Chapter 385 - 376: Undercurrent in the Royal Capital

Chapter 385: Chapter 376: Undercurrent in the Royal Capital

As June arrived, the summer heat began to build.

A small meeting was underway in the council chambers of Minas Tirith’s City Hall.

Tristan stood at the head of a long table, facing twelve young men and women—the heirs of noble families who had recently joined the Pan-Gray Sea Alliance.

"Everyone, please turn to page three, article seven of the *Pan-Gray Sea Alliance Unified Tariff and Market Access Draft*."

A rustle of turning pages filled the room.

"Regarding the ’Detailed Rules on the Protection and Mobility of Skilled Labor,’ City Hall has received a query from the Creekvalley Barony. Sir John, please state your question."

A young, blond-haired man stood. His formal attire was impeccably tailored, but his stiff posture betrayed his nervousness.

"Mr. Tristan, my father believes this article... it gives those artisans far too much freedom. The agreement stipulates that after their one-year term of service is complete, they can choose to stay or leave. But they are my father’s people, and their skills are our family’s property."

Tristan nodded.

"Sir John, two months ago your father, the Baron of Creekvalley, had four hundred and thirteen recorded cases of the Blood Cough in his domain. That number is now zero. He traded one year of servitude from a thousand of his artisans for the survival of his entire domain. This is a transaction, not an act of charity."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in.

"Furthermore, Minas Tirith provides these artisans with room, board, and medical care, and allows them to participate in the merit point system. The discipline and new skills they learn here, when brought back to the Creekvalley domain in a year, will create value for your father that far exceeds their previous capabilities. Of course, that is assuming they are willing to return."

The young, blond-haired man opened his mouth, but no rebuttal came out.

"Finally," Tristan said, his gaze sweeping over everyone present, "the purpose of this article is to promote the healthy flow of labor within the Alliance, not to create trade barriers between lords. We are exporting order and standards. If all of you are only concerned with shoring up your own fences, then this Alliance has no reason to exist."

The room fell silent.

Tristan closed the document in his hands.

"If there are no further questions, I expect everyone to respect the pact and work together to combat the plague. This meeting is adjourned."

He paid no mind to the young nobles’ reactions, turning and walking out of the conference room. Velin was leaning against the corridor wall, looking over a blueprint for a hydraulic engineering project at Mi Port. The sight made Tristan pause.

"Is it over?" Velin asked.

"It’s over." Tristan came to his side. "It was nothing but minor, predictable issues. The traditional concept of a lord’s ownership is clashing with our model for talent mobility. But in the face of survival, none of that matters."

Then, as if remembering something, Tristan looked down and rummaged through his satchel, pulling out a report and handing it to Velin.

"This is the latest data for the week. The Alliance has grown to thirty-two members, covering the central-southern region of Sword Tooth Province. Along the coast of Gray Bay, we’re currently expanding outward from Green Vein Territory and Dawn Territory."

"Our new ’Plague Control Advisors’ have helped them establish initial quarantine and sanitation systems. In the first thirteen territories to join, the plague has been completely eradicated. Their economies are recovering, and they are now entirely dependent on us for essential supplies like grain, tools, and cloth."

Velin took the report and quickly scanned the numbers.

Port throughput, caravan transport volume, workshop output, total merit points... Every number represented the high efficiency of the system he was building.

"Good. The gears are turning faster and faster."

Tristan added, "We’re being overwhelmed at the Lord’s Mansion. Every day, envoys arrive from nobles in ever more distant lands, all hoping to join the Alliance. The potion we hold has become the deciding factor in their families’ survival."

Velin closed the report and handed it back to Tristan.

"By the way, my lord, was there a reason you came looking for me?" Tristan asked as he took the file back.

"Get ready. We’re going to the Royal Capital."

"The Royal Capital?" Tristan sounded surprised.

"Yes. To visit your father, and Prince Willandar," Velin said. "It’s time we went to collect on some of our earlier good-faith investments."

Tristan didn’t ask any more questions.

He knew that every decision Velin made was backed by rigorous logic.

Not long after, Nefarian’s grey-black wings cut through the clouds, and the silhouette of Minas Tirith quickly shrank below.

Tristan sat behind Velin, gripping the leather handles of the saddle. It was his first time riding a Pegasus, and the feeling of weightlessness made him a little uncomfortable, but he forced himself to adapt and turned his attention to the ground below. Not far behind him, a huge box, held in place by Magic Runes, floated. It remained motionless in the airflow, maintaining a constant distance from the Pegasus.

They flew north, crossing the rolling hills of Sword Tooth Province. When a vast plain appeared in their vision, Velin had Nefarian lower his altitude.

Below was a magnificent city, its castles and towers casting long shadows in the sunlight.

"The Marquis Domain of Minas Hill." Tristan recognized the region’s crest. "The masters of Sword Tooth Province."

"Look," Velin said, pointing down.

Tristan looked in the direction he was pointing.

The city, both inside and out, was silent. The streets were sparsely populated, and few farmers could be seen in the fields.

No pillars of smoke.

In a Duchy ravaged by plague, the absence of smoke pillars from burning bodies was an extremely unusual thing.

"They’ve gotten the plague under control?" Tristan was puzzled.

"Or, they have a better way of dealing with it," Velin said. "The Minas Hill Clan are the most devout followers of the Eternal Radiance Church. In their domain, the Church’s influence is equal to that of the lord himself. Perhaps the Church has intervened."

Nefarian ascended again, leaving the domain behind them.

On the rest of their journey, the closer they got to the Royal Capital, the stranger the sights became.

On the main road, groups of magnificent carriages, their roofs piled high with luggage, were heading away from the Royal Capital.

And yet, ragged commoners, dragging their families along, were swarming toward the Royal Capital. The rich fleeing, the poor flooding in—the inverted scene was utterly absurd.

They landed on a platform in the city specially designed for Pegasi, then boarded a waiting carriage and drove quietly to Marquis Lorenzo’s mansion.

The butler was already waiting. "Young Master, my lord is waiting for you in the study."

The Marquis’s mansion was bustling with activity, as servants wrapped crates of books and oil paintings in canvas.

In the study, Marquis Lorenzo was standing in front of a huge map. He looked thinner than at the last council meeting, with an unshakeable weariness etched between his brows.

"Father." Tristan bowed.

"You’re back." Lorenzo turned. He first looked at his son, then his gaze shifted to Velin, and he nodded slightly. "Count of the White Tower, welcome to Zelheim."

"Marquis," Velin returned the greeting.

"You must have seen the state of things on your way here." Lorenzo walked behind his desk and sat. He poured each of them a cup of black tea before pouring one for himself.

"The nobles of the Royal Capital are fleeing. They’re going to their country manors to escape the plague. Although the city has the protection of the Grand Cathedral’s Divine Art, new cases are still appearing every day. Everyone is getting more and more uneasy."

"And the commoners?" Velin asked.

"They’re coming to seek the protection of the gods." A scornful look appeared on Lorenzo’s face. "The Archbishop has announced that as long as one repents with enough piety under the Holy Light, they have a chance to receive the forgiveness of the Lord of Eternal Radiance and drive out the disease. Now, the square in front of the Grand Cathedral is packed with believers flocking from all over."

Velin made no comment. He took a shipping manifest from the satchel he was carrying.

"Marquis, this is a small token of my appreciation. Thank you for your support at the council."

Lorenzo took the list with a confused expression, his eyes falling upon the paper. "Blood Cough Potion..." he murmured the name, his brow furrowing slightly. He looked up at Velin. "What is this?"

Before Velin could answer, Tristan, suppressing his excitement, stepped forward and explained to his father in a low voice: "Father, this is a miracle drug developed in Count Velin’s domain that can cure the Blood Cough!"

"A miracle drug?" Lorenzo’s eyes widened abruptly. He snapped his head down, his gaze once again fixed on the astonishing number at the bottom of the list.

"Two thousand vials..." Lorenzo looked up, his voice trembling slightly, and looked at Velin in disbelief. "Count, are you saying... two thousand vials of this potion?"

He took a deep breath and looked at his son.

Tristan was equally shaken by the number, but his eyes showed more understanding and excitement. He had understood Velin’s intentions sooner than his father. This wasn’t just a gift; it was a massive weight to be thrown into the political vortex of the Royal Capital.

Marquis Lorenzo looked at his son, and his surprise slowly turned to pride.

"Count Velin, the Lorenzo family will not forget your generosity." Lorenzo carefully put away the list. "You’ve come at just the right time. The situation in the Royal Capital is more troublesome than the plague itself."

"The Noble Council is in chaos," he continued. "The nobles of the King’s Faction are in a panic and can’t come up with any effective plans. On the other hand, the Imperial Faction, like the Marquis of Ironwall, are quite united and have proposed a hardline solution."

"What kind of solution?"

"’The Purification and Quarantine Act’." Lorenzo spat out the words. "They advocate that as soon as a case is discovered in any village, the military should immediately seal it off, cutting all contact with the outside world. The blockade would only be lifted after the last patient has died and a month of observation has passed."

Tristan frowned. "That’s just sacrificing lives. A whole village of several hundred people could be starved or sickened to death inside because of a single patient."

"Exactly. But they say it’s a necessary price to pay to save more people. This proposal is gaining a lot of traction among the nobles whose minds have been clouded by fear," Lorenzo added. "And the Church is fanning the flames on another front."

"They claim the plague is Divine Punishment, sent specifically to punish the fallen—those whose faith is impure, or who have even forsaken the gods. The Archbishop has even called on all believers to eagerly expose the ’false believers’ and ’blasphemers’ around them."

"Just yesterday, a wine merchant in the west of the city refused to donate ’atonement money’ to the church. His neighbor reported him, claiming he was secretly praying to an Evil God at home. The Church’s Knights stormed his house, dragged him and his family away, and they haven’t been seen since."

Silence fell in the study.

Velin and Tristan exchanged a look, and both saw the same understanding in the other’s eyes.

The Imperial Faction and the Church—one seeks to control the land and its people with armies, the other to control thoughts and souls with faith. Far from quelling the disaster, they were exploiting it to frantically expand their own power.