Chapter 1440 - 1405: Drugging, Workshop District!

The Red-bearded Dwarf was not on tonight’s banquet invitation list; he was indeed a manager of the Valerian Commerce Association, but that alone was not enough to earn him a seat at the Wizard Summit’s evening feast.

At this time, he should have been with his uncle who ran the Giancardi Bank, Gos Velen Branch, waiting in anxious unease for the Warlocks’ conference result to be announced.

And waiting for that result, like a stone smashing into the surface of water, would send waves rippling through every corner of the financial markets.

The only road open to them was to accept the upheaval and struggle to survive.

It was only his ties with Airetusa, and his ties with Lann, that made Shilton seem far more at ease than his banker uncle.

Yet at this hour, with the moon already high, night deep, and the banquet itself having faded from its peak of revelry into calm, Lann still ran into Shilton in the academy.

And this Red-bearded Dwarf’s face was tight with panic and helplessness; when he saw Lann’s tall figure, it was as if he’d seen a guiding beacon—a life-saving straw!

"Oh! Heavens above! Lann!"

He shouted, then his short legs churned rapidly, running toward him.

Only then did Lann, under the dim light, notice that it wasn’t just his expression that was frantic—his clothes were a mess as well; he’d thrown a jacket over his night-robe and rushed out like this.

"What are you doing here, Shilton?"

Lann’s surprise at seeing the Dwarf lasted only a heartbeat; his eyes then narrowed slightly as he asked calmly.

"What happened?"

"The Workshop District!" The Dwarf hadn’t even reached him yet when he was already shouting, "I got word! Someone’s going to attack the Workshop District! They’re going to steal the formula for Valyrian Steel!"

His spit sprayed through the air, the Red-bearded Dwarf’s deep voice echoing through Airetusa’s luxurious corridor.

The Workshop District was the primary region for Valyrian Steel production.

By now, this high-performance steel that could be mass-produced wholesale had already become an unquestionable strategic material.

Lann’s own enterprises, his capital foundations, still rested on the annual dividends from the Valerian Steel Merchants Association.

And even Airetusa Academy—up to this very day, that dividend was still the single largest cash flow in the academy’s income.

Not to mention, this involved the crucial formula in the Valyrian Steel production process!

Tonight!

Everything was being jammed into tonight!

The projected time for High Hill Castle to be assaulted was tonight! Tonight, the Workshop District was rumored to be facing an attack, a robbery! And tonight, Viggo Fortez had practically, brazenly twisted the banquet’s mood into this bizarre form!

Lann’s original plan had been to use conversation tonight to spread his influence, ultimately affecting the Wizard Summit’s decision, and then, through the Northern Territory Wizards’ lofty and unique political leverage, achieve his goal in a relatively gentle, gradual way.

But now, it seemed he’d been far too optimistic.

An unseen great net had been cast, and a few of its tendrils were plainly meant to leave him unable to be in all places at once tonight.

His enterprises, his sources of capital, his Knight Order, his various key nodes, would all be put to the test tonight.

Without doubt, Lann could easily imagine that those shadowy figures had already calculated: if he did not personally appear in at least one of these distant, separate places, then losses were inevitable.

His power, his influence—no matter what—would be hacked away, bloodily, by a chunk tonight!

And that would be the outcome even with him running himself ragged from place to place.

And once he heard the news and truly started rushing around tonight... what would happen in the Airetusa left vacant in his absence?

In just an instant, casting aside his earlier optimism and forcing his mind downward along the absurd reality before him, Lann, with Mentos’ assistance, had already sorted through several lines of thought.

Only by then had Shilton finished his little run and come up in front of Lann, panting.

"What do we do, Lann? What do we do now?"

"Where did you get this information?"

While the Red-bearded Dwarf was completely at a loss, the Demon Hunter calmly asked.

"Huh? What?"

The Dwarf’s brain still hadn’t quite caught up.

"Oh! It was from a captain in the Gos Velen City Watch that I know. He’d taken my... ah, fuck it, I’ll just say it straight! I’ve paid him before for intel! For services! Often! You could call him a partner!"

"He just came to my door in a cloak and all secretive, hinting that something’s off today but they don’t dare intervene! I tossed him a bag of coin and rushed straight here!"

"He said it and you just believed him? And how did you even get inside Airetusa?"

One question after another—almost as soon as Shilton finished speaking, Lann followed up.

The rapid-fire questioning left the Red-bearded Dwarf stunned; he stammered and only managed to answer the second question.

"Uh... I just took a carriage to the academy gates, then said—said it was urgent business for the Valerian Steel Merchants Association, and the guards let me in."

Shilton was dazed, but Lann’s thoughts remained perfectly clear.

Right now, his taut nerves and Mentos’ calculating power were sorting every thread of information with crystal clarity.

"Someone’s scrambled your head." Lann bent down, swept a hand through Shilton’s tangled, messy red beard, brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed, then said with certainty.

"Ghost Spirit Mushroom spore powder. This stuff makes a man’s mind restless."

When someone is utterly at a loss, they become jumpy, then overreact, and listen only to what they want to hear.

Using drugs to bolster a verbal strategy—against ordinary folk, even trained people—is child’s play.

But that’s not all...

If it were daytime, on a normal day, and Shilton just opened his mouth and said "business from the Valerian Commerce Association" had come knocking, Airetusa probably would have granted entry on the spot.

But right now?

The Wizard Summit’s welcome banquet! Late at night! Shilton just says a word and walks in? And nobody even goes to inform Margaret or Tishaya, ask their opinion?

Lann rubbed the fingers that had just been dusted with spores.

From this alone, Lann could discern two potential facts about the people moving in the dark.

They’re very eager for Lann to know that the industries and forces under his name have suddenly suffered a brutal blow, and are in urgent need of support and suppression.

This is the key to making him run himself ragged all night, driven half-crazed by emergencies with no time to think.

And there’s no doubt at all: they have people inside Airetusa.

At the very least, tonight’s guard detail is riddled with their men!

Lann walked in silence toward the direction Shilton had come from, the Red-bearded Dwarf trailing after him in a daze.

"W-what do you mean? I got drugged? Tricked?"

As he spoke, Shilton’s face was still taut and restless under the influence of the drug, but he patted his chest and tried to steady his breathing.

"Tricked is fine, tricked is good! The Workshop District and the formulas can’t be allowed to go wrong!"

Lann’s expression stayed dark; to him, the Workshop District was just a cluster of houses and factories.

As long as the craftsmen inside were safe, he wouldn’t lose sleep over it, but the formulas...

Since when does Valyrian Steel have a paper formula? Anyone who keeps an eye on the steel market knows better, right?

Right now, when it comes to Valyrian Steel production and processing technology, everyone points to that Demon Hunter Grandmaster Blacksmith who first brought out the technique!

They say they’re looking for formulas, but in truth they’re looking for Belengar!

Halfway down the deep, dim corridor, Lann suddenly came to a halt.

Behind him, Shilton was still muttering under his breath: "They dare feed me false news? All they’ve eaten off me before, I’ll make ’em spit it back out! Scared me half to death!"

"No, Shilton." Lann stopped, turned his head, and looked toward a window set into the corridor wall, speaking calmly. "They tampered with things to make sure you’d rush straight to me—but...the news itself isn’t false."

The Dwarf rose onto his toes at that, his expression going rigid as he clutched the sill and craned to look outside.

This corridor window faced Gos Velen City, and along the city wall, a swath of fiery red, hazy glow was rising from below and staining the sky.

Shilton’s jaw slowly dropped.

The Workshop District was packed with blazing furnaces, steel and molten iron, glowing red-hot around the clock.

But all that heat and fire...should have been trapped under the workshop roofs, shouldn’t be bleeding out like this.

With his mood swinging wildly and his mind already warped by the drugs, Shilton now felt cold sweat breaking out all over him, his throat suddenly dry and swollen so much he could barely speak.

"Lann! Lann!"

His eyes were fixed on that hazy blaze licking up from the base of the city wall, unable to look away, while his hand groped blindly to the side, like he was trying to grab Lann’s sleeve.

"We’ve gotta get over there! We’ve gotta get over there and save people!"

He was almost shouting on reflex, half in a daze.

"No." Lann refused him coolly, then bent down, turning Shilton’s shoulders so the dwarf faced him, staring straight into his eyes. "You’re the one going, Shilton."

"Me?" The Red-bearded Dwarf jabbed a finger at himself in shock, his wide eyes full of confusion.

He looked at Lann, then twisted to glance back at the red glow outside the window.

"Yes, you." Lann answered firmly, then added, "But not only you. Here."

As he spoke, Lann drew a metal Shaking Bell from the pouch at his waist and handed it to Shilton.

Shilton took it in a daze.

The bell looked unremarkable at first glance, but once it lay in the Red-bearded Dwarf’s palm, an inexplicable gloom seemed to seep out of it, as though this delicate bell were steeped in the rot of long, passing years.

"Ged is in the Workshop District, and Belengar’s not some pure desk-bound craftsman who only forges blades but can’t swing one."

"Given how things stand, even if something’s happening in the Workshop District, the people stirring up trouble inside shouldn’t be many—their main focus isn’t there. So..."

Once he’d handed the bell to Shilton, Lann stopped casting any further glances toward the Workshop District outside the window.

His face stayed composed, but his hand rose to the collar of the tight-fitting shirt Margaret had picked out and tailored for him.

Like tearing through paper, there was a sharp "rip," and the sturdy collar split open into a wide gap.

The Demon Hunter twisted his neck from side to side, as if shrugging off a restraint.

"Just head for the Workshop District, Shilton. If you run into danger, ring that bell, then clearly say you’re helping on my request. After that...all you have to do is lead the way."