Chapter 284: Mr. Roger Otaree Rivers Changes His Name to Guillaume

Charlot was certain—Ban Lamorak was the kind of Englima native who had no tacit understanding with pirates.

Thus, he spoke plainly, “We’re going to eliminate the Golden Rams Fleet of Saint Michael Island.”

“However, this is a military secret. You can’t tell anyone.”

Ban Lamorak was ecstatic and exclaimed, “As a man of honor, I shall achieve glory today! Mr. Mecklenburg, rest assured, I, Ban Lamorak, will spare no effort!”

Charlot honestly had no idea how to proceed. He was, after all, just a minor undercover agent.

The task Menielman Soumet had given him did not involve capturing Saint Michael Island single-handedly.

His assignment was to relay messages, establish contact with the resistance forces—known as the Golden Sub-Ram—and rescue three Saint rank prisoners from Saint Michael Prison. Though difficult, the tasks were generally manageable for an “inside operative.” However, sending a High Priest from Englima, along with Britain’s youngest lion and a military force, far exceeded his scope of operations.

Charlot could only take it one step at a time.

He had no choice. This mission was arranged by the Englima Empire’s Grand Princess, and possibly even involved one of their majesties. There was no way to refuse.

In the entire Englima Empire, few people could command Ban Lamorak so easily. Not even Princess May Guillaume had that privilege. After all, Britain’s youngest lion was the son of Count Lamorak, and the Count of Victory Champagne was once a peer of Zimourman Axel Robin.

After exchanging a few words with Ban Lamorak, a group of messengers arrived, summoning Charlot to the Red Dragon Palace.

Charlot had no option but to bid farewell to Ban Lamorak and follow the envoys to meet Emperor Alfred Guillaume.

After going through all the formalities, Charlot once again stood before the young emperor.

Emperor Alfred Guillaume carried himself with an air of composure and grandeur, flawlessly embodying the image of a young emperor of a great empire. Any observing statesman would have proclaimed, “Our lord is a true monarch!”

Charlot, however, sensed something was off but dared not speak of it.

The emperor briefly inquired about the alliance between the two nations, chatting for barely ten minutes. Without inviting Charlot to stay for dinner, he dismissed him.

Relieved, Charlot exited the Red Dragon Palace, feeling an innate fear of this young Red Dragon Emperor. Yet, as he walked out, an attendant hurriedly approached, handed him a letter without a word, and rushed off again.

When Charlot returned to No. 698 on Seventais Riverbank Street, he opened the letter and was greeted with an exuberant handwriting. Its contents were simple, just a few lines:

"You’ve done well. I didn’t expect you to take the approach of writing novels to win over my aunt. Those two gifts were thoughtful.

Sir Mecklenburg, keep it up. I will not treat you poorly. A new position is already in process.

The novels you wrote were good, but why only The Lionheart King’s Legend?
Where’s The Red Dragon Emperor?
Write a Red Dragon Emperor, and on the day you deliver the manuscript, I’ll gift you a piece of the New Continent’s land."

Charlot thought for a moment, slapped his thigh, and mused, “I’ll have to trouble Roger Otaree Rivers to change his surname to Guillaume.”

“Mr. Qiu’s prime years are still ahead; he won’t transmigrate into this world for at least forty years. I should be safe for now.”

With a new novel outlined, Charlot wasn’t planning to start writing right away. Without his efficient writing team, doing it himself was just too exhausting.

...

Far away in Strasbourg, the Gallanord family was hosting a grand ball.

The ball’s guests were all young, aristocratic, and impeccably mannered. They formed small groups, casually discussing various bits of gossip. Even the war in Ferranden was just another topic of chatter, not even the most popular one.

At the center of this gathering was, naturally, Sophia Gallanord.

The Rose of Strasbourg wore a faint expression of disinterest. She preferred adventures to the decadence and faintly corrupt atmosphere of social balls.

A dozen young gentlemen surrounded Sophia, engaging in spirited discussions. Though other young men tried to approach, the aura of prestige surrounding these elite gentlemen created an unspoken barrier that dissuaded the less notable from venturing near.

One of these gentlemen suddenly said, “Sophia, I hear you recently acquired a transcendent lance. Could we perhaps have the honor of seeing it?”

“Or, we could compare it to the knightly lances in our collections and see whose is the finest.”

The suggestion drew enthusiastic cheers. All the young men sought Sophia’s favor, and a chance to outshine their peers was irresistible. Each believed his family’s treasured lance would triumph.

Sophia found the whole affair amusing and chose not to engage.

A noblewoman, a distant relative of Sophia, approached with graceful poise and said, “Sophia! You’re the pride of Strasbourg. Surely your lance is extraordinary. I’ve wanted to see it for so long, and you’ve always refused. Won’t you let us see it this time?”

Sophia had no affection for this relative. She responded coolly, “Apologies, but that lance is only on loan to me. It’s not mine to display.”

The young man who proposed the comparison looked a bit disgruntled. He pressed, “Even if you won’t show it, at least tell us its name. Surely that much wouldn’t hurt.”

Sophia, growing impatient, replied indifferently, “It’s Whalebane.”

The name silenced the room. Someone stammered, “You mean Whalebane? The one called Lion’s Fang?”

“Isn’t that the weapon of Britain’s youngest lion?”

Many immediately thought of Count Lamorak’s famed weapon, given his unparalleled reputation.

The noblewoman exclaimed, “How could you possibly have Whalebane? That’s impossible!”

Sophia replied serenely, “A friend of mine, under Emperor Alfred Guillaume’s witness, dueled Ban Lamorak on the Seventais River and won this knight’s lance. It is indeed temporarily loaned to me and not available for display.”

With those words, Sophia turned and left, leaving the astonished young nobles to speculate wildly.

This was the Rose of Strasbourg in all her splendor—effortlessly commanding attention and respect.

She could casually mention a friend who defeated Britain’s youngest lion and “borrowed” his lance.

What was sophistication?

This was sophistication...

The attendees of the ball left with a unified thought: Sophia Gallanord epitomized the Rose of Strasbourg.

It wasn’t long before the news of the duel between Charlot and Ban Lamorak spread across Strasbourg, overshadowing even the Ferranden frontline.

When Annie Bretagne heard the gossip...

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