Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

Chapter 134 Sorry, I have a dual personality

A servant came and called Graham away from his daze.

The study door wasn't closed properly; it was left a crack.

Just as Graham was about to knock, he heard Alfred's voice from inside: "Come in."

He pushed open the door and went in. Alfred was sitting at his desk writing a letter, the quill scratching on the parchment.

He wrote very carefully, his brows furrowed slightly, as if he were carefully considering each word.

"Your Highness, you wanted to see me?"

"Um."

Alfred put down his pen, folded the letter, put it in the envelope, and sealed it with wax.

"Iron Fist," he said, looking at Graham, "I have something to tell you."

Graham straightened up. "You said."

"I intend to grant the city of Rield to Lance."

The study was quiet for a moment.

"That's really good."

Graham asked, "When?"

Alfred was taken aback. He had prepared a lot of things to say—to explain, comfort, and promise—and was even prepared for protests, but he didn't expect Graham to agree so readily.

"Aren't you going to ask why?" Alfred said with a smile. "You were originally in charge of Rield City."

"What's so interesting to ask?"

Graham shrugged. "This victory was largely thanks to him, and with his immense talent, I think he's a perfect fit."

He paused, scratched his head, and said, "Besides, this city originally belonged to the royal family. I'm just looking after it for them; I don't make the decisions."

"Now that the royal family wants to find it a real owner, what can I say?"

Alfred looked at him for a while, then smiled.

That smile held a hint of relief, but also a touch of emotion.

"Don't you even ask yourself where you're going?"

Graham grinned, revealing a set of white teeth. "Your Highness, you won't treat me unfairly."

Alfred walked over and patted him on the shoulder.

This time, he didn't hold back, and the slap made Graham's shoulder sway.

"How about the position of General of the Imperial Guards of the Capital, commanding all the Imperial Guards?"

Graham's smile froze on his face; his mouth remained open for a long time.

The position of Imperial Guard General is one that can only be held by a close confidant of the royal family.

"Your Highness, you're not joking with me, are you?" His voice trembled slightly.

"When have I ever joked with you?"

"But that requires the king's order—"

"My brother has always admired you, he'll definitely agree!"

"What if—"

"There's no 'what if'!"

"Your Highness, I was just saying that if it doesn't work out, I—"

"I'll fix it for you, okay?"

"Your Highness, that would be wonderful."

"Alright."

Alfred laughed and scolded, "Stop being so sentimental. You've worked in Rilder City for over a decade. Before you leave, make sure you give clear instructions and hand over your responsibilities properly. Don't leave Lance with a mess."

"No, no," Graham quickly waved his hand. "I know everything that's going on in this city. I'll write it down for him later."

Alfred nodded, walked back to his desk, sat down, and picked up the sealed letter.

"That's settled then. You can go ahead and get busy."

Graham's smile hadn't faded when he came out of the study.

The Imperial Guard General! He was the Imperial Guard General! He had been the city lord of Rield for over a decade and never dreamed he would be transferred to the capital, let alone to such an important position.

He walked and laughed, his mouth stretching almost to his ears.

The sunlight in the corridor shone on him, warm and comforting. He felt as if he were glowing, floating, as if he were taking off.

As he turned the corner at the end of the corridor, he saw two people walking towards him.

One was Lance, whose silver-white hair shone brightly in the sunlight.

The other was a young guard in his city lord's mansion, head down, neck hunched, looking as if he had done something—

What wrongdoing was caught red-handed?

Graham walked over and said casually, "Lance! What are you doing?"

Lance turned around and glanced at him.

That look in his eyes was a bit strange; it was hard to tell what emotion it was.

"Hmm—something came up."

"What is it?" Graham asked.

Lance didn't answer, but looked down at the guard.

The guards lowered their heads even further, as if they wanted to bury their heads in the cracks in the floor.

Graham followed Lance's gaze and looked the guard up and down.

"You, lift your head."

The guard shuddered, then slowly raised his head. "Lord Graham—"

"What's wrong? Did you see a ghost?" Graham frowned.

No, it's not—

The guard swallowed hard, his voice barely audible, "Yes, yes, a few nobles have come to complain—"

"Tell them a complaint?" Graham's brow furrowed even more. "Tell them about whom?"

The guard glanced at Lance.

Graham followed his gaze and saw Lance with his arms crossed, his expression calm.

"—They're not going to sue you, are they?" he asked Lance.

"Hey, guess what? They actually sued me!"

Lance touched his nose, shrugged, and then gave a wry smile.

Graham paused for a second, then laughed. The laughter echoed down the corridor, making the windows rattle.

"Sue you? Are they out of their minds?"

"You've just won a battle and are about to become the lord of Rield City, and they come to sue you? Aren't they courting death?"

"What are they accusing you of?"

"Tell me about wiping out those noble families."

Graham's laughter stopped, his smile slowly faded, and his brows furrowed again.

"Those companies—"

He stroked his chin. "Why did they suddenly bring this up?"

"I don't know," Lance said. "Maybe he thinks now is a good time."

"A good time?"

Graham sneered, "You think I'm biased towards you, which is why you haven't pursued the matter yet. Now that the Prince has arrived, do you think they have justice?!"

"They didn't dare to speak up during the war, but they've jumped out now that we've just finished fighting?"

"Let's go and see. I want to see which fools are behind this."

He strode toward the side hall, but after a couple of steps, he realized Lance hadn't followed.

He glanced back and said, "Come on, what are you standing there for?"

Lance glanced at him. "Aren't you afraid of offending people?"

"Who did you offend?" Graham scoffed. "I've worked in Rield for over a decade; I've seen all sorts of monsters and demons."

"The nobles of Rield City know better than anyone what happened to those families. Where were these people when they were colluding with the cult? Where were they when you wiped them out? Now they're pretending to be good guys?"

He paused, then said, "Besides, you're about to become the city lord. If these people aren't tamed and made obedient, there will be plenty of trouble later."

Lance looked at him and suddenly smiled.

"Okay, let's go take a look."

The two walked one after the other into the side hall, with the guard following behind.

"Hmph, a half-elf who appeared out of nowhere, how arrogant! Just because he killed a few enemy soldiers, he really thinks he's the master of Rield City?"

In a side hall of the city lord's mansion, the leading nobleman, Viscount Byron, slammed his wine glass onto the table, splashing wine all over it.

He was the one who spearheaded this joint lawsuit.

The seven or eight nobles sitting around him echoed his sentiments, their faces full of resentment, but their eyes concealing their guilty conscience.

Malcolm chimed in, "The Viscount is right! Who does Lance think he is? Just because he knows a little magic, he indiscriminately slaughters innocent people in the city. When have we, the nobles of Rield, ever had the right to kill an outsider as we please?"

Leonard excitedly chimed in, "Exactly! His Highness the Prince is a member of the royal family and values ​​aristocratic decorum above all else; he certainly wouldn't tolerate such insolence!"

"We'll petition him jointly, accusing him of indiscriminately killing nobles. Even if Graham protects him, he still deserves an explanation!"

"Moreover, with his current high reputation, His Highness the Prince might not necessarily dislike him."

"Our complaint has given His Highness a perfect excuse to put him in his place; His Highness will only thank us!"

The group got more and more carried away as they talked, as if they could already see Lance being captured by the prince and Silvercage being imprisoned, and a smug smile appeared on their faces.

They never even considered that Alfred, who could lead his army to victory after victory on the battlefield and remain a prince, could not possibly be the kind of fool they thought he was who only knew how to weigh power.

A group of people wrote a joint petition, affixed their family crests, and rushed into the city lord's mansion.

There were about ten people sitting near the door, dressed in more luxurious clothes and with a more composed demeanor.

The leader was a viscount with gray hair, leaning back in his chair and drinking tea, holding the teacup very steadily.

The others were chatting and laughing, and watching them was like watching a monkey show.

They would occasionally glance at the group of people by the window, their eyes conveying an inscrutable meaning.

The door was pushed open.

Graham stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the seven or eight people before finally settling on Byron.

"I heard someone's going to sue Lance?"

Although his voice was calm, everyone could feel the chill in it.

The side hall was quiet for a moment.

The dozen or so people near the door sat up straight in unison, their smiles vanishing completely, replaced by expressions of deep concern for the country and its people.

Viscount Burton put down his teacup and sighed.

The sigh was perfectly timed, conveying both deep concern and a sense of genuine concern without being overly affected.

"Lord Graham,"

He spoke first, "We're trying to persuade Viscount Byron. He insists on suing Master Lance, and we can't stop him! We hope you won't blame them!"

Byron paused for a moment.

Malcolm was also taken aback.

Leonard was also taken aback for a moment.

"W-What did you say?"

Byron's voice changed, "Viscount Burton, that's not what you said last night! You said Lance was arrogant and needed to be taught a lesson—"

"Did I say that? Did I say that?!"

Viscount Burton frowned and turned to the people beside him. "Did you hear what I said?"

No, no.

The dozen or so people all shook their heads, their expressions as innocent as newborn lambs.

"Absolutely not."

"Viscount Burton has been trying to persuade Viscount Byron, and we've all heard it."

"Viscount Byron, you must have misheard."

Byron's face turned a deep purplish-red.

Malcolm stood up, his chair falling backward with a loud crash.

"You guys—you didn't say that before!"

"A person should have a conscience, a conscience!"

His voice trembled, "You clearly said that Lance was nobody, and that His Highness the Prince would definitely not tolerate him."

"Malcolm!"

A middle-aged baron stood up, his voice filled with remorse, "Are you drunk? When did I ever say such a thing? I kept telling you to calm down, why wouldn't you listen?"

Leonard slumped in his chair, unable to utter a single word.

He had just felt very confident with so many nobles by his side, but now he felt dizzy and disoriented.

We've been set up.

"You—you—" Byron pointed at the middle-aged baron, his fingers trembling like a leaf.

"Viscount Byron," Viscount Burton sighed, his sigh even heavier than before, "we're doing this for your own good. Mage Lance is a benefactor of Rield City; aren't you putting the Prince in a difficult position by doing this?"

He paused for a moment, then said, "We came along because we were afraid you might do something rash in a moment of impulse. When we meet the prince later, we can put in a good word for you."

Byron's face turned from liver-colored to deathly pale. He finally understood—these people hadn't come to complain at all; they were there to see him make a fool of himself.

No, I'm not here to laugh at him, I'm here to see how he dies.

"You framed me!"

"That's not quite right. Did I send you?"

The door was pushed open again.

Lance walked in, his gaze shifting from Byron to Viscount Burton, and then sweeping over the faces of the nobles watching the show.

"I heard someone's going to sue me?" he asked.

The side hall suddenly became as quiet as a cemetery.

Viscount Burton was the first to stand up, his face beaming with smiles. "Mage Lance, it's a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding! We came here to persuade Viscount Byron, we didn't expect it to cause such a commotion."

He glared at Byron. "Byron, aren't you going to apologize to Mage Lance?"

Byron's mouth hung open, but he couldn't utter a single word. Malcolm stood there, his legs trembling.

Leonard huddled in his chair, wishing he could disappear into a crack in the floor.

"No need for an apology."

Lance said, "I just want to ask one question—what exactly are you here for?"

Viscount Byron opened his mouth, as if to say that he was just there to take a dump, but would you believe him?

The middle-aged baron spoke first: "We're here to persuade Viscount Byron! He keeps saying he'll sue you, and no matter what we say, he won't listen. We were afraid he'd cause trouble, so we came along."

"Yes, yes, yes!" the others chimed in. "We've been trying to persuade him!"

"He insisted on coming, and we couldn't stop him!"

"Mage Lance, please don't misunderstand!"

Byron's eyes reddened.

"You—you all—"

His lips trembled, and tears welled up in his eyes. "You bunch of two-faced bastards!"

"Byron!" Viscount Burton roared. "Don't make false accusations! We've tried to dissuade you, but you won't listen!"

Byron was trembling with rage, and the petition was crumpled into a ball in his hand.

"Alright!" Lance's voice echoed through the side hall, which instantly fell silent.

He straightened up and scanned the faces of those people one by one.

"Stop arguing. You won't get anywhere by arguing."

He paused, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Why don't we just go find the Prince to decide?"

The side hall was quiet for a moment.

Byron's eyes lit up.

"Okay! Okay!"

He unfolded the crumpled document, clutching it tightly. "That's it! Find the Prince! With the Prince here, we—we won't be afraid of you!"

Malcolm got up from the ground, his face regaining color.

"Yes, let's find the Prince! Let him be the judge!"

Leonard stood up from his chair, his legs still trembling, but his voice was steady. "Let's go! Let's go now!"

Graham grinned.

"Alright, let's find the Prince then. Perfect timing, the Prince might also have something to announce."

He turned and walked away, his boots clattering on the stone pavement.

Lance followed behind, Byron clutched the petition, and Malcolm and Leonard walked behind, supporting each other.

Before long, the atmosphere in the council hall of the city lord's mansion was tense.

After listening to what Byron and others had said, the prince did not make a decision immediately, but instead summoned most of the nobles in the city.

Now, Prince Alfred sits in the main seat, with Lord Graham, Arya of the Silvershine family, and Lance on his left.

To the right were Viscount Byron and his seven or eight nobles who had come to lodge a complaint, each with their necks stiff.

Lance leaned back lazily in his chair, his cold gaze sweeping over the nobles opposite him as if they were a group of clowns.

The other nobles in the hall, including Viscount Burton, stood at the back, watching coldly.

Most of them had contributed to siege and pursuit battles, and had personally witnessed Lance wiping out a group of enemy soldiers with a bolt of lightning on the city wall, and had seen his godlike performance on the battlefield.

Meanwhile, the clowns who made the accusations stayed in the back, only able to learn about what was happening on the front lines through hearsay, rumors, and rumors.

"A bunch of idiots! His Highness the Prince clearly treats Lance like a precious gem, and you all jump out to complain about him? Isn't that like lighting a light in the toilet—asking for trouble?"