"It's been a whole month since we threw in those 2000 gold pounds, why is there not even a sound from the Demon Hunters?"
While tearing open the wax-sealed letters handed over by the head of family intelligence, Puzilio Oslar complained to his father behind the desk.
"It's only been a month." Duke Omes, with a stern face, read one letter after another in his hands, occasionally comparing them, "Don't rush, although some small mistakes were made, there will be results."
Sitting beside the luxurious carved desk, Puzilio helped his father organize letters from nobles and relatives in various places.
Noticing his father's displeasure, Puzilio didn't say more, and continued to organize the letters in his hands.
"The descendants of those two Langsong nobles are asking for support from our Northern people?" Opening a new letter, Duke Omes snorted coldly, "Wishful thinking, let the envoy have a good meal and drink, then send him away."
