Translator: CinderTL
Paul's subordinates froze, their anger still simmering but no longer erupting in protest.
Turning, Paul swept his gaze over them. "I'm not weak, I'm calculating. The king wants stability for the kingdom, not victory in a single battle. He fears not Abal, but the next Giles—even if that person were me."
He paused, as if gathering his thoughts, then continued slowly, "If I were king..."
TL/N: (;° ロ°)
The words caught him off guard.
For a fleeting moment, the phrase felt less like a hypothetical and more like a hidden current surging from his spine to his brain.
If I were king—the four words resonated within him with a depth he'd never experienced before.
He didn't finish the sentence, but the brief pause was enough for Hansel to detect a subtle shift in his demeanor.
Paul quickly regained his composure, his voice steady as he continued, "Therefore, we shouldn't harbor resentment. We'll continue to strengthen the fortress's defenses with our current resources and prepare for the orcs' next move."
He returned to his desk, folded the letter, and placed it in a drawer. The firelight cast long shadows across his stern profile, and no one saw the slight tremor in his fingertips.
"If I were king..." The unfinished sentence, like a seed, silently took root in Paul's heart.
After the others had left, the Lord's Manor office fell silent.
The fire in the hearth had dwindled to a few clusters of dark red embers, and the oil lamp's halo cast a dim yellow circle on the heavy desk.
Paul sat down behind the desk, silent for a long time. He didn't move immediately, but stared at the massive map on the opposite wall—from the Blackstone Plains to the heart of the Grassland, every marked location had been stained with the blood of his men.
After a long period of stillness, he suddenly reached for a thick sheet of stationery, unscrewed the ink bottle, and dipped his quill.
The quill's tip touched the paper, but he didn't rush to write. Instead, he took a deep breath, as if trying to suppress all his emotions.
Then he began to write:
"Your Majesty:"
"I have received your reply and understand your decision at the royal council. I harbor no resentment or feeling of betrayal."
"Let us be frank. My request to conscript troops in the Northeast Fiefs was not driven by a desire to expand my own power. I have never placed personal gain above the safety of the kingdom."
"What I saw was not Abal's defeat, but a strategic retreat. He withdrew deep into the Grassland, but his army remains intact, and the Chieftain's Tent still holds sway. As long as we stop here, the threat from the Grassland will never truly disappear."
"To resolve this issue completely, we cannot rely solely on defense. We must actively cultivate the Grassland—establish outposts, lay supply lines, and gradually expand our control zone. This requires not an army that can win a single battle, but a border force capable of long-term deployment, sustained combat, and continuous replenishment."
"Our current forces can hold the fortress, but they cannot sustain a prolonged expansion. The conscription authority I request is not to expand my own power, but to ensure we can build upon this victory and ultimately bring the vast Grassland under the order of Aldor."
"I am willing to bear any risk for this goal, and I only hope you understand that my motives have always been for the long-term security of the kingdom."
Between the lines, Paul attributed his request for conscription authority to the enduring peace of the kingdom's borders and the grand strategic vision of completely subjugating the Grassland—this was the intention he wished to convey to the outside world.
After finishing the last word, Paul gently blew on the ink to dry it. He folded the letter, sealed it in an envelope, and finally secured it with wax.
He didn't immediately summon his servant. Instead, he placed the letter on the corner of his desk and gazed at it silently.
He knew this letter might not persuade Rodney XVIII, but he still wanted to make one last effort.
Northwest Bay's economy relied on industry and commerce, and it had long been striving to extend its trade tentacles across the world. The Neron Corridor—Desert Oasis—Continental Heartland route was particularly crucial.
However, the expansion and pillaging of the Grassland Orcs were gradually strangling this golden trade route.
Paul was well aware that everyone in Northwest Bay—local lords, merchant guild leaders, factory bosses, even workers, technicians, and farmers—regarded the Grassland Orcs as a thorn in their side.
They didn't just want peace on the borders; they yearned to completely eliminate the threat, allowing Northwest Bay's caravans to penetrate deep into the Continental Heartland and bring profits back to the Northwest Bay Exchange.
As the collective spokesperson for these groups, Paul Grayman had to heed their demands.
He needed to leverage the authority of the Royal Family to assemble a powerful force capable of penetrating deep into the Grassland and destroying the Chieftain's Tent.
To avoid misunderstandings, he hadn't explicitly mentioned this in his letter. However, Paul firmly believed this wasn't personal ambition. Northwest Bay was part of Aldor, and he was a loyal vassal. The richer and stronger Northwest Bay became, the richer and stronger Aldor would become. How could that be considered self-interest?
Paul sat quietly for a while longer, gradually gaining clarity.
Perhaps even the sensitive power struggles were merely superficial. Ultimately, it came down to the differing interests between him and Crystal Glare.
At the heart of the Aldor Kingdom's power structure, the rulers and ministers of Crystal Glare primarily focused on matters within the kingdom's borders. Their wealth came from agricultural taxes from their fiefs, trade routes within the kingdom, and mineral resources from various regions. As long as the Orcs were driven out of Aldor's territory and peace returned to the borders, their interests were secured.
Whether the Chieftain's Tent in the deep Grassland was destroyed or whether the Orc Clans would return—to them, these were distant concerns, not immediate threats.
Paul's gaze pierced beyond the borders of Aldor, past the Grassland and the desert, to the heart of the distant continent.
The Northwest Bay was no longer merely a geographical term but a vast economic entity.
Beyond Aldor, Northwest Bay merchant ships sailed toward unfamiliar shores, and caravans traversed arid oases, carrying cloth, textiles, and other goods to foreign lands, returning with gold coins, spices, gemstones, rare metals, and more.
For Paul, driving the orcs out of Aldor was far from enough. They could still erode the Northwest Bay from beyond its borders.
Only by completely destroying the Chieftain's Tent, dismantling the orc's organizational core, and bringing the Grassland under human order could the trade artery spanning the Neron Corridor be permanently secured.
He yearned for a decisive war, while the nobles of Crystal Glare sought only a defensive victory.
Where interests lie, so too does the gaze turn. While the rulers and ministers of Crystal Glare were content with peace on the borders, the Northwest Bay had to view the entire continent as a battlefield.
(End of the Chapter)
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