Westflow City was an excellent place.

  Beside it flowed a river that gave it its name, running northwestward. The Xiuduoen River surged down from the northern ice plains, winding through the imperial capital to Bell Province, spanning the entire Orlando Empire. West of Westflow City, the river forked into two branches: one led directly south to the sea, the other continued inland into another nation.

  At its widest, the river spanned hundreds of meters; at its narrowest, forty to fifty meters, making water transport extremely developed. The Bohr family, leveraging their merit as escorts during Orlando I’s reign, had jabbed their finger at the spot marked as Westflow City on the map in the emperor’s presence, giving birth to the centuries-old legacy of Westflow City and the Bohr family.

  Beyond its highly developed water transport, the river’s natural irrigation made the land along both banks incredibly fertile—requiring almost no manual watering to achieve the quality of top-tier farmland. Plankton and various dead fish settling in the river turned into natural fertilizers, continuously enhancing the soil’s fertility. Each spring and late summer, locals needed no manual labor to tend the fields; sowing seeds was enough to await a harvest. In their spare time, the people of Westflow City would work at the docks to earn extra income.

  This was a coveted place for everyone. If not for the knights and shield guards, as well as the Bohr family’s 300-year-unbroken prestige intimidating local forces, it would have long been attacked and plundered, becoming the subject of some joke.

  When Bowen heard "Westflow City," even though he tried not to reveal his inner state, he subconsciously moved. First, he uncrossed his legs, then slightly straightened his upper body—a tiny change that the sharp-eyed Salcomo captured immediately.

  "Westflow City…!" Bowen pursed his lips and let out a long sigh. "Westflow City!"

  In reality, all nobles in Milin were following the battle between Terman and Arno. The reason many were not optimistic about Arno lay in Pramisburg itself. To the nobles, with their distant gaze, the "rabble" in the city were beneath notice. In their ingrained view, commoners would never have the courage to wield weapons against the noble and privileged class. So before this, they mostly favored Terman; they believed that 500 knights breaching the city gates would end everything.

  However, the nobles who received the battle reports were astonished. Not only had the gates not been breached, but Luos’ trusted warrior had nearly been killed at Pramisburg’s gates. No one expected that Arno’s only retainer brought to Bell Province, Blair, had quietly advanced to Sixth-Rank Knight. If Terman had known this earlier, he would have dispatched higher-level combat forces to shatter Pramisburg’s defenses, instead of only sending Luos and that barbarian from the northern grasslands to attack.

  Everyone naturally saw this as evidence of Arno’s sinister and crafty nature. Any knight who broke through the restrictions of battle aura and successfully became a Title Knight would rush to the Knight Guild for certification, transforming into an imperial privileged class or even nobility. Who would hide in a backwater with no signs of activity? Was this not deceitful?

  Bowen was willing to receive Salcomo only because Terman had lost the first battle. If Terman had won, Bowen would have long since ordered Salcomo to be driven away.

  Gazing at Salcomo’s exceptionally sincere smile, Bowen could not resist the temptation. He took out a pipe from his pocket, opened the drawer beneath the tea table, took out a small piece of broken tobacco brick, stuffed it into the pipe bowl, lit it, and silently took a puff. The curling smoke blurred Bowen’s expression. After a moment of thought, he said, "You have only one chance to persuade me."

  Salcomo’s brow twitched, and he immediately said, "Tomorrow, Baron Arno will take the initiative to attack, aiming to defeat or even annihilate the knights led by Luos in the wilderness."

  This short sentence carried a great deal of information.

  First, Arno was confident he would 100% defeat Terman’s 500 knights; otherwise, he would not take the initiative to attack. Second, Arno did not intend to reconcile with Terman. If he wanted reconciliation, he would not have broken with Terman; sitting down to negotiate would have been the correct choice. Finally, Arno was sending a message to the nobles of Milin and the entire Bell Province: he was not to be bullied, and if they did not bring out their full strength, they could not expect him to compromise.

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  In addition, Arno conveying this message to Bowen through Salcomo had a deeper meaning: it was a challenge to the inherent order of Bell Province’s noble class, a bid to reshuffle all forces!

  Undeniably, Bowen was tempted, and his temptation was based on Arno’s ability to defeat Terman’s 500 knights. Once Luos was annihilated or captured, it would be equivalent to cutting off an arm of the Bohr family.

  Terman, who had been severely humiliated, would be driven into a dilemma: if he continued to fight Arno, Westflow City’s defenses would inevitably be left vulnerable; if he did not fight Arno, he would lose face and allow some forces and nobles to grow restless. Therefore, he had to determine a winner with Arno, needing to win decisively while preserving his strength.

  How to solve this problem?

  Bowen put himself in Terman’s position, his mind racing, when a flash of inspiration struck: borrow troops!

  Yes, exactly—borrow troops.

  Wasn’t Terman wealthy? Didn’t he always boast that the Bohr family’s heritage far exceeded the history of the Orlando Empire? Facing difficulties, spending money to hire mercenaries and allies was the simplest solution.

  Bowen felt this might be the simplest and most effective way for Terman to resolve his current dilemma, but if these mercenaries and borrowed forces were not loyal to him…

  Bowen felt a sudden shiver, thinking there was a cold wind in the warm room, but instantly dismissed it as an illusion.

  He looked directly at Salcomo, countless thoughts churning. After hesitating for a long time, he let out a soft breath. "My second son is interested in commerce."

  The curve of Salcomo’s mouth grew larger. "You know, recently we organized seven merchant groups to specialize in seven exclusive products. There is still one vacancy for the seven Dragon Island tobacco bricks."

  Bowen nodded in satisfaction. "I’ll accept the gift. You have a lot to do—we’ll talk again next time."

  Stepping out of the count’s mansion, the night in Milin grew deeper and quieter. The frenzied crowd on the streets had dispersed, leaving only cold, empty streets waiting alone for dawn.

  Salcomo wrapped his coat tightly, ducked into the carriage, and rubbed his hands. "To Viscount Xiuen’s estate!"

  In the quiet night, the clatter of the carriage gradually faded away.

  Bowen, standing behind the second-floor window of the count’s mansion, watched the carriage disappear from sight and lowered the curtain.

  The balance of power in Bell Province was about to undergo a huge change!

  That night, many people tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

  As the sky gradually brightened, on Pramisburg’s main road, 300 knights stood ready, and nearly 2,000 infantry were as imposing as dragons. The weather grew colder, and the heat exhaled from everyone’s nostrils pierced the icy air like swords. Their eyes were bright and firm, each gripping their weapon tightly, gazing at Arno standing on the city gates.

  "Today, many will forever remain outside the city," Arno said. He did not speak of invincibility or use passionate speeches to encourage everyone to fear no sacrifice. In a flat tone, he recounted a grim fact: war meant death. The fire hidden in their eyes almost burst out, and they were not intimidated.

  "I won’t tell you what glory you’ll receive after death or what heaven you’ll go to. Human life is only once; once you die, it’s over. Those glories and beliefs will no longer have anything to do with the dead. Some may ask, if that’s the case, what is the meaning of death? " Arno’s tone gradually rose, and with a firm and affirmative voice, he shouted, "Yes, those deaths have meaning. You take away despair and leave hope and a future for the living—that is the meaning of death."

  "I won’t say what the possible death of some of you will bring to this city. I can only tell you that those possible deaths will leave a large sum of wealth for your families, yes, a large sum of wealth!" Arno grabbed a handful of gold coins from the box at his feet, the golden luster stinging the eager eyes of these people. "Look, gold coins! For each fallen warrior, I will give the greatest respect to your life. A pension of five gold coins, and during my term, the families of fallen warriors will be exempt from all taxes and levies."

  " And to those who live, please remember: without sacrifice, your lives are meaningless."

  "Crush them!" Arno raised his right fist.

  Below the city gates, weapons were as dense as a forest.

  Arno looked at Blair and nodded slightly, waving his hand. "Set out!"

  The heavy drawbridge slowly rose, and 300 knights swarmed out, with 2,000 infantry following closely behind. They had no worries about the rear—the large sum of five gold coins was enough to bring earth-shaking changes to their families. Younger siblings who had gone hungry could now eat with smiles, and poor parents would receive enough supplies to survive this winter, the next winter, and the winter after that.

  Those who were fortunate enough to survive would also gain greatly.

  They had nothing, but at least, they still had hope.

  Cruel hope!