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Chapter 142: Baron Febollet
🕑 Added 2025-01-11 05:20:04 +0000 UTCThe procession from Strasbourg was grand and imposing. It included a knightly order of roughly three thousand, over two thousand attendants, at least twenty carriages, and an expansive merchant caravan…
From the battlements of Silver Dove Castle, Charlot Mecklenburg gazed down to see the golden pheasant-tail emblem fluttering on the banners—a mark reserved exclusively for the royal family’s relatives by marriage. Alongside it was the baronial family crest. The visitor was a baron with ties to the imperial family.
Charlot hesitated briefly before opening the gates of Silver Dove Castle. He led everyone out to greet the guests, unwilling to appear defiant—especially since Grandma Saint Karen had already sent word identifying the visitor.
Silver Dove Castle, being a barony, was never likely to be entrusted to a mere fourth-grade chief clerk ranked in the thirties or forties. After intricate political maneuvering within the empire, it had been officially granted to Baron Febollet, the emperor’s brother-in-law.
The emperor’s brother-in-law had come to claim his territory.
Charlot had long since prepared for this. The labyrinthine transformation of Silver Dove Castle was complete, the assets had been relocated, and certain arrangements had been discreetly made. Thus, when Charlot stepped out to welcome Baron Febollet, his smile was warm, and his attitude humble and respectful.
Baron Febollet was a portly middle-aged man in his forties. Upon seeing Charlot, he made the rare gesture of extending his hand from the carriage. Without acknowledging the West Wind Knight Order or the Silver Dove Castle militia that had turned out to receive him, he headed straight into the city.
Baron Febollet’s attitude embodied the unique arrogance of the high nobility.
To him, even a wave in Charlot’s direction was a magnanimous favor. After all, he was recognizing Charlot’s efforts in "recovering Silver Dove Castle." Now that it was his territory, such generosity seemed appropriate.
Charlot did not mind. He understood the nobility’s demeanor all too well—arrogance was simply part of their nature. But the West Wind Knights and the Silver Dove Castle militia were filled with indignation. To them, Charlot was their idol. His actions over recent times had earned their absolute loyalty.
He distributed responsibilities fairly, led from the front in battle, slew the leader of Lady Nancella’s forces, granted land and gold écus to the families of fallen soldiers, and promoted those who excelled. Never arrogant, he shared the hardships of war with his soldiers, always standing at the forefront of the battlefield…
Ah, the basics for a transmigrator!
After all, the land belonged to Baron Feller, and the compensation came from the baron’s estate. Charlot himself didn’t have much wealth to begin with.
When Charlot received Grandma Saint Karen’s tip-off, he came up with a bold plan. As he now observed the procession’s lavish carriages and their opulently dressed attendants, a surge of excitement filled his heart.
“Baron Febollet’s wealth may not surpass Baron Feller’s—he didn’t have a territory before, after all—but it certainly won’t be trivial…”
“This… this is all my wealth!”
“In the future, if things frequently go missing in his Silver Dove Castle, it won’t be my fault.”
“After all, nobles like him wouldn’t even notice if a few worthless trinkets disappeared.”
Now that Silver Dove Castle had been completely labyrinthized, Baron Febollet had no idea that his possessions might soon vanish and reappear hundreds of kilometers away in Machubi Fortress Labyrinth…
Ah, classic Charlot.
Suddenly, Charlot quickened his pace and caught up to the baron’s carriage. Lowering his voice, he said, “The forces of Lady Nancella are still in the vicinity. Your Excellency, Baron Febollet, as someone of immeasurable value, you must not take risks lightly. Please enter your loyal Silver Dove Castle and settle into your palace as soon as possible.”
“I swear to protect the rear of your convoy with my life.”
Baron Febollet, who looked down on a common-born fourth-grade chief clerk, found Charlot’s words pleasing. Immeasurable value? Indeed, he was a significant figure—a titan of imperial privilege, distinct from the common rabble.
Moved by Charlot’s fawning tone, the baron said nonchalantly, “The forces of Lady Nancella will never trouble Silver Dove Castle again.”
He added smugly, “Before I departed, His Majesty ordered High Priest Auguslatin to accompany me.”
“Beneath the Saint rank, those stray dogs wouldn’t dare approach.”
Charlot thought, Lady Nancella has Saint ranks too. But he wisely held his tongue and instead said, with a tone of admiration, “Your Excellency, Baron Febollet, is indeed unlike any other baron.”
The compliment utterly delighted Baron Febollet. Before arriving at Silver Dove Castle, he had planned to make things difficult for Charlot. He also had another duty: investigating the deaths of Baron Feller’s family.
To the baron, the truth was irrelevant; the important thing was reminding Charlot who the true master of Silver Dove Castle was. But Charlot’s attitude convinced him that Charlot’s report was the truth. Who cares how Baron Feller’s family died? If they hadn’t died, where would Baron Febollet be today?
Leaning out of the carriage, the baron flashed Charlot a rare smile, considering it a great favor.
Charlot refrained from further flattery. Any more, and he’d be sick. If not for the wealth the baron had brought—making him a walking treasure chest—Charlot would have gladly greeted him with an anti-magic armor-piercing round. After all, if the Firequell Silver Rhino rifle had taken down Grand Duke Ferdinand and the last prince of Lady Nancella’s forces, what was one more imperial brother-in-law?
Soon, a carriage radiating divine authority passed by Charlot. From it emerged an elderly man who smiled warmly and said, “Mr. Charlot Mecklenburg, congratulations!”
Charlot immediately recognized the man as High Priest Auguslatin. He responded quickly, “I have also arranged accommodations for Your Excellency. Everything has been prepared in accordance with the Strasbourg Radiant Temple’s standards. However, the short notice may have led to some inadequacies.”
High Priest Auguslatin nodded, catching the subtle implication that Charlot had anticipated his arrival. He was intrigued by Charlot’s demeanor and requested with a grin, “Please assign me a bodyguard—a young and handsome virgin.”
Charlot immediately thought of Dubin but quickly dismissed the idea. Dubin would not meet the high priest’s expectations. Instead, Hughes came to mind…
Lady Nancella’s forces did not attack after all. Once the convoy entered Silver Dove Castle, Baron Febollet ascended the battlements and surveyed his city. His heart swelled with excitement as he murmured to himself, “From now on, Silver Dove Castle will laugh when I say laugh, and cry when I say cry. Even if their families die, they’ll laugh until they squeal like pigs.”
“I, Baron Febollet, am about to become the master of Silver Dove Castle.”
Charlot muttered internally, No, you’re about to become an NPC of Silver Dove Castle.
“Hmm? The high priest failed to convert?”
“It seems this broken labyrinth can’t handle Saint ranks!”
The high priest seemed to sense something. When he turned to gaze at the distant mountain where Grandma Saint Karen was sipping tea, a look of understanding crossed his face.
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