Chapter 105: The Thirteenth Councilor

Early the next morning, Joan rose promptly to prepare his spells, then, breaking his usual routine, decided to take a stroll around town. The streets of the small town were as calm as ever. He guessed that the internal strife within the Coldblood Tribe had yet to be resolved. The faction led by Kotar, who had seized power, likely lacked the capacity to launch a war against Derlin Town, so there was no need for him to be overly suspicious.

With this thought, Joan’s restless mind settled somewhat. Returning home, he immersed himself in work, spending the entire morning enchanting fifteen pieces of high-quality fur garments one by one. After a simple lunch, he hired a carriage, loaded the enchanted furs onto it, and headed to the Langfellow Leather Shop.

Mr. Langfellow was absent, but his eldest daughter was tending the shop. She greeted Joan warmly, showing no surprise at his arrival. She invited him in for tea and asked many questions about the enchanted furs, clearly intrigued by this “fashion trend,” and her respect for Joan, the “fashion designer,” grew accordingly.

Joan braved a few minutes of conversation with Miss Langfellow and was about to take his leave when the shop door suddenly opened and Mr. Langfellow entered.

Miss Langfellow took the cane and hat from her father, smiling, “You’re home earlier than usual. Looks like there’s nothing pressing at the council today.”

Joan’s ears perked up at the mention of the “council.” He realized today was the day of the town council meeting and hoped to overhear more about the proposals discussed there, perhaps some mention of the Lizardfolk tribe’s coup.

Mr. Langfellow’s usual smile vanished. Unaware of Joan’s presence, he frowned and said to his daughter, “Lina, go tell your mother to pack. We leave for Layton Harbor first thing tomorrow morning. You and Kate are coming too.”

“Why? Is the holiday moved up this year?” Lina asked, surprised.

“This isn’t a holiday, Lina. It’s a refuge,” he replied.

“A refuge? Father, you must be drunk. What are you talking about?” Lina exclaimed.

Faced with his daughter’s questions, Mr. Langfellow shook his head with a bitter smile, sank into an armchair, lit his pipe, and drew a deep breath, his expression softening slightly.

“Lina, I can’t go into details, but Derlin Town might be facing a serious crisis. For safety’s sake, it’s best for you all to leave for a while. If things don’t worsen as I fear, you can return later.”

Lina nodded vaguely, then hurried off to find her mother and sister.

Joan stepped out from the back of the shop. Hearing footsteps, Mr. Langfellow instinctively glanced back.

“Oh, Joan, you startled me,” he said.

“Mr. Langfellow, I overheard your conversation with Miss Lina just now. Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I want to know what this ‘crisis’ you mentioned is about.”

“It’s nothing serious,” Langfellow said, stroking his beard, reluctant to discuss the matter with a young man. “There was some debate at the council today. Some councilors tend to exaggerate…”

“Is it about the Lizardfolk tribe’s coup?”

“Uh… you’ve heard about it too?” Langfellow looked at Joan in surprise. The young mage’s dark eyes were like a deep well, hiding all emotion, making him seem inscrutable. He nodded hesitantly. “Yes, it’s because of this that the mayor and Mr. Flint had a huge argument. Strangely, the mayor’s two sons didn’t side with their father but supported Flint’s proposal, claiming all residents of Derlin Town should prepare for the Lizardfolk’s possible invasion at any time. They want to concentrate all manpower and resources on military readiness starting immediately, and also send someone to Layton Harbor to report the swamp’s situation to the governor as soon as possible… To be honest, I was terrified by these words. Even thinking back now gives me chills.”

“Did the mayor eventually accept Flint’s proposal?” Joan pressed urgently.

“Mr. Dindall isn’t that easily persuaded. In fact, the council was divided on this issue. Of the twelve councilors present, only I and Mr. Fiddell—the owner of the Riverlight Inn—abstained. The other ten were split evenly between support and opposition.” Langfellow sipped his tea, smiling wryly. “According to our town’s rules, when a proposal has an equal number of votes for and against, the mayor casts the deciding vote. You can imagine that Mr. Dindall would vote against it, so Flint’s ‘emergency military readiness proposal’ would be rejected. But just then, the council chamber door suddenly opened, and the town’s thirteenth councilor walked in.”

“Wait a moment!” Joan exclaimed, astonished. “Derlin Town has a thirteenth councilor?”

“Yes, the council has thirteen members in total. However, the last councilor hardly ever attends meetings, and most townsfolk have even forgotten he exists. But, Joan… while others may have forgotten that often-absent councilor, you shouldn’t overlook him. After all, he is your only family,” Langfellow said with a half-smile.

Joan’s heart stirred as he suddenly recalled his grandfather’s odd behavior the previous night. Tentatively, he asked, “You mean my grandfather?”

The leather shop owner nodded. “To be a councilor here, one must meet three criteria: own no less than 2,000 acres of farmland, pasture, or forest; have a good education and reputation; and have made outstanding contributions to the town’s public affairs. The honorable Guillaume Thayer meets all these standards and once led the townsfolk to repel orc bandits. To honor his great contributions, the council granted him ‘lifetime councilor’ status, allowing him to attend meetings whenever he wishes.”

“I never heard my grandfather mention any of this,” Joan said, suddenly feeling his grandfather seemed like a stranger.

“Mr. Thayer was elected lifetime councilor twenty years ago. I was a young man then, and you, my child, hadn’t even been born.” Langfellow sighed. “Back then, your parents were still alive, and the Thayer family was respected as noble heroes in town. Sadly, your parents died young, and your grandfather lost his right leg in his last adventure… Since then, he’s been like a different man—more reclusive and eccentric, no longer concerned with town affairs, locking himself away in his cottage beneath the mountain, barely venturing out. Over the years, people forgot the hero who once led them against bandits and now see only a grumpy, disabled old man.”