Chapter 479 - 438: The Rotten Crown (Part 2)

Chapter 479: Chapter 438: The Rotten Crown (Part 2)

"Too busy?"

Caroline sneered, slamming a magic poster a servant had bought outside onto the table.

It was a piece of enchanted parchment that shimmered with a faint light. As the Scroll was unrolled, the image on it revealed a moving magic scene playing on a continuous loop.

In the center of the image, a handsome elf wearing a crown of vines held up a wine glass, offering an elegant toast to those around him. A smile played on his lips, and his every blink seemed exceptionally vivid.

In the background, a troupe of centaur dancers spun and leaped tirelessly. You could even see the wine gently sloshing on a waiter’s tray and the trembling fans of noble ladies as they covered their mouths to laugh.

"Is this what you call ’busy’?"

Caroline pointed to the figure on the poster, who was laughing and chatting away, and she laughed with rage. "People are dying on the front lines every day. The soil of the Ironwood Line is soaked in blood, and this great Grand Councillor is busy hosting a ’wine-tasting festival’? Duke Angry Wind is eating military rations on the front line while he’s in the rear drinking hundred-year-old Moonlight Wine?"

Velin sat on the terrace, fiddling with a silvery fallen leaf he had picked up from the ground.

"This is to be expected."

He held the leaf up to the light, observing its delicate veins.

"People can’t truly understand each other’s suffering. I know of an ancient Eastern Dynasty where, when the last emperor humbled himself to ask his ministers for donations to fund the war, the entire court pleaded poverty, willing to offer only a few hundred Golden Sun as a token gesture. But when the rebel army breached the city gates and tortured them, the wealth seized from these lords’ cellars was so immense that even the horses couldn’t pull it all."

Velin released his hand.

The leaf drifted down, falling into the bottomless sea of clouds below.

"When power is detached from responsibility, decay is the inevitable result. Although the Moon Language Clan holds the position of Grand Councillor, they command no troops. They can only rely on this kind of extravagant socializing to maintain their hollow dignity. They don’t dare speak of war, because it would remind them of their own weakness."

"Believe it or not, in their eyes, this war with humanity doesn’t even have anything to do with them."

"Then what are we doing, wasting our time here?" Caroline paced the room restlessly. "Our food reserves won’t last until their party is over."

"Don’t be anxious."

Velin stood up and looked toward the door. The sound of footsteps approached from the end of the corridor.

"Our man has arrived."

KNOCK KNOCK.

But before Velin could say, "Come in," the door was pushed open.

The person who entered wasn’t the timid secretary, but a young elf in outrageously flamboyant attire. He wore a pink silk robe studded with crushed diamonds and pearls, held a folding fan in his hand, and had a thick layer of powder and rouge on his face.

He was followed by two attendants holding trays, upon which sat several bottles of exquisitely packaged wine.

"Oh, my, I do apologize for keeping our guests from the south waiting so long." The special envoy pinched his fingers together delicately as his gaze swept over Velin and Caroline. There was no disgust in his eyes, but rather the innocent curiosity of someone observing a new and exotic pet. "I am the Grand Councillor’s chamberlain. You may call me Firas. I heard you wish to see the Grand Councillor? And to discuss some... alliance?"

Firas let out a peal of tinkling laughter, as if he had heard a fascinating joke.

"My dear guests, this is Silvania, a sanctuary of art and beauty. Let’s not trouble the Grand Councillor’s ears with such crude talk of fighting and killing. It would ruin his mood."

Caroline’s fists clenched.

She took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the urge to draw her sword, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Lord Firas, the armies of the Second Empire are currently engaged with your border forces. Once the Ironwood Line falls, it’s only a matter of time before the flames of war reach this place. We seek an alliance for the survival of both our peoples."

"Survival? Oh, what a heavy word." Firas nonchalantly walked to the table. He reached out a finger, curiously prodding the bottle of high-purity Magic Power potion Velin had placed there, then pushed it away as if he had lost interest.

"Don’t bring out these things that stink of a workshop. We have no need for them."

He turned around, batting his large eyes, which were accentuated with purple eyeshadow, and spoke in an exceedingly sincere tone.

"However, the Grand Councillor is a benevolent man. If you’re simply looking for food, we have piles of it in our storehouses. It’s all about to go moldy, and cleaning it up is such a bother. It wouldn’t be impossible to give some to you."

Caroline’s eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Of course." Firas nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "But in exchange, you’ll have to do us a small favor. This is ’mutual assistance,’ after all."

"What favor?"

Firas snapped his fan shut, his eyes shimmering with a look of longing.

"The Grand Councillor is preparing a ’Sigh of the Deep Sea’ concert, and he is in desperate need of a voice that can truly touch the soul. I’ve heard that deep in the southern seas, there exists a creature known as the ’Sea Siren,’ whose song can melt the hardest Gemstone. If you could invite a Sea Siren vocalist for us..."

He paused, then added as if he had just remembered something:

"That shouldn’t be too difficult for you humans, right?"

For a moment, Caroline didn’t know how to respond.

’Is this even a negotiation?’

’She felt as though they were discussing two completely different matters.’

In his eyes, trading thousands of tons of life-saving grain for a single song was a perfectly fair and just exchange—one that, if anything, was a bargain for the humans.

’A Sea Siren?’

’That’s a creature of legend. Even if they do exist, they’re priceless treasures. Who would trade one for old grain?’