The Lord Demon King is Unfathomable!

"Professor Ferguson was right: when the old roof can no longer keep out the wind and rain, we should build our own house. If they won't let the Third Estate join the game, then we'll play our own game!"

There was a fire burning in the man's eyes, and that blaze terrified Newcastle, even though it wasn't his own backside being roasted.

Bar picked up his words and went on.

"Exactly! Just like Nate said, we're going to set up our own 'National Assembly'! Mr. Newcastle, you're a councillor of the Third Estate, and the only decent man we can actually trust. We need your support, and we need your brains. Please… give all of us a chance to stay alive!"

Newcastle's eyelids twitched hard.

National Assembly.

These lunatics want to set up a separate Royal Court?!

This is outright treason!

He almost instinctively took a step back, and that polite, keeping-people-at-arm's-length smile rapidly spread across his face.

"Sorry, fellows. I think you might have misunderstood something. I got dragged into this purely because Baron Wickton insisted on pulling me in. You might have forgotten I'm a Campbell, and this is you Ryan people's business."

Seeing the two fellows' faces fall in disappointment.

He turned sideways and made an extremely courteous yet firm gesture of seeing guests out.

"I'm just a merchant who sells fire-fighting equipment and does import-export. I don't know the first thing about how to run a meeting. Please, gentlemen, go back. I'll pretend I never saw you today… I swear to Saint Sith, if I inform on you, may lightning strike me dead!"

The two citizens exchanged a look, and the light in their eyes dimmed a little.

Nate wanted to say more, but Bar beside him stopped him. Bar shook his head, put the hat that had been tucked under his arm back on his head, and turned to grab the door handle.

"In that case, we won't bother you any longer."

Watching the two of them walk toward the door, Newcastle let out a breath.

But just as the cold wind poured in from outside, a voice, barely suppressing its anger, drifted in through the doorway.

"Mr. Newcastle, you sell fire-fighting equipment, so you should understand better than us that once a great fire starts, not a single building will be spared. Today it's our house that's burning; tomorrow it'll be your apartment. You can sit on the balcony and watch the show. I only ask that you remember… you'd best keep an extinguisher at home."

"That's enough, Nate, quit running your mouth!" Bar scolded his hot-tempered stone mason friend and pulled him back from the door.

The fact that Newcastle Member of Parliament had let them finish speaking was already remarkable; they shouldn't curse a genuinely decent man and make everyone lose hope in them.

Just as the two were about to leave, the silent Newcastle suddenly called out to them.

"Wait a moment, gentlemen."

They stopped in their tracks and turned back to him in surprise.

Newcastle hesitated for two seconds and said:

"I think… there may be a bit of misunderstanding between us, so come back inside."

Mr. Nate's remark had struck squarely at the softest, most sensitive spot in his heart. As a businessman, he hated being chased by risk even more than he loved chasing profit.

He decided to 'bet on both sides.'

Even though his boss was Baron Wickton, he didn't mind tossing a chip onto the Duke's table as well… after all, what if the Duke wins again?

As for why he'd decided that the Duke was the one pulling strings behind all this…

On the one hand, it was because of that Encyclopedia, and on the other hand because the words that stone mason called Nate had said didn't sound like something he could come up with by himself.

As a Mortal walking in the fog, with no one consulting him about tomorrow, he could only act on yesterday's experience and play things by ear.

Anyway, just take it one step at a time.

The two men looked at each other, then, nervous and hopeful, stepped back into the entryway.

The oak door swung shut again.

Newcastle stood by the door, his face heavy with helplessness. He sighed, as though he'd made some painful compromise.

"Honestly, you shouldn't be bothering me. I'm a Campbell, but not every Campbell is a Knight."

"And to tell the truth, I've just turned down a lady's wildly fanciful proposal, and now you're trying to force me to accept an even more fanciful proposal. I really don't find this very dignified."

He paused, then shifted his tone.

"That said, I am a councillor, after all. I know the procedures of holding meetings and how to draft rules of order. I won't do this for you, but if in future you run into any procedural or legal confusion, you can write to consult me…"

He blinked and gave them a sly smile.

"This is something Baron Wickton instructed me to do. I don't believe there's any law in Roland City that forbids a councillor from replying to letters."

The two stone masons standing at the door froze for a second, then their faces burst into ecstatic joy.

They rushed back in a few quick strides and gripped Newcastle's hand so tightly it nearly twisted his expression out of shape.

"Thank you, Mr. Newcastle!"

"We knew it! The Campbell people who defeated Earl Derek in the Winter Moon incident are supporters of the republican cause!"

Seeing their tearfully grateful faces, Newcastle smiled and held their hands, but the smile on his face slowly turned a bit odd, and his heart began to mutter.

He'd thought they had backing.

But looking at their never-seen-the-world expressions…

Surely they don't mean him?

...

Thunder City, Colin Manor. The afternoon sunlight slipped past the curtains of the parlor, and the faint sound of young Campbell's screams could be made out.

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