Most of the servants in the city lord’s mansion vanished overnight, including the cooks and grooms—they and their families became missing persons. In Pramisburg, the term "missing persons" often signified they were already dead, consigned to the past. Fear spread through the mansion; many did not know what had happened, while some who did dared not speak a word.

  Arno was not like the ineffective lords of the past, who, after taking office, remained as invisible as phantoms both inside and outside the mansion, powerless in the face of the city’s affairs. Now Arno held immense prestige in the city and had a large number of supporters; at his command, the entire city would mobilize in an instant.

  In the eyes of others, Arno was a decisive figure who wielded power with coldness, ruthlessness, viciousness, and resolve—but Celeste knew this was merely a surface impression.

  After experiencing a war and the ensuing bloodshed, Arno’s taut nerves finally relaxed, leaving him exhausted. More than physical tiredness, it was the exhaustion of the heart that weighed him down.

  Who would have imagined that nearly 80% of the mansion’s servants had been bribed, forming a meticulous surveillance network that "broadcast" his every move, word, and deed? What he did, whom he met, what he said, what he ate for each meal, his preferred dishes, his habits, hobbies, dislikes, and daily routines—all details, whether important or trivial, had become open secrets in broad daylight.

  If someone with malicious intent obtained this information, they could easily carry out a perfectly targeted assassination: poison could be added to the black tea he liked to drink, or an archer could be positioned near the windowsill or balcony where he often stood to gaze into the distance.

  In such a situation, it was as if he had placed his life in the hands of others!

  The forces that had bribed these servants were diverse, including nobles from Milling City and local figures such as Old Rice, Hutt, Barto, and… Harvey.

  Regardless of whether these people were still alive or already dead, betrayal had become a fact. Betrayal and treachery could not be dismissed just because they had not caused irreversible consequences—purges were inevitable.

  Celeste, holding two of Arno’s fingers, looked at him with evident heartache. Sensing the pressure and warmth from his fingers, Arno turned his head and gave her a faint smile. His face was slightly pale, with dark circles under his eyes and a shallow crack at the corner of his mouth.

  "Brother Arno…" "Brother Arno" was Celeste’s affectionate nickname for him, a term more intimate than "Lord City Lord" or "Big Brother City Lord." She raised his hand and rubbed her fair, smooth cheek against the back of his hand. "Brother, don’t be sad."

  "I’m not sad," Arno denied immediately. In truth, there was a tinge of sadness. These purged servants had lived with him for over two months, and if one overlooked their betrayal, they had been responsible and competent in their duties. Take the former chief maid, for example: she had been meticulous in attending to his daily life, yet beneath that meticulous care lay a cold and venomous heart, which was deeply terrifying.

  Arno tried his best to appear unaffected by negative emotions, forcing a bright smile. "Don’t worry, I’m fine." He withdrew his hand, ran his fingers through Celeste’s smooth flaxen hair, and gently pressed his fingertips against her scalp. The little girl squinted contentedly, like a cat lazily basking in the sun. "Taking good care of yourself is the greatest help you can give me."

  The little girl suddenly widened her eyes, her gem-like eyes shining with intoxicating brilliance. She stared intently at Arno and asked naively, "Do you mean I’m a burden? Is that why you want me to take care of myself so I don’t hold you back?"

  Arno was slightly taken aback, then flicked her forehead gently. Celeste immediately covered her forehead, her eyes welling with tears, on the verge of crying. Only then did Arno laugh heartily and say, "Of course not! You’re the treasure of the Arkania family, so you must take care of yourself so that I can always see the most perfect Celeste."

  The tears in Celeste’s eyes vanished instantly. She sniffled, her nose quivering slightly, and a pink flush spread across her face. Though shy, she mustered the courage to stand up. Dressed in a pink princess dress, white knee-high stockings, and brown round-toed leather shoes dotted with star-shaped ornaments, the little girl looked stunning. Suddenly, she shouted in a trembling voice, "I will definitely take good care of myself—as Brother Arno’s treasure!" With that, she suddenly leaned in and kissed Arno’s face, her soft and delicate lips touching him like a dragonfly skimming the water. The gentle touch of her lips was like the warm sun of spring, melting the chill of winter.

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  She turned her head, covered her blushing face, and ran toward the distance. Arno was slightly dazed, watching Celeste run further and further on the lawn, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

  Suddenly, there was a cry of "Oops!" The little girl, too focused on covering her burning cheeks, had not noticed the uneven ground and tripped. She stood up bravely, glanced sideways at Arno, who was laughing heartily, and shouted in a mix of shame and annoyance, "It didn’t hurt at all!"

  In an instant, the dark clouds in Arno’s heart were torn apart by brilliant sunlight, and his mood improved remarkably. He picked up his teacup and swirled it; the rich scent of milk wafted into his nose. He no longer drank black tea—someone walking a tightrope of power should not leave obvious weaknesses. Milk was just a random choice of beverage; next time it might be juice, or perhaps just water.

  His gaze swept past the butler behind him, a blue vein throbbing on his forehead.

  This newly appointed butler was a familiar face named Vox.

  After the purge of the mansion, many positions were left vacant. Choosing the best from the remaining staff, Vox had successfully become the new butler of the city lord’s mansion. He was overjoyed by this appointment. After spending two months in the stable, he had almost "grown mold," surrounded by the stench of horse manure every day. Finally, hope had arrived: the slaughter following the war had allowed him to escape that disgusting place and become the newly appointed butler of the mansion.

  Vox was diligent in his work, though sometimes he went overboard.

  "Lord, would you like me to give you a massage? I’ve had professional training and can ensure you’ll be perfectly comfortable," he said.

  Arno put down his cup and gave him a cold glance. "Don’t even think about it!"

  The new chief maid was Emily, one of the women sent by Alma. At sixteen years old, she had a perfectly developed figure, neither too immature nor too mature, which always invited wandering thoughts. As for the other two girls, Arno had ensured they died without pain—they had been spies sent by a noble from Milling City, acting like "swallows" to search for and transmit information.

  Whether Emily and Vox had any issues remained to be seen, but so far, Arno had found no evidence against them. As he had said, everyone had the right to choose: they could remain the same or open a new path. He gave them the opportunity to choose, but he would enforce the consequences.

  They could receive glory and wealth, or face the blade.

  In the afternoon, Richard arrived, his belly swaying from side to side, to meet with Arno. The middle and end of each month were account settlement days. Arno was not naive enough to give up checking accounts by saying "I trust you"—such words only bred betrayal, never nurtured trust. Bills were spread out on the table, and Vox, sweating profusely, used a foot-wide magical calculator to reconcile each fund transaction.

  As the master of the mansion, Arno sat aside and chatted with Richard.

  "Lord City Lord, you should have seen it—people’s enthusiasm for work has been fully ignited, and the project progress has been greatly accelerated again," Richard said, his face glowing with pride. After years as a tax collector, he had been as cowardly as a pile of dung, trampled by everyone. Now, as a favorite of the city lord, holding the financial power of the mansion, who would not doff their hat and bow to him? This greatly satisfied the fat man’s vanity, making him increasingly believe that following Arno was the wisest choice of his life.

  Arno noncommittally tapped the table with his fingers. "Speed is good news, but pay attention to work methods. Try to prevent injuries, and if someone is injured, send them for medical treatment immediately to ensure their safety."

  Richard feigned surprise and admiration, saying flatteringly, "You are the kindest and most virtuous lord I’ve ever seen—even the history books contain no record of such a ruler! All nobles should take you as their example!"

  Richard was already considered one of Arno’s retainers, so addressing him as "lord" was not surprising, though the flattery was excessive.

  Arno pointed at him. "That’s over-the-top flattery."

  Richard was unconcerned, wearing a sincere expression. "These are words from the bottom of my heart."

  "How are things with the church?" Arno asked about another matter. Before the war, he had sent someone to the church with a letter in the city lord’s name, inviting clergy to preach and rebuild the church.

  It was like a simulation game; churches had special attributes in this world.

  With a church, there would be resident priests. Besides spreading religious teachings and seducing commoners to believe in the gods, they also raised funds for the church’s development. Where did these funds come from? Partly from donations by wealthy merchants, and partly from "medical" fees. The church had a clear price list for each healing spell, exorcism, and miraculous recovery.

  No matter who you were, as long as you could pay, they would chant "God loves all," stuff the money into their pockets, and cast various divine spells.

  With these priests, at least the mortality rate in Pramisburg from incurable wounds or illnesses could be minimized.