Chapter 1780 - 495: Even Harder to Guess Than the New Testament: The Colin Family Genealogy_5

Although there are other reasons involved, the reason he declares to the public is indeed his true thought.

Previously, people thought he was too young, that his face of over thirty years old was not enough to replace the great Aaron Campbell in bearing the future of the Duchy.

But now, no one should think that anymore.

...

Long before the Glanston Castle in Junlin Valley Plain, Edward had already presented himself in the Duchy's army with his silver-haired image.

In order not to let the enemy see through the exhaustion and pain in his heart, and also not to let his supporters waver because of his fatigue, Edward, after deep deliberation, simply dyed his golden locks into silver, and gave those watching him a reasonable explanation —

Erin sacrificed her beauty and youth for the Duchy, and the Duke of Campbell would bear that lost pain with her!

Rather than letting people question his health and blame his premature aging on the inconceivable "Divine Punishment," he simply accepted his fate calmly.

And it was precisely because of his calmness that this seemingly rebellious choice unexpectedly worked wonders, earning him the title "Silver-haired Duke" in the predominantly civilian new army.

Not only that.

His declaration inspired many who were sinking in the civil war, and provided some solace to those who were painfully struggling due to the Campbell family "brotherly strife"... at least the Duke and Princess Aileen maintained harmonious relations.

The Campbell people lost a lot in this war, but fortunately, there were still things that had not been lost.

As for what those things are, different people have different answers.

This winter was unprecedentedly cold, but fortunately, there was still a hint of warmth left in people's hearts...

Meanwhile on the other side, upstream of the Rushing River, in the most inconspicuous slum of Roland City, a sudden raging fire engulfed the rickety huts of the ragged beggars.

Baron Wickton eventually devised an impractical plan, forcing those mud-legged folks, who clearly could not contribute taxes and yet were unwilling to leave, to abandon their precarious but uncollapsed huts.

He didn't need to act personally, those poor folks who collected coal slag for warmth would inadvertently ignite themselves.

He just needed to let the patrolling soldiers take a longer route, let the church's bell tower delay ringing the bell, and let the guild craftsmen act later.

Ultimately, he would heroically reverse the situation with Your Majesty's soldiers, and then point the blame at those unruly poor folks, perfectly completing the task assigned by Your Majesty.

The Royal Palace's terrace.

Theoden Devalu, holding a wine glass, sported a joyful smile, having watched an exceptional performance.

The firelight illuminated his Royal Capital.

As winter was about to end, Baron Wickton eventually did not disappoint him, brilliantly accomplishing the task he had assigned.

Perhaps he should let him become the Governor of Twilight Province.

On the first weekend of 1054 in the Aus Calendar, the capital of the Ryan Kingdom was engulfed in flames, the night's tragedy recorded without words.

Only until the dawn brightened the horizon did Baron Wickton and the Royal Guard manage heroically to stop the fire that nearly spread into the city.

On the charred remains of the slum, a group of children with reddened cheeks from the cold were collecting charcoal from the ruins.

Meanwhile, in a more distant place, another group of children with reddened cheeks from the cold were haggling with cunning merchants, while maintaining a feigned calm demeanor to find a way out for themselves or their younger siblings.

Children needed to bargain, whereas the strong adults were much luckier, quickly selling themselves at a decent price.

Now, the citizens had enough firewood, and the nobles' estates had gained a batch of cheap farm tools, ready to open up large areas of land for new houses come spring.

They even had extra manpower to cultivate Twilight Province, lest the most fertile royal land be seized by the Campbell people.

However—

Not everyone was willing to leave.

A man who had lost everything in the fire sat in a daze at the entrance of the burned-down hut.

He gazed at the ground's charcoal silently, muttering names that no one cared about, as if trying to bury his despair in the howling snowstorm.

In this winter about to end, it's hard to say whether the survivors were fortunate or unfortunate.

And just then, a black shadow veiled that face ashen as death.

It was a cloaked man, possessing an unremarkable face with a faint scar.

Like many here, he was here to find tools.

But unlike those merciful "benevolent ones," he specifically chose those who had been drained of everything and burned everything—a "waste."

Someone advised him that for big plans, one shouldn't choose those with escape routes, but those cornered like rats.

This one in front seemed promising.

"Your name?"

"..."

Hearing the voice overhead, the man did not respond, quietly sitting there, waiting for Saint Sis to take his soul away.

The cloaked man gazed at the surrounding ruins and pondered for a moment, then changed his approach.

"Want revenge?"

This time, the man, like an undead, finally reacted and slowly raised his head…