"This is an easy task, you don't need to take any risks. Just place the message in the agreed location, and no one will know you did it." The words of the silver-masked man, who called himself the Black Money representative, echoed in his ears again.

"Ridiculous! Why should I help the Graycastle people? They even want to eradicate the noble families. What good would it do me if they win?" The argument still seemed vivid. "I thought Black Money people were all shrewd businessmen, but I didn't expect you to say such stupid things! Aren't you afraid I'll tie you up and hand you over to Lord Mavien in exchange for a hefty reward?"

"If you really wanted to do that, this meeting wouldn't have happened in the first place." The other party's tone didn't change at all, as if he didn't care about his safety. "The fact that I'm still sitting here is enough to prove your willingness. It's because you're a smart man that we're willing to offer this opportunity."

"Too bad you're mistaken. My loyalty to Duke Mavien is beyond doubt. Now get out of here, before I change my mind!"

"Of course, I'll leave now. But, my lord, an opportunity is like this. Black Money has no intention of forcing you to make a choice. How you act is your *ziyou*." The silver-masked man stood up, bowed deeply to him first, and then gently placed a black card on the tea table. "Finally, I want to convey that Graycastle will not forget anyone who has served it. Then... see you later."

Fleur took a deep breath, interrupting his chaotic thoughts, and the room suddenly became quiet.

Will not forget anyone who has served Graycastle... huh.

Ironically, he joined Duke Mavien in order to revive his family's glory, and Roland Wimbledon, who was at odds with all the nobles, was originally the least likely person to forgive. But now, he found himself somewhat indecisive.

The guy sent by Black Money was a bastard, but he was right about one thing. If he really intended to serve the Duke of the North to the end, he should have torn this card to pieces long ago, instead of carefully hiding it at the bottom of the drawer.

After a long silence, Fleur looked up and sighed, sitting down at the table.

He took out a sheet of parchment paper and spread it out, then picked up a quill.

What else did he have to lose?

Reclaiming his territory had become increasingly unlikely, and he seemed to have no reason to stubbornly persist.

Oh well, according to what Black Money said, he wouldn't suffer any losses, so he might as well hedge his bets. If the devils achieve the final victory, the situation won't get any worse anyway. If the Graycastle people win, he might be able to get compensation in other ways.

Thinking of this, Fleur put pen to paper.

...

In the evening, he walked into "Horn Alley" in the inner city, wearing a trench coat and a felt hat.

This area belonged to the Northern Merchant Guild, and most of the people who came and went were merchants. By the time the sun went down, few people were active.

On a gentle slope, Fleur found the location mentioned by the silver-masked man - between two brick houses, there was a large silver fir tree.

In fact, the way the other party agreed to transmit information was also the reason that prompted him to make the decision.

There was no recipient, nor was there a contact person, which greatly reduced the risk. At least he didn't have to worry about Black Money using this information to blackmail him, or being noticed by others that he had been in close contact with unidentified persons.

Fleur lingered around for a while, and after seeing that there were no suspicious people around, he quickly came to the back of the silver fir and reached for the tree hole in its center - sure enough, there was a secret compartment hidden in the tree hole, but the compartment door was completely an ordinary piece of wood, and it was difficult to detect without touching it by hand.

He stuffed the letter into the secret compartment and pushed the wooden baffle back, and the matter was completed. He deliberately used *Zheng Zhuan* script to record the content of the letter, so even if it was discovered by a third party, it would be impossible to associate it with him through handwriting.

Of course, this was not a complete success.

Next, Fleur returned to his residence and moved a flowerpot to the windowsill of his bedroom - in the high-end residences in the inner city, such decorations were readily available, and no one would pay attention to an inconspicuous potted plant. But for those who were secretly observing this

place, it was a signal that the message had been sent.

From beginning to end, he didn't need to contact anyone, as for who would take the letter and through what channels it would be sent to the Graycastle people, those were all none of his business.

At the moment he put down the flowerpot, Fleur even had a sense of relief.

Just collecting intelligence was done so carefully and meticulously, the gap between the monarchs was really too great... He stood in front of the window, looking at the brightly lit castle area under the red mist, and thought that those "losers" were still happily enjoying the dinner, he no longer had any hope for Mavien.

Only one question remained.

Can Graycastle really defeat the devils?

The messenger placed a thick stack of papers on the damp and dilapidated wooden table.

"Is this today's share?" Nimble Witch lit the oil lamp, "Thank you for your hard work."

The other party did not react.

He sighed and repeated it with gestures.

The messenger then nodded.

This person was the Silent trained by the master. He neither had hearing nor could speak. He could only use simple sign language to convey orders or ask questions. Unfortunately, there was no gesture to express gratitude.

"Guard outside and don't let anyone in." Nimble Witch let the Silent leave, and began to read these messages one by one.

This was a property set aside by Black Money for holding underground trade fairs. It usually used an invitation system, and theoretically, the possibility of being broken into by outsiders was not high. But Nimble Witch still chose to process intelligence in the cold basement in order to buy more time to burn it in case of danger.

Although he didn't know why the master was so concerned about the war in Graycastle, that was not a question he could question. Since the master ordered to fully assist Graycastle, the only thing he could do was to execute it with all his strength.

Reorganizing these intelligence and sending it to the Graycastle people without anyone knowing was his main task at present.

Although the Graycastle people's request was not to let go of any news, the opportunity to smuggle it out of the city was not always available, so there must be a matter of priority. Considering that the permitted trade caravans generally came and went once a week, he had to make the most reliable intelligence into secret letters within a week and send them to Wolfheart mixed in with the goods. As for other news, he could only find other channels to send them out.

Most of the time, these intelligence came from the Rats' narration, so it seemed quite scattered, and he often had to spend a lot of time screening them. But this time, Nimble Witch noticed that a letter in the paper was significantly different from other messages.

Its handwriting was neat and fluent, not scribbled in a tavern or on the street; it also used top-quality ink, and there were no wrinkles on the paper, obviously the writing environment was better than the places where the Rats usually stayed.

He subconsciously held his breath and carefully browsed the letter from beginning to end.

And the content of the letter was indeed different.

For the first time, it mentioned the core of the Devil's army, the Lord of the Celestial Heavens, Hackzord.