in minutes."

"This... can it be done?"

"My answer is, is this difficult?"

Watching hope reignite on that disappointed face, Grega knew he had succeeded, so he used a relaxed tone to add the final chip in front of this Count.

"Count, please trust me and my brothers; we are professional at this. And we don't only have this one way; my brothers have no other skills, but are best at picking locks; we can't beat regular troops, but cleaning up a group of mud-legs... no one is better at it than us."

That mercenary's voice seemed to carry a magical power of bewitchment; Seron weighed it repeatedly in his heart, and finally, that bit of guard was crushed by greed.

Actually, it couldn't be called greed.

He was the legal lord of Quemu Territory; he was just taking back his own castle and continuing to shoulder the holy duty granted by Saint Xisi; how could this be called greed?

Even the Inquisition couldn't pick out his faults; from beginning to end, he hadn't compromised with the Salvation Army, and the castle had indeed returned to his hands.

As for these mercenaries...

Did they really think they were Campbell people, standing behind a powerful Duchy, and could still collect the debt nine years later?

Looking at the honest-looking mercenary leader, Seron tried hard to restrain the corner of his mouth, not letting the wild joy in his heart show on his face.

Of course he would pay the first year.

Anyway, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to collect much tax in the first year.

After cleaning up the rebels in the Count territory, and after the Inquisition left after reporting to the Pope, he could move real reinforcements to drive this group of greedy jackals away in minutes!

Within a few seconds, countless thoughts rolled in his brain, and he even considered the arrangements after the Salvation Army was driven away.

Seron cleared his throat, trying hard to pretend he had thought it through, and reluctantly opened his mouth.

"Good! If you can really do it, I am willing to use the future tax revenue of the Count territory as an exchange! And it doesn't need to be nine years, ten years is fine; the conditions I offered to the Campbell people are equally valid for you! Of course, if you cheat me... you know what the consequences of cheating a Count will be."

Grega's mouth hooked into a pleasant arc, and that sincere smile carried a trace of imperceptible mockery.

He drank the wine the Count poured for him in one gulp, then wiped his mouth, and slapped the cup on the table heroically.

"Deal!"

"When do we move?" Seron looked at him eagerly, his monkey-like anxious look wishing he could fly over immediately. "Do I wait for your news here? Or go with you?"

"We can move at any time," Grega grinned, and even considerately stood in the perspective of this Count to consider for him. "As for you... you can go with us, or wait for our news here."

Grega's words had just fallen when Seron supported the table with both hands, and his bloated body bounced off the stone bench like a slingshot.

"Don't doubt the person you use, don't use the person you doubt! I trust you!"

Only to see an unprecedented momentum radiating from his body, staring at the mercenary leader in front of him with burning eyes.

"No time to lose... let's set off tonight!"

Of course he wouldn't be stupid enough to go alone.

There were over a hundred retainers who had fled to Dusk City with him, among whom there were many guards with Steel-rank strength.

Relying on these people to take back Quemu Castle was unrealistic, but protecting him from the hands of two thousand mercenaries was no problem.

The Inquisition was on its way here, and he didn't have time to wait here slowly for an uncertain result.

He only had two choices!

Either immediately pack up the gold and silver jewelry brought from Quemu Castle, take his family to the Campbell Duchy's port to board a ship, and flee to the New World to hide his name. Or follow this group of mercenaries to kill his way back immediately, wash away the shame of the Gade family, and wipe his ass clean before the Inquisition arrived.

Looking at this fat pig exuding a sharp aura, Grega looked at him twice more in surprise, then happily said.

"That is of course the best—"

"Very good! I'll go bring my people, you go notify your people! One hour later, we will meet at the South Gate of Dusk City!"

Before Grega could finish speaking, Seron interrupted him, walked toward the outside of the courtyard with great momentum, and left the banquet behind.

Alaric didn't give him face, so he naturally didn't intend to give that Baron face.

Looking at Seron, who was in a hurry to drill into the cage, Grega called him back with a wry smile.

"Wait a minute, Count—"

Seron stopped his steps and looked at him.

"What is it again?!"

Grega coughed.

"I understand your mood, but... shouldn't we sign the agreement first?"

Contract?

Is that a thing?

Seron waved his hand impatiently.

"We can sign that on the way!"

Looking at this fat pig who was in a hurry to drill into the cage, Grega spread his hands helplessly, watching the back disappear.

Until Seron Gade's figure completely disappeared in the courtyard, he stood up from the stone table, bowed slightly toward the wall not far away with a pious expression.

A pair of amber vertical pupils watched the courtyard, then disappeared, merging into the night with that pitch-black cloak.

The elegant piano music and the clamor of clinking glasses continued in the main hall, but the courtyard filled with moonlight had returned to tranquility in the blink of an eye.

At Alaric's instruction, a servant went to the courtyard with a tray unwillingly, but Count Seron Gade was not here.

The servant froze for a moment, but didn't think much of it.

Perhaps that shameful thing also felt that continuing to stay at the banquet was purely asking for trouble, so he went home early.

The servant returned to the main hall and told Governor Alaric, who was entertaining guests, the news that Count Seron had left without saying goodbye.

Alaric frowned, but didn't take it too much to heart.

Compared to a Count who was about to be deprived of his title, there were more distinguished guests worthy of his full attention.

That was an old man as serious as a stone statue; although his temples were already dyed with white frost, his waist was still as straight as a pine and cypress.

"Mr. Skyler, please forgive me for not knowing you were also in Dusk City; neglecting you was truly not my intention."

Looking at the unexpected visitor standing at the entrance of the Governor's Mansion hall, Alaric's face was piled with respectful smiles, but his back was soaked with cold sweat.

This person was the Palace Chamberlain of His Majesty!

He never expected that this distinguished gentleman was actually in Dusk City, and was accompanied by a magic apprentice from the Academy Federation.

It looked like they had been in this city for a long time.

Alaric had thought that His Majesty's people would come, but he never expected them to be watching here, and only show up after everything was over.

Even he himself didn't notice that in the depths of his panicked emotions, there was a trace of pain spreading silently.

Skyler looked at Alaric expressionlessly, his gaze crossing that panicked face and falling on the Campbell knights who were drinking and chatting with the Laine nobles.

Especially the girl whose hair was whiter than his.

He recognized the sword at her waist at a glance; that was the legend the Laine people were proud of, but it was also the disaster that split the Kingdom.

"Baron Valerius, I think... His Majesty should not have invited these guests to his mansion."

"Perhaps, you can give me an explanation?"

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 470 =====