Lord: Starting from the Pit-Dwelling Courtyard

Chapter 73: Breakthrough

In the early hours of the morning, a brief commotion broke out at the inn, waking Ron from his deep sleep.

Sanlir whispered respectfully, "My lord, Lord Doron has arrived."

This is why Ron chose to spend the night here instead of traveling through the night with the caravan.

This is the meeting point agreed upon with Duolong.

Ron nodded and slowly sat up.

Fanta personally brought Doron in.

"Greetings, Lord."

Ron nodded slightly.

Doron pulled out a roll of parchment from his pocket, which was covered with dense writing about recent personnel changes and chamber of commerce activities in Gorubakburg.

The Silver Shield Merchant Guild has received a new batch of ore at their warehouse in the north of the city. Yesterday, Bokin, the owner of the Raven Merchant Guild's dyehouse, had a fight with a cloth merchant from the North in a tavern over the right to purchase dye grass from the upper reaches of the Agate River.

The population market has been well-stocked recently. Last month, a batch of criminals exiled from the province of Treda were sold for two silver coins each, but there were not many buyers because most of the settlements did not have enough food to feed themselves, and no one wanted to feed another person.

The Border Lord's ball is scheduled for two days from now, in the banquet hall of the castle's main building. It is said that the Border Lord will announce an important decision this year, and both the North and South Chambers of Commerce are sending representatives here.

"Young Master, there's one more thing," Doron said in a low voice. "Gavin said that a group of people from the Kingdom recently arrived. They're not merchants, not tax collectors. They're dressed in civilian clothes, but their boots are military boots. They're inquiring about whether there are any descendants of the Ashwood family in Blackthorn Waste."

Doron paused for a moment, then said, "Gavin said this group doesn't seem to be looking for enemies, but rather for people."

Ron folded the parchment and tucked it into his sleeve, his expression blank.

The team regrouped and set off early the next morning.

Ron and his companions joined the group brought by Doron and were not particularly noticeable.

After crossing the last low hill, the walls of Gorubak Castle suddenly appeared, their gray-white granite slabs rising from the morning mist of the river bend, nearly twice as high as the walls of Ashwood Territory.

A long queue formed at the foot of the city wall, with caravans, peddlers carrying loads, and porters leading packhorses crowding the gravel road outside the city gate. The sounds of people and animals blended into a buzzing background noise.

Four guards stood at the city gate, all wearing uniform breastplates painted with the coat of arms of the border lord, a grey falcon with outstretched wings.

The lead guard held a register in his hand, and would jot down a few entries every time a caravan passed by, his movements mechanical and his eyes indifferent.

When it was Ron's turn, the guard looked up and glanced at the group in front of him. There were about ten people, dressed in civilian clothes but with standard weapons hanging on their waists. The horses were fat and strong, unlike the usual caravan setup.

The guard's gaze lingered on Doron for a moment, then shifted to Fanta, and finally settled on Thun.

Thun wore a dark gray hooded cloak, pulled low but not low enough to cover his gray-green chin.

The guard stared at him for a moment, then slowly placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Take off your hood," the guard said.

Several vendors in line nearby instinctively took a step back.

Thun didn't move. He looked at Ron, who nodded.

Thun raised his hand and flipped down his hood, exposing his gray-green skin to the morning light. His flat face, devoid of fangs, and amber eyes were fixed intently on the guard.

The guard's fingers gripped the hilt of the sword tightly, but he did not pull it out.

"What is this? A goblin?" The guard's voice held no fear, only wariness.

That kind of professional vigilance, the kind that comes from having seen too many strange things on the border.

"The Grimm," Ron Zeke stepped forward, "my scout captain."

The guard did not let go, his gaze sweeping over Thun's face several times.

He didn't recognize the word "Grimman," but he recognized the lord's tone of voice.

It's not an explanation, it's a statement.

He hesitated for a few moments, then loosened his grip on the sword hilt and exhaled through his nose.

"Grimm! Okay, noted." He turned to Ron, his tone even more businesslike than before. "Invitations."

Ron pulled the Border Count's invitation from his sleeve and handed it over.

The guard glanced at it; the gilded coat of arms and the border lord's wax seal were intact. He closed the invitation and returned it to Ron, then stepped back to make way.

"Lord Ashwood, please come in. The ball is the night after tomorrow, in the main hall of the castle." He paused, then added, "It would be best if your scout captain were not brought into the castle."

Florentino Borderers is a well-known extremist; whether it's goblins or Grimm, they are all alien races.

They are all beings who must die.

"I understand," Ron said.

He added in his mind: But that doesn't mean I'll listen.

The guard glanced at him but said nothing more.

The shop that Duolong rented was in the riverside area. It was a two-story stone and wood building with the entrance facing the stone-paved road leading to the dock.

The ground floor is a shop, the second floor has three rooms, and the back door leads to a narrow alley, which is convenient for goods to enter and exit, as well as for people who do not want to be seen.

Ron sat by the window on the second floor, flipping through the merchant guild's intelligence compiled by Doron.

Fanta led his men to the backyard to settle the horses, Sanlier knelt by the window wiping the dust off the windowsill, and Leonardo da Vinci leaned against the stairwell, his hand on the hilt of his embroidered spring knife, his eyes never leaving the flow of people on the street.

Sanlier had never seen so many people in his life. He wiped the windowsill again and again, then stuck his head out to look outside.

Across the street was a blacksmith shop with the Silver Shield Merchant Guild's raven pattern engraved on its signboard. A row of freshly made farm tools—hoes, shovels, and horseshoes—hanged at the shop entrance, gleaming with a bluish-black luster in the morning light.

Next to the blacksmith's shop was a bakery, and the aroma of the oven wafted across the entire street.

Looking further into the distance, a caravan of camels was slowly making its way from the direction of the dock, their backs laden with bundles of animal hides.

Shanlier was so engrossed in watching that Fanta grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him down from the windowsill.

"Don't stick your head out like a spy."

Sanlier awkwardly sat back down on the stool, but his eyes were still glancing out the window.

Thun stood by the second-floor window and pulled his hood up again.

People on the street occasionally look up and see this window. A figure wrapped in a cloak stands in the shadow of the window frame. You can't see his face, but you can feel that he is looking at you.

Thun counted the people passing by on the street.

Three out of every fifty passersby will look up at this window, but only one of them will look a second time.

Whether it was the discrimination at the city gate that provoked him or not, after entering the city, he became very gloomy and extremely vigilant.

Suddenly, a strange fluctuation of life force emanated from it.

Fanta rushed over immediately.

Fanta looked completely bewildered when she saw Thun.

"You've already broken through?"

Thun was still in the process of breaking through, and after a long while, he nodded in response.

"It seems so, I've become the Earth Knight."