The Town's Current Situation

"Did Master Aurelian tell you this as well?" Old Rune asked suspiciously.

"Yes, Master Aurelian told me to report to Master Master tomorrow morning."

Charles did not back down, staring into his father's eyes, which were filled with doubt.

Old Rune fell silent, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper.

To think Master Aurelian would actually say this brat had talent; it was truly unprecedented. One had to know that coming from the Star Royal Family, he had seen all sorts of geniuses—his standards must be terrifyingly high!

"Could it be that this brat Charles really has talent?" Old Rune felt a bit uncertain.

But Charles was someone he had watched grow up; how could Old Rune not know exactly what he was worth?

"Should I just let the brat give it a try?"

With this thought in mind, the look in Old Rune's eyes as he gazed at Charles suddenly changed; there was suspicion, but a glimmer of expectation was deeply hidden within.

After much deliberation, Old Rune finally spoke.

"You may go report to the knights tomorrow, but I have one condition."

Good heavens, he actually agreed so quickly! I must be dreaming.

He slapped his own face hard, and his cheek swelled up—it hurt! This was no dream, so what his father said must be true.

The ecstasy on his face could no longer be contained, and Charles trembled with excitement.

"Don't get happy too soon. If you fail the knight's assessment, come back and forge iron obediently, and never again indulge in the daydream of becoming a knight."

Old Rune's words were like a basin of cold water poured over Charles's head, extinguishing his joy.

"Yes, only by passing the assessment can one become a squire."

From the heights of joy to the depths of despair, Charles's mind was clouded with worry. He had heard the rumors.

Only one in a thousand people could pass the knight's assessment to become a squire; could he really do it?

"If you think you can't pass, you can give up now."

Old Rune spoke indifferently. Glancing at the pile of knightly longswords and armor in the corner, he continued his smithing; he still had a deadline to meet.

That fatty Hume had demanded that this equipment be repaired within a month.

Looking at that punchable, fat face, he wished he could smash it with an iron hammer!

"I will pass. I want to prove to you all that I, Charles, have the ability!"

Fourteen-year-old Charles lifted his determined face and swore.

"Hmph."

Old Rune ignored him, let out a grunt, and continued to strike the red-hot iron with his hammer.

In the study of the Winter City main castle, under the dim, yellowish glow of a few candles.

Aurelian stood in the study, a detailed map spread across the large desk.

The Frozen Land lay to the north, beyond the Wall of Despair.

He held a pen, marking and drawing, then connected all the black dots, leading them toward Winter City on the map.

"If I follow this route, I can avoid the most dangerous areas where magical beasts roam, but what if fierce barbarians appear?"

Aurelian muttered to himself, racking his brains in constant thought.

What worried him most were the barbarians, for they were elusive and their movements unpredictable; what if they appeared on the trade route?

If he could not resolve the threat of barbarian raids, the trade route he was planning could not be implemented.

That was right; Aurelian wanted to open up a trade route between Winter City and the southern human settlements, creating a long-distance commercial path that would make the southern settlements a window for Winter City to the outside world.

Of course, this would take a long time and require the support of a large number of people.

Under the dim candlelight, he rubbed his temples and looked out the study window.

The sky outside was slowly turning a pale, fish-belly white.

"Sigh, I was working overtime in that world, and I never expected to keep doing it after transmigrating. What a life of toil. Heavens, I just wanted to be a happy salted fish at first."

He sighed, feeling that being the Duke of Winter was truly not easy.

Shaking his head, he blew out the candles and headed toward his bedroom.

Early in the morning, the fatty Hume arrived at the main gate of the Winter City castle.

Acting somewhat reserved, he first took out a round mirror to tidy his appearance, then put on a suitable smile.

Then, he knocked on the gate with trepidation, unsure if Master Aurelian would see him today.

There was no help for it; every time he came, he was turned away, leaving Hume with little expectation.

Click.

The gate opened a crack, and a servant dressed in black and white asked, "May I ask, who are you here to see?"

"Hehe, I'm here to see Master Aurelian. If it's inconvenient for him, I'll head back now."

Having said this, the fatty Hume turned to leave, only to hear...

"Follow me."

His body stiffened.

"Hume, you've arrived at just the right time."

Aurelian slumped in a chair, eyes bleary with sleep, and let out a long yawn.

"My Lord, I have come to report on the situation in Frost Town."

The fat man, Hume, smiled obsequiously, looking every bit the sycophant.

Upon hearing the administrator's words, Aurelian suddenly perked up, his sleepy eyes snapping open as he looked at the fat man before him with newfound seriousness.

"Speak."

Seeing the sudden shift in Aurelian's demeanor, Hume was stunned for a moment before quickly recovering.

He hurriedly pulled out a notebook containing all the records regarding the population of Frost Town.

"Originally, there were four hundred and thirty people who followed you, My Lord, to Winter City, but due to the famine, two hundred have starved to death, and most have already been buried."

"And what about now?"

Aurelian asked quickly, eager to know exactly how many people remained.

"Uh, according to my count from yesterday, there are now one hundred and twenty adult males, fifty adult females, and sixty children. Furthermore, from the people I sent to investigate, I learned that many of them do not have much surplus grain; the least can hold out for two weeks, and the most can last for up to a month."

Fat Hume's face was filled with worry, as if he could already see the tragic future of Frost Town, though he had no idea what the Lord intended to do.

In his view, the best solution would be to simply abandon this territory and slink back to the Grand Capital.

"It can only last for such a short time? Damn it, the Magic Seed Wheat won't mature for at least another three months, which is when the dead of winter arrives—and that's being optimistic."

"How about this, Lord Aurelian, why don't we return to the Grand Capital now? I believe your father would not abandon you."

Hume suggested tentatively, carefully gauging Aurelian's expression.