December 3, Tuesday, Earth time.
For the Earth players, the battle mission in the unnamed wasteland that provided abundant rewards only happened yesterday, but to the inhabitants of OtherWorld, two days had already passed.
Rumors and gossip swirled through the city in those two days, reaching even the workers in the northern districts and the disorderly civilian districts in the west. The news that the Bartalises' position was unstable and Indahl might soon see a new master was widespread.
Of course, such widespread rumors were not without a nudge from certain parties, like Viscount Darcy who delighted in the upheaval of Indahl's dynamics. Neither the previous nor the current head of the Bartalis family was particularly genteel, and having suffered at their hands for a lifetime, Viscount Darcy found immense joy in witnessing their downfall in his twilight years.
The primary reason Viscount Darcy dared to be so bold against the Bartalises was… the Church of Lady Gold Coin's ambiguous stance.
During these two days, Adra III had personally visited the Church of Lady Gold Coin thrice, yet Bishop Jene hadn't given a definitive response. This noncommittal attitude was a statement in itself—the Church of Lady Gold Coin had no interest in meddling in this affair.
The anxious Bartalis family had no choice but to send away their heirs…
"At last, this disreputable family, with bandit blood running through their veins, is going to be ousted." Viscount Darcy, over 60 years of age, cheerfully sipped his wine in his study as he ordered a few attendants, "Go, take some men and keep watch over the estates in Neuen Town, Horseshoe Town, Everwatch Town, and Cain Town."
The efficient attendants promptly acknowledged the order.
Relations among nobility were firmly intertwined yet also brutally cold and ruthless. Any sign of weakness in one family becomes fodder for the others—a "winner takes all" situation not unfamiliar to capitalists.
While Viscount Darcy scorned the Bartalises for their "bandit lineage," he himself was no saint. Turning to his steward, he said, "Ford, have Gina bring some gifts on my behalf and visit Rex in Weisshem. The young ones will have far more in common than they would with an old man like me."
Steward Ford respectfully acknowledged and left to make preparations.
Gina Darcy, the viscount's third granddaughter, was a demure and graceful young lady. Among his six granddaughters, she might not have been the most remarkable, but it was her who was chosen for this delicate task.
Sending his granddaughter was essentially Viscount Darcy placing a bet. If the ambitious Charles Rex was open to alliance through marriage with the Darcys, who represented the local nobility, then Gina, a granddaughter who wasn't particularly outstanding, could fulfill the role of a marriage tool more cost-effectively.
In the Rhine Kingdom, the status of noblewomen within their families was significantly higher than in the neighboring Norsk Federation. However, without skills beyond serving as a tool for marriage, they wouldn't receive much support from their families… The only consolation was that their dowries wouldn't be stinted by their families.
Gina Darcy, when personally informed by Steward Ford of her grandfather's request, knew her day had come.
The 19-year-old noblewoman had no time to dwell on her fate. Surrounded by her maids, she changed into a formal dress, took the gifts, and hurriedly boarded the carriage.
As the carriage bearing the Darcy family crest left the city, a peculiar convoy arrived just outside the western city gate, at the mule and horse market.
The market, bustling only on weekends and holidays, was a desolate dirt square on weekdays. The arrival of this convoy caught the attention of the guards at the city gate nearby.
No sooner had the convoy entered the market, a couple of guards approached.
Before the guards could get close, the convoy cut through the mule and horse market, heading straight for the slums on the other side.
The city guards halted, exchanged puzzled glances, then looked back at their commanding officer, who, equally baffled, gestured for them to follow the convoy for a closer look.
The strange convoy not only drew the city guards' attention but also intrigued the children playing nearby, idlers squatting by the road, and residents washing clothes at their doorsteps, long before it reached the slums.
With most of the able-bodied men and women out in the city looking for work, the slums were mostly inhabited by the elderly, children, and women during the day. As the convoy approached, the women, startled yet curious, quickly called their children inside, dragging the dirt-covered little ones back into their homes.
The convoy, consisting of four enclosed, bizarre carriages with thick wheels and unusual driver's seats, stopped at the edge of the slum. Four drivers emerged from the "cockpits" and skillfully began feeding the horses, showing no interest in the slums.
As the drivers tended to the horses, about a dozen sturdy men jumped down from the carriages, unloading unfamiliar machinery that the locals rarely saw. They began assembling the equipment on the open ground in front of the slums…
The slum residents, unaccustomed to such a spectacle, retreated indoors, peering out through windows and door cracks. Some braver children even ventured out to the edge of the clearing to watch from a distance.
Two city guards who had followed behind were baffled by the group's actions and called out, "Hey, what are you doing?"
"We're setting up a mobile mill," replied a young man as he connected a rubber hose to a heavy rectangular device, without turning to face them.
When they saw the man's face, both guards were taken aback, and one of them asked, "Eh? You… Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"
The young man responded with a good-natured smile but didn't respond, instead continuing his work and hooking up the other end of the hose to a strange cylindrical metal case.
With the unfamiliar machinery set up, the young men warmly called out to the slum residents.
"Attention, everyone! The mobile milling service is here, offering on-site flour milling at low prices! Just one copper coin processing fee for every five kilograms of corn!"
"Come and take a look!"
The enticingly low prices compared to the city mills tempted the slum denizens here, and soon, some cautiously approached with sacks of corn…
During the autumn harvest when corn was cheapest, the residents would stockpile as much dried corn as possible. They'd have it coarsely ground at city mills to make a thick porridge by stirring it into boiling water—a filling, if not particularly tasty, meal that was more economical than buying half a kilogram of black bread for several copper coins.
The young men, formerly soldiers of the Indahl city defense force and now Weisshem town hall staff, enthusiastically helped the incoming clients sift their corn for impurities before grinding it on the spot.
As the machinery roared to life, finely ground cornmeal flowed from the outlet, making the jaws of onlookers drop…
Curiosity led the city guards to squeeze through the crowd to the roaring machine, where one bent down to scoop a handful of cornmeal from the bag below the outlet. On standing back up, the guard exclaimed in amazement, "Hey, fellas, what's this contraption? How does it grind so quickly and finely?"
The young men only offered smiles in response.
The mill that these youthful staff brought from Weisshem wasn't the kind of mill found in factory districts capable of producing very fine flour, but rather a more compact and portable feed grinder. Despite how sturdy the Carriage Department's vehicles were, they couldn't haul many of the larger, factory-grade milling machines, especially not while also transporting diesel generators and fuel barrels.
In contrast, this feed mill was far more practical. Capable of pulverizing even branches into dust, grinding corn into meal was a breeze for it. Although it wasn't a proper flour mill, the resulting granules were of a micro-scale quality, far surpassing that of traditional water mills.
The first brave customer, who brought 10 kilograms of corn, saw it milled in just a few minutes. Delighted, she paid two copper coins and joyfully carried the ground cornmeal home, prompting more customers to flock to the site.
The two guards looked at each other and decided to run back to the city. Cornmeal was a staple for the city's populace, akin to potatoes, and this opportunity to process it so affordably wasn't to be missed.
Within half an hour, city residents began to make their way to the west gate, joining the queue at the milling site. Not just those with corn came but also those with wheat.
By the next day, as word spread, not only did more city residents head toward the west gate, but farmers from surrounding villages also arrived, bringing their crops on donkeys and mules to have them milled…
Hearing of this blatant competition right outside the west gate, the city's millers were livid. They gathered dozens of their workers and apprentices, ready to confront the "mobile mill" with shovels and clubs.
However, before this rowdy crowd could even leave the city, they were urgently recalled.
The reason it was halted was because the city's millers had learned the origins of this mobile mean—some people realized the young men were former city defense force soldiers and subordinates of the "traitor" Wagner Pitt.
Wagner Pitt's affiliation to Weisshem's new lord was common knowledge in the city. Local nobility was pondering how to curry favor with him, so the city's miller didn't dare stir up trouble at such a time.
Thus, the mobile mill from Weisshem settled in next to the mule and horse market outside the west gate…
Elsewhere, Viscount Darcy's granddaughter, Gina Darcy, was sitting quietly in an inn on Weisshem's main street, awaiting an audience with Charles Rex.
At an age full of curiosity, Gina might have explored unfamiliar streets elsewhere, but Weisshem was too intimidating a place for such ventures.
It wasn't just her. The accompanying steward, maids, and coachmen didn't dare venture out of the inn, and all just stayed put.
The reason was simple. The unsettling sight of skeletal undead casually passing by on the streets was too much for those unaccustomed to such sights.
After three days confined in the cramped inn, Young Miss Gina finally received word that Charlie Rex would see her.
In the town hall's reception room, Young Miss Gina met… Charlie Rex, whose tanned skin and closely cropped hair bore no resemblance to the rumors about him.
Staring at the young man who contradicted the image of "Charlie Rex" she'd heard about, Gina was speechless for a full thirty seconds.
"It's a pleasure to have you visit Weisshem, Miss Gina," Rex said, his demeanor polite and friendly. "I'm sorry, but I cannot accept the gifts from Viscount Darcy. Please convey my apologies to your grandfather."
With that curt rejection, the busy Rex hurried away.
Young Miss Gina sat dumbfounded as the accompanying steward, unwilling to give up, chased after Rex only to stop at the sight of him conversing with two undead in the corridor. Returning with a look of indignation, the steward exclaimed, "This man is so rude! What do we do now, Miss Gina?"
Gina stiffly shook her head, remaining unmoving.
Being rejected was something Miss Gina had considered; she knew her appearance wasn't particularly charming.
And from Charlie Rex's reaction (if he indeed was Charles Rex), it seemed he had little interest in marrying into Indahl nobility.
Gina Darcy, often overlooked within the Darcy family, was no naive girl. Growing up in a noble household, only the foolish lacked the acumen for strategic marriages.
"It appears Grandfather's hopes might be dashed," Gina muttered softly to herself.
As a young lady of a viscount family, Gina's reception in Weisshem was considered less than warm. She stayed in a civilian inn recommended by a town hall clerk without any special treatment during her wait. Even in the town hall, no clerk or officer paid her any special regard; everyone treated her as just another ordinary visitor.
Gina was accustomed to being ignored in her own family, but since she was representing her grandfather, she found the indifference in Weisshem particularly striking… It was clear that the people of Weisshem cared little for Indahl nobility!
Instinct told her that something wasn't right, but Gina couldn't pinpoint what it was. At this moment, a commotion outside jolted her.
Before she could turn over and look, her maid's terrified whisper and the steward's shocked retreat caught her attention.
The sight outside the reception room explained their reactions—the odd mound in the courtyard flashed continuously with white light, from which undead emerged one after another…
Gina paled, clutching the arms of her chair and rising slowly.
The number of undead in the courtyard was increasing.
"Could it be… today?" Her heart raced, and her breathing got labored. "Is today… the day Weisshem attacks Indahl?!"
In the hallway outside the reception room, Rex, who had just coldly refused Miss Gina, was rubbing his temples.
"So, Yang has spun my tale into a narrative for all the undead, hasn't he?" Rex grappled with the revelation.
"Indeed," Ji Tang affirmed with a note of sympathy. "He even took liberties with the tale, suggesting you suffered at the hands of the Rex family and that your mother's demise was entwined with… domestic strife, among other fabrications."
"It's fine, Rex," Zhao Zhenzhen offered consolation. "While our kin require a justifiable cause to undertake meaningful endeavors, the intricacies of such a pretext matter little to most."
Her observation was sound; indeed, the majority of players harbored little interest in the storyline—so long as there were monsters to defeat and treasures to claim, they were content.
"How does my background qualify as a legitimate pretext?" Rex couldn't help but feel bemused at the irony.
Exchanging glances, both Ji Tang and Zhao Zhenzhen found themselves in a quandary. "Well," Ji Tang began with a hint of exasperation, "tales of princes on quests for vengeance and damsels in distress stories are timeless favorites… You needn't take it to heart. Our brethren may rally to this cause in your name, but rest assured, their perceptions of you won't be swayed. In their eyes, you remain just like Hal and the others."
These were just memes in the eyes of players and indeed didn't need to be taken seriously.
Rex once again found himself facepalming.
His "Inner Demon Instance" would routinely massacre untold undead three nights in a row, biweekly, and now they were expected to view him as a beacon of inspiration… No matter the perspective, it was a notion he found impossible to ignore!
As Rex grappled with his dilemma, Yang Qiu had little patience for his delicate sensibilities. Coming from the main hall, he urged, "Stop dawdling, Rex. It's time to move."
This upcoming "siege" followed the same protocol as the previous battle on the wastelands: initial missions were assigned to a specific subset of players, allowing a fraction to accompany the NPCs to the frontline and establish respawn points before summoning the undead legions to join the fray.
Given the need to make a public appearance before the citizens of Indahl, Rex couldn't rely on Ascetic Lowell to stand in for him this time… He had to personally make an appearance.
With his emotions in a jumbled mess, Rex followed Yang out of the hall, still trying to mentally prepare for the encounter with the undead. But before he could even begin, he overheard a rather impudent skeleton atop the dais openly critiquing his appearance—
"No offense, but Rex really doesn't fit the bill of a revenge-driven protagonist. His visage, marked by a blend of vigor and melancholy, seems more suited for a tragic side story—the kind doomed from the start. To cast him as the lead is stretching it."
Rex. "…"
The insolent skeleton's companion seemed to agree, nodding. "Indeed, Rex's design hardly screams 'hero.' He'd be more believable switching faces with the pretty boy."
Another bored skeleton chimed in, "Well, you never know. This siege is bound to be tougher than the wasteland battle. Maybe Rex is here as an NPC to be a casualty in the first wave. Once he falls, it'll be the pretty boy's turn to shine."
The first skeleton seemed to be enlightened. "Ah, that makes sense! It was the pretty boy who led the troops before, right?"
"No wonder the pretty boy never tried to usurp Old Yang's position. The main plot has already been set here."
"Definitely, the pretty boy fits the role of lord much better!"
Rex. "…"
He silently inhaled sharply. He must have been crazy to even feel a shred of guilt toward these undead before!