In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities-Chapter 192 Receiving Moldy Provisions!

Thanks to his careful planning, 15 tribal chieftains gathered in Yuran’s tent that night.

"Thank you for coming. I believe you have some idea why I’ve called you here," Yuran began.

Known for his rebellious spirit among the weaker tribes, Yuran had a reputation that preceded him. The chieftains in attendance all shared one thing in common—they had each been severely wronged by the five great tribes or the royal family at some point. Pharos nodded, worry evident in his eyes.

"So, after much deliberation, you’ve made up your mind?" Pharos asked.

Yuran slowly scanned the room, his gaze reflecting years of pent-up frustration and anger. "Yes, I’ve thought this through and made my decision."

He paused, letting his eyes meet each chieftain’s face in turn. Tension filled the air, but none of them seemed inclined to leave. With renewed determination, Yuran continued in a resolute tone.

"How much longer are we going to live under their rule, having our resources stolen and our lives constantly threatened?" Yuran asked, clenching his fist as he stood. The chieftains nodded in unison, understanding his anger born of shared suffering.

"Think about how many tribes have been wiped out due to their oppression. Take this battle, for example. Dangerous tasks always fall to us," Yuran said, pausing as he took a step closer to the gathered leaders.

"If the five great tribes had taken the lead in this fight, the damage wouldn’t have been as severe. They have shamans to protect them and armor capable of resisting fire."

The chieftains clenched their teeth at Yuran’s words, echoing thoughts they had harbored countless times before. Yuran pressed on with his speech.

He began to outline the plan Iskar had shared with him the night before. Though the suddenness of the proposal surprised everyone, they received it positively. After all, continuing as they were meant certain death on the battlefield. And if the men died, leaving only women and the elderly behind, their tribes would eventually be driven from their lands and face extinction.

In such dire circumstances, it was better to take a chance, even if it meant risking their lives. If the plan succeeded, they and their people could finally escape their oppressive existence.

As the night deepened, the resolve of the weaker tribes only grew stronger.

Meanwhile, Elise warmly welcomed her husband, who returned in low spirits. Randolph, visibly dejected, had left with grand ambitions and even left behind a letter of resolve, yet he had achieved nothing of note.

He had hoped to seize an opportunity to earn merit once fighting broke out near the fortress, but the foolish enemy fell into traps and never even approached the stronghold.

"Elise, I couldn’t find an opportunity. Earning merit is proving to be very difficult," Randolph lamented.

Elise, placing his head on her lap, gently stroked his hair. Her hands glowed faintly red, infused with external energy. However, the crown prince, lying with his eyes closed, was unaware of this. He simply found his wife’s touch warm and comforting.

"Don’t worry, my love. Your chance will come someday," Elise whispered soothingly.

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Her power, however, clouded the prince’s judgment and brought out his impulsive nature. As he continued making poor decisions, he would either succumb to the weight of his mistakes or meet his end at the hands of allies who could no longer tolerate him.

"The soldiers don’t follow my orders properly. Their training is inadequate—it’s a complete mess," Randolph complained.

In response, Elise whispered even more sweetly. "Then why not recruit other nobles? Gather those in desperate need of gold. Offer them enough, and they’ll follow you."

Randolph closed his eyes, pondering her words. Her touch was so soft that he felt a sense of drowsy contentment.

"Yes, enlisting barons with a rough disposition might work. They may be unruly, but they’re strong. If I offer enough gold, they’ll do as I ask. But… where would I get the gold?" he asked.

Elise continued to caress his hair with care. Randolph felt his mind growing hazy and his body lethargic. The feeling was too pleasant to resist.

"What about targeting merchants?" Elise suggested. "Find unscrupulous traders and exchange low-quality goods for money or supplies. Then, give those supplies to Michael and his followers to throw them off balance. Doesn’t that sound like a good plan, my love?"

Caught in a haze, Randolph smiled. He had lost all sense of judgment.

"Yes, that could work," he agreed.

At the Orlando Fortress encampment, Michael sat across from Lawrence, the financial overseer of the Crassus family and the man in charge of supplies for the war. Michael’s expression was grave.

"Moldy provisions were given to the soldiers?" Michael asked, his tone sharp.

Lowering his gaze, Lawrence nodded solemnly. "Yes, my lord. More than half of the grain we received was moldy, and the remaining half was of poor quality, mixed with bran. I checked the supplies of other families, and while the ratios varied, most of their provisions were in similar condition."

After finishing his report, Lawrence signaled a nearby soldier, who poured a sack of grain onto a mat. As Lawrence described, the quality of the grain was clearly poor, with visible mold.

Though it had rained recently, there was no excuse for distributing provisions in such a state. Frowning, Michael recalled the face of Crown Prince Randolph, who had been assigned to handle supply logistics and fortress repairs in the rear.

Whether this was an intentional move by the crown prince or a result of his subordinate’s corruption, Randolph couldn’t escape responsibility. Michael sighed and gave Lawrence his next instructions.

"Inspect the provisions of each family, and if you find any moldy or low-quality food, confiscate it," Michael ordered. He paused briefly, deliberating, before making his decision. Such actions required stern punishment to eradicate the problem at its root.

"Also, go to the food storage facility, check the ledgers, and examine the identification tags on the grain sacks. Bring back all the grain purchased from the same merchant," he instructed Lawrence.

Michael then turned to Sir Ronald, who was standing nearby, visibly fuming. "Sir Ronald, have your retainers locate the supply officer responsible for this batch of provisions. If there are any merchants involved, apprehend them as well."

Ronald, who had been brimming with discontent, grinned broadly and dashed off. Whoever the supply officer was, they would undoubtedly face a harsh reckoning at Ronald’s hands.