The subordinates were stunned. Although their anger had not subsided, they did not utter a word in rebuttal.
Paul turned around, his gaze sweeping over them: "I'm not being weak, I'm weighing the options. What the king wants is stability for the kingdom, not victory in any particular battle. He's not afraid of Abal, but of the next Giles—even if that person is me."
He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, and then slowly said, "If I were the king..."
As soon as he said it, he paused slightly.
In that instant, the sentence seemed not to be a hypothetical statement, but rather like a hidden current that shot straight from his spine to his mind.
If I were the king—these five words stirred a certain resonance within him that he had never felt before.
He didn't continue, but that brief pause was enough for Hansel to catch a hint of something amiss.
Paul quickly regained his composure and continued calmly, "So we have no reason to hold a grudge. We will continue to strengthen the fortress's defenses with our current strength to deal with the orcs' next move."
He walked back to his desk, folded the letter, and put it in the drawer. The firelight illuminated his cold profile, and no one saw the slight tremor in his fingertips.
"If I were king..." This unfinished thought, like a seed, was silently planted deep in Paul's heart.
After everyone left, the lord's office fell silent.
The flames in the fireplace had shrunk to a few dark red embers, and the glow of the oil lamp cast a dim yellow halo on the heavy desk.
Paul sat down behind his desk and remained silent for a long time. He did not move immediately, but stared at the huge map on the opposite wall—from the Blackrock Plains to the heart of the grasslands, every mark was stained with the blood of his men.
After sitting quietly for a long time, he suddenly reached out and took out a thick piece of paper, unscrewed the ink bottle, and dipped his quill pen in it.
The pen tip touched the paper, but he didn't rush to write. Instead, he took a deep breath, as if to suppress all his emotions.
Then he began to write:
"His Majesty:"
"I have received your reply and understand your decision at the Imperial Council. I am not dissatisfied or disappointed by it."
"Let's be frank. My request to conscript soldiers in the northeastern territories is not for the purpose of expanding my own power. I have never placed personal gain above the safety of the kingdom."
"What I see is that Abar's retreat is not a rout, but a strategic shift. He has retreated to the depths of the steppe, but his army is still there, and the appeal of the royal tent has not been lost. As long as we stop here, the threat to the steppe will never truly disappear."
"To completely solve this problem, we cannot rely solely on defense. We must proactively manage the grasslands—establish outposts, lay supply lines, and gradually advance into the controlled area. What we need is not an army that can win a single battle, but a border defense force that can be stationed long-term, continuously fight, and constantly replenish its forces."
"The existing forces can hold the fortress, but cannot sustain a sustained expansion. My request for the right to conscript is not to expand my power, but to ensure that we can continue this victory and ultimately bring the vast grasslands under the order of Aldor."
"I am willing to take all risks for this goal, and I only hope that you can understand that my motivation is always for the long-term security of the kingdom."
Throughout his writings, Paul attributes his motivation for requesting the right to conscript soldiers to the long-term peace and stability of the kingdom's frontiers and to the grand strategic vision of thoroughly conquering the grasslands—this is the intention he wants to convey to the outside world.
After writing the last word, Paul gently blew on the ink to dry it, folded the letter, put it in an envelope, and finally sealed it with sealing wax.
He did not immediately summon his servant, but instead placed the letter on the corner of the table and looked at it quietly.
He knew that the letter might not be enough to convince Rodney Eighteen, but he still wanted to keep trying.
The Northwest Gulf relies on industry and commerce as its economic pillar and has been striving to extend its trade reach to all parts of the world. Among them, the [Nairodan Corridor - Desert Oasis - Inland Sea] is a very important direction or route.
The expansion and plundering of the grassland orcs are gradually suffocating this golden passage.
Paul knew very well that throughout the Northwest Bay, local lords, chamber of commerce leaders, factory owners, and even workers, technicians, and farmers all saw the steppe beastmen as a thorn in their side.
They not only hoped for stability on the frontier, but also longed to completely eliminate the threat, allowing caravans from the Northwest Bay to penetrate deep into the mainland and bring profits back to the Northwest Bay's trading posts.
And he, Paul Gleman, as the chief spokesperson for these groups, must respond to their demands.
He needs to leverage the authority of the royal family to assemble a powerful force capable of penetrating deep into the grasslands and destroying the royal camp.
Because the above content might cause misunderstanding, it was not explicitly mentioned in the letter. However, Paul firmly believed that this was his own selfish desire. The Northwest Bay was part of Aldo, and he was also a loyal vassal of Aldo. The more prosperous and powerful the Northwest Bay was, the more prosperous and powerful Aldo was. How could this be considered his own selfish desire?
Paul sat quietly for a while, gradually figuring things out.
Perhaps, even the sensitive power struggle is merely a superficial matter, ultimately stemming from his differing interests and those of Jingyao.
At the heart of power in the Kingdom of Aldo, the thoughts and concerns of the King and his ministers of Crystal Radiance are mostly confined to the borders of the kingdom.
Their wealth comes from agricultural taxes from their fiefdoms, trade routes within the kingdom, and mineral resources from various regions. As long as the orcs are driven out of the Aldor and peace returns to the borders, their interests are guaranteed.
As for whether the royal tent deep in the grasslands has been destroyed, or whether the orc tribes will make a comeback—for them, these are distant worries, not imminent threats.
Paul's gaze, however, extended beyond the borders of Aldo, beyond the grasslands and deserts, to the far-off heartland of the continent.
Today, the Northwest Gulf is not just a geographical term, but a huge economic entity.
Beyond Aldo, merchant ships in the Northwest Bay are sailing toward unfamiliar shores, caravans traversing arid oases, transporting cloth, textiles, and other goods to foreign lands, and bringing back gold coins, spices, gems, rare metals, and more.
Therefore, for Paul, simply driving the orcs out of the Aldor was far from enough, because the orcs could still encroach on the Northwest Bay beyond the Aldor.
Only by completely destroying the royal tent, dismantling the orcs' organizational core, and bringing the grasslands under human order can the trade artery that spans the Narodan Corridor be ensured to remain open forever.
He craved a decisive war, while the nobles of Jingyao only wanted a defensive victory.
Where interests lie, that's where eyes will turn. When the Jingyao rulers and their ministers were content with the peace on the border, the Northwest Bay had no choice but to regard the entire continent as a battlefield.