Translator: CinderTL
In the study deep within the Royal Palace of Crystal Glare, a crystal chandelier cast a soft glow over the dark, long table. King Rodney XVIII sat in a high-backed chair, holding a letter from Alden Town.
The letter was handwritten by Paul Grayman, his bold strokes conveying a sense of unwavering resolve. Rodney XVIII read every word carefully, his furrowed brow gradually relaxing as he finished.
Paul expressed his approval of the king's decision to grant the Yellow Earth Plain to Hal Duke, declaring it perfectly aligned with national policy.
There was no questioning, no opposition, not even a hint of hesitation in the lines.
The king slowly set the letter down, leaned back against his chair, and let out a long sigh, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
He knew that Paul, commanding a powerful army in the northern territory, served as the kingdom's first line of defense against the orcs. If Paul had harbored any resentment toward the land grant—even if he had merely obstructed it in secret—it could have destabilized the border and triggered a chain reaction among the nobility.
Now that Paul had explicitly endorsed the decision, the kingdom's northern frontier would likely remain stable, and the Royal Family's authority would be further consolidated.
Rodney XVIII's gaze soon returned to the end of the letter.
Paul, while expressing his approval, made a request: given that Abal had retreated to the Grassland but the threat remained, he implored the king to grant him conscription rights in the northeastern lands of Aldor to prepare for a possible orc counterattack.
The king tapped his fingers twice on the table, lost in thought.
Conscription rights were no small matter.
In truth, any army could recruit soldiers anywhere, provided they had sufficient funds for wages.
But Paul's letter was requesting something far more significant: mandatory conscription, the kind that required the cooperation of lords and officials at all levels.
Since Paul Grayman's promotion to marquis, he already possessed conscription rights in the Northwest Bay.
Granting his request would effectively make Marquis Grayman superior to all other lords in Aldor, allowing him to directly conscript young men from the northern territories and assemble a massive army.
If it were anyone else, Rodney XVIII would never have agreed so readily.
Yet Abal's shadow still lingered over the Grassland, and Paul was the only one who could stop the orcish iron hooves. If the king hesitated to grant him authority, it might drive a wedge between them...
From Grayman's perspective, would approving the division of the Yellow Earth Plain also be seen as a concession to the Royal Family?
The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the king's face, revealing his internal struggle and careful consideration.
After a long silence, he finally made his decision.
He picked up his quill, dipped it in ink, and slowly wrote the body of the royal decree on a sheet of gold-stamped parchment. His strokes were steady, each character clear and resolute:
"By order of the crown, Marquis Paul Grayman's request is hereby granted. He is authorized to conscript troops within the northeastern counties of the Aldor Kingdom, in accordance with wartime law. All lords and officials within his jurisdiction must fully cooperate, without delay or obstruction. This decree takes effect immediately and remains in force until the war with the orcs is concluded."
He signed his name and sealed the decree with the royal seal.
Once the order was written, he didn't immediately summon a messenger. He simply sat quietly, gazing at the gleaming seal in the candlelight.
"Perhaps we should discuss this at the council meeting."
Outside Crystal Glare City, a manor hidden among the trees was illuminated by lamplight.
The heavy wooden door silently swung open at the hands of a servant, and Prince Jassim stepped inside. His dark robes brushed the threshold as his second son, Yuriko, and Earl Walsh McKie, along with other trusted confidants, followed close behind.
A lavish banquet had already been prepared in the grand hall. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft, warm glow, reflecting in the silver goblets.
As everyone took their seats, the atmosphere was relaxed and convivial. Prince Jassim raised his goblet. "To Yuriko's achievements in the northern territory! He has repeatedly distinguished himself in battles against the orcs, bringing glory to the Royal Family."
Yuriko inclined his head slightly, but his eyes betrayed his pride. "It's all thanks to Your Highness's guidance and everyone's unwavering support."
Goblets clinked together, wine sloshing gently. The company engaged in lively conversation, ranging from trivial matters to grand schemes, the atmosphere growing increasingly animated.
Gradually, the discussion shifted to the situation in the Aldor Kingdom's northern territory, and the mood of the banquet began to darken.
"Speaking of which..." Earl Walsh McKie set down his goblet, tapping his fingers lightly on the table as his gaze swept across the assembled guests. "His Majesty's decision to grant the Yellow Earth Plain to Hal Duke doesn't particularly concern me. The Watchers Legion has always been loyal to the Royal Family, so granting it to Hal is a wise move."
Everyone nodded in agreement. Earl Duke, though not of royal blood, was renowned for his loyalty and was indeed a pillar the kingdom could rely on.
But Walsh's tone shifted, his brow furrowing slightly. "However, I find it difficult to support the king's proposal to grant Grayman conscription rights in the northeastern territories."
His voice was low but clear. "Conscription rights are no small matter. Once granted, Grayman could bypass local lords and independently recruit young men to form a private army. He already controls the military and political affairs of the Northwest Bay, but the northeastern territories have a larger population than the Northwest Bay. If his manpower were to increase severalfold, who can guarantee he won't harbor ulterior motives in the future?"
Yuriko snorted. "Paul Grayman has always been arrogant and self-important. Now that the orcs are gone, he's still demanding conscription rights—clearly up to no good."
Prince Jassim listened in silence, his fingers tracing the rim of his wine glass. He neither opposed nor supported the idea, his gaze growing increasingly profound.
"The Royal Council has already discussed this matter," Walsh continued. "The king hasn't yet issued a formal decree, saying he needs more time to consider it. This is our opportunity. If we can unite several ministers and persuade him, citing the need to prevent a second Giles, we might sway his decision."
He surveyed the room. "Grayman can be a shield, but not a sword—especially when the sword's blade might turn against us."
Prince Jassim finally spoke. "Marquis Grayman has indeed achieved great merit, but such individuals are also prone to losing control. Gerd is young and may only see the immediate threat of the orcs, failing to consider the hidden dangers behind them."
He raised his eyes, revealing a gaze as sharp as a blade. "Walsh, go contact a few ministers with strong opinions and explain this matter in detail."
With that, he gently set down his wine glass, the base clinking against the table with a soft sound.
"We do not oppose the king's decision, but we urge him to proceed with the utmost caution."
"Your Highness speaks wisely," a middle-aged nobleman across the long table said slowly.
His face was stern, his jawline chiseled like a blade. This was Earl Edgar Cranston, currently commanding Crystal Glare City's defense forces and one of Prince Jassim's most trusted lieutenants.
"The king's trust in Grayman seems rather reckless."
He raised his own wine glass, gazing at the dark red liquid within.
"We have learned a painful lesson—a very heavy one. Were not Giles' ancestors, generation after generation, once the Royal Family's most trusted sword lords?"
(End of the Chapter)
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