“Your Majesty… Your Majesty, please think twice!” Before he even arrived, the city hall director's wails echoed from outside the door.

By the time Barov Hemon rushed, panting, to the desk, Roland leisurely set down his teacup. "Think twice about what? The coronation ceremony?"

"No, I mean... announcing to all territories that you will marry a witch as queen." The old director wiped the sweat from his brow while stealing a glance at the king's back. "This is really inappropriate, Your Majesty!"

After submitting the announcement to the city hall, Roland knew that this news would definitely cause waves, so the other party's reaction did not surprise him—if he wanted to eliminate obstacles, the first thing he needed to unify was the voice of the city hall.

This decision was not made on a whim. After the Evil Moon, the Neverwinter City army would once again enter the Fertile Plains to remove the devil's last stronghold in Taqila. Adding to the spring plowing in various places, new construction plans, and trade, it could be said that the entire Graycastle would be very busy next year. If he were to ascend the throne according to traditional procedures, it would take about two or three months from inviting guests to the formal coronation, and even longer with the wedding. This would be tantamount to indirectly lowering the kingdom's productivity. Holding one in peacetime would be fine, but it was obviously not a good choice now.

And this winter has seen a rare period of tranquility, which can both stimulate the vitality of the people and not require a large-scale mobilization.

Most importantly, Roland hoped to fulfill this promise sooner.

Of course, as a feudal monarch with great power, he could completely achieve this by his own strength. History has many examples, no matter how absurd the orders and seemingly impossible requests, they can become a reality under the will of the ruler, not to mention that this matter is not so exaggerated. However, since the framework of the city hall was built by him, he would not want to dismantle it himself unless necessary.

Using power within the rules is much more efficient than squandering it arbitrarily.

"Reasons?" Roland tapped the table and deliberately asked.

"Of course it's, it's the heir—" Barov said anxiously, "Witches cannot have children, this is something everyone knows, especially when the war is about to come. If something happens to you, the other nobles will be ready to move, and the people will not be able to settle down!" He swallowed a mouthful of saliva, "If you just want to be with Anna, you really don't need to do this."

"Oh? You mean..."

"You only need to marry a daughter of a minor noble," the director suggested, "She can be used to shut up the crowd, and it's okay to show her face when necessary. As for how you treat her in the future, it doesn't matter. With this layer of cover, you can do whatever you want—"

"So Anna can't get this title?" Nightingale suddenly interrupted him, "Just because she is a witch?"

"I don't think Lady Anna would mind these superficial things," Barov coughed twice, "If it's for the sake of the kingdom's stability. If Your Majesty can't say it, I can convey the message on your behalf."

"You're not her, how do you know she wouldn't mind? As far as this relationship is concerned, I bet she would never want to see a puppet between them!"

"But this has nothing to do with love, but with the successor..."

"Enough," Roland raised his hand and said, "In the final analysis, you just need to give the people below a reasonable outlet, right?"

"An... outlet?" Barov was slightly stunned.

"Isn't that so?" He pretended to be nonchalant, "After defeating the Pope, I seized all her lifespan, so I don't need anyone to inherit the throne. That's why I decided to marry Anna—unfortunately, only a few people, including you, know about this. For those people who don't understand magic at all, they may find it hard to believe if they don't see it with their own eyes. That's why we need a psychological sustenance, or an outlet, to appease their unease, am I right?"

Since the battle with the church at Coldwind Ridge, the senior officials of the city hall more or less knew that he had passed a test called the Battle of Souls. The winner takes all, the loser loses everything—although it sounds incredible, the appearance of the ancient witch, and the

Existence of soul transfer, adds a lot of credibility to this statement. At the Unified Front Conference, after he officially persuaded Pasha and others with this reason, everyone defaulted to this statement.

"Yes, yes, that's what I meant," Barov had no idea that he was gradually falling into the trap, "As long as there is a nominal heir, the opposition will naturally subside."

"So I have a simpler method," Roland shrugged, "When I attacked Hermes a year ago, I accidentally discovered Grolon Wimbledon's 'qingren', and this tavern maid is pregnant with his bloodline."

"You... what did you say?" The director's eyes widened immediately, "Are you sure that child is Wimbledon's..."

"Ah, both hair and eyes are gray." He nodded.

"Why, why didn't you tell me at that time?"

"If you knew about it, it's still a question whether the mother and son could live to this day," Roland picked up the teacup and took a sip, "How about it, a ready-made outlet, isn't it more convenient with the idea you came up with?"

A candidate heir who will never be able to ascend the throne can provide sufficient topics, while not posing any threat, and can be replaced at any time... Seeing the flickering look in Barov's eyes, Roland knew that the other party must have thought of these things. He didn't even need to do much, just announce to the people that there was such a person, and then recall him to Neverwinter City.

The rest of the part, the masses will complete the discussion and spread by themselves.

"If the birth mother is a tavern maid, this child can only be regarded as an illegitimate child, and a higher status must be arranged for him, otherwise it will cause controversy; also, it is best to keep an eye on this maid, compared to nobles, they are indeed easier to control..." Barov was already planning in his mind.

Roland couldn't help but raise the corners of his mouth. The scene in front of him seemed to have returned to three years ago, when he had just become the fourth prince of Wimbledon. However, at that time, he needed to use all his eloquence to bring the other party into his thinking rhythm, but now he only needed a few simple hints—as long as it came from his mouth, no one dared to easily question its authenticity, even the matter of eternal life.

"You go make a plan, and the coronation, plan them all out, and then bring them to me for review." He waved his hand, signaling the subordinate to step down.

After Barov left, Roland breathed a sigh of relief, "I didn't expect you to speak up for Anna."

"Sorry, I couldn't help it..."

"No, don't apologize, you did nothing wrong," he couldn't help but look at Nightingale a few times, and found that her expression was much calmer than he had expected, "I just thought you would..."

"What? Look sad and depressed?" Nightingale rolled her eyes at him, "I even think you brought it up too late. Of course, if it wasn't for Anna, I wouldn't have given way."

Thinking of the relieved expression she had when she reappeared after disappearing for two days, Roland could only think that the changes in it were all related to the agreement between her and Anna.

Although he didn't care about this issue in his heart, he didn't ask it in the end.