[The Hidden One] Episodes 19-21 Author: Blood Coral

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[The Hidden Hero]

Author: Blood Coral
Publisher: Hetu Culture

Chapter 1 ◆ Internal Conflict

June in the North was vibrant and thriving. The earth was covered in green, the roads were bustling with carriages and horses, and the towns were increasingly lively.

However, beneath this vibrant scene lingered the shadow of war.

At this moment, the town of Wufeng was filled with a somber and murderous atmosphere. At the foot of the mountain, rows of neatly arranged camps stood, each with a pile of supplies in the center.

Niss, who had been leading his men in killing and burning throughout Shamaren, was naturally wary of the enemy using the same tactics. Therefore, he would never keep the supplies in his own hands, but rather distribute them, ensuring that every participating lord and every unit had a share.

Unexpectedly, this approach brought another benefit.

Everyone had eyes, and a quick comparison revealed that the distribution of supplies was very fair; no one had more or less.

Of course, there were differences, such as in weaponry. The first group to arrive received the best equipment, as it was custom-made, while those who arrived later received much worse, secondhand goods collected from various places.

No one could complain; they were simply late.

At this moment, in the barracks, the soldiers were seizing the last moments of training, knowing they wouldn't have the chance on the battlefield. Because of divine magic, courage and strength were no concern; a single spell could make them brave and strong. However, skill was something divine magic couldn't bestow. Over the past

month, the lords who supported Margaret had been forced to accelerate the training pace, but it still wasn't enough. They had to race against time. However, at this moment, only the deputy was in charge of training the soldiers; the lords and most of the knights were gathered in the grand conference hall on the mountaintop.

It was a very large hall, tens of meters long and ten meters wide, without pillars in the middle, supported entirely by sloping rib-like reinforcing ribs on both sides. Two rows of tiered seats lined both sides of the hall, already filled with people. In the center of the hall was a long table, with the most important lords seated on either side, the head seat naturally belonging to Margaret.

In May, these lords urged Margaret to restore her queenly status, to which Margaret did not respond. She did not wear a crown, but she did wear a red cloak and had a rather elegant scepter made.

Viscount Andrasia sat to the left, with Nice sitting opposite him.

This seating arrangement effectively confirmed Andrasia's position as the second-in-command, while Nice was the third-ranking figure below the Viscount.

Over these days, those who came from Shamarn gradually felt reassured; their biggest concern was the internal power struggles within the rebel army, but fortunately, this had not occurred. The Rosicrucian Order's roots and wealth lay in the south; Luke and his men had come to the north only to gain status and position.

The hall, which had been quite noisy, quieted down after Margaret tapped the table with her scepter.

Seeing that everyone was silent, Margaret said authoritatively, "Now we are ready, and the situation is in our favor, so I plan to send troops in the middle of the month."

Her words left no room for negotiation.

As Queen and leader, a strong stance was absolutely necessary; eight years was enough for her to realize where she had gone wrong.

No one below objected; everyone understood what Margaret meant.

At the end of April, the Pope died of poisoning, followed by the fall of Avignon, with many dying in the riots. Although the Papacy suppressed this news, it circulated secretly, and the fact that the Church members had all lost their power was no secret.

Meanwhile, due to a shortage of priests, they were scrambling to acquire holy water, holy oil, and divine scrolls—this was also no secret.

"I agree to send troops. Sebastian has already lost the hearts and minds of the people. The whole country is in chaos. If this situation continues, the future of Shamaen is ruined."

Viscount Andrea not only echoed Margaret's words but also shouted loudly, appearing unusually angry and grief-stricken.

Nice watched Viscount Andrea's performance without saying a word. He didn't know if Viscount Andrea was speaking from a deeper feeling. Or was it to steal Margaret's thunder and diminish her influence?

With Viscount Andrishia leading the way, other lords also voiced their condemnation of Sebastian.

Once the atmosphere calmed down, Margaret addressed the meeting's main topic: "Although we possess a certain number of divine scrolls and holy oil, these are ultimately consumables, and war will inevitably cause massive casualties, so… we must minimize unnecessary losses as much as possible."

Margaret paused for a moment, waiting for her followers to understand her meaning, before continuing, "To reduce casualties, we must streamline all unnecessary troops and build an elite force, just like the Jochi Urus of yesteryear."

"What constitutes an elite force?"

someone immediately shouted from the tiered seating on the left.

The one who answered was Nice.

"There are 2,573 knights here now, all of whom will definitely go to the battlefield. In addition, we plan to form a 2,000-strong heavy cavalry regiment and a 2,000-strong light cavalry regiment, plus 10,000 heavy soldiers."

"What are the standards for elite troops?"

another attendee asked.

"Viscount Andreas is in charge of selecting the heavy cavalry, and I am in charge of selecting the light cavalry. Some of the heavy soldiers have already been selected; they are all veterans who participated in the War of Independence eight years ago and made meritorious contributions. I believe no one will question this, right?"

Nist paused deliberately and looked around.

Sure enough, there was no one who objected. The war eight years ago did indeed hold a high place in everyone's hearts, and those who made meritorious contributions in that war were regarded as heroes.

Seeing that no one raised any objections, Nice continued, "The remaining heavy armor soldier slots have only one evaluation standard: the ability to stand for three hours carrying an 80-kilogram iron block. This is the standard, because I've forged a batch of specially made plate armor; its protective capabilities are absolutely no problem, it's just a bit heavy."

This explanation immediately silenced any objections.

The lords of Shamarne had been in Gorenant for quite some time, and they had all witnessed the plate armor worn by Prince Philip's directly hired knights, and were extremely envious of its defensive capabilities. Now that their soldiers could also be equipped with plate armor, naturally no one objected.

"Perhaps we have a way to avoid this war."

A lord in his forties stood up in the middle of the long table: "As far as I know, Shamarne is in great disarray. There are rumors that Harlock is dead. Although the intelligence officers haven't been able to confirm the veracity of this news, one thing is certain: those who were originally under Harlock no longer have any hope for Bastian." "

I've received similar news,"

Viscount Andrishia immediately echoed, glancing intentionally or unintentionally at Nice's reaction.

Nice smiled at Viscount Andrusia, knowing full well that the viscount was playing his balancing act again.

Viscount Andrusia represented the native forces of Shamarne, and naturally didn't want the outsider forces represented by Nice to become too powerful. In his view, the forces that originally belonged to Harlock had completely declined; even if they surrendered, even if they performed meritorious service, they wouldn't gain Margaret's trust. For those people, the best outcome was to retain their original territories and return to being minor lords.

As a leading figure among the local lords, Viscount Andrusia believed he could and needed to win them over.

Viscount Andrusia's thoughts were entirely within Nice's expectations, so Nice smiled slightly and said, "I also think this suggestion is good; we should avoid unnecessary battles."

Just as the viscount and the Shamarne lords were surprised, Nice beckoned, and a servant standing by the wall immediately pulled a rope. The wall, originally covered by a curtain, was pulled open to reveal a map hanging on it. The map was drawn with many red lines, dividing the entire Kingdom of Shamarne into many small areas.

"Sebastian employs a turtling tactic, concentrating all his troops in the four major cities of Demolish, Stratford, Facorlandal, and Susa. The lords in these regions are left to defend their own territories. This opportunity is extremely rare. To maximize our gains in the shortest time, I suggest dividing our army into several routes. Each of you can form your own groups and choose your own targets. When attacking these territories, you can also decide whether to launch a forced attack or persuade them to surrender." "
Our forces are already small; wouldn't this make them even weaker? What if we are defeated piecemeal by the enemy?"

one lord questioned.

"That depends on your choice. If you feel it's too dangerous, you can stay in the central camp; that's definitely the safest place,"

Nice casually answered.

In fact, even without saying this, he would have ultimately made the same choice: to disperse and occupy various territories. It would be too wasteful to deploy the main force to attack them all at once.

"What if the enemy is willing to surrender, but demands that we agree to certain conditions?"

another lord asked. This was actually what Viscount Andrishia wanted to know, but he was just using Viscount Andrishia as a pretext to ask.

"Before answering that question, can you guarantee that their surrender isn't fake? Can you guarantee that it's not a trap?"

Nice stared intently at the lord.

"I...can't."

The lord felt guilty under Nice's gaze and lowered his head.

"Since it's impossible, why bother?"

Nice smiled, his tone suddenly becoming firm. "We welcome surrenders, but no conditions are allowed. And to ensure they don't have ulterior motives, to ensure it's not a trap, all surrendered persons will be sent to a place under strict guard. They will be granted leniency after the war ends..." "

That's distrust."

Viscount Andrasia slammed his hand on the table. "Haven't you considered that these people, once they surrender, would be excellent fighting forces? To gain forgiveness, they would definitely fight fiercely..."

Nice interrupted Viscount Andrasia before he could finish. "Can you guarantee that?"

"I can vouch for them,"

Viscount Andrasia said through gritted teeth. He decided to take a gamble; if he won, Harlock's men would have no choice but to be grateful.

“Unfortunately, I don’t believe it.”

Nice was clearly toying with Viscount Andrusia. He smiled and turned to the crowd, saying, “We are outnumbered. One mistake and we’ll be wiped out. Your Excellency, perhaps you dare to gamble, but I dare not, nor will I.”

“I guarantee it with my integrity and honor…”

Viscount Andrusia placed his final bet.

Nice had no liking for this kind of condescending behavior, which reminded him of the Templars’ current triumvirate.

“Your word doesn’t count, and neither does mine. The final decision will affect the lives of everyone present.”

Nice had anticipated Viscount Andrusia’s attempt to renege and already had a countermeasure. He shrugged casually: “I can afford it. At worst, it’ll be a failed investment, a huge sum of money wasted. I don’t know if you can afford it? If you die on the battlefield, what will happen to your families? What will happen to your clans? Will they be left with nothing, wandering aimlessly, ultimately… becoming commoners?”

Nice’s words struck a chord with everyone present. This was exactly what they feared most.

Those present, whether lords or knights, were not afraid of death, but they feared losing everything, of their descendants becoming commoners, enslaved by others.

"Bring a bucket so we can vote! Those who support me, throw a white pebble; those who support Viscount Andrusia, throw a black pebble!"

Nice shouted.

A servant immediately went out and returned with a bucket.

Viscount Andrusia slumped in his seat, already knowing he was outmatched even before the results were in.

Everyone has selfish desires, and he was no exception. If he weren't in this position, if he were just an ordinary lord, he would certainly have thrown a white pebble. After all, it's better to trust yourself than others.

The servant carried the bucket over, his eyes fixed on it. His duty was simply to prevent anyone from throwing in more than one pebble; beyond that, he didn't need to interfere.

The lords and knights present all had pebbles in their pockets. Two wooden chests by the entrance were filled with pebbles of two different colors. They had each grabbed a handful before entering, and now they were putting them to use. Pebbles were tossed into the barrel one by one, making a clattering sound. Occasionally, one or two people would abstain from voting, doing so out of respect for Viscount Andrea.

Making a decision was easy, but because of the large number of people, the entire voting process still took over an hour.

Once everyone had thrown in their pebbles, the attendant returned to Margaret with the barrel. He lifted it and dumped it on the table, revealing a table full of white pebbles scattered everywhere, with only a few incongruous black ones.

"It seems everyone has made their choice,"

Nice said with a sharp smile. It wasn't superficial; it was deliberately for the old man's benefit.

The Viscount was deliberately suppressing Nice, and Nice was doing the same. He didn't have a good impression of the old man; the old man had betrayed Margaret years ago, and it was hard to say he wouldn't repeat the same trick this time.

Moreover, in Nice's view, the Kingdom of Shamarne didn't need any lord's representative at all; the country should only have Margaret's voice, and he was Margaret's spokesperson.

"Now it's time to determine the standards for dividing military merits."

Nice wanted to take this opportunity to implement the previous resolution; only in this way could he put Viscount Andrasia's idea to rest.

However, Nice's words were still quite pleasant: "Regardless of the method you use—whether you forcibly conquer the territory or persuade them to surrender—the military merit points you gain will be the same. A forced attack will certainly come at a price, so persuading them to surrender is a good option. However, since there have been sacrifices, there should be some compensation, which is the spoils of war."

"Can't we get spoils by persuading them to surrender?"

a lord asked from below, clearly something many others wanted to know.

Nice gave that lord a pleased look; he found the man quite endearing.

"I think it's best to leave this matter to Viscount Andrusia. Of course, in principle, I feel that since they've surrendered, taking their property seems excessive and might incur their resentment… This is a troublesome matter; let's listen to the Viscount!"

Nice feigned difficulty, gleefully rubbing salt into Viscount Andrusia's wounds.

This was the sharp blade Nice had prepared, a weapon specifically designed to deal with Viscount Andrusia. Since he liked to play the good guy, let him have his fun.

The lords of the North are all poor, so they are particularly obsessed with wealth. If Viscount Andrusia doesn't allow his people to plunder the spoils of war, they will definitely hate him, and his dream of becoming the representative of the local nobles will be a pipe dream.

If he allows his people to plunder the spoils, getting Harlock's men to surrender will be an impossible task.

The old man's previous generous words will then become proof of hypocrisy, at least his reputation there will be completely ruined.

Sitting in his seat, looking at Viscount Andrusia's bitter face, Nice felt extremely comfortable. He suddenly realized that playing mind games with these "straightforward" northerners was indeed a very interesting thing.

There was another person who was happy to see Viscount Andrusia suffer a setback, and that was Margaret. She was definitely not a saint. She had been abandoned by Viscount Andrusia once, and it would be a lie to say that she didn't hold a grudge.

Precisely because of this, Margaret took the opportunity to kick him while he was down.

Margaret tapped the table with her scepter, drawing everyone's attention to herself, before saying, "I must announce something else. Previously, fiefdoms were always distributed after the war, but I've decided to change that."

She pointed to the map behind her with her scepter: "The territories to be attacked have all been allocated. I've divided a portion according to the strength of the enemy forces and the importance of each territory, to be distributed to those who conquer it. You can form your own groups, choose your own leaders, and decide your own attack methods. After conquering a territory, the spoils and the portion I allocated will be yours to distribute among yourselves."

Her words caused an uproar among the crowd.

This was blatant temptation, leaving those who wanted to preserve their strength and reap the rewards at the end completely bewildered.

Those who attacked first would certainly encounter resistance and suffer losses, but they would also receive spoils and rewards, replenish their forces, recruit knights from outside, grow stronger with each battle, and reap increasing benefits.

There was precedent for this. The barbarians and the Jochi-Urus used a similar system of fiefdoms, so they were immediately bloodthirsty when war broke out.

Margaret's decision completely thwarted Andrishia's schemes.

Viscount Andrishia wanted to use his prestige to dominate the war, but Margaret's new rules of the game made him merely a pawn, and he had unknowingly become a powerful competitor in the eyes of other lords; if Viscount Andrishia successfully persuaded them to surrender, he could easily obtain a large amount of land.

Under Margaret's rules, the land Viscount Andrishia received would be much smaller than his original territory. If he returned this land to those who had surrendered, they would still suffer significant losses and might not be grateful, while his own people would be angry because he had seized their rightful interests.

With Viscount Andrishia's wisdom, he could certainly see through this. His only option was to not participate in any fighting, but this would render his position as the second-in-command somewhat undeserved, and he would eventually be deliberately forgotten.

The meeting lasted a full day, and Viscount Andreas, like a deflated balloon, retreated to his room as soon as he got home.

This was a crushing defeat he had never experienced before, far worse than the initial devastation of the War of Independence. Back then, though he had lost the entire battle, he had won the hearts of the people and the respect of the knights. But this time, he was utterly defeated, and stained with a foul reputation.

What he found even more unbearable was Margaret's transformation. The current Margaret was no longer the innocent and kind girl she was eight years ago; beneath her soft and gentle exterior lay a sharp edge, and this time he had inadvertently been stung.

However, what Viscount Andreas feared most was Nice. When he first met Nice, he considered her one of the more outstanding members of a noble family, someone who had achieved her current status through family support and a bit of luck. But after arriving here and learning everything about Nice from others (especially Prince Philip's close aides), Viscount Andreas began to panic.

A young man, kicked out of his home by his relatives and forced to leave his hometown, managed to rise from nothing in just two years—this was beyond mere genius. When he learned of Nice's rise to power through a friend, he felt even more threatened. Nice

was a shrewd and ruthless man.

What particularly concerned Viscount Andrea was that the original five giants of Asaks Port had been eliminated one by one, and Nice, as an outsider, had seized control of the port. The intrigue and ruthlessness he employed sent chills down Viscount Andrea's spine.

He couldn't help but compare himself to those five giants, because the situation was so similar. His position was roughly the same as theirs, and his relationship with Nice was delicate—a cooperative one, yet one of mutual distrust.

A knock on the door interrupted Viscount Andrea's thoughts. He knew that the person standing at the door couldn't be a family member, because he held absolute authority in the household, and no one dared to disturb him at this time.

"Come in,"

the old man called weakly.

The door opened, and five people walked in, most of them elderly, with only one slightly younger, though still nearing forty.

These were undoubtedly the Viscount's staunch supporters, the ones who had thrown the black stones during the vote.

Viscount Andreas didn't stand on ceremony; he nodded to the guests and invited them to sit.

"It seems Margaret is determined to keep everything firmly in her own hands,"

sighed the oldest of the guests.

"We certainly went too far back then,"

Viscount Andreas said with regret. This affair had put him in an awkward position; the Elizabeth he had promoted was utterly incompetent, and in the end, his partnership with Elizabeth was given to Harlock and Sebastian, completely offending Margaret in the process.

"Perhaps… the situation isn't so bad. Although Margaret has become much more assertive, she's very sentimental,"

the middle-aged guest could only offer as much comfort as possible.

"If it were just Margaret alone, I wouldn't be too worried, but..."

The old man trailed off; he was now facing Nice, and therefore had no confidence whatsoever.

"You mean that outsider?"

the middle-aged visitor asked cryptically.

The other visitors also frowned. If Viscount Andrasia could find out about Nice, they certainly could too. So, at this moment, all the lords knew that Nice wasn't the spoiled brat they initially imagined, but a very troublesome figure.

"We can give him some more benefits,"

the eldest visitor suggested in a low voice.

He spoke with a lack of confidence, which was already somewhat offensive to Viscount Andrasia, because giving Nice benefits would most likely sacrifice Viscount Andrasia's interests; at the very least, the Viscount would have to relinquish his current position as the second-in-command.

"Useless!"

Viscount Andrasia shook his head repeatedly. It wasn't that he was attached to the position, but rather that he understood better than anyone what Nice wanted: "That young man doesn't care about any benefits; his vision is far broader than ours."

"What have you discovered?"

The guests all sat up straight. They had originally come to comfort the Viscount, but unexpectedly, they had gained something.

At this moment, the biggest headache for these Shaman lords was their inability to figure out Nice's intentions and what he wanted.

Viscount Andrasia remained silent for a long time, then leaned back in his chair, his expression suddenly becoming distant.

"Didn't you notice the strategies he devised for Prince Philip? The core of that system is 'monarchical centralization',"

Viscount Andrewsia said with a pained expression. "The world has always been oscillating between centralized and decentralized systems. The pre-imperial era was highly centralized, but then various tribes invaded the south, causing the pre-empire to collapse, and decentralized systems became the mainstream. Initially, power was decentralized in the form of tribes, but after the seventh century, the feudal system flourished, the influence of tribes disappeared, and the center became the family. During this period, decentralized systems reached their peak. However, what goes up must come down, and decentralized systems are nearing their end."

Viscount Andrewsia had his reasons for saying this. Because various families branched out, and because of intermarriage between families, many family branches were spread across various countries, making the concept of the nation very blurred. The influence of families exceeded the cohesion of the nation, and the interests of families took precedence over the interests of the nation.

Obviously, no monarch wanted to see this continue.

"I don't understand. He himself is a lord, so why does he want to uphold monarchical centralization? Is it for Margaret?"

the middle-aged visitor asked, finding it hard to comprehend.

"This is probably just a ruse, like Harlock. Harlock was also fiercely protecting Sebastian, wasn't he? His real goal was to control the army, to be king in name only, even if he wasn't. He even transferred power to his son. If it weren't for that assassination attempt, Tenitz would definitely have secured his position as commander-in-chief,"

another visitor said dismissively.

Controlling an army and becoming a hereditary military noble, some even seizing state power—this is a common occurrence throughout history.

Viscount Andrüa opened his mouth, but ultimately remained silent. His intuition told him that the man's statement was incorrect.

Like others, Viscount Andrüa also realized that Nice had no intention of leaving the Church, nor of forming a family. Such people were not uncommon; their thoughts were difficult for ordinary people to understand. What was more troublesome was that these people would compromise on minor matters, but when it came to fundamental issues, they would never back down.

In another place, in another house, Nice and Margaret were discussing similar topics.

As soon as the meeting ended, Margaret returned to the villa built specifically for her.

In the center of the villa was a courtyard, six meters long and six meters wide, which had been transformed into a garden.

This was Nice and Margaret's favorite place.

The garden was planted only with roses—all varieties and colors. In the center of the garden sat a chaise lounge, where Margaret, draped in a gossamer-thin veil, lay, while Nice rode on top of her. Behind them, Elena licked incessantly, her tongue swirling around Nice's anus, occasionally taking his testicles into her mouth. Xingna knelt beside them, her nipples and tongue constantly brushing against Nice's genitals, her hands seeming to caress and massage.

This was the ultimate pleasure, a complete immersion in bliss from mind to body.

Nice didn't need to move at all. His mouth was tightly sealed with Margaret's, their tongues intertwined, and his hands, held by Margaret and Xingna, slowly roamed over their bodies. His thick, long member was enjoying the wonderful writhing and twisting within Margaret's warm, soft vagina. Even his legs weren't idle, held between Xingna and Elena in that alluring place.

This was absolutely supreme pleasure, a life fit for royalty.

But even more intoxicating than the sexual stimulation was the psychological satisfaction.

For the three women, this kind of play was quite appealing. The reasoning was simple: none of them dared to face Nice alone; if they did, they would be "killed." They knew that even the three of them together couldn't withstand Nice's lewd power. His methods were specifically designed to control women; whether a woman lived or died, cried or laughed, was entirely up to him. However, since the three of them were together and serving him so diligently, Nice would show some mercy and not treat them too badly.

In this way, everyone could enjoy the pleasures of sex.

Including Margaret, the three of them had become addicted to this way of making love, having long since lost their initial shyness and resistance. Moreover, besides making love, they didn't neglect anything else. Making love with Nice was also a form of training for Xingna and Elena, while Margaret would discuss more serious matters with Nice during sex.

At this moment, Margaret asked with a hint of complaint, "I don't know why you're so interested in monarchical autocracy?"

She complained because she didn't want to antagonize Andrewsia. She knew Viscount Andrewsia well; she knew that although the old man had his own selfish motives, he was one of the few who truly cared for Shamaen. Such people were becoming increasingly rare.

Nice gently rubbed Margaret's flat, toned abdomen, enjoying the suction and contractions of her tight vaginal opening. After a long while, he leisurely said, "You and I will definitely have a child. He will inherit this country, and I don't want him to be just a puppet being manipulated when he sits on the throne."

As he said this, Nice's penis suddenly thickened and began to throb.

Margaret's breathing immediately became heavy. She felt a tingling sensation rise from the bottom of her vagina, slowly climbing to her tailbone, then shooting up her spine to her head, and her body tensed instantly.

This is Nice's method; now, he can make a woman orgasm instantly if he wants to, and he can ejaculate instantly if he wants to. Of course, with extraordinary abilities come great flaws.

To this day, he hasn't been able to impregnate any woman, perhaps as punishment for not possessing this ability; otherwise, given the frequency of his sexual activity, he would already have a large number of illegitimate children.

A stream of white semen gushed out, shooting into Margaret's body.

Margaret recoiled as if scalded, her body curling up in pain, a look of agony on her face, yet tinged with an almost frenzied ecstasy. Her body trembled like a pendulum for a full half-minute.

When the climax subsided, Margaret was completely limp, collapsing lazily onto the chaise lounge, her legs hanging limply. The afterglow of the orgasm still lingered in her body, her mind still reeling, but she hadn't forgotten what they had been discussing.

Margaret sighed softly, saying, "What's the use? Can you guarantee our child will be a true king, wielding absolute power, but can you guarantee it will last for generations?"

She didn't believe in Nice's idea; history had already proven that no dynasty could last forever.

Nice knew what Margaret knew, but he wouldn't think that far ahead.

"Since you've seen through the impermanence of life, why not let me be willful just this once?"

Nice whispered in Margaret's ear. To emphasize his point, Nice's recently softened genitals hardened again and slowly began to slide. Margaret's body went limp, and so did her heart. Eight years ago, she certainly wouldn't have abandoned her beliefs. Back then, she considered the nation sacred, belonging to its millions of citizens, with the king merely representing them. But after a series of ups and downs, she was no longer that idealist.

She discovered that even figures like Viscount Andrewsia could make choices they knew were wrong for their own selfish desires, and Elizabeth and Sebastian treated the nation as their private property.

At the Nangdao Academy, she had deliberately read many history books and ultimately discovered that most of the wise rulers and immortal emperors praised by the world were willful figures who rarely considered the people's welfare. It was only because their actions happened to benefit the nation and future generations that people sang their praises.

"What do you want to do?"

Margaret sighed, no longer intending to insist.

"Shaman is different from Golanant; it doesn't need much change here,"

Nice reassured Margaret.

Golanant's biggest problem was that its territory had been completely divided up, and the lords' power was too great, making the king's influence very small...

Shaman didn't have this problem. It had split off from the Kingdom of Star, and to avoid repeating the same mistakes, Shaman's monarchs had always maintained strict control over their lords.

"Then what needs to be changed?"

Although Margaret's mind was somewhat hazy, overwhelmed by pleasure, she still retained a sliver of reason.

"The Minister of the Palace,"

Nice said.

The Minister of the Palace had existed for a long time, initially established during the southward invasions of various tribes to facilitate the rule of the southern lands. At that time, most Ministers of the Palace were former officials who had surrendered from the Empire.

Because this position held great power, it gradually became a target of contention among the great nobles.

Once those high-ranking nobles obtained this position, they could do many things in the king's name, even ultimately usurping the throne.

Pepin the Fat was the best example; his descendants seized the Frankish throne.

Perhaps because he himself had done just that, the Frankish kingdom placed the greatest restrictions on the power of the Mayor of the Palace: and was the first to attempt to reclaim royal power. Unfortunately, the most fundamental point remained unchanged: the Mayor of the Palace was always a nobleman.

"I've considered two solutions. One is to appoint someone from the Church as Mayor of the Palace, but the choice is very important; ideally, they should have no connection with the lords, or a foreigner would also be acceptable. The other solution is to abolish the Mayor of the Palace, divide the power among a group of people, and then balance the power among them."

Although Nice mentioned two solutions, everyone could tell that his real choice was definitely the former, because it was practically tailor-made for him.

"Why not divide the power?"

Margaret asked.

"The era of decentralization is over. Look at the Franks, look at the Holy Empire. Both the Frankish royal family and the Haas family are reclaiming power, as are several other major families, such as Duke Louis."

Nice didn't state the reason, because Margaret certainly knew.

He had another reason he didn't mention: even with power divided, nobles are still nobles. If royal power clashes with noble power, they will inevitably unite. Moreover, dividing power will inevitably lead to power struggles and a low birth rate.

"Haven't you considered that the Church might ultimately seize power?"

Margaret asked, scrutinizing Nice. "I don't think you're a devout believer loyal to the Church."

"The Church has never been a unified entity; it represents the interests of various factions,"

Nice said. This was something Old Man Simon had told him, and now, after seeing and hearing so much, he understood it deeply.

Nice increasingly found the Church fascinating; on one hand, it was extremely powerful and controlling, and on the other hand, it was very approachable.

“That’s a good reasoning,”

Margaret admitted, admitting she was convinced. “However, I believe you must have more important reasons. Are you still worried about the Papacy?”

Nice smiled wryly; he knew he couldn’t hide it from Margaret. Although Clement V was dead and his entire faction had vanished, it didn’t mean he could rest easy. His safety rested on his position. If his position was high enough that the Papacy couldn’t ignore him, even if his identity was exposed in the future, no one would dare to cause him trouble.

Right now, Nice wanted the Papacy to see that it was possible to use this method to allow the Church to control secular power, and he was well-suited to be the first to try it.

Once this idea was approved by the new high command of the Papacy and gained the Papacy’s support, he could naturally take control of the Church here. Next, Nice would have to follow the example of the Hass family, using strong support for the Church to exchange for the position of Archbishop, and then cultivate this diocese into an independent kingdom—respecting the Papacy but not obeying it; belonging to the Church, but forming its own faction. In the future, he could pass all this down, just like the Has family, with one of Margaret's sons inheriting the position of archbishop, ensuring the church here remained under royal control forever.

Chapter Two ◆ First Battle

A long dragon slowly crawled through the mountains. Soldiers walked side by side in pairs, about a meter apart, the entire army stretching over ten kilometers, with a large number of supply wagons following behind. Just like when Nice and his men went to Shamarne, this time they were again circling north through the barbarian territory.

At the very front of the army, a wagon moved slowly under heavy guard, Nice riding alongside. Margaret naturally sat inside, a privilege reserved for women.

On both sides of the road, a group of goddess warriors cautiously advanced, leaving no suspicious place unchecked. The greatest fear during a march was an ambush. For safety, Nice had also sent three scout teams ahead to explore.

This wasn't just to guard against Sebastian's forces, but also against the barbarians. Although the barbarian king had promised to stand by their side, there was no guarantee that some of his tribes wouldn't take Sebastian's money and serve that king.

The army's advance was slow; they could cover forty kilometers a day, which already made Nice secretly happy. His troops were all elite; if they were a ragtag force, the speed would be even slower. When Duke Frederick and Duke Louis went to war, it took them a month just to assemble.

Now, they had been marching for ten days, and the border of the Kingdom of Shamarn was almost in sight. War was imminent, but Nice wasn't too nervous; instead, he felt a strange sense of melancholy.

"I find it somewhat unbelievable. Last year, we were fighting for Duke Frederick, resentful of his injustice towards us, and now we're leading troops, commanding a war we started," Nice said, turning to Luke beside him. He wasn't the only one who felt this way; Luke and Palm shared the same sentiment.

To protect Margaret, he naturally needed trustworthy people, and he could only truly trust two groups: the Goddess Warriors and the members of the Rosicrucian Order. That's why Luke and Palm were with him at the moment.

"It's a pity Ister and Metro aren't here,"

Luke said, somewhat annoyed. "

Metro, that good-for-nothing, is out of the question,"

Palm shook his head, looking down on the money-grubbing guy.

"Everyone has their own ambitions; his interest in business is a good thing,"

Nice said, quite philosophically.

Anyway, Luke could handle the intelligence network that guy had built, even though he wasn't good at that kind of work; maintaining the status quo was still possible.

"What I regret is that Spear of Longinus he has,"

Palm finally spoke his mind. If that replica were given to someone else, the Rosicrucian Order would have another formidable fighter.

"In my opinion, there's not much difference. Our opponents are no longer something a mere replica of the Spear of Longinus can contend with."

Nice's mindset was calm. Their strength had indeed increased rapidly, but the enemies they faced were also becoming increasingly formidable, diminishing the importance of individual combat prowess.

However, Luke and Palm, standing nearby, thought very differently; they only felt ashamed. Two years ago, when they first met Nice, he was exhausted even walking mountain paths, and a few wild wolves had nearly killed him. But now, several super-level experts had fallen at his hands.

Luke and Palm hadn't stagnated either; on the contrary, due to their increased status and wealth, their strength had increased faster than ever before. Now, the martial arts techniques they were taught were all super-level, and when they were tired from training, priests would use divine magic to help them recover. The chosen techniques were the best, and they consumed various tonics like food. Unfortunately, they still couldn't compare to Nice.

In comparison, Luke was in a better mood. He wasn't known for his strength to begin with, but Palm was having a hard time accepting it. He used to be the strongest among the Soul Companions, and every battle revolved around him. Now that he was second in command, he found it hard to accept.

As the two were lamenting, several cavalrymen galloped towards them. They glanced at Nys, but finally stopped in front of Luke. Luke was in charge of intelligence, so they had to report to him.

"Our spies in Demolish just reported back that although Sebastian himself is hiding, he has ordered local lords to send troops to assemble and await orders at the border,"

one of the knights reported, his voice not loud, obviously so that Nys could hear him.

"How many men?"

Luke asked.

"I don't know. I'm afraid even Sebastian doesn't know how many lords will arrive at the border,"

the cavalryman who brought the message replied with difficulty. Before coming here, he had circled the border and found that the barracks there were scattered, and troops arrived every day, so he couldn't possibly count the number of men.

Hearing that Luke hadn't gotten to the point, Nice rode up to him and asked directly, "How many more enemies do we have?"

"Definitely more."

Although they weren't sure about the exact number of the enemy forces, they could still make a comparison.

They only had a little over ten thousand men. Although their marching column was ten kilometers long, once they set up camp, it was clear that the camp wasn't very large.

"Is it twice as many?"

Nice asked again.

"Not twice as many."

The cavalryman's report relieved the three of them.

"Even if the enemy has more men, if they're just a rabble, there's nothing to worry about."

Palm was very confident in their strength.

Viscount Andrasia had brought over fifty thousand men in total, of whom at least twenty-five thousand were combat-ready. The ten thousand soldiers they had brought were selected from those twenty-five thousand; they were all strong and their equipment was certainly much better than the king's army. If the two armies were roughly equal in number, the side with the better skills and equipment would win.

"Pass this message down, and then have everyone come over for a meeting,"

Nice ordered.

Fu Lingbing left with the orders, and the army temporarily halted. The soldiers went to the roadside to find a clean place to rest.

The leaders of the various units arrived one after another. Nice found a hillside as the meeting place. There was nowhere else to hide, so there was no need to worry about being spied on.

Soldiers had already set up a circle of curtains there. These curtains were two meters high, which could provide shelter from the wind and rain, but more importantly, they could block the view from outsiders.

There were no chairs, so everyone sat on military folding stools. The head seat belonged to Margaret, the commander of this army. Originally, everyone thought that Viscount Andrishia would be the commander, but the old man declined. Nice was obviously not a suitable candidate. He was a foreigner, and most of the lords of Shamaren did not respect him. In addition, his age was also a factor.

As for letting Palm lead the troops, it would be even less acceptable to the masses. Even within the Rosicrucian Order, Palm was only ranked fourth, and in terms of status and prestige, he was far inferior to Nice.

"We must wage a fair and square battle, and show Sebastian's lackeys how utterly pathetic they are!"

"Yes, give the King's army a crushing defeat, and make them flee at the mere sight of our banners!"

"This is the best opportunity to demonstrate our strength; I can't wait to have a great battle with them!"

The crowd was in high spirits, and all the knights attending the meeting were eager and impatient. Seeing this scene, Nice and Margaret exchanged a wry smile; Luke, Palm, and the other knights from the south were dumbfounded.

This effect was entirely due to Margaret's decision to immediately distribute fiefdoms.

This meant that as long as they fought, there would be immediate rewards, even if they died on the battlefield, because under this system of fiefdoms, it was difficult for superiors to renege on their promises, and even less likely to manipulate the calculation of war merits. It was arguably the simplest and fairest way to distribute fiefdoms.

"Do you all really want a fair and square battle?"

Margaret asked loudly.

"Yes!"

came the chorus of voices.

"Very well,"

Margaret decided to go along with the morale of the troops. "I will send an envoy to challenge them. Who among you is willing to take on this mission?"

Margaret looked at the knights below.

A long silence followed. They looked at each other. Serving as an envoy was dangerous; they could very well be killed. But compared to death, there was something even more terrifying: having their limbs chopped off and being left half-dead…

"I'll go run the errand…"

an old knight stood up. "I'm getting old, and I can't fight as well as the young on the battlefield, but my courage is second to none."

The others looked at the old knight with admiration. The one to issue the challenge had been chosen; the next thing to discuss was the location of the battle.

"How about fighting in Warford Town?"

Nice suggested.

The town he mentioned wasn't far from the goddess warriors' territory. It was the place where the king's envoy had sent Xingna to negotiate

. "The terrain there is narrow; our army can barely form a battle formation, but the enemy will definitely occupy the town, putting them in a much better position than us." Xingna knew the place best, so she didn't hesitate to question it.

"Precisely because the situation is favorable to them, they are more likely to agree,"

Nice stated his reasoning. "And the narrow terrain there is very advantageous to us."

"I agree,"

Viscount Andrusia was the first to speak. He wasn't seeking reconciliation; he was simply stating the facts.

Their biggest advantage was the heavy plate armor and large shields their soldiers wore. Once they formed a square formation, they were practically an impenetrable wall. The enemy was a motley crew of lords' private armies, their equipment undoubtedly uneven, incomparable to theirs.

Besides, they had fewer men; a more open terrain would hinder their operations. Viscount Andrusia wasn't a military strategist, but he understood these basics.

"This time, let us be the main force!"

A lord next to Viscount Andrasia eagerly vied for the right to fight.

Everyone in Shamarne knew there was a long, flat area in front of the town, not enough for all ten thousand troops to deploy. They would definitely be divided into two groups, front and back, and those in the back might not even have a chance to engage the enemy.

This lord was so impatient because the Goddess Warriors and the Rose Cross had already achieved considerable merit. Their infiltration of Shamarne and burning of the granary was considered a first-class achievement, enough to earn them a viscount's fief.

At noon, the old knight who had gone to deliver the challenge returned, his face contorted with rage, his shoulder covered in blood, his ear severed.

"Looks like this is their answer,"

Viscount Andrasia said, his eyes blazing. His anger was justified; the old knight hadn't just delivered the challenge, he had also brought a letter. He wanted to try and see if he could preserve his strength, letting the outsiders fight to the death. Hope was dashed.

"The ear? It should be able to be reattached,"

Nice said from the side.

"No need, let it be,"

the old knight said through gritted teeth. "I will remember this forever, and if I have the chance in the future, I will repay it tenfold."

This voice, filled with heartfelt anger, resonated deeply with the surrounding knights, except for Viscount Andrusia and those he knew well, who felt a pang of sorrow. An irreconcilable hatred had been forged between the two sides, and it seemed only blood could wash it away.

Nice casually pulled out a scroll. Although it was a pity to use a divine spell scroll for such a minor injury, he had to do it for the sake of morale and the army's spirit. As a beam of white light fell upon the old knight, the wound on his ear quickly healed. The scroll contained a healing spell, which was extremely effective for this kind of external injury.

"Have those people over there agreed to a fair fight with us?"

Nice then asked about the enemy's reply.

"They agreed. When I left, they were heading that way,"

the old knight said.

"Tell everyone to speed up! We'll reach Wofford in four hours at most. After a rest and a meal, we'll launch our attack and make Sebastian's men pay for this!"

Nice stirred the anger in those around him, not even considering whether the soldiers were exhausted. Fatigue could be cured with a single divine spell; such high morale was a rare occurrence.

Nice's orders were immediately carried out, and the army's pace quickened. Everyone was determined to teach those ungrateful bastards a lesson.

Wofford was a small town with only a few hundred households, similar to the original Kaoni. It was surrounded by mountains, but the land area was significantly smaller than Kaoni, consisting of only a narrow valley. However, while Kaoni was too isolated, this was a crucial stronghold.

Geographically, the town was indeed very important; it acted like a natural city gate, keeping enemies at bay from the north—generally referring to the barbarians to the north.

This is why the town was surrounded by a simple defensive fortification. While the defenses weren't strong, such a fortification provided a significant advantage when the two armies were evenly matched.

Margaret's troops halted north of the town, not even setting up camp because they were about to launch an attack. This was a desperate gamble; if they failed, the lack of a camp would likely lead to a rout, ending the war prematurely; if they won, they could spend the night in the town without a camp.

However, fortifications were still necessary. Palm was now leading his men to dig trenches around the town, lining the bottom with barbed wire. This was to prevent enemy cavalry attacks and also to provide some protection in case of defeat. Opposite them

, the king's army was arrayed in front of the town. They truly intended a fair fight. However, the army commander was a cunning man; he didn't deploy all his troops, but instead placed a third of his forces in the town. This way, even if he lost in a direct confrontation, he would still have a chance to recover.

"The enemy commander is called Ron Costello, one of Sebastian's men. He used to be suppressed by Harlock in the army and has always served as the commander stationed on the border,"

Luke said, recounting the information he had obtained.

"Are you familiar with this person?"

Nice turned to ask Margaret.

"Not really. At least eight years ago, he wasn't anything special,"

Margaret said somewhat cryptically.

"Eight years ago, he was captured along with Sebastian."

The others were less polite.

Luke, showing some leniency, said in a slightly tactful tone, "His willingness to confront us head-on suggests he's planning to avenge himself." "

However, he's still quite cautious, leaving so many people in the town,"

Nice added, seemingly unconcerned. After all, it wasn't a city wall; even if the enemy added another row of wooden walls, the height would only be five meters, insufficient to stop Nice's attack.

Nice's confidence stemmed from his bringing the Ice Chariot. The Ice Chariot could create its own ice slides, conjure an ice wall out of thin air, and cross ten-meter-long trenches or climb seven-meter-high walls.

Of course, Nice didn't intend to use the Ice Chariot if possible; it was his most powerful secret weapon, perhaps capable of delivering a fatal blow to Sebastian at a crucial moment.

"How are our men preparing?"

Nice asked, though Margaret was the commander, he was actually in charge.

This outcome was due to his successful infiltration of Demolish to assassinate Tenitz, dismantle the alliance between Harlock and Sebastian, eliminate Harlock—his most formidable enemy—and indirectly cripple the King's army by a large margin.

If all of this were considered military merit, several viscount titles wouldn't be too much, but Nice didn't care at all. Therefore, when Margaret proposed appointing him to command the battle, although some objected, the opposition was very weak.

"We've been preparing for two months,"

Paladin Kaven said, somewhat eager to try.

"Fire all the arrows; ensure each soldier can fire at least twenty volleys,"

Nice ordered .

"Twenty volleys?"

everyone around exclaimed.

Except for the heavy shield bearers, every soldier in their army carried a bow; twenty volleys per soldier meant over two hundred thousand arrows, not even counting the arrows fired by the knights.

"Are you planning to shoot all the arrows you brought at once?"

Viscount Andrishia was somewhat puzzled. Warfare was always a protracted affair; in the war eight years ago, they had only used six or seven hundred thousand arrows in total. Nice smiled but did not answer; the secret behind this was absolutely not to be revealed to outsiders.

This batch of arrows was specially designed, manufactured in three sections: the arrowhead, the shaft, and the fletching, connected by a sleeve. The shaft was a wooden shaft over two feet long and about the thickness of an index finger, which was not easily damaged; the arrowhead was a one-inch-long steel spike, with a section of wooden shaft underneath to connect to the shaft; the fletching was the same, about half a foot long, with rooster wing feathers glued on it.

The arrowhead was the most easily damaged part of the arrow, followed by the fletching. Other arrows, once damaged, even if repaired, would be shorter than before, altering their weight. Furthermore, after three or four repairs, their length would be insufficient. These arrows, however, would not be damaged; repairs could be repeated as many times as needed.

More importantly, his ring contained one million arrowheads and six hundred thousand fletchings, all from the Iberian Armory.

As evening approached, both sides finally completed their preparations for battle. For the king's army, the timing was perfect; a mere hour's battle would ensue, followed by darkness, preventing a protracted struggle.

The commander loyal to Sebastian was not blindly confident; he knew that while he outnumbered his men, their actual fighting strength was inferior. He also knew that Margaret's willingness to return indicated thorough preparation, something his ragtag force could not withstand.

He desperately wanted to avoid this battle, but it was unavoidable. The king did not expect him to defeat Margaret's army; he was merely using him as a litmus test.

Having made preparations before the battle even began, he naturally sought a cautious approach. While this man wasn't exactly a renowned general, he wasn't as incompetent as rumored. The formation he deployed proved this. He had arranged a defensive formation, with the first rank entirely composed of heavily armored soldiers with heavy shields, followed by six ranks of spearmen, all using spears over seven meters long. This was an ancient battle formation.

He also had archers on his side, with 1,500 crossbowmen and 3,000 longbowmen in the rear. Deploying this number of archers already showed a strong emphasis on ranged attacks, as using bows requires arrows, which are not only laborious to manufacture but also difficult to transport.

However, his formation didn't appear very organized. He had an inherent weakness: his soldiers were hastily assembled. Except for their identical spears, everything else was disjointed. Not only were their armor varied, but even their shields differed—some were heavy tower shields, some large square shields, and some round shields used by barbarians.

Compared to his army, Margaret's army appeared much more disciplined.

Nice's formation was extremely spread out, with the soldiers in the first rank spaced about a meter apart, and each carrying a large shield. It was an absolutely bizarre formation; the looseness suggested an offensive formation, but the large shields made it seem more conservative than any defensive formation.

"What kind of formation is this?"

the opposing commander, Ron Costello, muttered to himself, scratching his head.

"General, what should we do?"

his adjutant asked. "Let our men stay put, or better yet, be cautious."

Ron ultimately decided to play it safe.

Meanwhile, Nice watched with delight as King Shaman's army halted.

"Looks like they've fallen for it."

Luke was excited; he hadn't been very confident in Nice's plan, but seeing the enemy hesitate, he was finally relieved.

"Pass down the order: advance according to plan, get into the range of the archers,"

Nice commanded.

The messengers immediately dispersed.

Nice turned and gestured. Dozens of carriages emerged from the nearby valley, each one resembling a small castle. Not only were the carriages behind them encased in thick wooden planks, but even the horses pulling them were clad in heavy armor.

One carriage stopped in front of Nice, and he immediately boarded.

The carriage was cramped, barely enough for two people, one of whom was the coachman. At the front of the small carriage was a narrow slit through which one could see what lay ahead, and four holes underneath through which one could reach out. The coachman held the reins, controlling the horses' movement; Nice stood on the other side, also reaching out to cast spells.

Each carriage carried a priest, mostly novice priests. Since spellcasting relied on divine scrolls, sending skilled priests to the battlefield was a waste.

Margaret's soldiers moved forward slowly, their large shields preventing them from advancing quickly.

As the two armies drew closer, closing to within a hundred meters, the king's army unleashed a volley of arrows, while Margaret's soldiers raised their large shields. Most of the arrows fell to the ground, with only a small fraction striking the shields. Due to the distance, these arrows lacked power, barely managing to embed themselves in the shields.

Only the arrows fired by the knights in the king's army posed a threat. These arrows were powerful, but their trajectories were relatively straight, all striking the foremost row of shields. Those shields were specially made of iron-faced steel, impervious to even the strongest arrows.

This volley of arrows caused no damage, allowing Margaret's soldiers to breathe a sigh of relief. They continued advancing, shields in hand, for another twenty meters when the bugle call to halt sounded from behind. With a resounding clang, all the soldiers planted their shields in the ground; these large shields were studded with sharp iron nails, driven deep into the earth.

Almost instantly, beams of holy light shot out from the dozens of chariots behind, enveloping the soldiers in moments. Battle horns, divine power, boundless life, God's blessing… one divine spell after another descended upon the soldiers.

After the full set of divine spells was applied to the soldiers, the dozens of chariots surged forward.

Enchanted by divine power, they became incredibly strong, drawing their normally impenetrable bows to their fullest extent. This divine power was a short-lived spell, lasting only five minutes, but it was enough for the soldiers, who only had twenty arrows, enough to last them at most two minutes. As

the soldiers drew their bows, the dozens of carriages charged to the forefront of the battle.

The king's archers had already targeted the carriages, but the dense rain of arrows couldn't penetrate their defenses. Not only were the arrows ineffective, but the incoming magic was also blocked by the protective barriers around the carriages. Even if the barriers were breached, the thick walls of the carriages were difficult to break through.

The priests inside the carriages weren't just passive recipients of the attack; from their outstretched hands, divine light once again flew forth. This time, it was one of the church's two signature spells—Dispel.

Dozens of cold, clear beams of light swept across the king's army. The soldiers opposite were also imbued with spiritual energy, possessing both magical and divine spells. The latter even used divine spell scrolls, as the Church of Shamarn sided with Sebastian, and they possessed a number of such scrolls.

However, priests rarely hoarded divine spell scrolls; those that remained were unsold surpluses, few in number and varied in type, though incomplete. For instance, there were very few copies of Dispel, one of their two signature spells.

Even if they had Dispel, the priests of the royal army dared not use it. Dispel's effective range was very short; they had to be within range of the arrows to cast it, in which case they would become easy targets.

The light of the Dispel swept through the royal army, and all the enhancements on the soldiers vanished. In that instant, Margaret's soldiers unleashed their arrows.

If the previous rain of arrows was merely a light drizzle, this was now a torrential downpour. The king's soldiers, except for the first rank of shield bearers, were all spearmen, each equipped with a small shield, which unfortunately only protected a small area—enough to cover the chest but not the stomach.

The first volley of arrows threw the king's army into disarray.

Few were killed by the arrows; the arrowheads were as sharp as steel needles, possessing strong penetrating power but insufficient lethality. Unless they hit the heart or head, even if they struck other vital areas, they wouldn't die immediately, so most were only wounded.

However, the wounds were enough to instill fear in the ragtag soldiers. If they still had the "Battle Horn" spell, they might not have felt fear, but unfortunately, both divine and magical spells had been dispelled.

When the second volley of arrows fell, the king's army crumbled. Not only did the army begin to rout, but the priests and mages at the rear also began to retreat into the town. Just then, an even more deadly attack arrived.

A barrage of powerful arrows rained down from Magzart's ranks, along with fire, lightning, and other magical attacks. Margaret's goddess warriors and mages finally made their move, targeting the priests in the king's army.

Now stripped of their holy power, priests were the weakest group, even weaker than ordinary soldiers.

Nise didn't attack the priests; Soul-like figures were members of the church, unsuitable for his attention. Instead, he killed the apprentice knights. A year ago, he could only handle apprentice knights, but now that would be bullying.

Nise used a bow—the one Abdul had given him—and his arrows were specially made. Each arrow, once fired, transformed into a fine rain of poisoned needles.

These needles were only an inch long, as thin as a hair, as fast as lightning, and, most deadly, silent, making them impossible to defend against. Their only weakness was their poor penetrating power; even a dense layer of aura could block them, let alone a protective shield.

This showed that apprentice knights didn't possess aura; even mid-level apprentice knights like Palm didn't use it.

No one could escape the barrage of poisoned needles. The slender needles pierced through the gaps in their chainmail and embedded themselves in their flesh. Not only were the cadet knights struck, but their warhorses were too. The battlefield was a scene of men and horses stumbling and falling, writhing on the ground in agony.

These needles were specially crafted, their toxicity greatly reduced; once they pierced the flesh, they only caused mild internal bleeding, though the pain was excruciating, like being branded with a hot iron. This level of injury wasn't serious; a single healing spell could heal it. However, with the priests having lost their holy power, there was no cure.

The king's army was thrown into complete chaos. More and more soldiers fell to the ground. Once the dense battle formation collapsed, it lost its defensive power, and a torrential downpour of arrows from the enemy pierced through the gaps in the defenses.

The arrowheads were thin and long; they pierced through the chainmail's holes and through the iron armor's plates before penetrating the chainmail beneath. Hit by one or two arrows like that, he could bear it, but if hit by five or six, even if they didn't hit any vital organs, he certainly wouldn't survive.

Ron watched the soldiers retreating back into the town, his heart empty. He knew he couldn't win, but he hadn't expected to be defeated so badly, much less so easily.

He could also see that the enemy had come prepared. First, there was the unrestrained archery; at least two hundred thousand arrows were fired in two minutes. When the quantity is large enough, it creates a quantitative change. Once a long-range attack reaches a certain scale, its power is terrifying; the Jochi Urus almost conquered the entire world with their arrows. Ron knew this very well, so he knew his defeat was not unjust.

Secondly, there were those divine spell scrolls, especially the dispelling spell; this spell was simply too powerful and too practical.

After a humiliating retreat back into the town, the commander ordered the soldiers left behind to climb onto the walls; he was now very glad he had left them behind. "Block the gate, seal it with earth, don't let anyone in!"

Ron roared, venting his frustration.

Suddenly, a deafening roar made the entire earthen wall tremble, and a massive fireball struck the wall directly in front of it. A charred gash was blasted into the makeshift wooden fence on the wall, thankfully a magical shield mitigated most of the blast's force.

Ron wasn't surprised; he had agreed to a major battle precisely because he didn't want to defend the town to the death. While

the defenders might have a slight advantage, they were extremely passive and most vulnerable to this type of attack. If the enemy possessed large-scale siege weaponry, the town would become a massive target. Now, his worst fears had come true.

Another fireball struck the wall. This time it was much clearer; everyone could see it hit an invisible shield, deforming before exploding violently. The shockwave shook the surrounding air, making the outline of the shield faintly visible.

"Send someone up and check if the enemy is just surrounding us and not planning to attack!"

Ron yelled at his adjutant.

The adjutant didn't want anyone to risk it. He jumped onto the wall, glanced around, and then turned back, saying, "They're stopping about 300 meters away, surrounding us on three sides, but leaving the back open." "

Surrounding on three sides and leaving one open—the Jochi Ulus's favorite trick."

Ron wasn't a successful commander, but he was well-versed in military strategy. His eyes narrowed slightly. By this point, Ron had realized that Margaret's army was using the Jochi Ulus's tactics. Thinking of this, he couldn't help but look around.

If it was indeed this tactic, the enemy must have prepared a large number of cavalry. If they tried to escape, the real disaster would follow. But there was no use in not fleeing. Other armies conquered a piece of land for plunder and conquest, or for colonization, so they usually wouldn't kill all the locals. The Jochi Ulus were ruthless; they liked to kill all adult men, leaving only women and children, making them extremely brutal. Therefore, the Jochi Ulus were also extremely brutal when attacking cities; they would raze their targets to the ground, leaving no survivors.

As Ron was thinking this, another giant fireball landed on the wall.

This time, even the protective barrier couldn't hold up. This kind of protective barrier, which could cover the entire city, consumed almost no energy when dealing with low-powered attacks, but when faced with such a terrifying attack, it required the magic power of mages.

"Where did the enemy attack from? Find them!"

the commander shouted.

Hearing this order, the adjutant leaned out again. He glanced at it and immediately gasped: "Three hundred meters away, there's a whole circle of these things."

Ron couldn't hold back any longer. He jumped onto the wall to see for himself, and his face turned ashen as he looked. About 300 meters from the town, dozens of large magic circles were set up in a fan shape, resembling a ten-meter radius sun crown with a floating pointer.

This was called a "Fire and Thunder Orb," an amplification device specifically designed to work with the "City-Breaking Fire and Thunder," increasing its power tenfold. This device cost at least two thousand gold coins, required fifty grams of ruby powder for each launch, and also consumed a crystal pillar made of obsidian. Ron now knew

where he stood; the answer was simple: the other side was rich, incredibly rich.

Just then, the crystal pillar atop one of the "Fire and Thunder Orbs" in the distance began to glow. Without hesitation, Ron jumped off the city wall. His actions also affected the soldiers nearby; they dared not leave their posts, but they could bow their heads. Just as

they were ready, a giant fireball slammed into the spot where Ron had just stood. The entire sky above the town seemed to have shattered like a glass dome, with a deafening explosion followed by a series of shattering sounds.

In a house in the center of town, six mages huddled in a circle. The instant the protective barrier shattered, all six coughed up blood and collapsed. The nearby mages immediately dragged them away, and another six sat in their places. In the blink of an eye, the shattered barrier reopened, regaining its original strength.

Outside the town, in Margaret's army, Nice watched with bated breath as the "Fire and Thunder Rails" were launched. Each launch filled him with anxiety—it cost so much money!

Fortunately, as a core member, Nice received a 40% discount on these items. Furthermore, Governor Cherharland had taken a liking to his Ice Chariots, exchanging ten for twenty "Fire and Thunder Rails." Otherwise, he definitely

wouldn't have been able to afford so many. With such a huge expenditure, the results were naturally remarkable. The combined power of "Fire and Thunder Rail" and "City-Breaking Fire and Thunder" is similar to that of a giant ballista. However, this is a magical attack, and for the enemy's protective barrier to block it, they would have to use enough magic to forcibly neutralize the explosive force. Ballistas, on the other hand, are physical attacks; simply deflecting the bolts doesn't consume much magic.

Of course, Nice could also order his soldiers to forcibly climb the walls, as such protective barriers are useless against slow-moving objects. If he were a stingy and cruel commander, he would certainly do so, but unfortunately, he isn't.

Suddenly, Nice turned around and noticed someone walking towards him. Leading the group were Luke and Palm, followed by a group of Shaman lords, who were basically the main force that had just gone into battle.

Nice was pleased with this situation, as it meant that Viscount Andrishia's position had become more precarious. The lords of the North were a very pragmatic group; they would follow whoever could offer them more benefits. In contrast, the nobles of the South valued family background and influence, and were far less easily bought off.

"How long can they hold out?"

Luke pointed overhead.

It was getting late, but thankfully it was June; in November or December, the moon would already be high in the sky.

"I don't know,"

Nice replied with a wry smile, his words carrying a hint of nouveau riche arrogance.

Nice was saying this intentionally; "nouveau riche" was a derogatory term in the south, but here it was an enviable word. Sure enough, his words made the lords' eyes light up.

"We'll be attacking various territories in the future; could we borrow some of these things?"

one lord asked, stepping forward as a representative.

"No problem, but you'll have to pay for the consumables yourself,"

Nice had anticipated this outcome.

He hadn't bought so many "Fire and Lightning Orbs" just for show; he was heavily in debt for this war and needed to find a way to earn money.

He originally only intended to buy ten "Fire and Thunder Orbiters," but after arriving in Iberia, he learned that the old fox was also a core member of the Pantheon, and that core members could barter. So he simply bought forty "Fire and Thunder Orbiters" at once. He bought his consumables at a 20% discount, but he would sell them to these lords at full price, resulting in a five-fold profit. Although it couldn't compare to the silk and spice business, it was still a huge profit.

"Of course."

The arriving lord didn't think Nice was being taken advantage of; otherwise, how could he have amassed such a huge fortune in just two years? Before they came, they had calculated that the territories they chose to attack all worshipped mages. If they didn't break through the protective barriers created by the mages, a direct assault would result in heavy casualties.

In comparison, reducing casualties with money was still worthwhile. After all, using divine magic also cost money, and now they could only use divine magic scrolls to cast healing spells, which cost ten times more than before. If the casualties were that high, they simply couldn't afford to save anyone. Both sides had their own calculations, so they naturally reached an agreement.

Just as Nice was about to swear an oath with the lords, a strange rumbling sound suddenly came from afar, followed by a sudden surge of movement from the surrounding soldiers. Everyone quickly turned to look, only to see the town enveloped in a red light.

"Continue the attack!"

Nice shouted. The lords who were about to launch a full-scale assault were forced to halt their advance.

"That's a ragtag army, their morale is practically nonexistent. They'll definitely rout, and a direct assault would only cause unnecessary losses,"

Nice said.

Nice's reasoning was flawless, but privately, he also had his own selfish motives. Wofford Town was so close to the Goddess Warriors' territory that it was practically a vassal state prepared for them.

Like Nice's own Five Peaks Town, the town's value lay not in the surrounding land, but in its geographical location. Within twenty kilometers on either side of Wofford Town, there were no roads leading north, making it an absolute transportation hub. Once it fell into the hands of the Goddess Warriors, with a little effort, they could quickly make the town prosperous.

Therefore, Nice didn't intend for these lords to launch a direct assault. He wanted the royal army to flee. Now that it was night, the task of pursuit fell to the Goddess Warriors, ensuring their military merits would rank higher when calculating rewards. According to the new rules established by Margaret, whoever conquered a territory with the highest merit was more qualified to receive a reward. Even if their merit points weren't enough, they could wait until they had enough to claim it.

Fireballs rained down on the town. Chaos reigned; the defensive barriers had crumbled, and the army inside could only endure the onslaught, unable to retaliate. The fortifications that had once protected them had now become chains binding them. The

townspeople didn't lack the will to escape, but Commander Ron had ordered the exits sealed off. The only way to flee was to scale the walls, but the three-meter-high earthen walls and two-meter-high wooden fences were too high for horses to cross.

Faced with the choice between being sitting ducks and escaping on foot, the vast majority ultimately chose the latter. At first, soldiers jumped down the back of the wall, quickly disappearing into the darkness. Gradually, officers began to flee, and eventually even knights started scaling the walls. Seeing that all was lost, Commander Ron gave up. He had been taken prisoner once before and didn't want to be taken prisoner again.

As a commander, his mind was naturally sharper than others. Since he saw through the enemy's tactics, which he'd learned from the Jochi Urus, he certainly wouldn't recklessly charge out to his death. The best way to escape was to disguise himself as an ordinary soldier, because he was confident the enemy wouldn't attack, but would wait until they were all gone before taking over the town.

"Go get two sets of soldiers' clothes,"

the commander ordered his adjutant to do this dishonorable task.

"You…"

The adjutant didn't know what to say. He despised this behavior, but at this point in the war, the outcome was either escape or capture. Ron hadn't considered dying in battle. Sebastian didn't have the charisma to inspire his men to fight to the death for him, especially after His Majesty the King had secretly eliminated the old commander, Harlock.

"After you escape, you go back to your territory; I won't go back,"

Ron said helplessly. He had to create the illusion of dying on the battlefield; otherwise, even if he returned alive, he wouldn't escape Sebastian's blade. This man was ruthless and had no concept of sentimentality. However, if he were to die in battle, Sebastian wouldn't dare harm his family; otherwise, His Majesty would face widespread betrayal and abandonment.

"What about you and your children, Madam?"

the adjutant asked anxiously.

"Even if I return alive, even if Sebastian doesn't target me, we'll have nothing... This war is over."

Ron had originally intended to test the enemy, and this test immediately revealed the relative strengths of both sides.

He knew the true state of the King's army: Commander Harlock's death was shrouded in mystery, the entire command structure had been purged, and the morale of the King's army was low. As for the foreign troops, they were even less of a threat; they weren't from this country, and as long as the fighting wasn't too intense, there would be no significant losses. This alone deterred anyone from fighting to the death.

Although some were tempted by the benefits Sebastian had promised, seeing the enemy using divine magic to shoot arrows and employ "Fire and Lightning Orbs" without restraint, even the most foolish person wouldn't believe they could gain an advantage.

Having understood all this, Ron didn't hesitate to choose to flee.

Chapter 3 ◆ The Traitor

Demori was draped in black cloth, and people dressed in mourning clothes could be seen everywhere in the city. In contrast, white cloths covered the streets outside the city, marking makeshift medical stations.

In the past, a divine spell would have solved everything, but now no one dared to use it recklessly.

Divine spell scrolls were limited, and no one knew if the war would become even more brutal, or if more important people would be injured. Furthermore, the exorbitant price of divine spell scrolls made them unaffordable for most of the wounded.

The initial defeat, the crushing loss of the royal army, and the unimaginable casualties caused great anxiety among the royals, who were hoarding divine spell scrolls.

Before the war, the price of scrolls had increased fivefold; now it had tripled. Divine spell scrolls like "God's Mercy" were practically priceless, as they could save lives in a crisis, and no amount of money could be more valuable than life.

Without divine magic, treatment relied solely on medication. The only saving grace was that most injuries were not fatal; over 90% were penetrating wounds, and there was no massive bleeding. The only concern was infection.

Without divine magic, the best way to treat infection was to clean the wounds with saline or alcohol, then cauterize them with a red-hot iron. Thus, the infirmaries resembled slaughterhouses, filled with screams of agony.

The court steward, Dromik, walked and observed, the air thick with the stench of blood, decay, and strong liquor, making him feel nauseous. He had to cover his nose with a handkerchief.

Beside the count was a servant, a man with a pointed face and shifty, cunning eyes.

Even if God claimed honesty and trustworthiness, most people wouldn't believe someone looking like that.

Count Dromik liked this man; he knew the fellow was dishonest and had done many shady things behind his back using his name, but he had never been angry.

The reasoning was simple: he trusted this man. With such a handsome appearance, His Majesty the King would never take notice, making him a threat to his position and unlikely to ever surpass him.

Another point was that this man was indeed quite useful; entrusting many matters to him would ensure everything was handled perfectly.

"What have you noticed?"

the court count asked in a low voice. As he asked this, "Stinky Bug" Bagg had already set up an isolation barrier around them. Judging by the skill and grace of his movements, one could easily believe he was a great mage.

Of course, Bagg wasn't a great mage; otherwise, he wouldn't need to be a servant fawning over others. His smooth execution was due to his hard work.

There's a type of mage known for their practical skills, and he was somewhat similar, though he should be called a utility mage. He specialized in practical but low-level spells with little offensive power.

Besides his mastery of magic, he possessed other considerable skills. To work for someone like Count Dromike, one needed considerable ability; his knowledge was certainly no less than that of renowned scholars, and his insight was exceptional. It was precisely because of this that he had noticed many problems along the way.

He said with a fawning expression, "Your Excellency, Margaret's visit this time is not well-intentioned!"

Count Dromick was Sebastian's most trusted subordinate, and Bagg worked for this court count, so he naturally had the opportunity to know some inside information. Therefore, many lords believed that the former Queen Elizabeth had returned, but he knew it was that much more capable twin, the "brother" (a derogatory term for a woman who is far more powerful than Elizabeth).

"How so?"

Count Dromick wasn't particularly capable, but he had one virtue: he was never ashamed to ask questions and would never pretend to know what he didn't. This was something he learned from Sebastian, whose only virtue was this, which was why he preferred those who shared his ideals.

"In normal battles, the casualty ratio is usually four to one, and even higher in more brutal battles. But this time, the casualty ratio reached seventeen to one, indicating that they didn't want to kill anyone."

Bagg, the "worm," deduced Nice's intentions from these clues.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Count Dromick was somewhat puzzled.

“My lord, this is certainly not good. Although these people have survived, they will have to stay in bed for half a year or even a year. Not only will they be useless, but they will also be a huge burden.

Moreover, their wails will be a huge blow to morale.” Bagg didn’t mention something else: only someone with absolute confidence in the schismo would do this.

“How strong do you think our side is?”

Count Dromick wasn’t worried that this scoundrel would betray him, because there weren’t many people in this world who dared to use such people.

Bagg didn’t hesitate at all. He knew very well what this court count needed. As a servant, one not only had to be good at reading people’s expressions, but also had to show enough honesty. At a time like this, one absolutely could not be careless. “You’d better make other plans,” Bagg said cautiously.

“Really?”

Count Dromick’s face turned pale instantly. His mind raced, and he immediately thought of something: Could it be because the other side had a large number of divine scrolls? But His Majesty had the support of five countries behind him; the difference in strength between the two sides was like heaven and earth! "

Those five countries behind His Majesty are all fake. The real supporter is the Farodi family. The problem is, the Farodi family can't support us forever. If the situation here deteriorates to a certain extent, it might drag down the other countries. At that time, they will definitely abandon His Majesty,"

Bagg speculated.

Of course, he didn't know that Nice, intending to prevent problems before they arise, had already targeted the Farodi family and completed preparations.

"Harlock's men are qualified to make other plans, but someone like me..."

Count Dromick shook his head. He was very self-aware. To put it bluntly, he was just a servant. At most, he knew some of the king's secrets, but if it really concerned matters of state, Sebastian wouldn't tell him. So he had no value to be bought.

"Don't underestimate yourself. Harlock's men are not likely to surrender because if they surrender, Margaret would have to show some appreciation, at least let them keep everything they have."

Bagg chuckled, glancing around intentionally or unintentionally.

The implication was that Margaret's army held the upper hand and was absolutely confident of securing their victory, making it impossible for them to consider those conditions.

Bag continued, "These people can betray Sebastian, and they can betray Margaret later. That woman is clever; will she fall for it?"

These words tempted the court count. He now realized that being powerless had its advantages; he only sought to survive, perhaps with the possibility of preserving his existing wealth—conditions easily accepted.

"You handle this,"

the court count said slyly, not wanting to make any absolute statements. "I must return to the palace to report the situation to His Majesty."

Bag maintained his fawning smile until Count Dromick was far away before straightening up and quickly leaving the blood-soaked, rotten place. Entering the

city from the west gate, turn left; about fifty meters away is a tavern.

Since the assassination attempt, most of the restaurants and taverns in the city have been closed. This is partly due to the burning of the granaries; even getting enough to eat is a problem, let alone brewing wine. Therefore, any tavern still open must have powerful backers. This particular tavern, for example, is rumored to be backed by a lord from Trihun. These foreigners are the most dangerous people in the city right now.

Bag slipped into the tavern and, as if familiar with the place, squeezed into a seat next to the counter.

A bard was half-sitting, half-lying on the counter, playing a harp.

Such a crowded and noisy place was clearly unsuitable for discussing secrets.

As soon as Bag sat down, he picked up a glass, seemingly checking its cleanliness, but actually using the reflection to survey his surroundings.

Sebastian was paranoid, and after the assassination attempt, his symptoms had become even more pronounced. Even those he trusted most were secretly monitored.

Bagg himself did this, and of course, he was wary of being watched. He quickly identified two watchers.

One sat by the door, clearly a spy specifically in charge of the area; the other had followed him in, but was too large and seemed to be giving up.

"Dromick's been loosening his grip,"

Bagg relayed directly to the bard's ears. As a servant, these kinds of tricks were essential, as they often had to deliver messages for important figures in public.

"You did a good job. They've said they don't need Dromick to do much, just a little help at crucial moments. When Sebastian is finished, he can save his life and property,"

the bard said, humming a tune as he spoke.

He was using ventriloquism, not some extraordinary skill, but very convenient when used well.

"Dromick is a coward. If things don't go well over there, he definitely won't help," Bagg stated upfront.

"Of course,"

the bard said frankly. " Not to mention you, even we wouldn't do a losing deal. If Margaret's situation

worsens, we'll definitely withdraw even sooner than you." He wasn't a direct subordinate of Nice, but rather a member of the Gesar City-State Alliance. This was Nice's shrewdness; he knew that bribing people was extremely difficult when the situation was unclear, so he used a third party to do this, a third party that also implicitly acted as a guarantor.

Nice was also very selective in his choice of people. He didn't choose lords and knights who harbored resentment towards Sebastian, nor did he choose Sebastian's trusted confidants, but rather insignificant figures like Bag.

His offer to Bag was that after the deed was done, he would give the man a small trading company, which could be registered under the Rose Cross Trading Company and enjoy the same treatment as a first-class trading company in Asax.

This was just a small sum for Nice, but for Bag, it was a huge source of wealth, an industry that could be passed down to his descendants.

At that moment, Count Dromick of the court was before the king, reporting what he had seen below. He explained that his visit to the infirmary was not of his own volition, but rather to act as the king's eyes and ears.

"Is the situation really as bad as you say?"

Sebastian rubbed his temples, his head throbbing.

"I would never lie to you,"

Count Dromick said honestly.

"It seems Margaret really does have someone to rely on."

Sebastian felt increasingly disheartened. For kings of small countries like theirs, the power of their backers was paramount; he, for example, had the Farodi family behind him.

Recently, Sebastian had received some information that Margaret was backed by the Gesar City-State Alliance and Prince Philip of the Kingdom of Gorenant—one a wealthy and powerful tycoon, the other a powerful neighbor not far away.

Sebastian felt immense pressure.

"I've also heard something... it seems... Margaret isn't just eyeing your throne; she probably has designs on the forces supporting you as well." The court count spoke cryptically, not daring to be too explicit, as it was just a guess. Since Bag had made it sound so serious, he decided to exaggerate it further in his report.

Because of his understanding of the king, Dromek knew that even if he exaggerated, it wouldn't matter much; the neurotic emperor was easily fooled.

"You figured it out too?"

Sebastian's reaction surprised everyone; he appeared remarkably calm.

"Could it be... true?"

This time, it was Dromek's turn to be afraid. He hadn't expected his exaggeration to be so close to the truth.

"I just received news that Margaret isn't alone this time. She has the Gesar City-State Alliance, Gorenant, and the barbarians behind her. Haven't you noticed that grain prices have doubled in the past two months? This is the Gesar City-State Alliance's doing."

Sebastian didn't mind saying a few more words to his confidant. The reasoning was simple: Dromek's warning about Margaret's intentions proved that Dromek had already seen through many things.

"And the barbarians?"

Dromek gasped. This was far more terrifying than the other two backers.

If he had been somewhat hesitant before, he had now decided to switch sides.

Just as this thought crossed his mind, a court steward entered.

Dremyk knew the steward must have something to report to His Majesty, so he quickly withdrew. As he reached the door, he heard the steward say, "Scardo is waiting outside. He has something to report to you; a spy has infiltrated the city."

Dremyk's ears immediately perked up, but he still left the meeting room.

Standing at the doorway was a rather sleazy-looking fellow, much like Bagg the Worm, also with a fawning expression.

Count Dremyk shrewdly avoided the man.

Leaving the meeting room, the chief steward was quite uneasy. He had a feeling that this man, like Bagg, had also been bribed to act as a messenger, but this man had made the opposite choice. He believed that King Sebastian's scheme was greater, so he planned to betray the person sent by them.

The chief steward was filled with fear. He didn't know if following this lead would expose Bagg? He didn't know if he himself would be implicated. Meanwhile, in the conference room, King Sebastian felt a surge of fear. Margaret's blatant bribery of his men made him increasingly insecure, but he couldn't be sure if it was a trap.

He had been forced to kill Harlock, which had already brought him a lot of trouble. If it was a trap, and he killed another group, the trouble would be even greater.

"Let Dromick in,"

the king said, ringing a small bell on the table.

Count Dromick, who had been standing at the door, hadn't gone far and immediately entered upon receiving the order.

"I ordered you to monitor Harlock's former men. Have any outsiders been in contact with them recently?"

Sebastian asked directly, without letting the other two leave.

"Yes,"

Dromick quickly replied.

"Who are they?"

Sebastian pressed.

"Many are foreigners; it's inconvenient for our spies to investigate further,"

Dromick said, looking troubled. He wasn't afraid of the king's wrath.

"Foreigners…"

Sebastian muttered to himself, his headache starting again. His first thought was that the Gesar Alliance was behind it all, but proving it was impossible. Every noble household in Demore had several foreigners living there; who knew which were there to help and which had ulterior motives?

Thinking this way, he couldn't even trust the foreigners anymore.

In his daze, Sebastian snapped out of it all, suddenly realizing he might have fallen into a trap.

Perhaps the enemy wanted to make him paranoid, to make him fearful and distrustful of everyone? "Ask the informant, what did the people who bribed him want him to do?"

Sebastian asked.

"I've already asked. He has a list, given to him by them. They want him to contact the people on the list and win over as many as possible,"

the steward beside him quickly replied.

"Hiss..."

Sebastian gasped.

This was clearly casting a wide net; this tactic was even more demoralizing than spreading rumors.

"What benefits did they promise him?" the king now wanted to know the price Margaret had offered.

"It's said that after it's done, he'll be sent south and given a small trading company."

The steward had already inquired about this.

"Typical merchant tactics."

Sebastian scoffed, but this confirmed his concerns; the Gesar City-State Alliance was behind the whole affair. This confirmed his earlier suspicions—the enemy had set another trap for him. If

he arrested people according to the list, it would surely create panic, but if he didn't, many might be tempted to have their cake and eat it too.

To arrest or not to arrest?

The emperor was extremely conflicted.

"Send them back first, let him try to contact the people on the list. If anyone shows interest, report to me immediately."

Sebastian ultimately chose to observe.

The steward accepted the order and left.

The informant was also taken away. He had expected to see the king, but instead, he was only allowed to stand at the door the whole time. Frustrated, he was led out of the palace. After walking only a hundred meters, he suddenly saw a green sphere flying towards him.

It was a ball of acid that suddenly exploded in front of the informant, soaking him from head to toe.

The acid burned instantly upon contact with the skin, hissing and emitting white smoke. The skin on the informant's face, neck, and hands quickly turned red and began to curl, making him look utterly terrifying. He collapsed to the ground, screaming and rolling around.

"Quick, save him!"

shouted the steward who had brought the informant out.

Six knights, two mages, and two priests stood at the palace gates. The knights were the first to react; one of them grabbed the informant by the ankle, lifted him upside down, and threw him into the fountain in front of the palace.

The acid thinned considerably upon contact with the water, but the corroded areas did not heal.

"This is severe corrosion; it requires a high-level divine spell to heal. Are you sure you want to waste a high-level divine spell scroll on someone like this?"

the priest beside him asked coldly.

The steward was speechless; using a high-level scroll for an informant seemed utterly unworthy.

"I have to report this to His Majesty..."

He sighed, lamenting his bad luck. He had thought he could gain merit, but instead, he witnessed this scene first.

Suddenly, he shuddered. This informant had come to him, and after asking about the situation, he immediately took the man into the palace. He hadn't encountered many people during this time, and the only ones who had close contact with the informant were the few palace servants responsible for the body search. Why was the informant assassinated as soon as he stepped out?

Were there people guarding the palace gates the whole time? Or were there spies from the other side inside the palace?

Whatever the reason, it was like a thorn in the throat for the steward. He abandoned the informant and hurried back to the palace.

At the palace gates, the pitiful wails still echoed. Because without the steward's orders, the guards dared not move the man away, nor did they want to help him; they simply watched the spectacle from the sidelines.

The wailing attracted those entering and leaving the palace. Someone, no one knows, was the first to recognize the unrecognizable informer. Soon, more and more people rushed over, many of them similar in identity to the informer, including Bug Bag. They, along with others who were almost completely identical to the spirit, hurried over, only glancing at him before turning away.

These people were like sewer rats, able to identify spirits by their scent. Seeing the person wailing in agony in the fountain, and seeing so many people rushing over, they immediately understood everything.

The rebels must have bribed a large number of people with spirits; this guy wailing in the fountain was obviously trying to inform on someone, and was being punished.

This chilled them to the bone.

Some among them harbored ulterior motives, intending to profit from both sides; others wanted to be sold at a higher price. But now, all those thoughts vanished.

Two hundred kilometers away, in the Shewood Valley, Nice held the Book of Revelation, examining it.

The Book of Revelation reflected the image of the informer wailing in the fountain.

There were no spies, no informants, and no bribery of anyone in the palace; it was this artifact that discovered the informant's existence.

That person went to inform on him, thus disrupting the deal. A cause inevitably produces an effect, and so the Book of Revelation reacted.

Nex notified the assassination squad lurking in the city; when the informant emerged, they were to be immediately given an acid ball—both to silence him and to make an example of him.

The Book of Revelation was very cumbersome and had many limitations, but it was undeniably useful.

After carefully storing the Book of Revelation in his ring, Nex left the room.

In a corner of the valley, many goddess warriors had gathered; five were turning a huge winch, while the others guarded a small opening.

Nice walked over and casually pulled someone aside, asking, "How's the progress?"

A goddess warrior immediately replied, "An hour later, news came from below that they've dug out the next natural limestone cave."

Nice wasn't surprised. This mountain range, spanning several kilometers, was full of jagged rocks, each peak exceptionally steep, with countless sheer cliffs—clearly limestone formations. This type of rock is loose and easily eroded by rainwater, so the presence of limestone caves at the bottom wasn't unusual.

"Is the limestone cave deep?"

Nice asked.

"About a hundred meters from the ground,"

the goddess warrior replied. Nice was satisfied with this figure and ordered, "Let them come up."

The order was quickly relayed, and there was an immediate response from below. Those above pushed the winch, and with a series of soft creaking sounds, the rope slowly pulled upwards. After quite some time, someone finally emerged from the cave.

The first to come out was Sasha, covered in mud from head to toe, looking quite disheveled.

Digging a tunnel is hard work that one person can't do alone, so these goddess warriors take turns. It's unusual to see someone like Sasha, a successor to the training, doing such labor.

"How big is that limestone cave down there?"

Nice asked.

"I don't know, it's pitch black down there. We can only feel our way in. Now that we're up, I'm going to get two torches to go down," Sasha replied.

Nice peered down.

Besides the hanging rope, there was a pipe leading down, the other end connected to bellows. Two goddess warriors were constantly pumping air into the cave. There was no air in the cave; they relied entirely on the air pumped in from above to breathe. This limited air was far from enough to keep the torches burning, so the goddess warriors were working in complete darkness.

While Nice and Sasha were talking, five more goddess warriors emerged from the cave entrance. One of them immediately said, "I found a side passage, and it seems there's wind."

"Wind?"

"Is this limestone cave connected?"

Nice and Sasha exclaimed, exchanging a glance.

"I'll go down and take another look."

Sasha hurriedly ran towards the cave entrance.

"Don't rush down yet." Xingna's voice came from afar. She had heard that Nice had come, so she came to see what was going on, and immediately came across this matter. "Let me handle this." Nice took out an angel's mark. After obtaining this from Elder John, it took him a full month to fuse it with the phantoms of the two guardian angels in his consciousness. The angel's mark he took out at this moment contained the angel Bamot, who had the function of "travel". When Elder John took out these two "angel's marks", he had already thought about their uses. The clones created with angel's marks cannot be changed at will. Once it is imprinted on something, the mark can never be separated again. So, generally speaking, the Knights Templar prefer to imprint the marks on magical puppets or on the collars of magical pets, but Nice has a better use for it. Nice reached into his magic bag, but of course, this was just a pretense. All the slightly more important things were already in his ring. Touching his pocket was just for show. When he withdrew his hand, a feather-like throwing knife was already between his index and middle fingers. This Wings of Light was a projectile that could fly automatically; it was itself energy and would automatically replenish its energy, but it became difficult to control once it exceeded the range of his will. Nex wasn't sure if his guess was correct. He hesitated for a moment, but ultimately applied the Angel's Mark. As soon as the mark entered the Wings of Light, he immediately felt everything around him become a double image. This feeling was extremely strange, yet it filled Nex with immense joy; he knew he had gambled correctly. Closing his eyes, Nex focused his attention on the Wings of Light. He couldn't multitask; whether controlling this consciousness clone or the one in the Pantheon, he himself could only remain motionless. Nex slowly lay down, just like when he put on the mask before. Because of his past experience, he did this skillfully, almost instantly entering a state of detached consciousness. The Wings of Light struggled twice in his hand, then transformed into a golden light and shot out. The golden light slammed against the cliff face, then bounced around like a drunkard. Its head spewed golden blade-like energy, leaving long, thin marks on anything it touched, whether rock or soil. Nice himself was also somewhat dizzy; he couldn't find the feeling of controlling the consciousness clone in the Pantheon. The speed was simply too fast; everything he saw was blurry and flashing wildly. Just as Nice was about to give up, everything suddenly returned to normal. His vision was still blurry, but he could now clearly see the mountain wall beside him, the goddess warrior below, and the newly dug cave entrance. His gaze focused on the entrance, and then he felt himself flying towards it. The speed was still very fast, faster than the fastest speed in the Martial Soul's memory, but he could still barely control it. The cave was only a little over a meter in diameter, enough for an ordinary person to crawl in and out; the width of the Wings of Light's intent, barely half an inch, was practically a wide road. Emerging from the other end of the cave, he indeed found himself in a limestone cave below. Since it's called the Wings of Light, it must be glowing, and the light it emits is golden. Outside, its height illuminates a distance of twenty meters before becoming too dim, but within this completely sealed space, the hazy golden light shines incredibly far. The limestone cave is vast, with countless snow-white stalactites hanging from the ceiling, below which are enormous stalagmites, some of which have merged with the hanging stalactites to form thick columns. The cave appears damp; the ground, ceiling, and stalactites are all covered in water, which is one reason why the Wings of Light can illuminate so far. Niss controlled the Wings of Light, circling the limestone cave. Underground caverns are mostly long and narrow with many branching passages, and this limestone cave was no exception. Niss felt dizzy after only a short while, not from the speed, but from the sheer number of branching passages. The underground passages connected one after another, creating a natural maze. Besides dizziness, he also felt somewhat disappointed. Fortunately, the consciousness clone couldn't get lost, because there was some special connection between the clone and the original, and the Wings of Light seemed to have a special ability: it could remember the path it had taken. This was just an ordinary limestone cave, without any minerals or traces of any demonic creatures. Nis manipulated the Wings of Light to return along the original path, and soon a feather flew out of the cave entrance, turning into a golden feather that slowly drifted into his hand. Nis opened his eyes and sat up abruptly. "This cave is very deep, and there's water everywhere, and it must be connected to an underground river, so there must be air inside..." Nis said, stating his observations. "Could there be any monsters inside?" Sasha asked eagerly. She would never forget her adventure in the snow cave, and because of this, she now felt a mixture of anticipation and fear towards natural caves. "No, I've already circled the bottom and haven't found any signs of life."

Nis dared to say this because the Wings of Light were extremely sensitive to life.

"That thing went into that hole and came right out. It just circled the entrance at most. Limestone caves underground are usually very deep and have many branches... Don't get us into trouble,"

Sasha questioned from the side.

"Don't say that,"

Xingna scolded, but judging from her expression, she clearly didn't quite believe Nice's words either.

"You felt that time was very short?"

Nice's attention wasn't on the limestone cave, but rather drawn to Sasha's words.

He had circled the limestone cave and felt that at least half a minute had passed, but from Sasha's words, it seemed that it had all happened in the blink of an eye.

Nice looked at his hands and noticed that he was wearing the War God Gloves. It seemed that he had subconsciously put on the gloves when he came out of the room.

"Could it be that the Warrior's Soul was controlling the flight just now?"

Nice remembered clearly that when the Warrior's Soul controlled his body, time had also slowed down.

This is a unique ability of the Warrior's Soul. When a certain ability reaches its peak, it triggers a special power. Take Murphy, for example; he controls vibration, so he can see vibration waves and occasionally even break points. Attacking those points can break the material.

The Warrior's Soul within Nice's consciousness likely controls speed, resulting in a "time dilation" effect. This ability to slow down time is incredibly useful, but unfortunately, his own speed can't keep up.

Unexpectedly, the Wings of Light and the Dancer's Soul are a perfect match. Thinking

of this, Nice became instantly excited. He gently tossed the Wings of Light into the air, instantly channeling his consciousness into the throwing knife.

A golden arc shot out, circling Sasha a few times before floating back into Nice's hand.

A gentle breeze blew, and a few strands of hair fell from Sasha's head.

This strike was too fast; Sasha didn't even have time to react.

Sasha's strength was definitely not lacking; she was only half a step away from becoming a Super-Rank, yet she couldn't even react in time.

Although Sasha's reaction wasn't quick enough, she was still very perceptive and immediately felt her hair being cut off. She flew into a rage, drawing her short sword and preparing to fight Nice.

"Alright, stop fooling around,"

Xingna said, gently pressing her left hand on Sasha's shoulder, forcefully stopping her charge. "He just wanted to prove one thing: that thing's speed is beyond your imagination."

"Of course you have to help your man,"

Sasha said defiantly, looking aggrieved as she kept stroking the strand of hair that had been cut off.

"Don't worry about it, not much was cut off, no one will notice,"

Xingna comforted her.

After calming Sasha down, Xingna kicked Nice and said coldly, "Now get to work. You promised me you'd build us an ice cave."

An ice path, made from ice chariots, had been added from the pool to the cave entrance. All the goddess warriors were now out working, gathered around the pool, constantly creating ice blocks.

According to the original plan, they were supposed to start building the ice cave in winter. However, the accidental discovery of this underground limestone cave saved them a lot of work, but it also forced them to make ice themselves.

Inside the limestone cave, Niss was directing a dozen goddess warriors to seal off the entrance and exit. This limestone cave had water flowing in and out, as well as air circulation, so it must lead somewhere. The flowing water and air would carry away the cold, so he had to plug this loophole.

While the goddess warriors were all working in the side passage, Niss quietly took out all the Ice Crystal Lotuses from his ring.

Because there was no earth energy in the void ring, these Ice Crystal Lotuses all looked somewhat wilted, but as soon as they landed on the ground, they spread out and immediately perked up.

To Niss's surprise, the temperature inside the cave dropped significantly instantly, and the ground near the Ice Crystal Lotuses quickly froze into a layer of ice.

"This plant can actually release cold energy!"

Niss was surprised and somewhat annoyed. If he had known this earlier, he wouldn't have had to go through all this trouble.

More and more ice crystal lotuses spread throughout the limestone cave. He didn't forget to toss some starlight moss onto the cave ceiling and surrounding stalactites. This moss emitted a faint glow, illuminating the surroundings and providing the ice crystal lotuses with the necessary light for growth.

Once he had finished covering everything, footsteps echoed from the cave entrance.

The first to return was Sasha, who stared wide-eyed at the ice crystal lotuses, exclaiming, "How did you do that?" "You don't need to worry about it," Nice replied, naturally not revealing the Void Ring.

Fortunately, he wasn't worried Sasha would guess; there were many magical devices capable of storing plants, even portable botanical gardens, and he possessed one himself.

Reaching a certain scale through natural growth was no easy feat for ice crystal lotuses.

Nice had no interest in waiting decades. He patted the cage, and the little creature leaped out, fawningly circling its master.

Now it was its turn to contribute, Nice pointed towards the ice crystal lotuses.

The little mouse darted into the ice crystal lotus, and in moments, the lotus roots began to spread out like a spiderweb, with new lotus leaves sprouting from them.

Nice wasn't idle either; he pretended to take a bottle from his waist and pour it on the ground.

A sour-smelling liquid flowed from the bottle, and the ice crystal lotus roots, upon touching this liquid, grew much faster.

The "Life Creation Technique" couldn't create something from nothing; the plants' rapid growth required not only the life energy provided by the little creature but also sufficient nutrients, and the bottle contained concentrated nutrients.

More and more crystal-clear lotus leaves appeared, gradually covering the limestone cave.

Seeing that the ice crystal lotuses had occupied three-quarters of the limestone cave, Nice stopped the little creature.

The "Life Creation Technique," combined with sufficient nutrients, could infinitely stimulate the growth of these ice crystal lotuses, but he couldn't just stay in the ice cave all day maintaining their growth.

These plants must survive on their own, absorbing light and nutrients, growing and reproducing.

"Why are these lotus roots so dry and shriveled?" Sasha squatted on the ground, gently pinching a section of lotus root, her face full of confusion and frustration.

"Rapid growth requires a lot of energy, but don't worry, in two or three months, they'll return to their original state," Nice offered a rare word of comfort to Sasha.

"When will they produce lotus seeds?" Sasha was more concerned about the lotus seeds than the lotus roots.

The lotus roots were used to transform the attributes of internal energy, giving it an icy quality. The lotus seeds, however, were used to enhance strength; each one provided a benefit.

"It'll probably take a year, right?" Nice had tried to induce the growth of lotus seeds with the little creature, but the resulting seeds were far less effective than those produced normally.

This answer greatly disappointed Sasha.

"Don't be too demanding. Having this ice cave is good enough." Sometime later, Xingna came down from above. She wasn't alone; she was followed by more than a dozen goddess warriors, each carrying a flat box.

Opening the box revealed it was full of insect eggs, about the size of chicken eggs, resembling translucent frozen stones.

These were Frost Shovel Insect eggs, a harvest from their last trip to the ice cave.

One box contained a hundred eggs. Nice shook her head, "Isn't this a bit too much?" "How can this be considered a chicken heart? Our tribe has several thousand people; this isn't even enough for one per person! Besides, horses can live for over ten years, but insects don't live that long," Xingna argued.

Of course, she wouldn't tell Nice that she had reached an agreement with Murphy to provide Murphy and Baini's tribe with five hundred Frost Shovel Insects in exchange for a large amount of food and supplies.

Nice needed to raise these insects; others would at most act as helpers. Her agreement with Murphy was blatant exploitation of Nice's labor, and of course, Nice couldn't know about this.

"Hurry up and get this done." Xingna had the goddess warrior place the box in front of Nice. She kissed Nice's cheek affectionately and said in a teasing tone, "I've prepared a show for you as a reward for your hard work." Nice was incredibly itchy; he could completely guess what this woman had prepared for him.

Nice immediately perked up and took out a large array plate, placing it on the ground.

An array plate is a magic circle that can be assembled; he had it custom-made at the Pantheon.

Crafting array plates requires a lot of skill, and a good array plate is definitely not cheaper than top-tier magic equipment. This set cost him over a thousand black coins, and that was at cost price.

Carefully placing the insect eggs in the center of the array plate, Nice grabbed a handful of magic powder and sprinkled it on top.

This powder turned into starlight, sprinkling onto the insect eggs. In the blink of an eye, all the insect eggs began to move, and in a flash, one egg hatched, and a small, translucent insect the size of a thumb crawled out.

The larva looked adorable, like a flat leaf or a piece of jade pendant.

More and more larvae emerged, driven by instinct to burrow into the ice crystal lotus.

************

Above the ice cave, in a corner of the valley, stood a small wooden cabin. Steam filled the cabin as people continuously poured water onto a red-hot iron plate, which hissed and turned into steam. As

soon as Nice entered the cabin, he felt his blood boil.

This wasn't because the cabin was very hot, but because it was full of women, all quite beautiful, between twenty and thirty years old, and completely naked. "This is the show I prepared for you. Are you satisfied?"

Xingna followed behind Nice, smiling as she undressed.

Nice felt a sense of familiarity with the scene before him, as if it were similar to what he had seen in Iberia. The difference was that in Iberia, the women were all very secretive, while these goddess warriors seemed completely unconcerned.

Xingna clapped her hands and said to the women, "Girls, what are you waiting for? Come on over."

The goddess warriors chuckled and walked over, surrounding Nice. They already knew about Nice's strength and bravery from Elena, and they all wanted to try it out, but unfortunately, they didn't have the chance. Nice was either not there at the moment, or Margaret was nearby.

"How do you want to play?"

Xingna asked. "Do you want us to serve you?"

Nice looked around.

He was quite satisfied with the women's appearance. When Xingna was choosing people, she must have considered beauty first, otherwise, they wouldn't arouse his interest.

Their strength was also quite good, only a step away from the super-rank.

Seeing that all the women in the cabin were of this level, Nice understood Xingna's intentions.

Xingna was most likely after his special ability and wanted him to help purify the hidden energy within these women.

The purer a person's power, the easier it is to break through bottlenecks, just like how specialized mages can easily advance to the super-rank, which is closely related to their single-attribute magic power.

The goddess warriors' inner strength possesses three attributes: lightning, fire, and ice. Fire and ice are contradictory attributes, making it much harder for them to break through their bottlenecks compared to others.

This is why Xingna had the goddess warriors consume Ice Crystal Lotus Root. After consumption, the fire attribute would be suppressed to an extremely weak level, the ice attribute would be greatly enhanced, and the lightning attribute would fuse with the ice attribute.

Theoretically, the chance of breaking through the bottleneck would increase threefold.

"Have them lie face down with their backs to me,"

Nis said, readily agreeing to help Xingna.

The stronger the goddess warriors, the better for him.

The women giggled and complied.

The bathroom contained wooden beds, all made of two-finger-wide wooden strips. These beds were quickly assembled into a circle, and the goddess warriors lay on their sides, one with their chest against another's, one leg dangling, the other raised high.

The scene was exactly the same as Nis had in Iberia, only now there were more people. Suddenly, a mischievous thought popped into his head.

Nice glanced at the ceiling.

It was wooden, with sturdy beams, not a thatched roof.

That made perfect sense; the bathroom was steamy and humid, and a thatched roof would have been soaked through long ago and probably collapsed every few days.

Nice leaped out of the circle, walked to where the clothes were, and pretended to take two items from his magic bag: a plant seed and a rose.

The rose was "Timeless Beauty," and compared to when it was in Iberia, it wasn't as vibrant; the petals were withered, not far from fading. He casually tossed the seed into the air, and it sprouted and grew in mid-air, instantly becoming a large vine. This vine tightly wrapped around a large beam, then branched out into dozens of slender branches that cascaded down, each wrapping around a raised thigh, suspending it in mid-air.

The branches didn't stop growing; instead, they continued downwards from the eldest sister, reaching her thighs, and the tips of the branches quickly formed thumb-sized nodules.

Nis jumped back into the circle and used his fingers to push the small nodules into the holes behind the goddess warriors. After doing this, he removed the rose and placed it in the center of the vine.

"What trick are you playing now?"

Xingna asked, somewhat displeased, as she sat up.

"It's called 'The Web of Love and Desire,'"

Nis made up a lie on the spot; he wouldn't reveal the benefits of "timeless beauty." Back in Iberia, he already knew that this thing's allure to women was almost limitless, and he didn't want to invite trouble again.

Using "Life Creation Technique" to fuse the rose and the vine into one, Nis could feel the rose's power flowing along the drooping vines into the goddess warriors' bodies.

"Huh? What's this?"

Xingna looked at the rose with slight surprise.

Super-level powerhouses are extremely sensitive to all forms of energy, so it could sense the anomaly.

"This is something good for you,"

Niss sighed, adding, "It's very expensive."

The people of the North are very concerned with money, so expensive things are good things. Sure enough, the goddess warriors' eyes lit up, and several immediately asked, "How expensive?"

"You don't need to worry about that,"

Niss said, giving each of the talkative goddess warriors a light slap on the buttocks.

These women's genitals were all smooth and hairless, clearly because Xingna knew Niss's preferences and had instructed her beforehand. Judging from the smoothness, it definitely wasn't shaved, but rather glued on and then forcibly plucked clean, which moved him somewhat.

Niss's fingers kneaded and rubbed between the goddess warriors' fully open legs, his fingers and palms covered in pink ointment. As he kneaded, the ointment spread to the goddess warriors' genitals, buttocks, lower abdomens, and inner thighs.

Back in Iberia, Niss hadn't dared to do this, but now he didn't care.

Not only outside, his fingers also penetrated deep into the vaginas and anuses of the goddess warriors, and he even smeared ointment inside, inserting two pills during his resurrection.

These pills would slowly dissolve, seep into the flesh, and eventually transform into endless lust, which could not be quelled without a fierce thrusting. More importantly, these pills would make them remember his strength, and from then on, they would feel nothing when ordinary men made love to them.

As Niss kneaded, heavy breathing filled the cabin, and several sensitive female warriors even groaned.

Xingna was one of them. Logically, her tolerance should be very high, and this level of stimulation should not have caused him to lose control like this. She was like this because she had been trained by Niss for a period of time, and every part of her body had been marked by Niss. Even if you just poked her with a finger, she would react.

The breathing became heavier and heavier, and those flower paths, some bright red and some pink, all opened and closed automatically, with translucent mucus flowing out from them.

Nice slapped them hard without any politeness,

leaving a red mark with each slap. Each woman had at least one handprint on her buttocks and thighs. There

was one thing Nice disliked about the goddess warriors: they were too promiscuous. They would have sex with any man they fancied.

Nice didn't expect to possess these women; he only asked for one thing: that these women not have other men with them while they were with him. He knew this was somewhat selfish, but he had no choice.

Nice inserted his throbbing penis into the vagina of one of the goddess warriors.

His movements were strong and powerful; there was no need for gentleness or tenderness with these women. They didn't need that; they liked strong men. They liked forceful penetration, even if it was rough.

The goddess warrior he was penetrating clearly had a competitive spirit, so as soon as Nice's penis entered, there was a tightness inside, and then the flesh of the four walls wrapped around him like octopuses. This was another gem.

Nice was a little worried that he wouldn't feel anything when having sex with other women in the future.

This goddess warrior was much weaker than Xingna in strength, but their sexual skills were on par, only slightly inferior in strength.

"Isn't it surprising?"

Xingna asked with a smile, and the other goddess warriors also looked at Nice meaningfully, their lips curling into smiles. Nice wasn't surprised at all. He'd heard Elena mention it; the goddess warriors lived a military life from a young age, with little entertainment. Furthermore, they never considered playing with their genitals shameful, so from a very young age they played unbelievable games, like holding a copper bullet inside their vagina and seeing who could hold it the longest, or inserting a cucumber and seeing who could break it in the shortest time. As they grew older, they often competed to see who could squeeze a man's semen out first.

Nice could easily guess that these women were secretly betting on who could squeeze him dry.

He hadn't intended to be polite, and seeing the women's provocative smiles, he went even further.

Compared to men, women can reach orgasm repeatedly, giving them a natural advantage. Men, on the other hand, have a limitation on ejaculation; being able to ejaculate seven or eight times is already quite impressive. However, men also have an advantage: fewer erogenous zones, and shallower ones. Women, unlike men, have more erogenous zones, many of which are very deep.

It's like a dam; the erogenous zones are the gates.

Men are like small dams, the water is only a meter deep, and after a few surges, the water is gone. The sluice gates are all near the top of the dam, easy to open and easy to close. Women are like large dams, the water is tens of meters deep, the sluice gates are everywhere, many are at the bottom, very difficult to open, but once opened, the enormous water pressure makes the gates very difficult to close, even posing a risk of dam collapse.

Nice is best at opening the sluice gates of large dams, and he has the advantage of being able to use any means at will, not only his hands, but also aphrodisiacs and other things, leaving the women with no choice but to passively endure .

This is an unfair duel.

Nice quickly found all the sensitive spots on the goddess warrior's body, and as his sexual energy flowed slowly,

each spot became coated with a trace of it. This woman was already more than half his; after several more encounters, all the sexual energy would permeate her sensitive spots, and this woman would be completely under his control, just like Xingna.

"Now, tremble!"

Nice roared softly, his penis thrusting all the way in, the large glans pressing against the cervix.

The goddess warrior screamed, and sure enough, her whole body trembled. She felt a surge of energy surging through her body, causing a strange, intense itching wherever it touched. The intense stimulation made her feel suffocated.

She finally believed Elena and Xingna's words.

It wasn't just her feeling this way; a bead was inserted into her anus, connected to a vine, which in turn connected to other vines. So, everything she felt was felt by the other goddess warriors as well, albeit to a slightly lesser degree.

The scream turned into a shriek. The goddess warrior's eyes rolled back. She didn't feel half in heaven and half in hell; instead, she felt completely immersed in hell, her body itching unbearably inside and out, as if thousands of ants were biting her.

This pain seemed to last a long time, perhaps even months, finally easing considerably after a bout of dizziness. However, she was still incredibly itchy, especially inside her vagina, where the itching was driving her mad. But the thing was gone.

"Give it to me,"

she cried out.

Nice had already moved to the goddess warrior beside him, his penis deeply inserted.

He had deliberately made her suffer so much; only in this way would the impression be so profound, and this impression would seep into her vagina along with the ointment and the pill inserted inside, remaining in her sensitive areas, eventually becoming a mark belonging to him. Nice called this the "brand of love."

The "seed of love" would make a woman devotedly infatuated with him, unable to leave him, but the "brand of love" was much more domineering. Branding something meant declaring ownership of it, and the "brand of love" was the same.

One after another, Nice planted the "seed of love" in the soul of each woman and also branded her with the "brand of love." The rose on the crossbeam would sometimes shine and sometimes dim. Each time it shone, all the goddess warriors were enveloped in a pink glow, especially those goddess warriors who had been seeded and branded. Faint glowing patterns were also visible on their breasts, buttocks, genitals, lower abdomens, and between their thighs.

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