That's not how you use a witch!

Chapter 57 Sleepless Night

It was already evening when the banquet ended, so Ronan didn't travel overnight. Instead, he booked a hotel and took Fermi and the others on a short tour of the nearby streets.

Fermi and the militiamen were not in a good mood. Before setting out, they had been told that the purpose of their mission was to win the Duke's reward and the support of other territories in the West, but now the best outcome was merely to escape punishment and receive superficial praise.

As a man of strong emotions, Fermi felt guilty, believing that he had messed things up because he hadn't performed well enough.

Ronan told him not to worry too much, that some things are predetermined before they happen, and that they had done enough. Right now, they needed to let go of these things and get into a good state of mind to continue the fight.

"I'm sure none of you ate well just now, and you're all feeling quite upset, including me. Since we're already here, let's have a good meal first."

Ronan rallied the militiamen, then nudged Madonna with his elbow, "Nothing's more important than eating! Don't you agree?"

"How dare you say that?"

Meidel glanced at him silently. "Of all the people here, you're the one who ate the least."

Ronan scratched his head awkwardly, indicating that he accepted the criticism and would definitely correct it next time.

Fermi and the militiamen laughed at the sight, instantly lightening the previously tense atmosphere. They strolled around, eventually settling on a eatery located in a side alley near the north gate. It had a lively, down-to-earth atmosphere, affordable food, and private rooms available, unlike the crowded and chaotic downtown area.

Following his previous life's habit of eating with his roommates, Ronan asked everyone to order a dish.

He had already changed into casual clothes, and his attire was no different from that of an ordinary commoner. In fact, his unpretentious style was even more down-to-earth than that of the merchants sitting next to him who were pretending to be reserved.

This is what it's like to get really into working at the grassroots level...

"How bustling it is!"

A militiaman looked around and exclaimed, "It's already late at night, but Frost Territory still has so many lights on, and so many people on the streets. It's practically daytime!"

Another militiaman bowed his head in agreement: "If it were Thorn Territory, there should be a curfew by now..."

"This is the capital of the Western Frontier, so it's normal that it's more prosperous than ours."

As Ronan poured water for everyone, he smiled and said, "As long as we persevere, one day we can build Thorn Territory into a place as prosperous as Frost Territory."

"I don't think it should be like Frost's territory."

Fermi shook his head. "Look over there, everyone."

The crowd followed his gaze to the window and saw an old man begging, holding a wailing baby in his arms.

The baby seemed sick, his face flushed with an unhealthy redness; the old woman wept, begging kind people for some spare change so she could have enough to buy indulgences from the church to redeem her child's soul.

However, she didn't stay long before two guards came and chased her away, citing the prohibition against begging in the area. They even snatched the baby away.

As for the baby, if the guards had a conscience, they might send it to a church, but it's more likely they would sell it directly to human traffickers or wealthy people who need children.

They left in the opposite direction from the church, so the first possibility is clearly unlikely.

The militiamen frowned, and Fermi's fists were clenched so tightly that veins bulged. If it weren't for the fact that the militia's discipline far outweighed his personal emotions, and if he didn't know that this was someone else's territory and he couldn't act on his own and cause trouble for Ronan, he would have really wanted to rush up and punch those two heartless guards.

"Such a thing would never happen in our Thorn Territory!"

After the two guards had walked away, Fermi said excitedly, "Our lord will not stand idly by while his people suffer, nor will he allow the militia to use their weapons to oppress civilians. In our Thorn Territory, the relationship between the militia and the civilians is as close as that between brothers and sisters! If prosperity comes at the cost of crime and indifference, then such prosperity is better left undone!"

Other militia members echoed this sentiment, sharing their own experiences.

Among them were farmers, defeated soldiers, and artisans. They all had experienced displacement and hardship, tasted the bitterness and coldness of human nature, and had never seen a place like Thorn Ridge.

Ronan listened attentively to the stories of each militiaman. When the waiter brought in the dishes, he helped clear space on the table and then summarized:

"Ultimately, this isn't a question of whether prosperity should exist, but rather a question of to whom prosperity belongs. When it belongs to the majority of ordinary people, it is dazzling and beautiful; when it belongs only to a few powerful and wealthy individuals, it is glaring and ugly. The reason our policies benefit the majority is to ensure that the fruits of Thorn Territory's development can be shared by every ordinary citizen."

The militiamen nodded in deep agreement.

If they couldn't understand these profound principles before, after more than half a month of night school and experiencing the battles with the rebels, they can now not only understand them, but also have a profound and unforgettable understanding.

Sitting next to Ronan, Madonna rested her chin on her hand, her eyes fixed on him.

"What's wrong?"

Ronan noticed her gaze.

"fine."

Meidel turned her head away, a slight smile playing on her lips.

The dishes were served quickly: unlike the exquisite delicacies served on jade platters at the Duke's mansion, this place focused on large portions to fill you up: roast meat, stewed meat soup, coarse grain staples, and wild pickled vegetables, showcasing the rugged and simple style of the Western Frontier.

"The battle is not yet won; we must continue to work hard."

Ronan raised his mug, filled with ale, and declared, "Come, let us toast to the prosperity that every commoner can share!"

"For prosperity! For Thornlands!"

The wine glasses clinked together.

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Despite having drunk some alcohol, Ronan and the others took a fast train back to Thorn Territory the next morning and returned to their respective posts.

In stark contrast was Humphrey, the lord of Purple Mist Territory—he had also convened a second drinking session with the lords yesterday, which didn't end until the early hours of this morning. When he opened his eyes again, still slightly drunk, it was already evening.

Although he still felt drowsy when he got into the carriage, Humphrey was in a very good mood.

Last night's second banquet went very well; the lords of the Westerlands drank and chatted merrily, effectively forming a small circle centered around him. Although some of the more peripheral and impoverished viscounts didn't attend—but who cared? It was better if those poor wretches hadn't come, otherwise he'd have to help them out!

In contrast, Humphrey knew that Thornfield was showing signs of prosperity, with its burgeoning pig iron trade gaining a good reputation.

That Ronan is indeed quite capable.

Unfortunately, talent without emotional intelligence won't get you anywhere in aristocratic circles. From that victory banquet onward, he knew this stubborn young man was destined to be unpopular.

That's alright. When he one day takes control of the West and the Thornlands can't survive, he believes Ronan will put aside his dignity and come crawling to him for help...

After returning to his territory, Humphrey fell into a deep sleep at the lord's manor.

He was awakened by a cacophony of horns, war drums, and screams.

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