I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 508 Inspection and Fleet
The Votradnoy train station, the busiest transportation hub in the Kingdom of Bagnia, was shrouded in an unusually solemn atmosphere today.

The platform was cleared out and replaced by a cordon formed by soldiers in crisp Guards uniforms with stern expressions.

The air was thick with the smells of engine oil and coal steam, and an invisible, breathtaking tension.

Judge Jacques, who had been transferred from the Defence Force to the Imperial Guard, stood tall and straight like a poplar tree in front of the train that was about to become the King's special train.

The military judge's face, which still bore a hint of childishness, was now filled with a solemnity and sharpness that belied his age.

Jacques held a thick document in his hands, which was filled with the list of all the service personnel who would be accompanying the special train, their resumes, and security check records. His task now was to conduct the final and most thorough personnel screening before the special train departed.

"start."

Jacques' voice was not loud, but it carried clearly across the platform. Behind him, a dozen senior sergeants from the Military Affairs Department's Law Enforcement Division and Intelligence Bureau immediately sprang into action.

The verification process was rigorous yet swift.

Every train attendant, from experienced conductors and composed engineers to humble waiters and silent boiler operators, must have their identity badges checked again and answer random questions about their family background, work experience, and even recent contacts.

Jacques also boarded the train, his gaze sweeping over everyone's face, hands, and even the subtlest, almost imperceptible movements.

Under immense pressure, everyone serving on the royal train reacted differently: some were nervous, some excited, some composed, and some fearful…

Jacques saw the first person who was afraid; he was a boiler worker.

The boiler operator's name was Olsen, and his records showed he had a clean background and was highly skilled.

However, when Jacques walked up to him, this burly man, who should have been used to high temperatures and heavy physical labor, had fine beads of cold sweat on his forehead, unrelated to the temperature of the boiler room.

As he handed over his identification badge, his fingers trembled slightly, and his eyes instinctively avoided Jacques's sharp scrutiny.

"Mr. Olson."

Jacques' voice was steady, devoid of emotion.

“Serving on the royal train is a great honor, but it also means an absolute responsibility. I have reviewed your record, and it is impeccable. But please tell me, you seem a little nervous?”

"Sir... Commander."

Olsen swallowed, his voice a little dry.

"Yes, yes. The thought of serving His Majesty the King makes me... I can't help but feel excited, and I'm also a little afraid of making a mistake."

This explanation sounds reasonable, and many ordinary people would have a similar reaction when facing an important occasion for the first time.

But Jacques' gaze fell on Olsen's hands, which were covered with calluses and burn scars. At that moment, these hands, which should have been as steady as a rock, were unnaturally gripping the seams of his work pants, his knuckles white from excessive force.

"understand."

Jacques nodded, his tone softening, but his gaze remained fixed on her.

"As a routine matter, please describe the boiler area you are responsible for. When was the last comprehensive overhaul? Who was responsible for signing off on it?"

The question is both professional and normal.

Olsen was clearly very familiar with the business; he recited the maintenance date and the engineer's name almost reflexively, exactly as recorded in the documents in Jacques's hand.

However, just as he finished answering and seemed to breathe a slight sigh of relief, Jacques suddenly and seemingly casually added a question.

"Very good. So, after the maintenance was completed, did you personally conduct a follow-up inspection of the pressure valves and coal conveying pipelines?"

What are the specific procedures?

This question is somewhat beyond the scope of a boiler operator's regular duties, but it is not unreasonable for a special train worker to be asked about the details.

Olsen was clearly taken aback, a hint of panic flashing in his eyes. He opened his mouth, and although his answer was mostly correct, it lacked fluency and even contained a few minor slips of the tongue that did not conform to professional standards.

Jacques listened quietly without interrupting.

He noticed that as Olsen answered, his gaze unconsciously drifted towards the middle of the train... the area where the dining car and the king's private carriage connected.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Olson. Please return to your post and make sure the boiler is operating perfectly."

Jacques ultimately didn't delve into it, but simply gave the order.

"Yes, yes, sir!" Olsen felt as if he had been granted a pardon. He almost staggered back two steps before turning around and walking quickly toward his boiler room, his back stiff.

Jacques watched his retreating figure, and on the list in his hand, next to the name "Olsen," he made a tiny mark with symbols that only he could understand.

There are many kinds of fear. Awe of authority is one kind, but fear mixed with concealment and subconscious observation of environmental details is another kind... This boiler worker has something to hide.

"Someone, arrange for an engineer to conduct three comprehensive inspections of the middle section of the train. Also, take the boiler operator, Olsen, away and replace him with someone else."

"Yes."

Olsen might not have a problem; he might just be unconsciously nervous. But Jacques wouldn't take the risk, and he wouldn't gamble on it. Even if Olsen really was fine, he would have to replace him with a more reliable worker.

After making the arrangements, Jacques continued to inspect the train and the staff.

Half an hour later, Jacques discovered the second suspicious point: a waitress named Irene. She was young and beautiful, well-mannered, and answered questions fluently and almost impeccably. She was in charge of the service in the most central area of ​​the train, the King's temporary study and the adjacent salon.

In stark contrast to the strained performance of boiler worker Olsen, Eileen's performance was flawless.

She smiled and handed over her identification documents. When answering Jacques' questions about the work process and emergency plan, her voice was clear and articulate, and she even specified the exact timing of each step.

She stood gracefully, her hands clasped in front of her, her fingertips steady, her gaze calm as she met Jacques's, showing no sign of panic.

However, it was precisely this excessive perfection that aroused Jacques's vigilance.

Even ordinary waiters, despite their rigorous training, would inevitably experience a moment of instinctive hesitation or emotional fluctuation when faced with such meticulous and even slightly oppressive questioning from a military judge.

But Eileen was different. Her answers flowed as if she were reciting a well-known text, and her composure seemed more like a carefully rehearsed performance.

Jacques's gaze swept over her slender fingers seemingly casually.

The nails are trimmed neatly and rounded, in accordance with regulations.

But when he asked how to deal with unexpected situations that might occur in the study, such as ink spills or scattered documents, Eileen unconsciously and very slightly twitched her right index finger and thumb as she described the cleaning process, as if simulating the action of pinching some small object.

The movement was so fleeting, so fast, that it was almost an illusion.

"Miss Eileen, your resume shows that you worked at the Silver Lily Café in town before joining the railway service?"

Jacques then changed the subject, asking a question that seemed unrelated to the security check.

"Yes, sir, I've been working here for almost two years."

Eileen answered quickly, her smile still sweet.

"It's a very nice coffee shop, known for its exquisite latte art and quiet atmosphere."

Jacques spoke in a calm tone, as if he were having a casual conversation.

“I remember their boss, Ms. Margaret, was very strict with her employees, especially in terms of demeanor.”

Eileen's eyes flickered almost imperceptibly, but her smile remained unchanged.

"You're right, Ms. Margaret is indeed a meticulous manager."

Jacques nodded and didn't ask any further questions.

But he knew in his heart that the Silver Lily Café did exist, and the proprietress was indeed named Margaret, but it was a place that mainly entertained literary scholars and did not particularly emphasize the rigid etiquette of waiters. It was more famous for its collection of books and music than for its latte art.

Most importantly, this shop was run by a royal guard, and a woman at that. So, Jacques knew a bit about the café. He deliberately misrepresented a detail, and Eileen confirmed the error almost without thinking.

There are two possibilities.

Either she didn't actually work at Silver Lily and her resume was fake, or she underwent rigorous interrogation resistance training and tended to quickly give a positive answer to any question aimed at verifying her identity in order to maintain the stability of her persona, while ignoring the authenticity of the details.

Either way, it means the problem is serious.

Jacques didn't expose her on the spot, but instead made a mark next to Eileen's name on the list that was even deeper than Olsen's mark.

He calmly ended his conversation with Eileen, instructing her to serve him diligently.

As he turned to leave, Jacques whispered an order to the intelligence officer beside him.

"Prepare a reliable replacement and have her take her place. At the same time, arrest Eileen and hand her over to the court for trial."

The sergeant accepted the order and left.

Jacques gazed at the luxurious train lying quietly on the tracks, the sunlight shining on its gleaming surface, reflecting a cold light.

The journey has not yet begun, but the battle in the shadows has already begun.

The boiler operator might be a minor figure who has been bribed or coerced, but this flawless waitress, Eileen, is definitely not.

……

While Bagnia was making intensive preparations for the king's arrival, a major event was happening to players far away on Casarina Island.

The player thought Governor Almeida had died at the hands of the snake people, but he has returned alive.

How did he survive?

After the officers of the Macon Union led the players to recapture the town of Casarina, this bastard returned on an armed merchant ship.

This alone clearly tells the player what this guy did when the snake people attacked.

What's even more infuriating is that Almeida not only lives, but lives a remarkably glamorous life.

He was not on a dilapidated ship fleeing in disarray, but on the well-equipped, gleaming armed merchant ship, the Sea Fox.

The flag flying at the bow of the ship wasn't even a white flag representing escape, but rather his family's coat of arms, fluttering in the sea breeze, as if he weren't a cowardly deserter, but a triumphant hero.

As the Sea Fox slowly entered the ruined port of Casarina, Almeida stood in the most conspicuous position at the bow.

He wore a brand-new scarlet velvet cloak over a crisply pressed governor's uniform. His face showed no trace of the weariness of his wanderings; on the contrary, it was radiant. He held his chin high and surveyed the players and survivors hiding in the mercenary camp below with a gaze that was a mixture of pity and arrogance.

As soon as the ship docked, Almeida stepped onto the rubble-strewn pier, surrounded by a group of well-dressed private guards whose equipment was clearly superior to that of the island's garrison, before the gangplank was fully in place.

Ignoring the astonished, disdainful, and even increasingly angry looks from the surrounding players, he cleared his throat and began his performance in his usual affected, pretentious voice:

"My loyal people, brave Bagnian warriors!"

He spread his arms wide, making an exaggerated gesture.

"Thanks Hermes, I, Almeida, the governor of Casalina, have returned from hell!" He recounted a "thrilling" story with great emotion.

How he "heroically" covered the rear during the snake people's frenzy, how he "unfortunately" got separated from the main force, how he "went through countless hardships" at sea, and finally "persuaded" the captain of the passing "Sea Fox" to collect "precious" supplies, and "eagerly" returned to the island he "worried about day and night".

"Look!"

He pointed to several crates of supplies being unloaded from the merchant ship... mainly rum, silk, and his personal luxury items, with only a small amount of weapons and food of mediocre quality mixed in.

"I have not forgotten you, I bring hope for reconstruction!"

This shameless performance drew disdain from the players present. No one was a fool to believe this guy's nonsense, not even the NPCs.

But it's alright, Almeida believes, and that's enough.

No matter how much players despise him, Almeida remains the governor of Casarina.

Then, the first thing this despicable governor did upon returning to Casarina was not to rebuild the docks, timber factories, and shipyards to serve passing merchant ships, but to demand the special snake-man from the Bagnian mercenaries.

It's obvious that someone leaked the information.

As for who it was, it was obviously the players. With so many people and so many opinions, coupled with the chaotic nature of players, this incident was almost inevitable.

Perhaps a player let slip the secret while bragging to an NPC, or perhaps someone deliberately informed the Macon people of this matter in secret to make the plot more confusing and dramatic.

Of course, BuShuangBuWan and Olaf wouldn't stand for such a thing. They immediately rejected the Maconians' proposal and told them that it was their spoils of war and had nothing to do with the Maconian Alliance.

The Maconians were certainly unwilling to let the matter rest, but they clearly dared not clash with the Bagnian mercenaries, simply because the most powerful group on the island right now was the players.

Almeida proposed that he wanted to buy the snake-man with money.

Still no use.

Just as Almeida decided to use the final means, an unexpected event occurred: a fleet that did not belong to the Macon Alliance arrived outside Casarina Island.

One morning, a sharp, distorted shout suddenly came from the port watchtower, drawing the attention of the dock workers who were hammering wood and repairing the dock.

"A ship is coming... no, a fleet, a fleet that doesn't belong to the Macon Alliance!"

The lookout's shout was like ice water thrown into boiling oil, causing everyone on the dock to instinctively stop what they were doing and turn to look westward at the horizon.

As everyone watched, initially, only a few blurry black dots appeared where the sea met the sky, but soon, these black dots magnified at an astonishing speed, revealing clear and breathtaking outlines.

This is a massive and awe-inspiring fleet.

Leading the way were three enormous warships, which resembled three moving, wooden-armored mountains, slowly pressing down on Casarina Island.

These three ships, resembling small mountains, had extremely deep drafts, and their sides were densely packed with three layers of gun ports. Even with the gun ports tightly closed, the nearly one hundred dark, square openings exuded a silent threat of death.

On the towering mast, the white sails, like the wings of a giant eagle, are filled with wind, propelling this behemoth of steel and oak forward through the waves.

The Baghnia Royal Flag fluttering on the bow... the double-headed eagle flag, dazzling in the sunlight, proclaims undisputed sovereignty and power.

Surrounding these three behemoths were several smaller but equally capable frigates, agile and fast patrol ships, bimasted schooners for reconnaissance and communications, and transport ships carrying supplies and marines.

These twelve ships, like stars surrounding the moon, encircled the three battleships, forming a disciplined and aggressive naval formation.

The visual impact and psychological shock brought about by the appearance of this fleet were overwhelming.

Compared to them, Governor Almeida's armed merchant ship, the "Sea Fox," which he had once been quite proud of, now seemed as insignificant as a toy next to a giant whale, appearing both pitiful and laughable.

For the members of the Macon Union, this scene was like a nightmare.

The news spread like wildfire, carried by galloping horsemen, quickly reaching the town of Casarina and the command post in the dock area.

Soon, a chaotic and rapid sound of hooves and footsteps came from the main road leading to the dock.

Several officers of the Macon Union, accompanied by a small number of soldiers, arrived breathlessly at the dock. Their faces turned ashen when they saw the formation of steel behemoths on the sea.

The officer in charge of the Macon was the commander who had previously assisted in "recapturing" the town. At this moment, his forehead was covered in cold sweat, and his lips were trembling slightly.

He knew better than anyone what the arrival of this fleet meant... This was by no means simple support, but a direct manifestation of the will of the Kingdom of Bagnia.

However, in his mind, Casarina Island was a colony of the Macon Union (and for a fleet of such size from the Kingdom of Bagnia to arrive at the port without any notification or consultation was clearly a blatant act of aggression!).
Add to that the formidable and unruly Bagnian mercenaries on the island, and a terrifying thought exploded in his mind.

This is an armed occupation orchestrated from within and without!
Upon thinking of this, the Macon officer's face turned from white to pale, and his body swayed slightly involuntarily, almost losing his balance.

The soldiers behind him exchanged bewildered glances, gripping their weapons tightly until their knuckles turned white, their faces filled with fear and despair.

Faced with those three battleships that were like sea fortresses, their small force wouldn't even be enough to fill the enemy's teeth.

At this moment, the most dramatic figure... Governor Almeida also rushed to the dock with his guards.

When Almeida saw the huge double-headed eagle flag, he was stunned for a moment, and then a fear that was even greater than that of the officer from Macon, almost terrifying, instantly seized his heart.

Almeida had obviously thought of the same problem as the officer, and what was even more serious was that just two days ago he had slightly offended those Bagnian mercenaries because of the snake people.

If the other people on the island still have a chance to surrender and survive, then after surrendering, the only thing that awaits me is the gallows.

Just as panic was spreading, a nimble communications boat from the fleet detached from the main body and sped toward the dock.

Soon the small boat docked, and a young man in a crisp blue officer's uniform nimbly jumped onto the pier. He ignored the pale-faced, apprehensive officer from Macon, scanned the area, and finally fixed his gaze on the almost paralyzed Governor Almeida.

The latter's governor's robes were too ornate and too obvious.

The officer gave Almeida a standard military salute, his voice clear and loud.

"Excuse me, are you His Excellency Governor Almeida of Casarina Island?"

Almeida was startled and almost reflexively straightened up, stammering as she answered.

"It's...it's me...this...this Governor..."

The officer forced himself to ignore his lapse in composure and continued speaking loudly.

"By order of the Naval Ministry of the Kingdom of Bagnia, the First Fleet of the Kingdom of Bagnia has come to receive the mercenaries who have suffered heavy losses and transport them back to their country."

This is an order from His Majesty King Chris. Vice Admiral Marlowe, Commander of the First Fleet, will subsequently land on the island to meet with Your Excellency.

The officer's words were like a boulder thrown into stagnant water, yet the ripples they created presented a completely different picture.

For the Macon officer, the words "rescue the mercenaries back home" were like a pardon, quickly dispelling the terrifying image of "armed occupation" from his mind.

Although the Bagnian fleet's unannounced arrival at the port was still an impolite and alarming act, at least their apparent intention was to evacuate their citizens rather than invade, which gave him room to breathe and negotiate.

The officer's pale face regained a little color, and his tense shoulders relaxed, but the wariness in his eyes had not completely disappeared; he needed to observe further.

For Governor Almeida, however, these words were like a cold key, instantly unlocking the floodgates of his fear.

To repatriate mercenaries?
Doesn't that mean that these lawless, wicked, and corrupt officials who have something on him are about to be taken away?
Before they left, would... would they tell the vice admiral about his desertion and attempt to seize the spoils of war?

The thought that a general from another country might know about his shameful deeds made Almeida's legs go weak, and he almost collapsed on the spot.

His fat twitched, forcing out a smile that looked more like a grimace, as he stammered in response.

"Ah...yes, yes...welcome...welcome General Marlowe...this governor will...will certainly give you a warm welcome..."

There are some differences between a scandal being known by one's own people and being known by foreign leaders. In the former case, things can still be managed to some extent, but in the latter case, it means that things are heading in the wrong direction.

The communications officer ignored the governor's lapse in composure, saluted again, and then turned back to the small boat to report to the flagship.

The time that followed seemed to stretch out and then shorten for different people on the dock.

In a tense yet expectant atmosphere, the battleships of the Kingdom of Bagnia's First Fleet slowly sailed into the depths of the harbor, casting a huge shadow over the entire dock area.

Of the three battleships, the largest, flying the lieutenant general's flag, slowly pulled into the largest berth, making the armed merchant ships next to it suddenly look rather small.

As the gangplank was lowered, squads of well-equipped and disciplined Baghnia Marines in blue uniforms were the first to step onto the dock, quickly and orderly taking over the guard duties at key positions.

Their movements were clean and efficient, a stark contrast to the laxity of the Macon soldiers and the bluster of the Almeida Guard. This silent display was more intimidating than any words.

Then, surrounded by several high-ranking officers, Vice Admiral Marlowe, the fleet commander, appeared.

He was a tall, stern-faced young soldier with meticulously trimmed, dyed black hair and gleaming medals on his dark blue uniform.

Maroch, now a naval general, glanced at the nervous Macon officer, then at the obsequious and fearful Almeida, and finally seemed to linger for a few seconds on the group of Bagnian mercenary players gathered in the distance, curiously watching.

Governor Almeida practically scrambled forward to greet him, his face plastered with the most humble smile.

"General Marlowe, welcome to Casarina. Your presence truly brings honor to this long-suffering island. On behalf of..."

Lieutenant General Marlowe abruptly interrupted his lengthy flattery.

"Your Excellency, let's put aside the pleasantries for now. I have been ordered to come here with the primary task of ensuring the safe evacuation of some of our Bagnian citizens, namely the soldiers who have been hired here."

Please arrange for me to meet with their representative immediately and assist us with personnel registration and boarding preparations.

He didn't mention the snake people or ask about the specific situation on the island; instead, he went straight to the point.

Yes! Yes! Of course!

Almeida readily agreed, secretly relieved that he could get away with it for the time being. He immediately turned to his men.

"Quickly, go find...go and invite the leader of those mercenaries over!"

At the same time, the arrival of this fleet caused an uproar among the players.

Olaf, along with the others who quickly arrived, looked at the powerful fleet and the imposing vice admiral, realizing that the game's storyline might be about to undergo a major advancement.

"Looks like the main quest has been updated?"

Olaf stroked his chin and turned to look at the grumpy guy next to him.

"I remember you have enough redemption points. Are you going back home with the fleet, or will you stay here and continue the storyline of digging for snakes?"

If he was unhappy and didn't want to play, he would stare at Lieutenant General Marlowe, seemingly lost in thought.

"Such a big fuss, just to pick us up?"
I don't think things are that simple; that snake-man is probably the key to the main plot.

In any case, the power of the Kingdom of Bagnia has been truly deployed to this remote island, and the original fragile balance has been completely broken.

Almeida's calculations, the concerns of the Macon Alliance, and the players' choices will all lead to new unknowns in their upcoming meetings with this vice admiral.

The sea breeze at the dock remains the same, but the aura of power has subtly shifted.

(End of this chapter)