When Philip joined in the celebration, Abigail asked with a puzzled look,

“Is it really such a good thing for the flood to be given a name?”

She couldn’t understand why the three men seemed so pleased, since having a name for the flood wouldn’t actually change anything.

Philip explained,

“When the royal family gives a disaster a name, it means they recognize the severity of the damage. That often increases the chances of receiving special aid.”

“Special aid?”

“Whenever there’s a major disaster, the royal family allocates funds to help stabilize the affected area. This year, thanks to the indemnity from the war, the royal finances are especially healthy… Though I don’t know how much will be set aside.”

Julia sighed and complained,

“But don’t you need to have some kind of connection to the royal family for that?”

“That’s true,” Richard nodded in agreement.

“Then it seems we won’t get anything. There’s no one in Camborne or nearby who’s connected to the royal family. Of course, Baron Stanford might have a chance…”

Baron Stanford had served in the army for many years and earned great merit. Meeting the king wouldn’t be difficult if he wanted to.

But the problem was that the people of Feltham couldn’t just rely on Baron Stanford.

If he managed this area and was responsible for it, that would be different, but he was really just a ‘neighbor’ with land in Blissbury.

So, asking Baron Stanford to go to the royal family and petition on Feltham’s behalf was asking too much.

Of course, knowing his character, he might try to meet the king if he learned about Feltham’s suffering.

“But isn’t Baron Stanford in Brisham right now?”

“That’s right.”

He had gone to the southern resort town. No one knew when he’d return to the capital, and even if he did and made a petition, it was unclear how long it would take.

As the mood at the table grew heavier, Ryan quickly finished his meal and stood up.

“I’ll excuse myself.”

As soon as he left, Richard hurriedly finished eating and followed him.

In the end, it was left to Philip to comfort the suddenly downcast young ladies of Feltham.

“Ryan!”

Richard followed Ryan into the study.

Like most places in Blissbury now, the study was a mess.

Children’s blankets were still strewn about from when they’d slept there overnight, and in one corner, villagers had piled up whatever odds and ends they’d managed to salvage.

Ryan, unconcerned by the chaos, walked past it all and sat at the desk.

Before falling asleep, one of the bored children must have tried out the pen on the desk, because the paper was covered in strange doodles and a fountain pen rolled about.

Ryan tidied these up and took out a clean sheet of paper from deep in the drawer.

Richard, standing opposite and watching, spoke up.

“What are you planning to do?”

“I’m going to request an audience.”

“I thought you might.”

When Julia had asked if anyone had royal connections, Richard had glanced at Ryan.

There was someone—someone even more likely to meet the royals than Baron Stanford.

Ryan Wilgrave.

In the past, Ryan had saved the life of the Queen’s second son, the Duke of Kent, on the battlefield.

It wasn’t just luck.

When the Duke’s unit was cut off, Ryan infiltrated enemy lines alone, disrupted them during the night, and single-handedly wiped out an entire platoon headed for the Duke.

No matter how skilled he was at night fighting and sharpshooting, people were amazed that he’d handled thirty men by himself.

The Duke, who witnessed it, promised Ryan after the victorious battle,

“I’ll award you the Golden Lion Medal. Saving a royal’s life is no small feat.”

Even those who disliked Ryan couldn’t say the medal was too much, since that would mean dismissing the rescue of a prince as insignificant.

But the Golden Lion Medal had never been awarded to someone without a title.

“Then why not grant him a title as well?”

The Duke’s bold suggestion made the nobles uncomfortable.

“No matter what, he’s the son of a gravedigger—not even his real father. He grew up in the slums of a factory city. Is it right to give a hereditary title to someone like that?”

But the Duke wouldn’t back down. As tensions rose between the Duke and the nobles, Ryan stepped in.

“The Black Lion Medal is more than enough for me. The kind of medal doesn’t change what I did.”

Since the recipient himself said so, the Duke couldn’t press further.

Thanks to Ryan backing down, the conflict ended, and the Queen was reportedly very pleased that no more trouble arose.

The only one dissatisfied was the Duke of Kent, who repeatedly apologized to Ryan.

“The reward for the Black Lion Medal isn’t enough—not nearly enough. So, Ryan Wilgrave, if you ever find yourself in trouble, tell me. If there’s anything I can do, I’ll do it.”

Ryan had thought he’d never need to ask for anything.

Even when he was questioned by the disciplinary committee, he hadn’t asked the Duke for help.

Despite not being asked, the Duke had been anxious to help, and if Baron Stanford hadn’t advised against it, the Duke might have stormed in with his cane and confronted the committee himself.

In any case, the Duke had made that promise.

If Ryan ever needed help, he should come to him.

Ryan picked up his pen and began writing a letter.

Of course, it was addressed to the Duke of Kent.

Another week passed.

As the people of Feltham stayed longer in Blissbury, various problems began to arise.

The first issue was food.

They’d received help from Camborne and had bought flour in a hurry.

But with so many people, even a daily wagonload of ingredients from Camborne barely lasted through dinner, and there were always worries about running out.

Money to buy supplies was also a problem.

No matter how generously Baron Stanford had set the budget, there was a limit. And with most local farms and warehouses damaged, food prices had soared.

Even Mrs. Parker, who acted as if missing a single meal meant the world was ending, considered rationing the bread she handed out.

The next issue was conflicts among people.

At first, everyone comforted each other, grateful to be alive. But those who had lost all economic support except for their families gradually fell into despair.

They realized that, no matter how hard they tried, it was impossible to restore their land, livestock, or homes.

The first to leave Blissbury were those with relatives to rely on.

They salvaged what they could from the ruins, rented a wagon, and departed.

“We plan to settle there permanently. Thankfully, there’s land and empty houses, so it shouldn’t be too difficult. Thank you for all your kindness, Sergeant Thornton.”

As the villager left Blissbury, he bowed to Ryan several times. Ryan handed him a small pouch out of sight of the man’s children.

“It’ll be tough getting settled. Use this if you need help.”

Realizing Ryan had given him a considerable sum, the man bowed again and again.

Those who left like that were all right. But those with nowhere to go could only desperately cling to the hope of restoring Feltham.

“This is my family’s dish!”

“What are you talking about! Where’s your proof?”

Whenever something useful was found in the debris, people argued, each claiming it was theirs, and fights broke out.

As the adults fought more, so did the children.

“You’re just a beggar who lost your house! We’ll be back in our village soon! You’ll have to eat and sleep under a tree—like a vagrant!”

The child who said that was scolded by the adults, but insisted he was right until the end.

Seeing all this, Eloise felt heartbroken.

She could feel acutely that the village she loved was falling apart.

‘At this rate…’

Feltham’s recovery was impossible. More and more people were giving up and thinking about leaving. Darkness hung over everything.

Then, one day—

“Everyone, come outside quickly!”

A child suddenly ran in from outside, shouting.