Lord: My Shop Connects to Modern Times

Logan stayed in Grayrock for less than two days before hastily embarking on his journey home.

Time was of the essence, and he couldn't linger here any longer.

He had to bring the message back to the capital and to the Church of Holy Light as soon as possible.

Let's see if the archbishop has any ideas on how to persuade His Majesty to abandon the attack on Grayrock Town.

Although he hadn't been here long, Logan had already grown very fond of the place.

Logan glanced back in the direction of Grayrock Town.

Only a blurry outline remained, appearing and disappearing in the morning mist.

He rode slowly on his horse, his mind filled with the scenes he had witnessed over the past two days.

Clean and tidy streets.

A house with windows filled with glass.

Residents queuing in front of the public treasury wore satisfied smiles.

In that place called "school," a group of children sat together, reading aloud with their teacher.

This is not a place where cults run rampant; it is clearly a peaceful and serene land.

"Sir," the young monk accompanying him rode closer, "what are you thinking about?"

Logan looked away.

"I'm thinking about how to tell the archbishop when I get back."

The young cultivator remained silent for a few seconds.

"Do you think... that Lynn is really a cult member?"

Logan didn't answer immediately; he thought of the time he parted ways with Lynn before he left.

The young man saw him to the town gate, shook his hand, and said, "Have a safe journey, Deacon Logan."

His tone was calm, without any flattery, nervousness, or eagerness to "get you to speak well of me in front of the church."

It was like saying goodbye to an ordinary friend.

Logan looked at the young monk: "Do you think he looks like him?"

The young cultivator seemed surprised that the steward had thrown the question back at him. After a slight hesitation, he still expressed his immediate feelings.

"It doesn't look like it at all, not at all."

The young monk pondered for a moment: "In fact, compared to him, the nobles of other territories are more like cultists."

"I have never seen a cult member treat ordinary people as family."

Logan nodded.

The other person thought the same way he did.

If nobles elsewhere were all like Lynn, Goddess Sovia would surely be very pleased to see that.

The mission of the Church of Holy Light is to bring the Holy Light to all parts of the world and to all people.

And now, the people of Grayrock Town are already bathed in the "holy light"...

……

Rock Fortress, Duke's Study.

Ivan Sullivan sat behind his large desk, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface.

There were more than a dozen letters spread out on the table, all from various parts of the southern border—responses from different lords regarding the number of troops they would send.

He had read all the letters, and as he had expected, most territories had only sent half, or even less, of their troops to deal with the matter.

Although he requested all his troops at the time, only a few minor viscounts with low titles, remote locations, and little power chose to send all their troops in order to curry favor and gain greater benefits.

Everyone else appeared to be doing their best, but in reality, they were keeping their own things to themselves.

The reasons are mostly the same: the territory cannot be completely without troops, and it is necessary to maintain daily security and deal with monsters.

Haha, these old foxes.

Ivan couldn't help but sneer inwardly.

However, he didn't make a fuss about it.

He simply relayed the new king's orders as required; how many people obeyed and responded was none of his concern.

Moreover, as someone with top-tier status and power among the nobility, he was already used to this attitude from these people.

He himself did not intend to send too many people; two thousand soldiers were enough for him to "express his loyalty" to the newly enthroned king.

Moreover, the one they were fighting was a viscount.

Ivan stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window is the inner city of Rock Fortress, which is bustling with activity at this moment.

Advance troops from several nearby territories have arrived and are settling into their camps.

Flags fluttering, soldiers moving about, warhorses neighing—it all looked quite convincing.

But actually?

He roughly estimated that the maximum number of troops he could muster this time was 10,000.

There are more than a dozen lords of varying ranks in the southern border, who together have about 20,000 soldiers. But if they actually send out 8,000, that's considered good. Adding the 2,000 he sent himself, he barely manages to raise 10,000.

Ten thousand people are fighting against two small territories with a combined population of a few thousand.

That's more than enough, it's even a bit of an overkill.

Ivan did not underestimate Lynn; the fact that Lynn had developed so rapidly in such a short time meant that he must have considerable strength.

However, not taking it lightly doesn't mean taking it seriously; it just means having a normal attitude.

This confidence mainly stems from an absolute numerical advantage.

But Ivan knew in his heart that out of these 10,000 people, very few were truly willing to risk their lives.

Most nobles were just there to go through the motions—send some troops, go through the motions, and then go back to claim credit after the war. If a real war broke out, who would be willing to sacrifice their own loyalists to the death?

"Your Grace," came the voice of a guard from outside the door.

"Enter."

A young guard walked in, carrying a stack of new letters.

"Sir, several more replies have arrived."

Ivan took them and opened them one by one.

Most of the time it was the same as before—a few hundred people, a few hundred people, and then a few hundred more.

Until he opened the last letter.

Earl Lehman's reply.

Ivan had some recollection of this Lehman.

The person in my memory was a kind-hearted man with a strong sense of justice, and recent intelligence reports indicated that he had trade dealings with Lynn, and there were also rumors that Lynn had saved his son.

Ivan raised an eyebrow and unfolded the letter.

The letter was brief and formal, perfectly conforming to the etiquette of correspondence between nobles. But the content…

The other party promised that he would send three hundred elite soldiers, led by his chief knight Gavin, to advance from Stormlands along the eastern front towards Ironstone Fortress, where they would join the main force to jointly besiege Grayrock Town.

And before they rendezvous, they will keep a close eye on this eastern highway to ensure that Lynn does not take it first.

Ivan read it carefully and remained silent for a few seconds.

Lehman was only willing to send 300 troops, which annoyed him. He knew that the other side was a real old noble family with a strong army and more than 2,000 soldiers.

But the other side is only willing to send three hundred men. Even if they are truly elite, that is far too few. This is blatant self-deception, which is far more excessive than those nobles who sent half their troops.

Ivan put down the letter, his brow furrowing slightly.

Three hundred people.

Earl Lehman, who owns the rich land of Stormwind Territory and has at least two thousand soldiers under his command, only sent out three hundred men.

And what's with the "elite" label?

Ha, whether they're elite or not, who knows? Anyway, he can't count them himself.

Ivan leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest.

He recalled the rumors about Lehman Brothers.

The old man had a good reputation among the nobles of the Southern Territory; they all said he was fair, loyal, and kind to his people. But on the other hand, some said he was too sentimental, and sometimes even a bit "pedantic."

Loyalty and loyalty...

Ivan's gaze fell on the letter.

Lynn saved Lehman's youngest son. He knew this; it had been mentioned in the intelligence report.

At the time, he found it amusing—a down-on-his-luck viscount had saved the earl's son, and now he could climb the social ladder.

It now seems that Lehman really took this to heart.

Otherwise, there's no way to explain why only three hundred people were sent.

Without the new king's order, there probably wouldn't even be three hundred of them.

Ivan gave a cold laugh.

Fine.

Three hundred it is.

Anyway, we won't be short of a few more people.

He put the letter aside and stopped thinking about Lehman's military intervention.

But the idea had already been planted in Ivan's mind.

After this battle, we need to settle the score properly.

He wasn't unaware that these nobles would be perfunctory, but he knew exactly how perfunctory they would be.

For someone like Lehman to only offer 300 is already beyond his tolerance.

He is an earl of the Southern Territory, and I am a duke of the Southern Territory.

This battle was ordered by the new king, and you only contributed three hundred men. If you had ordered the battle yourself, would you have shown no respect and not contributed any men at all?

Not giving yourself face...

Ivan's fingers stopped tapping.

Forget it.

Now is not the time to dwell on things.

It would be a joke if the internal situation deteriorated before the battle even began.

Let's talk about it after the war is over.

There will be plenty of time to calculate later.

Ivan stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the camp was growing larger. Flags fluttered in the wind, and soldiers came and went—some patrolling, some training, and some carrying supplies.

It looks pretty convincing.

Ivan looked at the flags and silently estimated the troop strength in his mind.

Five hundred men arrived from Earl Willard's side—half the number of one thousand he had mentioned.

Two hundred men arrived from Viscount Patrick's side—half of the promised four hundred.

One hundred and fifty arrived from Viscount Raymond's side—the agreed-upon three hundred, which was also half short.

Adding his own two thousand, he scraped together about eight or nine thousand.

It might not reach ten thousand, around eight or nine thousand, but that should be enough.

He turned and walked back to his desk, picked up Lehman's letter, and read it again.

Three hundred people.

Elite.

Keep an eye on the eastern front.

Ivan folded the letter and put it in the drawer.

Let's talk about it after the war is over.

Now, let that kid named Lynn know what happens when you offend someone you shouldn't.

He walked to the map, his gaze falling on the tiny dot of Grayrock Town.

A viscountry with a few hundred people, what kind of waves can it make in less than a year?

As for the rumors about the other party's cultist identity, strange weapons, and wondrous creations, Ivan scoffed at them all.

Under absolute power, nothing fancy or fancy will work.

He shook his head and stopped thinking about it.

"Someone come here."

The guard pushed open the door and came in.

"Go and urge all units to complete their assembly within three days. The army will set off in fifteen days."

"yes!"

The guards withdrew.

Bugle calls came from outside the window; more troops had arrived.

Ivan opened the window and watched the convoy slowly drive into the camp.

The flag bears an unfamiliar emblem—some minor nobleman's man again.

He took a deep breath; the air carried the unique coolness of the mountains.

Unbeknownst to him, far away in Stormwind Castle, Lehman was sitting in his study with a hand-drawn map spread out in front of him.

On the map, the road east of Ironstone Fortress is circled in red.

The words "Flanking Point" were written next to it.

Lehman looked at those words and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

Three hundred elite troops.

They are indeed elite.

However, they weren't going to fight Lynn.