At the Lord's Manor in Lakeheart Town, Paul was reading a report on explosive experiments.
A guard suddenly reported in a low voice from outside the door, "My lord, Scholar Alvis requests an audience. He says it's urgent."
Paul raised his head. "Yarvis? Isn't he at Blackwater Lake Fortress?"
"Yes. He just arrived, covered in dust and grime. It seems he rushed back overnight."
"Let him in."
The door was soon pushed open, and Yarvis walked in. His outer robe was caked with dust, his boots were covered in dried mud, and exhaustion was written across his face. Yet his eyes were exceptionally sharp.
He offered no pleasantries or salute. Once he had stopped, he immediately said, "Lord Greiman, why did you call off the offensive against the orcs?"
Paul was slightly surprised. "You came back because of this?"
"Yes." Yarvis's voice was somewhat hoarse. "Andrew showed me the Staff Department's letter. It said the planned offensive had been suspended and the troops had switched to defense—but forgive my bluntness, this is not the time to stop."
He took a step forward. "Alba won't stop just because we retreat. He needs time to reorganize his forces, and by giving him a chance to catch his breath, we're handing him the initiative. The newly allied tribes will waver, morale on the front lines will collapse, and if we try to advance again, the price will be far higher."
Paul listened in silence without interrupting.
Yarvis stared at him, his tone firm. "You've always been decisive and never hesitated when it came to seizing an opportunity. Did you stop this time because of pressure from the Royal Family? Or did the matter of Duke's enfeoffment leave you discouraged? I don't care about the reason behind it—I only want to say that stopping