Chapter 623: Taking Possession

Star Lake Castle, night.

The guards' dining room was covered in dust and spiderwebs. Only two candles gave off red light, casting faint, eerie shadows.

But at this moment, quite a few people were crowded inside eating. The room was noisy and lively.

"That old man, whatever his name is, Vitano." Doyle leaned against the wall, propped his legs on a long bench, and took a big bite of bread. "Ever since we came here, I have not heard him say a single word. Maybe he is a zombie that crawled out of the ground?"

Zombie.

Everyone eating at the same table looked at one another, then subconsciously turned toward another table behind them.

Doyle realized something, smiled awkwardly, and turned back to wave at the real "Zombie," Glover.

"Sorry."

Glover was drinking soup. Hearing this, he threw down his spoon, his eyes turning cold.

"Why are you sorry?"

Doyle froze under Zombie's fierce gaze.

"I..."

Realizing things were not good, he laughed self-mockingly twice and lowered his head.

"S-sorry."

"But that old man, the caretaker, perhaps he really is a zombie," Wya suddenly said from the far end of the long table, drawing everyone's attention.

The dining room fell quiet.

Glover frowned.

"Mind your words," Toledo, Mallos' messenger, reminded him sternly. "Chief Mallos respects that old gentleman very much."

Wya shook his head, lowered his head, and took a sip of the strange-tasting "drink" that the Logistics Wing had obtained from who knew where. His face contorted in pain.

"No. I mean, he is not simple."

Doyle leaned over.

"What do you mean, Real Wya?"

"Star Lake Castle has had no master for years. It has almost become an animal den," Wya said solemnly. "Animals are extremely sensitive about territory. If we breathe in the wrong direction, we can scare a flock of crows out of a corner. But..."

He lifted his head and looked at everyone.

"That old caretaker lives here, yet he has not disturbed even a single mouse."

Everyone eating immediately felt a chill.

In a shadowed corner, Special Flag Officer Hugo Fubi, who did not fit in with the others, expressionlessly took out a notebook and wrote with a rustle:

Wya Kaso.

Sharp in observation.

Lacking in tact.

"Maybe he has lived here so long the animals are not afraid of him?" Doyle flicked away a spider that had landed on his bread, tore off the dusty outer layer, and took a bite.

Wya shook his head.

"That is only the best guess."

Logistics Officer Piloga turned back from the window.

"And the worst?"

Across from Glover, Ralf looked unhappily at his soup bowl. A spider from who knew where was struggling inside.

Doyle sighed.

"Zombie."

After saying this, he remembered something and embarrassedly waved toward Glover.

"Uh, sorry!"

Glover snorted angrily and swallowed the food in his mouth.

"Morgan, Kusta, your shift." Two tired figures entered the dining room and changed places with two people inside.

Doyle's eyes lit up.

"Hey, Bastia, Nechi! How was it? Anything good in Jackal Tower?"

"You mean aside from spiderwebs, furnace ash, cat dung, bird droppings, ghostly shadows, rotten wood, and rusted iron?" Nechi, the young vanguard officer, lifted the kettle and poured himself a cup, his tone sarcastic. "Let me think. Oh, right, there was a rotten rag. Smelled like shit. Pfft, damn it, what is this flavor?"

"Mate tea." Piloga, by the window, drank his tea contentedly. "Do not ask too many questions. If you ask, the answer is friendly sponsorship from the Logistics Wing."

"There is a monastery in the southeast corner, with quite a few graveyards inside," Bastia said. Seeing Nechi's reaction, he decisively poured out his own drink and tore a sheet of spiderweb from his head. "Oddly clean. Clearly someone cleans it regularly. Maybe that old man."

"Maybe he lives in the graveyard. You know--zombie!"

Doyle laughed and habitually turned back to wave.

"Sor--"

"Say sorry one more time, and I will throw you out the window," Glover said, staring fixedly at him.

As if cooperating, Ralf poured out the spider soup in his hand, snorted coldly, and stirred up a faint cold wind.

The room fell quiet.

Doyle could only turn back awkwardly.

In the corner, several more lines appeared in Fubi's notebook:

Gallen Glover.

Destroyer of atmosphere.

Yet possesses authority that settles matters with one blow.

"There is no need to worry too much." Paul Bozdorf, who had joined midway and had remained silent until now, suddenly spoke. "Lord Mallos trusts that old man for a reason."

Wya's eyes moved.

"You know him?"

Paul shook his head.

"No. But I know that surname."

"Gato."

Paul's expression was steady, his tone light.

"That is the maiden surname of the current queen, and also the name of a great merchant family of the kingdom."

Everyone's eyes turned toward the Bozdorf heir.

"Queen Koya?" Wya was immediately startled.

"His Highness' stepmother?" Doyle looked puzzled.

"We have a queen?" Willow from the North was confused.

Paul ignored everyone's reactions and continued.

"The Gato family began by reselling spoils and making profits from war. They keep a low profile, but they have close ties to Renaissance Palace and stand among the finest of the royal chartered merchants. They opened many financial sources for generations of Jadestars. Although their title is low, their position is crucial and their energy is not small."

Paul lifted his head.

"That is why, back then, His Majesty Kessel, as the youngest son of the late king, married a daughter of the Gato family."

Flag Officer Fubi's expression did not change. His pen continued moving.

Paul Bozdorf.

Gloomy and restrained. Speaks to the key point. Has no shallow background.

"Oh, that explains why the old man is here," Doyle suddenly understood. "His task is to guard royal property."

Wya narrowed his eyes.

"But those animals... why do I feel there is more to it?"

"Instead of worrying about that, you should consider what we do next."

Nechi scooped up a spoonful of barley porridge that contained almost nothing solid and gritted his teeth.

"I say, how long do we have to eat this stuff? Old Pi, you are the logistics officer. What do you say?"

Nate Nechi.

Young and impetuous. Does not know restraint.

Fubi continued writing.

"Trust me. His Highness and the chief have already started handling this." Piloga sighed and lifted his cup. "Look on the bright side. Mate tea is still tea."

Nechi gave him a Star Lake Guards special gesture: one middle finger.

Middle finger, as a provocative gesture.

Flag Officer Fubi frowned and recorded:

Duke Thales especially likes using rare and peculiar Northland customs to cultivate guard culture and strengthen his subordinates' cohesion and sense of belonging.

"You know."

Bastia suddenly spoke.

"I went home a few days ago. Everyone pointed and whispered. Even my five-year-old nephew hid from me, as if I had suddenly become a leper."

As soon as this was said, everyone fell silent.

"Why?" Bastia sighed. "Why does His Highness have to oppose His Majesty? And you all followed him into the palace..."

In the corner, Flag Officer Fubi curled his lip.

Ad Bastia.

As always. Conservative, timid, and worried.

Thud.

Messenger Toledo coldly set down his bowl.

"Chief Mallos has already called a meeting and reprimanded everyone regarding this question."

Toledo answered flatly, but there was a chill in his tone.

"We have our oath."

Everyone looked at one another. The atmosphere in the dining room became awkward.

Wya, Glover, Doyle, and the others were especially silent.

"I know that, of course. But to be honest," Nechi said gloomily, "my father wants to find connections and have me transferred back to Renaissance Palace."

"My uncle has a different view." Pezzarossi of the Punishment Wing drank the mate tea in his cup in one gulp, his face twisting under the flavor. "He thinks the king has only one son. No matter how much he dislikes him, sooner or later..."

"Mind your words!" Toledo said sharply.

"Come on, Toledo!" Nechi spread his hands and complained. "We have already been exiled to this deserted wilderness no one cares about. We even have to save food when we eat. And you still want us to mind our words? What, can the Flag Wings hide inside spiderwebs and watch us? What do you think, Uncle Hugo? You have been taking notes for months!"

"Scram." Hugo Fubi did not lift his head. Only his pen kept moving.

Nechi. Likes looking for trouble.

"Then why do you not leave?"

Doyle suddenly spoke. His tone was not as relaxed as usual.

"Why not go back? Back to the place you are used to?"

Nechi, Pezzarossi, and Bastia looked at one another, at a loss.

Glover stirred his spoon without lifting his head and took up the topic with a light snort.

"Yes. Go back and lick Big Brother's dick?"

This nickname stunned everyone for a moment, then drew a burst of laughter.

"I know why."

Doyle stared blankly at the half piece of bread in his hand and flicked away another moth from it.

"Because in Renaissance Palace, there is no great lord who would bind his own hands at a royal banquet and bring trouble on himself just to save one careless guard."

He sighed.

"No one."

The dining room fell silent again.

Fubi threw a dead moth off his notebook and silently observed the atmosphere, adding several more words.

Danny Doyle.

His speech appears careless and unrestrained.

But humor, pain, emotion, and gratitude often fit the atmosphere and strike others' feelings.

"Then thank you for the self-introduction, Guard Officer Doyle," Nechi snorted lightly.

"I know His Highness is still young and treats people sincerely," Guard Officer Komuto, sitting in the corner, sighed softly. "But we have to remind him that sincerity cannot exchange for everything."

"Yes. His Highness came back from the North and is used to the Northlanders' way." Piloga shook his head. "He has not yet tasted the bitterness of Stars. I hope he passes through this safely."

Gianluca Komuto.

Leo Piloga.

Passive in handling affairs. Wise enough to protect themselves, yet...

Fubi frowned. His pen stopped at that turning word, and he did not continue.

He felt something was wrong.

"You are worrying too much."

In the end, the person who spoke was Wya.

"I think what we see is not the same as what His Highness sees."

"And His Highness once told me," the prince's attendant officer said firmly, "once you have seen the sun, you cannot return to the cave."

Nechi snorted.

"Thank you, Lord Attendant Officer. Another sentence I do not understand."

But Wya shook his head.

"You only truly came to know him at that banquet," Wya said absently. "But I have followed His Highness since six years ago... more than seven years ago. No one was earlier than me."

A low throat sound came from behind him.

"Hmph."

"Sorry." Wya rolled his eyes and waved toward the masked man behind him. "Ralf was earlier than me... by a tiny bit."

Only then did Ralf turn his head away.

"I followed him and saw him charge into the Northlanders' military formation. I saw him walk back into the trap of the Hall of Heroes. I saw him break the conspiracy of the Kinslaying King. I saw him work together with Chapman Lampard and dance with wolves."

Listening to Wya's words, everyone in the room unconsciously quieted down.

"Yes, Duke Thales usually appears tolerant and easygoing, even somewhat weak and easy to bully," the attendant officer said, his eyes flickering. "But only at crucial moments, such as the royal banquet, do you understand what kind of person he is."

Doyle shrugged.

No one spoke.

Only the pages in Fubi's notebook kept turning.

Wya Kaso.

The oldest, closest, and most understanding person around Duke Thales.

"In short, I do not particularly want to go back. But anyway, the castle gate has not been repaired yet. If anyone wants to leave, go ahead."

Glover said coldly:

"Even after it is repaired, it will be the same."

Those words made everyone stiffen.

"Yeah," Doyle said as he lay back against the pile of miscellaneous objects behind him and stared blankly at the spiderwebs in the corner of the ceiling. "As if we have the money to repair the gate."

Everyone burst into laughter.

Fubi narrowed his eyes.

Danny Doyle.

The mediator and manipulator of the team's atmosphere.

The people in the dining room gradually finished dinner and left in groups of twos and threes while complaining.

Hugo Fubi lifted his gloomy gaze and opened the next page.

Thales Jadestar.

Hesitant.

Weak.

Compromising.

Gentle.

Naive.

Willful.

Impulsive.

Petty.

Emotionally rich.

Vindictive over the smallest grievance.

Lazy and slippery.

Strange interests.

Likes solitude.

Easily startled.

Does not favor attendants.

Does not bend down to put on airs.

Not good at establishing authority.

Does not care about etiquette, rank, or superiority.

Dislikes social exchanges.

Does not use bribes to win people over.

Does not care about inheritance or glory.

Does not use collective slogans to brainwash people.

Almost entirely ignorant of every method nobles use to rule and win hearts.

When Fubi wrote to this point, his pen turned.

But.

His subordinates' loyalty has not decreased. Instead, it has become increasingly firm. Rumors cannot shake it.

This is... surprising.

Fubi's gaze sharpened, and he wrote the final line.

Where lies the hidden danger?

In the next second, his finger slid along the spine of the notebook. All the writing on the page disappeared together, as if seeping into the paper.

Only blankness remained.

Mallos spent a full three days before he managed to clean up a portion of the dilapidated Star Lake Castle, barely making it livable.

Unexpectedly, Star Lake Castle occupied a considerable area and had complete functions. There were several different sections: the main hall, Jackal Tower, Swift Shadow Building, the Bitter Thought Room, Ascension Hall, the Radiant Zone, the dining rooms, and more, separately used for receiving guests, living, reading, meditation, leisure, and banquets. There was also the lakeside monastery, where no one had practiced bitter cultivation for a long time but which was still preserved, and the Star Radiance Courtyard, used for quartering and training troops, commonly called the logging yard. Added together, all the rooms probably numbered no fewer than three or four hundred, and that was not even mentioning possible hidden passages and secret rooms.

Even now, Thales had not memorized how many ways there were from the main hall to the study and bedroom. Mallos could only order the Logistics Wing and Guard Wing to seal off passages leading to unknown or badly ruined areas, then work overtime with different versions of old castle maps to correct markings, constantly recording and unsealing newly cleaned rooms and areas.

But the good news was that Baron Quentin, the palace steward, was easy to talk to. He had notified the surrounding estates and towns in advance, having them supplement food, clothing, and daily necessities for their nominal lord, the Duke of Star Lake, so that Thales would not starve to death in the castle. With the palace steward's help, the Logistics Wing also continuously recruited servants, cooks, and gardeners from the estates, on the condition that part of their rent and taxes be waived.

"Your fief is roughly the size of nearly half a barony. Of course, not a barony in the North or the Cliffs, since those are full of uninhabited wasteland and nearly comparable in area to a South Coast county..."

That morning, Thales walked along the ridges of the fields. Beside him was Baron Quentin, who had come from the capital and was talking endlessly about the fields before them.

"Six estates. Aside from one belonging to the Sunset Monastery, which serves the gods, the other five all report to you. Inside are directly managed lands and rented fields, as well as public fields with a long history. But now they are all complex and intertwined..."

Behind Baron Quentin followed five respectful stewards, each holding a thick stack of account books and records. More attendants, guards, and servants followed behind, all nervous and cautious.

"The various fields and farms produce different things. Farmers alone are far from enough, so we hire many workers for this. Depending on season and weather, they separately produce raw crops such as grapes and wool. Of course, in another month, the wheat in the fields will also be harvested. It will be very busy then, and many more hands will be needed..."

Thales listened with a frown.

They were on an estate subordinate to Star Lake Castle. Along the way, farmers carrying tools and leading cattle or horses toward the fields could be seen everywhere, as well as farm women carrying baskets of wool and pelts rushing to workshops. They might not recognize Thales, but when they saw Baron Quentin and the stewards, their expressions all changed slightly. They retreated together, lowered their heads, and whispered among themselves.

"There are also three villages or small towns with long histories, ones even war could not erase. They regularly pay taxes to the royal family. Business has not been good recently. Everyone prefers going to Eternal Star City or other large towns to look for work and livelihood..."

The palace steward walked and spoke with great enthusiasm, knowing the situation of Star Lake Castle's fief as if counting his own treasures.

"In addition, your fief borders the royal hunting forest. If the villagers want to go in and hunt some game, cut some firewood, and so on, as long as they pay enough of a share and do not do it too openly, we turn a blind eye. That counts as a kind of production too. After all, after the Bloody Year, life has not been easy for anyone..."

"Also remember, every estate and town has its own craftsmen. Their products, such as textiles, furniture, honey, candles, soap, including certain rare things, are the easiest to overlook..."

Thales' frown deepened.

"These rosters record the general situation of your estates, including the names of every farming household, their land and tools, all kinds of hired workers and craftsmen, the reference output each year, and the rent and taxes owed. From now on, you will..."

"Whoa, Baron." Thales, whose head hurt from listening, had no choice but to interrupt him. "Do I need to, uh, remember all of these affairs?"

Baron Quentin only looked at him once and immediately understood the duke's current state of mind. He sighed softly.

"Every respectable family has a steward they trust to manage accounts and collect rent for the master, hire and supervise personnel, oversee labor, and take care of the master's clothing, food, residence, and travel. In fact, the larger the family, the more it needs a good steward. Damn it, Codro, do not let me see your men slacking off again!"

The palace steward needed only one second to switch seamlessly from earnest persuasion to blazing fury. He scolded the local estate steward, who broke into a cold sweat and turned back to roar at several hired workers hiding in the shade, chatting and pointing at Thales' group.

Steward Quentin turned back angrily.

"Trust me. From farmers to workers, from stewards to foremen, the people on these estates are lazy, cunning, crude, and sloppy at work, yet greedy, petty, arrogant, good at eating while avoiding work, deceiving those above and hiding from those below, racking their brains to do less work and take more money..."

"You must have the cunning wisdom of a fox and the strong authority of a lion to control this bunch of ingrates."

"It seems you are the truly indispensable person on this land," Thales said with considerable feeling, sincerely.

Baron Quentin coughed. His words were fearful and modest, but his face carried a trace of joy he could not hide.

"Oh, Your Highness, one must not say such things. I merely received the late king's trust."

"So, a steward?" Thales looked hopefully at the steward.

Quentin came back to himself.

"Oh, right. And we, you could say, are one of the stewards of the Jadestar royal family. For this, I need to know all the output, harvest, population, and labor of every inch and every bit of the royal family's lands and estates..."

Thales immediately followed the slope down.

"In that case, I believe that as someone newly arrived, I should not usurp the host's role. These affairs..."

Baron Quentin reacted extremely quickly.

"I understand completely. After all, Your Grace is busy with important matters..."

"Then everything shall continue as before. I will separately mark out the rent and taxes belonging to you, and have each estate steward and town mayor regularly send them to Star Lake Castle, including monthly grain, firewood, textiles... Of course, in terms of variety and refinement of food, clothing, and daily use, it cannot compare to Eternal Star City..."

Thales waved magnanimously, indicating that the Duke of Star Lake should share hardship with his subjects.

Seeing the prince's indifferent appearance, Quentin could not help sighing.

"In the future, perhaps there will be a mistress to manage these things for you. Unfortunately, you are the heir to the throne, and the future mistress is destined to be queen. Renaissance Palace, the capital, and the noble families of the entire country will be enough to keep her busy. She probably will not have time to handle such minor matters... You still need to find a suitable person..."

That said, in truth, there was not much for Thales to worry about, because Baron Quentin had already arranged everything before he came. The public and private taxes of the territories near Star Lake Castle, including land tax, head tax, hunting tax, trade tax, travel tax, and so on, had previously been collected and stored by the tax officers of the Tax Office. Starting this year, all would be transferred to Star Lake Castle.

It was just that the fief was limited. Overnight wealth was not worth dreaming about.

"I have no such extravagant hope. As long as I can scrape by with food and warmth."

Thales closed the thinnest account record with a headache.

"As long as no major trouble breaks out."

Faced with such an unambitious royal heir, Steward Quentin could not help sighing.

"I think, as long as you do not order the restoration of the right of first night, there should be none."

"Thank you, Steward."

Thales looked at this palace steward who had served his grandfather.

"I know. It was because you intentionally helped and accelerated the handover that I was able to take possession of this land so smoothly."

Baron Quentin paused.

He closed the account book and handed it to the other stewards, having all of them move away.

"Do you truly think I am the indispensable person of these lands, capable of deciding where they belong?"

Baron Quentin looked at Thales with a complicated gaze.

"I think he still cares about you."

Thales' smile stiffened.

"Perhaps."

Thales reached into his pocket and touched the ring, Kortaksa.

Its touch was cold, and the thorns pricked his hand.

"Perhaps."

He laughed softly and decisively pulled his hand away.