Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

Half an hour later, in the council hall of the city lord's mansion.

The huge, long oak table was filled with people sitting on both sides.

On the left were seven hereditary nobles, all drowsy-eyed, some even secretly yawning. Seated at the very front was an elderly viscount with graying hair, his eyes narrowed, his expression displeased.

On the right are Pierre-Jacques, the commander of the city guard, and Kurry, the chief of the security department, among others.

Pieksson sat upright, while Curry was secretly adjusting his belt—clearly, he had just crawled out of bed.

There were also several mages dressed in robes; they were from the city lord's mansion—or more accurately, from the city lord's own household.

At the end of the long table, Graham sat in the main seat, expressionless, his gray eyes slowly sweeping over everyone present. His gaze was like a knife, and those whose eyes met his instinctively shrank back.

Lance sat a little behind him.

"Everyone's here," Graham said, his voice not loud, but it instantly silenced the entire council chamber.

"Mage Lance has brought back some information."

"The Sassanid army of 30,000 has crossed the border and is less than five days' journey from Rild City."

"They hid a bewitching larva in an abandoned mine outside the city, planning to use it to create chaos from within. Yesterday, Mage Lance dealt with it and discovered five enemy scouts, obtaining intelligence."

After he finished speaking, the council chamber fell into a deathly silence.

Then--

"What?!"

"Thirty thousand troops? Where did these thirty thousand troops come from?!"

"How...how is this possible? Where are the border outposts?!"

"How reliable is this information? Although Mage Lance is young and promising, but..."

"A beholder larva?! How were those things brought in?!"

The nobles were in an uproar, exclaiming, questioning, and arguing all at once.

A young nobleman stood up, his voice tinged with obvious panic: "Thirty thousand vanguard troops... what if there's a larger army following behind? We only have eight thousand defenders in the city! How are we supposed to fight?!"

"Yeah! How are we supposed to fight like this?!"

"How about... we sue for peace?"

"Are you out of your mind?! The Sassanids have suddenly dispatched an army of 30,000, marching in secret, along with the larvae of the Eye Demon. It's obvious they have grand ambitions. Why should we negotiate peace with you?!"

"Then what do you suggest we do? We can't win a fight, and they won't let us make peace. Are we just going to wait to die?!"

The council chamber was filled with noise.

Graham sat in the main seat, saying nothing, just coldly watching these people.

Finally, a middle-aged man wearing a dark blue mage robe spoke.

He was about forty years old, with his hair neatly combed and his beard trimmed.

Sitting in the chair, his back was ramrod straight, exuding an aura of reliability.

He is the only elite-rank mage outside of Lance in Rilder City, and his name is Alfred.

"Mage Lance," his voice was deep and steady, "the city lord said you killed the larva of the Eye Demon and five enemy scouts—could you elaborate on the details of the Eye Demon and those five?"

Lance looked at him and nodded.

"The Eye Demon is probably level eight."

"The five scouts consist of two warriors, one wanderer, one archer, and one ranger, but they are all level six or seven."

The council chamber fell silent once again.

This time it was truly deathly silent.

Some people had their mouths agape, some had their eyes wide open, and some even dropped their wine glasses on the ground with a "clatter," not noticing the wine splashing all over their trouser legs.

Level 8 Eye Demon.

There were at least one level six or seven professional.

Although the nobles present were not professionals, they still had this much common sense—what was the concept of an eighth-level Eye Demon? It was a monster that could whip elite-level warriors like tops.

The scout team composed of five level six or seven professionals is undoubtedly of high quality.

And this seemingly harmless, even overly beautiful, half-elf actually killed them all by himself?

It seems that my previous assessment of him was too conservative.

Alfred's pupils contracted slightly, but quickly regained their composure. He paused for two seconds, then turned to Graham and said in a deep voice:

"Gentlemen, I believe that Mage Lance would not lie about his battle record; the information he provides is highly credible. A spellcaster capable of killing an eighth-level beholder and two seventh-level warriors would not make a mistake in such a matter."

"But there's no concrete evidence of Lance the Mage's achievements," a young nobleman couldn't help but ask, his tone tinged with doubt. "We can't just believe everything he says, can we?"

Alfred glanced at him and said calmly, "I don't think a mage would lie about something like this. If you don't believe me, go and try it."

The young nobleman choked, "Um... actually, I didn't say I didn't believe it..."

"Didn't they say the Sassanid army would arrive in five days? Let's see if they come in five days, then we'll know whether it's true or not."

"You're so smart!"

"Alright!"

Graham finally spoke.

"Alfred is right."

He stood up, his gray eyes sweeping over everyone present. "I believe the intelligence is true. The question now isn't whether to believe it or not, but what to do."

He paused, his gaze falling on the group of nobles.

"Everyone, what are your thoughts?"

The old viscount with gray hair snorted and spoke first.

He propped himself up on the table, a shrewd glint in his cloudy old eyes: "Lord City Lord, I believe we should immediately send an envoy to Sassanid's army to sue for peace."

There was a moment of silence in the council chamber.

The old viscount continued, his voice aged but powerful: "We only have eight thousand defenders, while the enemy has thirty thousand, and who knows how many more troops are behind them. A direct confrontation will only lead to our demise!"

"Sue for peace?" a middle-aged nobleman sneered; he was the one who had been arguing the loudest earlier.

"Father, are you getting senile? The Sassanids are acting like they're here to sue for peace? What they want is this city!"

"Then what do you suggest we do?!" The old viscount glared at his son. "With these eight thousand men, you think you can hold off thirty thousand?"

"If it were just 30,000 ordinary troops, or even just one or two Exemplary-level warriors among them, that would be fine."

"With the city lord, mage Alfred, and mage Lance here, of course there's no need to be afraid of them."

"But will the Sassanid Kingdom only send one or two Exemplary-level warriors?"

"Given the scale of their operation, there must be at least three or four Exemplary Warriors, and possibly more than one Elite Mage."

"You're so old and you've only barely become an elite-level warrior, and you still want to fight in a ring? Do you really think you're some professional who's stepped into the realm of heroes?!"

"What is the purpose of the Sassanid Kingdom's clandestine military campaign?"

"Of course, we want to achieve the greatest results in the shortest amount of time!"

"As long as we surrender quickly, not only will our interests not be harmed, but our noble families, with their deep foundations and strong power, will even be won over and gain more prestige."

"As long as the Kingdom of Eredland has not been destroyed, we will definitely be given important responsibilities."

"Especially the city lord," the old viscount said, glancing subtly at Graham.

"And with the mages Alfred and Lance, the Kingdom of Sassanid will surely treat them with great courtesy. Why risk a deadly battle with the Kingdom of Sassanid!"