[This is an easy job. You don't have to take any risks. All you have to do is place the message at the agreed location, and no one will know what you've done.] The words of the man in the silver mask, who claimed to be the person in charge of Black Money, echoed in his ears again.
[Ridiculous! Why should I help Graycastle? They even want to uproot the nobles. What good will it do me if I win?] The argument was still fresh in his mind. [I thought Black Money was a smart businessman. I didn't expect you to say such stupid things! Aren't you afraid that I'll tie you up and hand you over to Lord Marwayne in exchange for a handsome reward? ]
[If you really wanted to do that, there wouldn't be this interview in the first place.] The man's tone did not change at all, as if he did not care about his own safety. [The fact that I'm still sitting here is enough to prove your will. It's because you're a smart man that we're willing to provide this opportunity.] ]
[Unfortunately, you're wrong. My loyalty to the Duke is unquestionable. Now get out of here before I change my mind!] ]
[Of course, I'll leave now. But sir, this is the so-called opportunity. Black Money has no intention of forcing you to make a choice. It's your freedom to do what you want.] The man in the silver mask stood up and bowed deeply to him. He then placed a black card on the tea table. [The last thing I want to tell you is that Graycastle will never forget anyone who has served it. Then … we'll meet again someday.] ]
Fueler took a deep breath and stopped his messy thoughts. The room suddenly became quiet.
Never forget … anyone who has served Graycastle … huh?
It was ironic. He had submitted to Duke Marwayne in order to restore the glory of his family. Roland Wimbledon, who was the enemy of all the nobles, was supposed to be the most unforgiving person. But now, he found that he could not make up his mind.
The man sent by Black Money might be a bastard, but he was right about one thing. If he really wanted to serve the Duke of the Northern Territory, he would have torn the card into pieces long ago instead of carefully hiding it in the drawer.
After a long silence, Fueler looked up and sighed. He sat down in front of the desk.
He took out a piece of white papyrus and unfolded it, then picked up a quill.
What else did he have to lose?
Taking back the territory had become more and more uncertain, and he did not seem to have any reason to bite the bullet and persist.
Anyway, according to Black Money's method, I won't lose anything. I'll just take it as a bet on both sides. If the demons won, the situation could not get any worse. If the people of Graycastle won, he might be able to get compensation in other ways.
With this thought in mind, Fueler put down her brush.
…
In the evening, he wore a windbreaker and felt hat as he walked into Horn Alley in the inner city.
This was the territory of the Northern Chamber of Commerce. Most of the people who came and went were merchants. By sunset, there were very few people moving around.
At a gentle slope, Fueler found the location that the Silver Masked Man had mentioned. There was a huge silver fir tree between two brick houses.
As a matter of fact, the transmission method that the other party had agreed upon was also the reason why he made this decision.
There was no addressee, and there was no receiver, which greatly reduced the risk. At least he did not have to worry that Black Money would use this information to threaten him, or that other people would notice that he had been in close contact with an unknown person.
Fueler wandered around for a while. After seeing that there were no suspicious people around, he quickly went behind the silver fir tree and touched the tree hole in the middle. As expected, there was a secret compartment hidden in the tree hole. However, the compartment was completely an ordinary piece of wood, and it was difficult to detect it unless he touched it with his own hands.
He stuffed the letter into the secret compartment and pushed it back to the wooden partition. That was the completion of the task. He had deliberately written the contents of the letter. Even if it was discovered by a third party, they would not be able to link it to him through the handwriting.
Of course, this was not the end of the task.
After that, Fueler returned to his residence and moved a flower pot to the window sill of his bedroom. In the high-end residences in the inner city, such decorations could be found everywhere. No one would care about an inconspicuous potted plant. But for the people who were secretly observing this place, it was a signal that the message had been sent.
From the beginning to the end, he did not need to contact anyone. As for who would take the letter and how it would be delivered to the people of Graycastle, it had nothing to do with him.
The moment he put the flower pot down, Fueler even felt a sense of relief.
Just the gathering of information was done so meticulously. The difference between kings was really too great … He stood in front of the window and looked at the brightly lit castle district under the red fog. Thinking of the "defeated" who were still happily enjoying the banquet, he no longer held any hope for Marwayne.
There was only one question left.
Could Graycastle really defeat the demons?
*****
The messenger stacked a thick stack of papers on the damp and dilapidated wooden table.
"Is this today's portion?" Smarty lit the oil lamp. "Thank you for your hard work."
The other party did not respond.
He sighed and repeated it with hand gestures.
Only then did the messenger nod.
This person was the Silent One trained by his master. He could neither hear nor speak. He could only use simple hand gestures to convey orders or make inquiries. Unfortunately, there were no hand gestures to express his gratitude.
"Stand guard outside. Don't let anyone in." After Smarty let the Silent One leave, he began to read through the information.
This was a property that Black Money had set up for the underground chamber of commerce. Usually, they used an invitation system, so in theory, the possibility of outsiders breaking in was not high. But Smarty still chose to deal with the information in the cold basement so that he could buy more time to burn down the place when danger arose.
Although he did not know why his master was so concerned about the war in Graycastle, that was not something he could meddle in. Since his master had ordered him to fully assist Graycastle, the only thing he could do was to do his best.
His main task at the moment was to reorganize the intelligence and deliver it to the Graycastle people without anyone noticing.
Although the people of Graycastle requested that all information be kept secret, there were not always opportunities to secretly send information out of the city, so there was a problem of priority. Considering that the caravans that were allowed to pass through usually came and went once a week, he had to turn the most reliable information into a secret letter and mix it with the goods sent to the Kingdom of Wolfheart. As for the other information, he could only find another way to send it.
Most of the time, the information came from the mouths of the rats, so it was rather messy. He often had to spend a lot of time sifting through it. But this time, Smarty noticed that there was a letter in the paper that was obviously different from the other information.
The handwriting was neat and smooth, not something that had been casually copied from a tavern or on the street. It was also written in high-quality ink, and there were no wrinkles on the paper. It was obvious that the environment where it was written was much better than where the rats usually stayed.
He subconsciously held his breath and carefully read through the letter from beginning to end.
And the content of the letter was indeed different.
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