Chapter 538: Sivia’s Arrival
“You’re saying the King might use this as a pretext for war?” Mandela set down his teacup, lost in thought. “But it doesn’t seem like a war would do us any good.”
“I’m starting to think your brain is made of muscle, Mandela,” the Lord said, exasperated. “Who cares if a war actually breaks out? We can use the threat of war to have the Cabinet Ministers wrangle with them. As long as they squeeze something out of it, even I, the victim, will at least get a sip of the broth.”
“That still has nothing to do with me,” Mandela said, rolling his eyes.
At the same time, he was astounded by Levi’s thick skin. ‘To so brazenly call himself the victim… If Kemish, the man hanging from a post outside, heard that, he’d probably pass out from sheer anger.’
“Besides, I doubt a war will actually break out. While the Persian Gulf Empire is militarily weaker than Debei, a whole sea separates us. The cost of a war would be too great. The King may have done some inexplicable things in recent years, but ultimately, he is still a wise ruler.” Mandela shook his head.
‘To be honest, though,’ he thought, ‘if a war did break out, it might not be such a bad thing. The commoners of the Persian Gulf Empire have long suffered under their cruel regime. Rescuing those civilians and slaves from their misery would be a good deed, no matter how you look at it.’
“Just you watch. This matter isn’t so simple.” The Lord of High Cliff Castle swayed his head, his voice taking on an ethereal quality, like a cultist preaching. “I have a premonition. Debei, and indeed the whole world, may seem calm and stable on the surface, but a hidden crisis is approaching. Danger lurks in the shadows…”
“Oh, come on. Maybe I’d find that a little more believable if you moved that candle away from your face first,” Mandela said, sighing as he looked at Levi, whose face was cast in an eerie glow by the blue candlelight. “Sometimes I feel like you’re not the Duke of High Cliff Castle at all, but someone else entirely…”
The Lord was shocked. ‘Could it be? Has my identity as a Transmigrator been exposed? This bald man looks all honest and simple, but is he secretly as wise as a sage?’ He set the candle down and asked cautiously, “Then what identity do you think I have?”
“I think you’re like a street gang leader who just happens to possess power unattainable by the common folk. You have absolutely no aristocratic bearing whatsoever.” Mandela took a sip of his tea, glancing at Levi.
“Who says a Lord has to have an aristocratic bearing? If you have to restrain your true nature just because of your status, wouldn’t that be an exhausting way to live?” Levi scoffed. “Don’t people desperately claw their way to the top precisely so they can one day unleash their true nature without any inhibitions?”
If he were a commoner and dared to marry two wives, he would be a sinner. But as a nobleman, the world would only applaud.
And what man could refuse multiple wives and concubines?
“You’re right.” Mandela looked out the window. White snow fell endlessly from lead-gray clouds, blanketing the boundless Wilderness in a world of white. “It’s just that you… you give me a really different feeling, kid.”
“Worri, you haven’t fallen for me, have you?” The Lord’s face was a picture of panic. “This Lord here doesn’t have any… special preferences. Personally, I think you should try your luck with His Highness Prince. That kid’s got delicate skin and is all tender-fleshed. He might be just your type.”
“Get the hell outta here!” Mandela cursed, laughing.
…
The next day, Mandela said his goodbyes to Levi, who was busy overseeing construction, and flew back to Gonda alone on his Griffin, promising to report everything Kemish had done to the King of Harland.
He had wanted to take Kemish with him, but the Lord had sternly refused.
Levi knew full well about the tradition of noble prisoners of war being ransomed. He was counting on this to make another small fortune. As for how much ransom he could get, that would depend on how many pounds our Lord’s conscience weighed and Kemish’s status in the Persian Gulf Empire.
This was also the reason he hadn’t just had the man dragged out and beheaded.
As High Cliff Castle began its sweeping reforms, all of its people were put to work. Not even Kemish was spared; he found himself cutting walls with a trowel, still in shackles.
As a nobleman of the Persian Gulf Empire, a direct descendant of the Blue Diamond Clan’s bloodline, a true aristocrat who used slaves as stepping stools just to dismount from his carriage, when had he ever done such menial labor?
It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought of escaping. But when he saw the young man in the distance, grabbing a group of Green-skinned Orcs and tossing them about like training dummies, he shrank back. The little thought of escape he’d had vanished in an instant.
‘There’s no need to risk an escape,’ he reasoned. ‘As soon as my father learns what’s happened here, he’ll definitely pay the ransom to get me back.’
“My Lord, Lady Sivia has arrived.”
The Lord was bare-chested in the snow, steam rising from his skin, when Leiden appeared at his side like one of the Undead. He stared straight ahead, as if he didn’t see the group of fearless Barbarians currently lying in the snow, groaning in pain.
“Finally. I was starting to think she’d forgotten,” Levi said, shaking his head as he put on the clothes Mier handed him.
The Silver Dragon Queen was always elusive; he never knew what she was up to and could only wait for her to find him.
When Levi pushed open the door and entered the room, his brow furrowed.
Compared to the last time they met, the Silver Dragon Queen looked much more haggard. A worried frown hung on her face, and her Qi was not as powerful as before, feeling unstable and erratic.
“Levi, long time no see.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose as she greeted him.