Free Web NovelChapter 305: Chapter 305
"The activities of the rebels have doubled in the past two weeks. They are no longer only burning down businesses; they’ve begun setting farmlands on fire as well." Jayran said, reading aloud from the report in his hands. He glanced up at Ragnar briefly. "It says that the most recent incident of them burning down an orchard."
He had barely been able to stand still since Ragnar handed him the small stack of papers. His weight shifted restlessly from one foot to the other as his eyes moved rapidly across the page, absorbing each line with an intensity that contradicted the carefree, womanizing persona he so often presented to the world.
He examined the reports meticulously, line by line, his focus sharp and unwavering. For a brief moment, his carefully constructed mask slipped, revealing what lay beneath the practiced indifference—a mind that was observant, and calculating.
Ever since the king had sent Casilo to track down Gerard’s whereabouts, weekly written reports had been delivered detailing both his progress and the growing chaos the rebels were inflicting upon the eastern region of Lamora.
Ragnar, however, had chosen to show Jayran only the letter for now. He was still uncertain how much trust his brother truly deserved when it came to the more sensitive details of the operation. The ones in Jayran’s hands were the most recent reports.
Jayran had provided crucial information that aided Ragnar in ambushing the first rebel campsite, but real trust was not so easily earned. At the end of the day, Jayran was still his mother’s son and that single fact would forever shape how Ragnar viewed him and behaved around him.
Compared to the more delicate findings in Casilo’s reports, the documents Jayran now held were hardly guarded secrets. Anyone could ride east and witness the devastation for themselves. It had become common knowledge that the rebels were ravaging the region, yet records and written accounts often failed to capture the true extent of suffering.
They were just words and numbers on parchment. They did not show the charred remains of villages, the scorched earth where crops once grew, or the hollow-eyed people left behind. The reports spoke of shops and farmlands engulfed in flames, but they did not mention the families who had lost their only means of survival. They did not speak of the farmers reduced to beggars, or the mothers who fled with their children under cover of darkness, abandoning everything they had ever owned out of fear for their lives.
Jayran continued reading, his jaw tightening with every passing paragraph. The muscles in his face were rigid now, his expression one of barely restrained fury.
Ragnar watched him from the other side of the desk in his study, silent and attentive. When Jayran had arrived earlier that afternoon to continue the conversation they had started in the forest, Ragnar had allowed it out for no other reason than curiosity. He wanted to know how Jayran would react to it and to see if there was any information he could possibly pry out of him. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
"You sound bitter," Ragnar observed calmly, his gaze fixed on the way emotion openly flickered across Jayran’s face. "You must have seen reports like this before. Everyone knows about the unrest in the east."
"I didn’t know it had gotten this bad," Jayran said as he stepped forward and set the papers down on the desk with more force than necessary. "And yes, I am bitter. I’m bitter because this is happening in our kingdom, and what does Father do? He allows Mother to host an elaborate three-day celebration while people are starving and suffering massive losses." His voice rose with every word, anger sharpening his tone. "And for what? To celebrate a betrothal that Hairan doesn’t even fucking want."
He scrubbed a hand down his face and let out a weary sigh, as though the weight of the knowledge had finally settled onto his shoulders.
The sudden outburst caught Ragnar off guard. He tilted his head slightly, studying his brother with renewed interest. He had never seen Jayran react so strongly to anything before. Jayran—the prince who treated his royal duties like an inconvenience, who spent his nights in brothels and his days drinking with high-end courtesans. Jayran, who had always seemed to care for no one but himself.
Yet here he stood, anger blazing beneath his restraint, revealing a side of himself few ever witnessed. And he was allowing Ragnar to see it.
Ragnar decided to give him a little more.
"I don’t think they’re working alone," he said carefully. It was only a fraction of the truth, and he chose his words precisely. "I don’t believe a group of ragtag criminals could possess such expensive, expertly crafted weapons, organize themselves so efficiently, and maintain an operation of this scale without backing from someone influential."
"I’ve had the same thought for a while now," Jayran replied without hesitation. "But I don’t think it’s just one person. There has to be an entire network operating right under our noses." The seriousness in his expression made his face look as though it had been carved from marble.
Ragnar’s brows furrowed as he straightened in his chair. "What do you mean?"
He already knew that House Tavish was funding the rebellion and that they were also responsible for the assassins but his focus on them had been so absolute that it hadn’t occurred to him there might be others involved as well. More families. More traitors quietly supporting the very rebellion that had openly challenged King Zeriel’s authority time and time again.
"Funding a rebellion isn’t cheap," Jayran began. "A single individual couldn’t sustain it for long without racing toward financial ruin. Even someone extraordinarily wealthy would feel the strain. It would leave a mark on their finances for years." He paused briefly before continuing. "But if the cost is divided among several powerful backers..."
The implication of his statement was clear. It meant there was more than one noble house involved in the plot to unseat the king.
