Chapter 390 - 138: Marshal
Chapter 390: Chapter 138: Marshal
The Middle Line was a broad geographical concept. To be precise, the entire area east of the Viduo Mountain Range and west of the Demon Beast Mountain Range, connecting all the way to the Eastern Line, could be considered the Middle Line.
Feodo City.
Ever since the fall of Barol City, Feodo had become the core of humanity’s second line of defense on the Middle Line. From the beginning of the year, the Beastmen had launched a major offensive centered on Feodo City almost every month.
In the heart of Feodo City, a tall, handsome man walked into the central tower.
The man was none other than Marshal Grantham, just returned from an inspection of the front lines.
It was Marshal Grantham’s custom to survey the state of the war every morning. This was an ironclad routine.
"Marshal!"
"Marshal, good day..."
The central tower of Feodo City was a melting pot of various factions: the Southern Faction, the Military Merit Faction, the Northern Faction, the Northern Oversea Faction, the Southern Inland Faction...
However, regardless of who they were or the loftiness of their titles, everyone had to respectfully address Grantham as "Marshal."
The reason was simple: this was Feodo City, the eye of the storm in the war between humans and Beastmen.
Here, there were no factional divisions, none of the messy designations like ’Southern,’ ’Northern,’ ’Inland,’ or ’Oversea.’
There were only two kinds of people here: friends and enemies.
Marshal Grantham made his way to the highest floor of the tower.
This was where the activation mechanism for the Feodor Magic Array was located, and it also served as Grantham’s command post on the front line.
This location allowed for a swift response to any development.
Seeing Grantham arrive, Viscount Wei Lan, who had been waiting for him, stood up.
"Marshal, Prince Samon..."
"Let him wait. The situation on the battlefield is tense right now.
Tell him I will protect him," Grantham said.
With the developing political situation back home, everyone in the Military Merit Faction was on edge.
As the royal candidate put forth by the Military Merit Faction, Prince Samon was naturally particularly sensitive.
Grantham sat down at his desk. Two letters were lying on its surface.
One letter was from Marshal Oscillate, undoubtedly concerning the matter of the general candidacy that was currently causing an uproar in the Royal Capital.
"Hm?"
Grantham curiously picked up the other one.
It was encased in blood-red parchment, etched with a constellation of sixteen stars. The constellation wasn’t complex; anyone who had studied even a little magic would recognize it.
It was the first magic array a Magic Apprentice encountered after beginning their studies.
Grantham opened the envelope. As expected, there was nothing inside.
Quietly putting the envelope away, the Marshal looked at Viscount Wei Lan.
"You, go bring Mage Bertrand here. Then, close the door," Grantham said.
"The Mage... Yes, sir."
Hearing the name Bertrand, Viscount Wei Lan faltered for a moment, then nodded and left the room.
Grantham frowned, his eyes narrowing as he looked at a painting on the wall. It depicted a man holding up a greatsword, and behind him were countless soldiers of all kinds: elves, beastmen, humans, and even many unheard-of races.
It was impossible to know what could have united all these different peoples. Unfortunately, the painting cut off at the tip of the man’s sword.
What his sword was pointing at was impossible to know.
The Marshal’s confidants all knew that he loved this painting and took it with him wherever he went. Many thought it had been painted for Marshal Grantham by an artist from the south.
The front lines were a place that demanded efficiency. Viscount Wei Lan did not keep Grantham waiting long.
"Marshal, Mage Bertrand has arrived."
Viscount Wei Lan re-entered the room, an old man now trailing behind him.
The old man wore a red Mage Robe, was bald, and had a somewhat humble appearance.
"I see. You may go now," Grantham said.
Viscount Wei Lan turned and left the room, leaving only the Marshal and the Mage inside.
After a moment of tense silence, Mage Bertrand suddenly chuckled.
"Lord Marshal, to what do I owe the pleasure of this summons?" Mage Bertrand asked.
Marshal Grantham frowned and took the red envelope from his drawer.
"What is the meaning of this?" Marshal Grantham said.
"Red... My lord overestimates me. I am not qualified to send red letters," Mage Bertrand said with a smile.
"If my lord doesn’t mind..."
Mage Bertrand spoke as he held out his hand.
His meaning was clear: he wanted Marshal Grantham to give him the letter.
Without hesitation, Marshal Grantham handed over the letter.
Mage Bertrand smiled, took the letter, and then held out his arm.
Mage Bertrand muttered a few words, and a mark suddenly appeared on his arm. It was identical to the one on the red envelope.
After doing this, Mage Bertrand began to chant an incantation.
Grantham focused, trying to make out the words, but in the end, all he could hear was gibberish.
He was used to it, though. He’d been listening for years; if he were ever going to understand it, he would have by now.
"Marshal, a great disaster is about to befall you," Mage Bertrand said.
If anyone else had heard this, their jaw would have surely dropped.
Although Grantham was being targeted by those in the higher echelons, everyone still maintained a veneer of respect and had never done anything out of line.
To the Frankish Nobles, the Military Merit Faction were nothing but upstarts, but even they had to give Grantham his due.
Mage Bertrand handed the red envelope back, and Grantham took it.
Although the envelope still felt empty to the touch, when he opened it, a sheet of black paper had appeared inside.
He drew out the paper. There was nothing on it, but the sheet quickly transformed into four separate letters.
They were unmistakably letters handwritten by Count Sriphine.
Opening the envelopes, Grantham began to read them carefully.
The more he read, the tighter his brow furrowed.
Just as most people suspected, the matter of Auric Province was far too important to Marshal Grantham and the entire Military Merit Faction.
"I told you, there is no place for you within the Frankish establishment.
That business in the Royal Capital has been causing quite a stir recently. You must be aware of it, right?" Bertrand said.
Hearing this, Grantham just waved his hand dismissively.
"I understand. You may leave now."
"If you agree now to what we discussed before, it’s not too late.
If we join forces, I can’t promise a change of dynasty, but at the very least, I can ensure that you and your Military Merit Faction are secure.
Think it over carefully. We’ve lost our patience for playing this political game with you," Bertrand said.
"I told you to get out!" Grantham roared.
Mage Bertrand just smiled, gave a bow, and withdrew.
Marshal Grantham took a deep breath, opened the window, and looked out.
Beyond the city walls lay the encampments of the Beastmen; within them lay the kingdom he had spent his entire life defending.
Marshal Grantham frowned and returned to his desk.