Translator: CinderTL
Paul turned, his gaze unwavering.
"But I still need to uphold these rules. Precisely because I understand that power is fundamental, I must prevent it from spiraling out of control. If even the First Family can act with impunity, those below will follow suit, overstepping their bounds. Officers will seek glory, officials will enrich themselves, and soldiers will plunder. Power without limits inevitably devolves into tyranny."
"I don't expect to change everyone overnight, but I must set an example. The law draws a line for power. Even if true equality remains elusive for now, people must see that even the lord's family cannot act with impunity."
Marianna listened quietly, her eyes still skeptical but now tinged with scrutiny. She could tell her son wasn't merely spouting ideals; he was wielding power in a way she didn't recognize.
Paul concluded, "I don't worship the law; I use it—as a tool to control power, to control myself, not as mere decoration."
After a moment of silence, Marianna let out a cold laugh. "If your father had ever dared to restrain me like this, interrogating me as if I were a criminal, I would have left him long ago. You wouldn't be here lecturing me about the law, and neither you nor Nathan would exist."
Her voice carried a hint of mockery, but also a deeply buried nostalgia. "Your father understood one thing: governing a household isn't the same as governing a nation. A family thrives on affection, trust, and mutual respect for boundaries. Yet you're trying to manage your own wife with laws."
Paul was stunned. He had gone to great lengths to bend the rules for Frostine, even risking accusations of favoritism, yet his mother still rebuked him.
He didn't argue further. He had come to realize that some things couldn't be changed by logic alone.
Marianna had grown up in an era where the strong ruled by their own will and bloodline determined status. Her logic stemmed from survival and struggle, not from systems and procedures. He, on the other hand, carried memories of another world, attempting to build a new set of rules upon the old order.
These two ways of thinking couldn't be reconciled overnight. The chasm of time and culture couldn't be bridged with a few words.
He sighed, then smiled, his tone lightening. "I'm actually grateful for that. Otherwise, I wouldn't even have been born, let alone be here to annoy you."
Marianna paused, then her lips curved upward, and she couldn't help but laugh.
The atmosphere instantly relaxed. The candlelight softened, and their laughter briefly drowned out the unresolved differences.
Paul knew the argument had reached its end. Tonight was for reunion, not confrontation. He raised his glass and said softly, "Come, Mother, let's eat first."
Blackwater Lake Fortress.
Alvey had just returned from a visit to a newly allied Orc Clan. Before he could even wash his face, he was summoned to the office of Andrew, commander of the Grasslands Expeditionary Force.
Andrew sat behind a simple wooden desk, several military reports spread across its surface. He glanced up at Alvey and handed him a letter sealed with the wax seal of the Alden Town General Staff.
"Orders from General Staff Headquarters," he said, his voice calm but tinged with regret.
Alvey took the letter and quickly scanned the opening lines. His expression shifted dramatically.
"Due to the evolving situation, the full-scale offensive against the Grassland Chieftain's Tent, originally scheduled for late autumn, is hereby terminated. All frontline units are to transition to a defensive posture and await further instructions."
"This is impossible!"
Alvey's cane slammed against the floor with a thud. Panting, his face flushed crimson, he demanded, "Terminate? Why? We've already completed troop preparations, secured supply lines, and conscripted new Orc recruits from the Northern Three Lands—and now we're stopping?"
He glared at Andrew. "What is Alden Town thinking? Abal is regrouping his forces. Once he regains his strength, any further advance will cost us ten times what it would now!"
Andrew remained calm, his gaze steady. "The orders come from Alden Town, co-signed by the General Staff and personally approved by Lord Grayman. Military orders must be obeyed."
Alvey stood rooted to the spot, his chest heaving. Though not a soldier himself, he understood that opportunities in war were fleeting. He muttered, "Madness... utter madness!"
Andrew silently picked up the teapot from the table and poured Alvey a cup of tea.
"Drink some water first," he said in a low voice. "Finish reading the letter."
Alvey gasped for breath, his fingers clenching the edges of the parchment. He lowered his head and continued reading.
The letter's tone was matter-of-fact, but its contents were alarming: the Yellow Earth Plain had been formally granted to Earl Duke by the Royal Family. The Watchers Legion's influence had been restored, and Crystal Glare had explicitly declared its refusal to support further Aldor military operations in the Grassland. Most critically, Paul's proposal to expand conscription rights and recruit citizens from beyond the Northwest Bay had been rejected by the King.
Alvey's breathing gradually calmed, but his eyes grew colder. He slowly sat down, his cane lying forgotten on the floor. As a scholar who had studied politics and law at the White Tower, he understood the hidden currents beneath the surface of words better than anyone.
"This isn't a strategic adjustment..." he murmured, as if to himself. "This is about weakening Lord Grayman."
He raised his head, his gaze sharp. "Crystal Glare is trying to win over Earl Duke by offering him the Yellow Earth Plain in exchange for his loyalty. This is to prevent the military forces in Northwest Bay from expanding further. As for halting the offensive, it's less about fearing defeat and more about not wanting us to win."
Andrew paused for a moment, then nodded. "I think so too."
Alvey sat quietly for a long time. The tea had gone cold, and the wind outside the window had died down.
Suddenly, he pushed himself up from the table, standing abruptly.
"I can't stay here," he said, his voice low but filled with unwavering resolve. "If the higher-ups want to stop, then I'll find the person who can change their minds."
Andrew looked up at him. "You're going back to Alden Town?"
"Yes," Alvey replied, bending down to pick up his cane and gripping it tightly. "Lord Grayman must understand the orcish threat. He knows Abal won't stop. The moment we retreat, they'll regroup and strike again. It won't just be the Grassland; sooner or later, they'll cross Blackwater Lake and burn Alden's borders once more."
He fixed Andrew with a piercing gaze. "I don't expect the Aldor Royal Family to have any foresight, but Lord Grayman is different. Even if everyone else wants to withdraw, I'll go and persuade him myself—even if it's just my voice alone, I'll make him understand that stopping now means handing our future to the enemy."
Andrew didn't try to dissuade him. He knew that Alvey, though a scholar by training, understood the essence of war better than many generals.
"Very well. I'll arrange for an escort immediately. Please be extremely careful on the road," Andrew said simply.
Alvey nodded, turned, and strode out of the office. He intended to set off that very night.
(End of the Chapter)
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