Chapter 191: The New King’s Bared Teeth
Petrov sipped his black tea, settled deeper into the lord’s chair, and let out a long breath.
Two months since the takeover of Longsong Stronghold, and he was discovering, to his own mild surprise, that he liked the hall more with every passing week. The stepped construction was the key — the way it let him look down the length of the room from the lord’s seat, the assembled officials and attendants arranged below like figures in a counting-house ledger. Power had a geometry. He was beginning to understand it.
The first month had been turbulent. A handful of minor nobles had tried the usual gambits: open questioning, whispered riot-plots, the usual undercurrent stirred from behind by the Elk, Wolf, and several other large families. Following his father’s advice, Petrov had delivered the worst offenders — serfs and backstreet provocateurs — directly to the gallows, while the nobles were imprisoned, ransomed, and expelled from the Western Territory. The method had the cold efficiency of a good blade: applied once, and the wound did not reopen.
With the exception of the Honeysuckle family, the knights of every other family sat behind bars in Border Town. There was no one left to build resistance around. Afterward, he had guided interest with the lighter hand — announcing that the stronghold would compensate the great families for losses during the seizure, drawing them into a circle of shared stake.
Thirty percent of the stronghold’s income flowed north to Border Town. The remaining seventy was divided: thirty to keep the city running, twenty to placate the noble families, twenty invested in the Hull territory.
On the wall behind the lord’s seat, Duke Ryan’s portrait had come down the first week. The fourth prince’s face now looked out over the hall — Roland Wimbledon, young and unremarkable in profile, whatever the painter had tried to do. Petrov found his gaze going to it sometimes. One day, he thought, it will be mine.
When the Hull family truly held Longsong Stronghold — not as administrators but as the Dukes it was shaping them to become — the taxes spent appeasing other nobles could be redirected into trade, and the thirty percent flowing north could become something renegotiated rather than owed. The fifty percent now spent on appeasement, recaptured, could compound into something generational.
The premise for all of it was Roland Wimbledon surviving long enough to take the throne of Graycastle.
“My lord.” One of his guards entered and crossed the floor with a letter. “News from Border Town.”
Petrov straightened immediately.
The envelope was cheap — the kind a serf would manage. When he unfolded the papyrus inside, the poor quality confirmed it: one of the men he’d slipped into Border Town disguised as artisans or farmhands, writing by charcoal in stolen moments. The letter showed water damage. Someone had written this in hiding, probably in the rain, probably pressed close against a wall.
He’d dispatched several confidants two months ago when the true scale of the Duke’s defeat became clear. Each had a task: embed, observe, report. They were all supposed to be knowledgeable — knights in borrowed clothes, not real serfs. But so far only two of the “serfs” had reported back. The “craftsmen” and “herders” had gone silent, as if the town had swallowed them. Betrayed by their own will, or found out and removed?
He set the question aside and read.
The first paragraph described towers being built along the Redwater River — three of them already standing, each as tall as the stronghold’s walls, with massive iron vessels mounted at the top. The blacksmiths had forged the iron pot in town, then transported it whole to the site. The First Army had stood around one such tower with their backs to the iron vessel, and on the following day the tower had been raised — the word used was the same one that kept appearing in these letters: building.
Always building. Last time it had been roads and a bridge. Before that, the river dock. What were towers with iron pots for? His men were supposed to be capable of identifying a watchtower at first glance, but the towers hadn’t been completed yet, so he could not say for certain. He noted it for next month’s report.
The second paragraph: a large merchant fleet of unknown ownership had anchored at Border Town’s dock for a week, then departed east. They had offloaded ore and saltpeter. The saltpeter he could explain — summer heat, cooling drinks, the usual royal comforts. But ore? Border Town sat at the foot of the Impassable Mountain Range and had its own mine. Before the Months of Demons, the prince had boasted he would double production. And now the town was importing ingots?
Petrov frowned at the page. Iron towers with unknown purpose and ore flowing in rather than out. He could not make the picture cohere.
Then the last paragraph.
He read it twice to be certain.
Border Town had been holding open-air theater performances in the town square. No admission charged. The drama’s title was unheard of. They were encouraging serfs to attend. And one of the performers — confirmed by his source, who had seen her face clearly — was Miss May. The Star of the West. Missing from Longsong Stronghold for weeks, cause unknown, theater management evasive.
She had gone to Border Town. To perform in front of serfs.
The stronghold’s theater had been in crisis since her disappearance. Three productions left empty at the leading role. Nobles walking out mid-act to register their protest. And here she was — at the edge of the known world, standing on a square stage built for farm workers.
Petrov rubbed his jaw. He should write to His Royal Highness. Formally. As a theater enthusiast — and he genuinely was — he could claim the news had reached him through merchant gossip, a peddler returned from the western road. Nothing in the letter that would expose his embedded scouts.
He was reaching for paper when the door opened.
“My lord.” The knight who entered was already moving fast. “A message from the east gate. A company of knights is approaching the stronghold.”
Petrov came to his feet. “The flag?”
“Tower and two pikes, my lord. If they’re not impostors — they’re flying the new king’s colors.”
The tea had gone cold. He set the cup down very carefully.
Timothy.
Chapter 191 The new King’s bared teeth
Petrov sipped the black tea, leaned against the soft lord chair, and let go of a long sigh of relief.
Two months had passed since the takeover of Longsong Stronghold, and by now he discovered that he liked the hall more and more. It’s step-by-step ascending structure allowed him to overlook the lower standing officials and attendants from the Lord’s seat, having such power in his grip let him have a feeling of satisfaction.
During the first month, some small aristocrats stepped out and openly questioned him or secretly planned riots and such things – of course, the people who provoked them from behind the scene came from Elk, Wolf, and several other big families. Following his father’s advice, Petrov delivered the commoners who created trouble or belonged to the underground rats directly to the gallows, while the small nobles were imprisoned and after their family paid the ransom were expelled from the Western Territory.
When this method was put into practice and thunder like struck down on them, the situation soon subsided. After all, with the exception of the Honeysuckle Family, the Knights of several other families had been arrested and brought to Border Town. Making it impossible for them to build up any resistance against Petrov’s policies. Afterward, he again guided the interest by announcing that the stronghold shall compensate the big families for their loss during the seizure, in this way forming a stable group of nobles who all shared a common interest.
With the exception of the 30% which had been transferred to Border Town, the remaining 70% of the stronghold’s income were split into three sections. 30% were used to keep the city operating, 20% were used to appease the other noble families, and the remaining 20% were invested into the Hull’s territory.
Nowadays, the old portrait of Duke Ryan that had hung behind the lord’s seat was exchanged with a picture of the 4th Prince, Roland Wimbledon, but he already looked forward to the day when it was exchanged with one of himself – a portrait of Petrov Hull.
In case he thoroughly took possession of Longsong Stronghold, they could turn the tax used to operate the city and the one invested into their own territory into one, becoming truly worthy of the name of a dukedom. And the 50% which were used to appease the other nobles could also be saved. Instead, it could then be invested in the stronghold’s trade, in exchange generating an even higher income for themselves.
Of course, the premise for all of this was that Roland Wimbledon could conquer the throne and rule as King of the Kingdom of Graycastle.
“My Lord,” one of his guards entered the Lord’s Hall and handed him a letter, “It contains news from Border Town.”
When Petrov heard that the letter had come from Border Town, he immediately straightened the way he sat.
He received the envelope and took a fragile piece of papyrus from it. From the poor quality of the letter, he could immediately recognize that it was from one of his eyes within the ranks of the serfs.
The outcome of the battle two months ago could be said to be an outrageous result. Although Petrov hadn’t personally taken part in it, he still had heard a fantastic story from his father. In order to find out the reasons for the Duke’s failure, he had dispatched some of his confidants to Border Town. They would pretend to be artisans, herdsman or serfs, and send all the information they had gathered back to the stronghold.
He firmly believed that the others families had done the same.
But so far, each month he had only gotten information from the two people disguised as serfs. Those who had pretended to be craftsmen or herders hadn’t given any sound of their presence, as if they had vanished.
In the end had they betrayed him out of their own will, or were they discovered by the prince who totally removed them?
He shook his head, instead focusing his attention on the letter.
The content of the letter was written with charcoal and also crookedly written. In some places it even had some traces of water, indicating that it had been written sneakingly while working.
The first paragraph was about how they were building a tower with an unknown purpose at the shore of the Redwater River. At present, they had already erected three of these bases which had a height close to that of the stronghold’s city walls and on top of each of those bases, they had placed an enormous metal pot. It seemed that the blacksmiths had constructed the metal pot in town. Afterward transporting it to the river as a whole piece. Then the First Army would surround the iron tower and standing with their back to the iron pot, and on the next day, the tower was magically erected.
“Building”… it’s again this word, Petrov thought, it was also mentioned in the previous secret letter, just looking at that information it seems that the Prince is always building something. Last time he had repaired the roads and constructed that bridge, this time he is building that iron tower. Could it be that His Highness is spending all of those gold royals he had plundered from Longsong Stronghold in one go? Furthermore, the function of those towers is still unknown… even though my scouts who are disguised as serfs are not real serfs, but in actuality are knowledgeable knights, so in case that those towers were watchtowers, they would able to see it by the first glance.
Probably those towers are still not entirely built yet, making it difficult to judge their purpose. Petrov shook his head. I should wait until next month, maybe I will get more detailed information then.
He shifted his gaze to the next paragraph.
There he read that for a week a large-scale merchant fleet of an unknown owner had stayed in the town’s dock and afterward left eastwards. During their stay, a lot of ore and saltpeter were also unloaded from the ships.
The purchase of saltpeter is easy to understand, after all the second month of the summer will usually become very hot, and because of this, the castle will consume a significant amount of saltpeter for cooling. Furthermore, it can also be used for cold drinks and fruit juice. As a royal aristocrat, the Prince certainly doesn’t want to sweat all day, like the peasants on the fields are.
But the purchase of ingots totally surprised Petrov. After all, Border Town was a source for ore all on its own. I can still remember, prior to the Months of Demons, when I was sent as a messenger to Border Town, Prince Roland had exaggeratedly said that they would be able to double the amount of ore they could sell. But now, the result was that not only didn’t they export ore, but had now they are also importing ingots?
This, together with those city wall high like iron towers, meant that Petrov himself was now more and more unable to understand what His Royal Highness wanted to accomplish.
But when Petrov read the last paragraph of the secret letter the contents immediately left Petrov stunned.
In the last two weeks, Border Town had held several open-air theater performances at the town square?
They didn’t sell tickets, and the drama’s name was also unheard of. Moreover, they were even encouraging the serfs to go watch. But the most surprisingly part was that one of the performers was the recently vanished Star of the West, Miss May!
What kind of situation is this?
That Miss May had gone missing was the biggest news of recent times. Several of the dramas in which she should have played the leading role, were now played by others, and because of this the nobles had all left halfway through to express their protest. And when they demanded an answer, the theater claimed that Miss May had left without any explanation, and that her whereabouts were currently unknown. When the news had become public, it had caused an uproar among the drama-loving nobles of the Western Territory.
In the end, she went to Border Town? They don’t have there any theaters! Furthermore, to be playing in front of civilians and serfs… Petrov’s had some difficulty imagining such a picture in his mind since the impression he had gotten from Miss May was that she wasn’t a amiable or an approachable actor.
After carefully thinking about it, he decided to write a letter to His Royal Highness Roland Wimbledon, officially inquiring about this matter. As a theater enthusiast himself, in the past months he had been unable to see the fantastic performance of the Star of the West, not to mention getting the chance to personally invite her. Since the drama was a public performance at the town square, it wouldn’t be too surprising for it to be seen by a peddler who might have come from Longsong Stronghold, and this could be given as the reason for this the news to have reached his ear – doing it this way, he won’t expose his knights who are disguised as serfs.
As soon as Petrov was ready to have one of his attendants draft the text, a Knight rushed into the hall, and hurriedly said, “My Lord, we have a message from the guards at the East Gate, a team of knights are nearing the stronghold!”
“Knights? Were they able to tell who must have sent them?” He suddenly stood.
“The other side is holding up a flag with a tower and two pikes on it, Sir,” the Knight replied, “In case they aren’t pretenders, they must be from the new King’s forces.”