Mariana was increasingly inclined to believe that the Aldor royal family had finally revealed the blade they had kept hidden for so many years, and the Knights of the Kingdom were the trump card that had never been revealed.
She remained unaware that the arsenal in Lakeside Town was casting cannonballs day and night, that the new army had widely adopted modern firearms, and that Alda's military system had long surpassed that of traditional armies.
In her eyes, the halo of this victory still lingers behind the royal veil.
When her neighbor mentioned again, "Prince Yuriko led the Knights of the Kingdom to storm Storm's End," "Subdued the Orc Centurion," and "Returned to the capital in triumph, with thousands lining the streets," a strange feeling suddenly flashed through her mind.
Yuriko Rodney? The name evoked not reverence in her mind, but rather the memory of the assessment file from the Mystic Order.
She had personally reviewed intelligence briefings on members of the Aldor royal family—long-standing archives compiled by the Arcane Society to assess potential threats from various countries, in which the description of Yuriko was remarkably clear:
"He is flamboyant, obsessed with fame, impulsive, and lacks strategic patience. Although he possesses basic chivalrous qualities, his military leadership is mediocre, and he has no outstanding military achievements. His influence stems primarily from his royal status rather than his personal talent."
In the eyes of the members of the Mystic Society, this person was nothing more than a spoiled prince, fond of pomp and circumstance and pursuing glory, but lacking the qualifications to truly shoulder great responsibilities.
But now, rumors say that he not only personally led his elite troops into battle, but also spearheaded the incorporation of orc prisoners, and even won the fervent support of the people after the war—a stark contrast to the assessments of the Arcane Society over the years.
Her fingers tightened slightly. Was the information outdated? Or had Yuriko been hiding his true self all along?
She was unwilling to easily overturn the conclusions of the Secret Society, but if even a trace of the rumors were true, it would mean that this person was by no means an ordinary person, but a dangerous character who was extremely good at disguising himself and manipulating people's hearts.
She slowly closed her eyes, having made a decision in her heart: this change must be recorded, and she must immediately alert Gabella upon her return.
Prince Yurico of Aldo is likely not the same as before. If he can truly control the Knights of the Nation, subdue alien warriors, and win the hearts of the people, he is very likely to become a major enemy of Gabella and the Mystic Society in the future.
Suddenly, the noise in the tavern froze.
A loud bang shattered the silence of the night as the wooden door was kicked open, the door panel slamming against the wall and bouncing back, kicking up a cloud of dust.
All conversation abruptly ceased, glasses hung suspended in mid-air, pipes went out, and people instinctively hunched their shoulders, their eyes all turning towards the doorway.
A tall orc officer strode in.
He wore dark red leather armor with wolf head emblems painted on his shoulder armor, symbolizing his status as a direct subordinate of the grassland royal tent. His face was rugged, with high cheekbones, a broken nose that had healed crookedly, and a deep scar above his right eye that made his eyes look even more sinister.
He carried a curved battle axe at his waist, his steps heavy, each one feeling as if it were treading on people's hearts.
Two human soldiers followed closely behind, dressed in mixed-style armor, with stern expressions and holding spears. They were soldiers of the local rulers, but after the city-state submitted to the royal court, the local soldiers had become vassals of the orc garrison.
The royal tent has armed personnel stationed in each of its vassal states, ranging from a dozen to hundreds of people. Although the number is small, they are a transcendent presence because they represent the Great Chief Abar.
The tavern fell silent instantly.
The orc officer slowly scanned the area, his nostrils flaring as if he were sniffing the air. A grin revealed a row of yellowish-brown teeth, and his voice was low and guttural, like the grinding of gravel:
"My hearing is excellent!"
He spoke slowly, his Common Tongue carrying a strong grassland accent, yet every word was clear:
"I overheard you talking outside just now... that the orcs were defeated? And driven back to the grasslands?"
He sneered, took a step forward, and his boot slammed heavily on the floor.
"Who said that? Step forward."
Nobody moved!
The tavern owner hurriedly ran out from behind the counter, his hands clasped together, a fawning smile plastered on his face, his back almost bent at a ninety-degree angle.
"Please calm down, my lord! Please calm down, my lord!" His voice trembled, but he forced a show of respect. "Those words were just rumors from outside. How could we take them seriously? It was just idle chatter after drinking to relieve our boredom! Nobody took them seriously, nobody really took them seriously!"
As he spoke, he secretly glanced at everyone in the store, his eyes full of warnings that said, "Don't cause trouble."
The orc officer slowly turned around, a cold smile still on his lips, but his gaze was locked onto his boss like an iron clamp.
"Casual conversation?" he said in a low voice, which chilled the air in the tavern. "Who gave you permission to talk about such things on the land under the protection of Chief Abar?"
The boss broke out in a cold sweat and hurriedly nodded and bowed, "Yes, yes, we shouldn't have talked about it! We'll shut up immediately and never mention it again!"
"Very good." The orc officer nodded slowly, as if satisfied.
Just as the boss breathed a sigh of relief, he suddenly raised his hand and shoved the boss backward with a palm strike.
"But the rumors have already been spread." He surveyed the room, his eyes fierce. "Since no one is stepping forward, then it's simple—"
His voice suddenly rose, echoing in the deathly silent tavern:
"Everyone here today will come with me to jail for a few days. We'll release them once we figure out who spoke first."
The crowd immediately stirred.
Several vendors were pale and pleaded in hushed tones. An old woman held her grandson tightly, trembling all over. The caravan workers almost collapsed to the ground.
"Sir! This is not fair!" The boss knelt down with a thud. "Why drag everyone into this?"
The orc officer merely sneered, and with a wave of his hand, two human soldiers immediately stepped forward, drew their chains from their waists, and made as if to seize the man.
"I'll count to ten!" The orc officer leaned against the doorframe, raised his thick fingers, and snapped them off one by one. "If no one steps forward, take them all away."
He began to count, one number after another, cold and clear:
"...six...seven...eight..."
The tavern was deathly silent, as if it were a graveyard. People bowed their heads and held their breath, even their breathing was extremely low.
Just then, a deep yet exceptionally clear voice suddenly rang out.
"Abar is nothing but a stray dog by the roadside!"
The sound wasn't loud, but it was like a thunderclap that exploded in everyone's ears.
Everyone looked up abruptly, staring in shock at the source of the sound.
It was the orc officer himself!
He stood there, mouth slightly open, eyes suddenly wide, pupils contracting violently, as if he had seen the most terrifying thing.
He seemed completely unprepared for those words to come out of his own mouth, his face filled with disbelief and shock.
The next instant, he suddenly raised his hand and covered his mouth tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force, and a suppressed "woo-woo" sound came from his throat, as if he wanted to force the words back down.