Lord: Starting from the Pit-Dwelling Courtyard

Chapter 75: Border Earl

The Thun's alien appearance was truly striking.

Will leaned closer in and asked in a low voice, "That guy, is he one of your men, a goblin?"

When he saw Thun at the door, he thought he was seeing things.

Everyone knows that the Border Earl is an extreme misogynist.

In Gorubakburg, foreigners were either slaves or corpses.

Ron nodded readily: "Really, that's his scout captain, but he's not a goblin, he's a Grimm."

Will naturally understood what the Greens meant, and he also realized that Thun was a half-goblin.

But he was still taken aback by Ron's courage, nodded expressionlessly, didn't ask any further questions, and just said something.

"Beware of the Border Lord; he hates foreigners and those who shelter them."

A waiter in a black uniform appeared silently beside Will, carrying a silver tray with crystal glasses filled with wine.

The waiter smiled, but his eyes didn't.

Will immediately shut his mouth, took a glass of wine from the silver tray, and turned to walk back towards the long table.

Ron did not leave immediately. He stood there, looking around the entire banquet hall, mentally noting everyone's positions and expressions.

The moment the Border Count appeared, Ron's expression showed a moment of surprise.

The person descending the stairs was not an elderly man with white hair, but a woman.

Her deep red gown trailed on the carpeted steps, her black hair was neatly styled in a bun with a few stray strands falling beside her ears, her skin was a healthy wheat color, her cheekbones were sharply defined, and her dark brown eyes were scanning the entire banquet hall with an undisguised scrutiny.

A gold brooch, shaped like a grey falcon with outstretched wings, was pinned to the collar of the dress, exactly the same as the emblem on the breastplate of the city gate guards.

"Is that the Border Count?" Ron asked in a low voice.

Will, already carrying his wine glass, scurried towards the long table without turning his head: "Who told you the Border Count was a man?"

Ron turned his gaze back to the stairs and realized that all his previous predictions were based on a flawed assumption.

He thought the Border Lord was an old man with white hair who liked to use his authority to oppress people and was so petty that he would retaliate against a territory because of a drunken remark.

These predictions might still be correct, but he didn't expect that this petty, extreme alien, dressed in an evening gown and standing under a crystal chandelier, almost a head shorter than him, could send a chill down his spine.

Can anyone tell him that the name Gabriel Florentino belongs to a woman?

The Border Lady stopped halfway up the stairs, her gaze sweeping over the circle of nobles within the territory, and nodded.

She glanced at the Wilderness Lords' formation, her lips twitching slightly as if she had smiled, before glancing at Ron.

It lingered on him for a moment, then finally landed on Thun, who was half a step behind Ron.

Thun, dressed in dark brown balsa wood scale armor, his grey-green skin clearly visible under the chandelier, stared back at her with unblinking amber eyes.

Border Count did not look away, nor did he speak; he simply stared at Thun as if he were looking at something placed in the wrong place.

Everyone in the hall fell silent without warning; even the musicians forgot to play a few notes.

Border Count withdrew his gaze and continued walking down the stairs.

As he reached the last step, a waiter in a black uniform approached him and whispered a few words to him. She nodded and then walked straight toward Ron.

The crowd automatically parted to the sides, creating a passage just large enough for her to pass through without having to turn sideways or slow down.

She stopped in front of Ron, her head just reaching his brow bone, but the angle at which she tilted her head showed no sign of weakness.

"Lord Adler," she spoke, her voice lower than Ron had expected, "you brought a goblin into my castle."

"Grin, Lord Border Lord! My scout captain."

"The Grimm," Gabriel rolled the word on his tongue, "just a different name, it's still the same thing."

Ron said calmly, "The heart is a person, it is a person. Compared to some things that look human but are so filthy inside, they are more disgusting than humans."

Gabriel, the border guard, narrowed her eyes slightly, tilted her head, and turned her gaze back to Thun.

She couldn't argue with him. Although she wanted to kill the half-goblin right now, Ron's words were perfectly acceptable. She was the organizer of the ball, and if she killed someone at the ball, no one would likely attend the next ball.

"What's your name?"

"Thun Ashwood," Thun's voice was steady, "Lord Border Lord."

"Ashwood," Gabriel repeated the surname, then turned to Ron, "You gave him your surname?"

They actually gave him a surname from a different ethnic group.

"His mother's last name is Ashwood, and he is my cousin."

Gabriel, the border magistrate, was silent for a moment, then did something no one expected: she took two glasses of wine from a passing waiter's silver tray, handed one to Ron, and held the other in her own hand.

"Do you know why I hold this ball every year, Lord Adler?"

"To gather the lords of the wasteland together and see who is still alive." Ron took the wine glass.

“That’s the result, not the goal.” Gabriel, the Border Count, swirled the wine in his glass. “The goal is to let the living get to know each other. The wasteland is too vast, and you are too far apart to see each other normally. But here, you can stand under the same roof and talk face to face.” She paused. “So who you bring is your choice. But whether he can be accepted by others is your business, not mine.”

"He's been accepted," Ron said, tilting his head toward the long table.

The lord, missing half an ear, was raising his wine glass and waving it at Thun. The border lord glanced at him in the direction of his gaze and then looked away.

"That's because they're giving you face, not to him."

"Reputation is earned through hard work," Ron said. "Lord Borderlord, you should know this better than anyone else."

Gabriel, the Border Lady, did not answer. She raised her wine glass to her lips, took a sip, and then turned and walked toward the circle of nobles within the territory, her deep red skirt trailing an arc on the carpet.

After taking three steps, she suddenly turned back and said, "The Ashwood family's new insignia is nice, but those guys in the capital won't recognize it. I hope you can return to the territory alive."

Ron smiled slightly, revealing a cruel smile.

"I'm actually starting to look forward to it."

Gabriel, the border lord, frowned slightly and headed directly towards the noble quarter within the territory.

"What an ungrateful bastard! I should have known better than to cover for him; now look how he's going to get back."

The ball was very simple: eating, chatting, and finally, the grand finale of the annual ball.

Human trafficking and commodity trading.