Chapter 605: Yet Still Lost to True Arrogance

The capital of the Kingdom of Lyne, Roland City.

Since spring began, the sky here has always been gray and hazy, as if hoarding a storm that refuses to fall.

Newcas dragged his drunken body back to his apartment in the central district.

He tossed the hat symbolizing dignity onto the coat rack, unbuttoned his collar so tight it nearly choked him, and plopped down into a leather sofa.

Just a few days ago, the Summer Palace held another meeting; to demonstrate the people's power, Baron Wickton expanded the six-seat council to twelve.

Yet he had no faith in Baron Wickton's reforms.

For the only sensible man had resigned—Professor Ferguson, renowned in cultural circles, had completely left the city, leaving behind either people like himself who merely watched the spectacle, or clowns who performed with excessive zeal.

While commoners fought bloody battles over a moldy black loaf, these so-called citizens spent an entire afternoon arguing whether pigeon should be stewed in rich broth or clear broth.

Some even cited ancient texts to argue that "roasted pigeon" was the only cooking method befitting knightly spirit, and all others were sacrilege.

Newcas must declare this was not his issue. Though the Cambellians had humor, it was private humor—he would never bring such absurdity into the Summer Palace.

Recalling what he had just witnessed, he couldn't help but feel that Professor Ferguson had harmed this city far too much.

On the surface, his departure had left no visible impact—after all, the man held not a single soldier.

Yet since his scolding voice vanished, the moral standards of the twelve councilors plummeted instantly.

Including himself.

He hadn't spoken, but he couldn't help laughing.

Still, despite the laughter, Newcas genuinely believed these people were insane.

Even someone like him could see Roland City had become a sealed room piled high with gunpowder. If not for the need to earn money and repay loans… he would have fled long ago.

As he rubbed his throbbing temples, pondering how to handle tonight's social obligations, the manservant slipped in quietly, carrying a delicate letter on a silver tray.

The envelope bore not only embossed wax seals but also a strong scent of rose perfume, utterly out of place amid the room's stale tobacco odor.

"Sir, your letter."

"Put it in my drawer."

"But… this letter was delivered by Miss Marui Langbaine's messenger," the manservant hinted subtly, implying this was no ordinary letter from commoners or citizens.

"Langbaine?"

Newcas raised an eyebrow, swiftly scanning his memory for the surname.

Soon, a noble family with a baronial title, whose lands lay just beyond Roland City's outskirts, surfaced in his mind—

That was the treasure he had long desired!

At this thought, Newcas instantly perked up, his lethargy vanishing; he sat upright, took the envelope, and carefully broke the seal.

A fragrant breeze brushed his face; elegant script followed, appearing before his eyes.

"Dear Mr. Newcas:

I dare to write to you. I have just returned to Roland City after a journey to Lei Ming City—a truly unforgettable experience. Especially that night at the Colin Theater, watching 'Zhong Sheng,' I was deeply moved by its touching story…"

Councilor Newcas read line by line, without a trace of impatience.

Unlike those miserly souls who hoarded words, this letter, with its graceful handwriting, contained no immediate focus—it was nearly Miss Marui Langbaine's travelogue of Lei Ming City and a summary of the story of 'Zhong Sheng.'

Though he had been too busy to return to Lei Ming City or see the play, thanks to the generous Miss Langbaine, he had consumed the entire play in one minute.

In short, it was a love story—similar ones were common at Roland City's Grand Theater, though he had no time to watch them either.

After hastily finishing the tale, Newcas finally found the "but" he had been searching for behind the lengthy preamble.

Usually, this was the period ending nonsense.

"... But! I must say, what moved me more than the bell ringing on stage was the gentlemanly demeanor of the Cambellians. They were punctual, dignified, and exceedingly polite."

"I didn't know nobles needed reservations for their private boxes; when the theater attendant embarrassed me, a Cambellian councilor just like you kindly invited me to join his box. And when I wept at the moving love story on stage, he gently offered me a soft, white handkerchief. Oh, Saint Xis… no wonder the Cambellian Duchy is the model of a knightly land."

"For a moment, I nearly fell in love. His eyes held an entire sea of stars—I could have overlooked his lack of noble title. Sadly, he told me he was already married. How regrettable! I envied his wife. How could a commoner possess such an admirable love?"

"Back in Roland City, I felt as if I had returned to a primeval forest. This contrast made me weep endlessly. The actors at Saint Roland Theater have no idea how to perform, and our gentlemen are utterly crude. I don't wish to criticize them for controlling their snot—but… surely they shouldn't wipe it on their sleeves? What's the difference between them and goblins?"

"I hear you are a councilor of the Third Assembly. I have a childish suggestion: Could you propose a law requiring all men of Lyne to carry a finely made tissue or handkerchief in their pockets? This is not only a matter of hygiene, but also the baseline of our social etiquette, and the dignity of our Kingdom of Lyne…"

At this point, Newcas nearly burst out laughing.

"Ha."

Saint Xis above, he had thought the funniest actors in all of Lyne sat in His Majesty's Summer Palace—yet here was one still slipping through the net.

In an age where even a loaf of bread was fought over, this noble lady still cared about the tissues in their pockets.

She should thank Roland City's gunsmiths for being unable to make pistols small enough to fit in pockets—otherwise, the irate citizens would have stuffed them in there instead.

As expected, the knights of the knightly land were earnestly joking.

Of course, as the "model of the knightly land," he wasn't far behind.

"Bring me paper and a pen," Newcas straightened up, handing the letter to his manservant.

"Also, frame this letter and place it in the parlor. Especially the wax seal—face it outward, so guests can see it without feeling it's forced."

The manservant bowed slightly, then quickly fetched paper and pen.

Newcas picked up his quill, paused briefly, then wrote a series of elegant, refined cursive script.

"Dear Miss Marui Langbaine—"

"Your letter is like a spring breeze, dispersing Roland City's heavy fog. Your suggestion brims with delicacy and compassion, reminding me of our revered Princess Ailin. You possess her grace, and even the humor she lacks. Though we have never met, I believe you are a princess equal to her—you are the most ladylike lady of Lyne I have ever encountered…"

Here, Newcas paused, a sly smile curling his lips, then continued writing with flowing ease.

"I believe you sincerely proposed this idea, but allow me to explain a small dilemma: Your Majesty's subjects are currently dieting—they likely have no spare energy to appreciate the beauty of art."

"Yet I do not consider this undignified. There are many kinds of dignity. For instance, Lei Ming City has fewer lavish churches and palaces than Roland City, and fewer fire extinguishers and gardens."

"But Your Majesty's subjects are the true gentlemen—they willingly become kindling, using their meager purses to guard our nights."

He gently dissuaded Miss Langbaine from her fanciful petition—the timing was far too poor.

Though he was no good man, he had to mind his own windows, lest one night, while he slept soundly, a stone flew through.

Then he shifted his tone, placing his true intent after the word "Moreover."

"Moreover, I didn't know you were also a theater enthusiast—what a coincidence! When I was in Lei Ming City, I frequented the Colin Theater right outside my door! We must have many topics to discuss."

"I hear Saint Roland Theater has a new play. If you don't mind, we could watch it together. The world isn't limited to Lei Ming City for theaters—I mean, we needn't look far when beauty may lie right beside us."

Praise the unseen Lei Ming City councilor! Praise Mr. Colin's 'Zhong Sheng'!

And the dignified citizens of Lei Ming City!

Mr. Newcas, who had never loved them for a single minute, had never felt so excited about being a Cambellian as he did today!

After all, men like him, no matter how wealthy, had never had the chance to connect with ladies beyond their social tier.

But now, he might actually secure a knighthood!

Doing business in Roland City these days was terribly difficult—even with patrons, he had to smooth every corner.

A sufficiently weighty noble title would greatly increase his security; his wife's surname could become his shield.

It was far more useful than a councilor's title.

Those fellows were turning into food connoisseurs.

Signing off, Newcas blew on the ink to dry it, then carefully sprayed the envelope with his own perfume.

Gazing at the elegant script, his mood light, a new inspiration struck him.

Miss Langbaine had given him an idea: Instead of debating how to cook pigeon in council meetings—oh no, roast pigeon—he could become the ladyfriend of the Kingdom of Lyne.

Whatever else, that title sounded better than "cook."

And it was, at least, a tiny contribution he could make to Roland City using his utterly useless title.

Humming a tuneless melody, Newcas slipped the perfumed letter into his coat's inner pocket and picked up the cane hanging on the rack.

While he wrote, the manservant had gone to the market.

Since no one ran errands, he'd have to go to the post office himself.

But as he pulled open the heavy oak door and stepped forward, two dark figures blocked the entrance like walls.

Before Newcas could make out their faces, two rough hands pressed against his chest, shoving him violently back into the vestibule.

With a loud "bang," the door slammed shut behind him.

The once-calm knightly exemplar was instantly terrified, nearly wetting himself, screaming like a slaughtered pig.

"Don't kill me! The money's in the study drawer—about two hundred silver pounds, take it all!"

A gloved hand clamped over his mouth, silencing his plea.

"Quiet, Mr. Newcas. We beg you."

The man on the left lowered his voice, pulling off his low-crowned felt hat to reveal a weathered yet resolute face.

"We're not robbers or thugs. I'm Bar, a stonemason. He's Nat, also a stonemason."

Newcas's frightened eyes flickered twice; seeing they hadn't drawn knives, he signaled them to release him.

He straightened his crumpled collar, heart still pounding, but merchantly reason swiftly returned.

He studied the two men in their thick, worn overcoats—clothes still chilled and reeking of lingering coal smoke, looking like factory foremen or schoolteachers from some provincial town.

"You… are citizens of Roland City?"

"Yes!"

"Then you should write to the stonemasons' guild master, Salt. I recall he's your councilor—he's obligated to reply. You've come to the wrong man!"

"Obligated…"

Nat sneered, as if hearing a joke.

But this time, Newcas couldn't laugh—this crude Lyne man was even ruder than Miss Langbaine had described in her letter.

He swallowed hard, attempting negotiation.

"Listen, gentlemen, no matter what grievance you carry, I'm just a councilor—I can't help you. But since you came here, I'll give you some money—enough to ease your immediate hardship… I swear by Saint Xis, I won't report you to the guards."

The man named Mr. Bahr cleared his throat, cutting him off.

Seeing that he seemed easier to talk to than that fellow Nat, Newcas quickly turned his pleading gaze toward him.

Yet, Mr. Bahr ultimately disappointed Newcas.

"Mr. Newcas, we know you are wealthy, but money cannot solve our problems."

Newcas groaned in pain.

Saint Xisheng above…

Has the day finally come?

The angry souls have boiled to the point where even money cannot buy them off—they only want to set a bigger fire.

As he had expected, the man who appeared most rational was speaking in a calm tone words that even a demon might find blasphemous.

"The King treats us like livestock; the nobles treat us like air. At first it was Raine iron scraps, now they toss us dirt clods to fool us—you know what I mean, those copper coins. I went to the Summer Palace to petition, but they nearly broke my legs. Later I learned they were inside discussing how to cook squab—was that cooking squab? No, they meant to boil us all!"

"Who… leaked this to you?"

"A cook."

Newcas shut his eyes in despair, regretting his foolish joke at the banquet, wishing he could slap himself.

It wasn't his idea—he'd only muttered it offhand in the banquet hall—but who knew there were crazier people who actually brought the thing to the conference table?

Yet those big-mouthed cooks hadn't revealed his name; they'd only told outsiders in jest.

And Mr. Bahr didn't laugh—he said solemnly:

"I went to the Saint Roland Fitz Church School to find Professor Ferguson, but learned he had been invited to Lei Ming City University to compile the Encyclopedia—he's no longer in this city. You are the only person we can trust. The cook told us only you treat us as human beings."

Newcas wanted to say this must be a misunderstanding; it wasn't that he treated the Raine people as human—it was that the Raine people were human to begin with.

He had merely spoken as any human would, from a human standpoint—how had these madmen tied him to the flagpole??

Do they even know who their patron is!?

If he so much as mentioned it to Sir Skedgin, the Royal Guard would hang every one of these criminals who broke into the legislator's home the very next day.

But judging by the look on these two brothers' faces, they didn't seem to care whether they died today or tomorrow… he'd better keep quiet.

Looking at the silent Senator Newcas, Bahr did not lose heart—he pulled a small booklet from his pocket: Volume One of the Encyclopedia.

It clearly contained the entry on the King; he turned to that page. Newcas saw clearly that the page was heavily marked with underlinings.

Well, His Majesty Theoden was a genius—he'd driven men who should've been sitting in beer halls drinking and singing to study things that had nothing to do with them.

"…This is the Encyclopedia compiled with Professor Ferguson's involvement. Only after reading his words did we realize what the nobles stole from us."

Newcas: "Volume One doesn't list Professor Ferguson's name—strictly speaking, this isn't his statement—"

"The name doesn't matter—it's the content. We finally know where our suffering comes from."

Nat, who had been silent, interrupted Newcas's stunned silence. He paid no heed to the other's shock, continuing in a low, hoarse voice:

"Professor Ferguson is right: when the old roof no longer shelters us from wind and rain, we must build our own house. Since they won't let the Third Estate play, we'll play on our own!"

The man's eyes burned with a flame—a fire that filled Newcas with dread, though it did not scorch his own backside.

Bahr continued after him:

"Exactly! As Nat said, we will form our own 'National Assembly'! Mr. Newcas, you are a Third Estate senator, and the only good man we can trust. We need your support, and your wisdom—please… give all of us a chance to live!"