Chapter 352: Not That Kind of Man

Oliver felt a pang of sorrow as he listened.

“Do not tell Isolde about this,” Geoffrey said, his gaze dark and heavy. “Thinking back on all these years, I carry too much guilt. I’ve made too many mistakes—hurt the woman I loved, wronged my only daughter. Now, with death approaching, I finally see things clearly. My daughter… she is destined for greatness. Princess Aveline told me the Queen Mother thinks highly of her, even considering her for military service.”

“Well, what can I say? I was a soldier myself. Seeing my child follow the same path brings me a sense of pride. But if the world were at peace, that would be one thing. If war breaks out and she must lead troops into battle, how can I possibly rest easy?”

“Yes,” Oliver murmured. He wanted to say he would protect her, but war was unpredictable. He would do everything in his power, yet there were no guarantees.

Geoffrey fixed him with a serious look. “I am telling you this because I need you to do everything you can to stop her from joining the army. Only then will she be safe. It’s just a few years—I want her to live in peace, even if only for a little while.”

Oliver fell silent for a moment before replying, “I will try my best, but I cannot promise to stop her. If this is what she truly wants, I won’t stand in her way.”

“But it’s dangerous!” Geoffrey’s voice rose, urgent. “You’re doing this for her own good! You’d be stopping her from walking straight into death! A noblewoman should live under the protection of her husband’s love, not throw her life away on the battlefield.”

“I trust that Isolde knows what’s best for herself,” Oliver said steadily. “She is not an ordinary woman—she has ambition, a dream. I will not be the one to crush it. Father-in-law, I cannot agree to this, but I will pass along your words.”

Geoffrey let out a long sigh, his eyes dimming. “I thought you truly loved her, but now I see—you don’t even care if she lives or dies.”

Oliver’s expression grew serious. “Of course I love her. Of course I care. But if stopping her would only make her miserable, then why should I do it? She has something she wants to achieve, and I will stand by her. The only thing I can do is protect her with everything I have.”

Geoffrey glared at him. “What kind of logic is that?”

Oliver met his gaze head-on. “Let me ask you—why did you join the army?”

“To kill the enemy, to protect the country and its people, to achieve glory and honor.”

“But you knew you might die.”

“In times of national crisis, what is one life worth?” Geoffrey declared solemnly.

And when you returned victorious, did you feel proud?

“Of course! How could I not?” Geoffrey answered without hesitation.

Oliver nodded. “Exactly. And if Isolde also seeks that pride, that sense of achievement—should I deny her that?”

Geoffrey froze. He had only thought of keeping his daughter safe, never considering the deeper meaning of her choices.

“Let’s talk about this another time,” he said softly. Then, with a sigh, he changed the subject. “If she does join the army, she will inevitably be drawn into court politics. I’ve spent years in the imperial court, achieving little, but I have seen much. On the surface, things seem stable under the Queen Mother’s rule, but behind the scenes, there are hidden daggers everywhere. If you and Isolde ever step into court affairs, remember this—follow Jonathan and your father. No matter what they do, do not question right or wrong. Just follow.”

“Do not question right or wrong?” Oliver frowned.

“They will not go astray because they have someone guiding them. Do you understand? If one day you think they are wrong, do not be so quick to judge. Look deeper. Only by doing so can you avoid mistakes, avoid giving others a weakness to exploit. In court, every step is as dangerous as walking on thin ice—remember that.”

“I understand.” Oliver nodded.

After lunch at the Langley estate, the two set off for the Garrett household. Compared to the Langley family, the Garretts’ home was an all-out celebration, as if they were hosting a grand festival.

A group of Garrett’s sons had been waiting at the entrance. The moment Oliver stepped out of the carriage, they dragged him away, leaving Isolde with only one instruction: “Go with Natasha.”

Isolde laughed in exasperation. “Weren’t you all begging me to tell stories about Zloimond?”

“As if we need you when we have Oliver! Sure, you fought Kamari’s men, but he destroyed their entire arsenal. His story is obviously the better one. Your little victories can wait until we need something to chat over tea.”

Oliver quickly protested, “I haven’t even paid my respects to the elders yet!”

“No rush—story first!” They dragged him off without another word.

Isolde stood there, dumbfounded. Somewhere in the background, she swore she heard Alex’s voice say, “Start with the wedding night.” She shook her head. A bunch of scoundrels.

At the entrance, Natasha stood with the help of a cane, surrounded by a crowd of family members. A wide smile spread across her face as she watched her beloved granddaughter rush over.

Isolde took her arm. “It’s freezing—why are you standing outside? Let’s go in!”

“They told me you were coming, and I thought, ‘It’s been too long, hasn’t it?’” Natasha’s smile was warm and full of joy. Then she paused, glancing behind Isolde. “Where’s Oliver?”

“Dragged away by Alex and the others,” Isolde said, exasperated. “I kept insisting we should greet you first, but they wouldn’t let him go.”

“Let them be,” Natasha said with a hearty laugh. “Young men have little to talk about with an old woman like me. As long as you’re here, that’s enough.”

“What do you mean, old? You’re still young!” Isolde teased.

“Sweet talker.” Natasha beamed.

They went inside, and once Natasha had settled, Isolde knelt to pay her respects to the elders.

Patricia laughed. “Quickly, get up! The floor is cold—Natasha will scold us all if you catch a chill.”

Smiling, Isolde got up and sat beside her grandmother. “Where are Grandfather and my uncles?” she asked.

“In the kitchen,” Patricia said, chuckling. “Your grandfather insisted on roasting an entire lamb for you tonight.”

Christine sighed dramatically. “Watching Allan and Heidi fuss over you makes me wish I had a daughter too.”

Natasha scoffed. “Are you saying I play favorites?”

“Yes, you do!” Christine pouted in mock jealousy. “When your sons come home, do they get this kind of treatment? Whole roasted lamb? We don’t even get chicken tails!”

Natasha laughed. “Fine, tonight, no one will fight you for the chicken tails. They’re all yours.” Then, turning to Isolde, she added, “You get the drumsticks.”

The room burst into laughter. Natasha’s favoritism was now official.

Dinner was lively, the roasted lamb seasoned with flavors of the northern frontier. Garrett, rather than exerting his authority as the family patriarch, clinked glasses with Oliver three times and spoke with a sincerity that carried more weight than any scolding ever could.

“You know, Isolde grew up abandoned in a manor—no parents, no protection, suffering endless abuse. Even when she returned to Argentum, her father was blind, and her stepmother was cruel. She endured so much to get to where she is today. If you ever let her down, Oliver… I only hope you will cherish her.”

Oliver, though finding the storytelling style a bit disjointed, nodded vigorously.

Reed patted his shoulder. “Grandfather, don’t worry—Ninthy isn’t that kind of man.”