Sir Spello had been stationed at the western gate for the past few days to receive the Agent of the Saint.

"You state the obvious as if it were something new." The count snorted, then slowly turned his gaze.

At a respectful distance, Spello had already stopped his horse and was awkwardly dismounting. Holding the reins, he approached and bowed his round-cheeked face.

"The Agent of the Saint and his group have just passed through the western gate, Your Excellency."

"I see. Did he leave any message?"

"He asked that you be informed he will visit after first stopping by the Ark Caravan’s lodgings."

"I understand." The count nodded

Rinel, walking beside him, smiled. "Perfect timing. I’ll be able to greet him properly."

"Yes. I’ll do that. You return to the estate and inform the attendants at the annex," the count replied evenly, tilting his chin toward the approaching fork in the road. "And compile a written report on today’s work."

"Alone? Right now?" Rinel stopped, frowning slightly.

The count returned the look. "Yes. You haven’t already forgotten the discourtesy you showed His Grace, have you?"

"You truly never let anything slide. Very well."

"Make sure it’s done properly. If you handle it carelessly, your departure to the southern farmlands will simply be moved up by a day."

"You’re merciless. Understood." Shaking his head, Rinel turned away and began to walk off.

Spello caught the count’s glance, nodded, and followed after him.

Clip-clop, clip-clop—

Walking alongside the wagons, the count watched his son’s retreating figure. Rinel was already complaining animatedly to Spello behind him.

I have no choice but to be harsh, you foolish boy.

A faint trace of unease flickered in the count’s narrowed eyes. He knew well that he was weakening with each passing day.

That he had yet to fall ill was likely only due to the blessing of the Goddess of Prosperity—but even so, it was only a matter of time before his mobility declined.

His second son, for all his complaints, was unexpectedly capable and resolute. However, he still lacked the defining moment needed to earn the respect of both the people and the nobility.

But if the Agent of the Saint were to...

The count turned his gaze forward again. The lead wagon had already begun entering the caravan’s compound ahead.

"Slowly! No rushing! one at a time!"

The guards at the gate shouted, signaling with their hands. Their tense expressions likely came from realizing the count himself was present.

"Pretend I’m not here."

The count stopped in the middle of the road, folding his arms. He knew his presence would only make the guards more nervous, but he had stopped specifically to greet the Agent of the Saint’s group the moment they arrived.

By the time more than half the grain wagons had entered the estate, another set of wagons appeared beyond the bend in the road.

Clip-clop, clip-clop—

Pulling the lead wagon was a black steed with sleek, glossy fur, long legs, and a thick gray mane.

Compared to the pack horses trailing behind in two neat lines with their heads lowered, it carried an unmistakable air of nobility.

Behind it, another wagon drawn by a white horse rounded the corner.

"Master! Master is back!"

"You look awful. You must’ve been through quite a bit."

A murmur spread among the caravan workers.

On the lead wagon’s driver seat, slumped beside a rough-looking priest, sat Fael, his face pale and exhausted. His eyes flicked across the grain-laden wagons, then widened as he noticed the count standing in the middle of the road.

Fael hurriedly straightened his clothes, but the count wasn’t even looking at him.

"Welcome back, Your Grace. I just received word from Sir Spello." Count Morgan Westwood bent his knee respectfully in greeting.

Striding past the wagons, Ian Hope approached. The Red Knight and the silver-haired elder followed behind him, along with the caravan guards.

Ian gave a small nod and said, "To think we’d meet again so soon. It seems you were finishing the task I requested."

"I had intended to simply prepare the supplies and wait. But as you were delayed, I proceeded on my own." The count straightened as he replied.

Ian stopped before him and smiled faintly. "As efficient as ever. Good timing, then. We can inspect the goods and settle payment immediately."

"Would you not prefer to rest first?"

"If it suits you, Count. It’s easier for both of us to settle business first, isn’t it?"

"That suits me perfectly." The count returned the smile, appreciating Ian’s directness in handling business.

"Your Excellency!"

As Thesaya and Mev exchanged subtle greetings behind Ian, Fael rushed over to stop beside them.

"Ah, I made use of your workers for a time. You’ll be compensated, so there’s no need for concern."

Fael bowed deeply with a smile. "Please, don’t trouble yourself. Before departing, I instructed them to fully cooperate with your request. I only hope they didn’t slow things down."

"Not at all. They were thorough and diligent."

"I’m glad to hear it. They’ll be pleased as well."

As Fael smiled warmly, Ian glanced at him and said, "Would it be possible to speak with the count inside for a moment? Our transaction isn’t quite finished yet."

"Of course. This way, please." Fael nodded quickly and gestured toward the estate.

By now, all the grain wagons had already entered through the gates.

Ian nodded, then turned to the count. "Shall we?"

"Yes, Your Grace." The count turned, waiting half a step before falling in beside him.

"Your second son isn’t with you today, Count?" Thesaya asked from behind.

The count cleared his throat lightly. "I’ve entrusted him with finishing the work."

"Finishing?"

"All work concludes with documentation."

"Ah, right. The most tedious part." Thesaya sighed, sounding as though she knew it all too well.

As Ian passed through the estate gates, Fael spoke again from the side, "I’ll have the payment prepared separately, Your Grace. It wouldn’t do to present it all in crates."

"My thanks." Ian nodded, his gaze already following the wagons ahead as they entered the central courtyard.

"And the goods you’ll be taking with you, I’ll have them loaded onto separate wagons," said Fael

"Do so."

"Would it be alright if your warhorses pulled them?"

"Hmm..." At the question, Ian paused briefly, then glanced back."It should be fine, but don’t bind the two of them right away. Have Nasser and Father Miguel hold the reins, or send them ahead to the estate first."

"Understood. I’ll see to it."

The count quietly observed the exchange.

The way one gave orders, and the other accepted them, was entirely natural.

He was well aware of the relationship between the Hex Alliance, especially the Ark Caravan, and the Agent of the Saint.

However, it seemed they were closer than he had been told.

"Does the Ark Caravan not purchase grain? Wheat, barley, beer, perhaps?"

At the count’s sudden question, Fael immediately smiled. "Of course we do. We’ve been purchasing annually from the capital within the limits permitted by law."

"Then come here starting this autumn. You’ll be able to acquire far greater quantities."

"Are you serious?" Fael’s eyes widened. He knew well that the count had, for generations, traded only with a select few merchants.

The count nodded. "We’ll arrange a proper meeting to discuss the details. My son will handle the transactions with you. You’ll likely find him more agreeable than an old man like me."

"It would be an honor, Your Excellency." Fael bowed deeply at once.

From behind, Thesaya let out a quiet snort, clearly having seen through the count’s intention to connect Rinel with Fael.

The count pretended not to notice, clearing his throat lightly.

"Oh?" Ian slowed his steps, letting out a soft sound of interest. He had spotted the wagons lined up across the courtyard.

As the count stepped closer, Ian remarked, "You’ve prepared far more than we discussed."

"I assumed you might need it. There’s no need to worry. I won’t be charging extra," the count answered calmly.

Ian glanced at him with a faint, knowing smile before turning toward the corridor.

"Bor? Handle things here for a moment. I’ll accompany him." Fael added as he turned back, then hurried ahead.

The caravan guards stopped where they were, and Fael opened a door along the corridor, checking inside before turning back.

"Please go ahead and talk. I’ll prepare everything and return shortly."

"No need to rush," Ian said as he approached and stepped inside.

The count followed him into the reception room. On the table, a pewter flask of wine and several cups had already been set.

"Please, sit." Ian approached the table and raised a hand.

"Yes, Your Grace." The count nodded and took his seat.

Only Thesaya followed them inside.

Mev stopped at the doorway and said, "Please, take your time."

It was clear she intended to keep others from approaching. Ian glanced at her briefly, then nodded and picked up a cup.

Clink—

The door closed behind them. Thesaya sat beside him without removing her hooded cloak.

Ian placed a cup before the count and said, "You’re certain you’re fine giving us that much?"

"The Archduke of the North himself came in person to request it. How could I refuse?" the count answered respectfully, lifting the cup.

As Ian set a cup for Thesaya as well, the count continued evenly, "I already owe you a great debt, Your Grace. Even if you had sent only a messenger, I would have accepted, but you honored me with your presence. It is only proper that I return that respect."

"And will you say the same to the royal house?"

"They won’t find grounds to object. The last time royal blood visited this land was decades ago."

That was the justification the count had ultimately settled on. Ian let out a low chuckle, lifted the bottle, and filled the count’s cup.

"If that’s how you see it, Count."

"You could make this a model for other nobles to follow. It’s quite an impressive decision." Thesaya added casually.

The count let out an awkward cough, while Ian filled his own cup and took his seat.

"Thank you for the map. Thanks to it, we didn’t lose our way at any of the forks."

"Did your business conclude successfully?" the count asked carefully.

Ian nodded, raising his cup. "It did."

"More than that, actually. You’ll find out soon enough," Thesaya added, bringing her cup to her lips.

The count watched Ian take a sip, then lifted his own. "Have you purified the curse of the Mist Valley?"

"That fog isn’t a curse," Ian replied, lowering his cup.

The count’s brow twitched. "Then what is it?"

"An ancient spell."

"I see..." The count nodded slowly, bringing the cup to his lips, hiding the faint, bitter smile that had crept onto his face.

Ian watched him for a moment, then said, "But the source that was corrupting the fog has been removed. Along with the one commanding the wraiths."

The count froze mid-sip, eyes widening.

Meeting his gaze, Ian let a faint smile form. "The wraiths still remain, but they won’t be able to cause any real trouble anymore. I figured you were wondering."

The count lowered his cup, asking cautiously, "Then is that area no longer a cursed land?"

Ian nodded. "Still, it’s best not to approach it for a while."

"That is excellent news. You have my sincere gratitude, Your Grace." Setting down his cup, the count dipped his head slightly.

From beside them, Thesaya’s voice slipped in, "You were planning to clear the forest near that area, weren’t you?"

"That doesn’t sound like something the count himself wants," Ian answered, his gaze confirming he had seen through the plan."

The count met his eyes and gave a faint smile before nodding. "Yes. I intend to make it my son’s first charge."

"As expected." Ian returned the smile and took another sip.

Thesaya let out a soft, amused breath. "Clearing a forest near a former cursed zone... that would carry quite the significance. Grueling work, too. Enough to earn the title of ‘the mud-stained noble,’ I’d say."

"You both seem to see right through me." The count chuckled, leaning back slightly.

It was true. There could be no better way to establish Rinel’s standing. It was exactly what he had hoped for.

After glancing between Ian and Thesaya, he continued, "I’ve already received far more than the grain I provided. I find myself in your debt once again, Your Grace."

"I did it for my own purposes, so don’t think of it that way. And even if you do, I’ll make sure to pay the proper price." Ian set his cup down and tilted his chin slightly.

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door.

Mev’s firm voice followed, "Your Grace, Master and Oscar have arrived."

"Let them in," Ian replied immediately, then looked back at the count with a faint smile.

"I’ll say this in advance. I added a bit more on my side."