Chapter 329: Rotten

"Your Highness, is this really for the Physics Academy?"

Inside the Oxford Academy, Ethan asked in an excited voice.

The students of the Physics Academy were flushed with excitement as they looked at the fifty thousand caps of silver notes in Simon’s hands.

They had all been poor scholars; none had ever seen this much money before. Fifty thousand caps; it was unbelievable.

Simon nodded. "This is what I promised you. Naturally, it’s for you. But one thing: this money is for public use by the Physics Academy, not for private gain. It will be managed by the academy’s administration, and every expenditure will be reported to the government office."

Ethan nodded in agreement. This meant that aside from the usual support provided by the government, they now had an independent budget to buy experimental materials as needed.

"Thank you, Your Highness! We will use this money carefully." Ethan’s face was glowing with joy. Last time, it was his lack of funds that got him kicked out of the textile workshop. Now that they had funds, they could finally run experiments freely.

Simon handed the silver notes to the administration of the Academy and clearly explained their purpose.

Aside from being the head of the Oxford Academy, Simon had appointed several old scholars to teach literature and oversee daily affairs; this formed the academy’s administrative office. Without such oversight, a large academy like this would have descended into chaos.

After storing the silver in the academy treasury, Simon walked around the campus. Unlike before, the learning atmosphere was vibrant. Students could be seen gathered in groups discussing textbooks.

This warmed his heart. Every beginning is hard, but he believed the Oxford Academy would become increasingly well-organized over time.

After dealing with Ethan, Simon went directly to the command office.

The war was at a critical point. He needed to stay there to issue orders at any time.

---

Meanwhile, in Preston....

A ragged army marched slowly into the city.

What kind of army was this? Among them were elderly men over fifty, boys under fifteen, and some individuals who looked more like criminals than soldiers.

Their appearance on the streets was alarming. Compared to the disciplined Brambleford Army, this group looked like a gang thrown together at the last minute.

And in truth, that’s exactly what they were: thirty thousand troops hastily pieced together by Prince Gerad.

Half were retired or unfit soldiers. Some were freshly drafted recruits with no training. The rest were condemned criminals from prison.

"This is Prince Gerad’s army? And we expect these guys to guard our supply lines?" Lancelot spat on the ground in disgust.

Benjamin sighed deeply. Simon had ordered them to wait for Prince Gerad’s army to go to Preston together so their supply lines would be protected.

But this army looked more dangerous than bandits. Benjamin feared they might rebel at any moment.

"His Highness couldn’t have imagined the Mountain Battalion was this rotten." Liam crossed his arms, disgusted.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with this kind of unit. In the Eldorian Empire, ghost soldiers were common, troops listed on the payroll but didn’t exist. Even among regional armies, this was standard practice.

On paper, the army existed. But when war broke out, they had to round up civilians to fill the ranks.

Such forces had no combat strength and would collapse as soon as fighting began.

Liam used to tolerate this, as every commander dabbled in it. But after serving in Brambleford, he couldn’t stand it anymore.

In Brambleford, no officer dared to fake troop numbers.

Benjamin ruled with an iron fist and had Simon’s full trust. In Dunmere, some officers were caught stealing salaries for phantom troops; Benjamin personally executed them.

Their heads were hung alongside those of traitors on Dunmere’s gates.

When Simon heard, he was furious. He ordered a full investigation across all six cities. Any officer involved in payroll fraud was executed without exception.

The military across the six cities was purified overnight. No one dared cross that line again.

But that also showed how deeply corruption had infected the rest of the Eldorian Empire’s military, except Brambleford, which remained clean under Simon’s control.

Now, seeing Prince Gers’s troops, Liam instantly knew what they were: a ghost army, a mob in uniform.

Years of luxurious peace in Burrow’s Town had made many forget the realities of war.

"We have no choice. General Lancet of the Imperial Guard has sent urgent orders; we must proceed to Preston. The Guards are on the move. We’re to surround and crush Clinton from two sides." Benjamin frowned. "Tell Prince Gersd’s people to rest for one day. Tomorrow morning, we march to Preston. We can’t delay. If Fern arrives before we break the siege, Preston will become the frontier of their invasion into Brambleford."

Lancelot nodded and left.

At the front of the column, Prince Gerad’s officers were riding when Lancelot stopped them.

"Gentlemen, I am Lancelot, captain of the Brambleford Army. Our commander invites you to march with us to Preston tomorrow morning. Please do not delay the schedule."

A sharp-eyed officer at the head of the group gave Lancelot a glance of disdain. "And who are you to stand in our way, you lowly captain? Get lost! If your commander wants something, he can come speak to me himself!"

The arrogance of the Mountain Battalion’s officer infuriated Lancelot. Already disgusted by their condition, this insult made his blood boil.

"You? Worthy of seeing my commander? Spit!" Lancelot cursed.

The officer turned purple with rage. "How dare a mere captain from Brambleford bark at the mighty Gerad’s Army! You’ve got guts. Seize him! Teach him a lesson; let’s see if it’s Prince Gerad or your little Prince Simon who’s greater!"

At his command, his personal guards dismounted and rushed at Lancelot.

But the nearby Brambleford soldiers, resting along the streets, sensed trouble and rose immediately to meet Lancelot.

They gathered silently behind Lancelot, their eyes fixed on the incoming guards, murderous intent in every gaze.