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As Randolph, the Crown Prince, signed the decree, he couldn't conceal his irritation. The lingering resentment over Michael's independent formation of the Special Task Force and his subsequent glory still stung. Experience tales at My Virtual Library Empire

"Duke Capone, why the rush in finalizing this?" Randolph asked curtly.

The duke responded with a knowing smile, aware of the prince's underlying frustration.

"Sir Michael's achievements warrant such expedience. Even His Majesty is delighted. I hear rewards will soon be bestowed in the capital."

Capone's smile carried a subtle rebuke. As someone entrusted by Charles V to guide the prince, Capone recognized the folly of showing continued resentment toward a rising hero like Michael.

Randolph cleared his throat awkwardly, recalling the private letter from his father. Charles V had explicitly instructed him to win Michael's favor and ensure he became a loyal sword to the royal family.

Capone, sensing the moment, spoke earnestly.

"Your Highness, I've mentioned this in passing before, but now I must insist—Michael is no longer who he once was. He is the hero of the Battle of Elandor and, at his young age, already the head of the Crassus family."

He paused to gauge the prince's reaction before continuing.

"Even Dominic is no fool. For him to relinquish his position and support Michael so fully speaks volumes. Word has it His Majesty plans to elevate the Crassus family's title. If that happens, Michael will become a count."

Capone sighed, adding, "This level of advancement hasn't been seen in two centuries. It reflects His Majesty's immense trust in Michael. Remember, Your Highness, you were the one who first recognized Michael's talent and sponsored his rise. You must maintain a good relationship with him."

Randolph clenched his teeth. While he disliked the persistent reminders of his missteps, he couldn't deny the truth. Michael's meteoric rise was undeniable, and keeping him close was essential.

Randolph, the Crown Prince, was still young and prone to emotional outbursts. His temper flared as he stood abruptly, his cloak sweeping the air.

"Enough! I've heard you, so let's leave it at that. Do you think I'm so petty as to be jealous of my subject's achievements? That's not the issue!" he snapped, his voice rising. "What bothers me is that I, the Crown Prince and supreme commander of this warfront, was not consulted about the formation of such a critical unit as the Special Task Force."

Duke Capone sighed inwardly. What nonsense is this? Who barred you from attending the meetings? Despite being urged to participate in critical discussions, the prince had neglected his duties, distracted by his pursuit of Princess Elise. Now, he seemed to regret being unable to claim credit for Michael's achievements.

"Your Highness," Capone said calmly, "you are the cornerstone of this kingdom. Your contributions have already been proven by recognizing Sir Michael's potential and allowing him to serve. The more Michael succeeds, the more your reputation will shine. Please, exercise restraint."

Randolph's tense expression began to ease, though deep inside, a gnawing insecurity remained. He wished he truly possessed the foresight to recognize Michael's potential, as others believed. Yet he alone knew the truth: his decision to elevate Michael had been impulsive and immature.

To mask his unease, Randolph forced a bright smile and clapped a hand on Capone's shoulder.

"Very well! I won't act so small-minded again. After all, having a young talent like Michael rise in the kingdom is a cause for celebration. Let's drink and put this behind us!"

Though the tension in the prince's laughter lingered, Capone chose not to press further.

"Wise words, Your Highness," he replied, raising his glass.

Their goblets clinked together with a clear note, and the mood in the room gradually grew convivial once more.

A Royal Decree

A royal decree arrived from the Lania Kingdom, addressed to Michael as the commander of the Special Task Force. Kneeling on one knee, Michael listened attentively to the royal envoy's proclamation:

"By the authority of Charles V, sovereign of the Lania Kingdom and rightful heir to its throne, the following honors are bestowed upon the Crassus family. The Crassus family is hereby elevated to the rank of Countship..."

The decree was lengthy, filled with grandiose language, but Michael absorbed the essence. His family was granted a hereditary countship, with his father Dominic officially recognized as the acting head for procedural purposes. Additionally, the Crassus estate was expanded to include portions of the Drago Mountain Range, along with taxation and judicial rights. However, the family was now obligated to attend annual royal meetings in the capital.

Accepting the decree, Michael rose and bowed in the direction of the capital, vowing to uphold the responsibilities bestowed upon his family.

The rewards extended beyond Michael. Other members of the Special Task Force from Lania also received individual honors based on their contributions. By the time the ceremonies concluded, the sun had set.

Celebrations

A modest yet hearty banquet followed, bringing together nobles, knights, and soldiers within the fortress. Toasts were raised, and laughter filled the hall as everyone indulged in the rare reprieve. Even outside the fortress, soldiers were treated to a feast—stew rich with meat, fresh bread, roasted meat, sausages, and ale.

The penal troops, often relegated to meager rations, were astonished by the generous spread. Albert and Jean wasted no time, eagerly devouring the warm food. The hearty stew soothed their weary bodies, leaving them momentarily content.

"We must survive to experience this again," they resolved, savoring the rare luxury.

Even the beasts were treated to roasted livestock stuffed with fruit and seasoned with a spicy glaze.

"They should always prepare food like this," one beast murmured.

"Agreed! The seasoning is divine," another chimed in.

Marcus, chewing contentedly, thought to himself, This is my everyday life! I'm so glad I chose to follow Michael.

Noticing Marcus's smug grin, Miaomiao shot him a disdainful glare.

"Not hungry, are you?" Marcus teased. "I'll take your share then—"

Before he could finish, Miaomiao smacked him on the head and protectively cradled her meal, hissing in warning.

The lavish feast, funded entirely by the Crassus family, further cemented Michael's growing reputation. Generosity, after all, drew admiration across cultures.