Viscount Glenwell eyed Irene suspiciously.
Her sudden change in attitude left him at a loss, but the reasons Irene gave— the villagers’ unstable condition, and the late hour— sounded quite reasonable.
Besides, since the other party had clearly yielded and agreed to hand over the people, it seemed unnecessary for him to press further.
What’s more, spending a night in the castle and seeing for himself what this so-called “territory” in such a remote place looked like— how shabby it must be— had its own peculiar appeal.
He primly smoothed his neatly trimmed mustache and nodded reluctantly, “Hmm… Since you’re still young and inexperienced, and you’ve admitted your mistake, I’ll give you this chance. But remember— tomorrow morning, not a single one can be missing! If even one is gone… hmph!”
He snorted threateningly and lifted his tea, thus accepting Irene’s proposal.
Seeing the Viscount’s self-satisfied expression, Irene lowered her gaze, hiding the flash of coldness in her eyes.
Night fell like ink, shrouding the Raven Territory.
Viscount Glenwell was assigned a guest room in the castle’s east wing— tidy enough, but still rather shabby in his eyes.
He tossed and turned, unable to sleep; partly because the bed wasn’t soft enough, but more so because Irene’s all-too-quick compromise during the day left him with a lingering, inexplicable sense of unease.
He decided to get up and take a walk— and perhaps… check if those “lowborns” were really staying put in the Old Village.
He threw on a thick robe and slipped silently out of his room.
The castle was quiet at night, with only the occasional distant bark of a dog.
Relying on his vague memory and his instinct for finding “commoner” gathering spots, he crept toward the Old Village.
The direction of the Old Village was not dead silent. Near the village’s edge, close to a sparse grove, came the faint sound of suppressed voices and…
…a strange, chanting whisper, as if reciting some incantation.
Viscount Glenwell’s heart skipped a beat! Instantly alert, he crept behind a thick tree trunk, held his breath, and cautiously peeked out.
The scene before him made his scalp tingle— a cold chill shot from his soles to the crown of his head!
In the dim moonlight, several villagers from Windmill Village were clearly visible.
They stood in a bizarre semicircle, their faces no longer displaying the meekness and gratitude seen on the worksite during the day, but instead filled with fanaticism and a… twisted expression he couldn’t describe!
And standing among them, back facing the Viscount, was a figure draped in a loose black cloak!
The cloak billowed slightly in the night wind, and on it, dark red paint seemed to form indescribable, disturbing patterns!
The black-robed figure slowly raised both hands, speaking in a deliberately low, raspy voice with a strange rhythm: “…Great Abyssal Watcher… We humble followers thank you for granting us power… Thank you for guiding us to this ‘paradise’…”
Old Village Chief Oliver— the Viscount recognized him!
He stepped forward, his voice trembling with excitement, “Lady Witch! Thank you! Thank you, great Abyss! It was you who let us see the true face of that foolish lord! Does she think a few petty favors can buy us? Ridiculous! She has no idea we’ve already given our souls to a far greater being! This land—soon… soon it will be ours! Here, we will build a paradise for the Abyss!”
Another villager chimed in, “Exactly! That Irene Raven thinks she’s clever, but she’s utterly foolish! By taking us in, she gave us the perfect chance! Once we have more people, once we gain more power… hmph!”
“Let this castle become the grave for her and her lackeys! When the time comes, this Raven Territory will be our Lord’s first ‘Garden of Delight’ in the mortal world! Heretics, witches… all will find freedom here!”
Viscount Glenwell was frozen with fear, his teeth chattering! Heretics! Witches! Abyss worship! Garden of Delight! These forbidden words slithered into his ears like vipers!
He’d thought these were just cowardly, ignorant lowborns— who could have guessed they were actually such terrifying heretics in hiding!
No wonder Irene Raven agreed so easily to hand them over! She was simply inviting wolves into her home, being used by these lunatics! Or… was she herself…?!
At that moment, the black-robed “witch” seemed to complete some ritual, suddenly slamming both hands down!
“Poof!” A strange green smoke, tinged with a faint sulfur smell, rose abruptly from the ground, enveloping the villagers and the black-cloaked figure! From within the smoke came faint, inhuman, agonized howls!
“Ugh… the power… the power is surging…” The black-robed one’s raspy voice was filled with satisfaction and a hint of madness.
“Praise the Abyss!” the villagers howled with fanatic zeal.
Viscount Glenwell couldn’t bear it any longer! He felt icy fear pierce his bones, his legs turned to jelly, and he almost lost control on the spot!
He clamped a hand over his mouth, terrified that even the slightest sound would alert these devils! He scrambled away, half crawling and half running from that dreadful grove, bolting back to his room, slamming the door shut, and leaning against it, gasping for breath, cold sweat soaking his nightclothes.
Too terrifying! Far too terrifying! These people weren’t property— they were demons in human skin! Heretics! The mortal enemies of the Church! Anyone who got involved with them was doomed!
That Irene Raven— her territory was finished! Absolutely finished! Infiltrated by such lunatics, it was only a matter of time before the Church uprooted everything and burned it all to the ground!
He no longer dared to demand the return of his “property.”
Now, he just wanted to leave this cursed place immediately, forever! The farther away from these lunatics, the better!
That night, Viscount Glenwell curled up on his cold bed, clutching the covers, eyes wide open until dawn, his mind filled with images of that eerie smoke, the frenzied chanting, and the “Abyssal Emissary.” Fear coiled around him like a cold, venomous snake.
The next morning, as dawn was just breaking—
When the castle servants went, as usual, to invite Viscount Glenwell for breakfast, they found his door ajar.
Pushing it open, they discovered the room empty, the bed in disarray, his luxurious robe tossed carelessly on the floor.
Gone with him were his ostentatious carriage and his knightly escorts.
The servants quickly reported the situation to Irene.
Irene was in the dining room, sharing a simple breakfast with Helga, Clarette, and Yuno, all of whom were just recently able to get out of bed.
Hearing the report, Irene merely dabbed her lips with a silk napkin, a knowing, mischievous smile appearing on her face.
She glanced across at Clarette, who remained expressionless as she slowly sliced a piece of bread.
“Clarette,” Irene raised her glass of milk and nodded appreciatively toward the steward, her eyes full of admiration, “well done.”
Clarette only replied blandly, “Just my duty, Young Lady. Solved the biggest problem with the smallest cost. Viscount Glenwell ‘voluntarily’ gave up his claim, all paperwork is neat and clean, and there’ll be no future disputes. The cost of those ‘stage props’ will be deducted from this month’s ‘special PR expenses’ in the budget.”
She paused, then added, “Also, Village Chief Oliver and Blacksmith Tom from Windmill Village were very satisfied with last night’s ‘performance.’ They hope to contribute their acting to the territory again if there’s another chance.”
Helga was thoroughly confused, “Last night? Performance? What happened?”
Yuno, on the other hand, glanced at Irene and then at Clarette, wisely choosing to remain silent, but the respect in their eyes for the steward grew even deeper—so politics and scheming were even more complicated than drawing magic circles!
Irene laughed and briefly recounted Clarette’s brilliant plan and the Viscount’s panicked flight the previous night.
Helga listened, dumbfounded, and then couldn’t help bursting into laughter, wincing at her wounds, “Pfft, haha… Miss Clarette, you’re amazing! That detestable Viscount—serves him right to be scared out of his wits!”
*****
Time flowed quietly amidst the busy construction, like a rushing stream.
Every day, the Raven Territory was visibly changing.
The foundations of the new district had long been laid, and rows of sturdy, well-designed houses sprang up like bamboo shoots after rain, taking shape quickly.
The roads were leveled and widened, connecting the new district, Old Village, and the castle.
The basic protective magic array overseen by Yuno was nearly complete, a faint glow like a veil of protection over the newborn settlement, bringing a real sense of security.
The villagers from Windmill Village had fully integrated here, their smiles genuine and full of hope. They worked harder than ever, knowing that every brick, every tile, was helping build a true home for themselves and their descendants.
On this day, a letter from the royal capital arrived for Irene.
It was a handwritten letter from her mother, Marquis Cecile, and with it came a professional team of experienced prospectors and smelters, as well as the first batch of startup funds her mother had promised.
Irene had whined and pleaded in her letter, and the Marquis, feeling guilty—plus, it was her own daughter—had no choice but to give in.
‘Hmph, as if Mother didn’t notice the situation back at the border territory! But the matter of Vincent being a traitor did give her a real scare! The Kingdom even sent a bonus as a reward?’
The letter once again emphasized the secrecy and importance of the Mithril Mine, instructing Irene to proceed with utmost caution.
In the study, Irene assembled her core members—
“The mining of the Mithril Mine must not stop. It’s the most important and only current source of income for the territory, but mining is just the first step.” Irene tapped her fingers on the table, her eyes bright. “Just selling ore isn’t profitable enough. We need to process it into higher-value products— weapons, armor, magical accessories!”
Yuno immediately nodded, eyes shining with professional enthusiasm, “Brilliant, Young Lady! Mithril itself has outstanding affinity and conductivity for magic, making it top-tier for enchantments! With double enchantments, its value multiplies, but the only problem is that enchanted materials can be unstable, which could damage the equipment…”
“No need to worry about that, Master Yuno. Just go all out, I trust you!” Irene slapped the table decisively.
With the power of a Miracle Weaver, the instability of enchantments was a non-issue! The only slight drawback was that, during the territory’s reconstruction, Irene used her power so frequently that she’d developed the habit of always keeping a ‘mana potion’ on hand, sipping it whenever she had the chance.
Clarette swiftly calculated in her ledger, “Even without considering success rates, the profit margin is terrifying! But the problem is, how do we open up the market? How do we let the world know and recognize the mithril equipment made in the Raven Territory? If we go directly to the big trading houses, they’ll press the prices down, and it’s easy to expose our hand.”
A confident smile curled on Irene’s lips, “That’s why we need a ‘living advertisement!’ A stage where our equipment’s power can be shown directly to attract top clients!”
She stood up, walked to the window, and pointed to the distant mountains and the faint outline of the forest, “That’s why I’m forming a new band! We’ll promote through adventurers’ exploits!”