Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

Chapter 139 Demon

Upon seeing this, Muhammad paused for a moment, then took out a piece of paper from his robes and handed it over with both hands: "This is His Majesty's preliminary plan—an indemnity of three million gold coins, to be paid in three installments."

"Cease Eagle's Beak Fortress and Stone Edge City on the border, as well as twenty miles of surrounding land."

Rex took the paper, glanced at it, said nothing, and handed it to the minister next to him.

The ministers circulated the document and began to whisper among themselves.

Three million gold coins and two cities—this is a very generous offer under normal circumstances.

But the situation is different now. Eriland is the victor and Sassan is the vanquished. How can the vanquished make the offer first?

Rex placed the paper on the table, his tone flat: "Is this your king's will?"

"Yes," Muhammad nodded.

"And what does my opinion mean?"

Rex's voice suddenly turned cold. "When you launched your attack without warning, did you ask for my permission? When your 30,000 troops besieged the city, did you ask for my permission? When my prince was forced to commit suicide, did you ask for my permission?"

The four consecutive "Have you asked?" questions, each one heavier than the last, seemed to freeze the air in the council chamber.

Muhammad's expression finally changed for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. He took a deep breath, his voice still steady: "Your Majesty, please calm your anger. My Majesty is well aware that the damage this matter has caused to your country cannot be measured in money, which is why he proposed reparations and territorial concessions as a sign of sincerity. If Your Majesty feels the conditions are insufficient, we can discuss further."

"Talk again?" Rex sneered. "Then I'll talk to you."

He stood up, walked to the map hanging on the wall, and pointed to the northern border of the Sassanid Kingdom: "Eagle's Beak Fortress and Stone Edge City, these two dilapidated cities together have less than 50,000 inhabitants, and their annual tax revenue is no more than 200,000 gold coins. You think you can fob me off with places like these?"

Muhammad also stepped forward to the map: "Your Majesty, although these two cities are not large, their strategic locations are crucial. Eagle's Beak Fortress guards the northern pass, and Stone Edge City controls the intersection of two trade routes. Ceding these two cities would be detrimental to your country—"

"To me, they're just two pieces of chicken ribs," Rex interrupted him. "They're tasteless to eat, but a pity to throw away."

He moved his finger north and pointed to another city: "I want this one—Iron Mine Mountain City."

The council chamber fell silent instantly.

Muhammad's expression finally changed. Iron Mine City was the largest iron ore producing area in the southern part of the Sassanid Kingdom, producing 30% of the country's iron ore annually. If this city were ceded, Sassanid's military industry would be crippled by half.

"Your Majesty," Muhammad's voice was strained, "Iron Mine City is of vital importance to our country, and this condition—"

"Important?" Rex turned around and stared at him. "When you attacked, why didn't you consider how important Rield City was to me?"

Muhammad opened his mouth, but could not utter a word.

Rex sat down, his tone returning to calm: "A reparation of five million gold coins, to be paid in full within two years. Ceding Iron Mine Mountain City, Eagle's Beak Fortress, Stone Edge City, and all the land between the three cities."

He looked at Muhammad and said, word by word, "These are the three conditions, and there is no room for negotiation."

The council chamber was so quiet that you could hear the candles burning.

The clerk on Sassan's side was trembling; ink from his quill dripped onto the parchment, spreading into a black blot.

Muhammad stood there, his expression shifting from shock to embarrassment, and then from embarrassment to bitterness.

He remained silent for about a minute, then let out a long sigh.

"Your Majesty, these conditions are beyond my ability to decide," he said, his voice hoarse. "I need to consult His Majesty."

"Very well," Rex nodded. "Didn't you bring a mage? I'll give you three days. If your king agrees within three days, we'll sign the treaty. If he doesn't agree after three days, I'll send troops to take it myself." Muhammad bowed deeply: "This old minister understands, thank you for your leniency, Your Majesty."

When Lance entered the palace banquet hall at night, it was already as lively as a market.

Dozens of nobles gathered in twos and threes, raising their wine glasses and engaging in lively conversation.

The women, dressed in colorful long dresses, moved through the crowd, their jewels glittering in the candlelight.

A small band was playing in the corner, the music melodious, but it was completely drowned out by the noisy voices.

Rex sat in the main seat, with three or four empty wine glasses in front of him, talking to a plump minister next to him.

The minister was sweating profusely and nodding vigorously, clearly having been severely reprimanded by His Majesty the King.

Alfred sat next to his brother, holding a wine glass in his hand.

Seeing Lance enter, Rex's eyes lit up, and he immediately stood up and waved, "Lance! Come, come, sit next to me!"

His shout silenced the entire banquet hall.

All eyes turned to the doorway.

Lance's long, silvery-white hair cascaded down his back, and his sky-blue eyes shone brightly in the candlelight.

Rex laughed heartily, raised his glass, and said, "Come on, let's have a drink!"

Lance raised his glass and clinked it against his, then drank it all in one gulp.

After a few rounds of drinks, Rex began to introduce the people present to him.

"This is Chancellor Malcolm, who's in charge of the money."

A gaunt old man stood up, nodded at Lance, his expression somewhat stiff.

Lance guessed that the old man was thinking about the five million gold market compensation.

"This is Roderick, the Minister of War, who is in charge of warfare."

A middle-aged man with a face full of scars stood up, his voice even louder than Rex's: "Mage Lance! I've heard so much about you! You fought a brilliant battle! In my twenty years of leading troops, I've never seen one so impressive!"

Lance shook hands with him.

"This is Leonardo, the court mage, an eighth-level mage."

A middle-aged man in a gray mage's robe stood up and bowed slightly to Lance.

An eighth-level mage, the same level as Lance, but at least twenty years older.

Leonardo looked Lance up and down, and said in a gentle tone, "Mage Lance, you have achieved so much at such a young age. You are truly a force to be reckoned with."

Lance: "You're welcome."

Rex then introduced seven or eight more people, including dukes, marquises, and earls, each with a name longer than the last.

After the introductions, Rex slammed his hand on the table: "Alright, alright, sit down and eat! I invited you here for a meal, not a meeting!"

The crowd laughed and took their seats.

The servants filed in carrying dishes: roasted lamb chops, stewed venison, honey-glazed foie gras, truffle soup—a table full of food.

Lance picked up a piece of lamb chop; it was crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, with just the right amount of seasoning.

Rex got into a good mood after drinking and started talking more. First, he boasted about Lance's military achievements again, then he started cursing the Sassanids, and after cursing the Sassanids, he started cursing the nobles in the country who "eat without working".

When he got really into the rant, even the ministers next to him didn't dare to say a word.

Alfred whispered to Lance, "That's just how he is; he swears when he's drunk. Don't take it to heart."

Lance shook his head: "It's nothing, it's quite interesting."

He did find it quite interesting.

Halfway through the banquet, Lance suddenly felt something was wrong.

He put down his glass and frowned.

Lance focused his attention and activated his vision to detect magic.

I didn't see anything.

Everything was normal in the banquet hall; the candlelight was ordinary firelight, and the magical fluctuations emanating from the nobles were normal.

But that uncomfortable feeling grew stronger and stronger.

He stood up, walked to the window, and opened it.

The entire sky seemed to be covered by a layer of dark red gauze, the moonlight became murky, and the starlight became dim.

A faint, fishy smell permeated the air, like a mixture of blood and sulfur.

"Lance? What's wrong?" Alfred walked over.

Lance didn't answer; he looked towards the direction outside the palace.

Over there, a dark red beam of light shot into the sky, piercing straight into the clouds.

The beam of light was as thick as an ancient tree, and its dark red glow was particularly dazzling in the night sky.

"What is that?!" Alfred's expression changed.

The nobles in the banquet hall also noticed the strange phenomenon outside the window and gathered around, whispering and discussing it amongst themselves.

"What happened?"

"What was that light?"

"Is it magic?"

Rex pushed through the crowd, walked to the window, squinted for a moment, then slammed his fist on the window frame: "That's the abyss's aura! Someone's opened the barrier of the material plane!"

"Where is the Venerable Jiboduan? How come he didn't find it?!"

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