[The Hidden One] Episodes 25-27 Author: Blood Coral

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【The Hidden Ones】

Author: Blood Coral
Publisher: Hetu Culture

Chapter 1 ◆ The Celebration of the Winners

The sky gradually brightened, and Nice and the other three walked slowly through the mountains.

This was Margaret's request. Now that she was rightfully queen, she felt unusually lost, as if she had suddenly lost her direction.

"By the way, I have something to tell you. Andrusia has betrayed you again. He secretly informed the Allied Forces."

Nice said this to cheer Margaret up.

"I already guessed it."

Margaret sighed softly, which was also the reason for her disappointment.

It was the same back then; after the war ended, internal strife began.

"What do you plan to do?"

Margaret asked.

"I plan to confront him. Since I have the leverage, he will probably listen to me."

Nice did not intend to take the plunge. To be honest, if someone else were in Andrusia's position, the situation might be even worse.

"Let's do as you wish!"

Margaret didn't want to do anything to Andrasia. The previous invasion by the five-nation alliance of over 100,000 men had left even Andrasia feeling overwhelmed, let alone her.

"Sebastian is dead. Everyone who sided with him made the wrong bet. A large amount of territory has been gained in the southeast, west, and south of Shamarne, all of which will be under your direct control. Your reign as queen will be much easier."

Nice said with a light laugh. This was the topic he truly wanted to discuss; he knew why Margaret was confused.

A person is incredibly motivated when they have a goal, but once that goal is achieved, they often feel lost and unsure of the next step. He wanted to give Margaret a new goal.

Seizing the throne of Shamarne was just the beginning. For Margaret, the next challenge was governing the country well.

"I don't need to worry about that. These things are your responsibility, my dear Prime Minister."

Margaret's mood brightened immediately, and she joked.

However, this wasn't entirely a joke. Nice and the Rosicrucian Order had contributed the most to this battle for the title, and now that they had won, they were certainly entitled to the biggest share of the spoils. Besides land and a title, it was only natural for Nice to become prime minister.

Moreover, the Church had an unwritten rule: if a church member controlled secular power in a region, then he was also the Church's person in charge of that region.

"Prime minister?"

Nice sighed, suddenly feeling as if it were all a dream.

Three years ago, his father died, and a series of disasters befell him. His title was taken away by relatives, and his family's property was given to the Church. He became penniless, but now he was going to rule a country.

"I know you have some ideas. I couldn't help you before, but now I finally have the power. In Shamarne, you can do as you please."

Margaret was a very considerate woman.

Nice smiled slightly. There were only two and a half people in this world who truly understood his true nature: one was Margaret, the other was Emily, and the half was Princess Anna. They knew about his relationship with the Knights Templar and what he had always wanted to do.

"But it's too early to talk about that now,"

Nex said, his smile fading. He had much more to do! A major task lay ahead: he had to deal with Solald. Next, he needed to launch a counterattack on the Kingdom of Pastmera. Only when Elizabeth became Queen of Pastmera could he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

"Are you heading to Wofford Town soon?" Margaret asked. At this moment, her greatest wish was for her lover to be with her. Joy must be shared to truly bring happiness.

Nis understood Margaret's meaning, so he immediately said, "We might go a couple of days later. I originally thought they wouldn't act so soon, waiting until Solald captured Wofford before launching their attack. I didn't expect the new commander of the allied forces to be so impatient... But that's fine too. Solald was intimidated by me earlier and won't continue the attack for a while. By the time the news from here reaches his ears, the situation might change." "

I'm afraid the new commander doesn't want others to think that he won the victory because he joined forces with Solald and attacked from two sides."

Margaret understood people's hearts better than Nis.

They had several times the enemy's military strength, and all the countries were exceptionally well-prepared, yet they still needed the help of foreign tribes to obtain the victory. Such a victory had no value to boast about; on the contrary, it might be ridiculed. No general with even a little confidence would allow such a thing to happen.

"There's another possibility: the commander might also be wary of Solald,"

Xingna added from the side.

Don't be fooled by the fact that the allied forces had gathered hundreds of thousands of troops; the barbarian's fighting style was precisely their nemesis.

The barbarian army was as elusive as the wind. If hundreds of thousands of troops were to gather in one place, they would only be dragged down, worn down, and eventually killed by the barbarians. If the hundreds of thousands of troops were to scatter, they would be devoured piece by piece. The commander of the allied forces clearly realized this as well, so he ultimately chose a direct assault, wanting to end the war before Sorald arrived. Then he could spread out his army, digging deep trenches and building high ramparts, using the familiar methods to deal with the barbarian cavalry that raided like the wind.
"Now can you tell me the answer? How did you do it?"

Emily was already impatient. She had activated "Apocalypse" countless times, but all she saw was a blank screen.

"Alright, alright, I'll tell you."

Nice dared not tease the girl any longer. He knew that this girl was naturally impatient and extremely curious. If he teased her too much, she would get angry.

Everywhere were large and small boulders. The original mountain path was long gone, and even the slopes had been sheared away, turning what were once gentle slopes into cliffs, and what were once cliffs into jagged, uneven hillsides.

Ropes hung from the mountainside, and the soldiers trapped on the mountain slid down along them, the surrounding scenery still sending chills down their spines.

At the foot of the mountain, a group of generals stood there dumbfounded, feeling as if they were dreaming.

"This is terrifying! How did they do this? When did we get so many earth elemental mages?"

a lord who had always followed Margaret asked in astonishment.

"It shouldn't be the power of magic. The allied spies are watching our every move. If a mage had modified this mountain, they couldn't have been completely unaware,"

old man Andrewsia sighed softly, though his face showed no joy despite his shock.

His words were left unfinished. What surprised him wasn't that the Allied forces hadn't noticed the unusual activity, but that he himself was completely unaware. He had participated in the construction of the fortifications from beginning to end, especially the halfway-mountain fortifications, which were entirely his men's work. He knew every tunnel in the area intimately, yet he hadn't expected such a huge secret to be hidden beneath his fortifications.

Andrewsia knew what this meant: it meant the young priest had never trusted him.

He also thought of Nice deliberately revealing the bandit group's whereabouts—it was all false intelligence. News had already come from Wofford Town that Solald had been stopped before even reaching the town, suffering significant losses, but the bandit group hadn't appeared at all.

"I must apologize for not informing you all about the situation here beforehand,"

Luke said, walking cautiously, stepping carefully on the stones.

Although still uneasy, the lords couldn't say anything. After all, they were facing an army of over 100,000 men from five united nations, most of whom hadn't even considered winning the war. The lords standing here were practically Margaret's staunch supporters; that's why they and their soldiers were fighting to the death. Those cowardly, weak-willed lords weren't even on the mountain; they'd all found excuses to pull their armies elsewhere. Therefore, a victory was enough for them.

"You've all made huge sacrifices; there's bound to be a reward for your efforts,"

Luke said. His words were somewhat presumptuous.

However, everyone knew that his words represented Nice's opinion, and Nice's opinion represented Queen Margaret's opinion, so the weight of his words was undeniable.

"We didn't contribute much to this battle either. Since you've secretly arranged everything, you would have succeeded even without us,"

Viscount Andrshia added, pouring cold water on the lords' hopes instead of echoing Luke's sentiments.

The lords suddenly realized that if rewards were to be given, they were more for their hard work than for their achievements; the real credit could only belong to that junior priest.

"Everyone deserves credit, it doesn't matter who's bigger or smaller. Without you all holding back the allied forces, they couldn't have sent all their troops, and therefore couldn't have wiped them out in one fell swoop,"

Luke said calmly. He truly believed this.

These lords all thought Luke was in the know, that he must have known all the arrangements beforehand, but only he knew he knew nothing. In fact, he and the rest of the Rosicrucian Order had even prepared for a breakout. Even when the mountain collapsed, burying hundreds of thousands of allied troops under the rubble, they hadn't realized they had won the war.

So, in terms of merit, he was no different from these lords, and perhaps even less so.

If anyone had lost out, it was only Nice, but Luke absolutely didn't believe Nice had lost out.

In just three short years, from the time he met Nice until now, he had become accustomed to giving up profits to Nice. The sugar business, the cream business, the management of the trading square, and even the leadership of the Rosicrucian Order were all handed over by Nice without hesitation. Some were forced, some were voluntary. Each time, others felt they had lost out, lost badly, but in the end, they found that Nice hadn't lost anything at all; on the contrary, she had gained even more.

"Her Majesty the Queen has allocated all the lands near the six cities as rewards. Everyone here is now a first-class baron of the kingdom. You can choose the lands around your original territories, or you can choose to exchange them for any of the six cities,"

Luke announced Margaret's order.

As soon as he finished speaking, the lords were in an uproar. This was definitely good news.

A first-class baron was the highest rank that an ordinary lord could obtain in the Kingdom of Shamarne. Eight years ago, when the lords were enfeoffed, it wasn't this generous at all. There were only a total of twenty-odd first-class barons, in addition to Andursia and Harlock, the two meritorious ministers who received the title of third-class viscount.

Moreover, this time, not only was the bestowal of titles exceptionally generous, but the fiefdoms granted were also unexpected.

No monarch in history would ever give away land surrounding a large city like Fakolandel; land within a five-kilometer radius of Fakolandel was worth ten times more than land elsewhere.

Most lords were overjoyed, seeing this reward as a generous return from Margaret. Only a few astute individuals had guessed the Queen's intentions.

Among these astute individuals was, of course, old man Andrishia, who knew this was a move to divide and weaken the unity of the local lords.

Sebastian's swift collapse would mean that those lords who had sided with him would lose everything; it was a major reshuffling, and those who had chosen the wrong side were the first to be purged.

However, not everyone on this side was a beneficiary. Those lords who had left during the most critical time would surely regret their actions. They had originally been entitled to share in the spoils, but now they would only receive a small piece. These individuals would inevitably develop a rift with the lords now standing at the foot of the mountain.

These nobles, who received generous rewards, might initially get along harmoniously, but with their territories crammed together, friction was bound to arise over time. This was an open strategy, a strategy that left no room for argument.

Previously, lords were enfeoffed in remote areas; although the land's value couldn't compare to that around large cities, there was ample vacant land nearby, making expansion easy. But now, with increased land value, the room for expansion was gone, and another lord's territory was right next door, everyone keeping a close eye on it.

The inability to expand meant difficulty in growing stronger, and the lords' power was effectively limited.

"Having finished explaining Her Majesty's orders, now I'll talk about our trading company. After this war, many cities need rebuilding, and many territories need development. Our foundation is relatively weak, so we'd like to borrow some manpower from you all. We will definitely pay, or if you're interested in our businesses, you can invest,"

Luke said.

Luke's words were somewhat enigmatic; many lords didn't understand, but some did.

The key point was the investment opportunity.

Everyone knows that the Rose Cross Trading Company is making a fortune, and its business will only grow larger in the future. Investing now means waiting to reap the rewards later. This isn't about asking for their help; it's about finding ways to give them benefits.

Old Man Andrewsia saw further ahead. He realized Luke was trying to win people over. Once the lords present invested in the Rose Cross Trading Company, they would become partners, their relationship based on mutual benefit far stronger than mere friendship.

What saddened Andrewsia was that although he saw through the scheme, he couldn't stop others, or even point it out. Even if he did, it would be useless; with such profits at stake, few would listen to him.

Andrewsia didn't want to act like a villain.

Seeing Andrewsia's dejected expression, Luke approached and said in a low voice, "Her Majesty the Queen knows how much hardship you've endured behind the scenes. She cannot give you enough in return and can only ask you to continue serving as the lords' representative."

These words sounded apologetic and unusually respectful, but old Man Andrewsia felt a chill run down his spine. He knew best that when Luke faced him, his eyes flashed with a sharp, cold light; it was definitely not a face full of apology and respect. Clearly, his words had to be interpreted in reverse.

The real meaning behind his words was that Margaret already knew what he had done, that he had betrayed everyone at the most crucial moment, surrendered to the Allied forces, and provided them with a lot of important intelligence. Margaret didn't want to deal with him; even with solid evidence, it would chill many people's hearts and might even make them think Margaret was heartless. Therefore, Her Majesty the Queen simply didn't punish him and allowed him to remain in his original position.

Andrewsia naturally understood that he could no longer wield the same power as before. Margaret keeping him in that position was just for show, to play a coordinating role. If he dared to speak or act recklessly, he would definitely not have a good end.

Six months ago, he wouldn't have cared at all. At that time, both Margaret and Nice had very limited resources, at most able to gather three or five super-level powerhouses. But after conquering Fakorandel, things changed. With territory and being recommended as queen, many super-level powerhouses eager to make a fortune flocked to join them, and their strength increased significantly. Now, things are even more chaotic. Sebastian has fallen, the five-nation coalition has been defeated, and the entire Shamarne is under Margaret's control. No one can stand against her. If he doesn't understand this, his comrade-in-arms Harlock, who was killed by Sebastian, will be his best example.

"Gentlemen, we will always remember those who made great sacrifices for this war. The dead cannot be brought back to life, but Her Majesty the Queen will compensate their families. Everyone, please make a list."

Luke turned and said.

"What is the form of compensation?"

a more enthusiastic lord asked.

"Her Majesty the Queen will soon form a Royal Cavalry Regiment. The sons of soldiers who died in this battle, as long as they are not disabled, can join the cavalry regiment. Her Majesty has also allocated 7,563 plots of land to settle the families of the martyrs. Our merchant guild will also make a contribution. If the families of the martyrs are willing, they can work for our merchant guild or open workshops. Our merchant guild will provide raw materials and purchase finished products."

Luke explained their proposed plan.

The lords were speechless; they were certain there was no exaggeration involved.

This was even more brutal than the conflict eight years ago. Eight years ago, most of them had gained nothing, not to mention the soldiers who had died under their command.

"I have other matters to attend to, so I won't keep you company any longer,"

Luke said. He had come specifically to announce this, so naturally he wouldn't linger.

While Luke was present, the lords couldn't discuss it, but as soon as he left, they immediately began to murmur.

"It seems our status will gradually become similar to that of the nobles of Iberia,"

an elderly man, seemingly frail, sighed softly.

"What do you mean?" Most of the surrounding lords were warriors, simple-minded and not good at thinking, so they naturally didn't understand the implications. "Haven't you realized it yet? Margaret used land swaps to move us all to the outskirts of the big cities. Think about it, if you have the opportunity to live in the city, would you still live in the countryside? We're alright, but our next generation, and the generation after that, will definitely be affected. Over time, our families will gradually become detached from our territories," the old man sighed softly. The group pondered. Iberia wasn't far away, and many of them were related to a family there, so they knew a little about the situation. There were very few lords there who stayed in their own territories all day; most lived in the city, enjoying its splendor and prosperity, spending their days at balls and banquets. Their wealth mostly came from commerce, with land production accounting for only a small portion of their annual income.

"That's not bad," one lord said carelessly. "If my family were really that rich, there would be no need to cling to our land. Haven't you all realized? Now money is everything; war isn't about soldiers and courage anymore." He pointed to the pile of rubble as he spoke. Upon hearing this, the old man Andrusia, who had been about to say something, immediately shut his mouth. He couldn't

refute it; this war was different from the one eight years ago. This time, the protagonists were no longer knights, but money.

"Viscount Andrusia, what do you think?" asked an old man of similar age to Andrusia. In the past, old man Andrewsia would certainly have issued a warning, but this time he had no such intention. Margaret had already warned him that if he spoke or acted recklessly, he wouldn't be the only one to die. The old man himself wasn't afraid of death, but he feared his family's extinction.

"You and I both understand Margaret's plans, but have you considered that those who follow Margaret always benefit? For example, right now, those of us who followed her most closely are the ultimate winners, while those who didn't follow closely are left far behind. You and I may not care, but can't our family not care?" Andrewsia sighed again, his sigh filled with helplessness.

Andrewsia's words were easy to understand, and for those who thought they understood Margaret's intentions, they were a wake-up call. These words couldn't be clearer: Margaret's method was to benefit those who followed her closely, thus gradually widening the gap between her followers. The

closer they followed, the higher their status, the more wealth they accumulated, and the greater their influence, while those who didn't follow closely were gradually marginalized.

Two kilometers from the battlefield, on the bank of a river, a group of women stood, led by Delia, who stared at the riverbank with a sly look.

The riverbank was swarming with silver-gray rats. Unlike other spirit creatures, they didn't look disgusting; their fur shimmered with a metallic sheen, and their red eyes shone like jewels. However, there were simply too many of them, crawling all around the riverbank. Anyone who saw this would feel a chill run down their spine. "Don't look so unhappy; they're heroes,"

Daisy advised from the side.

"Yes, heroes!" Delia scoffed. "Why doesn't Margaret ever come to see them? She should give each rat a medal." Dain giggled.

"Don't be so rude. Margaret is your ruler now,"

Sylvia reprimanded from behind, her face stern.

Daisy immediately stopped laughing. Unlike Delia, who was a lone wolf and uninterested in family matters, Daisy had always hoped that Delia would have her own family, and family was the continuation of lineage.

"Delia, be serious. You're a baron now,"

Daisy said, following Sylvia's lead.

Delia shrugged, seemingly unconcerned about the warning, but she still listened to her friend. Besides, Daisy wasn't wrong; she was now a baron, possessing a coveted barony, and would soon be Margaret's vassal.

"I never imagined I'd be a baron now,"

Delia said with a touch of self-deprecation.

"Have you thought about how you're going to manage your territory?"

Daisy asked, having nothing better to do. Actually, she wasn't asking Delia, but rather Sylvia beside her.

They had been traveling in the same carriage from Pastmera to Iberia. At that time, Nice's thing was either inside Emily or Sylvia, never stopping for a moment. Daisy believed Nice wouldn't neglect his women, so Sylvia and Emily would definitely receive special treatment. "I don't care."

Sylvia knew what Daisy was thinking: "That territory will naturally be managed by someone else." She said this with a slight tilt of her chin.

The relationship between these women was very strange. They were very close; otherwise, Daisy and Delia wouldn't have thought to ask Emily and the others for help when they were hunting down Nice. But saying they were close didn't quite fit; the two groups of women looked down on each other to some extent.

Daisy's question earlier was clearly an insinuation that Sylvia and Nice had an affair, and therefore Sylvia would definitely receive Nice's favor. Sylvia's current behavior proved that she didn't care about the implicit mockery; on the contrary, she seemed quite pleased.

Sylvia was certainly not a superficial woman, but she had experienced too much now, and her views were no longer the same as other women's. Nice could satisfy her physical needs, better than her first man and Emily, that fake man—that was enough. Now she had her own property; if there was anything she wasn't satisfied with, it was probably only the lack of a child.

"Don't be so stingy, tell me, what are your plans with Emily?" Delia asked for Daisy's sake.

Of course, in a sense, it was also for her own sake, because she had decided to continue living with Daisy. When choosing a territory, she would select one next to Daisy's, and she would also make a will to leave the territory and title to one of Daisy's children after her death.

"It's simple. Emily and I both plan to entrust the territory to the Rose Cross Trading Company. We'll sign an agreement beforehand, and the Rose Cross Trading Company will guarantee that our annual harvest will be 20% higher than that of the nearby lords,"

Sylvia said, no longer hiding anything. Delia looked at Daisy; both women were somewhat tempted.

This was essentially treating the Rose Cross Trading Company as a tenant, but while a typical tenant receives half of the harvest from the master, the Rose Cross Trading Company was being extravagant, offering 120%, which could potentially lead to them losing money.

"I told that guy, you contributed the most to this victory, but I contributed a lot too,"

Delia said, feeling a little resentful.

This time, besides the countless rats, Daisy was the one who contributed the most to burying the entire coalition army of over ten thousand under the avalanche.

Daisy is a chosen one of Mother Earth, possessing the ability to manipulate the earth. It was thanks to her that this massive avalanche was created. If it were purely by brute force, at least two hundred earth mages would have needed to achieve the same effect.

Nice's initial plan to deal with the coalition wasn't to create such an avalanche. In his original plan, he intended to emulate the barbarians' tactics, wearing down the massive coalition army through maneuver. It wasn't until he met Daisy and Emily that he changed his strategy and came up with this method.

Emily was mentioned because of her necklace.

Emily's abilities back then were at least 80% dependent on that necklace. Being able to summon the water spirit Undine made her a key player in hunting down Ness. But once she lost that ability, she could probably only bully Daisy; against Delia or Sylvia, she'd only be able to run. If

Emily could control the water spirit Undine, Daisy could most likely control the earth spirit Nom as well.

Acquiring such a magical artifact was no easy feat, and its price was beyond Ness's means, unless he was willing to exchange it for a sacred relic. However, he didn't need it at all; most of these magical artifacts were only used once or twice a year, so renting was far more cost-effective than buying.

Ness borrowed such an artifact through Hugo, and Daisy used it to summon Nom. It was thanks to the earth spirit's help that they were able to find all the collapse points in the mountain range.

"That's right, your contribution is actually the greatest; he shouldn't be stingy,"

Sylvia said, essentially agreeing on Ness's behalf. This was the authority Ness had given her.

Nice himself owned many businesses, which were previously managed by the Rose Cross Trading Company under the auspices of Piruk and Metro. However, as his territory and power grew, he couldn't entrust everything to the Rose Cross Trading Company, as this would create unwieldy control, especially since his and Margaret's child would one day rule the country. Therefore, he would definitely hand over his remaining businesses to others.

He entrusted the businesses in Wofford Town to Belle and Senna, while Sylvia managed three trading companies: one handling trade between Shaman and Iberia, one focusing on domestic trade, and the last dealing in timber and stone.

While the women chatted, the countless rats on the embankment boarded the boats.

The weather had turned cold, but the river hadn't frozen yet, so the boats could still sail; another two weeks of delay would have made things uncertain.

All the rats were piled up like sand. Ordinary rats would have been crushed to death, but these rats didn't care. Their bodies were exceptionally resilient; even if a cliff collapsed and hit them, they would only suffer minor injuries.

"Isn't this taboo? Maybe someone will pin the Kaonni rat plague on that guy as a crime,"

Delia muttered, glancing at the rats. "

That's what makes Nice so clever. He didn't use these rats against the allied forces, only against the barbarians,"

Sylvia said. As Nice's woman, she had his trust and knew many secrets.

"That's true. The church loves to see people convert to God. If even magical beasts can convert to God, it proves God's greatness even more,"

Delia said disrespectfully.

Daisy and Sylvia rolled their eyes. Saying this in front of them wouldn't cause any trouble, but if it got out, it would be problematic.

"Those barbarians aren't pushovers. Do you think they can't even handle rats?"

Delia seemed unhappy unless she said something bad about Nice.

"You tried it?"

Sylvia chuckled. She still found it amusing to think about how Delia's legs went weak when she first saw those rats.

However, she hadn't fared much better back then; while her legs weren't weak, her face was ashen. Daisy, on the other hand, seemed more normal. This was understandable; Daisy had traveled underground, frequently seeing swarms of rats, earthworms, snakes, and insects, which had toughened her up.

"These rats are no pushovers. Even a slash or an arrow might not kill them. Ordinary people are no match for them. Of those tens of thousands of barbarians, probably only two or three thousand are truly unafraid of them,"

Daisy said fairly.

She had another unspoken thought: if she wasn't mistaken, Nice wouldn't target the barbarian army; his target

was most likely their warhorses. The barbarians' troublesome weakness lay in their mobility, which came from their warhorses. Without their horses, their strength would be severely diminished.

Killing will create deep-seated hatred, which is very detrimental to Nice's future development. The death of some warhorses is nothing to worry about; at most, some money can be spent to resolve the hatred, and Nice has no shortage of money.

The night was deep, and the howling cold wind swept across the land.

To the north, a cluster of tents lay scattered among the mountains, torches blazing throughout the camp, illuminating the sky.

The previous raid had instilled fear in the barbarians; now they slept with one eye open, and this bright light was a precaution against another attack.

In the central tent, Solald stared in utter shock at the dwarf before him, muttering for a long time, "This is impossible, how could this be?"

"Nothing is impossible, it has already happened."

The dwarf kept rubbing a crystal ball.

The crystal ball seemed filled with smoke, appearing blurry, with faint shadows flickering within.

Although indistinct, the balance of power between the two armies was still discernible.

"The allied forces have been defeated; almost all 100,000 troops have been wiped out, and Sebastian seems to be dead as well. Now Margaret's army is pursuing and intercepting them from all sides; I'm afraid few of the allied forces will leave the border alive."

The news coming from the dwarf was increasingly dire.

"You said Margaret's army is pursuing and intercepting them, not heading north?"

Solald frowned even more deeply. This didn't ease his mind; instead, it made him increasingly worried. The fact that the enemy wasn't moving their large army proved they had other plans.

Solald was now somewhat afraid of Nice's unpredictable methods and bizarre fighting styles.

"Want to hear some

more bad news?" The dwarf clearly intended to worsen the king's mood.

"Speak quickly."

Solald waved his hand.

"The bad news is, if you don't prepare soon, danger will be imminent."

The dwarf rubbed the crystal ball again, and a cloud of smoke billowed out, revealing several large shadows. Although the shadows were still blurry, this time it was clear they were several large ships.

"What's hidden in there?"

Solald's biggest headache now was things he couldn't understand. The enemy's tactics could only be used once; the second time wouldn't work, but the first time alone caused him immense suffering.

He had already lost three or four thousand men, a considerable loss, but more importantly, morale had plummeted. Further losses could have dire consequences.

"You overestimate my strength,"

the dwarf sighed.

"Then tell me how many will die this time?"

Solald had to settle for second best. The power of war could obscure the heavens, making many details invisible, but knowing who would die wasn't too difficult. The dying would always show signs, like dark circles on their faces or a darkening of their foreheads—Montes should be able to tell with his strength.

"Not many will die, but your men will have to fight on foot," the dwarf delivered another piece of bad news.

Solald understood this perfectly. In barbarian warfare, the first thing to kill was the enemy's horses. Without horses, the enemy was helpless.

"What if we defend to the death?" The barbarian king was at his wit's end. The barbarians would never choose defensive warfare unless absolutely necessary; it wasn't their forte.

The dwarf didn't answer immediately, but rubbed the crystal ball in his hand for a long time before shaking his head. "This is useless. The enemy's attack will be indiscriminate, and killing only the warhorses is already being kind. This weapon can wipe out all your soldiers; no more than three thousand will survive."

Solald paced back and forth in the tent. He understood Montes's prophecy; the weapon the enemy had prepared could kill all the ordinary soldiers he had brought.

"Do you have any other suggestions?"

Solald was now somewhat admitting defeat, but he didn't really care. He had intended to be reckless this time, and at this point, he didn't care about anything else.

"Compromise with them. That person needs your help too,"

the dwarf sighed.

"Needs my help?"

Solald was somewhat puzzled.

"Didn't you already plan to take Pastrmira and sell it as a commodity? Now the opportunity has come,"

the dwarf reminded him.

“To take Pastrmera, war is inevitable. And even if we don’t kill many, the Pastrmera will feel humiliated. Over time, this humiliation will fester and cause trouble. So the best way is to let the Pastrmera come to us willingly. That way, they won’t feel humiliated; instead, they’ll be grateful.”

Solald understood now. “These southerners are so hypocritical.”

He chuckled.

“You have to admit, it’s precisely because of this hypocrisy that the church has been able to effectively control the southern countries for centuries, and its influence shows no signs of waning.”

The dwarf sighed.

“That’s true.” Solald nodded.

“If you’ve made up your mind, you’d better send envoys quickly before those ships arrive.”

The dwarf reminded him.

Solald hesitated.

“Are you worried about Tesia and the others?”

The dwarf saw the reason for Solald’s hesitation.

The war was instigated by Solald, who originally intended to exploit disloyal tribes, but ended up causing significant losses to several tribes with whom he had good relations.

"This needs an explanation,"

Solald thought, his head throbbing with worry. "There is a way," the dwarf said. "Old man Tesia isn't stupid. He knows his tribe is in grave danger and that this isn't the time to act 　　rashly.

If you tell him your situation, he'll understand that he needs his tribe a chance to recover." 　　"What suggestions do you have?" 　　Solald asked, looking at him questioningly. 　　"Make them abandon their fertile land and move south," 　　the dwarf said. 　　Solald was shocked; he knew what that meant. 　　The area bordering Gorenant and Shamarne was what they called the south. The land there wasn't barren, but it was turbulent. The southern kingdoms didn't dare cause trouble, but bandits and mercenaries frequently crossed the border. 　　While the barbarians were fierce, some were weaker, such as women and children. What they hated and were helpless about was that once these bandits and mercenaries succeeded, they would immediately retreat to the border. Even if they wanted to retaliate, they could not. So over time, this fertile land was regarded as a chicken to be slaughtered by the barbarians. Larger tribes disdained to settle here, and smaller tribes dared not settle here.

The tribes to which Murphy and Baini belonged migrated south for several reasons: first, they had nowhere else to go; second, their tribes were not small, and with mutual support, their strength was considerable; and third, it was also related to Nice. As the Rosicrucian Merchant Guild's agents among the barbarians, they were guaranteed safety. If bandits or mercenaries came to their territory and committed crimes, the Rosicrucian Merchant Guild and Prince Philip, who stood behind the guild, would definitely step in to seek justice.

Allowing the tribes that had suffered losses to migrate south meant making them, like the previous two tribes, enter into a deal with the Rosicrucian Merchant Guild. The problem was that the reason they suffered losses was because of that little priest's men.

"War always results in death,"

the dwarf said casually.

Solard rubbed his temples. He knew very well that while his steward could speak so lightly, he couldn't; he had to be appointed to persuade Tesya and the others.

This was no easy task.

Chapter Two ◆ Spasmodic Doesn't Mean the End

"The barbarians have sent an envoy?"

Nice looked at Emily, who brought the news, with a questioning expression.

"Who's here?"

He decided to find out.

"A dwarf."

Emily gave Nice unsettling news.

"Should I go and call Xingna and Murphy?"

Emily knew what Nice was worried about.

Nice had used the "Revelation" to check on the key figures of the barbarian tribe, and she had participated in this matter, so she naturally knew that the dwarf Mei had the ability to block the "Revelation."

"It's useless."

Nice knew the strength of a Saint-level expert. The power that the old man Simon had displayed had long exceeded the scope of magic and divine arts. Even if there were two more people, it would be futile.

"If Solald sent him as an assassin, there would be no need for this."

Nice's words were both a guess and a form of self-consolation.

"Please invite him over."

Emily withdrew, and after a moment, the door opened again, and the chief steward beside the barbarian king appeared before Nice.

"Haven't seen you for half a year, you've changed a lot."

The dwarf immediately tried to get close to him.

Nice was slightly relieved; the other party's words clearly indicated that he was not there to assassinate.

"We won a battle by sheer luck,"

Nice said, not intending to boast.

"How can you call it luck if you wiped out hundreds of thousands of troops from a five-nation coalition? Besides, you also kept Solald immobilized; is that also a lucky break?"

The dwarf subtly praised him, but what he said was true.

"You didn't come here to praise me, did you?"

Nice felt tired of such pleasantries. This person was clearly not a barbarian; if he beat around the bush, the other person would definitely beat around the bush as well. It was better to get straight to the point.

"Do you want to know why our king has allied with the Farodi family?"

The dwarf didn't reveal his true intention but instead posed another question to probe.

"I am indeed very interested. I imagine the Farodi family must have paid a considerable price for this!"

Nice said sarcastically.

"Everyone knows the Farodi family is almost penniless because of this war. How much benefit can they offer? If it's just empty promises, do you think the king will believe them?"

The dwarf laughed.

These words carried a hidden meaning, not easily understood by the average person. Nice, being a member of the Church, was no exception, as such tactics were commonplace within the Church. Therefore, he immediately grasped the implication.

"Presumably, someone else is providing the benefits. Let me guess, a certain city-state alliance in the south is likely involved?"

Nice already knew that the Morang City-State Alliance sided with the Farodi family, even acting as a go-between for them, bringing in a papal candidate as a member of their alliance.

Nice could even imagine that if the Farodi family and Solald made their move, the Morang Alliance in the south would immediately retaliate against Asakus. Fortunately, he had made some arrangements before arriving.

Asakus would inevitably suffer some losses, but not crippling ones.

"I know you're prepared. Your biggest asset should be Duke Stia, right? Unfortunately, he can't help you. He was invited away by Duke Frederick. As for why Duke Frederick did that? It's said to be related to one of his counts, and it was that count who sent someone to see our king and ultimately persuaded him. She's a very eloquent woman."

As he spoke, the dwarf snapped his fingers.

Instantly, a not-so-clear image appeared before Nice.

Although it wasn't very clear, it was enough for Nice; he would never forget that familiar face.

"It's that wretched woman."

Nice slammed

his hand on the table. "Looks like she was right. You really did fall victim to her."

A smile appeared on the dwarf's face.

"That's right. Back in Kaoni, I almost died at the hands of this vicious woman."

Nice didn't want to hide his past defeat.

"She made a bet with our king. She almost killed you, but our king might not be able to handle you."

The dwarf revealed the secret.

"Solard can't possibly be so blind to this kind of provocation, can he?"

Nice didn't believe this excuse at all.

"You can't deny that this is a good deal. With a good deal, you can negotiate terms, and their terms are indeed very generous."

The dwarf was very eloquent.

His words left Nice speechless. It was well known that barbarians valued face, and they were also naturally inclined to gamble, perhaps related to their adventurous and reckless nature. If a woman proposed a bet and a man didn't dare to accept, he would indeed be considered a coward.

As for the accusation of breaking faith, that was Nice's way of putting it among his own people; he didn't intend to mention it in front of the dwarf.

Nice did have an agreement with the barbarians, but all he gave were promises, to be fulfilled in the future. If the Farodi family provided real money, according to the rules of the trade, it couldn't be said that the barbarians had broken faith.

"Alright, tell me your purpose!"

Nice knew that the dwarf's words were just to make him admit that the barbarians' deal with the Farodi family wasn't without reason, and also implied that he wanted to settle their past grievances.

This was exactly what Niss wanted; after all, he hadn't suffered too many losses, while the barbarian tribes had lost several thousand men.

"We agreed to send troops during the Soul Time event with the Farodi family, and we've fulfilled that promise. However, the Farodi family suffered a crushing defeat at Fakorandel, making it impossible to continue the agreement. Therefore, our king intends to renegotiate the deal with you."

The dwarf showed no embarrassment whatsoever.

This was undoubtedly another act of betrayal, this time abandoning the Farodi family instead. But coming from the dwarf's mouth, it sounded completely different, as if the Farodi family were the ones who had broken the alliance.

Before coming here, Munster had already devised a way to deal with Nice.

Nice was a member of the church, and his style of doing things was similar to other church members; he was adept at compromise, and he also carried a strong merchant's air about him. Dealing with merchants was the most troublesome, but also the easiest. Applying the rules of merchants to this matter would prevent Solard's behavior from being so despicable.

"Let's talk then, but there's one thing I need to say upfront. Solard and we originally had an agreement. Since Solard has torn up the agreement and allied with the Farodi family, then everything I promised is off the table."

Nis wasn't easily fooled. Although he intended to reach a new agreement with Solard, he still needed to demand something in return.

"No problem, everything according to the rules."

The dwarf didn't object. Even Solard himself didn't expect to receive the benefits Nis had promised before the war.

However, for both of them, it was all just fluff. Solard was nearing the end, and he wasn't a barbarian; he only knew Solard. There was no need to waste his energy on other barbarians.

Nis's mood immediately improved. He had promised many things, but due to the urgency of the situation, the barbarians were his strongest support, forcing him to lower his stance and offer exceptionally lenient terms. Now that the situation was settled, Solard's decision to break the agreement was exactly what he wanted.

"The king and I both know your next target is Pastmera, so we're going to give you a hand,"

the dwarf revealed their plan.

Niss raised an eyebrow slightly; he'd only just considered this possibility.

"If I want Pastmera, I can do it myself,"

Niss said, unwilling to agree so easily.

"Is it that easy? I know you have an inside man in Pastmera, and I know you promised the lords of Pastmera more power, so you'll have many supporters. But the Pastmera royal family isn't to be trifled with, and there are quite a few lords loyal to them. Don't be fooled by their loss of 30,000 men in Shamarne; when it comes to a life-or-death situation, the Pastmera can mobilize an army of hundreds of thousands. If you go on a killing spree, even your former supporters might turn against you."

The dwarf had already anticipated Niss's weakness.

Defeating a country isn't difficult, but conquering and occupying it is far more challenging.

During the centuries of the barbarians' greatest power, the coastal kingdoms trembled at the mere mention of their name. But centuries later, the barbarians had only occupied a few scattered island nations, forcing coastal kingdoms to cede territory, without conquering any land-based states.

"You intend for us to play the good guy?"

Nice laughed. "The Farodi family will surely see through our intentions; they will send troops to assist Pastmera."

"If Shamaen attacks Pastmera, won't the Farodi family send troops to assist?"

the dwarf said dismissively. "Our attack on Pastmera will definitely benefit you, because you can take the opportunity to attack Slovago. The Farodi family can't possibly defend both sides; compared to Pastmera, Slovago is far more important."

The dwarf's words left Nice with no room for further negotiation.

Nice's biggest fear was a repeat of Shamaen's defeat, and to conquer Pastmera, he would inevitably have to launch a strong attack on some important cities.

Having the barbarians play the villain would simplify things considerably.

The barbarians didn't need to forcefully attack any city; they only needed to plunder and inflict as much damage as possible on the Pastmerans. This would allow the Pastmeranian lords bribed by Nice to exert their influence.

If even a portion of the population were to fall for Elizabeth, coupled with the barbarian invasion and the potential threat of retaliation from Shamarn, the political situation in Pastmerans would certainly change.

A biting wind swept across the north, and the weather suddenly turned cold, with a thick layer of snow covering the land almost overnight.

On this boundless snowfield, a dozen or so troops were scattered and heading south.

The soldiers sat on sleds, their bodies wrapped in thick cotton clothing. The

sleds used for transporting troops were still the same thin, long kind, but now they had two long horizontal wooden planks, allowing soldiers to straddle them. The soldiers huddled together, close together, which at least kept them warm.

Even while traveling, they all carried large shields, with a crossbow concealed beneath them.

Nice had eliminated many enemies through ambushes, but naturally, he also had to guard against others doing the same to him.

Some sleds were loaded with provisions, fodder, tents, spears, arrows, and other supplies, the baggage train advancing alongside the soldiers—a consistent practice of Margaret's army.

Due to the heavy snow, the horses moved slowly, but this pace was still much faster than walking.

Suddenly, a commotion arose ahead, followed by the distant sound of bugles.

The drowsy soldiers were immediately awakened, and the sled drivers quickly stopped their horses.

The bugle sounded again, this time unlike the previous long blast; this time it was three long and three short blasts.

"We've encountered enemy troops ahead! Everyone dismount and prepare for battle!"

The order came from a figure who appeared to be a leader, a veteran who had survived the war eight years prior. Their strength might not be exceptional, some even disabled, but their experience was invaluable.

This hastily assembled army had a unique structure. These veterans weren't the leaders; they were called sergeants, responsible for interpreting orders.

Margaret's army was mostly hastily assembled, relying entirely on these veterans.

"Get off the sleds and get the weapons!"

someone shouted, the real leaders, most of them with fierce faces and scars on their bodies, clearly not benevolent.

Hearing the order, the soldiers immediately rushed to the sleds loaded with weapons, their movements incredibly swift.

Ahead of the column, the battle had already begun.

Approaching was a force of several hundred men, clearly unprepared for an encounter, and even less for the enemy's swift reaction.

The two sides were a marching column, their equipment completely different. One side carried weapons on sleds, including spears, battle axes, large shields, and light and heavy crossbows; the other side was on foot, carrying only a spear, with only a dozen or so carrying bows out of hundreds, and a limited number of arrows. The fighting strength of both sides was predictably weak.

After just one volley of arrows, only a few of the hundreds of soldiers remained standing, while Margaret's army had only three or five unlucky men hit.

"Stop! All of you stop shooting! Leave two alive!"

the leading knight shouted. His orders weren't very effective; this army was strong in combat, but their discipline was far worse.

"Stop shooting! Fifteen silver coins for a prisoner! You're killing people for money!"

a sergeant next to him yelled, clearly understanding the soldiers' thoughts better.

Hearing about the money, the soldiers immediately stopped shooting. These people were originally bandits or robbers, who didn't even care about their own lives, let alone the lives of their enemies. But for the sake of money, they were oblivious to everything.

"El, take two men and see if there are any survivors. If there are, ask them where they're from,"

the knight ordered.

An old soldier led three more obedient bandits over, each carrying a large shield in one hand and a crossbow in the other. Although the enemy opposite them was incapacitated, they couldn't be too careful about someone feigning death.

They were experts at this; bandits might lack other skills, but extortion and interrogation were their forte. So, they quickly dragged several barely alive men back to the knight.

"These guys are the garrison of Dona Castle, twenty-five kilometers from here,"

the veteran reported.

"It seems the Slovakians are prepared; they guessed we'd counterattack,"

the knight said, a hint of regret in his voice.

Perhaps influenced by Nice, or perhaps because of the substantial benefits they'd received recently, many knights in Margaret's camp no longer valued chivalry; they preferred to conquer territory effortlessly.

"Anyway, we're not going to fight a hard battle,"

the veteran remarked casually.

This is impossible in other places. The level difference between knights and soldiers is huge. Without the permission of the knights, the soldiers would never dare to say nonsense. But Chamaine is a little confused. Many veterans who experienced the war eight years ago have the title of knight. Although it is just an honorary title, it has neither territory nor inheritance rights, but the status is equal to that of the knights.

"Brother Slovo is so flat, why don't you just let us beat you up."

Another veteran said with unusual arrogance.

"It's a pity that we can only grab some people and some things."

The knight smacked his lips, he was in a bad mood.

Now the rear has begun to award rewards based on merit, and news has come that the territories allocated this time are all lands around big cities, so they are increasingly hoping to make contributions.

It is a pity that the attack on Slovogo was just to contain the energy of Slovogo and the Fadiro family. Her Majesty the Queen did not really want to conquer one or two pieces of land, so their offensive was loud but not rainy, and the credit they could gain was limited.

"Warn your men, once you've entered Slovagog, don't kill indiscriminately. Capture them alive if possible."

The knight, having lost his chance for glory, could only try to secure some small gains for himself.

Shaman was desperately short of men, and the Rosicrucian Order even more so, so prisoners were money.

"I'll teach them a lesson, those spendthrifts!"

an old soldier shouted.

Incredibly, the former bandits and robbers showed no sign of anger.

"I wonder how Ralph's army is doing?"

a knight asked, turning to look behind him.

"That guy's probably still intercepting fleeing soldiers and nobles trying to escape,"

the leading knight said enviously.

It was indeed a good job. Capturing fleeing soldiers was one thing—only fifteen silver coins per soldier, and they were hard to catch. The real money was in capturing nobles trying to escape; these people usually carried valuables, which could be used to extort ransom.

As the knight was complaining, he suddenly heard the sound of flapping wings overhead, and a pigeon flew down from the sky. He pulled out a red handkerchief and waved it frantically in the air.

The pigeon, seeing the waving handkerchief, immediately landed; a round tube, about the size of a thumb, was tied to its leg. The

knight pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper from the tube, glanced at it, and immediately became excited. He turned to the soldiers behind him and shouted, "Give it your all! Get to Taknorlon before nightfall! There are two thousand warhorses, over five thousand sets of chainmail, and over seven thousand iron armor suits there—that's a fortune!"

Hearing this, the bandits below roared with excitement.

The warhorses were obviously valuable, the chainmail was extremely expensive, and while the iron armor suits were cheaper, they could still fetch a good price.

The commotion reached the rear, and the soldiers there quickly learned of the news. These former bandits were now bursting with excitement.

With a target in sight, their pace quickened considerably.

Taknorlon was a small town some distance from the border, fortified by several castles, making it a relatively safe place.

Unfortunately, this troop formation was only effective against infantry-based armies, while Shaman's army employed a hybrid tactic developed by Niss after studying the battle methods of the Sylphurus and barbarians. This army, mounted on sleds, easily bypassed the castles and fortresses.

Taknorlon was now in sight, and the knights leading the troops saw smoke billowing over the town.

"No way? Did someone get here before us? Then we won't even have a drop of soup left!"

the leading knight cried out in anguish.

He wasn't the only one feeling this pain; his bandit soldiers felt the same way. At this moment, they all felt their greatest enemy wasn't the Slovakians, but their own bandits from their past.

They were all bandits, their looting skills were all roughly the same, and where they ransacked, not even doors or windows remained.

"Hurry up, we might be able to gain some advantage!"

an old soldier exclaimed, jumping up and down. Spending so much time with bandits had even instilled in them a bandit-like air.

"Hold on tight to the railings, advance as fast as you can... and get your weapons ready, there might be a battle!"

the knight shouted.

The order was quickly relayed, and the army began its charge.

Thick smoke billowed from the distant town, where two armies were locked in fierce combat. Sure enough, a bandit band was attacking outside the town, pushing sleds laden with arrows. These arrows were all as thick as a rolling pin, with rounded tips. The thick shafts were wrapped in linen soaked in kerosene, making them incredibly flammable and difficult to extinguish once lit.

The soldiers guarding the town numbered about two or three thousand, a considerable force, but unfortunately, they only had bows and arrows, not crossbows.

The people of the North were skilled archers; a longbow in their hands was no less powerful than a crossbow, though that referred to ordinary crossbows. The crossbows wielded by these bandits were specially made, with much longer limbs than regular crossbows. While not as powerful as a heavy crossbow, they were far superior to a longbow, and their firing speed was not slow either. Thus, in the exchange of fire, the town's defenders were suppressed and dared not peek out.

Just then, in the distance, snow dust billowed, and the sound of horses' hooves thundered like a haunting drumbeat.

The town's defenders didn't know if it was enemy troops or reinforcements arriving.

The bandit group outside the town, however, knew their own men had arrived. Instead of joy, their faces showed anxiety.

"Hurry, give it your all! We've been fighting for so long, don't let those guys get away with this!"

a knight shouted.

The bandits, who had been slowly pushing their sleds forward, suddenly became anxious upon hearing this and desperately pushed the sleds forward, while the soldiers behind them fired arrows incessantly, disregarding the cost of arrows.

A series of crashing sounds rang out as the sleds slammed into the high wall surrounding the town. The sleds flipped over, forming ladders that clung to the wall.

This was another reason why the sleds were made so thin and long. When defense was needed, they served as fortifications, as barriers; when attacking a city, they were springboards for crossing rivers and ladders for scaling walls.

The bandits pushing their sleds formed a line, climbing up the crossbars at the bottom of the sleds.

By the time they reached the top of the wall, another army had arrived. Seeing their comrades scaling the wall, the second bandit army didn't even bother to regroup. The soldiers on the sleds cut the reins of the horses pulling them and charged forward.

"Quickly! They haven't taken the town yet. If we break through, we'll get a share too!"

shouted a knight from the second army.

"Quickly! Get ahead of these shameless bastards!"

shouted a knight from the other army, seemingly possessed. 　　Just

as both sides were about to give their men another boost, a white flag 　　was 　　raised 　　on 　　the 　　high 　　wall 　　. 　　**********

... 　　"In Shamarne, we lost 30,000 men, all of them our most elite troops. Coupled with our severe food shortages, the people are in a state of panic. The Shamarne counterattack is so fierce, and they clearly intend to sabotage, not to storm any heavily fortified castles. This has caused immense panic." " 　　The Shamarne's offensive is extremely fierce, their style is somewhat like barbarians. They seize what they can, and if they can't take it, they burn it down… This is revenge, naked revenge," 　　a minister sighed. 　　"Even in the capital, rumors of the Shamarne's brutality are circulating. I've heard that every time they conquer a territory, they kill all the men, and capture the women and children. If we don't find a way to stop this panic, I fear it will lead to even greater chaos," 　　another minister chimed in. 　　"I didn't come here to listen to your complaints," 　　Antonio shook his balding head, looking deeply troubled. He knew the situation was dire. 　　"Although the Shamans keep causing trouble, they don't dare stray too far from the border. They'll be fine after a while. The biggest problem now is food. I'm worried they'll keep sending troops to harass us, constantly undermining our morale, and then launch a surprise attack when our food supplies run out." 　　It was the old knight who spoke again. 　　"Don't worry about the food; I have a way to solve it," 　　Antonio said through gritted teeth. Unlike Sebastian, he was willing to pay the price to protect his country. 　　He knew the Farodi family had forced Pastmera to hand over nearly half of their grain, of which only a portion went to Sebastian. The other half was hidden somewhere on the border between Slovagog and Pastmera. If he could pay a price that satisfied the Farodi family, he should be able to get a small share. 　　"If food isn't a problem, then we don't need to worry. The Shamarn's ferocity is partly to intimidate us, but more importantly, it's probably a show for the Pastmerans. If I'm not mistaken, that's their main target." 　　The old knight saw things very clearly. He didn't draw this conclusion from a political perspective; it was purely strategic. 　　Slovago and Shamarn are only partially connected, with a frontal border of no more than sixty kilometers, all mountainous. Trying to break through such a gap is not only difficult but also extremely risky. If Slovago and Pastmera join forces, they can easily close the gap, ensuring that any Shamarn army entering Slovagon never returns. 　　That young priest is a shrewd man; he wouldn't make such a mistake. So, his frenzied attack, like a mad dog, is clearly for another purpose. Besides Slovago, only Pastmera borders Shamarn, making the previous conclusion easy to reach. 　　"I think so too," 　　an elderly minister chimed in. "But it's enough that we know this; there's no need to explain it to outsiders. Let the people continue to panic for a while." 　　This man was known for his wisdom, so his words immediately garnered the approval of the crowd. 　　The squeaky wheel gets the grease. With the situation in Slovagoo tense, if the Farodi family didn't want to lose a staunch ally, they would likely offer something, perhaps even sending reinforcements. But if the situation in Slovagoo calmed down, and Pastmera became precarious, the Farodi family might force them to rescue Pastmera—wouldn't that be asking for trouble? 　　"We should also ask Pellmond for help," 　　the old knight added. 　　"Yes, this northward aid to Sebastian was the Farodi family's suggestion, and the commander of that final battle was also from the Farodi family. They've caused us so much trouble; they must be held responsible," 　　a minister said indignantly. 　　Someone had voiced everyone's thoughts, and the crowd echoed their sentiments. 　　King Antonio had been waiting for this remark. He had already suspected that Shaman's target might be Pastemila, but he pretended to be oblivious. As king, he was under even greater pressure and certainly wouldn't put others before himself.

Furthermore, he didn't believe Pastmera could hold out; he had a premonition that the barbarians and Queen Margaret would join forces once more.

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

While the war raged on in Slovagog, the palace in Demolish was a scene of bustling activity. A large group of people, dressed in their finest attire, stood in the palace hall. Among them, Murphy stood out. He was no longer dressed as a barbarian, but instead wore a short barbarian shawl draped over his shoulders.

Murphy and Baini's tribes had made significant contributions in this war, and both had been granted the title of baron. However, according to custom, heretics could not hold titles, so the two, like Delia and the others, were baptized under the supervision of Dean Gloriel, converting to the embrace of God.

Murphy was still wearing a barbarian cloak, while Byrne dressed like everyone else. He also had investments in the Rose Cross Trading Company, and with the recent wars that had resulted in the capture of several wealthy castles and the plundering of valuable goods, they were now all quite wealthy, dressed in lavish attire.

The ceremony had just ended, and the newly crowned barons were all congratulating each other, a way of cultivating relationships, ensuring that for at least the next century, Shamarn would rule their families.

Surrounded in the center was Luke, holding a thick stack of contracts—all agreements between the new barons and the Rose Cross Trading Company, authorizing the company to manage their lands. Of course, the annual profit distribution varied somewhat; those with close relationships, like Sylvia, Emily, and Xingna, received 120%, while those with less close relationships split it 20/80.

Luke looked exceptionally energetic; he was now a baron himself, something he could never have imagined a year ago—that he would gain both territory and a title in such a short time.

Not only him, but all the main members of the Rosicrucian Order, except for Ister, also received the title of Baron. Palm, who fought his way through the war, needed no introduction; his achievements were earned through his own merit. Merlot, responsible for procuring provisions to ensure Margaret's men didn't go hungry while fighting, deserved the greatest credit. Therefore, despite spending most of his time in the south and not participating in the entire war, no one questioned his Baron title during the rewards ceremony. On the contrary, many people were unhappy that Luke received the title.

The protagonist of this victory celebration was naturally Nice, but he hid in a corner of the hall standing with Gloria. Both were wearing priestly robes; Gloria's was an episcopal robe, white with gold trim and two gold-embroidered ribbons hanging down the front.

This Abbot of the Hidden Bag, at Nice's suggestion and with Margaret's approval, had become the Theocrat of the Chamarne local church.

The Papacy was currently inactive. Margaret, in the name of Queen Chamarne, signed an appointment letter and sent it to the Papacy. The official appointment came down three days later.

Gloria became the Theological Bishop, and the status of the original members of the Abbey naturally rose.

Among the dozens of bishops in the Abbey, some were interested in power, and since Chamarne was currently short of a large number of bishops, these people naturally filled the positions.

Normally, bishops should be selected from local priests or appointed by the Papacy, but at this moment, even the papacy was vacant, so everything was a matter of a single word.

Those who weren't interested in power were also doing well. Nice had promised to build dozens of abbeys, and these bishops were all designated as abbey deans.

The abbey dean's status wasn't as high as a bishop's, but the benefits were greater. Bishops had to obey orders from above, while the abbey deans didn't have to obey anyone's orders.

The bishop's income mainly comes from donations from parish believers and the sale of indulgences, holy water, and holy oil. The monastery also accepts donations, sells holy water and oil, and offers services such as copying Bibles, praying, and confession. However, the most profitable income comes from the properties under the monastery's name.

"With such generous terms, I really don't know what you plan to do?"

Glorier said with a pained expression.

"Didn't Bolt invent the heavy plow? I plan to have him try to make a heavy plow with twenty plowshares. I also want to use centralized seedling cultivation; Vincent is already building a seedling transplanter."

Nice was very confident. Besides, he had no intention of growing wheat or other grains; these things don't fetch good prices, after all, grain prices can't stay this high forever.

Right now, everyone is speculating, which is why grain prices are soaring irrationally. In reality, many people can no longer afford such high prices, and a return to reasonable levels is inevitable.

Once prices fall, planting grain becomes unprofitable, especially since all grain crops have long growing cycles, and only the seeds are usable; the roots, stems, and leaves are only good for firewood.

Nice has decided to plant black beans on some land. Black beans yield more than wheat, the stalks can be used as fodder, and planting beans doesn't deplete the soil's fertility; in fact, it helps maintain the land and shortens the fallow period.

Other land will be planted with valuable crops like cotton, flax, and rapeseed. These crops themselves aren't very valuable, but once processed into cloth and oil, their value increases many times over.

These two commodities account for a large proportion of trade with the barbarians, and even selling them domestically can generate considerable profits.

"What about the farmers who used to cultivate the land?"

Gloriel wasn't as greedy as he'd imagined; otherwise, he wouldn't have become a hermit.

"At least while I'm alive, Shamarne will only ever be short of manpower, never without work,"

Nice said.

"I know you plan to turn all the farmers into laborers."

Glorill shook his head; he wasn't optimistic about it.

Farmers were tied to the land, their income meager but stable, while laborers were different.

In the south, in those city-state alliances, more and more farmers were indeed becoming laborers, and this trend was more pronounced in more prosperous areas, but that was based on having enough job opportunities. He couldn't see any similar opportunities here.

"Back when I first arrived at the Hidden House, could you have guessed what would happen today?"

Nice didn't argue, but instead asked.

Glorill was taken aback, speechless.

Indeed, three years ago, when Nice first arrived in Admont, Glorill at most felt that this young man had potential, never imagining that he could reach such heights in just a few years, let alone that the entire Hidden House would benefit from it.

"I have a lot of faith in him, so I entrusted everything to him."

Margaret appeared behind the two of them at some point. However, she still gave the same impression as before, as if she didn't care much about anything.

Seeing Margaret's appearance, Nice knew she had fully recovered and was no longer confused.

"I heard Emily mention that glass-domed house. Could you build me one like that? It doesn't need to be big; I'm not a lavish queen."

Margaret rarely asked Nice for anything.

"And what about this palace?"

Nice pointed to the ground.

"Keep it closed. I don't like this place; it has a...old feel to it."

Margaret frowned slightly.

Nice knew what Margaret meant.

This palace held only painful memories for Margaret. She was born here, but shortly after, she was taken away and given to others to raise.

Eight years ago, she impersonated her sister and, after countless hardships, reclaimed the palace from the Pastmerans, only to be driven out by her sister soon after.

"Your Majesty, your will is an order,"

Nice said, feigning importance.

Deep down, Nice also felt that maintaining such a palace was far too burdensome.

The palace covered over forty acres and had more than two hundred rooms. When Sebastian lived here, there were over two thousand palace guards, not counting the royal guard.

Nice had visited the royal city of Columbiany. Although he hadn't entered the palace, he had heard from Prince Philip that the palace there was similar in size to this one, but with less than half the number of people. The reason was that Columbiany was too poor to afford extravagance .

Nice believed that comfort was paramount in a place of residence, followed by security.

"Here, it snows heavily in winter, so building a glass dome might not be easy. However, I promise you a refined and comfortable new palace,"

Nice promised.

"I hope it won't be a waste of resources!"

Old man Andersia wobbled over.

"When have I ever wasted resources?"

Nice retorted.

Nice had a good reputation in this regard; his projects were never outrageously expensive, yet always top-notch.

"I plan to move the new palace outside the city. When I first came here, I had my eye on a scenic spot. It's higher than the surrounding area, making it easy to defend. After the new palace is built, the number of palace guards can be reduced to five hundred, and the number of personal guards can also be reduced."

Nis quickly came up with some ideas.

The spot he mentioned was the hill where his men had been stationed when he infiltrated Demoli under the cover of Trihun's inside man.

"Isn't this going to mean building a new city?"

Old Man Andrusia felt uneasy.

Andrusia's words made sense. Historically, princes and ministers liked to live near the palace, so once the new palace moved out of the city, they would definitely buy land and build houses in that area. The nobles would follow suit, and it would become a new noble district.

With so many important figures concentrated together, they would definitely need thick walls to protect their safety. In this way, it would be like building a new city right next to Demoli.

"I plan to transform the old town into a thriving commercial district, the former noble district into a high-class district, and the former commoners' district into a regular commercial district... and move the residential areas outside the city,"

Nice said, lost in thought.

Margaret was somewhat stunned. She had only said it casually, yet it had turned into such a massive plan. This was equivalent to expanding Demore several times over, almost approaching the size of Iberia.

"How is this possible?"

Viscount Andrea had witnessed the miracles Nice had created and shouldn't have had any doubts. However, he knew Shamarn too well; he was certain that even the Rose Cross Trading Company wouldn't have the financial resources to support such a massive plan.

"How could it be impossible? Let me do the math."

Nice held up one finger. "First, I'll move the palace to the outskirts. The princes and ministers will move with them. Land outside the city is much cheaper, and the price difference is enough to build a one-acre manor. The nobles will also move. All of this won't cost too much money, and the reconstruction process can be more rationally planned. In my opinion, the original noble district is really terrible, incomparable to the Soul-level areas in the South."

He used his tried-and-true tactic again, using belittling to stir up the other party's vanity.

Even old man Andrusia fell for this trick; no one wants to see their country inferior to others.

Nice held up a second finger. "The land around Demoli has already been distributed. In the future, many nobles will move here, which will bring a lot of demand. Most of the nobles who remain now made a fortune in the war, and some of them will consider investing, either in land or in commerce."

Andrusia rolled his eyes when he heard this. The Rose Cross Trading Company managed the land for the nobles with extremely favorable conditions; only an idiot would invest in land under such circumstances.

Having witnessed the prosperity of Five Peaks Town, the nobles all understood how high the profits could be from commercial investment. So, what appeared to be two choices were actually only one.

Nice raised a third finger: "Demolley has gathered so many business opportunities; it will definitely attract merchants and wealthy people who will invest here, turning it into a commercial city."

Initially, Nice was just speaking casually, trying to justify his statement, but gradually, he realized the plan had a high probability of success. Not only that, another, even grander plan emerged in his mind.

To make Demolley a commercial center, a place where wealth was concentrated, and then to transform Wofford Town into a manufacturing center, a place where wealth was created. He could establish a complete commercial system based on the structure of those city-state alliances. However, this would make the position of Five Peaks Town somewhat awkward.

After a moment's hesitation, Nice finally made his choice. After all, the relationship between the Rosicrucians and Prince Philip was certainly not as close as their relationship with Margaret.

Furthermore, one is the future king, and the other is the existing queen. Although Shaman isn't as large as Anlengoth, with Pastermira and the alliance of Trihun, the gap between the two isn't that significant.

More importantly, besides the barbarian tribes behind it, Shaman has no other powerful enemies. Even if the Farodi family wanted to cause trouble, they would have to get past Trihun and Pastermira first, unlike Anlengoth, which is surrounded by enemies and can only survive in the cracks.

"You plan to use money to buy off the nobles of Shaman?"

Viscount Andrasia saw through Nice's thoughts.

"You're right, that's what I planned from the beginning. The power of the country should be concentrated in the hands of the monarch, the power to manage the country should be distributed among the nobles, and wealth should be available to everyone, just in varying amounts."

Nice stated his ideal.

This ideal obviously conflicted somewhat with Viscount Andrasia's, but the old man didn't say anything. The conflict between them was only a difference in ideology; both wanted Shaman to become better. Besides, the old man didn't dare to compete with Nice in business.

While everyone in Demoli's palace was celebrating for Scythia, a group of lords were gathered in a small prayer room in a church in the Kingdom of Pastmera.

It was Bishop Rom's prayer room, and no one could break in.

"You've all heard about Shamarn's counterattack on Slovagog, haven't you?"

Bishop Rom began by bringing up this worrying matter.

The lords all nodded. Pastrmira and Slovagog were adjacent, with a border of five hundred kilometers between them. Whatever happened there, they would know immediately here.

"I heard that Slovagog suffered heavy losses. The Shamaren had no intention of occupying any land; they were just here to cause destruction."

"I also heard that the residents of the two northeastern provinces of Slovagog are moving to safer places." "

The Shamaren seem to be offering fifteen silver coins per person. Every time they conquer a place, they frantically capture people and transport them to the rear to become serfs."

"When they leave, they burn everything they can't take with them."

"..."

The lords chattered, their voices filled with panic.

"I can also tell you something else: the barbarians have sided with Margaret again,"

Bishop Rom sighed softly.

The lords were not surprised by this news.

This was obvious. After the Battle of Fakorandel, the Shamaran army didn't move north to defend against the barbarians; instead, they immediately marched south to retaliate against Slovago. Anyone with eyes could see that the Shamaran had re-established an agreement with the barbarians.

There was no surprise, but there was fear.

At that time, the five-nation coalition was gathered in Demolish, and the barbarian army was also making a major southward advance. Everyone in Margaret's camp was terrified. Even old man Andersia's confidence wavered, and he secretly surrendered to the coalition. Now, the situation of these Pastmeranian lords was similar.

The Shamaran army was indeed not as large as the coalition army, but there was a long border between the two countries. The Shamaran army could invade from anywhere, and based on their tactics in Slovago, they could definitely turn the Kingdom of Pastmeranian into ruins, and it would take decades for them to recover.

"We must make a choice. Our King is simply a puppet of the Farodi family and has no regard for the Kingdom of Pastmeranian at all."

Bishop Rom looked at the lords. These lords he had invited had no connection with the royal family.

"What are their conditions?"

Those who came here already knew the purpose of their trip. Bishop Rom had hinted at this beforehand, but because the situation in Shamarne was uncertain, no one was willing to make a hasty decision. Now, however, things were different. The allied forces had suffered a crushing defeat, almost completely annihilated. Shamarne and the barbarians had reunited and were displaying a frenzied posture of revenge. If they didn't make a choice now, it would be too late.

"They promised to establish a council of elders like the former empire. The monarch would be the nominal supreme ruler, with real power in the hands of the council. The council would be composed of representatives elected by princes, nobles, and local lords. Each province could establish its own council of elders to decide the affairs of that province,"

Bishop Rom explained, recounting the conditions he had negotiated with Nice.

These conditions were extremely lenient, granting the lords almost all autonomy without allowing them to act independently. If conflicts of interest arose among the lords, there would be local arbitration. Most importantly, this system had been prevalent for five or six centuries in the previous empire, proving its feasibility.

"Perhaps we don't need to rush into a decision,"

suggested an older lord.

The elderly often preferred a cautious approach.

However, some of these lords were astute. One immediately scoffed, "They probably won't give you a chance to delay. Haven't you noticed? They'll initially give the other side a choice, but once the deadline has passed, they won't give a second chance."

This remark drew a chorus of agreement.

Historically, wars between nations have encouraged surrender, as it significantly reduces the difficulty of attack and gives both sides' generals ample options, making the fighting much more peaceful. Giving only one chance, like Nice did, and then no further opportunities after the initial rejection, is entirely a practice of the Jochirus.

The Jochirus offer surrender opportunities before attacking; if the enemy doesn't surrender, and the Jochirus win, not a single soldier survives. In a city, all men are slaughtered, even children taller than a cartwheel are killed; only women and infants are spared.

Nice wasn't that cruel, but those who had given up their chance earlier, though not dead, would lose everything.

"You already know that man's style, so I won't say more,"

Bishop Rom warned, his tone neither too harsh nor too blunt.

"That man has a good reputation; cooperating with him will always yield some benefits. As for the royal family..."

one lord spoke first.

Speaking of the Pastmeranian royal family, those present were indeed somewhat disappointed. Eight years ago, it was supposed to be a joyous occasion—the two countries merged through marriage, and everyone could benefit. Unexpectedly, William V murdered his brother and usurped the throne, triggering war.

Eight years ago, some were already dissatisfied with the royal family, but although Pastmeranian had participated in that war, its own losses were not significant, and it hadn't felt threatened. Furthermore, William V's death gradually quelled the discontent. But this time was different. The unbearable losses and the impending catastrophe quickly turned discontent into resentment.

Another reason for the lords' anger towards the king was that he had previously ordered them to hand over half of the grain produced in their territories—a considerable sum at a time of soaring grain prices.

"It's not worth dragging us down with us for the sake of a fratricide's family,"

another lord declared.

With one person starting, the rest became much easier. The lords who had been invited had already weighed the pros and cons. Having heard Bishop Rom state the other party's conditions, they had already made their choice in secret.

Chapter 3 ◆ The Pastmerans' Choice

The sounds of clashing swords, trampling hooves, and screams filled the air.

Thick smoke billowed into the sky, and fires raged everywhere.

In just one week, over two hundred villages, fifty towns, and two medium-sized cities had fallen to the barbarian army, and the entire north of Pastmera was filled with weeping.

However, at this moment, only a portion of the Pastmeranian Kingdom's army was concentrated in the north; the majority was gathered on the border bordering Shamarn. For the Pastmerans, Shamarne, with whom they had fought two wars in eight years, was the true enemy.

"That grandson of the Farodi family has completely abandoned his country!" "The current royal family is nothing but a puppet controlled by the Farodi family."

"Where has all the grain we surrendered gone?"

"Our grain, our lives, our wealth, are all serving the Farodi family's ambitions."

"The descendants of those who would kill their brothers for personal gain have no right to sit on the throne."

"..."

More and more words detrimental to the royal family spread throughout the kingdom, and the panic brought by the barbarian invasion gradually turned into hatred.

Amidst the rampant rumors, the conditions offered by Nice were also secretly communicated, and all the lords and nobles already knew about them.

When the news reached the palace and the ears of King Berthes of Pastmera, the king was filled with anxiety.

Berthes was very young; his father, William the fratricide, had died at the young age of twenty-five, and he had been placed on the throne eight years earlier at the age of nine. This year

, he had just turned seventeen. What troubled Berthes even more was that for the past eight years, the real power had been held by Queen Mother Rebecca. Just a few days ago, the Queen Mother had hastily returned power to him, and before he could even savor the taste of power, he heard this news.

At this moment, in the small conference room, Berthes sat on the throne with a worried expression. Behind him sat his mother, and before him sat a group of trusted ministers.

"The situation is terrible. I want to know how many lords are on my side?"

Berthes asked weakly. In contrast, his state of mind was much better than Sebastian's; there was no frustration or despair, nor hysteria.

The trusted ministers below remained silent for a long while before someone whispered, "The most optimistic estimate is that only about 30% of the lords will stand on our side."

Hearing this number, Beltes gave a bitter smile; he knew very well why. For eight years, his mother had controlled the court, appointing almost exclusively people related to the Farodi family, which had long since aroused the dissatisfaction of the local lords.

"What is the attitude of the various countries? Can they send reinforcements?"

Beltes was now desperate, and as he spoke, he glanced over, but to his dismay, his mother looked helpless.

"Because of the rebellion in Tehun, most of Pelmond's forces are tied down. Divar is somewhat indecisive and unreliable. The only one left is Slovago, but they are under attack from the Shamaren and are hoping we can help them!"

a commander sighed.

"With our own forces, how long can we hold out if we choose to defend?"

Beltes was still somewhat unwilling to give up.

Bertes still harbored a slight desire to compare himself to Nice. In terms of age, they were roughly the same, and in terms of foundation, Bertes was undoubtedly superior. However, Nice was already renowned throughout the land, while he remained unknown. How could this young king tolerate such a situation? "Your Majesty," 　　the minister who had spoken earlier said, voicing his deepest fear,

"what I'm worried about now is that the Shamaren people won't attack us at all. They only need to continue fanning the flames, and the lords will rise up and overthrow us themselves." 　　Deposing a king was never difficult. Even if the king still had a group of supporters willing to risk their lives and their families' fates, that was impossible. Ultimately, the weaker side would inevitably compromise. "There is a way," 　　the commander suggested. 　　"If Your Majesty could display your prowess and boost morale with a victory, I believe the lords wouldn't make their choice so hastily." 　　Hearing this, everyone cast strange glances at the commander. 　　It was undeniably a good idea; a single victory could immediately change the situation. 　　However, this idea was also a terrible one. They had watched the young king grow up and knew his capabilities perfectly well. The young priest, though younger than His Majesty, had never fought a single battle, and in his last battle, he had kept everyone in the dark, burying hundreds of thousands of soldiers in a landslide. He was a renowned general. 　　Few among them would be willing to let their king clash with such a general. 　　The young king was stunned. He too had the urge to challenge Nice, but reason told him he couldn't. 　　Seeing the king's hesitation, the commander who had made the suggestion felt a pang of sadness. He knew the situation was hopeless. 　　If their king had the courage, with the resources of the Farodi family and the Kingdom of Pastmera, assembling a 10,000-strong elite army would be no problem. Then, they could demand a direct confrontation, and even if they suffered a defeat, it wouldn't be a crushing one. They could also show the lords of Pastmera their king's courage. Unfortunately, their king lacked even this much courage. 　　"The king refused the proposal to have a decisive battle with them." 　　"What a cowardly king." 　　"What can you expect from a child raised in the arms of the rich?" 　　"Why hasn't the Farodi family made any move at this time?" 　　"I heard that Permond has sent some reinforcements to Slofgo, but none have come to us. We've been abandoned by the Farodi family." 　　More rumors circulated secretly in Pastmera. The lords and nobles who were initially hesitant gradually changed their stance. After all, no one wanted to stand with a coward; such a person always fights desperately, taking all the benefits. 　　A few days later, an even greater panic shook Pastmera. 　　The important northern town of Bernier was forcibly breached by barbarians using dozens of fire-and-mine railguns. The barbarians had never used such powerful weapons before. Anyone with half a brain could guess that the ones operating these fire-and-mine railguns were the Shamarans. 　　The day after the news arrived, a large group of lords rushed to the church where Bishop Rom was located. 　　Bishop R?hm was not in the church. Since openly siding with the Shamaren and becoming their agent, he had gone into hiding for his own safety, though he maintained contact with the church. 　　At dusk, Bishop R?hm finally appeared. 　　Upon seeing the angry lords, he preemptively said, "I must tell you some bad news. The Shamaren are impatient; they don't intend to delay indefinitely." 　　This news was like a bucket of cold water poured over his head. 　　"If the Shamaren want war, we may not be afraid. They are not the only ones in this world with the courage to defend their homeland," 　　one lord exclaimed. 　　"I'm sorry, but if they choose war, the situation wouldn't be so bad. The problem is that they only want revenge," 　　Bishop R?hm said gravely. 　　The lords all understood what revenge meant; the tragedy unfolding in the north would spread to every corner of the Kingdom of Pastmera. 　　In the past, when the Papacy's influence was strong, such unrestrained retaliation would have been absolutely unacceptable, and neighboring countries would have intervened. However, the Papacy is now preoccupied with its own problems, while the countries surrounding Pastmera are merely bystanders. 　　What worries them even more is that the Shamans might not be carrying out their retaliation themselves, but rather through the barbarians. In that case, even the Papacy would turn a blind eye. Although the barbarians are not as powerful as before, no one dares to provoke them. 　　The lords, who had initially come with a burning rage to demand justice, were suddenly demoralized by this series of news. 　　Ultimately, these Pastmeranian lords had no intention of fighting. 　　The reason is simple: the Shamans are after the throne, not to seize Pastmera's lands, and the Shamans have offered excellent terms. The lords will fight to defend their lands and interests, but they will not sacrifice their lives for a puppet king.

"I told you, make your choice early. That person will only give you one chance,"

Bishop Rom said with utter helplessness.

He was indeed helpless. When he met with Nice before, he held a higher position, but now the roles were completely reversed.

With Margaret holding the throne of Shamarne and Nice becoming the de facto prime minister, the bishop found himself losing control of the situation.

"What do you suggest we do?"

the lords finally asked, voicing their most pressing question.

For a while, they had only been secretly conspiring without taking any concrete action. This was partly because no one had stepped forward to lead, and partly out of a sliver of hope that the Shamarne would take a hard line.

Now they had the answer, and the worst kind at that. They dared not be as negligent as before.

"What we need most now is to show our stance, such as by establishing a council of elders,"

Bishop Rom proposed, a suggestion that appealed to the lords present.

Although Nice had promised all lords corresponding power, everyone knew there would be favoritism, and those who expressed their support first would undoubtedly receive more.

"Or some of us could go south to welcome Her Majesty the Queen,"

a quick-witted lord immediately suggested.

"To ensure the safety of the Elders' Council, we must organize an army,"

another lord said.

At the mention of forming an army, everyone's eyes turned to Bishop R?hm.

"Why don't we appoint you as the army's commander-in-chief?"

The other lords didn't immediately understand, but once they did, they clapped their hands in agreement.

As a member of the Church, appointing R?hm as commander would easily be interpreted as a Church decision, implying Church support.

Besides, appointing any lord as commander would affect the formation of the Elders' Council; having Bishop R?hm in that position would be impossible to conceal, as he couldn't possibly be a member of the Elders' Council.

The lords weren't worried about the Archbishop of Pellmond intervening, because it would be useless. After the war, the churches of Shamarne, Pastemira, and possibly Trihon would certainly break away from the Grand Diocese.

Bishop R?hm wasn't prepared at all, but he could easily guess the lords' intentions.

He didn't object to being pushed to the front lines; it would actually make him safer, much better than his current state of hiding.

"If you all insist, I will gladly oblige,"

Bishop Rom said, puffing out his chest.

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

No one expected that Nice was neither in Demolish nor on the front lines at this time.

For him, the war was over; all that remained were some cleanup tasks. Neither Slovago nor Pastemira was likely to wage a major battle.

He was now comfortably residing in Shewood Valley.

The valley was still the same valley, but the vegetation here was completely transformed. Several rows of hidden holes had appeared on both sides of the mountain walls, through which one could vaguely see a cannon.

The thatched-roof barracks that once stood in the valley had now been replaced by the three-story, pointed-roof houses designed by Nice, all the facilities completely changed. The only thing that remained unchanged was the ancient bathhouse deep within the valley.

A large group of goddess warriors were crammed into the bathroom, their faces flushed, their eyes filled with lust. They were completely naked, their buttocks facing outwards and their heads inwards, sprawled on a long oak table.

At one end of the table, Nice was holding a woman's buttocks, his penis deeply inserted into the goddess warrior's vagina.

"Ah—"

the goddess warrior cried out softly, her brow furrowing slightly. The first time Nice's enormous member penetrated her, it was always a little unbearable.

Her sound was both painful and pleasurable, eliciting a burst of laughter. However, the other goddess warriors knew their turn would come sooner or later, so even as they laughed, a hint of shyness appeared on their faces.

Nice slowly but powerfully thrust in, his large glans grinding against the bottom of her vagina. He could feel the goddess warrior's small mouth half-open at the base of her vagina.

Unlike when he acquired Xingna, this time Niss didn't have time to take his time. With so many goddess warriors, it would take forever to seduce them all; he couldn't possibly have time to build chemistry with each one.

No time, so he had to resort to force.

Niss injected a surge of sexual energy into the woman's vagina.

His method was absolutely effective; the moment it entered, the small opening at the base of her vagina immediately opened, sucking on his glans with considerable suction.

Enjoying the exquisite sensation of being sucked, Niss didn't want to pull out immediately. He lay on the woman's naked back, cupping her ample breasts in his hands and gently kneading them, his index and middle fingers pinching and teasing each nipple.

Niss didn't use any special techniques, barely even moving, but the goddess warrior couldn't take it anymore. She felt a surge of heat flow into her vagina, then spread to various sensitive areas inside her. Every place it touched made her unbearably itchy.

If she could, she really wanted to scratch herself hard. What drove her mad was that these unbearably itchy spots were located deep inside her.

The goddess warrior struggled violently, but she couldn't move. Her body was limp and powerless, causing her soft flesh to tremble and create waves of flesh.

Nice loved this look in women; her wanton appearance only fueled his desire. He thrust forcefully, each time withdrawing completely before plunging back in, then thrusting twice more to forcefully pry open her mouth slightly, simultaneously intensifying his sexual assault on her beautiful body.

The goddess warrior groaned loudly. Northern women are different from southern women; they are fiery and don't hide their emotions. Their performance in bed is more intense, and when aroused, their voices become louder. Groans are considered mild; some women even babble incoherently.

Nice enjoyed women being flirtatious, and naturally, he also enjoyed women moaning in bed. The only thing that displeased him about Margaret was that she was too quiet and couldn't get wild enough, unlike Princess Anna and Emily. Those two girls were quite something when they moaned; they'd even say things like "brother" and "father.

" "Ah—ah—harder—my son—you're my son—"

The goddess warrior had reached a point of ecstasy and couldn't control her mouth anymore.

Her moans drew laughter and made Nice incredibly embarrassed.

"Slap! Slap!"

Nice slapped the goddess warrior's buttocks hard several times, each slap leaving a bright red handprint.

To Nice's surprise, the harder he hit, the stronger the goddess warrior's reaction, and the more absurd her incoherent ramblings became. Helpless, Nice had no choice but to get down to business.

He withdrew his hands and pulled a vine from under the table. A walnut-sized bulb covered in roots hung from its base. He rubbed it around the goddess warrior's anus before inserting it.

This caused an uproar. The woman screamed, her eyes widened, her body trembled violently, and her vagina tightened.

Nice's other hand was pressed against the woman's labia, two fingers twisting her clitoris. A surge of energy shot in, like a floodgate being opened, releasing the energy contained within the goddess warrior's vulva.

This energy was somewhere between holy and magical power, with characteristics of barbarian internal energy.

Nice dared not absorb too much; this energy was not only chaotic but also possessed strong elemental properties, fierce and violent, seemingly intent on destroying everything.

This was the first time Nice had attempted to extract power from someone else's vulva.

Nice had this idea because Emily always stole his magic power during sex. Emily is a dual chosen one of the goddesses of vengeance and the god of messengers, and the ability to steal others' power may be a gift from the god of messengers.

Nice himself is also a chosen one of the god of messengers, and he wanted to test if he could do the same.

Nice succeeded; his ability was clearly superior to Emily's.

Emily steals others' power, only a small portion at a time, while he plunders.

If Nice wanted, he could absorb at most half a portion of the goddess warrior's energy completely. However, digesting this energy became a bottleneck.

Of the energy that humans can generate, the easiest to digest and most compatible with humans is definitely holy power, followed by the knight's battle aura and the barbarian's hidden strength. They all cause some damage to humans, which explains the rapid decline in strength after the age of forty. The least compatible with humans is magic, but this needs further subdivision. Magic has ten major systems, among which elemental, necromancy, and curses are the most damaging to humans. Force, prophecy, and summoning are relatively better. The only ones unaffected are spirit, life, transformation, and illusion.

The energy within the Goddess Warriors possesses elemental properties, somewhat resembling internal energy, which explains why, despite so many Goddess Warriors, few have become super-powerful beings.

They also lack the methods of elemental mages.

Elemental mages gradually transform their bodies into elements during the refining process.

Those archmages specializing in elemental magic can transform into flames or lightning to fly because they can briefly become elemental lifeforms, and their ultimate goal is to completely transform themselves into elemental lifeforms, thus gaining eternal life.

Without similar methods, the path the Goddess Warriors have followed is like jutting out from a precipice—not only rugged and difficult but also extremely dangerous. In a sense, abandoning this power might not be a bad thing for them.

According to the original agreement, after the war, the Goddess Warriors will gather for baptism, converting to God. This change of faith will significantly weaken their power, requiring a new infusion of strength.

Nice has already given them the secret methods of the Paisons sect, and they have begun refining them.

Now is the time to utilize this soon-to-be-lost resource while their faith remains unchanged and their power is still intact.

Niss carefully controlled this violent, unruly, and chaotic energy, gradually integrating it into his own.

Niss's energy was also a mixture of magic and holy power, but the various energies within him could transform into one another, all their properties tightly blended together, like clay, volcanic ash, and lime mixed together to form mortar—a mixture, yet perfectly unified.

This external energy, merging into his own, was like sand and pebbles mixed into mortar; not completely integrated, but becoming a harder and stronger concrete. The pebbles, originally sharp and angular, were no longer sharp or hurtful when encased in mortar.

After circulating within his energy, Niss focused it back onto his genitals, thrusting forcefully, injecting the energy back into the goddess warrior's energy.

With each thrust and withdrawal, each inhale and exhale, Niss enjoyed the pleasure of sex while simultaneously refining his techniques on the goddess warrior's body.

He wasn't working in vain; during the process, thirty percent of the energy was consumed, and he kept one-tenth of the remaining seventy percent.

After thrusting into the goddess warrior for about five minutes, Nice withdrew.

Although Nice had left her, the goddess warrior still trembled and lay there, panting softly, her vagina slightly open, the opening opening and closing intermittently, a thick, translucent fluid flowing from the opening, trailing a long tail as it dripped onto the ground.

She would remain in this state; every sensitive part of her vagina had been planted with the seeds of love, these seeds were taking root and sprouting, constantly releasing pleasure throughout the process, yet never bringing her to orgasm.

Nice then moved behind another goddess warrior.

That goddess warrior seemed impatient and actually moved closer. Her movements were exceptionally skillful; she reached out and grabbed Nice's penis, smoothly inserting it into her vagina, then a look of ecstasy appeared on her face, and a seductive moan escaped her nose.

Nice felt incredibly comfortable. The woman was not only skilled and adept, but what was even more amazing was that her vagina was a masterpiece. The opening was like two fleshy bands, incredibly tight inside, and the small mouth at the bottom seemed capable of opening completely, as if it could be inserted into the uterus with just a little force.

"Want to try my back later?"

the goddess warrior teased Nice, turning her head and smiling seductively at him.

This was absolutely the most alluring smile Nice had ever seen. He immediately felt a surge of heat coursing through his lower abdomen, and his penis swelled up.

This woman had a pointed chin and a pair of slender, almond-shaped eyes, with slightly upturned eyebrows. In terms of beauty, she was comparable to Margaret, Xingna, and Emily, but she exuded a bewitching aura unlike any other woman.

She was definitely a ruthless enchantress who would devour men without spitting out the bones.

Most goddess warriors were rather promiscuous and casual about sex, but they also had a strong personality, so such exceptional women were rare.

Nice swallowed hard, forcing himself to calm down; business was more important now.

However, he had already secretly decided to add this incredibly alluring woman to his personal guard, to have his way with her whenever he had a chance—the sensation would surely be wonderful.

Cupping her round, large buttocks in his hands, Nice squeezed the two mounds of flesh. They were smooth and soft, jiggling with every slight pressure.

Nice then touched the woman's abdomen; it was flat, without an ounce of fat, but soft, slippery, and moist—proof of childbirth.

The women, their buttocks raised and waiting to be penetrated, were all between thirty and forty years old, all of them had given birth, their bodies exuding a mature allure.

Nice chose women based on their temperament and beauty, not their age. Mature women knew better how to please men, their lovemaking skills far superior.

At this moment, he felt his penis enjoying unprecedented care. This woman's strength was not as great as Xingna's, but her lovemaking skills were definitely superior.

"You're really strong. This thing is really good. I didn't quite believe it when Elena first mentioned it, but now I do,"

the woman moaned to herself.

Niss didn't ask about her relationship with Elena.

According to his agreement with Xingna, he would have sex with all the goddess warriors under forty, even Sasha, who had never given him a kind look before; he would at least penetrate her a few times.

He didn't know how many mother-daughter pairs would be among them, so he'd play dumb to avoid embarrassment.

Besides, he planned to select his favorite goddess warriors to form a personal guard.

Beauty and temperament are hereditary; if the mother is beautiful, the daughter is likely to be beautiful too. So, if things went wrong, there would be many mother-daughter pairs in the guard, which was why Niss decided to play dumb from the start.

He pulled a vine from under the table and, as if possessed, inserted the bulb at the end of the vine into the alluring woman's anus.

The woman he was penetrating immediately let out a soft giggle. Her anus clenched and unclenched, writhing incessantly, like a living thing, pulling the vine in and out repeatedly.

Nice knew this alluring woman was up to no good, teasing him again, so he simply ignored her and focused on his cultivation.

Just like before, Nice forcefully absorbed energy from the alluring woman's body.

However, after only one breath, Nice was startled. This alluring woman's strength was exceptionally formidable; she was only one step away from becoming a super-level expert, almost on the threshold of that level. Moreover, judging from the purity of her energy, she had been stuck there for more than just a day or two.

Nice quickly realized that the injury she suffered eight years ago must have prevented her from taking that final step.

Thinking of this, Nice's mind became even more active.

This woman should not only be added to his personal guard, but perhaps also to his harem, placing her on the same level as Xingna.

For women he particularly liked, Nice usually added a little something extra. This time, it took him a full ten minutes to withdraw from that woman's body.

As Nice pulled out, a stream of white, foamy liquid flowed out, running down her two beautiful long legs.

The alluring woman lazily arched her back, trying to prevent the semen from leaking out, then weakly placed a thin piece of rubber on her vaginal opening.

Each goddess warrior had such a piece of rubber on her right side; its purpose was to increase the chances of conception.

One after another, the bathroom was filled with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and soft moans.

Nice didn't spend much time on each goddess warrior, mostly only four or five minutes, except for a few he particularly liked, for whom he spent a little longer.

These goddess warriors were either exceptionally seductive, exceptionally beautiful, or had a unique charm—all his type.

He and the other goddess warriors had a mutually beneficial relationship. He had enjoyed their bodies, tasted their pleasures, and even tended to their wounds, but he wouldn't restrict their lives.

These few goddess warriors he had chosen were different; he would keep them by his side and give them many benefits, but from now on, their bodies could only belong to him alone, and no other man could possess them.

A long procession of sleds approached from afar, some carrying people, others piled with goods. As they neared the mountain pass, the lead sled slowly came to a stop.

A wall stood at the pass, built against the mountainside. Though not high, it was enough to block their path.

A soldier peered over the wall and shouted down, "Where are you from?"

"We're from Wufeng Town,"

an old man below replied loudly, pulling a pass from his pocket.

The pass was placed in a basket below, which was then pulled up by the soldiers above. After carefully examining it, the soldier waved his hand.

With a soft creaking sound, the gate slowly opened, and all the sleds poured in.

The gate wasn't an open area, but a long tunnel with walls on both sides. This was designed to prevent the city gate from being tricked into opening; even if enemies managed to sneak in, they would only become sitting ducks in such a narrow passage.

These measures were all aimed at the barbarians.

Although Nice had renegotiated the treaty with the barbarians, he still harbored a degree of wariness towards them.

"Everyone get off the sleds and untie the horses."

The old man at the head of the group had been here before.

The men below were quite efficient, and soon all the horses were untied. They then pulled the sleds to the bottom of the tunnel.

At the bottom of the tunnel was a ramp with a long track. At this moment, a dozen or so flatcars were parked on the track, all chained together.

This detour was necessary to enter Wofford from the mountain pass, a precaution against barbarian attacks.

While the barbarians were indeed formidable on horseback, they were less dangerous without their horses.

Wofford and the surrounding area were connected by rails.

A total of forty-odd sleds carried nine flatbed carts. The old man at the head unplugged the connecting rods to the carts behind, and his men had already driven eight horses to the front to pull the carts.

Initially, the journey was slow due to the weight of the carts; eight horses were clearly insufficient. However, once they started moving, things became much easier. Although the rails were made of wood, an iron bar was embedded in the middle, and the wheels rolled on the smooth iron bar with almost no resistance.

Of course, there was a drawback: the flatbed carts made a constant, jarring "clang, clang" sound as they moved.

Fortunately, the distance from the pass to Wofford was not far; after fifteen minutes, the convoy entered the town.

When the barbarians invaded, this town became extremely desolate, with not a soul to be seen on the streets. But now, it has become bustling again.

What's most enviable is the endless stream of flatbed carts on the raised earthen ridges, some with a dozen or more sections, others with only two or three.

Those who had just loaded goods onto these carts knew best how much cargo a single cart could carry; cargo represented wealth.

The cart convoy stopped in the town center, and an old man directed his men to unload the goods.

No one noticed several people casually stepping down from the carts. Unlike the others, although they wore ordinary cotton robes, they exuded an air of nobility that ordinary people lacked.

They descended the earthen ridges via the steps beside them and wandered around aimlessly.

Next to the tracks were warehouses, all small and long, with doors on both sides wide open for easy loading and unloading.

"These all seem to be transit warehouses. With so many transit warehouses, it seems there's a significant volume of goods coming in Wofford Town!"

the young man in the lead said in a low voice.

For the people of the North, transit warehouses were a completely new concept; they were previously only seen in the South. Moreover, ordinary cities didn't have them; only commercial cities and ports with frequent trade had them.

"That's normal. Shamarne is currently in ruins, everything needs rebuilding, and most of the materials needed for reconstruction come from here,"

someone nearby quickly replied.

"Do you think Shamarne will become desolate after the reconstruction is complete?"

the young man asked in a low voice.

The people behind him pondered for a while, and finally one of them answered uncertainly, "Probably not? Nice always has a long-term plan."

"Is it necessary to be so formal? We can just ask Nice when we see him later,"

another person said dismissively.

"Times have changed. He's not the little priest he used to be. As the de facto prime minister of Shamarne, his status is even above that of His Highness the Prince,"

the first person said somewhat melancholically.

This group was Prince Philip and his entourage from Anlungoth. Among them were Sean, the captain of the prince's guard who had a good relationship with Nice, and Sagramont, who had always been at odds with Nice.

"He's not that kind of person. Don't forget, besides Queen Margaret, the biggest beneficiaries this time are the head of the Grossell's Lodge and those members of the Rosicrucian Order. Black is here; he sends battle reports every day. You and I both know that among the leaders of the Rosicrucian Order, Palm might have some merit; he at least conquered a few territories. Luke was completely useless. Wasn't the baronial title he received thanks to Nice's efforts?"

Sean's tone was somewhat sharp.

However, what he said was indeed true. In everyone's eyes, the head of the Grossell's Lodge and Luke had absolutely no trouble getting benefits delivered to their doorstep, without them having to put in any effort.

Gesalamont had little to say about this, only managing a sheepish reply: "My concern is that His Highness will be at least another one or two decades before ascending the throne. Before then, His Highness's territory is simply insufficient for Nice's development, and he will definitely focus his attention here."

Hearing this, everyone fell silent.

This wasn't just Gesalamont's concern; in fact, seeing the scene before them, even Prince Philip couldn't help but feel a deep sense of unease.

Wofford Town's development began much later than Five Peaks Town, but its scale was hundreds of times larger. Five Peaks Town was merely a relatively prosperous town, while this place already had the rudiments of a city.

"You can't envy this kind of thing,"

Prince Philip said with a wry smile. "Take my home city, Berg, for example. Although I've put a lot of effort into its transformation, it's clearly far inferior to Five Peaks Town. In this matter, I've learned a lesson: when building a home city, innate conditions are less important than geographical location."

The prince's words elicited nods of agreement from those around him.

"Should I inquire about where Nice is?"

Sean asked.

"There's no need for that. It's not easy to come all this way, so let's take a look around,"

Prince Philip said. He actually harbored another thought. He worried that after acquiring Shaman, Nice wouldn't care about the small town of Five Peaks anymore. Even if their attitude towards him remained the same, they wouldn't be as dedicated. Therefore, he wanted to learn a few tricks to use in his own territory.

"These elevated tracks are definitely good stuff,"

Sagramont, knowing the prince's intentions, immediately chimed in.

Sean rolled his eyes and couldn't help but say, "When they proposed to Your Highness to build these tracks on a large scale, I remember you were the most vehement opponent."

Sagramont blushed. He had indeed opposed it, not out of personal motives, but because he felt the existing transport capacity was sufficient. Large carts were used in summer, and sleds in winter; after all, there wasn't much to transport in the North.

Back then, he could never have imagined such prosperity; even the prosperity of Five Peaks had exceeded his expectations.

"It's not too late to realize this now. My territory is long and narrow; without these tracks, many places won't be connected,"

Prince Philip said, speaking up for Sagramon. He was also making excuses for himself; he hadn't realized the superiority of these tracks before, but now he did.

When they arrived, their team had forty-three sleds, each pulled by two horses, totaling eighty-six horses. With the flatbed carts, only nine sleds were needed, requiring only eight horses to pull them, and only one driver was needed. The difference was enormous.

"That market over there seems to be modeled after the trading square in Asax, only on a smaller scale," Sean said, pointing to a dome in the distance. He wasn't entirely sure it was the market, but it looked familiar. 　　"Let's go take a look," Prince Philip

said, 　　immediately intrigued. He had spent a considerable amount of time in Asax, going to the trading square early every morning and leaving late every night, and he loved that place. 　　The large domed building wasn't far from the town center. Upon closer inspection, it was indeed modeled after the trading square in Asax, but here the rest area and trading area were completely mixed together. Often, shops were right next to places selling drinks and food, so you could enjoy a meal while discussing business. 　　Although it looked somewhat chaotic at first glance, a closer look revealed a different kind of charm. 　　Compared to the trading square in Asax, there were hardly any idle people here. This was perhaps because everyone in Wofford was busy; even eight- or nine-year-old children were working in workshops. 　　The goods sold in this market naturally couldn't compare to those in the trading square in Asax, but in the North, perhaps only Iberia could rival it. The 　　group wandered around the market; apart from the shop assistants, everyone else was just like them. 　　Sagramont went to two shops and chatted with the shop assistants for a few moments, then returned with a strange look on his face. "Things here aren't sold individually; you have to buy in bulk, and they even offer credit." 　　Hearing this, the others also looked puzzled. 　　They had heard that some large merchants in the south didn't do retail business, but this was the first time they'd encountered such a thing in the north, let alone on credit. 　　Credit was usually only for regular customers; a complete stranger like Sagramont was out of the question. 　　Only Prince Philip seemed thoughtful. 　　"Nice mentioned this to me before. He felt that most merchants in the north didn't have much capital, so to expand their business, they had to be allowed to buy on credit. However, there were limitations: they had to find guarantors, and the amount of credit couldn't be too large. I thought it was a bit risky at the time, so I didn't follow his method." 　　As he said this, Prince Philip looked at the flatbed carts coming and going on the tracks, their loads full of goods, and felt a deep sense of regret. 　　Nice had given him a detailed plan back then.

According to Nice's plan, these guarantors must be nobles with good credit. However, unlike ordinary guarantors, even if the party borrowing on credit defaults, the guarantor will not be required to compensate for the loss. However, the guarantor's credit rating will decrease, reducing the amount they can guarantee. If their credit rating drops to a certain level, they will no longer be qualified to be a guarantor.

If this plan were implemented, even if some losses were incurred, they wouldn't be significant. However, he still found such losses unbearable and ultimately rejected Nice's proposal.

Therefore, in Columant, all other plans had been implemented, but this credit system was not adopted.

At this moment, the large-scale transactions in Wofford Town could not possibly be entirely cash transactions; over 90% were on credit. This was probably the biggest reason why the town had become so prosperous in such a short time.

Prince Philip couldn't have been more regretful.

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