Chapter 150: The Trouble Afflicting Marquis Caltheron (2)

Upon receiving the order, Arnold didn’t dare to argue. He gave a small nod and replied respectfully, "As you command, my lord."

"Alright, you may go," Nolan said, waving his hand dismissively, as if shooing him away.

Without another word, Arnold’s figure slowly dissolved into a shadow and vanished.

Once Arnold was gone, Nolan gulped down his tea in one go and stood up, stretching his stiff body.

"No more work—time for bed," he muttered with a lazy yawn.

He glanced at the clock, which already showed nine in the morning. If it were an ordinary person—or any other prince—they’d be busy working or engaged in other activities by now.

But that kind of routine didn’t apply to him. He had no authority or responsibility in government affairs, nor was he expected to assist his father with important matters.

In short, today he was completely free, and he planned to enjoy that freedom by getting some rest.

After all, tension in the Empire was rising, and his time for leisure would only become more limited in the days ahead.

Nolan trudged toward the bed, ready to flop down—but just as he was about to collapse onto it, the door swung open, and a voice of protest rang out.

"Brother, what are you doing? Going back to sleep, huh?"

Nolan: "..."

Why did his beloved sister have to appear right when he was about to jump into bed?

For some reason, he had a bad feeling about her sudden visit.

With a resigned smile, Nolan pretended to sit on the bed and leaned back, supporting himself with both hands.

"Sleep? How could I? Do you really think your brother is lazy?" He replied casually.

Elina raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Isn’t that exactly what you are?"

Nolan’s lips twitched. He resisted the urge to pinch her cheeks and say,

"Did you have to be that honest? That really hurt, you know."

But he held back. Instead, he slowly lay down and pulled the blanket over himself.

"Alright, fine. I’ll be honest. Yes, I’m going to sleep. So... good night."

Without waiting for a reply, Nolan closed his eyes, and soon, the sound of gentle snoring filled the room.

Elina:

"（ꐦ𝅒_𝅒）"

Hands on her hips, she stepped into the room and pulled the blanket off her brother.

But rather than reacting, Nolan simply turned over and hugged the bolster tightly, clearly unbothered.

Elina’s patience snapped. Without warning, she raised both hands and started tickling Nolan’s stomach.

His eyes flew open, and he squirmed like a worm on a hot plate.

"Hahaha! Elina, stop! That tickles! Hahaha!" He shouted between fits of laughter, trying to escape—but Elina chased him all over the bed.

"I’ll let you go if you promise not to sleep again. Deal?" She grinned mischievously.

"Okay, okay! I promise! Now stop—please!" Nolan laughed helplessly, still struggling to catch his breath.

When Elina heard that, she finally stopped tickling him, and Nolan let out a sigh of relief.

But his irritation flared just as quickly. He reached over and pinched both of her cheeks.

"You smelly sister! How dare you treat your brother like this! Aren’t you afraid of my wrath, huh?" He pretended to be mad, tugging both of her cheeks in protest.

Instead of looking scared, Elina grinned and replied confidently, "Afraid? Why would I be? I’m the future empress of the Great Velmora Empire! And you, Big Brother, will have no authority over me!"

They locked eyes for a brief moment—then burst into laughter.

"You little..." Nolan let go of her cheeks and flicked her forehead, hard enough to make Elina yelp in pain.

"Brother, you’re so mean," she whined, puffing out her cheeks.

But Nolan showed no remorse. He crossed his arms and replied, "That’s what you get for challenging me."

Of course, he wasn’t truly angry. This was just how the two of them were.

They teased each other constantly, and neither of them ever took it seriously.

"Anyway, let’s put that aside for now," Nolan said, eyeing her curiously. "So? What brings you to my room? Did the old man send a message?"

Elina blinked, momentarily surprised, then smiled and said, "As expected of you, Brother! Yes—Father sent me. All the princes and princesses have been summoned to the throne room in fifteen minutes."

Nolan raised an eyebrow. "Do you know why he’s calling us?"

In the past, their father would summon them to the throne room along with the ministers every month or two to review the palace’s affairs.

But since the battle for the throne began, those meetings had completely stopped.

It was only natural. The princes had changed. Once brothers, they now eyed each other with suspicion, no longer as family, but as rivals—enemies to be eliminated.

"I don’t know," Elina said, frowning. "But I heard it has something to do with the Eastern region."

Nolan’s eyes narrowed.

The Eastern region, huh...

...

Southern Region—Caltheron Family Mansion

In his study, Orlan sat slumped in his chair, his expression weary and his body heavy with fatigue.

Stacks of documents cluttered his desk, each one a report on the worsening food shortage.

For the past week, the cities of Valmiris and Lunaris had been suffering, and Orlan had been working tirelessly to find a solution.

But so far, all his efforts had been in vain. The supply of food in both cities relied heavily on the territories governed by barons and counts—nobles who owned vast, fertile lands suitable for farming.

However, starting a month ago, merchants from those regions abruptly stopped delivering goods to Valmiris and Lunaris. The result was an immediate shortage of basic staples.

Orlan wasn’t a fool. He knew this was no coincidence. It had to be the work of nobles loyal to Aldric—and they certainly wouldn’t act without orders from the Duke of Malvain.

Fortunately, the two cities still had enough reserves to keep prices stable for a while.

But now, with those reserves nearly depleted, panic was spreading. Food prices had skyrocketed, and public unrest was growing by the day.

If this situation continued unchecked, a revolt among the people was no longer unthinkable—and greater chaos would be inevitable.

Just as Orlan sank deeper into his thoughts, the door to his study opened, and Syra entered, her face etched with worry.

"Darling, are you all right?" She asked softly.

Orlan looked up and forced a faint smile. "I’m fine. Don’t worry."

But how could Syra stand by while her husband bore the weight of everything alone?

She walked behind his chair and began gently massaging his shoulders.

"Is it the food supply issue?"

Orlan didn’t deny it and replied quietly, "Yes. It’s about that."

"Have you reached out to Prince Nolan?" Syra asked again.

"I have," Orlan said with a light nod. "The letter should’ve arrived by now. But I can’t get my hopes up. This situation is far too complicated to resolve easily."

Syra fell silent, unsure what to say. Still, she tried to stay strong, ready to offer some words of encouragement—when the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted her.

The door swung open, and a man rushed in, breathing heavily. It was Alex, their most trusted servant.

His sudden appearance startled them both. Orlan was about to ask what had happened, but Alex spoke first.

"My Lord, good news! The leader of the southern branch of the Blue Moon Trading House has arrived at the mansion!"