Translator: Cinder Translations
...
For Paul, who grew up in the Northwest Bay, winters in Crystal Glare were rather dull.
Whether in his past life or present, he always liked the heavy snowfall, especially when the snow piled up deep enough to cover his calves.
Whenever such weather occurred, Paul enjoyed starting a large fire indoors, roasting meat, or making his version of a hotpot, which, to others, seemed like his invention. He would enjoy the snow scene outside while savoring the warmth of the fire and the delicious food.
If the wind were howling fiercely, the experience would be even better—harsh conditions outside, but the people inside would be relaxed and content.
However, such enjoyment was rare in Alden. In the early years, the living conditions in the Northwest Bay were poor, and in the eyes of southern nobles, it was a barren land. For the commoners, the kind of heavy snow Paul loved was a disaster, with many elderly, sick, or weak people failing to survive it. For someone like Paul, who came from a modern society and had a bit of compassion, he would feel guilty during these times, especially since he was the local lord.
Fortunately, the economy improved later, and no one would starve or freeze to death in the winter anymore, so Paul could enjoy his small pleasures with a clear conscience.
But compared to the Northwest Bay, winters in Crystal Glare were shorter, and heavy snow was rare. Even when it did snow, it wasn't the kind of wild, world-blanketing storm Paul preferred.
Paul found himself missing the days in the Northwest Bay.
He put down the cards in his hand and gazed out the window at the falling snowflakes, lost in thought. "Maybe I should go back."
Rodney XVIII, who was still pondering his next move in the card game, looked up. "What's wrong? Is the environment in Crystal Glare making you uncomfortable?"
"No, Your Majesty," Paul smiled. "The environment here is very comfortable, and life is peaceful. It truly is the best place in Alden. If it weren't for my responsibilities, I would love to live here for the rest of my life."
"False words!" Rodney XVIII snorted. "I'm not talking about living conditions, but... the public opinion."
He sighed, looking a bit melancholic as he stood up. "Recently, there have been some unfriendly conclusions about you in Crystal Glare."
What the king said was true. Even though Paul kept to himself, he could still feel the growing turmoil outside, even a storm.
In the past, the nobles in Crystal Glare had generally had a positive impression of Paul, but recently that had taken a sharp decline.
The turning point was the language reform proposal Paul had made. It was as though something had been released from a cage, and it began spreading everywhere, planting a negative impression of the newly titled Marquis in many people's minds.
"Marquis Grayman is trying to use those crude and vulgar rural dialects to pollute our elegant Aldorian language."
"Of course, he's a barbarian from the countryside. Since he can't be elegant himself, he wants to drag everyone else down to his level!"
"This is undoubtedly a conspiracy, an attempt to destroy Aldor at its roots!"
"He's just as barbaric as those orcs who can't write and speak rudely! It's terrifying, could it be…"
Such comments spread rapidly in Crystal Glare, becoming more and more exaggerated. The rumors even escalated to claiming that Paul was secretly collaborating with orcs, that his military victories in the Northwest were part of an orc plan to get him into the kingdom's upper echelons, where he could undermine Aldorian culture.
Hearing these rumors, Rodney XVIII was furious. He ordered his guards to imprison anyone spreading these ridiculous claims.
Thanks to the king's intervention, the outlandish rumors about Marquis Grayman were somewhat toned down, but doubts about him still lingered.
"I know someone is behind all this," Rodney XVIII said bitterly. "Your huge military accomplishments, your dazzling title, especially since you're so young, have probably made many people jealous."
"There's a lot of controversy surrounding you, but once the language reform proposal came up, the opposition suddenly became much louder, like they just jumped off a cliff. It doesn't make sense!"
Paul didn't comment, but in his heart, he shared the king's suspicions.
"Maybe I should go back to the Northwest Bay after all!" Paul said sincerely, looking at the king. "Your Majesty, I've nearly finished organizing the materials you asked for. I hope they can provide some ideas for your upcoming reforms. But I must say in advance, Alden and the Northwest Bay are just small parts of the kingdom. Success in those places can't be directly applied to the rest of the kingdom."
Rodney XVIII looked a bit dejected. "Are you really leaving me? Well, thank you for all your hard work. I'll keep your advice in mind."
The king decided to respect Paul's personal choice. Going back to the Northwest Bay to lay low seemed like a good idea. After all, Grayman would eventually have to return to oversee military affairs and prepare for a future counteroffensive against the orcs. The sooner he prepared, the sooner the counterattack could happen.
...
In the small oasis town in the desert, Yarvi, supported by his guard Marek, stumbled down an alley in a sorry state.
"I can't believe it. I really can't believe it," Marek said angrily. "They actually went this far."
Yarvi gave a bitter smile. "What's so unbelievable? If I were in their position, I would never let someone who knows most of my secrets leave my control."
"But... you practically raised him! And what about Lord Aldridge? After decades of friendship, didn't he even try to stop this?" Marek's voice was filled with rage.
Just earlier, the two of them, traveling north to this small town, had been ambushed.
As Yarvi's trusted guard, Marek was skilled in combat, but he was no match for the attackers—Ingrid, known as the Ice Sorceress.
The prince had sent such a powerful ally, showing how determined he was to take Yarvi's life.
During the fight, a spike of ice nearly ended Yarvi's life. Fortunately, Marek had prepared well for their escape, quickly swallowing a forbidden drug provided by the Arcane Order, which greatly boosted his strength. He then threw his sword desperately, forcing the sorceress to retreat temporarily. Marek then tossed smoke bombs to cover their escape, carrying Yarvi and fleeing through the alley.
"It's no use talking about it!" Yarvi said weakly. "If she comes after us again, we'll have no way out." He took out a bag. "Sigh, Marek, take this money and go on your own. I'm too old, I can't keep dragging you down."
"Don't talk like that," Marek frowned. "The sorceress has our movements figured out, and our original route through the Watcher's Fortress to North Alden is no longer viable. How about we..."
"What?" Yarvi asked.
"We'll sneak in with a merchant caravan and take a detour through the Great Grasslands," Marek suggested.
Yarvi was surprised. "A detour?"
Marek nodded. "I've heard from some merchants that there's a trade post established by Aldens on the western side of the Great Grasslands."
(End of the Chapter)
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