Chapter 439: The Lord Alstan of East
Morning arrived with a soft, golden glow that filtered through the expansive windows of Lord Alstan Ferindale’s office. The city below bustled with its usual rhythm—merchants setting up stalls, laborers hauling goods, and soldiers patrolling the streets in a lethargic manner that mirrored their lord’s demeanor. Inside the lavish chamber, however, the atmosphere was anything but industrious.
Alstan leaned back in his oversized chair, its crimson cushions embroidered with golden threads that shimmered in the sunlight. Around him, the room radiated opulence. Ornate tapestries lined the walls, depicting exaggerated scenes of his family’s supposed victories. A crystal chandelier hung above, casting a soft, refracted glow across the polished marble floors. Gold-trimmed furniture and an array of jeweled trinkets were scattered about, a testament to his obsession with wealth.
A servant approached, bowing low as he presented a tray bearing a steaming goblet of spiced wine. Alstan waved a pudgy hand dismissively. "Later. I’ve more important matters to attend to." His tone dripped with disdain, though he had yet to even glance at the documents piled on his desk.
The double doors of the office creaked open, and a harried messenger stumbled inside, his tunic damp with sweat. "M-my lord," the man stammered, clutching a scroll in trembling hands. "Urgent news from the frontlines."
Alstan frowned, his plump fingers drumming the desk’s surface impatiently. "Speak, then, and be quick about it. I detest interruptions."
The messenger unrolled the scroll, his voice quivering as he read aloud. "The southeastern front has fallen. The Astellians... they have routed our forces, my lord. Their tactics were—"
"What nonsense is this?" Alstan’s voice boomed, cutting the man off mid-sentence. "Routed by farmers and peasants? Do you take me for a fool?" He snatched the scroll, scanning it briefly before tossing it aside in disgust. "This is propaganda, meant to shake our resolve. Those Astellian dogs couldn’t breach a barn door, let alone our defenses."
An older advisor standing nearby cleared his throat, his expression cautious. "My lord, the report is credible. Our scouts confirm the southeastern defeat. Perhaps we should consider fortifying our own defenses... just in case."
Alstan’s laughter rang out, rich and derisive. "Fortify? Against what? A horde of starving peasants armed with pitchforks?" He gestured grandly toward the window overlooking the city. "Look at these walls! They’ve stood for centuries, impervious to far greater threats than a few emboldened serfs."