"Governor! The latest dispatch from Lord Karl! Great Northern Victory!"
The messenger's voice was hoarse from excitement and hard riding, yet every word exploded beside Rochfort's ears like thunder!
"Speak!" Rochfort whirled around so sharply that the pipe in his hand nearly fell. His hawk-like gaze locked onto the messenger.
"We won, Governor! Lord Karl annihilated Sauron's main legion outside Frosgard! Harald was defeated and killed! Asgeir, Ivar, Gron, and the other Sauron legion commanders have all fallen! A great victory for our army! A great victory!"
The messenger blurted it all out in one breath, his face overflowing with uncontrollable pride and excitement.
The pipe in Rochfort's hand fell to the ground with a clatter, scattering a few sparks. He seemed to have been struck by a freezing spell, standing there rigidly. Only after several long breaths did he ask in an incredulous voice, "You... you're telling the truth? Harald... is dead?"
"Absolutely true, Governor!" The messenger nodded forcefully. "This dispatch was personally written by Sir Brendan! This lowly one would never dare falsify a single word!"
Rochfort immediately stepped forward and nearly snatched the dispatch, still warm with body heat and stained with sweat, from the messenger's hands. He unfolded it impatiently, his eyes flashing as he skimmed through the letter at a glance. The writing was concise and forceful, clearly recounting the course and outcome of the Battle of Frosgard. It matched the messenger's account exactly.
Yet while Rochfort's eyes raced across the letter, he never found the name he cared about most.
He suddenly looked up, seized the messenger by the collar, and asked urgently, his voice carrying a barely perceptible tremor, "What about Karl? How is Lord Karl? Was he injured? Is he all right?!"
Startled by Rochfort's reaction, the messenger hurriedly replied, "Rest assured,