Chapter 415 - 2 Dead Ends

Chapter 415 -282: 2 Dead Ends

That’s right. In Alvin’s eyes, Altan was nothing more than a stray dog.

Alvin knew full well that although Altan still held the title of “Count,” he was just a solitary man adrift in a foreign land, with no fief, no army, and no foundation.

He was getting by in this strange land on his glib tongue, his so-called “Wandering Count” title, his Knight… and perhaps a few members of his Personal Guard.

If Alvin chose to give him face, he would address him as “Count.” But if he didn’t, he could make Altan kneel and lick his boots, and Altan would have to smile and say how good Lord Alvin’s shoes tasted!

It couldn’t be helped. After all, Alvin had a fief, an army, money, and grain.

In this land, Alvin was a true magnate. His fief was fertile and rich, and the grain and wealth it produced each year gave him more than enough confidence to maintain his status and influence.

While his army wasn’t massive, it was more than enough to intimidate others in the Feikawen region. Which of the minor nobles and Knights didn’t treat him with the utmost respect because of his power?

And Altan? He was just a wanderer who had drifted in from the grasslands. Besides his interesting-sounding stories, what did he have?

‘Insights on having one’s fief overrun? Now that’s something worth hearing.’

Alvin smiled faintly, his gaze sweeping over Altan with a barely perceptible trace of contempt.

He watched Altan speak eloquently before his Vassals. The young nobles and Knights listened, enthralled, letting out occasional gasps of surprise and laughter.

The only reason these people were interested in Altan was because of the novelty he brought and the adventurous tales that fulfilled their fantasies about faraway lands.

Alvin’s Vassals were mostly ambitious young men. They yearned to win glory on the battlefield and make a name for themselves in noble circles.

Altan’s stories catered perfectly to their mindset, making them feel that this Count from the grasslands was an interesting companion.

But Alvin knew perfectly well that these stories were merely tools Altan used to curry favor, like a wandering performer’s tricks to earn a few copper coins.

‘What kind of Count spends his days “wandering” and “adventuring”?’

Alvin turned, clasped his hands behind his back, and gazed toward the distant encampment.

The true purpose of this gathering wasn’t to listen to stories, but to discuss the future affairs of the Feikawen region.

Those great landowners, powerful figures, and nobles—they didn’t care about adventures on the grasslands. They cared about how to consolidate their power in this land and how to get a piece of the pie in the coming turmoil.

And Altan was just an expendable supporting actor, a “Foreigner” to embellish the gathering.

No, not just a supporting character.

Alvin’s lips curled up slightly, revealing a barely perceptible, cold smile.

Henry’s father and older brother—members of the Chase family—were also at this gathering. In fact, Alvin had organized this meeting of nobles precisely because of Henry.

Henry was too far, and the emperor too near. Ever since Henry’s rise to prominence, the Chase family had been using his name to secure patronage, attract investment from merchant caravans, actively forge weapons, repair their castle, train their army, and expand their manors.

The Chase family was a considerable power in the Feikawen region. Henry’s father, Baron Chase, was tall and imposing, and the perpetually humble smile he once wore was gradually fading.

Henry’s older brother, Charles, had inherited his father’s tall stature. Having taken over the family’s affairs these past two years, he had gained a measure of shrewdness and composure, and his eyes always held a calculating glint.

He didn’t possess Henry’s strength, but he was a natural when it came to power struggles, forming cliques, and orchestrating spy plots.

Alvin’s gaze swept over the members of the Chase family, and he frowned slightly.

For the past two years, he and the Chase family had maintained a delicate relationship, with both sides vying for greater say in the region.

Whenever the Chase family came into conflict with neighboring nobles, Count Alvin would immediately step in to “mediate,” taking sides to curb the Chase family’s growth.

‘And what kind of sparks will fly when Altan—this so-called “Wandering Count” and a man defeated by Henry—crosses paths with the Chase family in a setting like this?’

Alvin’s gaze fell on Altan again. As if sensing something, Altan looked up slightly, his eyes meeting Alvin’s for a moment. He offered a friendly smile in response before lowering his head and resuming his conversation with the young nobles beside him.

Just then, Baron Chase approached with Charles. The Baron’s gaze lingered on Altan for a moment, a cold, barely perceptible smile touching his lips. “Alvin,” he said, “I take it this is the noble from the grasslands everyone has been talking about?”

Alvin smiled. “That’s right, Baron Chase,” he replied, his tone tinged with amusement. “This is Count Altan. He comes from the grasslands and has brought us many interesting stories.”

Baron Chase turned to Altan, his gaze appraising. “Count Altan. I’ve heard much about you.”

Altan smiled faintly, not knowing who the man was. “Hello. I am Count Altan. And you are?”

Charles, standing to the side, sneered. “I am Charles, eldest son of the Chase family. This is my father, Baron Chase.”

Altan’s gaze shifted to Charles. Hearing his words, he couldn’t help but tremble slightly.