Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

The young mage's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he watched this scene.

Ten three-ring reels are one thing, but now they're even giving away a second-tier magic ring?

If you were to sell this, it would fetch at least 20,000 gold coins!

Graham sat in the main seat and watched all of this unfold.

He didn't say anything, but a faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

The young mage couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "Teacher Alfred, you're usually not this generous to us..."

Alfred glanced at him, his tone indifferent: "If you can also solo an eighth-level Eye Demon and take down two seventh-level warriors, then I'll also..."

Just as the young mage was calculating how many years it would take him to reach such power, Alfred abruptly changed the subject.

"I won't give it to you; figure it out yourself."

The monk fell silent.

Inside the council chamber, the other nobles watched this scene with varying expressions.

The peacemakers were ashen-faced, but dared not say anything—Lance's words had just slapped them in the face.

Lance was willing to go to dangerous places in his own body as a mage. If they jump out now, aren't they just asking for trouble?

Those who advocated for war were excited, and some were already planning how to get close to the young mage after the war.

Graham sat in the main seat, a faint smile playing on his lips.

He tapped on the table, drawing everyone's attention back.

"Alright, since Mage Lance is willing to investigate, then it's settled."

The meeting lasted another half hour, finalizing all the details.

It was already past midnight when we finished.

The nobles left the council hall in twos and threes, their faces grim—after all, no one had expected that such a big thing would happen on such a peaceful night.

Graham stood by the window, looking at the night outside, and remained silent.

Pieksson and Curry have already gone to arrange city defenses and security.

The people left the council chamber one after another.

As Lance walked to the door, Arya followed.

"Lance".

Lance stopped and looked back at her.

Arya stood before him, her amber eyes holding a complex light.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but in the end she just sighed softly.

"Merit is not important; please do not take risks and prioritize your own safety."

Lance looked at her and suddenly smiled.

"Don't worry, I'm tough as nails. Even if Baal comes, I won't give it to you!"

He waved his hand and turned to leave.

Arya stood there, watching his figure disappear at the end of the corridor, motionless for a long time.

……

"Viscount?" Old Bert's voice came from behind, tinged with worry. "It's late; you should go back."

Arya didn't move.

She stared at the closed door, her amber eyes reflecting the flickering firelight in the fireplace, and after a long while, she let out a soft sigh.

"Let's go."

As the two walked out of the city lord's mansion, the Silver Glow family's carriage was already waiting at the door.

Arya crawled into the carriage, leaned against the soft cushion, and closed her eyes.

The wheels rolled over the stone pavement, making a rhythmic rumbling sound.

The street scene outside the window rushed past, and occasionally the dim yellow light of a few magical streetlights peeked through the gaps in the curtains, casting flickering patterns of light on her face.

"Really..."

She murmured to herself.

The carriage stopped at the entrance of Silver Glow Manor.

As Arya got out of the car, she suddenly stopped and looked up at a window on the second floor.

The light was still on in that window.

It is Lillian's study.

Arya paused for a moment, then smiled.

Why isn't this child asleep yet...?

She quietly went upstairs, and when she reached the study door, she gently pushed it open a crack.

In the candlelight, Lillian lay face down on the table, a spellbook spread out in front of her, but her amber eyes were closed.

Long eyelashes cast a shadow on her cheeks. Fiery red twin ponytails draped over her shoulders, rising and falling gently with her even breathing.

She fell asleep.

A trace of drool still clung to the corner of his mouth, glistening in the candlelight.

Besides the spellbook, there was a piece of paper on the table with something scrawled on it.

Arya approached and saw—it was a human head, with long silver-white hair, pointed ears, and sky-blue eyes…

She paused for a second.

Then she covered her mouth, almost bursting out laughing.

Arya gently took the paper, folded it, and put it in her sleeve. Then she bent down and picked her daughter up from the chair.

Lillian opened her eyes groggily, saw her mother, and mumbled, "Mom..."

She hugged her daughter tighter and gently kissed her forehead.

"Silly child, you'll never get anything done if you're so timid..."

……

Further north on the northern border of the Kingdom of Sassan, on the road leading to the city of Rild in the Kingdom of Eredland.

Thirty thousand troops marched silently into the night.

Flames, like dragons, meandered through the mountains and fields. Infantry formations marched in unison, the sound of armor rubbing against each other mingling with the deep rumble of footsteps;

Cavalrymen rode slowly along the flanks, their warhorses' iron hooves shattering the moonlight; the supply wagons followed at the rear, their wheels creaking over gravel.

This army has been marching for seven days.

According to the plan, they should be able to reach the outskirts of Rild in another four or five days.

But no one knew that hidden within this seemingly ordinary vanguard legion was a terrifying combat force far exceeding the norm.

……

After the march ceased, the commander-in-chief's tent was set up on a high slope by the roadside, and was brightly lit.

A huge military map hung in the center of the tent—the terrain of Rild and its surroundings was densely marked. Mountains, rivers, roads, villages, outposts, city defenses... everything was there.

A burly man stood in front of the map, his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on the location of Rild City.

His name is Cassius Valentine, commander of the Northern Legion of the Kingdom of Sassanid, a level 12 warrior, who, like Graham, has already entered the path of the Exemplary.

His short, grayish-white hair was cut extremely short, and his bronze face bore an old scar that ran diagonally from his eyebrow to his jaw—a scar left from a battle with the Eredlanders twenty years ago.

He wore a fine half-plate armor, without any fancy decorations, except for the emblem of the Sassanid Kingdom engraved on his left breast, a black eagle with outstretched wings.

The aura of the Exemplary Rank was well concealed, but the occasional glimpse of his imposing presence still caused the others in the tent to involuntarily maintain a sense of awe.

Several people were still sitting inside the tent.

Vice-General Vera Stonefist sat in the seat closest to him.

Level 11 Warrior, Exemplary Rank, Female, early forties. Short hair, sharp eyes, her left arm is a cast iron prosthetic—but she can still wield a battle axe with one hand, her strength should not be underestimated.

Vanguard Officer Redmond Bloodaxe, Level 11 Warrior, Exemplary Rank.

Around forty years old, with a face full of scars and fierce eyes, he sat there with his arms crossed, like an iron tower. He was the second strongest in this army after Cassius, and also the most radical of the radicals.

The aura of the Paradigm level surged within his body, occasionally emitting a faint dark red glow on the surface of his skin.

Scout Leader Liana Shadowblade, Level 10 Rogue, female, 30 years old. Slender figure, delicate features.

She sat in the corner, silent, her fingers unconsciously stroking the hilt of the dagger.