Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World

Chapter 221: The Dungeon

TL: Etude

After returning to their residence, Paul recounted the events of the banquet to Cecil and the female advisor who had stayed behind.

Cecil stroked his chin and clucked his tongue. The drunkards in the taverns will have new gossip now. Count, I guarantee that within three days, countless versions of the story about the Dukes succession will emerge in the streets.

Is it that exaggerated?

Such matters, tinged with a strong scent of conspiracy, are always of interest to people. Even if theres no actual conspiracy or complex background, people will embellish the story.

Cecil, we need to step up our intelligence gathering on the Kent family. Theyve been hostile to us in the past, and even if they dont trouble us in the future, we must always be on guard. Once Marltz Kent becomes the Duke, his power will increase even more.

Count, I understand that, Cecil replied.

Paul said, If theres nothing else, lets head back tomorrow.

Eh? Count, arent you staying for the martial arts tournament in Center City? It will last for several days, Cecil asked.

I have no interest in such things. Im more concerned about the expansion of the ironworks than the martial arts tournament.

The female advisor agreed with Pauls decision, possibly because of her secret identity. Ladi felt insecure the moment she left Alda.

Before dinner, Malron and Victor returned.

Its strange!

Count Ganard spread his hands, speaking somewhat mystified.

I was quite excited at first, but during one of the matches, it struck me how a commoner with a musket could easily down those pompous knights with a single shot. Suddenly, the martial arts tournament lost its appeal to me.

Well then, Malron, lets all return together tomorrow!

Everyone agreed unanimously.

The dungeon in the Dukes mansion was a dark, cold, and damp place.

Especially in its deepest parts, the air was stale, filled with a musty smell.

Only a few torches on the walls provided some light and warmth.

Over the years, numerous criminals and enemies of the Ferdinand family had been imprisoned here, many spending their last miserable moments in life.

There were wrongful deaths, and if one listened carefully in the dungeon, they could hear a low murmuring sound, like the whispering of restless spirits recounting their misfortunes.

In this eerily quiet place, where one could almost hear hallucinations, footsteps suddenly echoed.

A guard led an old man into the depths of the dungeon, stopping in front of a cell.

Behind the iron bars lay a figure who, hearing someone approach, sat up and looked out.

The guard glanced at the figure in the cell and respectfully said, My lord Viscount, your steward has come to see you.

The person imprisoned was Viscount Henry, who had angered his brother, Duke Ferdinand, over the succession of the title. Although at the Dukes command he was confined to the deepest part of the dungeon, the guards did not dare to treat him as a mere prisoner.

After all, Henry was a member of the Ferdinand family, a Viscount, and the Dukes brother. Although the Duke was furious and had locked up his brother, the guards didnt dare to disrespect Henry. If the brothers reconciled later, those who had mistreated him would be in serious trouble.

Steward, youve finally come~

Henry inside looked woefully aggrieved, as if bearing an immense injustice and unwillingness.

Wuu, how could my brother treat me like this? Im his own younger brother!

As he spoke, Viscount Henry burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably.

The steward sighed and comforted him, Viscount, please dont be like this. Ive already pleaded on your behalf with the Duke. Im sure he wont truly make things difficult for you.

Ah? Youve seen my brother? What did he say?

The Duke said he would keep you here for two more days,

Before the steward could finish, a flurry of hurried footsteps sounded outside.

A military officer, with a grim expression and dressed in uniform, stormed in, followed by two other guards who were in charge of the dungeon.

The guard who had brought the steward in sensed trouble upon seeing the expressions of his two colleagues.

Sure enough, the officer approached him and slapped him hard across the face.

A red handprint appeared on the guards face. He held his cheek, bowed his head, and braced for the officers reprimand.

The guard was not very familiar with this superior. The officer previously in charge of the dungeon had been transferred a few days ago, and this one, rumored to have a close relationship with Count Kent, had replaced him.

The officer berated the guard, I just stepped out for a moment, and you cant keep things in order? You let strangers into the cell without my permission!

The guard replied, feeling wronged, But, sir, he is the Viscounts steward!

The officer, fuming, retorted loudly, That doesnt matter. Everyone needs my permission to enter.

Though he was yelling at the guard, it was clear his words were meant for all to hear.

The elderly steward quickly stepped forward to apologize, My apologies, sir. I was unaware of the rules here.

The imprisoned Viscount Henry looked bewildered and fearful.

The officer turned to the steward, Mr. Steward, Im not unreasonable, but rules are rules. You see

He glanced at the wooden box the steward was holding.

The steward immediately presented the box, Oh, this is food for the Viscount. I was worried he might not be used to the food here. Please inspect it.

Then, I must excuse myself.

The officer didnt waste words and opened the box, inspecting its contents thoroughly.

It was indeed food, and he returned the box to the steward.

After delivering this and exchanging a few words, please leave. Visits to the dungeon are time-limited, and the Viscount is no exception.

Yes, yes. I will leave immediately.

The steward agreed, handed the box through the bars to Viscount Henry, gave a few words of advice about taking care of his health, and then prepared to leave.

Before leaving, he handed a bag to the officer, who had been watching them all along.

Sir, please take good care of Viscount Henry in the future.

The officer felt the bag, heard the clinking sound of coins, and a smile crept onto his previously stern face.

Of course, of course. Ill take good care of the Dukes brother.

Then he escorted the steward out.

From behind, Viscount Henrys voice, laced with a sob, called out, Steward, please persuade my brother again! He was also under your care when he was young; he will surely listen to you.

The footsteps faded away until they were completely gone.

Viscount Henry opened the wooden box but didnt start eating immediately. Instead, he began to tear apart the bread inside.

Upon breaking the third loaf, a small scroll was embedded inside.

Indeed

Muttering to himself, the Viscount retrieved the small scroll from the bread.

His previously crestfallen demeanor vanished.

Hmph, my dear brother. I thought you had forgotten what this deepest cell is used for. Now it seems you remember.

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