Durin's Diary

After dinner, my grandfather left the house, claiming he needed to contact an old friend in Copenhagen via telegraph.

He wanted to prepare an official identity for Durin—Fabien had previously refused an official identity, which resulted in the inability of Grassland Elves authorities to force the secret police to release him through official channels after he went missing.

Old Yishu couldn't possibly let his grandson take risks again.

And Durin also hoped to have such an identity, which would make many things much easier to handle.

So, Yishu decided to send his grandson to study in the Northern Kingdom as an international student, while also being responsible for rebuilding the espionage network.

Upon reflecting, Durin thought that the military of the Eastern Elven Territory wouldn't approve of him attending an Engineering Academy, and then he remembered his little dream and spoke up, "If possible, I'd like to learn how to make films, is that okay?"

"Arts, is it? I believe the Elders' Council will agree," Old Yishu nodded with a smile, "No problem, I'll contact my old friend right away."

After saying farewell to his grandfather, Durin sat on the sofa, looking at the newspaper in his hands—in this broken era without mobile phones or computers, Durin's nighttime life revolved around reading newspapers, listening to music from a phonograph, or occasionally inviting a few friends over to play cards.

It's not that other forms of entertainment didn't exist, but it was impossible for Durin to enter any of the bars in Lublin Town or Lublin City. The requirements in the Elven Territory were very strict, and perhaps other Grassland Elves could get through with their cute and charming appearance, but not Durin—the distinguished Mr. Durin of the House of Ailish, with his high profile in Lublin, so much so that he didn't need his face on a Gold Coin for countless citizens to recognize him.

Therefore, it was also impossible to sneak drinks with his friends because not a single bartender would dare sell alcohol to him, considering everyone feared the Silver Dragon riders' retribution afterward.

Even less possible was to visit entertainment venues run by the descendants of fugitive slaves—speaking of fugitive slaves, all in the Eastern Elven Territory seemed primitive to Durin's eyes, without dishwashers or washing machines, with everything requiring manual work and even maids dressed in ancient long skirts, not revealing a hint of skin.

But to those fugitive slaves, there was one good thing about the Eastern Elven Territory—they didn't practice slavery. Although the human world of the South also didn't have slavery, there were slave mercenaries in the South who got rewards for capturing fugitive slaves. In contrast, in the Eastern Elven Territory, such people were usually hung on gibbets at the village head.

The land was vast, but here, one human could not enslave another; even the indentured workers who were fugitive slaves received a salary.

Here, the temple's healing often only charged the cost, and sometimes even offered free treatment to fugitive slaves and indentured workers without money.

Lords and Ladies would distribute small gifts to everyone during the harvest festival.

Everyone had enough to eat, and even indentured workers who had signed an indenture contract could save from their salaries and in ten years of hard work, they could buy back their freedom and become freemen.

Even those who fell in love could marry freely with the recognition of their respective lords, and even if they were somewhat clumsy and spent more, thus not being able to earn or save money, by having five children, they too could gain freedom.

There were also schools that accepted fugitive slaves and their descendants, teaching them to use the common human language and the Grassland Elves language.

In these fugitive slaves' homelands, their ancestors for generations were all slaves, with even reproduction controlled by the Slave Owners, where only the strongest slaves were worthy of having multiple descendants; they and their children were merely commodities, tools... but not recognized as humans.

So, the hard life Durin saw was like heaven to them.

It's ironic, isn't it? But that's reality.

Therefore, in the Eastern Elven Territory, the descendants of fugitive slaves gathered to discuss how to earn money more efficiently or which of their masters were kinder, or how they might gain the status of freemen faster by joining the military.

Turning his attention back to the newspaper, there was nothing particularly fresh in the news, and the news accessible to the average person lacked any significant intelligence. The front page was always about the same old tropes, proclaiming how humans were terrifying Slave Masters; the second page was always cautionary, questioning why the Engineering Academy hadn't launched any new cutting-edge weapons in the last five years, wondering if there were fifteen old relics holding seats of power without contributing.

Durin thought to himself that he had submitted several design sketches to the academy, but they were either too advanced for the current level of material science or too advanced to display. It wasn't just him; even the fifteen old relics at the supreme round table of the Engineering Academy were at a loss.

On the third page, Durin saw something completely new—according to the paper, the old King of the Northern Kingdom was ninety-seven years old and reportedly would have an extremely grand celebration when he turned a hundred.

Indeed, humans were infamously short-lived, and the King, said to be of the Warrior Class, had sustained injuries on the battlefield in his youth, so living to a hundred was not an easy feat.

And what Durin found most interesting was the concluding sentence used by the journalist who wrote the report.

"May His Majesty Robert Walter live long and enjoy a hundred years."

Please, he's ninety-seven years old, by your words, are you hoping he dies within the next two years or what?

However, judging by the name, Royce Kalbinski, it's a standard Northern Kingdom surname, no need to look further, definitely a descendant of a fugitive slave or an immigrant, they have an innate aversion to everything from the Northern Kingdom, especially that so-called king.

These fugitive slaves and immigrants from the Northern Kingdom really wish for the king and his family to drop dead. After all, they all call the king a traitor, a phrase Durin has been tired of hearing for the solid twelve years he's been here.

Durin was a tad curious about how this traitor title came to be, but not curious enough to risk his neck over it.

Putting down the newspaper, Durin stood in front of the hall's corridor mirror, looking at the reflection of himself in the full-length mirror, the two Durins still one standing and one sitting.

So it's not a dream, after all.

Just as he was reflecting on this, he heard the sound of the front door being pushed open.

Durin raised an eyebrow.

His grandfather's coming and going was much faster than he anticipated.

Stepping out of the corridor, Durin stood before his own grandfather.

"I've spoken to Robert Walter for you, no problem, by the time you get there, I believe Copenhagen's First Art Academy will have a film discipline, and you can just enroll. There's an old friend of mine in the academy, you can call her Lady Salin, the dean is Sean, a halfling gnome, also a good friend of mine."

Perhaps not quite reassured, old Yishu started to rattle off a list as if naming dishes: "If anyone bullies you, and I can't get there in time, go find Karl Marlon at the Mage Tower, or Joel Nelson at the Adventurers' Guild, both their sons were baptized by me, they will definitely help you. And if they don't, I'll butcher those two old codgers when I get back."

Okay, it's all familiar faces, that's easier to handle.

"There's a ninety-seven-year-old man in the newspaper also named Robert Walter."

Thinking of this, Durin asked with a bit of curiosity.

"That's the one, Robert Walter... and also, don't trust too much what those backside-less old foxes say, it's best not to believe even their punctuation marks, dealing with someone like that is tricky, and I'm afraid you'll be at a disadvantage, you know."

Although Durin didn't know why his own old Yishu would say this, he obediently nodded.

However, like the previous few mentions, the relationship between his grandfather and this king seemed not bad—old Yishu even called him a backside-less old fox, if he was calling him king, that would really signify a rift.

"The outside world is vast and dangerous, remember to protect yourself when you are out there," Yishu said, patting Durin on the shoulder, "Grandpa doesn't want to lose you."

"Don't worry, the truly wise never die of stupidity, and me, don't you trust your own grandson?" Durin replied with a smile.

Old Yishu was very satisfied with this answer, he glanced at the pocket watch pulled out from his vest pocket: "It's getting late, I need to go back to town to deal with some official business, you get some good rest, Anta will probably come looking for you tomorrow, you shouldn't wake up late, take the initiative and go find her."

Durin nodded in agreement.

Indeed, as a gentleman, one shouldn't make the lady take the initiative.