Chapter 537 Let's see whose blood runs dry first

The dungeons of Campbellburg.

Hearing the commotion outside the gate, Count Derek opened his eyes and saw the cold-faced jailer bringing out today's dinner.

That was stew, bread, and fried pork chops.

However, there were no knives, forks, or spoons, only tablecloths and bowls.

It seems the Grand Duke wants him to eat with his hands.

Ignoring the childish humiliation, Derek grinned with dry lips and threw a sarcastic remark at the jailer who had thrown down the plate.

"Is there a banquet outside?"

"Yes, Count."

"Looks like they didn't catch anything today, haha."

Derek picked up the plate, grabbed a greasy fried pork chop with his fingers, and said with a seemingly nonchalant expression, "Give my regards to your Grand Duke. Tell him that Earl Derek wishes him good luck in catching the first rabbit tomorrow, and that he doesn't let a commoner beat him to it."

"His Majesty the Grand Duke just arrived at Granston Castle today, so I'm afraid I can't pass on your message, sir. Perhaps I can in a few days." The jailer politely teased the Earl, who was joking with him.

"oh?"

Derek paused, his hand holding the pork chop twitching. He raised an eyebrow and fixed his cloudy eyes on the young man outside the gate.

"The summer hunt is at my castle this year? When did he set off?"

Unbelievable! He hadn't expected Edward to be so bold. The entire Earldom of North Creek Valley was populated by the Granston family.

"His Majesty departed in the morning, along with guests from Thunder City."

We set off in the morning...

Count Derek's pupils contracted slightly, and a faint hint of panic finally appeared on his usually composed face.

They've arrived!

...

June in Rowland was exceptionally hot, so much so that the River Run was still lukewarm at night. Newcastle couldn't help but think optimistically that perhaps this winter would be warm.

In the apartment in the city center, a gleaming kerosene lamp dispelled the dimness of the room, and the clock on the wall had just passed 7:30.

As the guests at Glenston Castle raised their glasses to celebrate the official opening of the Royal Railways' first railway line, Newcastle finally ended his social engagements and sat alone at the table to enjoy his dinner.

Compared to the Grand Duke's dinner, Campbell's "first class" dinner undoubtedly seemed rather meager.

However, compared to the other middle-class gentlemen in Roland City, a bowl of rich stew and a basket of toasted bread with butter was already considered a luxurious dinner.

But Newcastle's strength goes far beyond that; two sausages fried to a golden brown and sizzling with oil, and a kerosene lamp placed on the corner of the table, are things only the most powerful gentlemen deserve.

Newcastle forked a piece of sausage and put it in his mouth, savoring the comforting warmth, but couldn't help but miss his hometown.

In Thunder City, for just one silver pound, you can hire an adventurer to go to Silverpine Forest and get you a wild rabbit.

If you go to Silverpine Town, the farmers there will serve you until you are so full that you can't eat anymore, for just one silver pound.

"...Praise be to Baron Wickton. It's a good thing the fire extinguisher wasn't paid for with copper coins, or I'm afraid I wouldn't have earned enough last month to buy this dinner."

He muttered something under his breath and reached for the second piece of bread. Just then, a rapid knocking came from outside.

"Knock knock—"

Newcastle picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth and hands, sighed, gestured to the male servant who came out of the kitchen to hand it to him, and then got up from his chair and walked to the door.

"who?"

“It’s me! Sir, your assistant! Ryan!”

After confirming the sound outside the door, he opened it, and a gust of hot, humid air blew in with his movement.

Why are you so late?

"Sir, the Royal Guard sent over some documents regarding the procurement of fire extinguishers for the next quarter, as well as a list of maintenance parts! I figured I was on my way, so I brought them to you..."

The young man standing at the door shook the brown paper bag in his hand, looking travel-worn, with bangs and sweat sticking to his forehead.

He stopped abruptly halfway through his sentence, his gaze fixed on the dining table behind Newcastle as if glued shut.

"Gurgle—"

A slightly awkward voice echoed in the apartment's entryway, making the young man's sallow cheeks flush.

As a profit-driven businessman, Newcastle has always been hard-hearted.

However, perhaps the sausage he had just eaten reminded him of his hometown, or perhaps the warm light in the room stirred his compassion.

"You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

He took the file bag from Ryan, patted the young man on the shoulder, forced a smile, and closed the door behind him.

"I was just eating... Come in and have some."

His intention was to have Ryan sit down first, and then call the valet to bring out a new dinner from the kitchen; however, hunger had already consumed the young man's reason and dignity.

He didn't even have time to say thank you, let alone be polite, and he swept into the restaurant like a gust of wind.

By the time Newcastle came to his senses, Ryan, who had just plopped down, had already reached out and pulled the half-eaten sausage and bread from Newcastle's plate in front of him.

In the blink of an eye, not only did the sausage disappear, but half of the soup was gone too.

Newcastle had just raised his hand to greet the servant when he awkwardly froze in mid-air. He then silently withdrew his hand, unable to bear interrupting his wolfing down of food.

In just two minutes, the plate was cleaner than if a dog had licked it clean.

Ryan finally slowed down, probably because he was too full.

He held the last piece of toasted bread in his hand, using it to wipe away the remaining juices from the bottom of the plate, his mouth stuffed full, and mumbled indistinctly.

"Sir... um... you are such a kind person."

"Thank you... for the compliment?" Newcastle replied uncertainly as he poured him a glass of hot water.

After all, he didn't consider himself a good person.

“I’m not flattering you, I’m serious! You can’t buy bread this good anywhere else in town now. Those bakers are all rotten; they’re putting sawdust in their bread! By Saint Sith, they’re all going to hell!”

Ryan angrily took a bite of the bread soaked in meat juice, as if he wanted to crush some enemy.

"And those Campbellians, the King's guards are saying in the streets that our food has been robbed by those greedy Campbell merchants! They cheated us out of our grain and meat with waste paper and corrupted our bakers... Of course, you are different, you are a truly good person! No one has ever been as polite to me as you."

How novel! On one hand, there's waste paper, and on the other, grain and meat can be swindled... It sounds like a humorous arm wrestling match between the left and right hands.

If Newcastle remembered correctly, the kingdom's manors were all in the hands of nobles, and he didn't recall being so clever and brave as to steal those things from Miss Marie.

Newcastle placed the water glass in front of Ryan.

"Have some water, don't choke."

"Thank you, thank you..."

The young man held the cup with both hands, blowing on it slowly. After filling his stomach, he finally remembered some semblance of decorum.

Newcastle looked into his clear eyes, his heart filled with mixed feelings.

The Duchy of Campbell also has its lower classes. For example, the serfs of Granston Castle have just had enough to eat, while there may still be starving people in the remote Earldom of Spinor. His compassion is not so great as to be indignant for strangers in neighboring countries.

What truly left him with mixed feelings was that the people around him, whom he could see, had also lost their minds.

For example, his assistant was clearly educated in a church school, possessing both knowledge and divine light in his heart, and was clearly from the middle class of the Kingdom of Ryan, yet he had become so ignorant.

Newcastle admitted that his thinking was somewhat selfish, but he couldn't help but think that Professor Ferguson's encyclopedia might do them a disservice.

After all, there's nothing wrong with hating Campbells, and that doesn't stop him, being a Campbell, from selling fire extinguishers, since Baron Wickton owns a stake in them.

However, once these people walking in the fog get their hands on the matches and realize the source of their suffering... they will surely set themselves on fire before they can light the king's robes.

"Actually, your king isn't entirely wrong."

Newcastle sighed softly, stuffed the fire safety procurement list into the drawer, and gently closed it.

With his back to Ryan's bewildered gaze, he couldn't help but feel a pang of conscience, and his conscience and ambition clashed within him.

“However, since you are my assistant, I still have to tell you that the problem lies neither with the Campbellians nor with the Ryanians… The blood flowing in our veins is actually no different. We are all knights of the land of knights, we all believe in Saint Sith, and even our honor is the same.”

"Then...where did the problem lie?" The young man stared blankly at him, asking subconsciously. His clear pupils were filled with confusion, but there was also a trace of clarity in that confusion, a reluctance to open his eyes.

Newcastle looked at his young face and thought of the stonemason named Baal, his heart torn between conflicting emotions.

The real answer was too cruel, so much so that he could only say it in a joking tone, something he would never normally say.

Because you're too cheap.

It's that simple.

The Kingdom of Ryan is not without food, and the grain-producing area is not in the Twilight Province, but in the Golden Plains irrigated by the Flowing River.

However, like those crudely made copper coins, they were firmly in the hands of the nobles.

These gentlemen had no reason to sell their fine goods to the baker in exchange for cheap, poorly made copper coins, as it was an unprofitable and pointless endeavor.

After all, they could have loaded the grain onto ships and sold it in Thunder City downstream in exchange for exquisite handicrafts, or let it float upstream to the Kingdom of Rhodes in exchange for its abundant magical artifacts and minerals.

The nobles always complained that the citizens were mercenary, the artisans were lazy, and the peasants were stupid, but they never mentioned that they themselves, bathed in holy light, were the epitome of all the shortcomings.

Newcastle couldn't help but think of Miss Marie, who was almost the opposite of "Miss Eloise," whom she admired.

His thoughts drifted back to last night.

On that soft, lavender-scented bed, Marie-Lambana, who was deeply in love with him, nestled in his arms like a clingy kitten, telling him everything she knew without reservation.

She didn't go to Thunder City for fun; she went there with her father, the shrewd Baron Lambane, to go on a shopping spree.

And what they bought was not just novel toilets and spring mattresses, but also real estate in the most bustling areas of Thunder City.

Because Miss Marie loved watching plays, her father simply bought her a large plot of land, intending to invest in a theater even more magnificent than the Collins Theatre.

That was just the tip of the iceberg of the Lambane family's many investments.

As for the remaining money, they couldn't possibly spend it all, so they deposited it in a bank on Queen Street and exchanged it for shares in the Collins Group and Royal Railway Company, waiting for them to generate revenue.

Although relations between the Campbell and Devallo families had reached a freezing point, Newcastle was not naive enough to believe that Edward would turn a blind eye to these lavish Lane nobles.

After all, the unscrupulous merchants of Thunder City are extremely stingy; they'd scrimp and save for ages to donate a steam engine to a school. But these noble Ryan nobles don't care about profits or losses; they only care about the long term.

On a whim, they decided to put the theater next to the new industrial area, regardless of whether Miss Ma Rui would actually go there to see it, but it certainly benefited the poor bastards of Thunder City.

Meanwhile, Baron Wickton was in his office, frantically trying to squeeze the last drop of profit out of the bakers with the Royal Guard, just as he had used the Royal Guard to snatch the cake from the stonemasons' guild.

The baker who was willing to add sawdust to his bread was actually the most conscientious and kind person in Roland. At least those real gentlemen didn't steal or rob, and the probability of someone choking to death from sawdust was not high, making him far better than the locksmith who helped thieves pick locks.

Newcastle didn't tell the young man about this sad thing, nor could he bear to shatter his dream and let him know that he was also an accomplice in this conspiracy and might not be able to escape the reckoning at the end.

He silently reached into the inside pocket of his coat, took out a banknote, and gently placed it on a corner of the dining table.

It was a one-pound banknote, which he had suggested a few months earlier to use to pay Ryan's salary, but Ryan had laughed at him.

Now, as the feather-light piece of paper was placed on the table, the young Ryan's eyes were glued to it as if by a magnet, unable to look away.

"Take it."

Newcastle gently pushed the banknote over.

"Let's go for a stroll along the docks on the Benliu River, any dock will do."

Located along the Rushing River is Roland City's largest black market, especially the slums that were burned by the winter fire. It's the only place in Roland City where you can still buy a conscience. At first, it only accepted gold coins, but later I heard that it also accepted silver coins from the Kingdom of Rhodes and silver pounds from the Duchy of Campbell.

This secret was shared with him by Sir Skadkin of the Royal Guard, because Skadkin also needed to eat.

Previously, Newcastle's valet would take silver pounds to there to purchase daily necessities. However, since he established a connection with Miss Marie Lambane, he hasn't sent a servant there to buy necessities for a long time.

Good things that money can't buy are delivered to his home every few days, and he rarely eats at home.

"You'll find the flour you want, and the bread too..."

"And the answer you want."

Clutching the burning hot piece of paper, Ryan left his boss's apartment in a daze, unable to remember how he got home.

Perhaps because he ate too much, he fell asleep immediately and slept until dawn, almost missing his work time.

Fortunately, Mr. Newcastle's company wasn't very busy; they didn't deal with ordinary people. Although the Baron of Wickton was worried sick about the royal treasury, that didn't stop him from honestly reaching into His Majesty's coffers and taking his share.

After all, Roland City cannot be without fire extinguishers, and the oil leaking from the wooden barrel was also for cultivating his own loyal followers, ultimately helping His Majesty.

Just as Baron Wickton was comforting himself, a young man named Ryan from Ryan was also comforting himself. After get off work, he went to the River Runaway with the hot piece of paper in his pocket.

Boats came and went on the River Benliu, but few stopped at the dock. And most of the bakers, whom Mr. Newcastle called good men, had closed early and disappeared.

Actually, if you think about it carefully, bread itself is a waste. You don't know how much nutrition is lost when wheat is ground into flour.

The pressure was on the bakers' raw material suppliers and the grain vendors, whose customers, who used to be mainly grooms, now included some ordinary citizens who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

Ryan wandered aimlessly for a long time, but still didn't see the black market Mr. Newcastle had mentioned. He didn't know whether to sigh or feel relieved.

However, one thing is certain: even his shrewd employer can make mistakes; he is a "clever man" who only knows how to talk.

This wealthy businessman had never actually been to the old dock he was talking about; all those stories and tales were just hearsay.

Unfortunately, Ryan didn't realize that Newcastle wasn't smart, and that he, working under that man, was a "worthy opponent."

He always felt that the upper town wouldn't be a place of filth and corruption, so he deliberately chose to explore the lower town, wandering around for a long time until he ended up wandering in the dirty and chaotic slums.

It would be quite a coincidence if he actually found it. It's like a well-fed person not closing their door but leaving their door open at the door of a hungry person.

Equally inexperienced, Ryan wandered aimlessly through the maze-like alleys like a headless fly, and before the sun was setting, he still hadn't found the legendary black market where you could buy anything.

In this street without streetlights, just as everything was about to be completely swallowed by darkness, he heard a cry of alarm from beside him.

"By Saint Sith..."

"It's Claire!"

"How did he get involved with the Royal Guard?!"

"I heard...it seems to be because of the Encyclopedia."

The citizens of Roland City whispered among themselves, gathering in a group at the street corner. Some faces were filled with indignation, while others were numb, or simply shook their heads and walked away.

Ryan unconsciously stopped in his tracks, temporarily forgetting that he had come to buy bread, and walked toward the gathered crowd.

However, when he stood at the edge of the crowd and looked closely at the center, he saw a scene that terrified him.

The setting sun, like blood, dyed a makeshift wooden gallows a dark red.

Ten ragged men stood on a rickety platform, their hands tied behind their backs, their expressions blank.

Their clothes were covered with bloody whip marks, clearly indicating that they had suffered inhuman torture, but their faces showed a hint of relief as the ordeal was about to end.

Standing before them was Sir Skadkin, the man who always wagged his tail in front of his boss, but now resembled a ferocious Leyte bulldog.

Sir Skedkin pulled out his pocket watch, glanced at it, and roared at the criminals, spitting far and wide.

"Last chance! Tell me where that damn encyclopedia came from? Who gave it to you?"

No one said a word.

No matter how loudly Sir Skadkin's whip cracked, those standing on the gallows simply waited quietly for death.

This caused Sir Skadkin a sense of panic, and his roar gradually became more menacing than it seemed.

"Don't think that being silent makes you tough! I know you're stonemasons! And... your guild leader has already spoken to me, and he told me not to be polite to you! I advise you to open your mouths, there's still time!"

However, faced with the threat of death, there was only deathly silence on the stage.

Perhaps these stonemasons were truly tough, perhaps they were speechless, or perhaps they simply didn't know.

"Mute? Fine, they're all mute!"

As the last rays of sunlight were about to disappear, Skedkin completely lost his patience, waved his hand in annoyance, as if swatting a few annoying flies.

"Hang them! By Saint Sith, I've wasted my time!"

With a sickening thud as the wooden planks flipped, the noose snapped taut instantly.

"Creak—"

The sound was like the strange noise of an old oil press. Ten vibrant lives swayed like pendulums in the setting sun before slowly fading into silence, becoming the first to die.

Ryan was so frightened that his face turned pale and his legs went weak.

He instinctively shrank into the depths of the crowd of onlookers, covering his mouth tightly with both hands, afraid that he would make even the slightest sound and attract the attention of that madman.

He actually killed them all!

The crowd's anger was building in silence, but Skedkin glared at them without hesitation, his sharp, holy aura radiating like the blazing sun.

This terrified the crowd. They finally remembered that this guy was a superhuman who could crush a few stonemasons like an ant.

The Royal Guards drove off triumphantly, and the crowd gradually dispersed. Then, the people collecting the bodies arrived pushing carts, and the cries of women and children seemed to come from the street corner.

Ryan couldn't remember when he had escaped until he leaned against the wall, panting heavily, and felt his soul return to his body.

"Oh right... I also need to buy bread."

After catching his last breath, Ryan muttered to himself, regaining his composure, a hint of intelligence and calmness returning to his eyes.

He didn't know what an encyclopedia was, and that was definitely none of his business. His main objective was to get the bread, and then find...

What were you looking for again?

He shook his head, forgetting the unpleasantness, and walked into the alleyway that was sinking into night, searching for the riddle that Mr. Newcastle had left him.

Night finally fell.

Ryan stumbled upon a group of hurried, rat-like passersby and risked following them. He eventually found the so-called black market in an abandoned underground wine cellar.

That black market was truly ruthless; it must have been the lawless place Mr. Newcastle had described. However, when he actually found it, he was disappointed.

It turns out that Roland City also has areas that the Royal Guard can't enter, making it no more sacred than Thunder City. Worse still, there seemed to be nothing he needed here, only a few emaciated vendors with fierce and wary eyes.

They seemed to feel he didn't belong there, but they weren't in a position to break the rules of their territory before he caused trouble.

Ryan ultimately failed to find the bread he was looking for; it seemed that they didn't sell food here, only things that were inconvenient for the Royal Guard to see.

He did see the encyclopedia that the Royal Guard was searching for, but strangely, no one was keeping it; it was just thrown away in a corner of the stall like trash.

Ryan decided to leave.

He discovered that several ill-intentioned individuals were watching him, perhaps because they noticed he was only looking and not buying, or perhaps they had their eyes on what he had.

Just as he was about to leave empty-handed, a soft, melodious voice suddenly came from the shadows in the corner.

"Sir...are you looking for something?"

The voice was very soft, with a slight tremor of tentative inquiry.

Ryan turned his head and saw a young woman.

She wore an ill-fitting dress, faded from washing, but still reasonably presentable. Her disheveled hair outlined her delicate features, and her bright eyes, like the kerosene lamp on his boss's desk, instantly pierced his heart.

Ryan was stunned.

As a good citizen who had received a good education in a church school, he immediately lowered his head shyly, trying to avoid eye contact.

The men following him slowed down after seeing the suspicious-looking guy stop, deciding to observe him for a while longer.

Seeing Ryan standing there motionless, the girl gave him a shy smile, as if she recognized him.

"My house... is just behind here, do you want to come with me?"

Ryan didn't nod, but like a puppet, he let the shy girl take his arm and timidly walk into the rickety doorway.

...

Ten minutes later, the dilapidated house stopped shaking.

Ryan lost a silver pound.

However, he didn't lose out, because he bought his love with just a piece of paper.

The shy girl blew out the candle on the table, not out of shame, but because candles weren't cheap.

He lay on the damp wooden bed, panting like an exhausted dog, his eyes fixed on the moldy rafters.

He heard the rustling sound of clothes being put on, and for a moment he couldn't tell who had just bought whose dignity.

The girl had her back to him, carefully folding the brand-new Campbell's silver pound and tucking it into her innermost garment.

Her movements were gentle, as if she were doing it to her lover.

Looking at that thin figure, Ryan, who had entered a state of sagehood, suddenly had an absurd thought pop into his head.

The pastors at the church school always said that Roland was a blessed land, where there were no demons, only brave knights and chaste ladies.

He thought those priests were serious, but he didn't expect there were so many devils lurking in the shadows, and that girl was one of them.

Ryan suddenly felt a surge of joy at the thought.

At least, he wasn't the most blasphemous.

And I imagine that even if the day of judgment truly arrives, the all-seeing holy light will surely forgive my innocence...

...

Night had fallen, and the city center of Roland had fallen into an unsettling silence.

In Baron Wickton's office, the candle had burned down to its last bit, the wax trickling down the silver candlestick and solidifying into a twisted snake shape.

The venomous snake seemed to be flicking its tongue, hiding the mockery hanging from its fangs in the shadows lengthened by the candlelight.

Unlike young Ryan, who was sound asleep, Baron Wickton had many more things to worry about and couldn't sleep at this hour.

Especially at this moment, with a thick encyclopedia spread out on his desk, cold sweat soaked his clothes.

"By Saint Sith... I never imagined that the corruption of Chaos had reached such a severe level that such blasphemous books would appear in the lower reaches of the Rushing River!"

It was seized from a smuggler who had just been hanged by the Royal Guard.

Sir Skedkin, having heard that he liked the writings of Thunder City, secretly "reimbursed" the filthy item that should have been burned, and presented it to him as a gift.

To be honest, although Sir Skadkin was an extremely shrewd gentleman, his "shrewdness" could occasionally frighten Baron Wickton.

This guy probably has no idea what he's doing!

Upon seeing the entries discussing the king and his legitimacy, Wickton felt a chill run down his spine and finally slammed the book shut.

"I never imagined Edward Campbell could be so insidious, silently forging this blasphemous dagger... No wonder the Light of Praise didn't choose him, no wonder the curse of Saint Sith turned his hair white!"

As he uttered the curse in a low voice, Baron Wickton's eyes held a mixture of anger, fear, and a hint of bewilderment.

Isn't this guy afraid of getting his comeuppance?

This sharp dagger has no eyes; today it can pierce the heart of the Devalo family, and tomorrow it can slit the throat of the Campbell family!

Why did he release this evil monster?!

Wickton took a deep breath, forcing himself to push the book to the corner of the table, trying to temporarily forget the blasphemous words, lest the poisoned candied fruit shake his conviction.

Republic...

What a beautiful word.

If the nobles of Lane had been as united as those of Campbell, they would not have ended up where they are today, even without the support of the citizens.

Although he was well aware of the dangers of this encyclopedia, he was too busy putting out fires to care at the moment.

It is the bishop's duty to examine heretical ideas, and he is tasked with addressing another crisis that is pushing the kingdom toward the abyss.

That was famine.

Having solved the problem of citizens not being able to afford bread, Baron Wickton now has to address the issue of bakers not being able to afford flour.

And it's not just about not being able to afford bread; the anger that had been brewing since before the winter fire is now boiling like never before.

He feared that the people's anger would breed the corruption of Kalmandes, a chaotic evil spirit known as the "Flame of Destruction."

Superhumans can bully mortals without restraint, but only if they do not attract the power of chaos.

Those guys are even more evil than the demons in hell. After all, demons only want to corrupt their faith, while those guys aim to completely transform them into their own shape.

That would be a shape in the physical sense.

Twisted evil thoughts will not only change their souls, but also the bodies that contain them, causing them to be trapped in an abyss of eternal damnation, repeating the worst possible ending over and over again.

The thought of how terrifying that thing was sent a chill down Wickton’s spine. He immediately got up from his desk and strode over to the huge map of the kingdom on the wall.

His gaze swept across the plains and rivers, landing on the eastern part of the kingdom—a frontier region known as the Twilight Province.

There, the kingdom's most elite "Lionheart Knights," led by "Radiant Knight" Hagmer, is locked in a protracted stalemate with a group of madmen calling themselves the "Saviors."

It was an outrageously expensive and protracted war.

Due to the lack of cooperation from the local nobles, every grain of food for the Knights had to be transported from Roland City over a long distance.

If he could save that money, at least he could use the saved budget to buy some grain from the nobles and bring it to Roland to quell the boiling resentment.

But if that grain is not enough to quell this raging fury...

At least when the corruption of chaos arrives, the nobles of Roland City can still rely on the sword in the hand of "Radiant Knight" Hagmer, instead of pinning their hopes on that extraordinary weapon whose quality is now unknown...

(End of this chapter)