CHAPTER 60: CHAPTER 60: THE GRAND DUKE OF THE CITY OF THE FORGE

"Why so slow?"

Ryan spoke with an air of aristocratic arrogance—it would have seemed suspicious if he hadn’t.

The soldiers, visibly uneasy, hurried to explain.

"We were afraid of cultists..."

"Cultists? Those heretics attacked the City of the Forge?"

Ryan’s voice carried a note of surprise.

"Isn’t the City of the Forge full of mages? Those cultists dared to attack here?"

"I’m not entirely sure," the soldier said, "but rumor has it some of the cultists have their own dark sorcerers. Even the mages couldn’t drive them out."

Ryan nodded. That would explain it.

"Take me to the nobles of this city."

Naturally, Ryan had to meet the nobles here. After all, some of the cultists were of noble blood themselves—even noble-formed cults existed. Without proper verification, it was impossible to let Ryan roam freely.

Besides, a noble who didn’t socialize with the noble class was bound to raise suspicion.

As Ryan walked through the streets of the City of the Forge, he noticed that few of its people looked happy. Everyone rushed by, thin-faced and gaunt, carrying heavy expressions.

Clearly, this city had solved its cold—but not its hunger.

It was also obvious that the city was divided: one half for commoners and slaves, the other reserved for nobles and mages.

Ryan was escorted to a place called the Forge Council, the administrative center for the city’s nobility.

It was clear from those coming and going—each carried that unmistakable air of nobility.

Ryan was received by none other than a Duke, who sat in a lavish chair, delicately nibbling a piece of ornate pastry—causing Ryan to briefly question whether the city truly lacked food.

"Duke Moriarty,"

Ryan greeted him with a bow. He had learned the man’s name before entering.

"So, you’re the current head of House Whitman? So young,"

the elderly Duke Moriarty mused, smiling as he slid another piece of the exquisite pastry across the table.

The rich sweetness was a revelation. Even in these harsh conditions, nobles found ways to indulge.

The two quietly finished the pastry. Only when the silver platter was taken away by a servant did the duke speak.

"I heard you came to the City of the Forge with only two soldiers?"

Ryan nodded, but then offered a calculated clarification:

"My territory was invaded by cultists. We’ve taken refuge in an iron mine. The rest of my troops and slaves are stationed there. But that’s not sustainable, so I came to the Forge to seek aid."

"Though from the looks of it, you’ve had your own troubles with cultists."

At that, Duke Moriarty’s eyes flashed with anger.

"Those damned rebel nobles dared to offer sacrifices to the abyssal demons and launched a surprise attack on the city. We suffered heavy losses. All the food stores outside the walls were plundered."

"What about the city’s mages? I heard from Mage Luna that the City of the Forge had three high mages with towers. Shouldn’t they have been able to wipe out the cultists easily?"

Ryan couldn’t help but ask. After all, the cult’s rise had been only half a year in the making. How could they have overwhelmed such a bastion of arcane power?

Duke Moriarty shook his head.

"The high mages did act. But the cultists performed blood-sacrifice rituals and summoned an abyssal servant—a Lava Giant. It forced the three mages to retreat."

"Were it not for our stockpile of enchanted scrolls, which we used to kill the Lava Giant, the outcome would have been catastrophic."

In other words, the City of the Forge had actually lost the initial battle.

Ryan found this hard to believe.

"What about your soldiers? I’ve seen these cultists—they’re just rabble, a bunch of peasants. How could you not defeat them?"

The duke looked at Ryan and sighed.

"I know of the Whitman family. The first Viscount Whitman nearly ruined the house just to maintain a standing army—and earned his glory in the wars that followed."

"I didn’t expect this generation of Viscount Whitman to show the same courage."

Just as in Ryan’s world, where people didn’t recognize Baron Azel’s lineage, so too did few on the Eksnel Continent know of Ryan’s nobility. But Viscount Whitman was a recognized name, one with a history and legacy that earned respect.

That, and Ryan bore the family’s heirloom signet ring, which Duke Moriarty had noticed the moment they met.

"The City of the Forge had no real soldiers before the attack. Only five hundred now, hastily assembled by us nobles. The rest? Slaves."

"But the cultists—twisted by abyssal power—became monsters. Their strength was terrifying. They climbed the city walls like beasts."

"It was only with magic scrolls that we repelled them in the end."

So, the City of the Forge had had no army before the attack. Nobles saw soldiers as a drain—training required food and labor. In times of crisis, they simply conscripted slaves into a makeshift army.

But the abyss-corrupted cultists weren’t mere men.

The slave militia crumbled before the cult’s monsters.

Only after that defeat did they begin to build a real force of 500 men. Even now, those troops weren’t full-time—they still spent most of their days working the fields.

The cult had stolen the city’s outer crop stores. They had to replant and harvest a second time—fast. Otherwise, many would die this winter.

Duke Moriarty relayed the city’s situation in full. In return, Ryan informed him about the conditions farther north.

When the duke heard that the northern frontier was buried under solid ice, hunting impossible, and farming out of the question—he fell silent for a long while.

Eventually, Ryan expressed his intention to buy an estate within the city. Moriarty agreed, though the price was steep: 10,000 gold coins.

"The cult will rise again. Only the City of the Forge remains truly safe."

Ryan didn’t know why Duke Moriarty was so confident. He suspected that, as the last warm place on Eksnel, the city still had some trump cards in reserve.

Otherwise, the Lava Giant should have scared these nobles into utter submission.