Read Novel Full Chapter 451 First Meeting [3]
Chapter 451: Chapter 451 First Meeting [3]
Lyra didn’t hesitate.
"There’s a lot more than just inflated maintenance," she said, her voice low. "Most of the account books I checked are forgeries. Thornvale’s true income isn’t recorded anywhere official."
Michael’s gaze sharpened.
Lyra stepped closer, lowering her voice further. "Based on what I pieced together—cross-referencing trade levies, old toll permits, tithe records from local villages—this territory should generate at least half a million gold coins a year."
Michael stilled.
Half a million.
One should remember that this was in gold.
In silver this was about fifty million silver coins per year.
This was truly a land of gold.
"All that wealth," he murmured, "and yet the manor looks like a tomb."
Lyra nodded. "It’s being funneled somewhere. I couldn’t trace all of it, but I found something."
She reached into her robe and pulled out a thin, tightly folded parchment—one sealed with a faint blue wax sigil, its edges nearly torn from age.
Michael took it with a frown, and started reading from te top where he saw a name that made him pause.
Count Hallen.
His direct superior. The one who technically governed Thornvale and several other border territories under the Duke’s larger command. Michael had never met the man—he’d only heard the name mentioned once.
Michael read the brief contents.
His eyes darkened.
"This is authorization," he muttered. "Count Hallen... gave permission for off-record trade routes signed off on Helmric’s falsified logistics. He’s not just complicit—he’s involved."𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖
Lyra remained silent but watchful.
Michael slowly folded the document and tapped it against his palm, mind working quickly.
So that was the reason Helmric acted like he had a shield. The reason the garrison was underfunded, the villagers neglected, the manor left to rot. Thornvale had been bled dry not by incompetence—but by design.
"Do you think the Duke knows?" Michael asked softly.
Lyra shook her head. "Unlikely. If he did, he wouldn’t have left this for you to handle all this since before it was your territory, it was his first."
Michael frown tightened.
It was one thing to uproot a corrupt steward.
But to challenge a Count?
That meant stepping into dangerous waters. Nobles weren’t ordinary people and Count Hallen wasn’t just any noble.
Michael let out a long breath.
Then he smiled, slow and cold.
"So be it."
He turned back to the map, his fingers brushing over the center of Thornvale.
"One step at a time. First, we clean house."
He glanced at Lyra. "You said you memorized the rest?"
"I did."
"Good. Have Roran pull in two knights that can scribe well. Transcribe everything you remember. I want a clean copy by tonight."
Lyra inclined her head. "Understood."
"And send a message to Lia and Ace," Michael added, "Just tell them to manage the general stuff."
Lyra turned to go, her cloak rustling like wind through silk.
As she reached the door, Michael added quietly, "And Lyra... no one knows of the letter but me. "
She paused, then gave the faintest nod.
"I never saw it," she said—and vanished into the hall.
Michael stood alone again, staring at the faded map.
So Count Hallen was involved.
That changed everything.
But Michael wasn’t afraid.
Let the Count come.
He’d built his foundation on corpses.
Mic Nor would not stop.
One Hour Later
The grand hall of Thornvale Manor had been hastily cleaned, banners re-hung—this time correctly—and the dust on the long table at the center had been wiped away, though the dull polish still betrayed years of neglect. The smell of soap clung to the air, mingling with lingering hints of stale wine and mold.
And now, seated at the head of the hall beneath the newly raised Nor family crest, Michael watched them.
The senior staff of Thornvale stood assembled before him.
Helmric stood stiffly at the front of the line, his robe changed but still rumpled, and his eyes twitching with restraint. Beside him was Head Maid Isolde, shoulders square, jaw tight, and eyes flicking between faces with the wariness of a hawk. Behind them, a collection of officials filled the hall: the captain of the guards, the stable master, the lead blacksmith, the chief cook, the garrison quartermaster, the head scribe, and others—perhaps two dozen in all.
Some looked defiant.
Some looked afraid.
A few looked bored.
Michael’s fingers drummed once against the armrest of his chair.
"Let’s begin."
His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried across the stone room like a drop of ink in water—quiet, deliberate, inescapable.
"Steward Helmric," he said.
The man stepped forward, offering a shallow bow. "Yes, my lord."
"You were instructed to prepare your ledgers and records for the past two years."
"I... yes." Helmric motioned, and a servant stepped forward carrying a thick bundle of scrolls bound with fraying twine. "These are the records of official income and expenditures of the manor during that period."
Michael didn’t reach for them.
Instead, he gestured toward Roran, who stood beside him in polished armor, the gold-lined crest of House Nor gleaming on his shoulder.
"Roran," he said. "Compare these to the copies my subject provided."
Roran nodded and took the scrolls from the servant, who bowed and backed away quickly. He moved to a small table to the side and began carefully unrolling the first document, eyes scanning rapidly.
Michael leaned forward slightly, eyes on Helmric.
"Tell me, Steward... if your reports claim this territory only brings in a small amount of gold a year, how is it that we have discovered evidence suggesting the opposite?"
Helmric paled.
"I—I am not sure where that comes from, my lord. If I may, there must be a misinterpretation—"
"Are you saying you misunderstood your own work?" Michael interrupted coldly.
"I... the coin flows through many hands, my lord," Helmric said, sweat beginning to bead at his temples. "Some of the trade routes are unstable. The taxes are inconsistent. Bandits—"
"Enough," Michael said.
His voice dropped, calm again. "You take me for a fool. That’s your first mistake."
A few of the other staff members looked away. One or two took half-steps back.