99: Chapter 99 is what we call stress testing.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the scout's body went limp, his head lolled to the side, and he lost consciousness completely, leaving behind a pool of startling crimson.

The smell of blood and the frantic tolling of the bell mingled like two invisible hands, instantly seizing the air in the study.

Evelyn's face turned pale, and she subconsciously gripped the hilt of the sword at her waist; it was her instinctive reaction as a knight.

Levi, however, showed not the slightest hint of panic, his eyebrows not even twitching.

His eyes were like a deep pond into which a stone had been cast; after a single ripple, they quickly returned to a death-like calm.

In his previous life, countless instances of clients' sudden requirement changes and midnight meetings when projects were on the brink of collapse had long since tempered his nerves to be tougher than city walls.

Panic was the least efficient emotion.

“Evelyn.” His voice was terrifyingly calm, as if the person who had just rushed in wasn't a dying soldier, but a servant who had delivered a letter to the wrong address.

“Present!” Evelyn’s body jolted, and she immediately switched from her knightly stress response back to her role as Chief Operating Officer.

“Carry him to the infirmary. Have the best physicians use the best medicine; save him at any cost. I need to know every detail he didn't have time to say before he passed out.” Levi's instructions were clear and concise, devoid of any emotion. “Then, ring the castle's council bell and summon all stewards, guard captains, and warehouse managers to the Council Chamber for a meeting immediately. Meanwhile, personally go and audit the treasury—weapons, food, arrows, medicine. I want to see an accurate inventory report of all war supplies within fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, My Lord!” Evelyn did not hesitate for a second. She immediately directed the guards to carry the scout out, her steps hurried. Her high-heeled military boots clicked sharply against the stone floor in a rapid succession of “da-da” sounds.

The study door was closed once more, sealing out the commotion and leaving only Levi and Graham inside.

The fire in the hearth continued to crackle, casting light upon the mithril ring on the desk—a symbol of the Byron Family's glory—and the 'contract' whose ink was still wet and marked with a blood-red thumbprint.

Graham's breathing remained heavy. He slowly lifted his gaze from the appointment letter and looked at Levi.

His expression was complex to the extreme, containing shock, doubt, and a sense of the absurdity of being toyed with by fate.

He had only just mortgaged his dignity and future to this nephew, and in the next second, an apocalyptic crisis was at the gates.

“Surprised?” Levi saw through his thoughts, his lips even curling into a cold arc. “Do you think what I gave you is an empty check that could be voided at any moment?”

Without waiting for Graham to answer, he reached out and picked up the heavy appointment letter, then grabbed a large ring of clinking brass keys from a drawer. He slammed them both down onto the desk in front of Graham.

“In my capacity as the Lord of Blackstone Territory, I hereby appoint you as the 'Blackstone Territory Special Wartime Defense Officer,'” Levi leaned forward, his black eyes sharp as a hawk's, pinning Graham with his gaze. “Take this, take the keys, and go to the mines.”

His voice was low, yet filled with an unquestionable pressure.

“Tell that group of self-important 'nobles' down there that the Duke of the North's men are coming. Tell them they have two choices now. First, take up arms and fight for me, for Blackstone Territory. Second, do nothing, continue digging their rocks, and wait to be discovered by the Northern Army, only to be hanged row by row from the castle walls on charges of being 'remnants of the Byron Family rebellion.'”

Levi slowly sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his entire being receding into the shadows.

“Go organize them, arm them. Aside from the standard equipment for the guards, all other weapons in the warehouse are at your disposal. I don't care what method you use—coercion or bribery—in half an hourglass's time, I want to see a force capable of bearing arms on the training grounds outside the castle. This is your first task, and quite possibly your last.”

Graham Byron's pupils contracted violently.

He understood instantly: this was a test.

A stress test of extreme cruelty, using the survival of the entire Blackstone Territory as the exam paper and the lives of over a hundred prisoners as the stakes.

If he failed, everything he had just gained—the director position, the money, the power—would vanish like a bubble under the iron hooves of the Northern Army.

And he himself, a general of the former dynasty and a traitor to House Byron, would never be tolerated by the Duke of the North, who was known for his strict military discipline.

Death would be his only end.

But if he succeeded...

Graham's Adam's apple bobbed, and his dry lips pressed into a hard line.

His heart, long since corroded by power and interest, was at this moment spurred by this hellish pressure into a long-lost fervor belonging to a battlefield commander.

He didn't say a word. He simply reached out his large, scarred hand, snatched the appointment letter and the cold ring of keys, and gripped them tightly in his palm, the metal edges digging painfully into his skin.

He stood up abruptly, turned without the slightest hesitation, and strode out of the study with great purpose.

A biting night wind blew across the quarry, kicking up sand and stones that hit the prisoners' tattered uniforms with a rustling sound.

The frantic tolling of the bell from the distant castle caused everyone to stop their work and look up blankly, whispering to one another, their faces filled with unease and speculation.

Just then, Graham's tall figure appeared on the slope leading to the camp.

He was followed by two guards holding torches, and the brass keys in his hand glinted piercingly in the firelight.

Every eye was focused on him.

Graham walked to a high point in the center of the camp, held the appointment letter high, and with all his might, let out a roar that echoed through the camp.

“I am Graham Byron! From this moment on, I am your commander!”

His voice was raspy, yet it carried an unquestionable authority.

The prisoners broke into an uproar.

They looked at this 'Number 001' who had been digging stones just like them a moment ago, only to become their superior in the blink of an eye. For a moment, they could not accept this absurd transformation.

Graham ignored their commotion. His cold gaze swept over faces that were shocked, disdainful, or envious.

“The Duke of the North's army has reached our borders! Your Lord, Lord Levi Byron, has given you a choice!” He paused, each word sounding as if it were squeezed through his teeth. “Take up arms and fight for Blackstone Territory, use the enemy's blood to buy back your freedom! Or, die here like dogs and be hung on the walls by the Northerners like dried meat!”

The crowd instantly erupted.

“Sending us to our deaths?”

“This is a plot by that little brat! He wants to use us as cannon fodder!”

“By what right! We are nobles! Not slaves to die for him!”

Cayden, the young knight who had always been suppressed by Graham, squeezed out from the crowd.

With a sinister sneer on his face, he shouted to incite the crowd: “Don't listen to him! He's already become Levi's lapdog! Brothers, this is our chance! The Duke of the North is here to settle accounts with the Byron Family; we aren't his enemies! We should take this opportunity to seize the armory, open the castle gates, and cooperate with the Duke from the inside! We might even get pardoned and have our status and glory restored because of it!”

Cayden's words were highly inflammatory, and many prisoners showed signs of being swayed.

The looks they cast toward Graham were filled with suspicion and hostility.

Faced with a situation that was about to spiral out of control, Graham showed no panic.

He simply looked coldly at the jumping Cayden, as if looking at a dead man.

He slowly lowered the appointment letter and took a black stone tablet used for recording points and a piece of chalk from a guard.

Under everyone's gaze, he heavily scrawled a few lines on the tablet. The handwriting was messy, but it carried a bloody murderous intent.

— 'Kill one Northern Army soldier, one year of hard labor remitted.'

— 'Kill one Northern Army captain, ten years of hard labor remitted.'

— 'Bring back the head of a Northern Army knight, restoration of noble status (without fief).'

Finishing, he turned the tablet toward the crowd, his cold voice ringing out again.

“The Lord said that this is just another piece-rate job for you. The payment is your freedom and your lives.”

There was no impassioned speech, no nonsense about glory and loyalty.

Only a naked, cold, and quantifiable exchange of interests.

The entire quarry instantly fell into a dead silence.

The prisoners stared blankly at the stone tablet, their breathing becoming rapid. So-called noble glory once again proved vulnerable in the face of absolute self-interest.

Cooperate from the inside?

Why would the Duke of the North trust them, the remnants of a rebellion?

Why would he pardon them?

That was just Cayden's wishful thinking.

But the price Levi offered was so real, so tempting.

Cayden's face instantly became incredibly ugly. He hadn't expected Levi to pull the rug out from under him like this, turning a potential mutiny into an internal bidding war over interests.

Just as the prisoners fell into hesitation and infighting due to this brutal deal—

“Woo—woo—woo—”

A low, suppressed horn blast echoed from the distant horizon, sounding like the roar of a giant beast from the abyss.

Immediately following, everyone saw a massive flag appear on the northern ridge, which was silver-gray under the moonlight.

The flag snapped in the night wind, and on it was embroidered a ferocious Ice-field Giant Wolf in silver thread.

That was the war flag of the Duke of the North!

Accompanying the war flag was a black horizon line that was constantly spreading toward Blackstone Territory.

It was the sky-obscuring dust kicked up by thousands of heavy armored cavalry, like a black wall swallowing heaven and earth, bearing down on them with the thunderous sound of hooves!

That suffocating pressure caused everyone present to feel a pang of heart palpitations.

Cayden stared blankly at the flag, then whipped his head back to stare intently at the words “restoration of noble status” on Graham's stone tablet.

His pupils contracted to the size of pinpricks in an instant.

In the next second, he let out a beast-like roar and was the first to turn, rushing like a madman toward the weapon cart being pushed by the guards behind Graham, snatching the longest iron spear from within.

His eyes, which were originally full of opportunism and malice, were now replaced by a more primitive, purer desire.

It was the thirst for survival and a morbid greed for everything he had lost.