Storm's End is the largest city in the Loess Lands. The Bradley family has occupied Storm's End for a century and has firmly controlled the Loess Lands from its center.
Now, Lemster Bradley, the master of Storm's End, stands before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the family council chamber, his fingertips unconsciously tapping the cold lines on the stained glass.
Outside the window, another group of orc cavalrymen were retreating from the city in a cloud of dust. Clearly, these alien races from the grasslands had given up their ambition to conquer Aldor.
"My lord, Aguilar's envoys have arrived in the front hall," the steward reported in a low voice, his voice trembling with barely concealed emotion. "They insist on seeing you immediately!"
"Make him wait a little longer!" Lymester replied impatiently.
The candlelight in the council chamber suddenly flickered violently, casting distorted shadows of the twelve high-ranking family officials sitting around the long table onto the wall.
The treasurer, Horn, kept wiping his shiny forehead with a silk handkerchief: "The orcs are finished. We should immediately prepare a generous gift to Crystal Radiance... or perhaps Lakeheart Town, to show our loyalty..."
"And then wait to be hanged on the city wall?" Military Commander Calvin interrupted with a sneer.
"Don't forget who led the orcs to attack Watcher's Fortress from behind! Do you think Hal Duke will let us go? He's currently leading the vanguard of the kingdom's army, galloping here at top speed!"
"Perhaps we should leave here!" Just when people thought the military commander was going to fight to the death, he made a suggestion that surprised everyone.
Lemester slowly turned around, his gaze sweeping over the retainers who had followed the family for many years.
He noticed that many people would immediately look away when their eyes met his. These subtle actions spoke louder than any words, revealing that the once-unbreakable Bradley family, like everyone else in the council chamber, still maintained their dignity on the surface, but were already shattered inside.
Lemster knew that the ship was about to capsize, and the vassals sitting around it were nothing more than a group of gamblers fighting for the last lifeboat before the ship sank; their loyalty was questionable.
"Gentlemen," Lemester suddenly spoke, his voice so hoarse it startled even himself, "what if... we choose the third path?"
The table fell silent instantly, and twelve pairs of eyes turned to him at the same time.
"What if...we resist the kingdom's army on our own?" After saying this, Lemster himself could hear the lack of confidence in his voice.
"impossible!"
With a scream, Lemester's gaze slowly swept across the long table, finally landing on Longfellow, whose face was deathly pale.
The once spirited knight now huddled in his seat like a frightened mouse, his right hand unconsciously stroking the faintly aching scar on his arm—a lasting memorial left to him by Stonebridge Town.
"Why, Longfellow!"
Although he himself wasn't very confident, the family knights' cowardice still ignited Lemester's anger. His words were tinged with embarrassment and anger, "Are you that afraid of them? Where is your courage as a knight!"
Longfellow's Adam's apple bobbed violently. "My lord... if we were to confront Gleyman's army, it would not be a war!"
His pupils dilated slightly, as if he were back on that nightmarish battlefield. "That will be a massacre!"
The candlelight in the council chamber suddenly flickered, casting distorted shadows on the walls. Longfellow's description, like a blunt knife, slowly and cruelly shattered the illusions of everyone present.
"I witnessed it firsthand in Shiqiao Town. Their soldiers are like precise clockwork parts. While the first rank is firing, the second rank is already aiming, and the third rank is reloading methodically... over and over again, without stopping."
His fingernails dug deep into the wooden table. "And our orc allies... they are indeed brave, their charges as magnificent as raging waves, but when they fall, they are as light as straws."
Treasurer Horn's lips began to turn pale: "Isn't there any way to stop that kind of fire-breathing weapon?"
"There is no way!" Longfellow suddenly let out a hoarse laugh. "Don't you understand? Am I saying their weapons are powerful? No, that's only one aspect."
"The morale, quality, and discipline of the Northwest Army far surpass any army I have ever seen!"
"I witnessed firsthand how one of their units, after being routed by orc cavalry, spontaneously formed small squares and continued fighting. There was no rout, no panic... like ants scattered by a kick, they instantly regrouped into new killing machines!"
Longfellow waved his arms in despair, "Even if we were blessed by the gods and a heavy rain rendered all their firearms ineffective, those soldiers would still charge at us with bayonets and tear us to shreds against an army like that!"
Lemester noticed that many people had a desperate look in their eyes, like that of a trapped animal. The young clerk next to him was trembling uncontrollably, as if just imagining such a scene was enough to break his nerves.
The Duke gently stroked the gemstone on the family ring; the cool touch reminded him of his father's words: one should recognize one's place at the appropriate time.
Has the Bradley family, in this game of chess, already transformed from players into pawns that could be captured at any moment?
"Let Aguirre's messenger in!"
Left with no other choice, Lemester decided to listen to what his "ally" had to say first.
The heavy wooden door was slowly pushed open, and the orc envoy walked into the council hall with heavy steps. His bronze armor seemed to still be stained with blood, and the bone ornaments hanging at his waist made an unsettling clanging sound with each step.
"Lord Bradley," the messenger greeted the Duke in a human manner, revealing jagged fangs as he spoke, "Prince Aguirre asked me to convey to you and to you that the tents of the steppe are always open to friends."
Military Commander Calvin looked at the messenger; this was exactly what he wanted.
The air in the council chamber froze instantly. The messenger slowly took out a letter from his robes and handed it to Lemester, which bore the sealing wax seal of the White Wolf Clan.
"Prince Aguirre said, 'Take your gold, silver, and grain with us, and don't leave Gleyman a single thing. When the Northwest Legion relaxes its guard, we'll help you fight our way back!'"
He grinned, his brown eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "After all, friends should help each other, shouldn't they?"
Lemester immediately became suspicious. Aguirre's seemingly sincere advice might be a trap. Once he arrived in the orcs' lair, would he still be able to control the wealth he brought with him?
"His Highness Aguirre is truly…thoughtful." The Duke forced a smile.
Longfellow, who was in the corner, suddenly coughed. Lemester didn't need to look to know that the knight's face was full of warning.
The orc messenger continued, "Take everything you can, after all…" He deliberately dragged out his words, "Anything left behind will become Grylls's spoils."
He seemed certain that the Bradley family would follow them.