Days flew past like flowing water. Although the Northern Border of the kingdom was wreathed in the smoke of war, with almost daily bad news of Beastmen breaking through the defenses, life in Cyprus City seemed hardly affected.
After all, situated in the southern part of the kingdom and separated by the vast Central Plains, there was little concern that the Beastmen could really break through the many lines of defense and reach the South. People in Cyprus, accustomed to peaceful days, preferred to treat it as a spectacle unrelated to themselves. Only the Homer Morning News added some reports on the Northern warfare, becoming the favored gossip topic among the city's nobles and traders after meals.
Under repeated requests from His Majesty the King, Grand Duke Philip, after initially declining to send the Knights regiment from Cyprus to the Northern front, had no choice but to agree to fund the recruitment of a group of Mercenaries to be sent to the North, and also donated two million Gold Shields for the military expenses of the kingdom's Northern campaign.
Lately, Ramla Reese had been somewhat troubled, not by work, for as the Duke's Chief Financial Officer and a master of finance, he managed the tax and financial affairs within the Duke's territory with impeccable order. The annual tax revenue of the Duke's land continued to rise, and with his skill in managing finances, he kept the necessary expenses within reasonable bounds. Even the critical Duchess could not deny that Ramla was an excellent Finance Officer.
The silver-haired old man sitting at the highest place with a ruddy complexion was Grand Duke Philip, the actual ruler of the Homer region. His immaculate white silk gown looked exceptionally tidy, and the beautiful crest embossed with a watermark on the luxurious calf leather belt around his waist was striking. The scabbard inlaid with turquoise and lapis lazuli hung at his side, glittering, and a gold-embroidered red sash adorned his body diagonally, signifying lofty status.
Sensing his Finance Officer's distraction, the Duke slightly frowned, his two beautiful mustaches above his lips quivering, "My dear Ramla, you seem a bit unhappy. Is there something troubling you?"
"Oh, Your Grace, it's nothing. I was thinking whether we should raise the tax rate on tobacco leaves. According to the latest research by the renowned medical master, Mr. Herley, smoking is harmful to health. Tobacco leaves contain harmful substances that can damage a person's throat and lungs. Excessive smoking can even decrease the body's ability to resist diseases, making people more susceptible to various illnesses. However, tobacco from the South is increasingly flooding the Homer region, and Cyprus City is fast becoming a city of smoke."
Ramla was startled and quickly refocused his thoughts back to his work.
Before the Duke could reply, a corpulent man beside him chimed in, "Mr. Ramla, aren't you being a bit alarmist? Mr. Herley is purely a bookworm. He doesn't understand healing, and his so-called research findings really aren't worth mentioning. You should be careful not to be deceived, Mr. Ramla. In my experience, many people were already in poor health and just used smoking as an excuse."
The corpulent man was Count Crin, a boastful scoundrel, yet a distant relative of the Duke. He was closely associated with the city's tobacco traders, and no one knew how many benefits he received from them in secret. Ramla also knew that he would inevitably meddle in this matter.
"Hmm, Ramla, Herley's research findings cannot be the basis for us to raise taxes. Even if his findings have some merit, smoking tobacco is voluntary, and no one is forcing them. It is also their freedom, and we cannot interfere," said the Duke, the hint of concern clear on his face. He disagreed with his Finance Officer's suggestion; rising taxes might increase revenue temporarily, but could also greatly reduce the volume of trade in such goods, which wouldn't necessarily be a good thing.
Ramla had anticipated this outcome and was not surprised. He quietly nodded, choosing not to say more.
The council meeting ended swiftly. As the nobles and officials began to depart, His Grace called his Finance Officer to stay.
"Ramla, I can see that you've been troubled lately. Is something the matter?" Philip inquired with a tone of concern for his Finance Officer.
"It's nothing. I've just been feeling a bit unwell recently. I appreciate your concern," Ramla hesitated momentarily before sidestepping the issue. However, his momentary hesitation did not escape the Duke's sharp gaze.
"Is it the return of your exiled son that's troubling you?" A casual remark made Ramla Reese's heart shudder, and he looked up to meet those cold eyes.
"Your Grace, my son has indeed returned. However, I have ordered him to stay indoors and reflect on his actions," the Finance Officer answered dejectedly, looking down.
"Ramla, avoiding the issue is not the solution. I hear he's gotten tangled up with the Lux and Modo families again. Those three really are inseparable," said the Duke with a chilling smile. The past incident seemed vivid in his memory, and the resentful gaze of his youngest daughter still infuriated him. The wretched instigator had returned and, what's more, had become entwined with those two again.
"What, isn't it about time for your son to undergo his coming-of-age ceremony?"
Facing the Duke's question, Ramla sensed the implication in his words. His facial muscles twitched, and he forced a smile, "Yes, Your Grace. Thank you for your concern."
"Ramla, if your son continues to stay in Cyprus, I fear he will bring more trouble to your Reese family. Have you considered that sometimes indulgence is actually harm, and it might be best for him to seek a better path?" The smile on the Duke's face was indescribably sinister, and even the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.
Ramla hung his head, unable to meet the bright and gentle eyes he once admired. He knew what the Duke was implying; Komer had to disappear, or the Reese family might suffer. But Ramla could think of no better way to handle his good-for-nothing son.
"Ramla, I have a fine piece of land in the South, and I would like to bestow it upon you. Given that your son has traveled for a few years, he presumably must have learned much. Perhaps independent living would suit him better. How about letting him become a lord there?" the gentle voice rose again.
"Your Grace?" Ramla looked up in surprise and uncertainty.
"It's in the Caucasus. What do you think?" Duke Philip's smile at this moment was truly ominous.