Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

Chapter 108 Alfred

Lance landed in the courtyard, his feet barely touching the ground before he took two steps...

The door was pushed open.

Cielsa stood in the doorway, her violet eyes looking at him, a faint smile on her lips.

"Lord Lance, you're back! I'll go prepare lunch for you."

Lance looked at her: "Aren't you going to ask me what I did last night?"

Cielsa shook her head and turned to walk towards the kitchen.

"That doesn't need asking," her voice drifted from the kitchen. "Lord Lance is adept at everything he does."

Lance paused for a moment, then smiled, returned to the living room, sat down in a chair, and put the dozing Little Black on the sofa.

Before long, the steaming hot food was served: golden-brown bacon, perfectly runny fried eggs, and freshly baked white bread, filling the whole house with its aroma.

Little Black was awakened by the aroma. Still half asleep, he jumped off the sofa, wobbled over to the dining table, and looked up at Lance.

"Master, I want to eat too..."

Lance tore off a small piece of bacon and handed it to him. Little Black took it in one bite, chewed it, swallowed it, then his eyes lit up and he tilted his head back.

"Master, another one."

Sissa, watching from the side, couldn't help but laugh: "Little Black is really becoming more and more like a human."

"That's right." Lance tore off another piece and handed it over. "Level 4 magical pet, 18 intelligence points, smarter than most people."

"That includes me, right?" Cielsa sighed.

Little Black swished its tail triumphantly.

After finishing his meal, Lance leaned back on the sofa and let out a long sigh.

Cielsa sat down next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

Little Black jumped onto the sofa.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a golden hue on the floor.

Quiet, warm, and comfortable.

"It's the perfect time to sleep!"

Lance squinted, feeling a little sleepy and wanting to go to bed.

'Humans are so strange,' Little Black thought to himself. 'Why sleep during the day? Don't they sleep at night?'

But it doesn't care.

As long as the owner is happy.

……

In the afternoon, at the city lord's mansion, Graham was sitting in his study, looking at the details of the current war preparedness situation.

He pondered for a moment, then suddenly stood up and said to the guard at the door, "Go and invite Master Lance here. Tell him I have something important to discuss."

The guard obeyed and left.

Half an hour later, Lance appeared at the city lord's mansion looking displeased.

"What is it?" he asked. "I was sleeping."

Graham chuckled, pressed him into a chair, and poured him a glass of wine himself.

"Master Lance, there's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Lance picked up his glass and took a sip. "Speak."

Graham sat down opposite him and pushed the battle report in front of him.

"I want to spread the word about your victory last night throughout the city."

Lance raised an eyebrow: "Why?"

"To boost morale," Graham said. "The city is in a state of panic right now, all afraid that the Sassanids will attack. If they knew that we have a hero who single-handedly wiped out three thousand of their cavalry and burned two hundred carts of supplies, their morale would surely soar."

Lance thought for a moment and nodded: "Okay, you handle it."

Graham's eyes lit up: "You agree?"

"Hmm." Lance stood up. "There's nothing to disagree with."

Graham laughed heartily, "Very well, thank you so much!"

Lance waved his hand, picked up Little Black, and left.

After he left, Graham immediately summoned his messengers.

"Go and spread the news throughout the city."

Graham stood at the gates of the city lord's mansion and addressed dozens of messengers, "Tell everyone—last night, the mage Lance penetrated deep behind enemy lines, killing Sassanid Kingdom's vanguard general Redmond Bloodaxe and three thousand cavalry, and burning two hundred carts of enemy supplies!"

The messengers' eyes widened.

"What are you waiting for? Go!"

"yes!"

The messengers mounted their horses and galloped out of the city lord's mansion.

Soon, the news spread like wildfire, reaching every corner of Rield City.

"Have you heard? Mage Lance killed the enemy's vanguard general!"

"Two hundred cartloads of grain were burned! That's enough to feed tens of thousands of people for half a month!"

"My god, is Mage Lance that powerful?!"

"Of course! He's an elite-level mage! He even took down a cult before!"

"What a hero!"

"Absolutely a hero!"

In the streets and alleys, in taverns and teahouses, everyone was talking about it.

Some say Lance is a star descended from heaven, some say he is an emissary sent by the god of war, and others say he is a genius from a noble family with an extraordinary background.

The versions are becoming more and more numerous, and increasingly outrageous.

But there is one thing everyone agrees on—

Lance the mage is a hero of Rild City.

"I heard he's very young and extremely handsome."

People were talking about it.

"He's more than just good-looking! My cousin works as a maid at Silverlight's house, and she says that Mage Lance's face is even more beautiful than those elven princesses sung about by bards!"

"Really?"

"Of course it's true! My cousin said that when she first met Master Lance, she almost dropped the tray she was holding."

"Tsk tsk tsk, good-looking and so strong, how are we supposed to survive?"

"That's talent; you can't just envy it."

"Lord Lance burned their supplies and provisions, which will surely hinder their advance and buy us a lot of time!"

"Yes, long live Mage Lance!"

Someone shouted.

Then, more and more people joined in the chanting.

"Long live Mage Lance!"

Long live the heroes!

The sounds rose and fell, echoing in the sky above Rield.

……

For the next two days, Rield City descended into a peculiar frenzy.

The citizens discussed Reims's deeds during their leisure time, and the bards composed songs praising Reims overnight, which were sung everywhere in the taverns.

Some versions are more plausible, describing how Lance used the [Fireball] spell to blast away enemy troops; other versions are more outrageous, saying that Lance was actually a dragon in disguise who killed three thousand cavalrymen in one breath.

Lance himself did not respond to this.

He has been having a very pleasant time these past two days.

I sleep until I naturally wake up during the day, eat the food that Cielsa makes, and then sunbathe in the yard and play with Little Blackie.

Sometimes in the afternoon, Arya would bring Lillian over, ostensibly to "visit the hero," but really just to freeload a meal.

They're so wealthy and powerful, yet they still come to Lance's house to freeload. How awful!

Every time Lillian comes, she asks a bunch of questions about magic. After asking, she starts practicing swordsmanship. After practicing swordsmanship, she starts eating. After eating, she stays and doesn't want to leave.

Arya sat leisurely to one side, drinking the tea that Cecilia had brewed, occasionally chatting with Lance, her eyes always glancing at him unintentionally.

"Lord Lance is quite popular lately," Arya said with a smile, holding her teacup. "Your heroic deeds are being sung everywhere."

Lance reclined in his chair and said lazily, "Let them sing... By the way, should I charge them a royalties?"

Arya couldn't help but laugh.

Lillian was practicing her swordplay in the courtyard. Her fiery red twin ponytails swayed with her movements, and her face was tense as she took each move very seriously.

"Lillian has improved a lot recently," Lance glanced at her. "Her swordsmanship is much smoother than before."

"That's right." Arya's tone was tinged with pride. "Don't you know whose daughter she is?"

Lance glanced at her: "Can't you be a little more humble?"

"What is humility? Can you eat it?" Arya blinked.

Lance: "..."

Cielsa brought out a plate of cut fruit and placed it on the table.

"Lady Arya, please enjoy your meal."

Arya glanced at her and smiled, "Celsa is becoming more and more virtuous. Lord Lance is very fortunate."

Sissa smiled slightly: "That's only right."

Little Black darted out of the bushes, jumped onto the table, sniffed the fruit, and then turned to look at Lance.

"Master, I want to eat the red one."

Lance handed over a red fruit. Little Black snatched it in one bite, jumped onto the chair next to him, and slowly began to gnaw on it.

After Lillian finished practicing her sword, she ran over, covered in sweat, her little face flushed.

"Teacher! How was my swordsmanship just now?"

Lance glanced at her: "Not bad, keep it up!"

"whee……"

Lillian started practicing again.

Arya watched this scene with a complicated expression.

She discovered that Lillian was only this serious in front of Lance.

She usually practices swordsmanship, and although she tries hard, she's never this... dedicated.

"This child..."

She sighed inwardly.

Oh well, let her be.

……

This went on for more than ten days.

In the distance, on the northern horizon, billowing smoke and dust rose.

The smoke and dust covered the sky, like a giant gray wave.

Amidst the smoke and dust, the reflections of countless flags, spearheads, and armor could be vaguely seen.

That was a large army.

Lance narrowed his eyes, a thought forming in his mind.

[Third Ring Spell - Flight!]

He picked up Little Black and flew out of the window.

As we ascended to high altitudes, our view suddenly opened up.

On the northern plains, a dark mass of troops is marching.

The infantry formations were perfectly aligned, like moving black cubes; cavalry roamed the flanks, kicking up clouds of dust; and supply wagons followed behind, stretching for miles.

That number should be around 80,000 to 90,000.

Lance examined the flags closely—

The background is dark blue, with a golden crown embroidered on it, and below the crown are a crossed sword and a scepter.

That is the flag of the Kingdom of Eredland.

The crown represents royalty, the sword represents military power, and the scepter represents rule.

"Reinforcements have arrived."

Lance's lips curled up slightly.

Little Black peeked out from his arms, looking at the army stretching across the mountains, and whispered, "Master, there are so many people..."

"Hmm." Lance nodded. "At least 80,000."

Let's first take a look at what kind of person this commander is.

Lance, carrying Little Black, slowly descended to the city gate.

The city gates were wide open.

Graham and his men were already waiting at the door.

He was dressed exceptionally formally today—a full set of ceremonial armor, polished to a shine, his chest adorned with numerous medals, and the sword at his waist inlaid with gold and jewels, the kind he would normally be reluctant to use.

Behind him followed a group of nobles, all dressed in fine clothes, craning their necks to look north.

Arya stood slightly behind Graham, wearing a deep red evening gown and her fiery red hair styled into an elegant updo, revealing her slender neck and fair shoulders.

To be honest, he looks much better than those male nobles in armor.

When Lance landed, Graham's eyes lit up and he immediately went to meet him.

"Mage Lance! You've come too!"

Lance nodded: "With such a grand display, it would be a shame not to come and see."

Graham laughed heartily, "That's right! This is reinforcements from our Kingdom of Eriland, led by Prince Alfred, His Majesty the King's younger brother!"

Lance raised an eyebrow: "The level 13 warrior one?"

"You know?" Graham asked, somewhat surprised.

"Just a guess," Lance said. "The king's younger brother can't be too weak."

Graham nodded. "Indeed. Prince Alfred, a paragon of the Exemplary Rank. Moreover, he is steady in character, never reckless, and is one of the kingdom's most reliable generals."

As they spoke, the smoke and dust from the north drew ever closer.

The vanguard of the army is now clearly visible.

The entire force consisted of heavily armored cavalry, with horses clad in iron armor and riders in plate armor. Even the horses' faces were covered with protective gear, leaving only their eyes visible.

That aura alone is enough to make your legs go weak.

"Good heavens," Lance said softly, "they've brought out their entire fortune."

Graham chuckled. "Of course, His Majesty the King doesn't have a very good temper. The Sassanids will not fare well if they dare to launch an attack."

The vanguard of cavalry stopped 500 meters from the city gate, lined up in two rows, and made way for each other.

Then, the main force slowly approached.

At the very front were twelve professional riders.

Lance narrowed his eyes as the information surfaced—minimum level 11?

"Good heavens, twelve Exemplary Rank... What is the Kingdom of Eriland trying to do?"

In the center of the procession, a middle-aged man sat on a tall, pure white horse.

He looked to be in his early forties, with a robust but not bulky build, and wore a dark blue suit of armor.

His face was gentle, and his eyes were calm.

Alfred the Iron Crown.

Prince of the Kingdom of Eredland, younger brother of King Rex, level 13 warrior, peak of the Exemplary rank.

He rode his horse to the city gate and dismounted.

The movements were clean and efficient, without any unnecessary actions.

Graham immediately went to meet him and knelt down on one knee.

"Your Highness!"

The nobles behind them also knelt down in unison.

Alfred reached out and helped Graham up, laughing as he said, "Iron Fist, you haven't changed in years."

Graham stood up, grinning, and said, "Your Highness, you're still so young."

"Young my foot, I'm over forty." Alfred waved his hand, then looked at the nobles behind him. "Rise, all of you. No need for formalities."

The nobles then stood up.

Alfred's gaze swept across the crowd, finally landing on Lance.

There was no way around it; Lance's face was just too eye-catching.

With her long, silvery-white hair, sky-blue eyes, and delicate features, plus the rather lifelike little cat on her shoulder, she stands out in a crowd like a spotlight.

Alfred paused for a moment, then looked at Graham.

"Who is this?"

Graham immediately introduced, "This is Mage Lance, the one I mentioned to you."

Alfred's eyes widened slightly.

He stared at Lance, sizing him up.

very young.

Too young.

She looks to be at most seventeen or eighteen years old, or even younger.

Could someone like that kill Redmond Bloodaxe?

Redmond Bloodaxe, a level 11 warrior of the Exemplary rank, is a well-known figure in the Kingdom of Sassanid.

Even if he were to do it himself, it would take him quite a bit of effort to kill Redmond.

And this young man in front of me took down the other person all by himself?