The Savior

He suppressed the protests from his body, which was on the verge of collapse, and strode forward with legs as heavy and numb as if filled with lead. Relying on his familiarity with the village's terrain, he deliberately chose the most secluded and inconspicuous paths and corners, moving like a ghost.

He avoided the main road where early-rising villagers might be active, and also detoured around the village entrance where there might be guards.

Finally, he arrived at a relatively low, dilapidated earthen wall on the edge of the village. This area was close to wasteland and rarely visited by people.

He turned back for one last look at the lifeless Jialan Village, shrouded in the morning mist. His gaze seemed to penetrate the thatched huts and see his imprisoned mother, sister, and friends. His heart was filled with indescribable pain and despair.

"Wait for me... I will definitely come back to save you... Lord Karl... will definitely help us..." he murmured to himself.

Then, he took a deep breath, used his last bit of strength, and climbed over the low wall, crashing heavily onto the cold, hard, frost-covered wasteland outside. After a brief moment of dizziness, he struggled to his feet, not even bothering to brush the mud and snow off his body, and made his way around—towards Fran City!

He didn't look back, and with his still numb but desperately driven legs, he began a reckless sprint towards the Fran City, which represented hope and redemption under the gradually brightening sky in the distance.

The cold wind howled in his ears, but it couldn't extinguish the almost frenzied flame burning in his eyes, a flame fueled by his desire to save his family and friends.

He had to get to Fran City and find a way to contact Lord Karl; it was their only chance of survival!

The chill of early morning, like an invisible veil, enveloped the temporary camp outside the Fran City.

The campfire had long since died down, leaving only wisps of smoke rising and being quickly dispersed by the biting North Wind Stud Farm.

Karl stood alone outside his tent, wearing only a thin cloak, letting the biting morning wind brush against his face, trying to use the real cold to dispel the tangled, illusory fragments in his mind.

He woke up very early, or rather, he barely slept all night.

Everything that happened in the Count's office the day before yesterday—the cold, rigid words on that bright yellow Imperial Edict, the Count's heavy, helpless gaze, and Charlotte's departure...

All of this played out repeatedly in his mind, so vivid it was chilling, yet so absurd it resembled a clumsy nightmare.

For a few moments, as he gazed at the sky above the camp gradually turning white, he almost had to convince himself that none of it had ever happened.

He was still the border Lord who had won the favor of a beautiful woman through his military exploits, and Charlotte was still in that warm little house in Fran City, writing to him and waiting for him to come and marry her.

Sunshine, smiles, the future... these words still seem within reach.

However, reason always delivers the most merciless blow when he should be least aware.

The cold texture of that Imperial Edict seemed to still linger on his fingertips; the words "Prince Consort," "Princess," and "marrying down" were like poisoned icicles, piercing his self-deceiving fantasies time and time again.

Yes, everything has changed.

Charlotte, the woman he deeply loved and thought he could spend his life with, has been forcibly pushed out of his life by the powerful hand of authority in the cruelest way, and may even be suffering more pain than he is.

His own marriage and future were thus casually "decided" by the court in Prye City, as if it were the distribution of spoils of war or the signing of a trade agreement.

It's ironic. In my previous life, I was just an ordinary working person, but at least I had some freedom in marriage and love, and I wasn't bound by "parents' orders and matchmaker's words".

In this life, he possesses power unimaginable in his previous life: a secure territory, a loyal army, illustrious military achievements, and even the soon-to-be-acquired title of "Prince Consort." Yet, he is deprived of even the most basic right: the right to choose whom to spend his life with.

What is this? Is it the price one must pay to become a "big shot"? Or is it yet another malicious mockery of him, this "time traveler"?

He took a deep breath of the icy air, letting the chill penetrate to his very core, forcibly suppressing the surging emotions within him: resentment, anger, disappointment, and deep guilt towards Charlotte.

Now is not the time to indulge in personal emotions.

No matter how turbulent his heart was, he was first and foremost the Lord of Carnford, the backbone of thousands of soldiers and tens of thousands of his subjects.

On his shoulders rests the livelihoods and safety of countless people.

Strengthening Carnford's power, enabling it to truly establish itself and even stand out in the perilous Northern Territory, is his most fundamental and urgent task at present.

Personal joys and sorrows must give way to the survival and development of a territory.

"Let me marry Princess Princess then..." Karl murmured to himself, gazing at the majestic silhouette of Fran City in the distance. His voice was calm and undisturbed, as if he were stating something that had nothing to do with him.

Since there's no way to resist, then make the most of his status Prince Consort; it might bring him more political resources and conveniences.

Just then, a slightly hurried sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts.

A guard on duty strode closer, placed his right fist over his left chest, saluted, and whispered, "Sir, there's a man outside the camp requesting an audience. He claims to be your propagandist, named Tommy. He... he looks terrible, like he's traveled all night and is cold and exhausted."

Tommy Karl raised an eyebrow. He remembered this clever young man as one of Edgar's carefully selected "seeds" to be sent back to his hometown for "word-of-mouth" promotion and, incidentally, to secretly recruit manpower.

Why did he suddenly come back? And in such a disheveled state? Did the recruitment go wrong, or... did something unexpected happen?

Karl temporarily suppressed his inner turmoil and regained the composure befitting Lord.

"Bring him here," he commanded curtly, turning and walking back into the relatively warmer tent.

Soon, a guard led a man in.

Karl looked up and was slightly shocked. The Tommy in front of him was completely different from the young, energetic man he remembered.

His hair was disheveled, covered in dust and bits of grass; his face and hands were covered in chilblains and tiny scratches; his lips were purple from the cold; and his thin cotton coat was torn in many places, offering no protection against the winter chill.

He was trembling violently and uncontrollably, almost unable to stand. His eyes were filled with extreme exhaustion, panic, and the desperate hope of a drowning man seeing a piece of driftwood.

A kind soldier nearby draped an old cloak over him, but he seemed to lack even the strength to grasp the edge of it.

"Tommy?" Karl's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a reassuring quality. "What happened? How did you get like this?"