Chapter 120 : Chapter 120
Chapter 120. Storm City’s Choice
After steadying the somewhat low mood left behind by Clark’s departure, Eli returned to his guest room in La Roche Fortress.
He picked up the book he had borrowed from the library once more and immersed himself in it, using it to distract his thoughts.
As for Sir Lucius’s earlier half-joking reprimand, he naturally did not take it to heart.
He read carefully through the records in the book concerning the history, political structures, military characteristics, principal products, and even the customs of the various major city-states.
Once again, he could not help marveling at the anonymous author’s breadth of learning and the thoroughness of the investigation.
This was absolutely not something that could have been written behind closed doors. It must have cost an immense amount of hardship and danger.
At last, he turned to the final page of the book.
Unlike the other pages, which had been packed with dense writing, this page was strikingly... artistic.
At the center of the page, in an elegant and ornate hand, there was only a single passage.
“We two have braved countless dangers and journeyed through the many city-states, setting down in this book all that we saw and learned.
We now present it to His Grace Duke Federico La Roche, Guardian of the Western Frontier.
The Western Federation Alliance harbors grand ambitions, and its strength must not be underestimated! May Your Grace, and all future readers of this work, give due weight to the threat from the west!
—Chris Russell the Bard, and Estar, Scholar of the Midsummer Isles. Autumn, Year 503 of the New Calendar.”
“Russell?” Eli’s brows drew together at once.
He remembered that surname clearly. The ducal house of the Eastern Frontier was House Russell.
A member of the Russell ducal family of the Eastern Frontier, accompanied by a scholar from the overseas Midsummer Isles, had crossed the entire Kingdom of Orlando, and had even ventured through the Great Set Desert to travel deep into the lands of the western federations?
That alone required extraordinary courage and perseverance.
And yet the precious results they had obtained through such hardship had not been presented to their own family.
Instead, they had been given freely to the Duke of the Western Frontier, who was the one most likely to face the western threat first.
Such sincerity and foresight, born of concern for the kingdom’s safety as a whole and rising above regional prejudice, filled Eli with admiration.
But unfortunately...
he remembered very clearly that he had found this book in a battered box thick with dust.
The edges of its pages showed varying degrees of wear and insect damage, proof that it had been left idle and neglected for a very long time.
Was it because this report had come from House Russell of the Eastern Frontier?
Had that made the La Roches of the Western Frontier instinctively suspicious and dismissive?
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
From outside came a familiar booming voice, brimming with barely restrained excitement.
“Eli! You in there? It’s me—Ron!”
Eli hurriedly pulled himself out of his thoughts and called back, “Captain Ron? Come in!”
The door opened, revealing Ron Hohenzollern’s face, bright with a hearty smile.
And he had not come empty-handed. In one hand he was carrying several bottles of what looked to be excellent wine.
Seeing that, Eli smiled as well and teased him, “Oh? Captain Ron. Looks like something tremendous has happened?”
At those words, Ron burst into even louder laughter, his voice full of triumph and satisfaction.
“That’s right! Hahaha! I’d barely returned from my assignment when Sir Lucius formally summoned me!
Starting today, I, Ron Hohenzollern, am the legitimate Baron of Runestone City!
That’s all thanks to you, Eli!”
Eli quickly shook his head with a smile. “Captain Ron... no, I should call you Baron Ron now.
This is because you fought bravely and earned distinguished merit. Sir Lucius saw that with his own eyes. It has nothing to do with me.”
Ron clearly did not care about such details. With a great sweep of his hand, he laughed. “Hahaha! However you put it, I’ll remember this favor!
When something good happens, naturally you find someone to celebrate with! Sadly, my uncle already received orders and departed with his troops for the royal capital.
I was wondering who to drink with, and Sir Lucius happened to mention
that you were still here in La Roche Fortress. So I came to find you at once!”
Hearing that, something stirred faintly in Eli’s heart, and a trace of warmth spread through him.
Sir Lucius had actually thought he might be in low spirits because of his friend’s departure, and had casually mentioned him to Ron.
He had sent this newly appointed baron over to drink and celebrate with him, just to lighten his mood.
This Governor of the Western Frontier, who always appeared so cold and inscrutable,
occasionally revealed a kind of care and attentiveness that always took one by surprise, and even...
made Eli feel like supporting his superior in old age.
Suppressing that strange thought, Eli smiled and pulled over a chair for Ron.
“Come, come, Baron. Have a seat.
But let me warn you in advance—if the wine is poor, I’ll be offended.”
Ron sat down and thumped the bottles heavily onto the table, full of confidence. “You’ll be satisfied!
I got this from my uncle’s cellar... ahem, I mean, it was a fine wine my uncle gifted to me!
Drink! Tonight, we won’t stop until we’re drunk!”
The two exchanged a grin, uncorked the bottles, and at once a rich aroma of wine filled the room.
...
At the same time, far away on the border of the Western Frontier, inside Storm City—which had long been occupied by the Wanliu Federation— the atmosphere was the complete opposite of the easy celebration in Thorne City.
Inside a council chamber that preserved part of the Western Frontier’s architectural style while also blending in Wanliu elements, several Wanliu nobles stationed in Storm City were locked in a fierce discussion.
Every one of them wore a grave expression. Gone was the former composure of conquerors.
“Lord Paul!” one nobleman with a mysterious mask of flowing water across his face said urgently, looking toward the man seated at the head of the chamber.
“The news you just mentioned... is it really true?
Within the alliance... Hofgard truly intends to start a civil war again?
Why now of all times? The Kingdom of Orlando is just about to descend into chaos!”
Another noble slammed his hand against the table in fury. “Damn those Hofgard bastards!
Those savages with muscles for brains, who know only forging and war!
Have their heads been smashed stupid by the very hammers they forged themselves, that they would start infighting at a time like this?!”
The noble known as Lord Paul was Paul Botticelli.
He was the highest-ranking authority of the Wanliu Federation forces currently stationed in Storm City.
He appeared somewhat older, with a steadier and more composed bearing.
Yet even his features were now shadowed by a gloom that would not lift.
He sighed, his voice carrying deep fatigue. “The news... is most likely true.
My elder brother in Wanliu used an expensive secret art transmission to send the message here as a matter of urgency.
The Great Smiths of the Hofgard Federation have jointly proclaimed that they received a divine revelation from the God of War and Forging...
They claim that fate has already been decided, and that in the future it will be they who unite all the federations and build an empire the likes of which has never been seen before...”
“Unite the federations? Nonsense!” the masked noble said, his tone brimming with scorn and rage.
“What place does that leave for the other federations? What place does that leave for the alliance leader?
Do they think the Six-Crown Council of Wanliu is just decoration?”
Paul Botticelli did not respond to his subordinate’s fury. He merely leaned back tiredly in his chair.
Inwardly, he thought with bitter blame that, judging from the present situation... yes, perhaps it was.
His thoughts drifted.
Wanliu styled itself as the land of ten thousand rivers, yet in truth only six great rivers ran through its territory.
Those abundant waterways and vital trade routes had fostered the rise of six supremely powerful families.
For generation after generation, they had held Wanliu’s power in their hands, and they were known collectively as the Six Crowns.
Wanliu’s highest authority was the joint council formed by representatives of those six great families, who made all decisions together.
And he, Paul Botticelli, came from the Botticelli Family, one of the Six Crowns.
He recalled the scene from a year ago, when he had been chosen by his father-in-law—who was also the Marshal responsible for the alliance’s eastern campaign.
At the time, irreconcilable conflicts had already begun to surface, and they had been preparing to depart with their rich spoils of war.
That imposing Marshal had then, half by coercion and half by temptation, arranged for him to remain in this magnificent Storm City.
And he had revealed to him a shocking plan: a massive civil upheaval was about to erupt within the Kingdom of Orlando.
When that happened, they would return in force and perhaps conquer the entire kingdom in a single stroke, a land rich yet thrown into disorder.
Paul’s task was to develop Storm City properly.
It was to become the foremost springboard and an unshakable fortress for the alliance’s future grand army.
At the time, Paul had been dazzled by the grandeur of that plan and by the power and glory that would soon fall into his hands.
Unable to wait, he had accepted the assignment and remained here with part of the army and supplies.
And beyond that, with his tacit approval and arrangement,
many other federal forces had likewise stayed behind, each occupying one of the cities they had captured.
And now, the news of unrest within the kingdom had indeed arrived.
The king was dead, a child ruler had ascended the throne, and ambitious men were already moving beneath the surface... This should have been a heaven-sent opportunity!
But who could have imagined it?
At this very moment, the alliance itself had burst into flames from within!
The Hofgard Federation had suddenly made its move, its ambitions laid bare as it sought dominance over the alliance, and civil war was about to erupt.
The later plans that had once been promised now instantly became a distant fantasy, perhaps even one doomed to collapse entirely.
Their isolated force, stranded in a foreign land, had suddenly been thrown into a desperate impasse, unable either to advance or retreat.
Paul rubbed his brow hard. “Enough. Anger will solve nothing.
The reality is that without her and that... divine artifact’s help,
we simply cannot cross the Great Set Desert and return to the federations by our own strength, so... abandon any thought of going back.”
He paused, then continued, “Some time ago,
I also sent an emergency summons to the federal personnel left behind in the other strongholds across the Western Frontier, ordering them to gather here in Storm City in the near future.
Once everyone has arrived, I will explain the seriousness of the situation in full.”
He lifted his head, and his tone became extremely grave. “Now, before us, there may be only one choice left...”
The two subordinates immediately held their breath and looked at him tensely. “Lord Paul, you mean...?”
Paul was silent for a moment.
Slowly, he drew a letter from his robes.
With heavy movements, he set it on the table and pushed it toward them.
The two hurried forward, seized the letter, and rapidly scanned its contents.
As they read, their eyes widened more and more.
By the time they finished, they were almost simultaneously standing there with mouths agape, their faces filled with utter disbelief.
“L-Lord Paul! This... whose letter is this? This...” The masked noble’s voice was trembling.
Paul looked at their stunned expressions, and a complicated, unreadable emotion crossed his face as he slowly spoke a single name.
“Bernard, the Minister of Intelligence of the Kingdom of Orlando...”