Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

"Not only that." Anglu handed over a few promissory notes that had already been cashed: "This has happened more than once—obviously the 'gold note' was issued to a merchant house, yet the one coming to cash it in was another merchant house. Someone even asked if they could divide a large 'gold note' into smaller 'gold notes', like slicing meat."

Bard listened attentively, using his eyes to encourage Marcia to boldly share his thoughts.

Anglu scratched his chin, hesitantly summarizing: "I feel... they seem to be using the gold notes as a kind of human head coupon."

Bard checked the signatures on the cashed gold notes, supporting his forehead deep in thought. Anglu sat beside him, nervously fiddling with the hem of his clothes.

"Very interesting." After a moment, Bard smiled and nodded gently: "If the situation is like this, perhaps we can make use of it."

Anglu finally relaxed and grinned along with him.

Bard put the letter and gold notes Anglu brought into a paper bag, then carefully cut a piece of paper, succinctly wrote a few lines, sprinkled fine sand, patiently waited for the ink to dry, and then placed the paper into the bag as well: "This matter needs to be discussed with Lady Navarre. Dispatch a separate team of messengers to deliver this letter back to Revodan."

He handed the paper bag to Anglu: "The sooner the better."

"Yes." Anglu smiled, saluted, then turned and left.

The door closed behind Anglu, leaving Bard alone in the office once more.

He gazed at the proposal he was drafting about separating military and civil governance, inadvertently glanced at the desk where the gold notes and letter were just placed, then picked up the paper cutter, shook his head, cut down the already written part, and stored it in the drawer.

After doing all this, the office door was knocked on again.

Upon getting permission, Anglu poked his head inside: "Civil Guard Officer, there are relatives of prisoners requesting to meet again—this time, Mr. Anwar Fayeka of Yenigen Commerce is acting as a guarantor."

Upon hearing this, Bard took out a roster from another drawer. The hardcover of the roster was engraved not with the winged lion of the Iron Peak County Military but with the emblem of the New Reclamation Legion, alongside the abbreviation for the Vernge County station.

"Surname?" Bard opened the roster.

"Majiya." Anglu smiled and replied: "Majiya Pal."

...

Climbing the narrow stairs, squeezing through corridors filled with desks, old Majiya and his young son arrived before the office that once belonged to Major Sunder.

The clerks passing by took no notice of them, each busy with their own tasks, indifferent to the two who seemed out of place.

Behind such indifference lurked either contempt or pity, old Majiya could not know, perhaps it was both.

"Come in."

An officer of the "rebels," about the same age as Laor, opened the door for them, revealing Bard's office to old Majiya.

Compared to the cumbersome process of verifying visitor identities, the furnishings in the Civil Guard Officer's office were surprisingly simple.

The office was filled with the unique scent of fresh pine wood. Apart from a beautiful mahogany desk, all the decorations from when Major Sunder was in position had been removed, replaced with filing cabinets occupying all four walls.

The hastily made filing cabinets had no paint, with nails exposed on the surface, lacking any aesthetic appeal. Yet they were practical, sturdy, exuding a sense of rugged strength amidst their simplicity.

Old Majiya's heart unwittingly tightened.

The Civil Guard Officer invited the Majiya father and son to sit down, proactively asking before the atmosphere could turn heavy: "You've come here hoping I can release Majiya Pal?"

In conversations, the one who speaks first is often the more passive party. Old Majiya had expected the other party would give him a hard time, yet the Civil Guard Officer's attitude was unexpectedly approachable.

However, upon hearing the straightforward question, the last shred of hope in old Majiya's heart was extinguished. He supported his knees, humbly replying: "Your Excellency, I hope to ransom Majiya Pal."

Sure enough, the opponent swiftly rejected old Majiya's request: "I cannot agree to that."

Old Majiya nodded respectfully.

"The Gentlemen of Artemis all say that we are detaining Vernge County's appointed officers as hostages. Since you have personally come to see me, I should explain to you..." The Civil Guard Officer spoke startlingly: "Yes, they are hostages. Holding them as hostages means you will come; holding them as hostages means others won't run."

Old Majiya was momentarily lost, his submissive facade also slipped away, and he instinctively frowned, looking at the Civil Guard Officer in confusion. The full series is hosted on My Virtual Library Empire, known as MV7LEMPYR.

Sitting beside old Majiya, Laor could no longer contain his anger, clenching his fists, sarcastically asked: "Does the official army also take civilians as hostages?"

The Civil Guard Officer looked at Marcia with interest: "Not rebels?"

Laor was at a loss for words.

"Mr. Majiya, Mister Marcia Majiya, we certainly know how you view us." The Civil Guard Officer stood up and walked to the filing cabinet on the right, picking out a heavy tome from the middle slot: "You regard us as flood, storm, drought, you view us as some natural disaster, undefeatable but eventually passing. Once everything goes back to normal, you can resume living the way you used to."

Laor was speechless, and old Majiya also remained silent.