industrial lord

Chapter 724 The First City

The midday sun pours down on the damp, rough stone slabs of Guankang, releasing a rich, salty aroma of sea salt, fish, and seaweed piled up on the shore, which forms the backdrop for the cool sea breeze of early autumn.

On the third day after the Weisen army occupied Stork Harbor, the towering bow of the king's flagship slowly and heavily broke through the murky shallow waves of the harbor. The pier was lowered, and when Rudolf disembarked, the cloak behind him fluttered like a streak of blood, which was particularly dazzling under the midday sun.

Behind him, the armor of the royal knights reflected a cold light, and the clusters of scarlet feathers on their helmets surged like fiery clouds, yet exuded a stiffness that was deliberately ostentatious.

Baron Laken, the acting mayor of Stork Harbour, had been humbly waiting for some time on the muddy stone slabs at the edge of the dock. The hem of his silk cloak was stained with wet water, and his well-maintained hands had white knuckles from excessive exertion.

"Your Majesty! Stork Harbor is bathed in your glory and filled with supreme joy! It is all thanks to your benevolence that peace has descended upon us like the warm sun!"

His deliberately raised, fawning voice, tinged with a barely perceptible tremor, tried desperately to drown out the seagulls' greedy cacophony, sounding particularly jarring on the empty dock.

Last night, someone gave Larken and his group a political lesson, making them understand the undercurrents beneath the surface of the Rhine Alliance.

In politics, what's more terrifying than making a mistake is choosing the wrong side. Larken, who had some ulterior motives, broke out in a cold sweat in class.

Franz Jr. stood beside Laken like a statue cast in black iron.

He wore the iconic blue-black double-breasted woolen army dress uniform of the Wesson Army, embroidered with intricate double-headed eagle emblems in gold thread, which shone with a calm and dignified luster in the sunlight, while the polished bronze epaulets were as sharp as blades.

Facing the king, he simply bowed as usual, his heavy helmet remaining perfectly still.

"Your Majesty, the gates of Stork Harbor are now open to you."

"Wesson's northern corps has completed its defensive deployment and is as solid as a rock."

His voice was loud like the resounding beat of a war drum, but his gaze was as calm and still as a deep pool. The red and gold double-headed eagle sash on his chest, symbolizing the highest honor of the Weisen Army, seemed to burn like a flame in the sunlight, dazzling and intimidating.

Rudolf's lips curled into a smug smile, his chest throbbing with a tipsy thrill at the easy victory.

He reached out and patted little Franz twice on the shoulder, saying with a solemn yet excited tone, "You did very well, very well!"

"You captured Storkport in just one morning. This is not only a victory for you, but also a victory for the entire Rhine Union."

"Submit the list of those who have performed meritorious service, and I will reward them all!"

He meant it sincerely. The initial success excited the entire army and deserved a good reward. This inspired the general to press on and take Flensburg in one fell swoop.

The fact that Stork Harbor had quickly joined the Duchy of Wessen was a real headache for Franz and his men. The day the assault team landed, they immediately reported back, and the officers were all muttering to themselves that the commander here was quite capable, actually coming up with such an ambush.

At this moment, the ship's radio was turned on, and instructions came from Wesenberg City to prepare for the work of the military and civilians in Stork Harbor. Franz Jr. and the others were completely confused and sent a telegram to the Hammarby command to inquire about what had happened.

The feeling of powerlessness, like punching thin air, left Weisen's army speechless. So when they reported it, they only mentioned that they had entered Guangang. Rudolf assumed that they thought it was a minor incident and therefore did not report it, and thus assumed that only a small-scale battle had taken place.

Rudolf had his own plans.

Land occupied during large-scale wars is usually distributed only after the war ends, or at the earliest during the winter break, as a reward to the nobles who fought the bravest that year to boost morale.

He has decided to give this significant port city to his Queen Antonia.

The church's bronze bells rang out with a deafening roar, their melodious yet hollow sound echoing beneath the blue sky, mingled with the sharp, piercing sound of bugles.

Rudolf rode his snow-white unicorn, gracefully kicking its belly, as its horseshoes trod the land of the first city he had conquered under his command.

Along the road from the docks to the city gates and then to the castle, soldiers of the Wessen Army gripped their peacock rifles tightly, the tips of their bayonets gleaming coldly, forming a chilling barrier.

Under their control, the citizens erupted in a perfectly synchronized but flat cheer, which had been rehearsed several times: "Long live the King! Long live the Rhine Alliance!"

However, the thunderous roar that crashed into Rudolf was like hitting an invisible wall, and its power dissipated instantly.

Rudolf's hawk-like sharp gaze swept over the faces forced to look up—every smile on each face was like a mask copied from the same painter's brush, the corners of their mouths turning up at an astonishingly consistent angle, only their eyes held a numb, stagnant pool.

An old woman carried a half-empty wicker basket, with a few dried vegetable leaves clinging to the bottom. Her cloudy eyes stared blankly into the city gate, which was closed to traffic. She seemed oblivious to the magnificent ceremony before her, muttering to herself, "If we go too late, the bread will be sold out."

Several lightly dressed children were patted on the back of the head by their mother's rough hands before they opened their mouths and pretended to welcome His Majesty the King.

The midday sun of early autumn should have been warm, but Rudolf sensed a chill that seeped into his bones in those numb eyes. His gaze inadvertently swept over the brand-new colorful flags and the hastily hung brightly colored ribbons.

The city wall bears scorch marks from fire, weathered by time, probably over ten years old, resembling ugly scars.

One of the tower's shutters was dilapidated and crudely nailed shut with just a few brand-new wooden strips.

There had been no battle at all; a slight stiffness instantly froze the perfect kingly smile on Rudolf's face.

He slowly raised his right hand, a hand adorned with heavy gemstone rings that symbolized supreme power, ready to wave to the crowd.

His fingertips suddenly touched a receding energy in mid-air—those arms that had been waving mechanically suddenly pulled back as he approached, like a startled tide rapidly retreating.

The cheers were still loud and piercing, and the smiles were still on his face, but when his gaze pierced through the noisy shower of flowers and flying confetti, reaching deep into the crowd, all he saw were empty pupils and a stiff, twitching mouth due to tension.

Rudolf was no stranger to such an expression; he could always find such an atmosphere in the arena, the shooting range, the racetrack, and anywhere cheers were needed.

A cold, distant feeling and a deep-seated fear, like a thin layer of frost, covered the ornate sugar coating called "welcome." The unicorn's hooves echoed loudly on the silent stone slabs.

That night, the castle's main hall shone like a shower of stars as a banquet was held to celebrate the king's arrival.

The long table was covered with a brand-new linen cloth, and the silver candlesticks cast a warm yellow glow, illuminating the golden suckling pig, the mountain of oysters, and the deep red wine.

The air was not filled with pure celebration, but rather with a carefully crafted, suffocating tension.

Rudolf sat in the main seat, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the ruby ​​at the top of his ring—the empty eyes and silent retreat of the daytime felt like a cold snake coiling around his heart, and Larken's premature surrender to Grand Duke Wessen made even the sumptuous feast before him tasteless.

Larken became the busiest figure at the dinner party.

He hardly ever sat down, spinning around the king's throne like a top whipped by an invisible lash, his temples damp with sweat, which gleamed greasy in the candlelight.

He bowed deeply, his face plastered with a fawning smile that was even more pronounced than during the day, almost overflowing with obsequiousness. Every time he spoke, his voice sounded as sweet as poison coated in honey to Rudolf's ears.

"Your Majesty! Please try this special tribute of conger eel from Guankang. It is incredibly delicious! It was the fattest and most exquisite eel I specially ordered to be selected from the first catch this morning!"

Larken personally presented a trembling, creamy eel jelly to Rudolf's silver platter with an uncomfortably intimate gesture.

"Ah! Savor this wine again! Your Majesty, please look, its color is like the finest ruby! This is a fine wine, twenty years old, treasured in my family's cellar, specially awaiting Your Majesty's tasting!"

While he exaggeratedly praised Rudolf's "supreme glory" and "divine wisdom," he carefully poured wine for the king, the clear sound of the wine hitting the glass being particularly jarring in the silent hall.

The river of words from Laken surged, yet it always inadvertently carried phrases like "the Weisen army is powerful," "the Weisen army is brave," and "the Grand Duke of Weisen is incredibly powerful," like tiny fish bones in fish meat.

Rudolf's gaze occasionally swept over Larken's chubby face, flushed with excitement, and then over the local minor nobles below, such as Lauding and Legge, who were silently chewing and their eyes were wandering. Finally, it settled on the few empty seats—officials such as Franz Jr. were absent under the pretext of "inspecting the defense overnight."

A surge of pent-up frustration welled up in the king's chest.

Every flattering word and exaggerated gesture of Larken seemed like a clumsy farce playing out before him, a series of sharp, piercing notes constantly emphasizing "who is the master of this place."

The table laden with delicacies, the room filled with candlelight, and Larken's incessant flattery all fermented an intense, suffocating atmosphere of falsehood, even more so than the stench of salted fish from the harbor.

Rudolf was increasingly agitated. Whether from a traditional or legal perspective, Stork Harbor had joined the Duchy of Wessen just before the army set off, so it could not be considered an occupied territory from any angle.

A useful piece of news reached the king's ears:

"The Grand Duke of Wessen's plenipotentiary envoy will arrive at Stork Port tomorrow morning."

Rudolf managed to maintain his imperial facade, but his fingers unconsciously tightened around the wine glass, the cold glass unable to quell the burning heat rising from his fingertips as he suppressed his anger.

Using the excuse of being tired from the journey, he suddenly got up and left his seat before the ball after the banquet, leaving Larken standing there dumbfounded.

Larken watched as His Majesty the King left, escorted by knights, and took out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

(End of this chapter)