When Tamara spoke of this, her expression darkened, and she imdiately inquired.
"Is there any city nearby?"
"This place is the largest human settlent nearby. If you plan on escaping, you’ll probably have to head north, through the wilderness, to leave the Empire."
As he spoke, Lance chuckled and added, "Just pass through Hamlet. From there, you can go west to the Misty Mountains, north to the Permafrost Tundra, or east to the Yellow Sand Desert. I guarantee no one will find you in those places."
Lance said this rely for the entertainnt of watching things unfold, not shying away from making matters worse. The old road had long been ravaged by nature; only a small section remained, and it ended here.
Furthermore, given her earlier attitude, even if he knew an alternative, he wouldn’t have told her.
The more Tamara listened, the grimr her expression beca, a hint of despair creeping in. I’ve walked into a dead end.
However, she quickly looked at Lance. He’s so powerful. If he could help ...
The mont their eyes t, Lance knew what she was thinking.
"Is it an individual or an organization that’s after you? What’s the grudge between you, and why are they chasing you?"
"It’s just one person—if only you could help ..."
Before Tamara could finish, Lance interrupted her.
"I won’t get involved in your personal grudges!"
When he said this, Lance’s attitude was no longer as casual as before; it now carried a hint of coldness.
He could tell she was avoiding his questions. Her continued attempts to hide the truth, even now, made it obvious she hadn’t provoked so ordinary individual but most likely an organization. Moreover, her abilities weren’t weak. To be so severely injured despite being fully equipped ant she had very likely encountered a Supernatural Organization. Simply put, in Lance’s mind, her value no longer outweighed the potential risks.
"If you leave Hamlet and head southwest along the old road for two or three days, you’ll reach a city. From there, you can make your way to the Imperial Capital. No one should dare cause trouble for you there—a massive city with a million inhabitants is large enough for you to hide.
However, I must warn you about sothing. There’s an evil cult active in this region. You’d better pray you don’t get caught by them; they are certainly not as reasonable as I am."
His words were practically an eviction notice. Tamara, who had been trying to maintain so semblance of dignity, turned deathly pale. The injuries she had been suppressing flared up, aggravated by her emotions, and she began to cough incessantly. Instinctively, she clutched her chest, looking frail, her pitiful eyes fixed on Lance.
Lance rely smiled faintly at her act. Playing pitiful wouldn’t work on him. He valued Tamara for her knowledge of Mysticism, but now Catherine also possessed a considerable reserve of knowledge, diminishing Tamara’s importance. The benefits of sheltering her no longer balanced the risks.
Besides, this woman was disobedient and failed to grasp her current situation. Lance didn’t mind teaching her a lesson.
"I’m going to find Catherine. As for you, you’re on your own. Rember to clean up when you leave."
With that, Lance gathered his things and turned to leave, genuinely unconcerned.
"You said..." she couldn’t stop herself from calling out to his retreating figure, but Lance had already departed.
This plunged Tamara into a state of profound unease...
Upon leaving, Lance didn’t imdiately seek out Catherine. He had only ntioned her to diminish Tamara’s perceived importance, to make her understand she wasn’t as crucial as she thought, and to instill a sense of crisis in her.
However, Lance did have sothing very important to attend to, sothing he seed to have forgotten for a long ti and only recalled upon seeing Tamara.
Back in a bookstore on Totnes Rat Street, he had bought three items bearing a Curse: The Boundary of Dreams, Spiritual Vision, and an item sealed in a tal tube. He had read the first two books, but the last item had been tossed into the Exhibition Room and forgotten.
He vaguely rembered the bookstore owner saying it could explode, making it unsuitable for indoors.
Lance hurried to the seaside, far from the town, before taking the item out.
It was a leather manuscript, on which a very strange pattern was drawn, so crude it resembled a child’s doodle and appeared aningless.
After studying it for a mont, he detected nothing unusual and couldn’t understand what was ant by an "explosion." Have I been tricked? he wondered.
When Lance reopened his eyes, activating his Spiritual Vision, its power allowed him to glimpse the secrets hidden beneath the surface.
The lines sketched out a simple pattern that looked like a map pointing sowhere.
No, it must be a nautical chart, he realized. Unfortunately, Lance lacked the relevant knowledge and found it difficult to discern the location indicated by the chart, let alone understand the aning of the marked spot.
Could it be a treasure map? Lance thought. It was a scene every boy had fantasized about; even Lance couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitent.
Unfortunately, the nautical chart lacked any reference points, so no one could tell which part of the vast ocean it depicted. With the elder watching him like a hawk, how could he possibly abandon everything to search for an illusory treasure? It was destined to be set aside for the ti being.
Damn that elder, why can’t you just drop dead! Lance inwardly seethed, grinding his teeth. His day felt incomplete if he didn’t curse the old fogey a few tis.
Catherine, having spent the day scouting outside, had just returned. She intended to find the Lord, but as she approached his room, she heard agitated voices from within. Sensing that sothing was amiss and that it would be improper to enter, she lingered outside the door for a mont but couldn’t make out much. She could only catch fragnts: "...he’s almost found ... I’ll pay... let you pick one of my treasures..."
Just then, the door burst open, and an infuriated woman stord out. The two exchanged a brief glance before Tamara scoffed and turned away.
Isn’t that the Romani woman? Catherine thought. But why does she seem so hostile towards ?
Catherine didn’t know how she had offended her. However, the battle that night had undeniably set her apart from those people, as if she bore so inherent bla for it.
"Co in."
The voice from inside the room interrupted Catherine’s thoughts. She took the opportunity to step inside, where she saw the Lord sitting in a relaxed posture.
I don’t know what they were talking about, but he seems completely unaffected by what just happened, Catherine observed.
"Sit down," Lance said. "You’ve seen Hamlet’s condition; what are your thoughts?"
Lance was very confident. In this chaotic age of feudal ignorance, his Hamlet was quite special.
Catherine excelled at discerning the moods of leaders; otherwise, she wouldn’t have survived so long in the company of wizards with warped personalities. She imdiately began to praise him earnestly, even daring to disparage Totnes to elevate Hamlet.
Lance knew the place he had built with his own hands better than anyone. Listening to flattery was certainly enjoyable, but this kind of baseless adulation disgusted him. Could this person have been corrupted by the elder? he wondered.
"Enough," Lance interrupted. "I don’t like people who are all talk. I prefer those with ability, who get things done."
Catherine stopped her flattery and observed him carefully, noticing that the man was truly unswayed by her words.
She had made inquiries about him. He was nothing like an Imperial Noble; he was more like an ascetic. He wasn’t stingy with money, always rewarded rit, and spent lavishly to maintain the current state of affairs. He handled matters personally, required no attendants, not even a Maid.
Not greedy for wealth, nor given to lust, and now even showing disdain for flattery—such a man was difficult for Catherine to comprehend.
If Lance knew her thoughts, he would have died laughing. He was indeed greedy, lecherous, and craved fa.
Wealth was nothing compared to power. His current lavish spending was, in reality, an investnt to consolidate his rule. Furthermore, taking a long-term view, these infrastructure projects would yield a continuous stream of benefits for him.
What man doesn’t appreciate won? However, the local won were mostly village girls, their skin tanned and weathered from years of hard labor under the sun and wind, hardly what one would call attractive. As for the few who were even passably good-looking, most of them rarely bathed. For Lance, with his mild mysophobia, they inspired no desire whatsoever.
As for reputation, that was sothing he had always been cultivating—not empty accolades, but genuine renown: the heartfelt support of the masses, built on a foundation of popular approval, not the sycophancy of a few individuals.
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