Translator: CinderTL
Windbreath Fortress was the largest city in the Yellow Earth, ruled by the Bradley Family for a century. From this stronghold, they had firmly controlled the region.
Now, the master of Windbreath Fortress—Lamost Bradley—stood before the Council Hall's floor-to-ceiling window, his fingertips unconsciously tapping the cold patterns on the stained glass.
Outside, another wave of orc cavalry was retreating from the city, kicking up dust as they fled. Clearly, these foreign invaders from the Grassland had abandoned their ambition to conquer Aldor.
"My Lord, Ajil's envoy has arrived in the front hall," the butler reported in a hushed voice, his voice trembling despite his efforts to conceal it. "They insist on seeing you immediately!"
"Make him wait a while longer!" Lamost replied impatiently.
The candlelight in the Council Hall suddenly flickered violently, casting distorted shadows of the twelve family elders seated around the long table onto the walls.
Finance Minister Horn wiped his glistening forehead with a silk handkerchief. "The Orcs are finished. We should immediately prepare lavish gifts to demonstrate our loyalty to Crystal Glare... or perhaps Alden Town..."
"And then wait to be hanged on the city walls?" Military Minister Galvin sneered, cutting him off.
"Don't forget who led the Orcs to attack Watchers Fortress from behind! Do you think Hal Duke will let us off? He's leading the vanguard of the royal army and is already racing here!"
"Perhaps we should leave," the military governor said, surprising everyone. Just when they thought he would fight to the death, he proposed a shocking alternative.
Lamost slowly turned, his gaze sweeping over the vassals who had served the family for years. He noticed that many averted their eyes as soon as their gazes met his—a subtle gesture that spoke louder than any words. It revealed that the once-solid Bradley Family was now as fractured as the assembly in the Council Hall. Though they maintained a veneer of dignity, their unity had crumbled.
Lamost knew the ship was about to capsize. The vassals gathered around him were nothing more than gamblers fighting for the last lifeboat before the wreck. Their loyalty was highly questionable.
"Gentlemen," Lamost began, his voice hoarse, startling even himself. "What if... we chose a third path?"
The room fell silent. Twelve pairs of eyes turned to him.
"What if... we resisted the kingdom's army with our own strength?" As Lamost spoke, he heard the lack of confidence in his own voice.
"Impossible!"
With a startled cry, Lamost's gaze slowly swept across the long table, finally settling on Langfero, whose face was ashen.
The once proud knight now huddled in his chair like a frightened mouse, his right hand unconsciously stroking the faint pain of the scar on his arm—an eternal memento of Stonebridge Town.
"Why, Langfero!"
Though he himself had little confidence, the family knight's cowardice ignited Lamost's anger, his voice laced with shame and indignation. "Are you so terrified of them? Where is your knightly courage!"
Langfero's Adam's apple bobbed violently. "My lord... if we were to face Grayman's army, it wouldn't be a war!"
His pupils dilated slightly, as if he were reliving that nightmarish battlefield. "It would be a massacre!"
The candlelight in the Council Hall suddenly flickered, casting distorted shadows on the walls. Langfero's description, like a dull blade, slowly and cruelly shattered the illusions of everyone present.
"I witnessed it firsthand in Stonebridge Town," Langfero said, his voice heavy with despair. "Their soldiers move like clockwork gears. While the first rank fires, the second is already aiming, and the third is methodically reloading... a relentless cycle that never stops."
His fingernails dug deep into the wooden table. "And our Orc Allies... they may be fierce, their charges as magnificent as a raging tide, but when they fall, they crumple like straw."
Finance Minister Horn's lips began to turn pale. "Isn't there any way to counter those fire-spewing weapons?"
"No!" Langfero suddenly burst into a hoarse laugh. "Don't you understand yet? Am I saying their weapons are powerful? No, that's only part of it."
"The morale, discipline, and training of the Northwestern Army far surpass any army I've ever seen!"
"I saw it myself. A unit of theirs, after being scattered by an Orc cavalry charge, spontaneously formed small squares and continued fighting. No retreat, no panic... like a kicked-apart ant colony, instantly reforming into a new killing machine!"
Langfero waved his arms in despair. "Even if we were blessed by the gods, and a downpour rendered their firearms useless, those soldiers would still charge us with bayonets and tear us to shreds!"
Lamost noticed a desperate, trapped look in many people's eyes. The young clerk beside him was already trembling uncontrollably, as if merely imagining the scene was enough to shatter his nerves.
The Duke gently stroked the gem on his family ring, its cold touch reminding him of his father's words: "A man should know his place at the appropriate time."
Had the Bradley Family become a mere pawn in this game, destined to be devoured at any moment?
"Admit Ajil's envoy!"
With no other choice, Lamost decided to hear what their "allies" had to say.
The heavy wooden door creaked open, and the Orc envoy strode into the Council Hall with heavy steps. Bloodstains seemed to cling to his bronze armor, and the bone ornaments hanging from his waist clattered unpleasantly with each movement.
"Lord Bradley," the envoy greeted the Duke with a human-like bow, revealing uneven tusks as he spoke. "Prince Ajil has instructed me to convey his regards and to remind you that the tents of the Grassland are always open to friends."
Military Commander Galvin glanced at the envoy, his heart leaping with satisfaction.
The air in the Council Hall instantly froze as the envoy slowly pulled a letter from his breast pocket and handed it to Lamost. It was sealed with the White Wolf Clan's wax seal.
"Prince Ajil says, take your gold, silver, and grain and come with us. Leave not a single scrap for Grayman. When the Northwest Legion lets its guard down, we'll help you fight your way back!"
He grinned, his yellow-brown eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "After all... friends should help each other, shouldn't they?"
Lamost immediately grew suspicious. Ajil's seemingly sincere offer might be a trap. Once he reached the Orcs' stronghold, would he truly have control over the wealth he brought with him?
"Your Highness Ajil is truly... thoughtful," the Duke forced a smile.
From the corner, Langfero suddenly coughed. Without looking, Lamost knew the knight's face was etched with a warning.
The Orc envoy continued, emphasizing his point: "Take everything you can carry. After all..." he drawled deliberately, "anything left behind will become Grayman's spoils of war."
He seemed certain the Bradley Family would follow them.
(End of the Chapter)
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