The gleaming silver reflected the sunlight streaming through the church’s high windows. It shone with a soft, mystical light that tugged at the soul, like a peerless beauty striking her most seductive pose.

For a man of Count Quentin’s age, silver was perhaps even more alluring than a beautiful woman.

As nobles like Count Quentin grew older, their desire for beautiful women waned while their need for silver grew daily. Silver had become the one true focus of his life—his sole source of joy.

The crisp clink of the pristine silver ingots was music to his ears, their brilliant luster so tempting that Count Quentin couldn’t help but swallow. His eyes were glued to the silver, utterly unable to look away.

Count Quentin was not alone. The many Viscounts who had accompanied him wore the same expressions of desire and greed. Their eyes shone with avarice, making them look like a pack of wolves that had starved for days in the winter snow.

Only one noble remained unmoved—a relatively tall, grim-faced man with long hair tied in a ponytail, who seemed perpetually lost in serious, sorrowful thought. He merely glanced at the silver bars on the table before turning away and closing his eyes as if in meditation, showing none of the avarice of his peers.

Fang Zhen had been observing the nobles, with Count Quentin at their head.

He was quite satisfied with their reactions.

It is said that it is more difficult to touch a man’s interests than his soul. Conversely, interests are the easiest way *to* touch a man’s soul.

When Count Quentin and his men had entered the church, they’d shown no reaction to the sacred statue of the Tade God. Their reaction to the silver, however, was far more genuine.

The noble who remained so composed and unmoved by the gleaming silver, however, drew more of Fang Zhen’s attention.

’A noble who can remain calm before the allure of silver is a rare sight indeed. He might be a man of talent.’

Fang Zhen planned to learn more about this man after the main negotiations were concluded and see if he could recruit another capable person.

GULP.

The sound of Count Quentin swallowing broke the silence, thick with greed and desire.

Count Quentin noticed Fang Zhen’s gaze upon him. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the silver ingots and looked at Fang Zhen, asking in a bewildered tone, "My Lord, what did you mean by what you just said?"

"You want to bring justice to the Quentin Territory? What does that mean? Is there something in our lands that you find... objectionable?"

"And this..." Count Quentin’s eyes drifted back to the pile of silver ingots. After his covetous gaze lingered for a moment, he turned back. "What is the meaning of all this silver?"

"My Lord, I... I don’t understand your thinking."

Count Quentin may not have even realized it himself, but under the assault of the silver, his composure had shattered, and he had unconsciously begun addressing Fang Zhen as "My Lord," his tone laced with respect.

Fang Zhen’s expression was calm as his gaze swept across Count Quentin and the other local nobles. "I’ve taken the time to understand the relationship between Tarrenno and his vassals."

"Tarrenno is your Lord. Because of the conflict with the Balenzuo Duchy, he frequently conscripts the armies of his vassal Counts for both defensive and offensive campaigns."

"As his vassals, you are obligated to serve him loyally. However, when military funding falls short, Tarrenno provides you with a sum of Gold Rope for your expenses, framing it as a loan."

"But this money is a loan—not a reward, nor a gift. You, his vassals, are expected to pay it back."

"Not only must you repay the principal, but you must also pay interest."

"So the reality is that after every war, regardless of victory or defeat, you vassals become poorer. You are saddled with heavy debt. Eventually, some Counts can no longer even scrape together enough to cover the annual interest payments to Tarrenno."

"Am I not speaking the truth?"

After Fang Zhen finished speaking, Count Quentin and the others nodded repeatedly. They looked as if they were in great pain; a few even sighed audibly, their faces etched with sorrow.

Count Quentin’s own face twisted into a pained expression, his brow furrowed so deeply he looked as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"My Lord, you are correct," Count Quentin said. "That is precisely what Grand Duke Tarrenno does. As his vassal, I cannot refuse his demands, neither by law nor by custom. Besides... he does provide some funds, after all."

His voice trailed off, as if he could no longer convince even himself.

"Absurd! How utterly absurd!" Fang Zhen slammed his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the hall.

This time, however, Count Quentin and the other nobles were not particularly frightened. Instead, they watched Fang Zhen with rapt attention.

It wasn’t that they had grown braver; it was that Fang Zhen’s tone sounded... supportive? Not malicious.

Fang Zhen appeared genuinely angry. "What Duke Tarrenno has done is simply preposterous."

"War may be unavoidable given the current situation, so we cannot blame him for that."

"But for Tarrenno to provoke a war, then demand you cover the costs... The money he gives is merely a loan! You provide the men and do the fighting, only to be saddled with debt and exorbitant interest payments. It is utterly absurd!"

"It is not just."

Fang Zhen paused, his gaze sweeping over the nobles. "And I have come here to abolish these injustices."

"Ah?" Many of the nobles with Count Quentin gasped in astonishment.

Count Quentin’s own eyes went wide.