Miriel had arrived at High Cliff Castle three days ago. This ti, however, she wasn’t just passing through with a rchant caravan. She had co to deliver sothing to Levi and, having nothing else to do, planned to stay for a few extra days before leaving.
Unexpectedly, this gave the Lord an opportunity. He eagerly taught Miriel how to play mahjong and promptly organized a ga.
Of course, playing cards wouldn’t be fun without stakes, so each round had a base bet of two Gold Coins.
Miriel was the classic case of being terrible at the ga but hopelessly addicted—the more she lost, the more fired up she got.
In just two or three days, the Lord had won over a hundred Gold Coins from her, making a huge profit.
As for Zat and Baisitina, who were just there to make up the numbers, their money was sponsored by the Lord himself. It was basically just moving money from his left hand to his right.
It also made the Lord marvel at how looks can be deceiving. A woman who could lose over a hundred Gold Coins without batting an eye, Miriel was clearly a rich lady in disguise.
The Lord was on a massive winning streak; even selling his ass wouldn’t make money this fast.
"I’m done, I’m done." Having lost so much money without winning a single round, Miriel looked like she was questioning her life choices as she repeatedly waved her hands in refusal.
To be honest, a hundred Gold Coins was nothing to her, but playing so many rounds without a single win had truly soured her mood.
The Lord smacked his lips, feeling like the fun had ended too soon. ’Looks like you can’t fleece the sheep too aggressively,’ he thought. ’Next ti, I should probably cheat a little less and let the da win a few rounds.’
"Still, I didn’t expect you to be so knowledgeable about history," Levi said, making small talk.
In his mind, Miriel was just a Half-Elf with more bust than brains, so he was surprised she had actually studied historical records.
But to his surprise, Miriel looked back at him, confused. "Studied? That incident nearly threw all of Debei into chaos. The scandal of the Crown Prince Debei choosing an illegitimate son was known to all the kingdoms. How could you not know about this?"
"That incident? How long ago was ’that incident,’ exactly?"
Miriel’s certainty made Levi doubt himself. He wracked his brain, searching his predecessor’s mories, but found no trace of this supposedly "well-known" event. It was as if he weren’t one of the Debei People at all.
"I don’t rember clearly. It must have been over thirty years ago."
"..."
The Lord asked flatly, "And how old do you think I am?"
"..."
The misunderstanding was truly absurd. While Half-Elves don’t have the sa lifespan as true Elves, they are still undeniably a long-lived race compared to humans.
Their lifespans and growth cycles are completely different, leading to a noticeable disparity in their perception of ti, which caused this whole blunder.
It was only now that Levi truly understood the aning behind that old saying from his past life: An Elf can outlive three generations. The people pass on, but the Elf remains.
"To be honest, now I’m extrely curious about your relationship with Duke Fulina," the Lord said, his curiosity suddenly piqued.
"My Lord, sotis too much curiosity isn’t a good thing," Miriel retorted, unsure of what the Lord of High Cliff Castle was thinking.
’Tch, for all I know, she could be Fulina’s stepmother, or maybe even from Fulina’s grandmother’s generation.’
The Lord didn’t dare say this out loud, so he could only slander her in his heart.
With no more cards to play, the Lord simply flopped down onto his lounge chair, letting a young Goat-man maid loosen the stiff muscles in his back from sitting for so long.
Dressed in wooden flip-flops and a tiger-skin coat, with a slender, long-legged, and beautiful maid by his side, he looked every bit the greedy and lecherous second-generation warlord.
As for why second-generation? Because no first-generation warlord was ever this handso.
"My Lord! My Lord!" At that mont, a Warrior from the Burning Corps ca rushing over, dragging sothing that looked neither human nor ghost.
’Good grief, what the hell kind of new species is this?’
Even though Levi was well aware of this world’s biodiversity, the creature before him still gave him a start.
"My Lord, this person claims to be Chief Beim of the Wind Surge Tribe," the Beastman said, scratching his head.
Hearing this, Levi scrutinized the inhuman-looking thing. After a long mont, he could finally make out a faint resemblance to Beim. "What the hell happened to you to get you in this state?"
The Beim he rembered wore a proper Debei suit, his brown hair tied back neatly with a cord. His two conspicuous gold teeth had flashed so brightly they made the Lord’s heart skip a beat.
But now, the once well-dressed Chief Beim had been reduced to a complete savage. His body was caked in mud, his matted hair was a ss, and he reeked of a foul stench. If he were curled up in a ball, Levi would have mistaken him for a large pile of cow dung.
Who knows what the old guy had been through.
"My Lord! The Wind Surge Tribe is finished! Finished! And High Cliff Castle will be next..." Beim wailed as if he had seen his savior, trying to rush over and cling to the Lord’s leg.
THWACK!
Levi kicked Beim to the ground and said viciously,
"Damn it, you son of a bitch! You dare curse my High Cliff Castle?!"
Levi’s good mood from the morning was now completely gone. After all, anyone whose day had just begun with soone shouting that they were finished wouldn’t be in high spirits.
"My Lord, an army is coming to attack High Cliff Castle!" Beim cried out miserably, looking as pitiful as a chrysanthemum that had been inhumanely ravaged.
Just then, as if to prove Beim’s words, the low blast of a horn echoed from High Cliff Castle.
Levi was stunned. The tiger-skin coat draped over his shoulders slid silently to the ground.
At this mont, he looked just like a warlord surrounded by a great army, his final curtain about to fall.
Behind him, Baisitina, Miriel, and the beautiful maid stood helplessly, like concubines about to be divided up as spoils of war.
"Can soone please tell which bastard dares to launch a sneak attack on High Cliff Castle?"
He was just minding his own business at ho, and disaster fell from the sky.
The Lord was furious. A door-panel-sized Giant Sword, reinforced by Feder Craftsn, materialized in his hand. He dragged the massive blade behind him as he stord out.
"Assemble! Assemble!"
The Lord’s roar echoed throughout High Cliff Castle. The fury contained within it made everyone feel a sense of dread, and they silently mourned for whoever was about to bear his wrath.
...
"So you’re telling , this was all just a false alarm?"
The Lord’s expression was terrifyingly cold as he sat, legs spread wide, on a green stone.
The Beastman reporting to him was massive, both tall and broad. At this mont, his head was bowed so low he looked like he wanted to bury it in the ground.
"Yes, Boss." The early morning breeze was as cool as a day in late October, yet beads of sweat dripped from the Beastman’s forehead.
Zat, standing beside the Lord, was as still and straight as a marble pillar, not even daring to breathe too loudly.
"What’s happened here?"
Just then, a confused voice asked.
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