To Rostislav's disappointment, he found nothing further.
All clues had dried up, making it impossible to uncover anything.
However, to Rostislav's delight, he frequently saw fully armed soldiers patrolling the streets, searching for any potential troublemakers.
Additionally, soldiers were stationed at every city gate, inspecting pedestrians, primarily checking if anyone was carrying large quantities of combustibles.
Now, whatever the pagans intended to do, they would face significantly higher obstacles than before.
Perhaps due to the sudden increase in vigilance, even the pagan rituals previously performed openly beneath the city walls had ceased, and the pagan priests were not as active.
The Hungarian clergy rejoiced; this was the sight they had always wished to see—no pagans performing those blasphemous rituals and worshipping false idols beneath God's sacred temple.
But that was all; the Moscow Prince knew very well that the cessation of pagan activities was only temporary; they were merely biding their time, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
All Rostislav could do was ensure his subordinates were well-prepared, always ready to enter the city and quell any rebellion; this was not a preparation for deterrence, but a genuine preparation for battle.
However, Rostislav could only wait now, wait to deploy his troops to suppress the rebellion; the Moscow Prince believed their uprising was only a matter of time.
Though waiting, he found something to occupy himself and pass the time: understanding how the conference was progressing (or rather, how the arguments were unfolding).
During the days Rostislav diligently investigated, the palace in Fehérvár continued its endless bickering.
The core of their discussion and struggle revolved around whether Andrew's wife and children could acquire land within Hungary.
Regardless, as members of the Árpád Dynasty, even if the throne was usurped, Solomon and his brother had the right to acquire land in Hungary; this was their inherent right.
The land they legitimately sought to retain was not extensive—only the Hungarian border territories currently under their control; Rostislav and the Empire strongly supported this.
The uncles naturally sided with their relatives, hoping their sister and nephews would possess land.
The Empire, on the other hand, did not wish for their decades of influence in Hungary to be ruined; the intervention, which began with Henry III and lasted for decades, could not simply be undone; leaving a few thorns in Hungary was always a good thing, no matter what.
Bela, of course, could not agree to this; agreeing would only create trouble for himself—allowing his deceased brother's wife and children to remain on the border? That would be condoning their accumulation of power for rebellion, and dissatisfied nobles would surely collude with them as Solomon grew older.
So Bela directly demanded that his brother's wife and children must leave Hungary; as for compensation, that was impossible, and why it was impossible was simply because he was the victor, and this was the victor's privilege.
The King of Poland calmly observed from the sidelines; after all, they did not need to intervene in specific matters, and it had nothing to do with him.
Thus, both sides remained in a stalemate, neither yielding an inch, constantly bickering in meetings, or bringing in scholars with long beards to pore over old books and support their claims.
But in the end, the result was nothing.
Rostislav could see what was happening: both sides were merely making exorbitant demands, simply asking for too much.
However, because it seemed to have escalated into genuine anger, no one was willing to back down, leading to the current awkward situation.
Clearly, at first, both sides only intended a slight disturbance, but now they were stubbornly deadlocked, and the council could not proceed; everyone could only remain here, waiting to see who would give in first.
One could only say that they still had much to argue about; Rostislav thought it would be at least a week or two before anyone would yield, and he was somewhat afraid that these elders might start fighting while talking, which would be truly terrifying.
However, from another perspective, this was also good; let them argue in the meeting while he continued his investigation; once the meeting concluded, he would have to attend a series of complicated ceremonies, and then he would be unable to do anything.
And Rostislav, who had no leads, did not expect that the clue he had been waiting for would soon present itself.
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That day, Rostislav was in his camp, repeatedly reviewing the logical diagram of events and people he had organized, and just as he was once again immersed in his troubles, someone suddenly burst into his tent.
"Lord Rostislav, Lord Rostislav, we've finally found a clue! We've discovered where the pagans are storing their combustibles!"
The person who rushed in was none other than Meshko, the Polish Noble, his face beaming with joy.
For the past few days, they had been assisting Rostislav with his investigation, but it had all been in vain, a lot of effort for no results; now that they had finally found something useful, they were naturally happy to be relieved from the tedious work.
"What? Where?"
This made Rostislav immediately jump up; he had been anxiously awaiting new clues for a long time, and he never expected news of a combustible warehouse discovery—this was truly a godsend.
"It's in the city; should I take you there immediately?"
Was that even a question? Of course, Rostislav said yes; he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.
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When Rostislav arrived at the destination, he suddenly realized he was too late; the place Meshko had brought them to was already crowded with soldiers wearing red cloaks.
Their destination was an old warehouse, formerly a wooden structure built by a merchant, but after that merchant's bankruptcy, it had fallen into disuse; Meshko said he had heard it had been abandoned for about several decades.
Now, the warehouse door had been destroyed, the decaying door having turned into a pile of splintered wood lying there, and soldiers were continuously carrying out bodies from inside; dozens of bodies had already piled up.
These bodies were dressed as civilians, holding various makeshift weapons, with no heavy equipment.
These naturally attracted the attention of many people, but they were all held back by spears, only able to watch from in front of the soldiers, discussing what was happening and making all sorts of guesses and inferences.
Although death was common at that time, so many deaths in peacetime were still very rare, naturally arousing people's curiosity.
Rostislav looked at the many soldiers before him, feeling a vague sense of unease; it seemed that more than half of the city's guards had been drawn here, while he had only brought a few dozen retainers.
After settling his subordinates, the Moscow Prince walked straight in; due to Rostislav's recent activity, the soldiers naturally recognized him, so no one stopped him.
As he stepped over the threshold worn by time, Rostislav smelled the scent of grease; the smell was overwhelming, incredibly thick, making Rostislav instinctively cover his mouth and nose.
Everything he saw astonished him, and after the astonishment came relief—they had finally found these things.
Inside the warehouse were various clay pots, and the liquid inside the pots was naturally self-evident, and next to these pots were firewood soaked in grease.
Although he had some concept of the amount of grease the pagans had stored, seeing it firsthand, Rostislav still found it exaggerated; the amount of combustibles they had collected during this time was truly significant.
Passageways were left between these combustibles, and now Magyar soldiers were moving through them, either carrying bodies or making records, counting the number of oil cans.
Nothing was more relieving than this scene, and after a sigh of relief, Rostislav pulled over a soldier and asked him what was going on and how all this had been discovered.
The soldier evidently knew nothing, and the Prince's Magyar was not very fluent, so the man appeared extremely awkward in front of the Prince.
Fortunately, not long after, the Magyar officer in charge of the operation saw the Moscow Prince and immediately rushed over to explain to him.
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