Dungeon King: My Goblins Have Captured Countless Female Players

Bosiden continued, "My lord does not wish to be your enemy, so he has sent me to negotiate terms of peace with you."

Ferald, continuing to sip his corn soup, didn’t glance at Bosiden, and asked, "What are your lord’s conditions?"

Bosiden responded with a rare, hearty smile,

"There are no conditions, Your Grace. We offer unconditional peace. After the negotiation, Your Grace will still be the lord of vast territories, and my lord will remain a humble friend."

Lanvin, still clad in his shining silver armor – which had seen little action in the battles – spoke to his father, "Father, we cannot agree to this. Uncle is still waiting for our reinforcements."

However, an elderly earl with a black, upward-curling mustache spoke up, "I do not support continuing this fight. We have already deployed all our troops. The losses we have suffered up to now are severe, and we cannot afford to go on. If we continue, I fear that Duke Jiakai, the old fox, might take advantage of our weakened state."

Ferald set down his soup bowl, visibly wary of the prospect of other dukes attacking him in his moment of vulnerability.

Bosiden added, "Your Grace, my lord has no conflict of interest with you. You are in Florence, while my lord is within Duke Jiakai’s territory. Although not too far apart, my lord’s Earldom of Nok is still quite distant from your lands. If Your Grace continues to suffer losses within Nok, it could be a painful situation for your kin but a joyful one for your enemies."

Ferald took a deep breath, almost as if speaking to himself, and lamented, "Ah, I can’t help my brother anymore. His tactical level is too poor. If Howard’s army has already left his area, why didn’t he lead all his troops to besiege other lands of Howard? Or he could have directly joined forces with me. A pincer attack by the two of us might have had a chance against Howard."

Bosiden listened silently, already forming a judgment in his mind – the Duke of Florence was ready to sign a peace treaty.

When Bosiden left the Duke’s camp, he held a piece of parchment in his hand, bearing the signature of the Duke of Florence.