Chapter 530 The Demon King's strength far surpasses that of the Succubus.
In the council hall of the city hall of Leiming, sparse sunlight laboriously climbed over the high window sills and fell on the rows of conference tables.
Neither the space nor the environment here is as bright as the Collin Theatre, nor as magnificent as His Majesty Theodore's summer palace.
However, Horace quite liked it here.
Because there are no entrance fees here, and you can drink tea for free.
Free black tea, that's great!
He took a sip, trying to avoid running to the restroom before the meeting even started.
"Everyone, please be quiet."
The speaker's gavel struck the oak table with a dull thud.
As the whispers in the hall gradually subsided, he began his address in a calm and measured voice.
"The first topic today... let me see, it was raised by Representative Dibico, so let him speak."
The meeting in Thunder City differs from the meeting in Theodore. The speaker is the chairperson of the meeting, but not the highest authority, nor is he a baron or minister appointed by His Majesty.
From this perspective, Thunder City's city council is far too hasty compared to Roland City's long-established three-tiered council.
The speaker sitting here is indeed a seasoned veteran of meetings, while many of the new members haven't even had a chance to warm their chairs yet.
Congressman Dubiko, the owner of the paint factory, stood up.
This gentleman, who made his fortune painting the bottoms of ships for the Principality's navy, had specially changed into a brand-new dark tailcoat today, and the watch chain on his chest was polished to a shine.
He cleared his throat, and the letter in his hand, which wasn't very wrinkled, rustled as he shook it.
Although the letter didn't cost him a penny, he spent a full 100 silver pounds to buy a theater ticket in order to write the proposal for today's topic, and then spent the whole night racking his brains afterward.
The entire city is concerned about the bells that resonate with them, and he will be the first gentleman to speak their hearts!
"Before I begin my remarks, I would like to read a letter."
Dibico's voice was loud and clear, like an actor on stage, speaking in a passionate and impassioned tone that he had practiced for a long time.
“This is a letter that a 50-year-old mother, a resident of my constituency, slipped under my door this morning. She didn’t even notice that the mailbox was right next to the door… But that’s not important. What’s important is what she wrote in the letter, which brought tears to my wife’s and my eyes.”
"In her letter, she asked me, 'Dear Mr. Dubco, my daughter is getting married next month. Do I also need to prepare a crown tax like Eloise? Who should we contact?'"
A soft laugh rippled through the parliament hall.
Okay, you even managed to rhyme.
Thunder City is a free commercial metropolis, belonging to the wise Grand Duke. How could it possibly have the bad habits of those country nobles?
However, some people didn't laugh, but cursed inwardly, thinking that Dibko, that shameless bastard, had actually gotten away with it.
They can even write about such a ridiculous topic!
Dibico didn't care about the laughter; instead, his expression turned serious, and he glared at the guy who was laughing the loudest.
"...I know what you're going to say. The enlightened Thunder City doesn't have this problem, so there's no need to worry about something that doesn't exist. I should be writing back to comfort that mother instead of wasting everyone's time here."
The speaker coughed and tapped the gavel.
“Mr. Dibico, nobody said that—”
“I know! But that’s what they all think,” Dibico interrupted the Speaker with a look of pity, and continued firmly, “However, I still have to say that although the Flower Crown Tax in Thunder City is fake, this mother’s pain is real!”
The scribe sitting in the corner of the conference table took notes at lightning speed, as did the reporters sitting next to him.
Horace glanced furtively at what they were holding.
Thunder City... Mother... Pain?
Um?
He couldn't help but sit up straight.
This works??
Fortunately, the reporter from the Thunder City Daily was a professional; the clever young man simply used a recording crystal to take the picture.
Horace couldn't help but think to himself, "Magic is truly a wonderful thing."
It would be even more perfect if it could be used to make money...
While Mr. Horace was thinking about his own business during the meeting, Congressman Dubco was still passionately advocating for his mother's suffering.
"...Loopholes in the rules are like cracks in the hull of a ship; if they aren't patched today, they'll leak tomorrow! In response to the citizens' fears, and to prevent the tragedy of Eloise from repeating itself in Thunder City...I propose!"
He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the entire room.
"Legislation should explicitly abolish all forms of chastity tax and crown tax! We must use the hammer of law to smash those shackles that may arrive tomorrow!"
Sparse applause broke out.
Most of these people came from his allies, as well as those unlucky fence-sitters who were sent in for tea by some penny-pincher.
It's always safe to throw a punch at the air; you gain a good reputation without actually jeopardizing any important figures' interests.
After all, who would oppose abolishing a tax that never existed in the first place?
Even Senator Horace, who was sitting in the back row, couldn't help but laugh.
But he held back.
"Now it's open for discussion. Anyone who wants to speak, please press the bell—"
"Let me say a few words." Before the Speaker could finish speaking, Horace pressed the bell, interrupting him with a jingle.
This miser, who had once been cornered in his office by the workers, slowly rose from his seat, his sluggish movements resembling the constraints of his old formal attire.
He straightened his faded, shabby bow tie, clutching a small piece of paper covered in dense writing in his hand.
That was written for him by his factory manager, Elsie, who stayed up all night last night.
Honestly, Elsie's writing is too literary, and besides, he was at work yesterday, so he probably didn't watch the show.
This is clearly a summary based on a newspaper article.
Horace did go see it.
He wouldn't read the original text aloud, but would use common language that even dockworkers could understand to explain the complex principles in human language.
“Mr. Dibico is right.”
Horace's voice was light and airy, carrying a businessman's mercenary air, which brought a smile to Dibico's face.
It seems Mr. Horace didn't take his casual insult from yesterday to heart, or perhaps the guy simply didn't understand his veiled meaning.
That was when the stage play ended.
He came out of the VIP box, greeted Mrs. Horace, and said with feigned surprise, "Nice to meet you. Were you in the box next door? Please forgive me for not coming over to say hello. The performance was so moving. My wife cried for a long time, and I just finished comforting her."
The only drawback was that Horace's wife simply greeted him with a smile and then said hello to his wife.
Just as Dibico was regretting not seeing Horace's disheveled expression, his forced gentlemanly smile quickly froze on his face.
"...But I must say, this is nothing more than giving a good person a 'good person card,' which is useless except for self-pity."
Laughter erupted from the conference room, and it was even louder than before.
Especially the guy who had been inexplicably glared at by Senator Dibico earlier, this time not only laughed loudly, but also made a very inelegant noise with his chair.
This behavior prompted the Speaker to strike the gavel a second time, and also caused Senator Dibico to be embarrassed and grit his teeth.
The humorous Horace didn't look at him, but instead glanced around the council chamber and continued speaking in a condescending tone.
“Even without a chastity tax, there will be a wear and tear fee. Even without a crown tax, there will be money for lubricating gears, money for polishing the bell tongue, or money for painting the antique clock… Oh, I didn’t mean to mention our Councilor Dubco, I remember he was in the paint business.”
“Mr. Horace, first warning.” The Speaker struck the gavel for the third time, squinting as he issued the warning, interrupting the clown’s joke.
Horace coughed, bringing the topic back on track, and suddenly spoke with righteous indignation.
“What I’m trying to say is that what matters isn’t the paint, the wreaths, or even the church bells… People who want these things can certainly pay for them; that’s their prerogative. Horace Textile Mill can even design ribbons for them—oh, Mr. Speaker, please don’t strike your gavel yet, let me finish my advertisement—oh no, let me finish what I have to say!”
"As long as the rope for ringing the bell remains in the hands of a small group of people, those who are even more greedy than me will always come up with a hundred ways to reach into the pockets of the poor. After all, even someone like me can come up with fifty ways... and this must be stopped!"
The speaker's gavel stopped in mid-air, his small, cloudy eyes wide open, the gavel swaying up and down, unsure whether he should strike it.
Whispers filled the conference room; those who were laughing just a moment ago now had tense faces and couldn't laugh at all.
Including MP Dubiko.
His eyes were wider than the Speaker's, staring at Horace, who stood there talking eloquently, as if he were looking at a ghoul who had been eaten and vomited up by a demon.
Saint Sis above—
He had never seen such a shameless person!
Is there anyone in the entire Thunder City who is more greedy than this guy?
This is just like a demon king calling for holy light!
However, Horace still didn't look at the man who was staring at him intently; instead, he placed his hands on the table, making a creaking sound that was full of oppressive force.
"As long as the bell tower belongs to the castle and the church, the tragedy of 'Elois' and 'Matthew' will never end! We will grieve again and again in a sacred and indisputable name!"
"The love between two souls is the will of the gods, and only the lovers themselves can decide when the bells will toll! The sanctity of marriage does not need the lord's seal, nor the priest's nod!"
"We must reclaim the power to ring the bells from castles and churches, and return the power of justification to our country!"
The resounding voice echoed in the conference hall, followed by a long, deathly silence.
Dibiko stared dumbfounded at the stingy man who exuded poverty, as if he were meeting him for the first time.
This guy... is he crazy?
A sense of awe spread silently.
Mr. Dibico was not the only one stunned; even the reporters sitting next to him were taken aback and couldn't help but straighten their backs, which had been hunched over out of boredom.
Especially the reporter who wrote "My mother is in pain" in his notebook.
After much deliberation, he finally couldn't resist crossing out the uninspiring story and writing down the "heartfelt words" that Mr. Horace had just uttered—
The love between two souls is the will of the gods; only they, who deeply love each other, can decide when the bell will toll!
There was no particular reason.
He just felt that this sentence was perfect for tomorrow's news headline, and he didn't even need to change a single word; he could just paste it directly.
Because he was from Campbell, and he had seen the play yesterday, those words were exactly what he felt at the time.
Senator Horace, known for his outspokenness, has once again uttered a memorable quote.
Although the Thunder City Daily is too formal to put his witty remarks and outrageous opinions on the front page, there will always be people as carefree as him who will love him.
After a brief silence in the council chamber, a loud cheer shattered the deathly stillness.
"Well said!!!"
A man with a bulbous nose couldn't help but applaud. He was the owner of a beer shop in the new industrial area, who had been carried in here by a group of drunkards without really knowing what was going on.
Horace usually looked down on him the most, but he never expected that this guy would become his supporter. For a moment, he didn't know what to do and forced a polite smile at him.
The council of Thunder City has not yet formed factions, but factions seem to have already appeared under the speaker's nose, and are clearly divided.
The sparse applause gradually turned into a torrential downpour, and soon it wasn't just applause, but also cheers from those "not so elegant".
No matter how much the speaker banged on the table and shouted for silence, he couldn't stop the people who couldn't help but stand up and chatter amongst themselves, and the order of the meeting was completely lost.
"That's right!"
"Why should I have to put up with the priest's attitude when I get married? The city hall can just stamp it and that's it!"
"But what about villages without a city hall?"
"Then let's build one!"
Bathed in thunderous applause, Horace was somewhat bewildered, not expecting these people to be so excited.
It seems the Duke really did let in too many shills.
but--
When he saw Dibiko's face, which looked like he had swallowed a fly, he couldn't help but curl up a smug smile.
It doesn't seem too bad.
It's a pity his son isn't here, otherwise he would proudly pat the child's head and show him the defeated face of his opponent.
Then say—
See?
Horace Jr.
Even if someone has the cheapest ticket and stands in the last row of the theater, they still understand the meaning of bells better than that high and mighty Mr. Dubiko!
And that insightful person is your father.
When you grow up, you can proudly stand tall and tell everyone that you are a descendant of Mr. Horace! You don't have to hide your identity and flee to a distant land like a rat in the street.
Because we stood with our people from beginning to end, we neither stole nor robbed!
Perhaps the Iris Theatre Company should write a play for Horace, who feels his rags-to-riches story is far more exciting than the Bell Tolls!
At the same time, Mr. Dibico finally let out a roar he could no longer suppress.
However, his roar, like the topic he was ignoring, was drowned out by the vast ocean of sound.
"Enough! Gentlemen, where is your order? Doesn't anyone listen to what the Speaker is saying? He told you to be quiet!"
"besides--"
"That issue was my idea!"
...
The afternoon sun shines directly into the council hall of Thunder City, but not into the docks of Thunder City, especially the area where cargo is unloaded.
This place is perpetually shrouded in the shadows of massive ship hulls and funnels, and the black smoke billowing from them.
The air at the dock was filled with a salty, fishy smell, a mixture of dead fish and rotten shrimp, coal, and sweat, much like pickled vegetables.
At that moment, a group of shirtless dockworkers sat beside wooden crates piled with cables, eating bread and sausages with the well-seasoned pickled vegetables.
"...I knew it! Mr. Horace is a good man!"
Joey, who was as strong as a chimney, took a big bite of bread and his face was flushed with even more excitement than yesterday.
"The theater was so crowded last night, and he still shook my hand! Really, he smiled at me and asked my name! I told him my name was Joey, and he wished me a nice day, without even looking down on my fishy smell!"
Although the gentleman misremembered his name the next second, even causing him to lose his drinking money in the end, it was still an exciting trial for Joey, who had never met a big shot before.
The workers around him were discussing the three-tiered council of the Kingdom of Ryan when they heard this guy suddenly mention Mr. Horace, who had been making waves recently, and they all burst into laughter.
"Joey, are you stupid? Even I would buy a seat ticket to watch the show. Only someone like you would buy a standing ticket. You might as well just say that Miss Eloise shook hands with you yesterday, and I'll reluctantly envy you for a second."
The foreman stuffed the rolled cigarette into his mouth, struck a damp match, and shook it several times before it finally lit. His mouth, sharper than the sun, was relentless in its attack.
Joey blushed.
His coworkers around him laughed even harder and put their arms around his shoulders.
“That’s right, Joey. Maybe Mr. Horace was jostled around and mistook your arm for a handrail!”
"When thousands of sweaty men are gathered together, the smell is hardly better than salted fish. Everywhere you look, there's the stench of sweat, feet, and cheap tobacco. Even if he wanted to complain, he couldn't possibly complain about it all."
"Mr. Horace must have been squeezed so tightly that he had nowhere to put his hands!"
The air was filled with a cheerful atmosphere.
Joey panicked.
But none of the brothers who went to the theater with him yesterday were at this dock, so he could only argue, his neck red.
"You're talking nonsense! I'll have Luke testify for me in a bit! He saw it yesterday!"
One of the guys who was helping him move the boxes smiled.
"Ha, everyone knows you guys are buddies, so what if he testifies?"
"Prove I wasn't lying!"
Joey's voice was loud enough to drown out the distant, melodious whistles of the steamer, as if they were arguing about something very important.
“I may be an uneducated, uncultured man, but I have a clear mind. I can see with my own eyes who treats me well and who treats me like a human being!”
The laughter gradually subsided.
Some people were taken aback by Joey's serious demeanor, as if he couldn't take a joke anymore, while others had mixed feelings because of what he said.
When people look at it...
This is indeed a rare thing for people who make a living at the docks, after all, they sometimes compare themselves to seagulls.
This time, the foreman didn't continue with those sarcastic and self-deprecating remarks.
"Alright."
He flicked his cigarette ash and said casually.
"Although that guy was a notorious miser, I think you've all forgotten about it, but I've never forgotten... But I have to admit, he did the right thing."
Mr. Horace is not a good man, but he is at least human.
He had seen many sailors from the sea, and his experience in judging people was more accurate than his experience in judging seagulls.
He would rather choose a bad person who serves his own interests than a conman who claims to be a good person.
After all, who is the good guy?
Is it Joey?
He doesn't know about others, but he certainly doesn't think he is.
Even gods have selfish desires, let alone mortals.
On the other side, the warehouse manager, sitting at the entrance of the dock warehouse, finished his bread and then pulled out a crumpled copy of the Thunder City Daily from under his buttocks.
He had taken it from the boss's office door when he was unloading goods that morning, intending to save it for when he went to the toilet later.
On the front page of the newspaper, several bold, large characters caught the eye: "Parliament Proposes Marriage Registration Law: Let the Bells Ring for All"
Even though he was indifferent to Lei Mingcheng, a look of surprise couldn't help but appear on his face.
"By Saint Sith..."
In Thunder City, marriage is not an expensive luxury that most people can afford, but it is certainly not cheap either.
First, they have to find the parish priest, pay a "donation," and then the priest will read the marriage announcement during Mass for three consecutive Sundays.
Although the amount is not much, it is usually paid in three installments, and the amount depends on the local average income.
Once all the ceremonies are complete and no "other wife" or "other husband" objects, the pastor will nod in approval for the couple to hold the ceremony in the church, ring the bells that symbolize happiness, and finally write their names in the register.
If someone is willing to donate a large sum of money to the church, there is also a "VIP channel" to protect the privacy of clients, just like the Collins Grand Theatre.
However, Thunder City does not represent the entire Duchy of Campbell. For the vast majority of impoverished country folk, legal recognition still depends on their lords.
After all, many serfs might not even have names, so there was no need to register them; the village bell would suffice.
In such cases, the wedding ceremony is usually officiated by the nobleman's steward or a servant appointed by the steward. For example, in "The Bell Tolls," it is presided over by a "bell tower steward."
Of course, that money wasn't entirely wasted; priests and lords usually provided "after-sales service."
If the couple fights or their relationship deteriorates to the point where they can no longer live together, someone will come to arbitrate.
As for how to arbitrate, it's like a wedding in Thunder City—"it's up to you." In principle, Saint Sith doesn't allow anyone to break their vows, but the priests will decide how far to enforce the principle depending on the circumstances.
However, the newspaper reported that if the bill passed, people would only need to go to the city hall for two copper coins to receive a stamped document, which would legally recognize their union…
The warehouse keeper couldn't help but think to himself.
Although he could afford the priest's price, who would mind paying a little less?
and--
Arbitration by written law and the gavel of a judge is far more reliable than the pastor's subjective judgment, right?
...
Not far from the pier, on a street corner, two figures, one tall and one short, stood under a street lamp.
An elderly pastor finished reading the extra edition in the newsboy's hand, shook his head helplessly, and his well-maintained face was filled with heartache.
He said with a sigh.
"This city is becoming more and more blasphemous by turning sacred vows into a piece of paper at the city hall..."
Two copper coins?
How dare they degrade the sacred union to such an extent!
Things have been getting worse ever since last winter. He has a feeling that an evil force is enveloping the city.
However, he was completely helpless.
Perhaps the court should be here, instead of wallowing in the rotten mire of the Twilight Province.
Unfortunately, he was a nobody, and not all priests had the support of the Vatican. He wasn't naive enough to think that His Holiness the Pope would read his letter.
The apprentice beside him blinked and asked in a low voice.
“Teacher, since the city hall only charges two copper coins, why don’t we lower the price too? Even if we charge three copper coins… the believers should still be willing to come to church, right?”
After all, a blessing from the gods always sounds better than a seal from the city hall.
The pastor turned around and glared fiercely at the brainless apprentice, his mask of compassion almost crumbling.
"Two copper coins? Ha, you mean I have to recite prayers for them in front of the icon for those two copper coins, and then keep their vows until the end of time?"
The apprentice wanted to ask if this was something a servant of the gods should do, but seeing his mentor's anger, he thought for a moment and swallowed his words.
Clearly, the tutor was not angry because of the newspaper, but because of the blasphemous "bells" at the Colin Grand Theatre.
Or perhaps—
She was simply angry with His Majesty the Grand Duke.
In fact, the citizens of Thunder City are the same.
What they want to break free from is probably not just the constraints of marriage, but the marriage bound by the "bell" has become an outlet for their emotions.
Meanwhile, the Grand Duke was happy to take advantage of this sentiment.
He successfully transformed the people's "clerical status" into "household registration," and naturally took over the marriage registration work that was originally the responsibility of the church.
This is a great thing for the duchy.
And it will not provoke a backlash from conservative forces in the public.
However, these things are beyond the comprehension of an apprentice, and only the wise priests can see clearly that an unseen hand is exploiting the shortsightedness of ordinary people to lead the future of Thunder City into an abyss of "collapse of rites and music".
The pastor glanced angrily at the city hall in the distance and uttered a curse.
"From now on, let the city hall ring this bell. Let Horace ring it, and let Miss Eloise ring it herself! I'm not getting involved in this trouble anymore!"
...
At night, the banquet hall of the Andes Manor is adorned with dazzling lights.
The enormous crystal chandelier cast a dazzling light, illuminating the exquisite silk gowns and the humble, polite smiles.
In the past, it was mostly earls and barons who came and went here, but now it's the newly rich of the Duchy of Campbell.
Their combined titles wouldn't even amount to an earl, and many of them weren't nobles at all, not even holding the title of knight.
For example, the Iris Theatre Troupe, which was invited to the event.
Standing in the center of the crowd, Qiqi from Shanghai felt as if the red carpet beneath her feet was a cloud, so soft that she could hardly stand.
Her cheeks were burning hot, and her breathing was erratic, as if she were soaking in a hot tub.
Not struck by holy light—
The main reason was that she had never been to such an occasion before.
Not every student at Demon King Academy is a second-generation demon. Apart from orphans like Luo Yan from the temple, the vast majority of students come from ordinary citizens in the Demon City.
Even now, Kiki still feels a strong sense of unreality.
She felt as if she had somehow ended up in the Great Cemetery of Thundershire, and then in the blink of an eye, she was standing on the stage of the human world.
In the blink of an eye, her performance suddenly caused a sensation throughout Thunder City, even prompting legislation in the council. And now, even the legendary Grand Duke of the Heroic Family stands before her…
According to the usual script, shouldn't the next step be to pull out Utawarerumono?
However, the "just execution" did not occur.
"What a brilliant performance."
Looking at Miss Kiki, who was bowing her head in a state of "trembling with fear," the renowned white-haired duke smiled and extended his right hand, sparing no praise.
"My wife couldn't help but shed tears for your touching love story; she was even unable to attend tonight because her eyes were swollen."
He was wearing a well-tailored dark blue tuxedo with the Campbell family crest pinned to his chest.
Although the aura of a superior was not deliberately released, it still made Qiqi feel a sense of oppression from the depths of her soul.
That was the aura of a Gold-level expert.
And it might even be a high-ranking gold!
The frail Kiki dared not look up into the Duke's eyes, but extended her slightly trembling hand to accept the great man's handshake.
"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty, I disturbed your wife..."
Her voice was barely audible, as if she were afraid of giving herself away. However, her restrained demeanor was remarkably like that of a commoner actor meeting a nobleman.
"Haha! Please don't apologize to me."
Edward laughed heartily and said humorously.
"In fact, I should thank you for giving me the opportunity to demonstrate my gentlemanly manners and for allowing me to offer my handkerchief at that moment."
He's in an incredibly good mood right now!
His intelligence officer had previously reported to him that local priests were trying to fill the ecological niches vacated by the feudal lords.
After all, the local serfs clearly trusted the priests more than the officials sent by the duke, since many things were managed by the lords and priests in turn.
Even if those local priests had no intention of seizing power, they were still unconsciously gathering those ownerless serfs around them.
They gathered more than just people.
There was also the ubiquitous feudal legal system, the personal dependency relationships originally recognized by lords, and the non-secular moral shackles, etc.
The ringing of the bells at the Collins Theatre was like a timely breeze, and the proposals that followed in Parliament were even more opportune.
He needed a powerful musket, and someone handed him a gun and bullets, even helping him load the rifle.
Edward had only one thought in his mind—
God bless the Duchy!
Unfortunately, His Highness Colin had other commitments and couldn't keep the appointment today; otherwise, he would have personally shaken the prince's hand to express his gratitude.
Unexpectedly, the white-haired duke was more approachable than rumored, and Kiki's tense nerves relaxed a little.
Edward turned around and looked at the "boy" standing next to Kiki.
That's Xiao Jiu, who plays "Matthew". She's wearing an evening gown right now, with a beautiful face and a swan-like neck, and her eyes are incredibly charming.
"So you're a lady..."
When Edward grasped that hand, his face showed undisguised surprise as he looked the actor up and down, who had brought the character of "honest and dull" to life.
"I must say, your acting skills fooled everyone. I even thought I was seeing things until my wife reminded me."
Xiaojiu's cheeks instantly burned, as if scorched by fire, and she could only awkwardly utter a "hmm".
Although she regretted it as soon as she finished humming, she thought, "What the hell was I humming for?!"
That soft moan from the trench had poisoned her too deeply...
She wished she could smash her head against the table and die.
At this moment, she was unaware of the subtle influence of hormones, even though she was only receiving the "minimum dose."
The Grand Duke did not linger on the topic, gentlemanly releasing his hand before walking toward the middle-aged actor who played the clock tower steward.
The actor was dressed in a respectable suit today, looking refined and cultured, completely unlike the sinister and infuriating presence he exuded on stage.
"And you, steward."
Edward still had a smile on his face, but his voice carried a hint of apology, and he lingered a little longer when shaking hands with him.
"I heard that during yesterday's performance, an impulsive gentleman threw an egg at you? Please allow me to apologize on behalf of that rude gentleman; he was too emotional."
"You flatter me, Your Majesty."
The middle-aged man bowed slightly and made a joking remark.
“I don’t see it as an insult to me. On the contrary, it shows that I brought my character to life… My audience is eager to give me an award, but unfortunately, he only brought an egg.”
"Haha, I've often heard that God favors humorous people, so you must be blessed by the gods... I wish you continued success in your career."
Upon hearing the Grand Duke's praise, the man's face showed a hint of emotion. After releasing his hand, he bowed solemnly once more.
"Thank you for your blessing, Your Majesty, and may your duchy prosper forever."
After leaving the clock tower steward, Edward shook hands with every actor, whether they were extras on screen or musicians backstage.
He then glanced around at the group of talented musicians and actors and shared his long-held idea.
“My wife and I discussed it for a long time yesterday. It’s such a pity that only the citizens of Thunder City can see such an interesting stage play.”
He paused, then smiled and continued.
"I have an idea! Once the Duchy's first railway is officially completed, I would like to invite the Iris Flower Theatre Troupe as the first passengers to take our train on a national tour! What do you think?"
The production company boss was naturally overjoyed.
Although His Majesty the Grand Duke did not mention the performance fee, he had even chartered the legendary train for them, so he certainly wouldn't be stingy with the ticket price.
Qiqi was stunned for a moment, feeling both nervous and excited, and could only nod mechanically.
The little eagle standing to the side had eyes that instantly lit up like light bulbs.
North Valley?
Fort Granston?
This is a main quest!
"I, I do!" She agreed even faster than the film crew's boss.
After blurting it out, she realized her rudeness when she saw everyone looking at her, and blushed as she retreated.
Edward paused for a moment, then looked at the little eagle and smiled amicably.
What an interesting girl.
Let's just assume she's just too nervous...
But just then, Edward suddenly realized that he hadn't seen the scriptwriter yet, so he looked around and finally focused on the production company boss.
"By the way, I'd like to know who the author of 'The Bell Tolls' is? I've never seen such an interesting stage play before. Could you introduce me to this gentleman?"
The production team's boss was also taken aback. He really didn't know who wrote the script, so he turned to the crowd around him for help.
"Your Majesty, I..."
Just as he was stammering and unable to speak, Punk, dressed in a tuxedo, quickly squeezed out of the crowd and came to his rescue.
"Your Majesty, the script was written by His Highness Colin himself."
With a gentlemanly smile on his face, he bowed slightly to Edward and spoke in a tone tinged with apology.
"He had planned to attend your banquet, but he is tied up with other commitments today and cannot make it. He specifically asked me to convey his sincerest congratulations to you and express his gratitude for your generous support of the arts... I hope you will enjoy his script."
There are no mundane affairs.
The two met frequently and became too familiar with each other, so Colin simply "skipped" at some less important banquets.
Acting with strangers is a piece of cake for him, but acting with acquaintances is really tiring.
"Colin?"
Edward was truly dumbfounded this time, as if he had heard something unbelievable, and it took him a while to come back to his senses.
"By Saint Sith... is there anything in this world that His Highness cannot do?"
After a brief moment of shock, the duke quickly composed himself, regaining his composure and elegance.
He took the crystal glass filled with red wine from the waiter, turned to face the well-dressed guests, and held it up in front of him.
"Ladies and gentlemen!"
The red wine in the crystal glass swayed under the light, like fresh blood.
His voice was full of respect and sincere gratitude.
"Although our Prince Colin is not present, that does not prevent us from paying tribute to his 'bell'! Let us all raise a glass to this learned gentleman!"
In that relaxed atmosphere, the guests smiled and raised their glasses.
"Salute to our friends!" "His Highness the Prince!" "Long live the friendship between the Duchy of Campbell and the Duchy of Colin!"
The crisp clinking of glasses echoed throughout the banquet hall, forming a melodious hymn of praise.
Standing in the middle of the crowd, Qiqi held a glass of champagne. Although she had only taken a small sip, her rosy cheeks made her look like she was drunk.
By Bayeris...
Today, she not only attended the most prestigious banquet of her life, but also witnessed scenes she never dared to imagine before.
Those arrogant nobles of the Holy Light, who rode on the backs of Hell, were now raising their glasses in unison to the esteemed Demon King!
Even though he wasn't standing here in person!
At that moment, the adoration and admiration in Qiqi's eyes almost overflowed, and her charming eyes captivated countless gentlemen and ladies present, stealing their dreams for the night.
As expected of the Demon King—
Even the unfathomable Padrick succubus is probably nothing special!
(Thanks to "晨风清露" for the generous donation!!!)
(End of this chapter)
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