In Another World, All Milfs Will Be Mine-Chapter 171: [ - - ]

"They are way too happy." The inspector muttered to himself, as he looked closer at the crowd.

Standing behind the cheering peasants, every ten feet or so, was a guard. They wore the black armbands of the new City Patrol. They weren’t cheering. They were watching the crowd. Their hands rested casually on the hilts of their swords.

A peasant woman stopped waving her flag for a second to wipe sweat from her brow. A guard stepped up behind her and whispered something.

The woman’s eyes widened, and she immediately started waving the flag again, her smile stretching even wider, almost painfully so.

"Security is tight," One of the guard noted, riding alongside the window, "Dozens of them. I have counted more than fifty guards just now. Where did Caelum get the budget for this?"

"He didn’t," The inspector said softly, "Caelum is gone."

Soon the carriage was rumbling past the Town Square, and the crowd here was thinner and quieter from before. They were walking in a wide circle around a pedestal in the centre of the town square.

When they looked out of their carriages, there was a small dreadful statue that sat there.

As the carriage passed it, The Guards and the Inspectors felt a sudden, inexplicable coldness inside their skin. The hairs on his arms stood up. A heavy weight pressed down on his chest, a feeling of irrational dread that made him want to look away, to bow his head.

"What is that?" the junior inspector asked, shivering.

"A monument, I assume," The Inspector replied, forcing himself to keep looking at it, "Though a rather... imposing one."

They continued up the hill towards the Lord’s Mansion.

The mansion loomed over the city, its stone walls had already been scrubbed clean of the years of filth of the Dargan family. The gates to the inner sanctum were open.

A crowd had gathered here too. Mostly older folks, farmers, and laborers.

"Death to the Bastard!"

"Rot in hell, Caelum!"

"Long live Lord Leo! The People’s Choice!"

The chants were rhythmic, practiced.

"They hate the old Lord," Malcom spoke up from the corner of the carriage. It was the first time he had spoken without being asked something. "He ran. He took the gold and left them to die. Lord Leo stayed. Lord Leo fought."

The Inspector looked at the ever so silent Malcom speak, "He is not the Lord, yet."

"For us he is. We follow strength," Malcom said simply, "Caelum was weak., and Lord Leo is strong. That’s all that matters."

The carriage pulled up to the main steps of the mansion.

The Royal Guards dismounted, forming a protective perimeter, though it seemed unnecessary given the ’joyful’ atmosphere.

The heavy oak doors of the mansion swung open.

A line of servants stood there, bowing low. They were dressed in crisp uniforms.

"Welcome, Guests from the Capital!" a steward announced.

The Inspectors stepped out of the carriage, adjusting their robes. The Lead Inspector gripped the staff in his hand and walked up the stairs. He was ready for excuses. He was ready for a nervous man trying to explain away the chaos.

"Lead the way," The Inspector turned towards Malcom and instructed.

Malcom walked past the bowing servants. He didn’t bow. He just jerked his head towards the main hall.

They walked through the corridors. The place was rich, decorated with art and tapestries that should have been looted weeks ago.

They reached the double doors of the Audience Hall.

Two massive Blackfang Elites stood guard. They pushed the doors open with a heavy groan of timber.

The Royal Inspectors marched in, chins held high, ready to assert the dominance of the Crown.

They stopped dead.

The hall was grand, lit by enchanted chandeliers. A red carpet ran down the centre, leading up to the raised dais where the seat of power resided.

And sitting there, on the Lord’s high-backed throne, was a boy.

He couldn’t be more than twenty. He was wearing a black noble’s coat that was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a glimpse of a muscular chest. He wasn’t sitting upright in a dignified manner. He was slouching.

His legs were thrown over the armrest of the throne. He was holding a bunch of purple grapes high above his head, dropping them into his mouth one by one.

Chomp.

He chewed loudly, the sound echoing in the silent hall.

To his left stood a woman of stunning beauty, looking very poised and elegant. To his right stood a savage-looking woman in leather armour, sharpening a massive blade with a whetstone.

Schwing!

Schwing!

The Inspectors stood there, processing the image. A commoner. An adventurer. Sitting on the throne of a peer of the realm, acting like he owned the place.

Leo swallowed the grape. He turned his head lazily, his glowing purple eyes locking onto the inspectors and guards in front of him.

A slow, cheeky grin spread across his face.

He didn’t stand up in their welcome.

He didn’t bow in their respect.

"Ah!" Leo exclaimed, tossing the grape stem onto the floor, "I see that you all have finally made it! I was wondering when you guys would show up. Was the traffic so bad?"

He gestured vaguely with a sticky hand to a row of simple wooden chairs arranged in a semi-circle at the foot of the dais, significantly lower than the throne.

"Take a seat," Leo said, as if inviting them to a tavern table. "Make yourselves at home. But not too at home. I like this chair."

"You... You insolent..." One of the Royal guards yelled at Leo, his hand flying to his sword hilt, "Such disrespect!"

But the Lead Inspector held up a hand, silencing his guard. His eyes narrowed, fixating on the boy on the throne.

"Mr Leo, I presume," Aris whispered.

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