Chapter 89: Chapter 89 You Have To Make Sacrifices

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This was why dealing with Gador seemed more troublesome for both Julian and Dave. A single mistake, and the newly formed Fellowship might have to leave Ternell and start over in another city, fighting to survive. If they could avoid it, who would want to be driven away and forced into exile?

If possible, wouldn't everyone prefer to leave with glory and move to a bigger stage to pursue their ambitions.

"So, any solutions?" Dave asked as he handed Julian an open bottle of fruit wine. Julian waved it off; he didn't drink alcohol unless it was necessary.

After hanging his coat on the rack, Julian sat heavily on a sagging sofa in the dimly lit room, which had yellowed walls and dried water stains on the ceiling. The room had been temporarily rented through a third party. As he sat, Julian felt the wooden frame of the sofa press against him, nearly causing him to wince in pain.

He stood up, kicked the sofa in frustration, then paced a few steps before turning to look at the anxious Dave.

"There's a way to get close to the mayor's wife, Mrs. Vivian. From what I've gathered, the mayor keeps a mistress outside, but he still respects his wife's opinion. This gives us an opportunity. If Mrs. Vivian says a few words, it will be more effective than us doing anything out there.

It is not easy to get close to Mrs. Vivian, and it may require you to make sacrifices..."

Before Julian could finish, Dave raised his hand to stop him. He took a swig from the wine bottle and took a deep drag of his half smoked cigarette, his eyes slightly reddened as he stared at Julian. "I don't know where my father is—maybe he died on the battlefield, or maybe he faked his death and ran off. My mother raised us, her children, on her own. It hasn't been easy for her all these years..."

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"Now tell me, what do you need me to do? Do I need to assassinate someone, or do something else?"

Julian stared at the overly emotional Dave for a moment, then burst into laughter, so much so that his stomach began to hurt. Dave, confused and uncertain whether he had said something wrong, stared blankly at Julian.

It took Julian a while to stop laughing, but when he saw the silly expression on Dave's face, he couldn't help but chuckle again.

"Actually... it's not what you think!" Julian explained, realizing he had spoken too quickly earlier. In their language, the word "sacrifice" and "death" could often be confused without proper context. Dave had thought he'd have to give his life to win over Mrs. Vivian.

Once Julian finished explaining, Dave laughed as well, rolling his eyes after a moment, and took another swig from the bottle. "You scared me! I thought I was headed to meet the Almighty. Next time, could you please choose your words more carefully?"

Julian shrugged. "My bad, I admit my mistake. But... you'll still need to 'sacrifice' a bit."

"I feel much better now!" Dave said, rubbing his face. "At least it doesn't involve dying."

Julian then laid out the plan, and Dave's face turned pale. He realized that the "sacrifice" really was a sacrifice—he'd have to charm a forty something year old woman. His facial muscles stiffened. "Can't we... find someone else?"

Julian asked, "Do you really think anyone among us is more handsome or charming than you?" He spread his hands, answering his own question, "Nope. So, in the end, I have no choice but to give you this important mission. Plus, it's not such a bad deal. You get to enjoy a little adventure with a high society lady, no consequences. Don't you find it exciting? Just imagine...

you and the mayor could become relative. Think about how impressive that sounds."

"If you think that saying all this will make me feel any better, your plan has failed!" Dave lit another cigarette, took a deep drag, and brooded. Julian didn't interrupt his thoughts. After a moment, Dave suddenly flicked the cigarette to the ground and said, "Fine, I agree. Damn it, I hate you and your plan, but I've agreed!"

...

Mrs. Vivian began preparing herself early in the morning, standing in front of the mirror as she tried on one outfit after another. Her servants held up over thirty new dresses for her to choose from, their eyes flickering with envy and jealousy.

People, in the end, are not the same.

All women, yet some could afford to choose from countless outfits, perhaps never even wearing them, before packing them away in storage as if they were never bought. Others, however, had to hold clothes that might take them years to afford and could hardly ever dream of wearing them, even once.

So when it comes to people, it's not about equality. The only thing equal is the chance of being born, not the status, wealth, or identity one is born into.

"This will do. I'll go with this one," Mrs. Vivian finally declared, satisfied with how she looked in the mirror. Though she was already forty one years old, she took excellent care of herself. The privileged life she led allowed her to use things most people couldn't even imagine to preserve her youth.

At first glance, she appeared to be in her early thirties, with smooth, firm skin that showed no sign of aging. Her mature charm, combined with a floral dress, made her look young enough that it wouldn't be hard to believe if someone guessed she was even younger.

Taking a cream colored sun hat adorned with red trimmings from one of the servants, she grabbed a small designer purse crafted by a master artisan and stepped out. She didn't need to inform anyone where she was going; her husband was either at city hall handling his many responsibilities or indulging himself in the bed of some other woman. But she didn't care about that.