Three days later, Veylin and his companions set out on their journey back to the Gray Marsh Fief.
Unlike the three who had made the trip there, the returning convoy was a grand procession stretching nearly a quarter of a kilometer.
At the heart of the convoy were Veylin, Ola, and Tristan.
Close behind came wagons laden with magical seeds, Alchemy Devices, and rare ores, along with a squad of well-trained, stern-faced servants and guards Marquis Lorenzo had personally assigned to his son.
Caroline had already gone ahead. Trusting Veylin, she had returned to Wrong Anchor Harbor with new orders and strategic plans before the council had even passed its resolution, mobilizing the entire merchant association to purchase and build new types of ships for the coming naval battle.
The convoy had been out of the Royal Capital for barely a day before its sheer scale drew the attention of the nobles along the route.
"Good heavens, whose convoy is that? Such disciplined guards, and those servants bearing the Lorenzo Family crest... could a Count be traveling?"
A sharp-eyed noble exclaimed from a roadside castle.
When they learned that the master of this procession was merely the Baron of the Gray Marsh Fief, who had been virtually unknown not long ago, they all fell silent.
That silence quickly turned into almost feverish flattery and hospitality.
Within the Duchy's noble circles, Veylin was now a rising star whose ascent seemed unstoppable.
Invitations to dinner banquets came fluttering in like snowflakes.
Countless noble ladies dressed in their most dazzling gowns gathered around Veylin like colorful butterflies.
Their bright eyes gleamed with the most primal desire.
Some hinted openly, others more subtly, that they wished to spend the night with the young Baron, hoping a single night of passion might bind this man