Chapter 125: Mutual Retorts (Second Update—Truly No Easy Feat)

Even if Patrick hadn’t said a word, the entire elven family already knew. Anyone with sight could see that the most beautiful noble lady of Silvermoon City had been inseparable from Patrick ever since they appeared together at the Cabalon Mage Tower, their arms entwined, never once apart.

His parents, elder brother, and the surrounding kin showed no particular expression. “The whole family has known about you two for a long time,” they said matter-of-factly.

Patrick was at a loss, unsure when exactly his family had found out. Aurelia was even more speechless—indeed, besides the elf beside her, it seemed that all of Silvermoon City knew as well.

His elder brother, Patterson, spoke next: “The wedding protocols and bride price have long been drafted. We have been waiting for your return to make the announcement official. As the first director to emerge from our family—or rather, the first Grand Archmage of the ninth rank—we must uphold the honor of the Cabalon lineage.”

Their father and mother nodded in full agreement. “We shall prepare the grandest wedding for you and Aurelia.”

Aurelia merely listened quietly from the side, her large eyes flickering as she observed Patrick’s family. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly, and in her demeanor, the dignified noble grace of their lineage shone unmistakably.

Patrick then produced a crystal projection and handed it to his father. “There’s another matter. I’m sure you’re already aware—my Sun Sanctuary has been renamed the City of Sunlight. Moreover, I have elevated it into a flying city. We will fully shift the family’s focus there. The Cabalon Mage Tower in Silvermoon will henceforth serve only as our administrative outpost, connected to the flying city via teleportation chambers.”

“In the City of Sunlight, our family, together with the Windrunner clan, will hold complete dominion over the entire Ghostlands. We will no longer need to worry about underhanded schemes from those council directors.”

Upon hearing that the Sun Sanctuary had ascended into the sky, Eldar Phil no longer resisted Patrick’s plan to relocate the family’s center of power. After all, Patrick was now a director; a portion of Silvermoon City’s shares would always remain with the Cabalon family.

With the move, the Ghostlands would be fully under their control. The family’s sphere of influence would expand greatly. Without those behind-the-scenes manipulators, the Cabalon family’s development would accelerate without any hindrance.

...

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Once again, Patrick found himself at the council, facing a group of familiar faces. This time, however, the gaze of each director upon him was markedly different—there was now a trace of genuine acknowledgment. Such is the nature of the council: without strength, they would never take one seriously. When the council begins to look you in the eye, it means you have earned their recognition.

Only the Windrunner family’s representative smiled warmly at him. As an elder to Aurelia, he was, in a sense, assessing Patrick’s capability to be her husband.

Now that his flying city had taken to the skies, Patrick held yet another valuable bargaining chip. He was fearless. The council and royal family had surely been the first to receive the news; they would have arranged their pawns within his sphere of influence, transmitting intelligence at once.

Yet those pawns mattered little. The council had no concept of voting. Even as an executive director, if Patrick ever acted against the interests of the City of Sunlight, he would be immediately removed. Factionalism, monopolization of capital, and class stratification would find no foothold in the City of Sunlight.

The rules remained the same. The king spoke first: “We have received an invitation from the humans, requesting that we join the alliance to wage war against the orcs and aid Anduin Lothar in reclaiming Stormwind.”

He added, “Anduin Lothar is the last heir of the Arathi bloodline. Once, we received help from King Thoradin and his entire kin. None can deny that.”

With such words laid bare, the council members already had their answer. Clearly, they did not wish to meddle in human affairs, but since this was a prior commitment, they could not delay.

“We shall dispatch a contingent of rangers and mages to Lordaeron. There’s no need for a large force. The mage troops of Quel’Thalas are renowned worldwide; their mobility will greatly aid the human alliance,” suggested a familiar elf—Darkan Draelis, the very one who had once proposed Patrick’s diplomatic mission to Lordaeron. In a sense, Patrick owed him gratitude; that mission had opened a perfect trade route, allowing him to amass significant wealth from the human nobility.

However, another director objected. It was Jeanrini Dawnstar: “There’s no need to send mage forces. When the humans aided our army, they only sent pure warriors. There’s no necessity to deploy mages for their battles—rangers alone will suffice.”

Patrick laughed aloud. Elves were indeed petty and resentful; this was no baseless rumor. Such trivial details were cause for dispute—truly tedious.

Jeanrini frowned. “Director Patrick Cabalon, if you have objections to my opinion, you may raise them when it is your turn to speak. The Silvermoon Council is a solemn place. Please maintain proper respect in this chamber.”

Patrick retorted, “Director Jeanrini, why so nitpicky? Is it a professional habit?” The Dawnstar family held a monopoly on Silvermoon’s taxation; Patrick’s mockery was perfectly apt.

Jeanrini responded with a psychic assault. “Remember, you are now within the Silvermoon Council.”

Patrick was completely immune to the mental attack and shot back, “And? What are you trying to say?”

Jeanrini was surprised by the younger man’s mental defenses; his psychic strike vanished without effect. Yet, as a veteran family leader of the council, he could not show weakness. He unleashed another psychic wave, this time infused with spatial energy.

Patrick’s eyes glowed with white light as an arcane shield enveloped him, repelling every attack. He then cast a glance toward Jeanrini’s position. A spatial rift formed and drifted in Jeanrini’s direction. Space itself began to warp where Patrick’s gaze fell. Sweat beaded on Jeanrini’s brow as the spatial pressure mounted. He struggled to maintain his arcane shield.

Crack—snap—snap. Jeanrini’s arcane shield shattered, shards spilling to the ground like broken glass. With a single look, Patrick decisively bested Jeanrini, much to the astonishment of the other council members.

Seeing Jeanrini slump helplessly into his chair, the king quickly intervened to smooth things over. “Then, Director Patrick Cabalon, please share your opinion.”