The Lord Of Blood Hill

Time is limited, so Henwell can only spend a few private hours with his parents.

Another day passes, and most of the guests have already left.

Those remaining for trade cooperation are now handled by Victor and his team.

Only a few guests remain at the Blood Hill estate, as the Long Princess and her entourage prepare to depart the next day.

To see them off, Henwell hosts another banquet. Ostensibly, it’s a farewell party for Fred, his longtime friend, but in reality, Henwell is bidding farewell to his parents.

This banquet is more relaxed and informal. Everyone mingles happily.

Someone even suggests a friendly duel between Fred and Henwell.

In a good mood, Henwell doesn’t spoil the fun and agrees to a demonstration match with Fred.

Fred has already chosen his path. Though not yet promoted, his strength has improved considerably.

Despite giving his all, Fred still can’t force Henwell to truly go all out.

Their fight is dazzling, leaving everyone present in awe.

Even the other Grand Knights from various factions can’t tell that Henwell is holding back.

Only a select few perceive the true level of the duel, while most watch simply for entertainment, unable to grasp its full significance.

The match ends in a draw, leaving everyone impressed.

Fred, the mercenary king and last generation’s prodigy, holding Henwell to a tie already speaks volumes about Henwell’s potential.

Everyone affirms the true power behind the lord of Blood Hill.

Many of Henwell’s peers let go of their illusions and admit Henwell is on a completely different level.

The younger generation of professionals, after witnessing this duel, realize they wouldn’t last even a few moves against him.

There’s no political alliance or trade negotiation at this banquet, just a joyful gathering that concludes perfectly.

The next day, the Long Princess’s group sets off, leaving behind numerous orders and carrying various gifts from Henwell.

Escorted by Henwell’s Lord Iron Guards, they depart Peace Haven territory.

From then on, only nobles from the Vorry kingdom remain in Peace Haven.

That night, Simon knocks on Henwell’s study door, accompanied by someone.

Henwell looks up, surprised. “What’s the matter?”

The visitor wears a black cloak that hides most of his face, but Henwell immediately recognizes him as Prince Jonathan, the Fourth Prince.

Jonathan doesn’t answer but stares at Henwell and says, “You should kill your own bodyguard!”

Henwell glances at Simon, who replies, “He sneaked up to your floor quietly, coming through a non-guest passage.”

Henwell turns back to Jonathan. “Your Highness, sneaking around like this at night and dressed like that. If it weren’t for my chief of guards, you’d probably have been beaten up on the spot by other guards. Simon didn’t lay a hand on you; he just restrained you. Why make such a fuss?”

Jonathan’s voice is cold. “It’s not about that. What I’m here to talk about tonight must remain a secret. Otherwise, not only am I in danger, but you’ll be implicated too. You’re someone who does big things! He’s just a chief of guards. If he’s truly loyal, he should take his own life!”

Henwell rolls his eyes. “Have you been drinking? This is my chief of guards and soon to be the first commander of my cavalry corps. Just because you come to chat with me at midnight, you want my trusted man to disappear? How much did you drink to say something like that?”

Jonathan snaps, “You don’t even know what I want to discuss with you!”

Henwell shrugs. “Suit yourself. Say what you want.”

He sits back down at his desk.

Jonathan notices Simon doesn’t intend to leave, and there are several Lord Iron Guards stationed by the door. Anger flares inside him but he suppresses it.

“Henwell! What I’m about to say is important. Are you sure you want a third person to know?”

Henwell takes a sip of his invigorating drink. “Simon, let the brothers rest. Close the door.”

Simon bows and leaves, allowing the Lord Iron Guards to continue their patrol outside, then steps out of the study.

Just as Simon is about to close the door, Henwell knocks on the table. “What are you doing? Come back in and listen something together!”

Hearing this, Simon returns, closes the door from the inside.

“Henwell, you…”

Jonathan can barely contain his anger, but Henwell calmly says, “Your Highness, you need to understand one thing. Whatever you want to discuss, you’re coming to me for help, not the other way around. Since you want me to do something, show some attitude. When you approached the other grand dukes, were you this arrogant?”

“I’m not a grand duke, that’s true. But everyone on the continent knows I’m stronger than any grand duke in any kingdom! I’m not asking for courtesy, but at least show some respect. You’re not here to discuss; it feels more like you’re ordering me around!”

Jonathan falls silent for a long moment, then finally sits down in the guest chair of the study.

Henwell stands and walks over to the tea and snacks area. “Your Highness, would you prefer some refreshing black tea or a bracing drink?”

“...A glass of wine,” Jonathan replies.

Henwell waves Simon away and personally opens a bottle, pouring a glass for Jonathan.

Jonathan takes a sip of the golden liquid and frowns. “Henwell, your wine quality is average. That doesn’t suit your status!”

Henwell takes a sip as well. “Your Highness, I’m not trying to embarrass you or be disrespectful. This wine is homemade. You know, Peace Haven does okay with grain, but when it comes to berries, especially those used for winemaking, we’re nowhere near the quality of the northern kingdoms or places like Tyran City, which is famous for its fine wines.”

Jonathan pauses, then eyes the wine in his glass. “If that’s the case, then it’s truly an honor. I doubt many have had the chance to taste wine personally brewed by the lord of Blood Hill. That’s quite rare.”

He takes another careful sip, then looks seriously at Henwell.

“Henwell, honestly, you don’t have the talent for winemaking. You’d be better off not wasting your time and energy.”

Henwell shrugs and drinks again. “Wine is just a drink, something to relax with. For most people, my wine isn’t bad at all. Even among nobles, only a small fraction demand top-tier quality. And those like Your Highness, who study wine extensively, are even rarer.”

Jonathan swirls his glass, watching the golden liquid, then smiles. “So, Henwell, would you like to have a top-notch winery? Like the ones you just mentioned in Tyran City?”

Henwell’s pupils narrow slightly, but he keeps his expression calm. “You mean you’re considering opening ties and convincing Duke Quinns to let me set up a winery on his land? If so, Your Highness, how much stake do you intend to take?”