If this Lord is really as the Old Coachman described, then the one truly controlling White Stone City is that woman known as the Lord’s wife?
Enya pondered for a moment before speaking up again.
“Felling trees on a massive scale, mining stone quarries, turning all the fields meant for food into tobacco farms, and then pushing tobacco on all the lower-class commoners, endlessly hoarding wealth through these methods.”
This isn’t any different from killing the goose that lays the golden eggs.
On their way to White Stone City, the forests had nearly disappeared, mining pits were everywhere, and large numbers of commoners had been driven out of their fields and forced into the mines, never seeing the light of day again.
Once they were guided into tobacco addiction, all their savings went straight to the tobacco merchants.
Yet,
Little did they know their souls were being devoured too.
Truly, after sucking their blood and eating their flesh, after the flesh is gone, they gnaw the bones, and once even the bones are crushed, they won’t spare your soul.
Living in White Stone City is simply more wretched than being livestock!
Enya could see it clearly now.
From top to bottom, inside and out, White Stone City was utterly infiltrated and parasitized by the Lord of Mist Church and other outside forces.
This city, this territory, was like a person riddled with every kind of disease.
It might look alive, but it was already dead inside, just not yet stiff.
A mere rainstorm could never wash away the filth from this city.
At best, it only cleanses the surface, while the real grime hides deep below.
After sorting all this out, she couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh and deliberately asked the Old Coachman outside,
“All of this was that Lord’s wife’s doing?” “Yes.”
The Old Coachman’s voice was ancient, and when he answered, it seemed drained of energy.
He looked just like someone who knows he’s gravely ill, yet can only watch helplessly as his body declines day by day, having tried many supposed “Divine Healers.”
He’d even prayed to that Great Mercy, Great Compassion, Great Benevolence Goddess, but there’d been no improvement at all.
He seemed about ready to give up.
A flash of light shone in the Old Coachman’s muddy eyes.
Facing the carriage behind him, he summoned up his strength and declared loudly,
“Lady Ain! This old man has a—” “I refuse.”
Inside the carriage, Enya didn’t wait for the Old Coachman to finish before cutting him off.
As for what he was about to ask, it had already been revealed by his earlier explanation.
It was nothing more than wanting Enya’s help to kill that demoness…
No, to be precise, a Sorceress or Nightmare Maiden—those were this world’s terms for describing evil women with strange powers.
The light in the Old Coachman’s eyes faded, and he fell silent. He no longer sat as straight as before, but slumped like a normal elderly man, using his hoarse, aged voice to say,
“This old man was presumptuous. I only hope Lady Ain will not hold it against me.”
Inside the carriage, Sophia looked at Enya, who sat with her eyes closed, resting.
Though curious, she kept silent at this time.
Nina, on the other hand, was totally clueless.
She simply thought Enya was too lazy to meddle in human affairs—let humans solve their own problems.
She shifted her gaze to Wendy sitting on the other side.
“Hey, Air.”
From wood to weeds, and now she’s air?
Wendy slowly lifted her head and spoke softly.
“Miss Nina, do you need something from me?” “No.”
Nina braced her hands on the seat, scooted her little bottom further inside, and, noticing an empty spot behind Enya, tried to burrow into the cramped space as if by instinct.
But on the other side, Sophia placed her palm on Nina’s head and pushed her back, leaning over to scold her,
“Nina, sit properly.” “Okay.”
When facing Sophia, Nina was always obedient—though such obedience only lasted a short while.
After a while, the roadblock was lifted, and the carriage moved on, entering White Stone City’s Inner City.
Compared to the Outer City’s filth and disorder, these streets were several notches cleaner and tidier, and the carriage ride was much smoother.
The Old Coachman drove them to a luxurious manor.
Many Maids were already waiting by the gate, lined up along the paths on both sides, respectfully awaiting their distinguished guests.
This was Sharon’s arrangement.
Even Sophia, Nina, and Wendy—though seasoned in such scenes—couldn’t help but look around.
Each Maid wore a respectful expression, and all exuded the aura of Nightmare Maiden.
Most were at second or third tier strength; only a few had reached the fourth tier.
The Head Maid stepped forward to greet Enya with a bow and a smile.
“Honored Lady Ain, Lady Sharon has already arranged everything. This manor has now been placed under your name. From now on, you are the Mistress of all us servants here. If you please, as a Maid, I’ll show you around the place.”
“That’s not necessary…”
Enya frowned, hearing that Sharon had given her the whole manor and dozens of Maids.
“You’re not expecting me to pay your wages, are you?”
The Head Maid broke into a cold sweat.
She was well-mannered, but Enya’s question was too sharp—she couldn’t just answer that!
Seeing her at a loss for words, Enya curled her lips, looking displeased.
The Head Maid’s face paled. She quickly said,
“Mistress, our wages…”
“You can tell Sharon: all upkeep here, including your wages, will be her responsibility. Remind her this was all her own idea.”
Enya cut her off and, with that, strode inside, the three elves following silently, leaving the Head Maid dazed at the door.
When she finally came back to herself, she gasped and hurried to catch up, taking her place quietly at Enya’s side.
As they walked, Enya glanced sideways at her.
“Since Sharon gave you and this whole manor to me, you’re my subordinates now. When you talk to Sharon, keep your back straight and don’t be too deferential—just use the tone I did earlier.”
“Understood?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
The Head Maid felt a headache coming on, but still agreed.
Sophia watched Enya from the side, feeling oddly complicated.
Senior, you’re so bad… but I like it!
Enya led the group inside.
Guided by the Maids, each found themselves settled in a spacious room.
After the wild storm, the city’s mood changed dramatically.
Many people discussed the strange thunder, while those in the know spoke of a battle as sudden as a thunderstorm.
In the midst of it, they suddenly discovered… White Stone City was under lockdown!?
All the city gates were closed, no entry or exit allowed.
Fully armed soldiers stood atop the walls with crossbows aimed at the Inner City.
Order of Knights squads formed patrols around the Inner City, throwing any suspicious persons directly into jail.
Messengers hurried about, loudly announcing a curfew.
It felt as if the earlier wind and rain had meant nothing, and the real storm was yet to come!
Night.
A cup.
Staring at the old man.
With a pampering tone.
In an old house, a white-haired, one-armed elderly man lifted a cup of wine from the table with his only hand.
“Grandpa, you’ve already had one cup. You can’t drink anymore.” A young girl peeked out from beside the table, her clear eyes watching him.
The old man smiled at her words, set the cup down, and laid his rough, callused hand on her head, gently saying,
“All right, all right, I won’t drink anymore.” “Mhm.”
A smile bloomed on the girl’s face.
Just then, Enya happened to witness this scene.
Her presence made the others in the house tense up immediately.
A young man ran down from upstairs, hand on his sword hilt as he stared at the gray-robed woman whose presence seemed to appear out of nowhere.
The Elderly One-armed Man stood up and said,
“Stop, she’s a guest.” “But…”
The man frowned, feeling Enya was extremely dangerous—far more so than the Nightmare Maiden’s minions or those cultists.
The Elderly One-armed Man shook his head at him.
“Don’t be rude. This guest bears no ill will.” “All right, understood.”
Since the old man had said so, the young man let go of his sword hilt, though he never took his eyes off Enya. It wasn’t her looks that held his attention; in his experience, the prettier a woman was, the more dangerous she’d be.
And this woman was extraordinarily beautiful!
Enya still wore her loose gray robe, her features cold yet noble, like a beautiful doll delicately sculpted.
She gently fanned herself with a purple folding fan, not bothered by the hostility, and turned her gaze to the little girl.
“She’s not some illegitimate child…”
Seeing Enya’s gaze on the girl, the Elderly One-armed Man spoke up, though Enya didn’t care whether it was true or not.
Illegitimate child—she was all too familiar with that term.
Enya shifted her attention to the Elderly One-armed Man, her eyes deep as she said,
“What do you have that might persuade me? Show me, and maybe I’ll grant your request. For me, it’s just a matter of convenience.”
The Elderly One-armed Man hesitated, seemed to make up his mind, then looked down at the little girl and softened his tone,
“Could you help grandpa bring that thing over?”
“Mhm.”
The girl nodded, then glanced at the pretty big sister who had suddenly appeared, her jet-black eyes clear as water.
Enya gave her a gentle smile.
The girl curtsied politely, then trotted over to a door. At that moment, the Elderly One-armed Man turned to Enya.
“Ma’am, please wait a moment.”
“No rush.”
Before long, the girl returned, carrying a small wooden box.
She set the box down and handed it to the Elderly One-armed Man, who placed it on the table.
In front of Enya, he opened the box and said,
“This was entrusted to me by the Old Lord on his deathbed. I believe it’s something valuable, but none of us know what exactly it’s for.”
Enya looked at what was inside the box—a Strange Dagger with an unusual design.