Miss Wang Weina, even your cousin won't do!

"It's all up to you now."

He thought to himself. Finally, he arrived at the scene of the first riot in Hillsshire—Ravench Tavern.

Unlike the mercenary taverns in Kazdel's old town, Ravench's Tavern was truly just an ordinary little tavern. There was no blackboard for posting bounty missions; the entire tavern exuded a simple atmosphere. A few tables, chairs, a bar, and a few high stools—that was all the bar had to offer. As for the liquor racks behind the bar, they had been overturned in the riot, and the floor was littered with colorful shards of liquor bottles and water stains.

"What caused the riots?"

Kant scanned the bar and saw seven human figures drawn in white chalk on the floor, representing the seven people who died in the riot and their locations.

The accompanying adjutant, Hill, immediately replied:

"At 9 p.m. on the night of the incident, a Tara scum... a Tara man, after drinking, came out of the beer hall and provoked the Victorian soldiers on patrol in the street. He attempted to seize their weapons, and after three unsuccessful attempts to dissuade him, the soldiers fired a crossbow bolt, accidentally killing him. Subsequently, more than 30 Tara men rushed out of the hotel and attacked the soldier and three reinforcements who arrived later, resulting in the deaths of two soldiers and five Tara men. Twenty-three people were injured."

It sounded like a typical drunken incident: a drunken Tara man recklessly snatched a patrolling soldier's weapon and deservedly got killed.

But is this really the case?

Kant turned and glanced around the bar area. A residential building faced directly towards the bar; the ground floor was lined with shops. It was only nine o'clock that night, so the shops shouldn't have closed, at least not the nearby department store. If the shop owners heard the commotion, they would have noticed. Besides him, there were other people in the bar, and passersby on the street—there were bound to be many witnesses. This wasn't something that could be easily dismissed.

But now, Kant couldn't ask anyone. The department stores were closed, the apartment buildings were empty, even though wet clothes still hung on the balconies, and on the third day after the pub riot, Hamilton had designated the area a restricted zone, forcing all residents to evacuate—the very day Londinim announced the formation of an investigation team to examine the events in Little Hills. Having gone this far, only a ghost would know where to find eyewitnesses.

"Humph."

Kant snorted and turned to leave. The place had been cleaned spotlessly, so clean that they were confident they could easily fool them with a simple lie, and there was no need to stay any longer.

He was about to order a departure when he unexpectedly spotted a blonde Vayvan girl peering out from behind the crowd.

She was holding a bunch of chrysanthemums in her hands, and her attire suggested she was a member of Victoria's honor guard.

Interesting. A Victorian honor guard from Vaivan, coming to the Tara neighborhood he controls to mourn a group of "Tara thugs"? Kant's intuition tells him that this girl might know something.

"Soldier, come here."

Kant reached out and beckoned to the girl. The girl, Vaivafan, paused, looked around, and then pointed to herself in surprise.

"me?"

She asked somewhat flusteredly.

“It’s you.” Kant waved his hand, looking at the soldiers around him who were on guard with their crossbows raised, and said coldly, “Put down your crossbows. Those are Victorian soldiers. Do you want to shoot your own comrades?”

The garrison soldiers hesitated for a moment, then one of them jumped out and said, "That's Jane, Jane Willow, the flag bearer who just started serving in Little Hills this year, one of Adams's men. One of our own."

The garrison soldiers then lowered their crossbows. But they didn't notice that Kant's brow had furrowed deeply, and his eyes even held a hint of seriousness. Only when Jane Willow approached did he composed himself and say:

"Hello, what's your name?"

“Jane Willow, flag bearer of the First Guard of Honor of the Little Hills, Victorian Empire. Senior Colonel!” Jenny, having clearly seen the rank insignia on Kant’s shoulder and chest, saluted and answered loudly.

Kant nodded in satisfaction, glancing disdainfully at the guards beside him. Even a mere honor guard has more energy than you lot, these army parasites!

"Are you holding a bouquet of chrysanthemums in your hands to mourn someone?" Kant asked.

Jenny hesitated for a moment, then answered seriously:

“I would like to mourn Mr. Sirlo, who died in the riots. He was one of the victims of the riots, and he was a very good person. I really didn’t expect him to do such a thing.”

"Oh?" Kant seemed intrigued. "What kind of person is he usually? Tell me?"

Chapter 5: The Serious Situation (4k)

"As I just said, Sir Wenat, the Tara scum have seriously threatened the security of Littlehill County and even the Victorian Empire. This is no longer just my prejudice, but a consensus of the entire society! It is the accusation of more than twenty Victorian garrison soldiers who died in the Littlehill County riot! They also had children, parents, and their own families. I remember clearly what kind of expression they had when those rioting Tara scum slashed their necks with sickles and axes and smashed their heads!"

Hamilton gritted his teeth and slammed his fist heavily on the desk, sending the heavy books and telephone bouncing for a moment. He stared into the deep eyes of Sir Wernart, who sat opposite him at the desk, and a torrent of anger erupted from his mouth, almost splashing across Wernart's face:

“It was painful, it was resentful, it was regretful! They looked at me as if asking me why I didn’t make up my mind sooner to sweep all that scum out of Victoria! I gave the Tara people time to hand over the thugs, but their attitude was so arrogant it made me want to vomit!”

Hamilton gritted his teeth, pulled open the second drawer on the left side of his desk, took out a stack of blue folders, and pushed them in front of Sir Wernart.

“I know that words are not enough; you can see for yourself. See what they did after I asked them to hand over the thugs.”

Wenat's eyes flickered, and he nodded slightly, but said nothing, picking up the folder in front of him.

First report: [Day one after the Tara tavern riot: The Tara people formed three secret societies. They plotted and planned, and the third squad went to disperse them, reiterating their demand to hand over the rioters. That night, the Tara rioters, with the help of their supporters, infiltrated the garrison camp and attacked the third squad's position with explosives. Five members of the third squad were killed and thirteen were wounded; a fire broke out in the camp.]

Wernart frowned deeply. He had initially thought that these folders would contain materials Hamilton intended to use to drag him into the scheme, such as a stack of money, a pledge to participate in the operation, or some benefits offered to him.

But what he never expected was that these were actually pieces of evidence of the Tara riots! Moreover, almost every piece of evidence of the riots was accompanied by photographs taken at the time, showing charred corpses at the explosion sites, Victorian soldiers lying on stretchers, weeping and wailing after being injured and losing limbs, and the appearances of Tara rioters captured on the spot.

Wenat narrowed his eyes, put down the first folder, and picked up the second. He did the same with the second, and the third.

By the time Wernart picked up the fourth folder, his expression was incredibly serious, and at that moment, Hamilton spoke:

"So far, there have been three riots, and this fourth folder in your hand contains the recordings of our interrogations of those rioters."

Wenat looked up at him, then quickly looked down again, opened the fourth folder in his hand, and sure enough, there was a recorder inside. Wenat took out the recorder, turned it on, and pressed the play button.

The recording didn't produce a cold accusation or an angry denunciation. Wenat held the recorder, staring blankly as the progress bar moved from beginning to end. Only when the sound stopped did he look up, his gaze fixed, a mixture of bewilderment and anger in his eyes, and ask:

"what is this?"

"A recording, Your Excellency!"

Hamilton replied just as seriously.

What is he saying?

“He is cursing the Victorians, cursing the Victorian Empire, cursing the Aslan royal family, cursing you and me—all those who are determined to give everything for this empire.”

Wenat took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but his voice still trembled uncontrollably. He said sharply:

"You know that's not what I'm asking! I'm asking, what are they saying?! What language is this?!"

Wenat could swear that this was not the Victorian language he had ever heard before. Victorian was elegant, rhythmic, and the only universal language after Gaul that traversed the entire land. This language—this was not Victorian at all; it was blasphemy.

They were born on Victorian soil, grew up under Victorian protection, used Victorian industrial products, and enjoyed all the benefits of being Victorians. Yet they betrayed Victoria. Riots were a minor matter; no matter how many soldiers died, the Victorian Empire had ample manpower to replenish them. But they used a language that was not imperial within Victoria!

Language is the prototype of writing. Language carries culture and transmits ideas. Language can unite unrelated people. They created a new language. They are digging up the roots of Victoria!

This matter is absolutely not to be underestimated! This is not a trivial ethnic minority riot at all, but a war that has been deliberately planned and launched silently!

In this war, Victoria had unknowingly lost the initiative.

Hamilton noticed the serious expression on Werner's face, and only then did he reply:

"This language is called Tara. It is not a newly created language; you and I both know its origins. King Gael of the Drak royal family."

Draco...

Werner immediately realized the seriousness of the situation. He stood up, took out his phone, and wanted to call Kanté, but reason stopped him.

This is only Hamilton's side of the story, and it's not entirely reliable. Moreover, His Highness Wayne had warned them before they set off not to jump to conclusions.

The Tara rebellion had its reasons. When people were well-fed and clothed, and life could continue, no one would think of rebelling. As Hamilton mentioned, the mob even attacked soldiers with scythes used for harvesting wheat. What drove them to such dire straits that they had to resort to using farm tools to incite a riot?

This matter still needs investigation. Werner has already sentenced those few rebellious Tara thugs to death in his heart, but if the remaining Tara people can still be saved, Werner doesn't want to go on a killing spree, and he believes Prince Wayne wouldn't want that either.

The war may have already begun silently. Werner also hoped that it would end silently as well.

Let Kant continue his investigation; there's still one day until the third day's report. Hopefully, there's still time.

..........

Victoria, Little Hillshire, agricultural block.

Mandela wandered aimlessly across the farmland, a field once planted with wheat but now barren in the depths of winter. He kicked over a mound of earth, seemingly unconcerned that the ears of wheat inside might freeze and never sprout again.

The mud didn't stick to her toes. As a philim sorcerer who manipulated earth and stone, he cherished his feathers and would never allow dirty mud to soil his clothes.

"How much longer until we can launch an attack?"

Mandela, without turning her head, asked Ahmoni, whose clothes were soiled by the mound of dirt she had "unintentionally" kicked over behind her.

Ahmoni ignored it, brushing the dust off her clothes as she looked at the reeds bending down to place ears of wheat into the soil and wrap them up, and chuckled:

“Leader, don’t let the warriors of Deeppool see you like this, it will damage your prestige.”

Upon hearing about the leader, Mandela immediately turned his head and saw that Reed was actually squatting on the ground burying seeds. His expression immediately turned grim.

"Get up! Who gave you permission to do this in the leader's name!"

"You think this is lowly?" Reed patted the soil, stood up, flicked its tail twice, and asked expressionlessly.

Mandela inexplicably flinched for a moment, but immediately retorted with her neck stiff:

"Of course, isn't that right?"

Reed lightly denied it, as if stating a fact: "It's not lowly, as my brother has said."

"Brother?" These words seemed to ignite Mandra's powder keg. She took a step forward and retorted angrily, "He's just a nobleman from Aslan, a good-for-nothing who rose to power through bloodline rather than ability. You call him brother? What gives you the right to call him brother when you're in the position of a leader?"

Reed's eyes turned cold, she turned her head away, and replied disdainfully:

“You have no right to have this face, nor do you have the right to call me Brother Wayne.”

True damage is the most real damage in this world. Reed's words almost broke Mandela's defenses.

"you!"

She took a step forward, looking like she was about to make a move, but thankfully Ahmoni stopped her in time.

Mandra, that stupid cat, was absolutely right. If she were in Mandra's position, the Victorian army would probably have discovered Deeppool within two days, and they could be celebrating their own death anniversary this time next year.

"Alright, the time to begin the plan is almost here. Thanks to Colonel Hamilton, it's been much easier for us to incite the local Tara people."

Ahmoni quickly changed the subject, talking about the current progress of the plan.

"Leader, quite a few local nobles have already begun to contact us and accept our presence. Baron Bolton, a nobleman from Hillshire, has even provided us with a workplace to facilitate our infiltration of Hillshire. He is also preparing to host a Christmas dinner, which will be attended by many nobles and big merchants from Hillshire and even the surrounding counties. Among them are steel merchants and powerful nobles that we need very much."

"I'm the one who discovered this person!" Mandela immediately jumped out to claim credit. It's a pity Celt himself wasn't here, otherwise she probably would have been strutting around like a madwoman.

Ahmoni rolled her eyes at the silly cat and nodded: "Yes, it's you. But we've run into a little trouble too."

Ahmoni looked at the reeds and said:

"The trouble comes from Lentinium, from your brother, Lady Raphsini."

"Brother?" Reed became interested, snapping out of her idle state of fiddling with the wheat ears and looking at Ahmoni.

“Yes, your brother.” Ahmoni nodded. “Our biggest supporter, the Duke of Champagne, has sent us news that the Prince of Wales is taking the unusual situation in Little Hills very seriously and has sent an investigation team into Little Hills. The team is now investigating the riots in Little Hills. This is dangerous and beyond our expectations.”

Ahmoni bit her lip, her clasped hands tapping nervously with her fingers:

"None of us realized that an Aslan nobleman would take such a trivial riot in a medium-sized mobile city so seriously. Normally, Lentinium wouldn't even give such a second glance. But we miscalculated this time. The investigation team is an unstable factor and could very well affect our plans."

Ahmoni looked at Mandela: