Chapter 448: Chapter 196: The Marshal’s Worries

On the central front, the human army swept through like an autumn wind clearing away fallen leaves. Barol City, once captured by the Beastmen, was retaken.

A group of people from the south arrived in Barol City.

Seeing them approach, the Soldiers outside the city intended to stop them, but someone from the group presented identification. The Soldiers then hurriedly let them pass.

This group was none other than Marshal Grantham and the few Officers he could still command.

The whereabouts of Marquis Oscillate and Prince Noah were kept secret. Aside from the core leadership of the Southern Faction—such as Robson—and a few key figures in the Royal Family and the Northern Faction, very few people knew they had gone to the central front.

In fact, many did not even know that Prince Noah had left the Royal Capital.

All anyone knew was that human reinforcements had arrived.

Marshal Grantham had initially intended to be wary of these human reinforcements. However, to his surprise, this army actually obeyed his commands.

Gradually, Grantham came to treat this army as just another ordinary reinforcement unit.

But later on, this army slowly began to show its fangs.

The moment they charged onto the battlefield, their main force raised the royal banners of the bear and dragon. Among them were even figures from the Royal Guard Knight Order and the Royal Knight Order.

They swept the battlefield like an autumn wind clearing fallen leaves. Not only were the Beastmen caught off guard, but most of the humans were as well.

Reports of victory landed on Marshal Grantham’s desk every day like snowflakes.

Only after all this was done did Prince Noah and Marquis Oscillate finally make their official appearance.

With military achievements now to his name, Prince Noah found that the Northern Faction on the central front, the Royal Standing Army, and a few from the Southern Faction quickly rallied to their side.

Watching this scene unfold, Marshal Grantham felt a bitterness he could not put into words.

He had fought tooth and nail against the Beastmen in several hard-fought battles, depleting most of their strength, only for someone else to steal all the glory in the end.

Now, he, Grantham, was nothing more than a figurehead on the central front.

The group arrived at the former command tower.

Gazing at the massive tower before him, Grantham was filled with a whirlwind of emotions.

When the war against the Beastmen had just broken out, the entire nation had pinned their hopes on him, the ever-victorious general, to turn the tide. Louis III, accompanied by the kingdom’s Archbishop, had personally visited his manor, promising no small number of benefits.

The position for Count Sriphine on the eastern front was one of the arrangements decided back then.

Now, everything had changed.

"Hmph! Damn it! God damn it all!"

"Those bastards... while we were risking our lives fighting the Beastmen on the front lines, they were nowhere to be seen. Now that we got them through the hardest part, they just cast us aside... Damn them."

An Officer from the merit-based faction, seething with resentment, looked around and noticed that no one else was joining him in his cursing.

"Why aren’t any of you saying anything?"

The surrounding merit-based officers frowned, a silent, unspeakable weight in their hearts.

Why wouldn’t they curse? Anyone with eyes could see that a reckoning was imminent.

However much benefit they had gained from the Beastmen war, they would now have to give it all back, with interest.

Looking back, they wondered how many of them would still be alive and standing here a year from now.

Most of the merit-based faction were already looking for a way out.

The ones currently surrounding Marshal Grantham were basically those who were too deeply entangled to escape.

Suddenly, Grantham’s expression flickered. He remained silent for a moment.

"You should all head back for now," Marshal Grantham said.

The Officers exchanged glances, sighed, and dispersed.

Marshal Grantham did not move back into the high tower of Barol City.

To be honest, the tower wasn’t a pleasant place to stay; it wasn’t comfortable. Marshal Grantham had his own villa in Barol City.

That villa had cost tens of thousands of Gold Coins, and even when the Beastmen invaded Barol City, they had not torn it down.

Everyone else was now at the front lines. Barol City was controlled by the merit-based faction, and although Marshal Grantham’s influence was waning, no one yet dared to touch his property.

Opening the villa door, he was greeted by the sight of a Red Robed Mage.

"You’ve... come again."

Marshal Grantham’s expression was complicated.

"Sharp eyes, Marshal."

Before Marshal Grantham could finish speaking, another figure—a Black Robed Mage—appeared out of thin air.

"Marshal, what do you think?" the Black Robed Mage chuckled.

"Hasn’t everything we said come true?"

Grantham merely frowned.

"But, the winner becomes king, the loser a bandit."

"I accept my defeat. So what?"

"So what?" the Black Robed Mage echoed with a laugh.

"Grantham, you can’t possibly be so naive as to think Louis and his lot will remember your past achievements and spare your life, can you?" the Black Robed Mage chuckled.

Grantham frowned.

"Hmph. Glib-tongued."

"I ask you, who among them would dare lay a hand on me? My accomplishments over the years can’t be erased with a few mere words..."

"Grantham..."

The Black Robed Mage looked at Marshal Grantham with a complex expression.

"You still don’t get it. It’s no wonder you lost to them."

Knowing he was being belittled, the proud Marshal Grantham felt anger rising on his face.

"Speak. What are you really here for this time? Don’t you worry. If they make a move on me, not a single one of you lot will escape either," Grantham sneered.

Hearing this, the Black Robed Mage just gave a disdainful smile and placed a Memory Crystal in front of Grantham.

"What is this?" Grantham asked cautiously.

"You’ll know once you look."

At these words, Marshal Grantham frowned. He carefully inspected the Crystal Ball several times, and only after confirming there was no issue did he take it in his hand.

The scene that appeared within was that of a tavern.

The Crystal Ball showed the scene from the Black Robed Mage’s perspective.

The subjects were two drunks, shooting the breeze.

"Heh! Still hyping up that Grantham? I tell you, you guys never pay attention to the front lines."

"But Marshal Grantham held back the Beastmen’s attack..."

"Held them back? So what? Did he drive them out? Let me tell you, wasn’t it Prince Noah who personally led the troops to drive them back?"

"If you ask me, the man’s just overhyped. After all, he’s just some Young Viscount from the countryside. How could he possibly compare to Prince Noah..."

The Memory Crystal played no further. A surge of his aura shattered it into smithereens.

At this moment, Marshal Grantham’s expression was terrifyingly grim.

"What do you people really want?" Grantham demanded.

The Black Robed Mage, seemingly worried that Grantham might truly fly into a rage and take him down with him, didn’t provoke him further. Instead, he pulled a letter from his robes.

The letter was gold-trimmed and bore the royal seal of the dragon and bear.

"That scene in the Crystal Ball just now... that wasn’t some opportunity I specifically sought out. Go to any random bar in the Royal Capital, and that’s how they’re all talking."

"This, however, is something we found inside the Royal Palace. You can see for yourself."

The Black Robed Mage chuckled, then vanished into thin air with the Red Robed Mage.

Marshal Grantham opened the letter. Moments later, he tore it into countless pieces. His eyes were bloodshot, veins bulged on his forehead, and he slammed a fist onto the table.

"Louis! You forced my hand!"

There, among the countless fragments of the letter, was a single piece on which was written a single word in Louis III’s own handwriting: Rebel!

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