Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

Chapter 138 I am the king, yet he dares to use troops without authorization.

After a night's rest, Alfred personally led Lance to the palace.

A person was standing on the steps in front of the palace.

He was tall and imposing, wearing a suit of golden armor, a purple cloak over his shoulders, and a crown studded with jewels on his head.

He had a square face, thick eyebrows, big eyes, and a short beard on his chin. He looked to be in his early forties, in the prime of his life.

His gaze swept across the crowd and landed on Lance, a broad smile slowly spreading across his face.

Lance glanced at the information panel—

[Target: Rex Eriland]

Race: Human

[Class: Warrior]

[Level: 14]

Just an ordinary soldier? Is his aptitude insufficient?

Rex strode down the steps, his voice booming like thunder: "Hahahaha! You're Lance?! I've been waiting for you for a long time!"

"Your Majesty," Lance nodded politely.

Rex grabbed his shoulder, looked him up and down, his eyes full of affection.

"Good lad! Indeed, a handsome young man! Come, come inside with me, I want to have a good drink with you!"

Lance was being pulled into the palace, glancing back at Alfred.

Alfred shrugged, with an expression that said, "I knew this would happen."

Lance felt like he was being dragged along by a bear.

"Your Majesty, Your Majesty!"

Lance pulled his arm away forcefully. "Please be gentle, my little body can't take this."

Rex paused for a moment, looked down at his hands, then at Lance's face, and then burst into laughter, the sound echoing across the square.

"Haha! Sorry, sorry!"

He released his grip. "I forget when I'm in a good mood. Mages are frail, unlike us warriors who are tough and resilient."

Rex looked him up and down, his eyes practically overflowing with admiration: "Good lad! Even younger than Alfred described in his letter! When I was your age, I was still wrestling with men in the army, and you, on the other hand, have already achieved unparalleled feats!"

Lance replied modestly, "Just lucky, just lucky."

Rex turned and walked into the palace, shouting as he went, "Guards! Bring wine! Bring food! I want to properly entertain my hero!"

The palace servants immediately sprang into action, some serving wine, others setting tables, their movements swift and efficient, clearly demonstrating their high level of training.

Alfred caught up from behind and whispered in Lance's ear, "That's just how my brother is, don't mind him. When he's happy, he's like a child, but when he's unhappy—"

He paused for a moment, then added, "When I'm unhappy, I like to be alone."

"Isn't that great?"

Graham followed behind, looking around excitedly.

This was his second time entering the palace; more than a decade had passed since his last visit. Much had changed, and everything seemed new and exciting. The crystal chandelier, the red carpet, the beautiful lady-in-waiting standing beside the pillar—

"Ahem." Alfred coughed.

Graham immediately looked away, straightened his back, and pretended to be very composed.

The group entered the main hall.

The main hall is even more magnificent than it appears from the outside.

The dome is painted with a huge mural depicting Charlemagne, the first king of the Kingdom of Eredland, holding a long sword and standing on a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood, with a golden sun above his head and subjugated enemies at his feet.

The walls on both sides were adorned with portraits of past kings, each more majestic than the last. A deep red carpet covered the floor, stretching from the entrance all the way to the throne.

The throne was made of pure gold, with the emblems of a crown, sword, and scepter engraved on the back, and fist-sized rubies set in the armrests. That chair alone would be enough for an ordinary family to live on for generations.

Rex strode to the throne, plopped down in a posture as swaggering as if he were sitting on a tavern bench. He waved his hand: "Sit down! Don't stand, it's tiring."

The servants brought chairs, and everyone sat down according to their status.

Lance was seated in the first position to Rex's right, opposite Alfred. This arrangement caused the ministers present to look at each other in bewilderment; that position was usually occupied by the Prime Minister.

An elderly minister with gray hair stepped forward and cautiously asked, "Your Majesty, isn't that position—?"

"What is it?" Rex glared. "Lance is my honored guest. What's wrong with him sitting there? Do you have a problem with that?"

The old minister shrank back: "No, no objection."

He quickly retreated, thinking to himself that His Majesty's volatile temper was indeed well-deserved.

Lance sat down with a clear conscience, picked up the wine glass brought by the servant, and took a sip of the fine wine!

It's much better than Rield.

Rex raised his glass, his voice booming, "Come on! Let's toast Lance first! If it weren't for him, Rield City might already be renamed Sassan City!"

Everyone raised their glasses in unison.

Lance raised his glass, clinked it against Rex's, and then drank it all in one gulp.

The wine is good, but it's quite strong; after one glass, my stomach felt warm and cozy.

Rex put down his glass, wiped his mouth, and got straight to the point: "Lance, Alfred told me all about your achievements in his letter. I don't like beating around the bush, so I'll just say what you want."

The question was so direct that it stunned the ministers present.

According to custom, such matters of bestowal of titles and rewards should first be discussed and a plan drafted by the ministers before His Majesty makes the final decision. How can you directly ask, "What do you want?" What if the person wants the throne?

Lance wasn't surprised. Alfred had told him before that his brother was just like that.

He thought for a moment and said, "Prince Alfred said he would grant me a marquisate and the city of Rield. I think that's quite good."

Rex laughed heartily: "Marquis? That was Alfred's idea; I didn't agree to it!"

The hall fell silent for a moment.

Alfred's expression changed slightly, and the ministers exchanged bewildered glances.

Lance, however, remained calm, holding his wine glass and looking at Rex, waiting for him to continue.

Rex, having finished laughing, slapped the armrest: "A marquisate is too low! I'll bestow upon you the title of duke!"

These words caused an uproar in the main hall.

A duke! The Kingdom of Eredland hasn't conferred the title of duke in almost a hundred years!

The last duke was the Archmage Giboduan.

The old minister with gray hair stepped forward again, this time his voice trembling: "Your Majesty! The title of Duke is no small matter! According to ancestral rules—"

"Ancestral rules?" Rex interrupted him, his voice turning cold. "Ancestral rules are the king's ancestral rules. You want to be king?"

"what?"

The old minister opened his mouth, but could not utter a word.

"Get out of here!"

Rex stood up, looking down at the assembled ministers. "Regarding the Duke, my mind is made up. The city of Rield and the three surrounding counties are all granted to Lance. In addition, I bestow upon him 100,000 gold coins and a certain amount of magical materials; the exact amounts will be determined later."

He looked at Lance and grinned, "How about that? Pretty generous of me, huh?"

Lance stood up and bowed: "Thank you, Your Majesty."

To be honest, he didn't really care whether he was a duke or a marquis.

They're all nobles anyway.

However, he certainly appreciated Rex's gesture.

Rex nodded in satisfaction, then looked at Graham: "Iron Fist!"

Graham jumped to his feet and saluted, "Your subordinate is here!"

Rex couldn't help but laugh at his expression: "Don't be nervous. You've served in Rield for over a decade, and your service has been invaluable. I hereby appoint you as General of the Imperial Guards, in charge of all the Imperial Guards in the capital. You shall take up your post tomorrow."

Graham paused for three seconds, then knelt on one knee, his voice trembling slightly: "This humble general—this humble general thanks Your Majesty for your great favor!"

Rex waved his hand: "Get up, stop kneeling, I don't like this."

Graham stood up, his eyes a little red. He had been the lord of Rield for over a decade, never dreaming that one day he would become a general in the royal guard in the capital.

This kindness is greater than the sky.

He stole a glance at Lance—if it weren't for Lance, where would he be today?

After dealing with the matter of bestowing rewards, Rex turned his attention to the Sassanid delegation.

Muhammad stood quietly in a corner of the temple, waiting patiently.

Seeing Rex looking over, he stepped forward and bowed deeply: "Muhammad Ved, Foreign Minister of the Kingdom of Sassanid, greets His Majesty King Ereland."

Rex leaned back in his chair, his expression indifferent: "Where's the official letter?"

Muhammad offered it with both hands.

A servant took it and handed it to Rex.

Rex opened it, glanced at it, and as he looked at it, his brows first furrowed, then he suddenly chuckled, and finally burst into laughter, his face full of mockery.

After he finished reading it, he tossed it to Lance, who was standing next to him.

"Take a look, all of you, and see what this little Aldridge has written."

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Lance took it and glanced at it.

It was written very long, several thousand words in total, all of which were high-sounding platitudes.

But the core content can be summarized in just three sentences.

First, as the Sassanid king, I was completely unaware that Cassius had dared to use force without authorization and even falsely summoned Olaf by royal decree. He deserved to die!

Secondly, this matter is entirely Cassius's fault, and I deeply apologize for the losses caused to your country.

Third, our two countries have been friends for generations, why must we resort to arms? Let's stop the fighting and make peace. We can discuss any demands you may have.

After reading it, Lance couldn't help but roll his eyes.

Is he coaxing a child?

Let's not even talk about whether Cassius had the ability to "use troops without authorization"—how could a paragon-level general mobilize an army of 30,000 without the king's order?

Olaf alone is not someone he can command.

That was the foundation of the Sassanid Kingdom, the pillar of the Heroic class, the kingdom's only treasure. Without the king's personal order, Olaf wouldn't even glance at Cassius.

Even if Cassius really had the guts to do something crazy, and was lucky enough to trick Olaf into coming by falsely conveying the king's order, the problem would be even bigger.

How can a general of the Exemplary rank command Olaf, who is of the Heroic rank? Who is really in charge of this army?

Even if Aldridge wanted to find a scapegoat, Cassius wasn't qualified.

Only a member of the royal family would be worthy of taking the blame.

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