Chương 381: 381：The Warlord's Flawless Deduction

"Why the hell should I go with..." Lucian instinctively tried to snap back, but he barely took a half-step before the words caught hard in his throat. Though he was naive, hot-blooded, and had lived a life of absolute privilege, as the scion of a top-tier mercantile dynasty, his eye for detail and his judgment were razor-sharp! His gaze fell upon Soren's retreating back.

To his absolute horror, Lucian realized that in this camp filled with slick, foul-smelling mud—where a normal man would slip half a step for every stride—the man before him walked as steadily as if he were treading on polished marble! Every footfall was perfectly grounded, lacking even a millimeter of wasted motion! That is a level of core strength and absolute martial control that only a true master could possess!

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the silver-haired young woman shadowing the man's flank. Such pure, unadulterated killing intent... Lucian swallowed hard. The girl looked casual, almost lethargic, but her footwork flawlessly sealed off every single blind spot behind the man. They aren't just ordinary camp overseers. Are they secret agents sent by the Silvermoon Capital? Or trackers my father sent to drag me back?

After a brief moment of hesitation and intense internal struggle, Lucian gritted his teeth. He had fled all the way here; there was no turning back now. He tossed the heavy pickaxe aside, ignoring the bewildered stares of the surrounding recruits, and hurried to catch up with Soren. They walked in silence. Soren led Lucian to an unfinished stone keep at the rear of the recruit camp. The thick walls completely isolated them from the howling blizzard outside and blocked any prying eyes.

The moment they stepped into the keep, Soren turned around. But before he could even speak, Lucian—believing he had seen through everything—puffed out his chest and seized the initiative, kicking off the psychological warfare! Lucian exuded confidence. He crossed his arms, a smug, knowing smile—the kind reserved for the smartest man in the room—playing on his lips.

"You can drop the mysterious act, My Lord. I already know exactly who you are." Lucian extended a blistered finger, pointing first at the armor Lyra wore. The shrewd cunning of a merchant gleamed in his eyes.

"The armor this lady is wearing possesses a dull, dark hue, yet the edges shimmer with an eerie light."

"I practically grew up in the auction houses of the Aethel Empire. I recognize the unique properties of mithril! But the metallurgy required to perfectly fuse the lightweight nature of mithril with some unknown, hyper-dense metal... such a forging technique doesn't exist anywhere on this continent!" Then, his finger snapped toward the cloak on Soren's back, where the tip of a longbow protruded.

"And that longbow on your back. Even though it's heavily wrapped in cloth, the faint pulses of Wind-elemental magic, coupled with those azure runes carved into the limbs... runes no human artisan could ever replicate! That is a mythical Elven artifact, the [Windwhisper Bow]!" Thrilled by his own deduction, Lucian announced with fervent admiration:"To command a master in composite armor who blends seamlessly into the shadows as a personal guard...

To carry the very Elven divine bow that sniped Warchief Blackstone of the Orcs... And to move with absolute freedom through this heavily fortified military stronghold..."

"You are no ordinary man! You must be the Lord of this territory, the supreme commander whose name is currently shaking over thirty nations! You are the Commander of Greywater Town, Lord Soren. Am I right?" Having delivered his grand reveal, Lucian waited for Soren's look of shock. He was immensely proud of his keen observation and airtight logic. However, entirely defying his expectations... Soren simply let out a low chuckle. Decisively, Soren pulled back his hood.

"Not bad. Your observation skills are decent," Soren said, making no attempt to deny it. But then, he took a sudden, aggressive half-step forward, his massive presence looming over Lucian.

"But since you enjoy playing deduction games so much... why don't you listen to my deductions for a change?" The sudden, crushing aura forced Lucian to instinctively take a half-step back, but he stubbornly kept his chin high.

"By all means, My Lord." Soren didn't even need to rely on the background information provided by the Warlord System. With a razor-sharp gaze and pure, flawless logic, he launched a devastating counterattack!

"First." Soren reached out, grasping the lapel of Lucian's bespoke suit. Feeling the texture of the fabric, he spoke coldly.

"This material is warm to the touch and incredibly resilient. At a time when the Orc Alliance has blockaded supply lines across the entire continent, only the immensely wealthy Aethel Empire—hiding comfortably in the deep southern heartland—could possibly cultivate Glacial Silkworms to weave this kind of silk. You are a citizen of the Aethel Empire." Without giving him a single second to breathe, Soren grabbed the boy's blistered hand, holding it up in the air.

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"Second. Your hands. They are pale and incredibly soft. Sure, they have a few pathetic blood blisters on them now, but on your palms, the webbing of your thumbs, and your index finger... there are absolutely zero calluses from gripping a sword or drawing a bowstring!"

"This proves you've lived in the lap of luxury since birth. Forget about slaughtering Orcs; you haven't even killed a chicken! You possess an illustrious, astronomically wealthy noble status!" Lucian's breathing grew rapid and shallow. His hidden cards were being ruthlessly flipped over, one by one.

"Third." Soren stared deeply into his eyes, his presence suffocating.

"You intentionally lowered your voice, trying to mimic a gruff mercenary. But just now, when you got excited, your vocal inflections and the way you rolled the ends of your words... that is a signature aristocratic accent exclusively used in the high-society salons of the elite." With every step Soren took forward, his airtight, flawless logic methodically shattered Lucian's psychological defenses. Soren suddenly raised his voice, striking a fatal blow straight to Lucian's heart!

"So, the conclusion is rather simple. The high nobility of the Aethel Empire are nothing but a pack of profit-driven exploiters and war-fearing cowards!"

"They avoid war at all costs! Even if you put a blade to their throats, they would never send their first-in-line heir to the frontlines of the Misty Swamp to die!"

"Therefore!" Soren released Lucian's hand, delivering his final, crushing verdict.

"You must be a naive, hot-blooded second son of a Grand Duke! You heard the rumors of Greywater Town annihilating the Orc vanguard with zero casualties, and driven by your romanticized ideals of war, you defied your father's strict orders, ran away from home, and snuck all the way here to join the army!" Boom! This series of surgically precise psychological dissections left the once-arrogant Lucian frozen in place like a statue! His mind went completely blank.

The supposedly "brilliant" intellect that had been constantly praised by countless advisors back home... in front of this supreme commander forged in the crucible of brutal war, it was terrifyingly fragile and utterly transparent! Soren hadn't needed a single tool of torture. With just a glance and a few words, he had stripped Lucian bare—revealing his nationality, his identity, his past, and even the exact psychological motive that had brought him here!

In that moment, whatever lingering aristocratic pride Lucian still harbored evaporated into thin air! What rushed in to fill the void was profound awe, mixed with an intense, burning curiosity about the man standing before him. No wonder... Lucian muttered internally. He finally understood why the ace legions of the Holy Halycon Empire were getting slaughtered by the Orcs, while this "ragtag" army was capable of forging miracles.

Because their commander wasn't just a terrifying martial powerhouse; his intellect and insight were sharp enough to cut through reality itself!

"How... how did you do that..." Lucian completely dropped his defensive posture, suddenly looking entirely helpless and lost. Seeing the boy give up his resistance, Soren's expression softened slightly. This was exactly the outcome Soren wanted. Greywater Town didn't need an arrogant noble brat causing trouble on the front lines, but it desperately needed a talent who possessed elite aristocratic knowledge and a top-tier mercantile mind!

"With your fragile physique, throwing you on the front lines would only break the formation of my pikemen. You couldn't even hack a standard Greenskin to death," Soren said bluntly.

"But your brain, and that innate aristocratic etiquette you were raised with... those can unleash a destructive power far greater than ten heavy siege ballistae." Soren didn't beat around the bush. He stated his intent to recruit directly:"Lucian, I formally invite you to join Greywater Town."

"I don't need you to dig foundations in the mud, and I certainly don't need you to strap on armor and fight."

"I need you to become a hidden blade planted deep within the upper echelons of the human world! I want you to become my intelligence operative and diplomatic envoy, operating entirely in the shadows!" Soren painted a vivid picture of Lucian's true battlefield:"Use your identity as the second son of an Aethel Grand Duke as your flawless cover! I want you navigating the elite noble banquets of the Silvermoon Capital! I want you weaving through the exclusive trade salons of the Holy Halycon Empire!"

"Use your innate mercantile instincts to manipulate markets and secure vital resources for Greywater Town! Use your status to unearth the political daggers those high nobles are trying to plunge into my back!" Hearing this grand directive, a flush of profound excitement and validation spread across Lucian's face. But just as quickly, he plunged into an agonizing internal struggle.

In the gloom of the unfinished stone keep, Lucian lowered his head, staring silently at his ridiculously expensive, mud-caked leather boots.