Translator: CinderTL
Yuriko grabbed Emerson's arm with a grip so tight it felt like he was about to crush the bones, dragging him behind the thickest curtain in the banquet hall's most secluded corner.
The candlelight was blocked by the heavy drapes, leaving both their faces hidden in shadow.
"Are you insane?" Yuriko's voice was low but sharp as a blade. "Picking a fight with Paul Grayman now? Haven't you made my situation difficult enough already?"
Emerson struggled, but couldn't break free. He frowned. "Your Highness, you are of royal blood. Must you let a mere country noble—"
"Shut up!" Yuriko slammed him against the wall, spilling red wine from his glass and staining Emerson's expensive silk cravat.
"Do you think I don't know what you're up to? Trying to use me to settle your personal grudge?" He sneered. "I know you have a score to settle with Grayman from Northwest Bay!"
Emerson's face darkened.
Yuriko released him, smoothed his sleeve, and his voice regained its aristocratic languor, though a warning lingered beneath the surface. "Listen carefully. Paul Grayman is at the height of his power right now. Even the King must give him respect. If I were to challenge him now, what would I gain besides making myself look like a jealous clown?"
Yuriko leaned close to Emerson, his breath reeking of alcohol, and said, "More importantly—this is a critical moment for our counteroffensive against the Orcs. If infighting leads to military failure, do you think His Majesty the King will spare anyone?"
Yuriko gently patted Emerson's stiff cheek. "Will it be you, the instigator who sows discord, or me, the tactless younger brother?"
Emerson's Adam's apple bobbed, and the resentment in his eyes gradually gave way to fear.
Yuriko stepped back, a smile playing on his lips. "But you're right about one thing—I do intend to earn military merit."
His gaze drifted past the curtain to Paul, surrounded by generals. "But not through foolish provocation, but through—" he paused meaningfully—"riding the tide."
Suddenly, laughter erupted from the center of the banquet hall. Paul was pointing at a sand table, and the surrounding generals nodded in agreement.
Yuriko watched this scene, a smirk curving his lips. "Just wait and see, Emerson! True nobles know when to bide their time and when to reap the harvest."
He thrust his empty wine glass into Emerson's hand and turned toward the laughter and bright lights, his back quickly melting into the dazzling scene.
Paul, carrying a wine glass, crossed the banquet hall. His peripheral vision caught Emerson Wilde standing in a corner.
The man's gloomy expression seemed familiar, yet Paul couldn't quite place where he'd seen him before.
"Sir," Paul stopped, raising his glass politely. "Have we met before?"
Emerson's fingers clenched around his glass, knuckles turning white from the force.
His chest felt like it might explode. This damn Grayman, didn't even remember his face?!
The shame of being captured during the Usurper War—was it truly so insignificant in the other man's eyes?
"Lord Marquis is a busy man," Emerson forced a stiff smile, suppressing his anger. "I am Emerson Wilde, formerly in service under Maltz Kent."
He paused, his voice deliberately calm. "I was captured during the final battle, thanks to your 'kindness'."
Paul's expression froze for a moment. It was then that he remembered who stood before him—the young noble who had remained arrogant even while surrendering.
"Ah..." Paul laughed awkwardly, raising his wine glass to cover his slip. "Now that we're all united under His Majesty the King, let's let bygones be bygones."
Emerson nodded slightly, his smile widening. "Of course, Lord Marquis, you're right." His eyes, however, were as cold as ice. "To Aldor's future."
They clinked glasses, the crisp sound of crystal colliding masking the suppressed hostility Paul could sense in his opponent. He simply smiled warmly and turned to mingle with the other guests, as if the exchange had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Emerson watched Paul's retreating back, draining his glass in one gulp. The liquid he swallowed wasn't fine wine, but venomous hatred.
He stared down at the empty glass, a cold laugh echoing in his mind. Let bygones be bygones? No, some grudges only grow stronger with time.
His capture and imprisonment by the Alden Army had made him a laughingstock among his peers for a long time. Even his own family had treated him with less respect than before, a blow to Emerson's pride.
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The counteroffensive against the Orcs had begun!
The Red Banner of the Northwest Legion and the Golden Banner of the Crystal Glare Legion surged across the Yellow Earth like a tide under the scorching sun.
The six armies maintained precise intervals, advancing eastward like a finely tuned machine. Infantry marched in columns, accompanied by artillery fire, while cavalry patrolled the flanks, vigilant for enemy ambushes. Upon encountering resistance, the formations would instantly shift, forming broad battle lines to fire and advance simultaneously.
Trailing behind them was a massive supply train, like a lifeblood constantly feeding the advancing armies. The four-wheeled cargo trucks manufactured in Northwest Bay were now in full operation, their high carrying capacity transforming the roads behind the army into a bustling network of transport vehicles.
The six armies advanced in perfect unison, steadily pushing eastward across the Yellow Earth.
The Orcish forces and their human vassals found themselves in a desperate situation. The Aldor armies advanced like a moving wall, relentlessly "pushing" them eastward. Any attempt to halt this advancing wall would only result in a bloody defeat.
Town after town was liberated, returning to the Aldor Kingdom's control. The local residents, who had suffered under foreign oppression, finally saw their day of liberation arrive.
What surprised them even more was the Aldor army's extraordinary restraint.
The residents had braced themselves for their own army to strip them bare, as had always been the case throughout history.
But the Aldor army that entered Yellow Earth was unlike any they had ever seen. They made no attempt to plunder their wealth, and when purchasing supplies locally, they paid fair prices for everything.
"An army of saints," many religious officials remarked, having never witnessed such an army that took nothing without paying.
Undoubtedly, the Alden Army's discipline deeply moved the long-suffering residents of the occupied territories, who provided them with considerable assistance. This greatly accelerated the kingdom's efforts to reclaim lost lands.
But for the Alden Army's enemies—the Orcs—the situation was dire.
"The humans... they're not just advancing!"
During a discussion with Great Chieftain Abal about the situation, Old Shaman Otasi's Bone Staff trembled slightly as he sighed helplessly. "They're practically plowing the land!"
(End of the Chapter)
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