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Chapter 862: Obstacles

In his mansion at Rock Ridge, Earl George Nery finally received the letter from the Western Region.

He broke the seal and read it once, quickly. His face clouded before he’d finished the first paragraph.

“What does it say?” asked a restless baron near him. On his chest he wore the kamon of the River God—the mark of the Levitan family, whose domain straddled river intersections and counted for something in the local hierarchy. His voice had the pitch of a man who had been waiting too long in a room with too many other anxious men.

There were over twenty nobles in the study. Nearly half the feudal lords surrounding Redwater City had gathered here.

George didn’t answer immediately. He glanced at the baron with cool disinterest, passed the letter to Guye Yurianne, Earl of Tririver, and waited for him to finish. Only then did he speak. “Roland Wimbledon has stripped the Willow Town lord of all authority and seized his domain.”

The room erupted.

“The new king—he actually did it?”

“What does he want? To take our titles, as we’ve been hearing?”

“How can he do that? My title comes from my grandfather’s grandfather!”

Someone said, half-hopeful: “Willow Town sits right on the Stronghold’s doorstep. It’s tiny. It doesn’t mean he’ll do the same to Redwater City.”

“Maybe he didn’t move on the king’s city earlier because he lacked the capacity. Perhaps we should wait and see.”

George let the noise run itself out, then cut it off with a short, contemptuous laugh. “Is Redwater City farther from the Western Region than the City of Evernight? Are your combined domains larger than the whole Northern Region?” He let the silence confirm the obvious. “You’re not blind and you’re not stupid, so stop pretending. Roland Wimbledon’s intention to strip every noble of power is not news. The Northern Region showed it. The businessmen have been hinting at it for a year. Willow Town just provided the written proof. And now you’re wondering whether you’ll be next?”

“Mind your language, Your Excellency.”

His bluntness had drawn frowns around the room. Guye waved a calming hand toward the Earl of Rock Ridge before the temperature could rise further.

“In fact,” Guye said, in his measured way, “I believe everyone here already understands that the new king is not an ordinary man. Everything he has done since arriving at Border Town has defied expectation. Judging him by old standards is pointless. I sent men to the Western Region. Roland Wimbledon does not conceal his intentions—he plans to abolish feudal power while leaving titles intact. This has become the stated mission of his reign, and the slogan has been posted openly in the city square.”

His voice had the effect of releasing pressure from the room, and the nobles settled.

“You may say,” he continued, “that Redwater City is not his domain. But Longsong Stronghold wasn’t his domain either, and neither was the Northern Region. Roland Wimbledon will be King of Graycastle. When that day comes, if he declares the entire kingdom his domain, what recourse do we have? And that day will come.” He paused. “If we lose our lands and our subjects, what do we have left?”

“But what can we do?” Baron Huth interrupted, his impatience bleeding through. “King Timothy was defeated. The church was defeated. Who else can stop him? When the Western Region army came through Redwater City last time, we saw them fight. Within sixty meters, the snow powder weapon is irresistible—even heavy-armored knights can’t close the distance. How do you resist that?”

Several voices agreed. The room began to fold toward despair.

“There is a solution,” George said, cold and precise. “The snow powder weapon is powerful, but it has a weakness. It needs open ground. The larger the space, the greater the effect. In a confined environment, its power is limited.”

“A confined—environment?”

“A lord’s castle, for example.” He let his gaze move deliberately around the room. “When Roland Wimbledon arrives at Redwater City, he will sleep in the castle. He will bring few guards—only a handful can be quartered inside. If we place enough of our own men there in advance, we hold the advantage of position.”

“Did Lord Delta agree to this?” Levitan asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

George shook his head with undisguised contempt. “You know his character. Point a sword at his throat and he still won’t resist. But he’s done me an unexpected favor—the castle is riddled with secret passages that open into the outer city. As long as we insert our men before Roland arrives, they won’t be found.”

“How did you learn of these passages?”

“Delta likes to dig. Has for years. I bribed the masons.” George allowed a thin smile. “A cautious man—or perhaps merely a frightened one—builds himself more than one door. I had originally planned to use those passages against Delta himself. They’ll serve just as well for Prince Roland.”

“But this is treason—” Huth muttered. “And if Roland dies, his army flattens us.”

“Who said anything about killing him?” George knocked the table once, hard. “We seize Roland Wimbledon alive. While he breathes, his army won’t risk a direct assault. We may even force them to withdraw entirely. Once word spreads that the new king has been captured, every noble in the kingdom who has been keeping his head down will have reason to act. Don’t forget: the Western Region is the only territory he truly controls. When the moment comes, it’s far from certain that the Duke of the Northern Region will continue to support him.”

“But after all, he is—”

“He has not been crowned.” Guye Yurianne cut in, calmly. “No coronation. No proclamation as king. We can select another Wimbledon—one who values the aristocracy and respects tradition—as our king. There are candidates in the king’s city, if we choose to look.”

“By that time,” George said, lowering his voice, “someone may well step forward before we need to search.” He let the implication settle. “And you know what the stakes are. Lose everything, or restore your family’s fortune. What exactly are you hesitating about?”

The calculation played out in plain sight across the room. The nobles he had summoned had backed Timothy; they were not men who would choose Roland willingly even without the conflict of interests. And the prospective gains—that was what pushed the cowardly ones across the threshold.

None of them, George reflected, were difficult to predict. Without leadership they were nothing—a rabble dressed in old crests. He was the only man here with the capacity to assume authority over Redwater City and manage the Central Region after.

After a moment, Levitan and several others arrived at their conclusions.

“What do we do next?”

“Transfer some of your reliable knights to my command,” George said. “Then wait.”

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