The Knight's Bloodline

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

The waves surged onto the beach and then quickly receded.
As the tide went out, small boats lay aground on the sand, and the people on board immediately jumped out and pulled themselves ashore.
The beach was now crowded with people, men and women, all exuding an air of authority, clearly not ordinary individuals. Those at the front were already wearing life jackets.
"Hurry up and get on!" several knights commanded.
Those already in life jackets obeyed, running frantically towards the small boats. However, in the chaos of the rush, some families got separated, shouting for help.
"Everyone on board, sit still! Don't run around anymore. Once you're on the big ship, you'll all be together!" a knight shouted.
In the past, his words would have been ignored, for those who boarded the small boats were all of high status, from wealthy and powerful families, and confidants of the Emperor.
But the situation was different now; escaping was paramount. So these once arrogant men obediently followed the orders of the few knights in charge.
Soon, all the small boats were full. The sailors who had jumped off the boats pushed them into the water together, then climbed aboard and began rowing.
On the shore, another group of people were let in. The knights maintaining order distributed life jackets to these people and had them help each other put them on.
Two hundred meters away, a dozen large ships were anchored in the sea.
These boats were too deep, so this was the only way to transport people from the shore using small boats.
Many people had already boarded the large ships, most of them exhausted, so they immediately lay down on the beds upon entering their cabins.
The cabins were extremely low; even slightly taller people couldn't stand up straight.
This cramped space was divided into upper and lower bunks, which were also very narrow; slightly larger people found it difficult to even turn over.
However, those who managed to board showed no sign of dissatisfaction.
Everyone knew that just getting on board was already a great achievement.
Now that the Alliance's momentum has waned, His Majesty the Emperor has decided to retreat to the open sea. Since the number of people who can be taken is limited, and those who leave are naturally the most useful, the better. Therefore, of the 70,000 available slots, 50,000 are knights—more than half—and another 10,000 are technical personnel, leaving only 10,000 slots.
In Sobe, many are fighting tooth and nail for these slots.
No one wants to stay.
Once the Alliance attacks, ordinary people might be fine, at most experiencing some hardship. Knights will also be fine; this is the usual practice in past wars. Knights will be distributed as spoils of war, which is one reason why the victorious side's strength expands rapidly in every major war. Those who
suffer the most are people like them, working within the government. Once the war ends, the victors will settle scores with them.
This has been the case in every war.
The reasons are simple: first, these people are of no value—they are neither knights nor technicians; second, they are highly profitable, working for the government and reaping substantial benefits during wartime.
For people like them, there are only two paths: surrender, selling out the country for their lives and gains, or flee and evade the post-war manhunt.
If they had started down the first path a few years earlier, it might have been possible; now, starting to pave the way, it's too late. Therefore, they can only choose the second path.
The cabin was noisy and chaotic, and the darkness and poor ventilation made it quite uncomfortable. No one wanted to go outside; besides being exhausted, those who had boarded earlier were worried their berths would be taken by later arrivals.
They had been told that berths were limited on each ship, and at least a third of the passengers would have to sleep on the floor.
With nothing else to do but lie down, and knowing that departure was still some time away, all they did was cover their heads and sleep, or chat with the people next to them.
"Finally, we can leave. Back in Sobe, we were constantly worried about being bombed."
"Yes! We don't have to live in fear anymore, but... it's a pity about my estate. We probably won't have the chance to set foot on the mainland again in our lifetime."
"If you can't bear to leave, you can stay. I believe many people would give up everything for your family's few spots." "
That's absolutely right. We're lucky to be here. It's all thanks to Prince Metro's unexpected death that we have the chance to leave so soon. Otherwise, who knows how long we would have dragged it out!" As soon as
these words were spoken, the people around fell silent.
Although everyone was hesitant, the topic was too sensitive; to put it bluntly, it could be considered disrespectful to the royal family.
Even the person who had spoken was starting to regret it.
...
On a small hill a few kilometers from the coast, Heinz held binoculars, gazing at the distant beach.
A large group of people stood beside him, and a long table a dozen meters away held a map. A dozen or so staff officers were discussing evacuation plans around the map.
This group wasn't just composed of members of the General Staff. There were people from the Guards, the Intelligence Department, the Quartermaster Department… a motley crew of various departments.
Heinz stood closer to the cliff edge. Beside him, a weasel-faced man had also been looking through binoculars for a while, clearly dissatisfied with the evacuation's efficiency.
"This speed won't do," the man sighed.
"Don't worry, when it's the troops' turn to evacuate, there will be a pontoon bridge here," Heinz said in a very flat tone, clearly not fond of the man beside him.
"Since there's a pontoon bridge, why isn't it being built now?" the weasel-faced man asked, sounding accusatory.
"This is His Majesty's order," Heinz said, glancing at the man beside him.
Sure enough, the man dared not say anything more.
No one dared question the emperor's thoughts, especially at this moment. No one dared to do so, for everyone feared they might offend His Majesty.
Therefore, he could only rely on himself to try and decipher His Majesty's intentions.
The man immediately realized that the emperor might not intend to take away so many useless people.
He had felt from the beginning that giving ten thousand slots to these people was meaningless; ten thousand knights would have been far more reassuring. Giving out so many slots, besides demonstrating His Majesty's benevolence and magnanimity, could only be for the purpose of stabilizing the people's hearts.
Now it seemed the emperor had other plans. Offering these ten thousand slots was a ruse, meant to give everyone a glimmer of hope, to prevent the people's hearts from completely collapsing. Now, by luring everyone to this desolate, remote place and using inefficient methods to delay them, once His Majesty the Emperor departs and the troops he needs to take to sea are all evacuated, these people will be of no use.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt this was the only possibility.
The man felt a chill run down his spine. Knowing this secret was not a good thing; he now deeply regretted causing trouble for Heinz earlier, otherwise he wouldn't have known all this.
"Just pretend I farted; you didn't say anything, I know nothing," the man said, unusually polite to Heinz, a stark contrast to his previous arrogance.
He glanced at the Sky Knight standing behind him.
They were now standing within the "boundary" created by the Sky Knight; those around them couldn't hear their conversation, but the Sky Knight could.
"Don't worry, I'll pretend I didn't hear anything," the Sky Knight said coldly, equally disliking these sycophants around the emperor.
"Where's that pontoon bridge I mentioned? I'll go check it out." Knowing he was unwelcome, the man made an excuse and ran off.
As soon as he left, a red-haired middle-aged man approached. This was George V's confidant in the General Staff's secret room, and one of the first people Heinz had recruited.
Heinz couldn't get too close to these people, as that would arouse suspicion. His idea was undoubtedly bold and creative.
Generally, discussing confidential matters requires a secluded place; why in such a public setting? Moreover, the people here were a diverse mix: intelligence officials, the emperor's confidants, quartermasters, and even the Imperial Guard.
Heinz had clearly exploited a blind spot in the emperor's mind. Otherwise, given the close surveillance he was under, disappearing from their sight would certainly arouse George V's suspicion. Having already suffered betrayal once, that emperor was extremely sensitive to such matters and would likely rather kill the innocent than let the guilty go free.
"That monkey's finally gone." The red-haired middle-aged man shook his head with disgust as he watched the weasel-faced fellow's retreating figure. He
was also one of the emperor's confidants, yet that man belonged to the most repulsive type. While others sought only wealth and status, he relentlessly climbed over others, as if his abilities couldn't be demonstrated without doing so.
"Have your people been arranged?" Heinz raised his binoculars, shielding his face with his hands to prevent others from seeing his mouth move.
"Everything is ready. Of the ten newly formed regiments, at least four are completely under our control. When the time comes, all you need to do is find an excuse to transfer those four regimental commanders, and our people can take over the army. There are also quite a few of our people in the other six regiments."
The red-haired middle-aged man was responsible for the coordination, handling communication with the newly formed Ironblood Knights. Heinz, to avoid suspicion, didn't get involved in that aspect at all.
"When will we make our move?" the red-haired middle-aged man couldn't help but ask. After all, he wasn't a real soldier, and it was already quite remarkable that he had waited until now to ask this question.
In his view, the time was ripe.
George V originally planned to evacuate his troops in several batches, but the death of his second son, Prince Merlot, in the bombing made the emperor feel unsafe in Sobe, and he finally ordered the evacuation to begin.
Due to the exodus of many of his confidants, Sobe was now paralyzed.
The remaining officials, even those who had previously been close to the emperor, knew they had been abandoned because they hadn't received any positions, and they were all making other plans; morale had completely collapsed.
Similarly, the unexpected death of Prince Merlot made George V feel unsafe himself, as danger could strike at any moment. So now he not only hides in the mountain hideout all day, but he has also transferred all of Sobe's only high-ranking knights to that valley to guard him. Sobe is now only guarded by two Brilliant Knights, which is extremely empty.
"The time isn't right yet," Heinz said calmly. However, unlike George V, when he disagreed with someone's idea, he would always give a reason, not leave others to guess, to show his brilliance: "George V still has so many powerful figures around him. Even if we occupy Sobe, we won't be able to hold it. So before we make a move, we need to transfer those people away."
"How is that possible?" the red-haired middle-aged man exclaimed in surprise. Fortunately, the surroundings were covered by the "boundary," otherwise the people outside would definitely have noticed the abnormality.
“Nothing is impossible. The Emperor can’t tolerate anyone being stronger than him. Now, some countries in the alliance have suffered less damage but are already stronger than us. He must be feeling uneasy. This is our chance.” Heinz’s expression was unusually somber as he said this.
…
In a valley outside Sobe, in a hideout carved into the mountainside, George V sat quietly in the shadows. Only there did he feel safe.
He hadn’t slept for a long time. Every time he was about to fall asleep, he would see a blade descend from the sky and cut him in half at the waist, just like his unfortunate son.
A knock at the door startled George V from his drowsy insomnia. He rubbed his sore eyes, turned on the light beside him, and said, "Come in."
Entering was the Grand Steward, Marquis Lockheed.
Since Prince Mettler's death, only a handful of people had direct access to His Majesty the Emperor, and Grand Steward Lockheed was one of them. He was arguably George V's most trusted confidant, second only to the Empress, princes, and grandsons—even more so than Heinz.
For this reason, George V now appointed him as a liaison, responsible for conveying his decrees and receiving ordinary officials. Only those of Heinz's rank were welcomed in and personally summoned by the Emperor.
"Your Majesty, I have followed your orders and dispatched assassins from the intelligence department," the Grand Steward, Marquis Lockheed, reported on the mission's progress.
This morning, His Majesty had given him a list; the first person on the list was Leach, followed by Leach's parents, and then the members of Squad 105.
No one could say for sure whether this assassination mission was to avenge Prince Metro, or whether His Majesty was trying to alleviate his own fears.
However, one thing was certain: assassinating anyone on the list would be no easy task.
Leach himself was a given; if he were so easily eliminated, the Alliance wouldn't be in its current state. Leach's father, as the president of the Second Republic of Monstoke, was also under strict protection. The members of Squad 105 were all high-ranking generals, highly capable and constantly immersed in military life.
More importantly, the intelligence department knew the Empire's current situation better than anyone else; they knew the Empire was doomed. No one would be foolish enough to provoke Leach, a figure ranked among the top ten in the Alliance's upper echelons, at this time.
The Marquis of Lockheed knew this was an impossible mission, but he would never say such a thing to His Majesty the Emperor.
"I understand. Tell them to do their best." George V appeared listless; issuing that order was an impulsive act that morning, but now he understood.
Regardless of the possibility of success, the easiest target on the list to achieve was Leach's parents, but they weren't his biological parents at all; everyone knew that guy was a product of a laboratory.
His Majesty the Emperor wondered if Leach would feel grief if the couple were assassinated. But one thing was certain: Leach would be furious. Upon regaining his senses
, George V felt a surge of fear. He feared that if the assassination succeeded, it would only anger that guy.
Leach had a prior record of assassinating Arno, and this guy always held a contemptuous attitude towards chivalry; he was entirely capable of retaliating with an assassination of his own.
Just thinking about Richie's inhuman abilities, the strength of Richie's lineage, and the unpredictable swordsmanship of Sword Saint Max, George V felt as if a sword tip might suddenly emerge from his chest at any moment.
But at this point, it would be too late to reverse his decision.
George V was filled with remorse.
"Is there any news from Heinz?" The Emperor decided not to discuss the topic that had been troubling him.
"The Chief of the General Staff is in the south arranging the retreat to the open sea, but he just contacted me to ask for your opinion on the plan," the Marquis of Lockheed said cautiously. He was well aware of His Majesty's wariness of Heinz, and not just of this Chief of the General Staff. His Majesty now harbored a strong distrust of all commanders in command of the military, even the court guards and the Janissaries.
Knowing His Majesty's character, this Grand Steward only wanted to ensure his own safety and dared not offer any advice.
"A plan?" George V seemed somewhat bewildered. It took him a while to recall that Heinz had indeed given him a plan.
The Marquis of Lockheed knew that His Majesty had been unwell lately and couldn't remember things easily, so he reminded him, "The Chief of the General Staff is worried that if our strength is significantly weakened, our former allies might have some reservations. Therefore, it's necessary to weaken their strength as well, especially in high-end military matters."
"Oh—" George V suddenly realized. He finally had some recollection.
If it were six months ago, he might have been suspicious and repeatedly considered Heinz's intentions, but now he wouldn't think about it at all. Even if Heinz didn't have that intention, he would absolutely not let his former allies off the hook. He had offended them deeply; the hatred between them even surpassed the hatred between allies and alliances.
"Do as he says! Summon everyone, especially Taman; only he can handle Katine." The Emperor's mind cleared temporarily.
"Taman... he alone might..." The Marquis of Lockheed hesitated, unsure how to speak. This would be tantamount to boosting the enemy's morale while diminishing his own, but he couldn't remain silent. If they failed to kill Katine, the consequences would be dire.
"I know, I will make arrangements." George V appeared unusually exhausted, but this time he didn't hesitate. He couldn't sleep or eat if Katine lived.
There was something he dared not tell anyone, not even a confidant like the Marquis of Lockheed: the relatives of the Western Sea overlord had been held captive in a secret location, but an accident had occurred, and they had all died—their food had been poisoned.
The perpetrators are unknown; it could be the Alliance, someone within the Alliance, or even some malicious individuals within the country. However, one thing is certain: Carter will not let this go unpunished.
This is an irreconcilable blood feud.
According to the Knights' Rules, Carter can use any means necessary for revenge; no other rules apply to him.
A Saint-level powerhouse driven mad by revenge is an absolutely terrifying presence.
...
While the Alliance is facing an apocalyptic scene, things are quite different here.
The continuous torrential rain continues to hinder the army's progress, forcing a temporary break. However, with the outcome of the war now definitively determined, the recent battles are becoming increasingly easier.
Shortly after the Battle of the Arches River, the Eastern Front nations surrendered unconditionally, and the Allied forces on the Eastern Front had already occupied Mosia, the capital of the Republic of Biscayne.
The war on both the Eastern and Western Fronts was over; only the Central Front nations, led by Franza, remained.
However, for Leach, the war was over.
After a round of bombing raids on the capitals of the Allied Central Front nations, he had nothing more to do.
The bombings were now more symbolic than effective, so after thoroughly bombing all the capitals, the Allies never launched similar attacks again, only occasionally sending a few reconnaissance wingmen to drop leaflets.
With nothing better to do, Richie had absolutely no interest in staying in the small town of Bama all day. Although he had beautiful women around and the scenery was nice, it rained all the time, and besides seeing Misra, his only other activity was occasionally sleeping with Lauralis—it was just too monotonous.
So he simply said goodbye to everyone and slipped away under the guise of inspecting various places.
In Richie's heart, he naturally wanted to go back to Montstock, after all, it was his home. The problem was that he was on patrol, so he would definitely have to travel around.
After hesitating for a moment, he made Dredava his first stop.
His spirit armor wasn't significantly more powerful than other spirit armors, but its speed was unmatched. He covered over 9,000 kilometers from Bama to Dredava in just six hours, including a single landing to replace the energy crystal.
Looking down from the sky, Hedar's figure came into view.
To Rich's surprise, he saw two more railways extending from Hedar, one north and one south.
This must be the original plan for the great railway that would traverse the entire Kuntagumgangt Desert.
In his memory, construction on this railway was supposed to begin after the war, but now it was clearly much ahead of schedule.
After circling Hedar, Rich felt that the city seemed to have changed since his last visit.
There seemed to be more farmland outside the city, the new town area seemed more lively than before, and the old town area was much cleaner, a far cry from the dirty and cramped place it had been a few years ago.
Rich was flying in the sky, and reports had already been received below. In fact, Mikhail was already waiting, and not just him; Daytira III, the nominal monarch of Dredava, was also waiting there.
So when Rich landed on the roof of the New Knights headquarters building, a grand welcoming ceremony awaited him.
Mikhail was the first to greet him, and after a warm embrace, the old man patted his two prosthetic legs and said, "Thanks to you and Jarard, I can finally walk on my own again."
Upon hearing this, Rich immediately understood.
The old man was using this sentence to tell him that the Dredava people would never forget his help.
"It's a pleasure to see you again." Daytira III, standing beside him, appeared much more composed than before. He was now fifteen years old, the same age as Rich when he awakened, but in this desert, fifteen years old meant adulthood. At the beginning of the year, he officially became the monarch of Dredava, so he could no longer address Rich as "you, sir."
"Me too. The war will be over soon, and we can meet more often afterward." Richie was now quite adept at pleasantries.
"I heard you killed one of George V's sons?" Tatsuya Tira III, being young, wasn't used to the formal atmosphere, so he quickly reverted to his usual self after the opening remarks.
"I didn't know it was a prince at the time. I just saw a carriage pass by below, and naturally, I just casually swung my sword..." Richie spoke quite casually, as if it were an accident.
Of course, he couldn't say that as soon as the carriage appeared, several spirit armors quickly activated to try and provide support, which confirmed to him that the person inside was an important figure.
"Didn't George V react at all?" Mihain asked with concern.
"Of course there was a reaction. That guy made an assassination list, and my parents and I were all on it." Leach didn't care at all.
He had only found out about this before he set off, and George V had given the order in the morning.
In other words, the news had been leaked in just a few hours. There's only one possibility: the Alliance's intelligence personnel contacted the Alliance immediately upon receiving the order.
Clearly, the Alliance's intelligence department was also looking for a backup plan. Under these circumstances, who would be willing to risk their life to carry out such a dangerous mission?
"It's best not to be too careless," Mikhail naturally advised, but this was only out of politeness; in reality, he didn't think anyone in the Alliance would still be so loyal.
Coming down from the roof, Mikhail led Leach through the corridor into a nearby building.
That was the Elders' Council, which also served as offices and a place to receive special envoys from various countries.
In the past, Richie's visits to Dredava were always for military matters, and he was naturally received by the Knights' Headquarters. This time, however, he had no particular purpose, so Mihain invited him to the Elders' Council.
All the unimportant people had already left, leaving Richie alone with King Dayeira III, the special envoys from the various desert kingdoms stationed in Hedar.
These envoys were all acquaintances of Richie.
With everyone being familiar, the atmosphere was naturally much more relaxed.
June in Dredava was already quite hot, and Mihain, in preparation for Richie's arrival, had some ice stored for the winter brought over, making the room unexpectedly cool.
The hall was quite magnificent, with mosaics covering the floor and walls, gilded pillars, and ceiling paintings clearly the work of a renowned artist.
Richie looked around, his eyes filled with astonishment.
Those around him, of course, didn't think he was simply stunned. Richie frequented Parkinton and Omore Palaces as easily as visiting a neighbor; what kind of opulence hadn't he seen?
"Doesn't it have a bit of a nouveau riche feel?" Daya Tira III asked somewhat embarrassedly. This was actually his own thought; he had strongly opposed decorating the hall this way, but hadn't been able to persuade others otherwise.
"This isn't for outsiders, it's for ourselves. Looking at this, we can see that we too have a chance to live a good life," Mikhail said, his voice carrying a hint of a rural farmer.
While Leach had that impression, he didn't actually see the old man as a farmer or a country bumpkin.
This extravagance was clearly meant for the other countries in this desert.
Those who saw it might indeed feel a sense of nouveau riche wealth, but for a group of people who had been poor for so long, what could be more enviable than the nouveau riche?
Those countries that had previously followed Dredava closely, seeing such a grand hall, would undoubtedly become even more envious and eager to join him. Those that had been hesitant would surely be itching to join, and even if they didn't immediately pledge allegiance, they would at least move closer.
"Looks like you've reaped quite a harvest on the western front this time," Richie joked. He had heard from Diana and the others that although the desert people hadn't swept through the western countries like a locust swarm before, they had still taken quite a lot.
"Having a war to fight, and winning it, certainly has many benefits," Mihain nodded repeatedly, seemingly unconcerned.
The Western Front campaign had indeed brought them many benefits. They no longer cared much about gold and silver; what truly made them rich was the vast amount of machinery and workers they had acquired.
For other allied nations, ordinary workers were beneath their notice; only highly skilled workers, technicians, and engineers were sought after. But for the desert nations, anyone who could operate machinery was considered talent, and those who could maintain it were even more valuable—all nations were eager to recruit them.
The desert nations were previously extremely underdeveloped, so the arrival of these workers and the establishment of factories immediately brought about a tremendous transformation.
Previously, most of the houses in Hedar were built of rammed earth. Only places like the palace, the knight headquarters, the elders' council, and the branch of the armor maker's council were constructed of stone. Now, bricks, cement, and steel reinforcement are used. New houses are rising one after another, sturdy and beautiful.
People here used to use earthenware pots and basins; now, a small number of families use porcelain or glassware. Most families, though not as wealthy, can still replace their old, worn-out items with galvanized iron utensils.
This is change—tangible change, a change that fills people with hope for the future.
"However, there's one problem with the looted stuff: it's too messy," an envoy complained nearby.
When everything was scarce, anything was considered good. Like when Dredava lacked armor, so any old relic was treasured. But now that there's so much, everyone starts to be picky.
Seeing someone speak up, Mihain immediately chimed in, "Yes, we do have a lot of machines now, but they're all different models, which isn't very convenient. Besides, some machines are bulky and wasteful of materials… Actually, we think the machines from your trading company are quite good."
This time, all the special agents nodded in agreement.
Richie immediately understood; this was what they'd been rambling on about all along.
Initially, due to the unruly nature of the Rossoto people, Leach had publicly threatened to use economic means to make them suffer. One of these means was to design a large number of lightweight and material-saving machines to exploit the crudeness and bulkiness of Rossoto's machinery, disrupting their traditional market and making their machines unsellable.
This was originally a threat, but after proposing it, he suddenly realized it was actually a good approach.
Years of war had depleted resources in various countries, and reconstruction required a large amount of machinery. Therefore, naturally, the more material-efficient the machine, the more popular it would be. Furthermore, material-saving also meant lighter weight, easier transportation, and a lower price.
Now that he had a good idea, it would be a shame not to put it into practice. The only thing he needed to consider was avoiding any misunderstanding with the Rossoto people, who might think he was trying to deal with them. So, after designing over a hundred commonly used machines, he sent Ariana to deal with the three great empires and the Capetz.
Throughout the entire process, Rich didn't participate at all. He only knew that the Rossoto people were ultimately responsible for the materials, the Capetz and Monstock were responsible for manufacturing the parts, and then the parts were transported to assembly plants in various countries for final assembly. These assembly plants were also responsible for the maintenance of the machines.
This cooperative project spanned the entire alliance, involving over forty countries, and the results were indeed excellent. The machines were in high demand, and orders were pouring in like snowflakes. According to Ariana, the order book was already three years in advance.
"You can try out those machines first. Don't worry if you break them; they can be recycled later. As for the machines from Ariana's trading company, that's definitely not a problem, but it probably won't be possible in the short term. Omor's orders are the largest; we're already struggling to meet their needs."
Rich wasn't lying, but he wasn't entirely telling the truth either. The biggest demand wasn't from Omor, but from Rossoto. Only a third of Omor's country was destroyed, while most of Rossoto's cities were reduced to ruins.
Upon hearing Leach's statement that securing Omor's order was paramount, Mikhail and the other envoys ceased their obstruction. It was clearly unreasonable for a vassal state and its overlord to fight over goods.
Leach felt he had to offer something: "Since I don't have much to do these days, I'll help you with a plan! Actually, you already have quite a lot."
Mikhail and the other envoys, of course, welcomed this suggestion.
...
A blank sheet of paper lay on the drawing board, and scattered around were completed drawings and densely written plans.
Leach worked quickly; having just agreed to help Mikhail develop a plan for the desert nations, he immediately began working upon arriving at his room.
His diligence wasn't merely out of courtesy, but for a different purpose.
By creating a plan for the desert nations, if Mikhail implemented it, Dredava, Omor, Capech, and Monstock would be tightly bound together for the next ten years.
Although Dredava and Monstock were already allied, he believed that a bond united by shared interests was more reliable.
Time passed unnoticed in his busy work, and night deepened.
Suddenly, a soft sound of footsteps approached, and a moment later, Mikhail's voice came from outside the door: "May I come in?"
Leach had already recognized that it wasn't just Mikhail; several people were following behind the old man.
"Please come in." Leach didn't stand up to greet him, not only because of his high status, but also because he was currently busy with Dredava.
The people outside clearly knew this, so they opened the door without hesitation and entered.
Mikhail indeed didn't come alone; Jarard and Aroldo were behind him.
Seeing Aroldo, Leach couldn't help but smile wryly: "You came all the way from the front lines, didn't you?"
"They wanted to play the emotional card, so they urged me to come; I had no choice," Aroldo said bluntly, seemingly unconcerned.
Mikhail was incredibly thick-skinned; even though Aroldo had made his intentions crystal clear, he remained completely unconcerned.
"Your efficiency is certainly impressive; in such a short time, you've already produced a whole lot of things," the old man said, picking up a planning sheet from the ground and examining it.
Jarard, intrigued by Mikhail's presence, also bent down and picked up a few sheets.
Aroldo wasn't interested in any of this; he remained a pure knight, and although Mikhail intended to groom him as his successor, he had never been interested in politics.
However, he knew that the fewer people who knew about the matters to be discussed, the better. So he turned and closed the door.
Leach wasn't at all surprised by Mikhail's arrival. During the day, with so many people talking, many things can't be said too clearly. Now, late at night, when everyone is quiet, it's a good opportunity to discuss things.
He looked at Mihain, while the old man was engrossed in looking at the plan.
After a long while, the old man finally turned his gaze back to Lich, and sat down on the cushion next to him.
"I'm here to gain your support. The nations of Quinta Gumgunt all feel this is a great opportunity for us to escape our current poverty. The question is, how far can we go?" Mihain sighed. "Actually, everyone knows that only by uniting can we go further, but when it comes to actually uniting, everyone has their own plans." "
I understand," Leach nodded. He had seen too much of this. When Monstock was on the verge of collapse, the Alliance refused to come to its aid. In the years that followed, everyone had their own calculations. The Rossotto Empire, for its own benefit, disregarded the unity of the Alliance, needless to say. Even between Parkinton and Omore, there was the same scheming and maneuvering.
He knew perfectly well that every benefit Monstock received was obtained in exchange for corresponding interests. Even with his close relationship with Annelia, Monstock gained no advantage whatsoever.
Friendship might exist between individuals, but between nations, there is absolutely only the pursuit of self-interest.
"There are two opposing opinions now. We and several closer nations believe we should establish a federation, but other countries only want a confederation, and some even think things are fine as they are," Mihain voiced his concerns. "
What can I do?" Leach felt strange; he didn't feel he had any say in this matter.
“It’s actually quite simple. All the countries are now seeking partners. A few in the north have even foolishly approached the Rossoto people, while others tend to cooperate with Omor and Monstock.” Mihain didn’t say what he hoped Leach would do, but the implication was clear: he hoped Leach would refuse those people.
“That’s impossible, and I believe that no matter how good your relationship with Emperor Carlos is, he won’t agree to such requests.” Leach refused outright. Doing so would be tantamount to acknowledging Dredava as the suzerain state of the Quintagumungant countries.
Mihain wasn’t annoyed by the rejection; it was exactly what he had expected.
"What I want is the right to trade first. As long as we can provide it, Monstock will consider us first. This shouldn't be difficult to do, right?" He settled for the second best.
Li Qi thought about it and realized that such a request was also a bit excessive. No businessman would do such a stupid thing as just selling goods to one company. Even a wholesaler would find five or six customers.
However, this is not completely impossible to consider. After all, in the years after the war, all countries need to rebuild, and many things are not enough to supply the country. Anyway, the number of things is not large, and it is only supplied to one company, focusing on taking care of old customers. This is also understandable.
"Five years, only five years. After five years, most of Monstock's production should have resumed. By that time, no matter how many orders there are, it will be able to meet. It is impossible for me to restrict businessmen and factory owners from making money," Leach said.
Mikhail and Jarra frowned. Five years wasn't a short time, but it wasn't long either. They weren't confident they could develop Dredava into a country that all the surrounding nations envied within five years.
"I don't quite understand why you're so eager to establish a federation. Is it just to indulge in the thrill of being the boss?" Rich asked, puzzled. He didn't know Mikhail very well; the old man kept himself very well hidden. But he knew Jarra somewhat. Jarra was definitely a man indifferent to fame and fortune.
Upon hearing Leach's question, Mikhail gave a wry smile, while Jarard quickly explained, "It's unavoidable. Don't be fooled by our current success. Dredava's prosperity is due to generations of hard work. In reality, our conditions in this region are only below average compared to other countries. Quinta Gumgangt isn't completely devoid of resources; the problem is we lack them. And those countries with resources can't stand seeing us become richer, so they've secretly formed a coalition."
Hearing this, Leach completely understood.
It seemed that what Mikhail cared about wasn't the resources themselves.
Dredava was one of the victorious nations and would undoubtedly receive substantial rewards after the war. Acquiring several mining areas from the western front and the corridor would be a piece of cake. Moreover, as a protectorate, Dredava had priority in purchasing the resources of the protected nations, ensuring that it wouldn't have to worry about resource shortages for at least half a century.
What the old man was truly concerned about was the alliance of those nations.
"Those nations are backed by the Rossoto Empire," Jarard added.
This was entirely within Rich's expectations. Dredava had Omor backing it up, and Monstock was also helping it. To counter such a combination, the only option was to seek the support of the Rossoto Empire.
"They're basically playing with fire," Leach shook his head, unsure whether to call the leaders of those countries foolish or to express his helplessness. After a long pause, he finally made a decision: "I absolutely do not intend to intervene in the internal strife within Quinta Gumgunt. But I can help you restructure. In five years, I guarantee you'll leave the other countries far behind. What happens next is up to you."
...
222 The Final Conclusion
A car sped through the heavy rain, waves of water cascading down its front.
The man in the back seat looked somewhat gloomy, a briefcase on his left.
The car drove straight into a small town and finally stopped in front of the town hall.
A burly old man, seemingly around fifty years old, was already standing at the entrance of the town hall. He had a full head of short, gray hair, deep-set eyes, and piercing, hawk-like eyes.
Seeing the car arrive, the old man opened the door and immediately jumped inside. As he emerged from under the eaves, heavy rain pelted him, but the rain clung to his body and slid down to the ground, as if he were covered in oil.
The car immediately started moving, and in the blink of an eye, it was out of town.

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/158585.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=158585&aspx=1

Last access time:

Previous Page : [pos] The Erotic Tales of the Love-Locking Curse (Forty-Two)

Next Page : [Transgender Beauty's Urban Romance] 20