Chapter 1772 - 494: Yet Some Castles Still Stand Amid the Ruins_2

And that is what truly touches the soul of the Duchy!

"What if that lord doesn't show up?" a coarse soldier asked with a smirk, chewing on a stalk of wheat, "Kid, I don't understand a word you're saying. And what good is it to share the spoils with us? What if they don't share?"

The young man pushed the glasses up his nose, his expression unusually solemn.

"If he doesn't, then we've all lost, a double loss."

The Duke will lose everything after winning everything, including those enterprising people around him.

And those who just happened to hitch a ride will do the same.

They will bear the "Roxey 1053 Rifle" bestowed by the Prince, only to return to where they were before 1053 after another twenty years of prosperity.

Nonetheless, he remained optimistic, despite the alarming remarks he made, eventually shifting the tone to lead people toward an optimistic future.

"But our Duke is a wise man; the Campbell Royal Family has an excellent heritage, never neglecting the nurturing of their descendants! He won't be blinded by a military victory; he knows the real enemy has just set their sights on him!"

And that enemy is Ryan's King!

Or rather, all conservative forces led by the King and the Church Court, inadvertently clashing with the Duchy's innovative power!

The soldiers in the carriage shook their heads with a smile, no longer arguing with this "Glasses." Everyone knew he was educated, but so what?

This guy surely hasn't touched the small hand of a woman, nor has he tasted the flavor of beer. When they return, they'll show him the world.

"Alright, bookworm."

"You take yourself too seriously, and the words in books and newspapers too."

This is ultimately just a civil war between royal families; they don't think it has any connection to the fate of ordinary people.

They are just relieved it's all finally over.

Perhaps soon, even the "Thunder City Daily" won't mention this shameful war, and they certainly won't bring it up again.

The young man was clearly still not convinced, shouting in the carriage.

"Feel free to mock me, but time will prove me right!"

The discussion gradually quieted down, quickly reverting to more engaging topics.

Laman also felt that this analysis was too far detached from reality. All this talk about industrialization and winning or losing, he didn't understand it at all, nor could he see any possibility of the Duke losing.

Besides, whether winning or losing, he was going to work in the factory, and could dignified labor really prevent the nobles from returning?

This seemed illogical.

The nobles, though more dignified than factory owners, were not more noble.

When the farmers in the Twilight Province chewed through the bark at their doorstep, at least the citizens of Thunder City could still eat their fill.

Anyone with common sense knows what to choose, as long as Chaos's whispers haven't messed with their minds.

However, after hearing the things in the newspaper, Laman couldn't help but feel a tinge of anticipation that he hadn't felt before.

What if the "Glasses" of the First Hundred-man Team of the Seventh Thousand-man Team was right?

He subconsciously tightened his grip on the medal warmed by his hands, his calm mood also becoming heated.

Although he didn't know what the fruit of victory was, getting more severance pay would be nice.

...

The morning sun gradually turned into a dusky yellow, the clouds on the horizon resembling baked orange bread, stirring a longing for home.

Looking at the pastoral scenery along the way, Laman, about to fall asleep from the jostling, suddenly felt a bit homesick, wondering how his not-so-old father was doing now.

His thoughts drifted far away until the sound of the wheels came with a gentle creak.

He instinctively jumped out of the carriage, his boots landing on the frozen hard ground, tightening the Prince Rifle on his body.

"Where is this place?" Just like before, he only remembered to ask after getting off the carriage.

"Baron Lukeville's estate." An old soldier jumped off, dusting off the mud on his pants; this was the first time he cared about his appearance.

Just as he spoke, the loud voice of the Centurion sounded from a distance.

"Get off, boys. We're resting here tonight."

The tarp was pulled back, and the soldiers streamed out.

Their shadows elongated by the sunset, forming a neat formation at the edge of the wheat field, marching under the Centurion's orders up to the estate gates.

The sunset equally elongated the shadow of the estate iron gate, obscuring the faces of the soldiers in the front row, and causing Laman's heart to tense up.

The Centurion adjusted his collar and the sword hanging by his waist, stepping forward alone to stand under the half-open iron gate.

An old steward was waiting there early on, dressed in black formal wear, his expression gloomy like withered wood, yet his waist was straight like the short pines at the gate.

Laman couldn't hear their conversation but could sense the unpleasant atmosphere at the gate.

The servants in the estate began to gather behind the steward, holding grass forks, scythes, and even a few old firearms.

Among them were men, women, and even children.

"Saint Sis above..."

Laman heard the prayer beside him, and the old soldier who jumped off the carriage behind him was no longer excited, only tense—

He originally thought they could move into the noble's estate for a couple of nights, whistle at the rescued pretty maids, even if he couldn't flirt, he could at least feast his eyes, but now it seemed they might just have to fight.

The air was extremely tense.