He's in Love with the Devil.

Chapter 6: Twenty thousand dollars ransom.

Viscount Moore was a woodland nobleman from the north.

The northern part of the Rogaland Empire had been regarded as a "barbaric country" until it was conquered by Poulain's great-grandfather.

In the first twelve centuries of the Western Continent, there was an invasion of barbarians from the sea, although the tidal wave of invasion lasted less than a hundred years before disappearing. The northern part of the Rogaland Empire has been occupied by barbarians since then. It was not until later that the descendants of the barbarians gradually integrated with Rogaland, but their language habits were deeply influenced by barbarian traditions, which were more ancient and short, and the pronunciation of vocabulary was more muddy and coarse.

Because of this, the woodland nobles from the north have always been ridiculed in the royal court.

When Viscount Moore explained the assassination plan, the king had already noticed that his style of expression was very simple - in the words of the central and eastern nobles, it was "as rude as a peasant".

However, the last part of Viscount Moore's speech was elegant, and the last phrase "high moral standing" was a typical courtly expression influenced by the Holy Church.

This is not something that Viscount Moore, a true northern aristocrat, would use.

--Unless someone had said so to him in the recent past.

Moore was taken aback by the king's sudden question, and he couldn't even figure out how the king knew about such trivial trivia.

"Who said that?"

The king's tone became strong, like the old Duke of Buckingham just now, his face at this moment was like a cold iron mask enveloping him.

"Kyle, Kyle Roy."

Moore muttered, as he began to realize what was going on.

"He's a famous traveler."

"Arrest him. Immediately."

...............

Today was a day of many disasters at Castle Mourne.

At seven o'clock in the morning, the castle owner, Earl Walter, was nearly exiled on the spot, and by the afternoon, the soldiers who had been reassigned to the king's command throughout the territory of Mourne were once again busy. All the traveling merchants in the territory were detained and identified before being released.

In the evening, the castle was shrouded in an oppressive dimness.

The sound of wood burning in the fireplace was clearly audible, and the king sat not far from the fireplace, but his face was mostly in shadow.

Just now, the Lord Chief Steward of the Court of the Interior conveyed a report from the defense forces that they had identified three travelers named "Kyle". Only one of them matched Viscount Moore's description of "talking with them the night before".

--When the guards broke down the door, he drew his dagger and slit his throat.

The room was filled with a horrible silence, and the three knights fell to their knees on the carpet with gray faces and lowered their proud heads.

They had drunk some wine together in the inn some time ago. In their drunkenness, they could not help but say some complaining words. It was the traveling merchant who was by their side at the time, and he said that like it was a casual remark. But God knows how it happened, and it was also indignation at work, or perhaps the devil at work, and that sentence, somehow, became deeply rooted in their minds.

Then they heard the traveler exclaim, "If only there had been a brave friar, but the hero is dead" -- and among the plays of the time was one about the assassination of the pagan tyrant Caligula by a friar.

Anyway, it was after that day that the assassination was plotted.

Having accounted for everything, Mor no longer dared to look at the king's countenance. The knights realized something terrible: someone had carefully prepared this series of plots.

Their revenge, which they thought was heroic and heroic, was playing right into the hands of their vicious enemy.

The dead silence in the room was oppressive; the king did not speak, and no one knew what he was thinking.

Mor crouched down, his forehead pressed to the carpet as he suppressed his shame, "We have committed an unforgivable sin, and we are willing to pay with our lives for our mistakes. But, Your Majesty! There is something wrong with the battle of Kevan! The General must have been assassinated."

The Battle of Kevan was the battle where the old duke's son had responded to the expedition of the Kingdom of Bolesi a month ago.

According to the report that was sent back to the royal palace, the duke's son, young General John, had been careless when he had enough food and weapons, and he didn't take the enemy's vanguard troops seriously, resulting in the loss of the Moon River Fortress, which was the eastern choke point of Rogaland, at the end of July, which directly led to the total defeat of the war.

"You guys are pleading for him?"

The king looked down at the three knights prostrate on the ground, his tone slightly mocking.

"Three dying men coming to plead for someone else."

"I vouch for my family's honor, General John is definitely not someone who would make the mistake of taking the enemy lightly!"

Moore's face was bloodless, but he still gritted his teeth and swore.

"But if I make a single false statement, everyone in the Briou family will be damned to hell for eternity!"

"What happens after death is the Holy Supervisor's." The king said lightly, "Something like eternal hell is not worth a penny to me."

His words sent the three knights into despair.

"But-" the King's words changed as he scrutinized the three knights who jerked their heads up, "the legation will arrive on the 21st, and like the foolish Earl of Mourne, you have three days, and I want to see an exhaustive, debriefing of the battles you took part in-from the deployment of soldiers in every battle, every flag pointing, every longbow, every whetstone for sharpening swords to every bag of grain flour, every piece of cheese prepared ...... with which to prove to me that your general did indeed do all he could before preparing for this battle."

The requirement to put together a file and report like this in such a short period of time is nothing short of demanding.

But the king had no intention of relenting.

"If it can't be done--"

The king leaned forward, his silver hair falling almost to Mor's cheek. His soft voice drilled into his ears - it was heavier saturated with mockery than when he had ordered harshly.

"So much for your self-proclaimed noble spirit of sacrifice, then."

He expected to see a huff from the knights - none of them could calmly face such an insult against their character.

"Of course, as far as I can tell, you have no such thing as chivalry either."

The king straightened up and leaned back against the crimson velvet, his pale tinged ten fingers crossed, fingertips pressing lightly against each other.

The faces of the three officers flushed red.

At the king's hand still lay the delicate crossbow.

"The royal treasury will assist you. But it's up to you guys whether you can accomplish it or not."

He said in a soft but intimidating tone.

"Go on, prove to me that he is innocent."

As Morr and the others rose to their feet, they saw the king smiling meaningfully in the bright fire, "Now, his life is in your hands."

It was a threat.

............

The three knights acting as officers left, leaving the king alone in the room.

He sat quietly by the fireplace, the firelight outlining the delicate contour lines of his face.

Blessed Late didn't care if he could find out the reason from the report.

No one knew the army better than the officer who had come up through the ranks from the bottom. What he wanted to do was to get objective information about the army of the Rogaland Empire initially and without being coaxed.

Stay high and far away.

There were too many heavy tents around the king.

Perhaps a man like the old Duke, who had survived decades of battle on the sands, could have a handle on what was going on with the army, but Pullan?

Come on, he should be thankful for the conscience of the nobles and officials if he could get three out of ten of what he heard without whitewashing or exaggeration.

A few moments later, Zhu Chi awoke from his musings.

He looked at the snow outside the window, and after a moment of silence, he asked the chief chamberlain to send the old Duke of Buckingham a brand-new cloak worthy of his dukedom.

..................

The old Duke unfolded the scarlet cloak, which was expensively crafted from soft, snowy fox fur. But that was not what the Duke cared about.

His calloused hands - which were left over from years of battlefield service - gently stroked the rosebud pattern embroidered with gold thread on the cloak. The rosebud, which was the symbol of the royal family of Rogaland.

"My little Purran."

This old man sighed softly.

Technically, he had received his swaddled nephew from the Queen before his elder brother, William III. At that time, his elder brother was still fighting the rebels, and he was the one who guarded the newborn baby for him.

The Duke of Buckingham unclasped his pitch-black robes and draped the cloak with the Rosebud family pattern over him.

He was glad that he could once again serve his little king.

............

The king's officials soon arrived in Mourne.

Obviously, the king's capricious behavior of sneaking out of the palace on his own this time had broken the brains of these officials. But the matter of the Duke of Buckingham left them powerless to admonish the king. They joined in the business of organizing the war report.

And one man alone was summoned by the king.

The dusty Chancellor of the Exchequer had just stepped through the door when he heard the king's words:

"How long will it take to raise 20,000 pounds?"

He blacked out and nearly tripped.