Translator: CinderTL
At the Alden Town Lord's Manor, Paul was reviewing a report on explosives experiments.
A guard suddenly whispered from outside the door, "My lord, Scholar Alvey requests an audience. He says it's urgent."
Paul looked up. "Alvey? Isn't he stationed at Blackwater Lake Fortress?"
"Yes, my lord. He just arrived, covered in dust and looking like he rode all night."
"Let him in."
The door swung open, and Alvey strode in. His outer robe was caked in dirt, his boots covered in dried mud, and his face etched with exhaustion, yet his eyes burned with an unnerving intensity.
Without exchanging pleasantries or offering a salute, he stood his ground and demanded, "Lord Grayman, why did you order the attack on the orcs to be halted?"
Paul was slightly taken aback. "Is that why you rushed back?"
"Yes," Alvey replied, his voice hoarse. "Andrew showed me the General Staff's letter. It said the planned offensive was suspended and our forces were to assume a defensive posture—but forgive my bluntness, this is no time to stop."
He stepped forward. "Abal won't cease his aggression just because we retreat. He needs time to regroup his forces, and by giving him breathing room, we're handing him the initiative. The newly allied tribes will waver, morale at the front lines will collapse, and any future advance will come at a far greater cost."
Paul listened quietly, without interrupting.
Alvey fixed him with a steady gaze, his voice resolute. "You've always been decisive, never hesitating to seize a tactical advantage. Did you halt this time because of pressure from the Royal Family? Or did the Duke's land grant make you feel thwarted? I don't care about the reasons—I only want to say that stopping is a mistake. Even if we have only a single soldier left, we should keep pressing forward."
"I rode day and night to get here, not to question you, but to implore you to reconsider. Against the orcs we face now, we must not halt our advance."
Paul leaned back in his chair, his gaze calm as he regarded Alvey. "You're right, Abal is a threat. But you also know that the Northwest alone can't sustain a long-term war deep into the Grassland. Food, manpower, supplies—we need the full support of Aldor for all of it. With the Royal Family's stance unclear, I refuse to lead a lone charge."
He added with a sigh, "An attack without backing isn't courage—it's recklessness."
Alvey refused to yield. He straightened his posture, cleared his throat forcefully, and declared:
"Lord Grayman, precisely because of this, we cannot afford to stop now. Do you know what lies buried beneath the Grassland? Iron, copper, coal—the entire land is a treasure trove of resources. In the past, the orcs lacked the knowledge to mine these resources and relied solely on raiding for survival. But Abal is different. He has traveled through the Human World, witnessed human mines and furnaces firsthand, and it's even rumored that dwarves from the Rocky Mountains are serving him. That race is renowned for their mining expertise. Abal must be sending scouts to locate mineral veins. Once he organizes mining teams and establishes smelting workshops, the orcs will be able to accumulate wealth and upgrade their weapons."
"Even more alarming, Abal is mimicking human institutions. He's establishing a Tribal Council, unifying taxation, training a standing army, and even beginning to codify laws in writing. He doesn't aspire to be merely a tribal chief; he aims to build a true nation."
"We are no longer facing a band of nomadic barbarians, but an awakening adversary. If we halt now and give him three to five years to consolidate his power, by the time he has his own armories and an organized army, eliminating him will require far more than a single Expeditionary Force."
Alvey warned gravely, "By then, we won't be the ones pursuing him. He'll be leading a well-equipped army to attack Aldor again. You'll regret this 'prudent' decision today."
Paul frowned slightly, about to respond, when the door gently creaked open.
Marianna entered, wearing a dark robe, her hair loosely tied back, her footsteps almost silent.
Though the guards didn't recognize her, Paul had instructed them that this woman had the authority to see him without prior notice.
She turned her gaze to Alvey. "It's been a long time, Scholar Alvey."
Before she could finish speaking, Alvey stumbled backward, colliding with the bookshelf behind him. Several volumes tumbled to the floor with a crash.
"Marianna!"
His face drained of color as he shakily raised a trembling hand, pointing at her, his voice distorted with fear.
"She... she's a witch of the Arcane Order! Lord Grayman, you must leave immediately! She's here to kill me!"
He staggered forward, positioning himself between Paul and Marianna, his voice trembling but resolute. "Antonio sent assassins last time, and they failed. Now... he's sent her personally! You must escape! She's beyond your capabilities!"
Marianna paused slightly, then her eyes filled with a gentle smile as she quietly observed the terrified old scholar. Alvey, however, interpreted this as a cat toying with a mouse before the kill.
Paul immediately rose and reached out to steady Alvey. "Calm down, Mr. Alvey."
Just as he hesitated, wondering how to explain Marianna's presence, she spoke.
"You're right. I was indeed sent by His Majesty Antonio."
Alvey's face turned deathly pale, and he nearly lost his balance.
"But not to kill you." Her tone remained calm, tinged with mockery. "If I truly intended to kill you, why would I do it in front of Marquis Grayman?"
Alvey frowned.
The red-haired witch surveyed the study, her gaze finally settling on Paul. "I came to Northwest Bay specifically to visit Marquis Grayman."
Paul chimed in, following his mother's lead. "Mr. Alvey, it seems you two know each other. Oh, right, you're both from Gabella. You don't need to worry—this lady poses no threat to you."
The room fell into a deathly silence. Alvey still gripped his cane tightly, his eyes wary.
"Lord Grayman," the witch began, her voice soft yet each word clear, "I am aware of the difficulties you face—a shortage of manpower, the Council of Administration's issuance of massive war bonds straining the treasury—making it impossible to sustain the war against the orcs."
"In light of this, why not reconsider my previous sincere proposal?"
"Well, I'll have to think about it some more..." Paul replied, somewhat confused but forced to play along in front of Alvey.
He inwardly resented his mother for barging in at this critical moment and uttering such cryptic remarks.
Marianna continued, "Consider my proposal carefully! Since Crystal Glare refuses to support you, you should seek assistance beyond Aldor. There's no need to bow to the Royal Family or wait for those decadent nobles to bicker endlessly in the council chambers!"
Alvey frowned, unable to resist asking, "Wait, Madam, are you suggesting...?"
"The Arcane Order," Marianna stated calmly. "It transcends worldly affairs, possessing magical resources, intelligence networks, and even armed forces that no nation in this era can match. If Marquis Grayman agrees to serve the Arcane Order, I can guarantee you will receive an endless stream of support."
(End of the Chapter)
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