Lord blessed by the elves

Chapter 70 Nondescript
"Hey, hey, wait!" The stall owner panicked when he saw him about to leave, realizing it would be a shame to miss out on this sale. "Forty catties! Take forty catties of grain right now! Any less and I'll lose money!"

Kruse stopped, turned around, frowned as if engaged in a fierce internal struggle, and finally gritted his teeth with a pained expression, saying, "Fine, fine, forty pounds it is! I'll take the loss! Cooper, pay up!"

Wilstone and his knights standing behind him were dumbfounded. They never expected that the young master, who was usually so composed and shrewd in the castle, would be so skilled and experienced at bargaining, just like a seasoned street hustler.

Cooper quickly and carefully weighed out forty catties of grain from the cloth bag he was carrying on his back and handed it to the stall owner.

The stall owner muttered "I'm losing money," but still quickly took the grain and handed the weapon to Kruze.

The transaction was complete. Kruse picked up his newly purchased "junk" and a barely perceptible smile appeared on his lips.

This not only saved him ten kilograms of grain, but also allowed him to fully integrate into the environment and become more like a real leader of the refugees who knew how to manage his life frugally.

Kruze's blushing and haggling over a few dozen kilograms of grain not only perfectly concealed his identity but also successfully deceived the scrutinizing eyes in the shadows.

Inside a simple stone house built on the edge of a natural cave on the edge of the market, several figures were observing the outside world through the cracks.

They watched as Kruse haggled with the stall owner, and their tense nerves relaxed slightly.

"Looks like there's no problem," one of them said in a low voice, a hint of disdain in his tone. "A true nobleman wouldn't stoop to arguing over such a trivial matter. They must be Robert's men, that's for sure."

A middle-aged man with a sharp, hawk-like gaze, carrying an old hunting bow, nodded in agreement: "Yeah. I heard that Robert pulled off a big heist a while ago, robbing a knight of the entire summer harvest and making a fortune. He's probably enjoying himself in some remote mountain village right now, and sent his men here to trade for some stuff they need."

The first person to speak hesitated for a moment, a calculating glint in his eyes: "Robert is bold and has some strength. Since his men are here, let's try to contact them and see if we can recruit Robert's entire gang. Successfully seizing the summer grain of a knight's territory proves their fighting power is not bad, which is exactly the kind of strength we need."

“That’s right!” The middle-aged man with the bow on his back curled up a cold smile. “There are plenty of disorganized refugees, but truly capable and courageous fighters are a rare commodity. This matter needs to be dealt with as soon as possible.”

………………

As Kruse and his group finished their shopping and were about to leave the bustling place with their bags full of supplies, the guards from the market entrance reappeared and silently blocked their way. Although their attitude was not as fierce as when they questioned them before, their silence carried an undeniable air of authority.

Wilstone's pupils contracted, and his hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword, his muscles instantly tensing.

The lead guard raised his hand, gesturing for calm. His voice, deliberately slowed, carried an almost formal tone that seemed out of place in this savage marketplace:

"Gentlemen, please do not be agitated. We mean no harm."

He paused slightly, his gaze sweeping over Kruse, who was subtly protected in the center by the crowd, before continuing in a declarative tone, imbued with an ancient sense of ritual:
"We have come on the orders of the master of this land to extend an invitation to you all. Our esteemed leader sincerely hopes to share lunch with you and your companions today. He believes that in this forgotten land, strength and wisdom should recognize each other, not ignore one another. This is a rare opportunity to open up the possibility of dialogue and to discuss... perhaps some order that exists in the future."

This refined yet confident invitation, like a solemn melody suddenly played amidst the clamor of a bustling marketplace, caused Wilstone's hand, poised to draw his sword, to freeze in mid-air. He looked at Kruze, awaiting his decision.

Kruse's mind raced, and he instantly realized that this was no simple "lunch together".

This is more like a trap, a formal test and display of strength from an adversary lurking in the shadows.

Refusal could mean an immediate breakdown in relations;

Acceptance means stepping onto a stage carefully prepared by the other party.

He took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in his heart, and stepped forward. With a composure no less than his opponent's, he responded, his voice not loud, but clear enough for the surrounding guards to hear clearly:

"We are deeply honored by your kind invitation, sir. In times of chaos, order is what all beings yearn for; amidst conflict, dialogue is the light of wisdom. Please lead the way, we are eager to keep this appointment and listen to your wise insights."

His response was both an acceptance of the invitation and a display of composure, while also emphasizing "order" and "wisdom" with neither arrogance nor servility. He subtly accepted the issues raised by the other party and even seemed to be challenging their authority.

A barely perceptible hint of surprise flashed in the eyes of the guard leader, who seemed not to have expected the other party to accept this sudden, ceremonial invitation so smoothly.

He said no more, but bowed slightly to show his respect and made a "please" gesture.

Kruse maintained a calm and composed demeanor on the surface, but in his mind, countless curses were running through his mind.

The scene before him was so absurd that he could only laugh—it was like a group of peasants who had never truly stepped into high society, clumsily imitating the formalities of the aristocratic circle, trying to squeeze out some elegance, but the result was a hodgepodge, full of laughable déjà vu.

However, he had to play along and respond in the same refined tone, which even earned him some respect from the other party, who treated him like a "kindred spirit".

This kind of empty rhetoric, which has long been rejected by pragmatists at real aristocratic banquets, is unexpectedly being thoroughly enjoyed by these roughnecks in this lawless land, a haven for refugees.

Led by the guards, they arrived at the largest building in the center of the market—a stone hall expanded from a natural cave and reinforced with massive logs.

The room was set up as a simple "dining room," with a rough long wooden table covered with a "tablecloth" that had been washed white but still had some unknown stains.

Only four people were seated at the head of the long table and on either side.

(End of this chapter)