Chapter 30: The Viscount Who Lost His Treasure!

“Lord Drake!”

“What is it, Neil?”

“Lord Drake, I just saw a strange piece of iron in town, so I bought it—I want you to take a look and tell me what kind of iron this is!”

The servant had already returned to the castle.

But for safety’s sake, he decided to first show it to the castle’s chief blacksmith, and only present it to the viscount once its value was confirmed.

“What strange iron? Show me!” Drake said absently—what good iron could possibly be found in town?

Any precious iron was something nobles fought over.

“Lord Drake, look!”

A piece of iron the size of a baby’s fist was placed before him; Drake took it and glanced casually—then froze.

“This… this… scales-patterned starfall meteorite iron!” Drake’s eyes widened, stammering twice before leaping to his feet, “Tell me—where did you get this scales-patterned starfall meteorite iron?”

“I… I bought it in town, Lord Drake—is it valuable?” The servant’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Valuable? Extremely valuable. This small piece is worth at least three gold coins!”

“Three… three gold coins? Good heavens, I only paid one silver coin for it!” The servant felt the world spin.

“Are there more scales-patterned starfall meteorite iron pieces in town? Or find the person who sold it to you—ask where he found it. We need to search for more!”

“Oh, and the vendors had more of this starfall iron—five pieces, each as big as an ostrich egg!”

“Ostrich egg-sized? That means each piece is worth thirty gold coins? Quick, go tell the viscount… no, I’ll go myself!” The chief blacksmith abandoned the furnace, dropped his hammer, and dashed out the door…

…

“My lord, look—this is Beckwith Viscount’s Redstone Town!”

Gervas sighed in relief as he gazed at the three carved wooden characters at the town’s entrance—finally arrived.

Though the firehorses beneath him were unfazed by such a long ride.

Gervas himself was not.

Even in his past life, long motorcycle rides gave him a sore butt—how much worse was galloping on horseback? His buttocks felt like they’d been pounded to pulp.

“Let’s enter the town!”

To avoid delays, Gervas didn’t mind pushing himself further—he spurred his men forward into the town.

This viscount’s town was no match for the Stormhold’s Wheatfield Town.

Judging from its scale in the distance, this town housed at least twenty thousand people—more than the combined population of a normal baron’s domain.

Of course, this was still a border region; in the kingdom’s wealthy heartlands, a viscount’s town of thirty to fifty thousand was perfectly normal.

Though densely populated, the serfs, seeing Gervas and his party in fine clothes and on spirited mounts, wisely stepped aside—clearing the road instantly.

Five minutes later, Gervas’s party reached the town square.

Redstone Town’s square was paved with bluestone—unlike the mud of Stormhold’s barren ground.

“Stormhold will have this too, someday.”

Gervas muttered, his gaze quickly drawn to the crowd on the left.

Around the square, vendors had set up stalls—but foot traffic was light, so their wares were clearly visible.

Only one spot had dozens of serfs gathered, with murmurs of “beautiful iron,” “expensive price,” drifting through the crowd.

Gervas immediately turned his horse toward them.

At first, the crowd didn’t notice the towering figures approaching—until the firehorses snorted repeatedly, and the onlookers finally realized something was wrong.

“L-Lord nobleman!”

“Lord nobleman!”

Trembling, the serfs turned pale and parted, revealing the vendor’s stall behind them.

The iron block with a fish-scale pattern glinted in the sun, instantly capturing Gervas’s attention.

He dismounted at once and walked to the stall.

“Good! Very good!” Gervas nodded repeatedly—this meteorite iron was precious in both his past and present life.

“How much for this iron?”

“L-Lord nobleman, each piece is ten silver coins!”

Gervas’s party’s aura was nothing like the servant’s—the two-and-a-half-meter firehorses alone proved their might; the five fugitives trembled as they spoke.

Whoosh!

“Here are fifty silver coins—I’ll take all of it!”

To the fugitives’ surprise, this nobleman was even more generous than the servant.

A money pouch flew toward them—the transaction was complete, without even haggling!

Could the pouch contain less than promised?

As the nobleman took the iron and mounted his horse to leave, the five fugitives quickly opened the pouch.

A quick count confirmed—every silver coin was there.

“By the way!” Just as they relaxed, the nobleman suddenly turned back, “You’d better leave immediately—such a large sum of money invites danger!”

“Yes, Lord nobleman! Thank you for your mercy!” The five fugitives bowed deeply, humiliated and grateful.

Gervas didn’t linger—he spurred his men, including Lei Meng, and rode out.

Soon after Gervas’s party left town, a carriage convoy burst from Beckwith Viscount’s castle.

At its head was Beckwith Viscount himself.

“My lord, scales-patterned starfall meteorite iron is among the finest meteorite materials—when forged into weapons or armor, its sharpness or durability is at least three times greater than ordinary iron.”

“Moreover, if you add a proper amount of mithril, alchemists may even inscribe runes upon it, creating rune weapons!”

Beckwith nodded. “Neil, you’re certain there are five more identical pieces of starfall meteorite iron?”

“Yes, my lord—I only bought the smallest one!”

“Good. Everyone, hurry!”

The convoy arrived at the town square five to six minutes later.

“Neil, where are the five serfs who sold the iron?”

“This…?” Neil stared at the now-empty stall, stunned. “My lord, those five men sold the iron right here.”

“Many people were watching—vendors and crowds alike can testify!”

Neil turned pale with panic.

“Find out what happened—where did those five serfs who sold the starfall iron go?” Beckwith’s face darkened dangerously.

Soon, several guards reported what had occurred in the square.

“An outsider noble bought all the iron? This… this is scales-patterned starfall meteorite iron!” Chief Blacksmith Drake cried out in anguish.

“Chase them!” Beckwith snarled.

But the outcome was obvious.

Gervas’s party rode firehorses capable of a thousand li per day; Beckwith’s horses, though warhorses, were ordinary—utterly outpaced.

With their retinue slowing them down, they never even caught a glimpse of Gervas’s trail.

Worse, thanks to Gervas’s warning, the five fugitives were alert—they took back roads and escaped Beckwith Viscount’s domain safely.