Fangzhou Xier, starting with failing the art exam

“Provide her with assistance, funds, weapons, intelligence, anything.”

"But we need to make her understand that this aid comes at a price. What we need is for her actions to align with our strategic rhythm."

"I need this fire to burn at the time and place I designate, rather than getting out of control too early or being easily extinguished by others."

"Isn't this...too dangerous?" Serafina's tone was worried, not for herself, but because of the complexity of the plan.

“Abrahana is a smart person, and she is also looking for the power to break the deadlock.”

“We are her only option, and all you have to do is make her believe that,” Lacey replied.

After she finished speaking, Lacey looked at Lenia and Mechren.

"Gentlemen, I hope you can analyze the structure of Victoria's economic system. I need to know where their financial lifeline is and what their most vulnerable link is."

"Their stock market, their banks, their trade routes... If necessary, I want to be able to sever their lifelines and create chaos that is more destructive than a military invasion."

Lenia and Mechlan nodded in agreement.

Finally, Lacey instructed Taylor: "There will be no major military operations in the next three years, but military training cannot be neglected."

"How the armies of Syracuse, Qazimir, and Letania coordinate their operations is the problem you need to solve."

"Keep a close eye on the Academy of Sciences as well. Once any new equipment is developed, it needs to be put into use immediately."

Taylor patted his chest and assured him that he would complete the mission.

……

Holy Lytanian Empire: Chapter 120: Sir "Grey Hat" Suffolk

The rain in Lentinium is like a nagging old woman, with no sign of stopping.

Fine rain mixed with the acrid smell of coal smoke, soaking the entire city in a hazy, uninspiring hue.

Sir Suffolk, whose real name was Bellingham, was standing under the eaves, carefully wiping the water droplets from the brim of his beloved grey top hat with a handkerchief.

The hat is the soul of the grey top hat, and even a mediocre poet has an almost obsessive attachment to it.

“Oh, this damn fog, this damn rain,” he muttered in an aria-like tone.

It was as if they weren't carrying out a mission, but rather rehearsing a tragedy that no one would appreciate.

"You have joined forces to stifle the rhythm of poetry, just as the gloom of this city has stifled the last bit of romance in people's hearts."

His assistant, a taciturn young man codenamed "Crow," looked at him expressionlessly.

The young man didn't understand poetry; all he knew was that since he started following the legendary Sir Suffolk, he had heard far more complaints than orders.

"Sir, the target has been spotted," Raven whispered.

Suffolk immediately stopped singing.

His eyes, which always seemed to carry a hint of mockery, narrowed slightly as he looked through the rain towards the tavern on the street corner called "Song of the Siren."

A man dressed in dockworker's clothes, but with shrewd eyes that seemed out of place in his coarse clothes, was pushing open the door and stepping out.

He looked around warily, then pulled down his hat brim and quickly turned into a narrow alleyway next to him.

“Look, our little fish is going to find his mother.” Suffolk straightened the collar of his windswept black trench coat and winked at the crow.

"Keep up, child."

The crow nodded, then vanished silently into the shadows at the alley entrance.

Suffolk followed behind at a leisurely pace, his gait somewhat exaggerated, like a drunken gentleman, fiddling with an unopened umbrella and humming an off-key tune.

Any passing patrol officer would at most just think of him as another unlucky guy who had just lost all his money.

This alley is typical of the working-class district of Lentinium: narrow, dirty, with towering warehouse walls on both sides, the plaster peeling off to reveal dark red bricks covered with slippery moss.

The surrounding area was filled with a nauseating stench of fish, cheap alcohol, and mold.

The target made several turns ahead, clearly trying to confirm that it was not being followed.

Suffolk and the raven worked in perfect harmony, one in the light and the other in the shadows, always maintaining a delicate distance from their prey.

Finally, the dockworker stopped in front of the back door of an abandoned warehouse.

He knocked on the door three times rhythmically, paused for a moment, and then knocked twice more.

The heavy iron door creaked open a crack, and he slipped inside.

Suffolk stopped and leaned against the opposite wall, idly poking at the puddles on the ground with the tip of his umbrella.

"Patience is the poet's best companion, second only to fine wine and inspiration."

About ten minutes later, the faint sound of arguing could be heard from inside the warehouse. The voices were not loud, but they were quite intense.

Immediately following was a dull thud, and then all was silent.

Suffolk and the raven exchanged a glance.

The situation has changed.

“Looks like our little fish got swallowed whole by its mother.” Suffolk’s playful expression vanished.

He folded the umbrella and hung it on his arm, his right hand casually slipping into his trench coat pocket and gripping the hilt of the folding military knife.

“I’ll go in first. You guard the back door to prevent any from slipping through,” Suffolk said in a low voice.

"If I don't come out in five minutes, or if you hear three short whistles, retreat immediately and bring the message back to His Majesty the Duke."

"Understand?"

The crow nodded solemnly.

Suffolk said no more, his body moving nimbly along the wall to the back door of the warehouse like a raccoon.

The door wasn't locked, it was just ajar.

He listened intently, but there was no sound inside, only the monotonous sound of raindrops hitting the tin roof.

He slowly pushed open the door, and a strong smell of blood hit him.

The warehouse was dimly lit, with only a few rays of light shining through holes in the roof, drawing visible beams of light in the air.

Three bodies lay on the ground, one of whom was the dockworker they had been following. He had a long slit in his neck, and his eyes were wide open, filled with terror and confusion.

The other two were well-dressed businessmen, who seemed to be the people making the contact.

In the center of the warehouse, a tall figure with his back to the door was rummaging through an open cargo box.

He was wearing a heavy leather coat and a fur hat with a distinctly Northern style.

He exuded a cold, military aura.

Ursus people?

Suffolk's heart skipped a beat.

The intelligence only mentioned a transaction between local gangs and smugglers, so how could it involve Ursus?

The tall figure seemed to sense something and suddenly turned around (six) 1 Fin also 8, This matter.

It was a weathered face, with a hideous scar running from the corner of his left eye down to his chin.

He held an account book in one hand and a military knife with a strong Ursus style in the other.

“Another little mouse has arrived,” the Ursus man said in broken Victorian, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

“Oh no, sir, I am just a lost poet.”

Suffolk raised his hands, his face once again displaying that harmless smile.

"I wrote a poem for this damn rainy day and was looking for a place to take shelter from the rain and maybe find some inspiration, but I didn't expect... to disturb your enjoyment."

The Ursus man clearly wasn't having any of it; he pointed his knife at Suffolk and approached step by step.

"Poet? I'd like to see if your blood, like your poetry, is all show and no substance."

"My blood may be ordinary, but my poetry... can sometimes kill."

Before Suffolk could finish speaking, the umbrella hanging on his arm suddenly sprang open, but instead of the umbrella surface, a cluster of fine steel needles hidden in the handle popped out!

Caught off guard, the Ursus man instinctively raised his hand to block, his body momentarily frozen in place.

This is the moment!

Suffolk lunged forward, the hem of his trench coat billowing up.

He didn't rush towards the Ursus men, but towards the crate containing the ledgers at his feet.

His goal from the beginning was not to kill, but to gather intelligence.

"court death!"

The Ursus man roared, the steel needles in his arm getting stuck in his powerful muscles and unable to go any deeper.

He raised his hand, ready to throw the military knife in his hand.

But Suffolk is faster.

He kicked the edge of the cargo box, using the reaction force to change direction, twisting his body at an incredible angle to avoid the incoming military knife.

At the same time, he flicked his right hand, and the large folding military knife unfolded with a "whoosh," its cold light gleaming.

Instead of attacking the Ursus man with his knife, he slammed the back of the blade against the cable of a hanging iron pulley.

"Dangdang!"

A rusty iron pulley, carrying a long chain, came crashing down from the ceiling, landing squarely on the spot where Wusa Lingsi Liuqi VIII 侕罢月/漪-斯人 was.

The Ursus were forced to retreat and dodge, while Suffolk took the opportunity to bend down, grab the ledger that had fallen to the ground, and stuff it into his arms.

"Farewell, friend from the north! May the rains of Lentinium wash away the stench of blood from you!"

Suffolk quipped and ran off.

"stop!"

The Ursus man was enraged. He dodged the chains, pulled a gun from his inner pocket, and fired a shot.

The bullet grazed Suffolk's ear.

Suffolk rolled awkwardly, smashed open the back door of the warehouse, and rushed into the rain.

"Jazz!"

Upon seeing this, the crow immediately emerged from the shadows, ready to provide assistance.

"Plans changed! Retreat!"

The two ceased their fighting and began to run at full speed.

Behind me came the angry roars of the Ursus people and the chaotic gunfire, but it was quickly swallowed up by the crisscrossing alleyways and the sound of continuous rain.

Half an hour later, in a safe house on the second floor of an inconspicuous bakery, Suffolk finally breathed a sigh of relief.

He took off his soaked trench coat, revealing a shirt underneath with a tear in it, and blood was seeping from his arm.

"Sir, you're injured!" Raven brought over the first-aid kit, his expression somewhat worried.

"A minor injury, nothing to worry about."

As Suffolk bandaged himself, he took out the half-soaked ledger from his pocket and carefully placed it on the table.

The ledger's cover was made of fine leather, but it was stained with blood and rain.

Suffolk carefully treated the writing with a special solution, making it clear again.

When he opened the ledger and saw its contents, the ease and mockery on his face completely vanished.

This ledger records more than just ordinary smuggled goods.

Instead, they were batches of standard munitions, including Originium explosives and even several small mortars.

The shipper was a company called "Anvil Mining," and although the recipient's signature was illegible and disguised, Suffolk, thanks to his years of training in the Grey Hats, was still able to recognize a few key letter combinations and signature habits.

He was one of the Duke of Wellington's most trusted lieutenants, a Tara man known for his secretive ways.

The weapons shipments were destined for southern Victoria, in the swamps and mountains inhabited by the Tara people—the area where the Deep Pool Organization was most active.

What sent a chill down Suffolk's spine was that on the last page of the ledger, a word was hastily scribbled down in a completely different handwriting—"Leithania".

Next to the word was a strange symbol that looked like an eye.

Seeing Suffolk's sudden change in expression, the crow also came closer.