The Returned Lord Is a Genius of Gun Law - Chapter 22

chapter 22

The Count’s Fury

The Returning Lord is a GUN Law Genius, Episode 22

Episode 22

Click

The moment the communication orb dimmed, Count Bolton swallowed hard and nearly slammed his fist on the desk before restraining himself.

The embers of his fury toward his son-in-law, Baron Gorbon Primrose, still smoldered within him.

“Useless fool. He acted like he’d give his right arm when asking for support, but he couldn’t even handle one brat and caused this mess?”

The knights he had lent to Primrose were among the elite of Bolton’s three knightly orders, totaling one hundred men.

He had willingly lent them out, confident they would win without a single loss, but now losing them would be a devastating blow to the count.

It was for this reason that fury blazed through the tightly pressed lips of the man.

But he couldn’t afford to remain consumed by rage forever.

The crucial matter was that this loss had to be somehow recouped.

“Hoo, hoo…”

With a deep sigh, Bolton reached for another communication orb.

The blatant displeasure and arrogance that had clouded his face moments before had now faded, replaced by a cautious and slightly tense expression. He slowly channeled his magic into the orb.

Vroom!

The orb brightened, and the face of a young nobleman with a cold demeanor materialized within.

Facing the young man with his impassive, unreadable expression, Bolton forced himself to maintain his composure and spoke.

“Viscount Lawrence, I’ve just received a report from that Primrose fellow. The results… are not good.”

Though he dropped the formalities, his voice carried a hint of urgency rather than its usual arrogance.

The viscount, however, remained motionless, his gaze fixed on Bolton.

Arrogant bastard.

Bolton cursed the man inwardly at his insolent demeanor, but he didn’t show it. After all, the man before him was none other than Viscount Lawrence, the right-hand man to the Fifth Prince.

If it weren’t for His Highness the Prince, this dog would be groveling at my feet…

But the reality was different.

Though Lord Lawrence’s title was lower than the Earl’s, he had long enjoyed the favor of the Fifth Prince, making his position within the faction undeniable.

In fact, it was no exaggeration to say that Lord Lawrence’s actual influence in the capital surpassed that of Earl Bolton himself.

“It seems Crocus prepared more thoroughly than I thought. He used traps I’ve never seen before and even resorted to the cowardly use of Earth’s weapons. My knights suffered heavy casualties because of it. It’s all the fault of that damned Baron Primrose for not providing proper information.”

Trying to shift some of the blame, Bolton clicked his tongue and passed the responsibility to Primrose.

But there was no response.

Bolton, glancing at Lawrence, continued, “So, I’ve ordered Primrose to halt military action for the time being and gather more information. Moving rashly could lead to even greater losses, don’t you think? What do you think, Viscount?”

It was at that moment that the corner of Viscount Lawrence’s lips, who had been staring expressionlessly at the Count through the communication orb like a stone statue, twitched slightly.

A calm and cold voice flowed from his lips.

“Thank you for the report, Count. But the unfavorable outcome… wouldn’t it tarnish your reputation? You, the leading figure of the Eastern Empire, took personal charge of this matter. The Fifth Prince had high expectations for this operation as well. If this continues, our entire faction’s plan could be disrupted.”

Polite and respectful, yet undeniably critical and pressuring.

His tone was impeccably courteous, but the content was enough to irk Bolton.

“Ahem…”

Bolton’s brow twitched, but he couldn’t refute the man’s words.

Lawrence paused briefly before continuing:

“Of course, Your Lordship’s judgment is wise. Now is not the time for rash action.”

Though he seemed to be acknowledging Bolton’s decision, his words carried an implicit suggestion that he was the one guiding the situation.

“Count, please continue to politically pressure Baron Crocus. With your influence, it should be easy enough to mobilize the surrounding lords. We will handle the Duke at the central court.”

Though framed as a suggestion for dividing tasks, the content was closer to a directive.

The Earl of Bolton, who could clearly read the other man’s intentions, found the conversation deeply unpleasant.

But.

“And most importantly, Your Excellency, is information. Thanks to your keen insight, Baron Primrose is already investigating, but you must specifically determine the nature of his relationship with Armandi.”

“The House of Armandi?”

The moment Baron Lawrence uttered the name, the Earl was stunned.

It was only natural.

“If it’s Armandi, aren’t they one of the most influential families in the Imperial Capital?”

While the Boltons were also counts, they ruled the eastern borderlands, a remote region, while the Armands held considerable influence at the empire’s heart, the capital. It was hardly fair to equate their status.

“Precisely. And, as you know, they are also close confidants of the First Princess.”

“But Crocus is involved with the Armands?”

“According to our intelligence, yes. It seems he’s already had private meetings with their heir.”

“Hmm…”

The mention of such a powerful figure seemed to darken the Count’s expression.

Viscount Lawrence continued, “This connection must also be tied to the First Princess. Our top priority is to discover what she’s trying to gain through him.”

Although it was framed as a request, to Count Bolton, it was as good as an unrefusable command.

“And… lastly,” Lawrence said, “the knights captured as prisoners… it’s a regrettable situation. For the honor of the Bolton family, you must handle this with utmost caution. If necessary… I could speak to His Highness the Crown Prince about it.”

At first glance, it sounded like an offer to help, but his true intentions were clear. Using this failure as leverage, he intended to directly interfere in the Bolton family’s affairs.

“No, I cannot show such disrespect to His Highness the Crown Prince. I will resolve this matter myself.”

“Understood, my lord. Until our next contact, may you remain in good health.”

With those words, the communication ended.

Pop!

The communication line went dead, and the light from the orb faded. Count Bolton’s face twisted with suppressed rage and humiliation.

“That damn brat… How dare he meddle in our family’s affairs?”

Given the circumstances, he couldn’t remain passive. If he failed to show the Fifth Prince a properly resolved outcome, that damn brat might extend his reach to his family and territory at any moment.

And to prevent such a disaster, there was only one way.

“I must crush that damn brat Crocus.”

Grind

Count Bolton’s gritting teeth turned towards the east, where Baron Crocus’s territory lay.

At that very moment, the Earl of Bolton was raging furiously.

Meanwhile, the reception room of Crocus Castle was filled with an unexpected aroma of tea.

Slurp

Eugene silently lifted his teacup, took a sip, and looked at the person seated opposite him.

It was none other than the elf, Marek.

Marek, with his teacup before him, held a Russian copy of Das Kapital and gazed out the window, lost in thought.

The faint wrinkles between his eyebrows revealed the depth of his contemplation.

How much time passed in this way?

“…I need more time to think.”

Marek opened his mouth and looked at Eugene.

“I must admit, there is merit in your words. No matter how noble a philosophy or value, if it cannot be reconciled with reality, its limitations are undeniable.”

That was the piece of the answer he had obtained through his conversation with Eugene.

It was also an acknowledgment that the ideology he held in his hands might not be perfect.

“Then, next time, let’s have a better conversation—one that’s not just about chasing clouds.”

“Very well, human lord. You are… undeniably different from other barbarians.”

Seemingly deeply impressed by Eugene, Marek nodded at his words.

As if he had been waiting for this moment, Eugene smoothly changed the subject.

“Marek, you elves must know more about dragons than we humans do.”

The real reason Eugene had bothered to bring his nonsense to the castle and listen was something else entirely.

“Dragons, you mean?”

“The Dragon Council.”

Hearing this, Marek’s eyebrows twitched slightly in surprise.

Unfazed, Eugene continued, “Have you by any chance heard of a dragon named ‘Argen’? No, any information at all would be helpful.”

“I heard he was a human from Earth. Why are you interested in dragons?”

“I don’t think we’re close enough for me to tell you that.”

Marek looked surprised and asked again. Eugene shook his head. Marek fell silent for a moment, lost in thought.

But the silence didn’t last long.

“…To be honest, dragons are nothing short of a disaster for our kind.”

“A disaster?”

“Or you could call them periodic raiders who plunder us. Though we’re treated slightly better than the dwarves, who are practically slaves.”

“Hmm.”

Eugene’s ears perked up involuntarily at this information from Marek, something he’d never heard of on Earth.

Marek continued, “That’s why our clan records information about every dragon we encounter within the World Tree. To avoid the disaster, we must first understand it, wouldn’t you agree?”

“That makes sense.”

Eugene nodded, his eyes shining with the prospect of gaining valuable information.

But…

“However, I’ve never heard the name Argen before.”

“Is that so?”

“The clan elders might know more, but few clans are as knowledgeable about dragons as ours. After all, dragons are arrogant beings who consider themselves half-divine. They rarely even bother to explain themselves properly.”

“That’s a shame,” Eugene said, genuine regret in his voice.

If he could have obtained this information from Marek, he might have understood his father, Vayen Crooker’s intentions even sooner.

“However…”

But Marek wasn’t finished yet.

“I recall seeing a word with a similar pronunciation in very old records.”

“Really?”

“Argentos.”

Tap-tap-tap

Marek’s fingers tapped the armrest of the wooden chair, as if searching through his memories, as he spoke the word aloud.

“It’s a Draconic term for a chronicler who records the movements of the stars or all the events in the world.”

One of the puzzle pieces Eugene had been searching for had just been spoken by Marek.