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Chancellor Guinness's face darkened as he listened.

"Your Grace, have you sent the promised treasures and compensation to Lord Michael?" he asked.

Guinevere widened her eyes in surprise.

"Of course! If I hadn't, that marksman might have shown up with his Sphinx and dragon to kill me and Alfonso. What choice did I have?"

She laughed smugly, clearly pleased with herself.

"Besides, he handled the situation flawlessly. Calling him was the best decision I made. The empire has retreated, hasn't it?"

Guinness sighed heavily. If Michael had been paid, the royal treasury was now likely empty. Outside the audience chamber, the rising voices of the disgruntled nobles grew louder, their complaints now audible even within.

Soon, the nobles from the border regions would storm in, demanding reparations. Guinness wondered how they would possibly address the situation.

In a fortress far from the royal capital, Grand Duke Maximilian crumpled a letter from the Queen Dowager's refuge, his face contorted in fury.

"Foolish woman!" he bellowed.

He stormed out of his chambers and headed for the training grounds, where his loyal retainers and soldiers had gathered. Standing tall, he raised his voice in a solemn declaration.

"I, Maximilian, can no longer abide the Queen Dowager's tyranny. Therefore, I hereby declare our independence from the Pasha Kingdom to form a true duchy!"

The assembled men erupted into cheers, waving banners in support of their leader.

At a harbor, Grand Duke Iasus stood before a ship lent to him by Michael. Watching as his soldiers disembarked, he raised his voice boldly.

"Now, let us punish the treacherous crown prince who betrayed his father, framed him, and sold out to foreign powers!"

Thus began the division Michael had meticulously orchestrated among his adversaries.

The refugees herded to the coast by the rough hands of the Pamir Empire soldiers clung to each other in fear. Their muted sobs and restrained cries mingled with the salty sea breeze, creating a somber atmosphere. Flickering torches cast eerie shadows on their pale, anxious faces.

From children to the elderly, the refugees huddled in family groups, their unease spreading like a tangible mist. None of them knew what fate awaited them, and the fear was palpable. Among them were peasants who had fled to the mountains after witnessing Pierre's death, now captured and brought here. Covered in mud from head to toe, their torn clothing and dirt-smeared faces stood out even among the distressed crowd.

They stared at the dark, restless sea, terror etched into their features. A child, clutching his mother's skirt with one hand while nervously biting the other, finally broke the silence.

"Mom, where are we going?"

The child's innocent curiosity contrasted starkly with the fear surrounding them. His mother picked him up without answering, finding solace in the warmth of his small body. She too had no answers. The soldiers' treatment of them had been surprising—neither overtly violent nor particularly kind, more methodical than anything else. They were being handled like cargo rather than people.

The woman glanced at her husband and whispered, "Do you think they're going to sell us?"

Her husband sighed deeply, shaking his head before replying, "I don't know. Just stay close to me with the children. Whatever happens, we stay together—even if we end up as slaves."

Clutching her children tightly, the woman also reached for the hand of an elderly blind woman, Nataly, who stood quietly beside her. The thought of protecting those more vulnerable than herself gave her the strength to endure. Meanwhile, the children, oblivious to the tension, were fascinated by the sight of the waves crashing onto the shore.

"Mom! Can we play in the water?" one asked excitedly.

"Dad! Is the sea really salty?" another shouted, splashing toward the waves.

Their father, Sergei, a moral leader among the serfs, sternly reprimanded them.

"Quiet! What have I told you before?"

The children shrank back under his stern gaze. Dimitri, his eldest, quickly responded, "When you don't know what's going on, it's best to stay silent and still."

Sergei nodded approvingly, his expression firm yet tinged with the love and responsibility of a father. "Good. Then you know how to manage your siblings. Keep them quiet. I need to speak with your mother."

Puffing his chest with pride at the rare acknowledgment, Dimitri turned to his younger siblings, Iryna and Mikhail. Pulling some corn kernels from his pocket, he handed them out as a distraction.

"Iryna, Mikhail, eat these while counting to 100 in your heads. Quietly. Got it?"

Sergei watched his son with a hint of satisfaction before turning to his wife, Alexa, his face heavy with guilt.

"I'm sorry for putting you through this."

Had he not led a rebellion demanding better treatment for the serfs, they wouldn't have been branded dissidents and exiled to another estate. His family wouldn't be suffering now.

Alexa placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Don't apologize. You stood by your convictions, and I stand by you for it. Let's focus on praying for Pierre's soul instead."

Sergei inhaled sharply, the memory of his friend Pierre's brutal death surfacing. Pierre had been his only beacon of hope when they were forcibly relocated as serfs after losing their land. Yet Pierre had met a tragic end, beaten to death by an estate overseer. Sergei felt a lingering guilt for not standing up for him, even though they had promised each other to remain passive for their families' sake.

Next to them, Nataly, Pierre's elderly and blind mother, murmured softly, her dementia making her unaware of her son's death.

"Sergei, where is my Pierre? Where's my boy?" she asked. freewebnøvel.com

"Don't worry, Mother," Alexa replied gently. "Pierre has gone ahead to prepare our new home. We'll see him soon."

Nataly nodded faintly, reassured by the lie. Sergei, meanwhile, scanned the vast group of refugees crowding the beach.

"Where could they possibly be taking all these people?" he muttered under his breath.

Alexa tightened her grip on her children and Nataly, her eyes darting around nervously. Whatever happened, she vowed to keep her family together.

Meanwhile, on the deck of a ship moored nearby, Dreiko, charged with overseeing the transportation of the refugees on Michael's orders, raised a glass of the Pasha Kingdom's infamous strong liquor.