Fangzhou Xier, starting with failing the art exam

……

Back at headquarters, Lacey immediately summoned the core members of the action team.

In the simple meeting room, he laid out his plans for Viseheim, but omitted the part about the assassination, only emphasizing that the Workers' Party would cooperate with the new leader of the Strolow family to establish a base in Viseheim and wipe out the remnants of the local Witch King's faction.

For ordinary members, this is exciting news.

This means that the Workers' Party is no longer a grassroots organization confined to the Salem slums.

The crowd was filled with enthusiasm and eagerly volunteered for the mission.

Lacey looked at Taylor: "Taylor, I need you to select fifty of the most reliable and skilled men from the action team. They must be absolutely loyal and absolutely obedient to orders."

"Starting tomorrow, we will begin high-intensity secret training."

Taylor didn't ask any more questions, but simply nodded heavily and replied in a deep voice, "Leave it to me."

Subsequently, Lacey arranged for several clever party members to disguise themselves as refugees and merchants and infiltrate Viseheim in batches, with only one mission—to gather intelligence.

Everything about Cole Strolo, the places he frequented, his guards, and his route home.

And everything about the remnants of the Witch King's faction—their strongholds in the city, the patterns of their activities—no clue could be overlooked.

It was late at night when the meeting ended.

Lacey returned to her room alone. The room was simply furnished with only a bed, a table, and a mountain of documents.

He was wide awake, and under the dim light, he kept marking and sketching on a simple map of Viseheim, deducing every detail of the plan.

After a while, there was a gentle knock on the door.

Lacey didn't even look at him, and casually said, "Come in."

Serafina walked in carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming meat porridge and a small dish of pickled vegetables on it.

The aroma of food instantly dispelled the stuffy air in the room.

"You've had a long day, have something to eat." She placed the tray on the table, then casually tidied up Lacey's messy drawings to the side.

Lacey looked up at her, somewhat surprised.

Under the lights, Serafina's smile was gentle and warm, and her insightful eyes held only concern.

He picked up the spoon and took a bite. The meat porridge was cooked to perfection, the rice grains were soft and sticky, and the aroma of meat was irresistible. The warmth flowed down his esophagus into his stomach, dispelling the fatigue of the past few days.

"Excellent craftsmanship," Lacey exclaimed sincerely.

“Back in Ursus, I often had to take care of children younger than me.” Serafina sat down opposite him, resting her chin on her hands, and watched him wolf down his food with a smile.

"Back then, I thought that if I could open a small restaurant in the future, cook delicious food for customers every day, and see their satisfied expressions, I would be very happy."

"And now?" Lacey asked.

“Now?” Serafina’s gaze fell on the marked map, her eyes becoming distant.

"Now I want to prepare a bigger feast so that all those who are starving can sit down and fill their stomachs with dignity."

Lacey paused in his eating, looked up at Serafina, and suddenly smiled: "You're so good at taking care of people, it makes me feel like a baby who hasn't been weaned."

Serafina was amused by him and couldn't help but roll her eyes at him: "What nonsense are you talking about!"

“You are the backbone of all of us. If you fall, this banquet will not be able to be held.”

Despite the jokes, the atmosphere became more relaxed.

The two chatted, from the Workers' Party's literacy classes to the procurement of medicines for the new clinic in the slums.

Then there's that maverick artist Arturo, who's recently come up with something new at headquarters—it's said she tried to purify the soul of the cafeteria chef with the sound of her cello, only to be chased and beaten by the chef with a frying spoon.

Before I knew it, the bowl of porridge was empty.

Serafina finished cleaning up the dishes and prepared to leave.

"Lassie." She walked to the door, then turned back, her smile fading, and said solemnly.

"You are not the knife, you are the hand holding the knife."

"You are important, very important."

Promise me, no matter what, you will protect yourself.

After saying that, she closed the door and quietly left.

Silence returned to the room.

Lacey stared at the closed door, remaining motionless for a long time.

He looked down at his hands, which were rough and calloused, marks left from his daily training during the Four Emperors' War.

I'm afraid I won't be able to pull the strings anymore.

Lacey shook her head, trying to stop thinking about these random things, and turned her gaze back to the map on the table.

……

……

Holy Leitanian Empire: Chapter Twenty-Four: Framing

Three days after the secret meeting with Gertrude, a letter sealed with sealing wax was quietly delivered to the back door of the Workers' Party headquarters by a messenger disguised as a gardener.

Lacey opened the envelope; inside were several sheets of paper filled with writing.

He looked quickly, his finger lightly tracing several locations marked as mines and factories on the map.

“Miss Gertrude is very efficient.” Lacey handed the letter to Seraphia and Taylor, who had come over. “The intelligence is very detailed. It seems we don’t need to wait for our people to take action.”

The letter not only contained Cole Strolow's detailed itinerary for the next few days, but also included the name, background, and rotation time of the captain of the guard sent by the Elector.

More importantly, the letter mentioned a key figure—a member of the Witch King's remnant faction codenamed "The Scribe."

This person is the second-in-command of the remnants of the Viseheim Witch King's faction, responsible for monitoring and liaising with Cole to ensure that this future puppet count does not slip out of control.

“This Cole goes to the ‘Voice of the Tower’ auction house every Wednesday afternoon without fail.”

Taylor the blacksmith tapped his large fingers on the letter and read it aloud, his tone full of bewilderment.

"Spending so much money on useless bottles and jars? What's going on in the heads of these noblemen?"

“This is precisely our opportunity.” Lacey’s eyes lit up.

“He’s not a complete fool,” Lacey asserted. “A true playboy only chases after fine wine and women and has no interest in things that require a calm and discerning eye.”

"Cole's obsession with antiques shows that he has his own spiritual world and an extreme desire to gain recognition from others in a certain field to compensate for his incompetence in reality."

Serafina immediately understood Lacey's intention: "You want to take advantage of this?"

“A person who craves recognition is most easily guided.” Lacey’s lips curled into a smile.

“He will willingly walk into the trap we have prepared for him.”

“We need an expert in antiques who seems to know more about them than Cole, and we also need an antique of considerable value, a rare gem that Cole would really want to get his hands on.”

Taylor frowned: "Where...where are we going to find people and things like that?"

“We have people.” Lacey looked out the window. The slums were bustling with people; it was a place where hidden talents roamed.

“I remember one of the party members we recruited was named Leo. Before joining the Workers’ Party, he was the lead actor in a traveling theater troupe, and he was best at playing nobles and scholars.”

“As for the items…” Lacey’s gaze shifted toward the Earl’s mansion, “Our ally, Earl Lenia, surely has no shortage of such things in her collection.”

"And she would be happy to help us with this little favor."

Serafina's heart tightened.

She spoke softly, "Lassie, is there really... no other way?"

“Yes.” Lacey turned her head and looked at her seriously. “We can spend ten or even twenty years slowly developing in Viseheim, fighting guerrilla warfare against those remnants of the Witch King, and waiting for Cole to die of old age or make a mistake.”

“But Serafina, we can’t wait. The miners coughing up blood in the mines can’t wait, and the children who are starving can’t wait.”

He reached out and gently patted Serafina's shoulder.

Taylor remained silent. This simple blacksmith didn't understand grand principles, but he trusted Lacey.

He said in a muffled voice, "Boss, you tell us what to do, and we'll do it! I'll go find that guy named Leo right away!"

Serafina did not speak again to stop her.

……

Two days later, Countess Lenia’s butler personally delivered a wooden box to the Workers’ Party headquarters.

Inside the box was a silver goblet from the Gallic period, its surface engraved with intricate hunting scenes. In the hidden compartment of the goblet's base, a meticulously modified miniature Originium bomb lay quietly.

Its power is not great, not enough to level a street, but it can blow a carriage, along with the people inside, to pieces.

Meanwhile, the team leader, Taylor, also approached the down-on-his-luck actor named Leo.

When Leo learned that he could also contribute to the party, he was extremely excited.

Looking in the mirror, he transformed himself in just one afternoon from a timid, impoverished man back into the person he once was on stage.

……

Wednesday, Viseheim.

Inside the "Voice of the Tower" auction house, elegantly dressed people mingled amidst a bustling atmosphere.

As usual, Cole Strolo sat in the front row, enjoying the subtle flattery and awe from the crowd.

He tossed his meticulously styled silver-gray curly hair and idly flipped through the auction catalog until a figure sat down next to him.

He was a well-dressed, middle-aged man with a monocle, exuding an air of scholarly refinement, yet also carrying a perfectly measured arrogance.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Strolo," the man said in a gentle voice.

"I am Leo, a mediocre antique dealer. I have long admired your expertise in the field of classical art, and have come here to pay you a visit."

Cole paused for a moment, then a surge of vanity welled up inside him.

In Viseheim, everyone only knew him as the count's son and the future heir, but no one ever truly recognized his talent.

“Mr. Leo, you’re too kind.” Cole nodded reservedly, but his body involuntarily turned towards the other person.

A carefully orchestrated dialogue thus began.

Leo spoke of the sculptural style of Gaul and the glazing techniques of the Sargonian dynasty. His profound knowledge and unique insights captivated Cole, who regarded him as his greatest confidant.

When the time was right, Leo sighed casually, "It's a pity that the items at this auction are all just ordinary things."

"I thought I would be able to see the legendary 'Hunting Cup,' but it seems I'm out of luck."

"The Hunting Cup?" Cole's curiosity was completely piqued.

“You haven’t heard of it? It’s a secret treasure of the Gallic royal family, it’s said that…” Leo lowered his voice and began to recount his prepared words, describing the silver cup as something that was unparalleled in the world.

Just then, the auctioneer announced loudly that the next item to be auctioned was the Gallic royal treasure—the Hunting Cup—temporarily entrusted by an anonymous collector!

Cole's breathing quickened instantly.

He turned to look at Leo, only to see that the other's eyes were also filled with shock and fervor.

He was unaware that all of this, including the auctioneer's remarks, was part of a pre-arranged script.

Unbeknownst to him, in a hidden corner on the second floor of the auction house, the remnant of the Witch King's faction, codenamed "The Scribe," was also frowning because of this suddenly appearing treasure.

"One hundred thousand gold coins!"

Cole Strolo blushed and held up his number sign high.

His heart was pounding in his chest, partly from excitement, and partly because he knew that this number was beyond the limit he could use today.

"110,000." A hoarse voice came from the private room on the second floor.

It means "clerk".

The remnants of the Witch King's faction were also interested in this suddenly appearing Gallic treasure, but they valued even more the historical significance and secrets it might hold.

Cole's face instantly turned ugly.

He glanced back at his "confidant" Leo beside him, who was looking at him with a complex expression that mixed regret and encouragement.

“Mr. Strolo, this is the Hunting Cup! If you miss it, you may never see it again in your life!” Leo’s voice was like the whisper of a devil.

Cole gritted his teeth; he felt all eyes were on him.

He can't lose, especially not to that cowardly guy!