This was because the clause in the magic contract never said he couldn’t lie. He just had to show his power. The meat purification information fulfilled the contract already, which meant that his side of the deal was already fulfilled.

She stared at him in pure awe.

’He really is a prophet of the Goddess.’ she thought as she looked at him, ’But he doesn’t use the title. The people also don’t call him a prophet and instead call him a blessed... I should probably ask the priests in the church about this.’

"You should be exhausted," Adrian said as he stood up. "We have a guest room prepared for you."

Fourteen wooden chairs were lined around the massive dining table.

Adrian sat at the head of it as he stared at the roasted chicken sitting on his silver plate and felt absolutely nothing but exhaustion. He had not cooked a single thing tonight and he simply did not have the energy or the desire to please the thirteen nobles who only came here just so they could make connections with the lord of a prosperous territory.

His chefs were skilled enough to please these people on their own.

Aria was sleeping in her room and even Damian had excused himself to handle administrative work. That just left Adrian alone with this group of nobles. Of course, he kept an open mind but he expected disappointment.

Servants silently walked to the room table. They poured expensive red wine and put some food on the empty silver platters, but nobody was actually paying attention to the food.

Because every single noble at this table wanted a piece of Oresfall.

Sitting directly opposite to Adrian at the far end of the table was Duke Silas Ashford. The man possessed the highest title in the room. He just quietly cut his meat and then sipped his wine calmly.

But the minor nobles filling the middle seats were starting to get on Adrian’s nerves.

"Baron Sterling," a rat-like Viscount with a blonde wig leaned forward. "Your daughter is an absolute jewel. The Flower of Oresfall, they call her! Truly magnificent. You know, my youngest son just turned eight and he was born with D-rank mana veins. A formal betrothal now would secure both our lineages perfectly. What do you think?"

Another noble slammed his glass of water down. "Eight is too old! My boy is six, which is perfect since they can grow up together. We could sign the preliminary marriage contracts tonight."

The other nobles were no better.

They looked at Adrian expectantly with fake smiles on their faces.

Adrian had already come to dislike every single one of them. They were here for the money, not because they cared about his daughter. They just looked at a five-year-old girl and saw a direct legal pathway to a territory with a blessed dungeon that gave them a safe way to get iron and steel.

Even if these guys were genuine, Adrian would rather burn his own mansion to the ground than sell his baby off for political leverage.

"Not happening." Adrian said.

His voice was dead flat, cutting through their arguments and praises almost instantly.

The nobles blinked and their fake smiles faltered for a fraction of a second.

"Aria is five," Adrian continued, swirling the wine in his glass without looking at them. "I have absolutely zero interest in pairing her up with anyone. Whenever she decides to marry, it will be her own choice and I am not forcing her into some blind political contract. End of discussion."

A heavy, awkward silence fell over the room.

But these were veteran politicians. They recovered instantly and just swallowed the rejection, put those fake smiles right back on, and attacked with a different strategy.

"Of course, of course!" the rat like Viscount laughed loudly. "A protective father! We respect that completely. Speaking of your incredible leadership, the way you have transformed this barren wasteland into a booming trade hub is nothing short of miraculous..."

The relentless ass-kissing resumed.

Adrian rubbed his temples as he felt his head hurt. He just wanted to kick them all out and go to sleep.

But then...

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A heavy sound of wood being tapped came out, making everyone turn to look at the source.

The sound wasn’t loud. But the sheer, suffocating aura radiating from the man doing it forced every single noble to shut their mouths instantly.

Adrian stared at him in silence, wondering what this man was about to say. Even if he was someone with a higher title than the others, Adrian had no intention of agreeing to give his daughter away.

’I’ll fucking fight this bitch if he repeats the shit the others have been saying...’ he cursed.

Marquis Draven Voss sat there. He was a massive, heavily scarred knight from the northern borders. He wore a thick dire-wolf pelt over his shoulders instead of the traditional silk robes favored by the rest of the nobles.

Adrian actually had a lot of respect for this guy. In the web novel, Draven Voss wasn’t a coward who hid behind the emperor. He was a fourth-circle battle mage who personally led his troops to fight against monster hordes regularly. The man eventually died a brutal, heroic death in the canon timeline to protect his people. He was straightforward, hot-headed, and absolutely fearless.

’Here it comes...’ Adrian thought, hoping that it wasn’t the worst case scenario.

"Baron Sterling," Draven’s voice was deep and almost had a growl to it in a way.

"Your daughter needs a mother, don’t you think?"

Adrian froze.

The Marquis did not beat around the bush and went straight for Adrian’s weakness.

"A child needs both parents to grow up properly." Draven said as he took a bite of a roasted chicken leg and pointed the bone at Adrian. "You are a single man running a massive territory and you cannot be everywhere at once. If your child is close enough to you, she probably already complained about it or showed signs."