[The Hidden One] Episodes 16-18 Author: Blood Coral

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 20:13:05

【The Hidden Ones】
Author: Blood Coral
Publisher: Hetu Culture

Chapter 1 ◆ Hearing

“Those barbarians stormed into the town, hacking and slashing with axes. Many people… I saw at least five or six fall under their axes. My son tried to get the knights to organize an effective defense, but those barbarians were too strong…”

A short, stout middle-aged man with a slightly balding head cried out loudly from the platform, his face contorted with grief. This man was none other than the head of the Baldero family, who had always opposed Prince Philip.

According to the original plan, some people below should have joined in the commotion and stirred up the atmosphere, but at this moment, under the hawk-like gaze of Marquis Morid, none of those assigned tasks dared to move.

“I want to know why you didn’t stop those barbarians? It was your duty. His Majesty gave you that territory so that you could protect Golanant.”

The short, stout middle-aged man became more and more agitated as he spoke, and finally he roared loudly, as if to vent all the anger in his heart.

"Viscount Valdero Andrasia, is your statement finished?" the

old Marquis Morid asked emotionlessly, which clearly shattered the somber atmosphere the short, stout middle-aged man had tried so hard to create.

Viscount Andrasia dared not disobey the old Marquis, and he returned dejectedly.

Prince Philip smiled at the short, stout man, then turned to the crowd and said, “Viscount Baldro Andrushia is adept at stirring up emotions, but unfortunately, he forgets the most basic principle: protecting the safety of the territory and its people is the duty of a lord. When I learned that the barbarians had crossed the border, my first action was to notify all the lords I could contact, instructing them to prepare defenses. I myself reinforced the defenses of Berg and alerted my father, His Majesty the King.”

“Many people believe I allowed the barbarians to cross the territory, and that is my fault, because border lords have a duty to defend their lands. This is a complete misinterpretation of the rights and obligations of a lord. Count Garon certainly understands this best. During the Third Sith War, the Pritolians crossed the Ice Peaks and occupied the entire Sanah Plain. At that time, only the Ice Peaks remained steadfast in the two eastern provinces. According to what Viscount Baldro Andrushia just said, this should also be considered a dereliction of duty. Isn't this a desecration of Count Garon's ancestor, the heroic and fearless Kanas?”

"In the Second Battle of Bologna, the lone hero Gontagu defended the city of Maltero while the enemy army swept through his rear. Wasn't he also negligent? There are many such examples, which I won't list one by one. Therefore, the idea that a border lord has the responsibility to defend his territory is an empty phrase, and there isn't even such a provision in the law."

"Furthermore, isn't Viscount Valdero Androuchia himself a border lord? It seems the others on the stage are the same. We are all border lords, all responsible for defending our territory. Of course, I will do my own job first. I have no obligation to help you, nor am I obligated to take responsibility for your negligence, unless you voluntarily express your willingness to become my subordinates."

Philip's words were the result of Nice's repeated deliberation. In terms of speaking skills, no one could compare with someone from the Church.

After Prince Philip finished speaking, he stepped down, and another person immediately stepped forward.

"You've certainly absolved yourself of all responsibility, but there's one thing you can't deny: His Majesty the King has granted you the title of Protector of Haruk Province

. That's a fact, isn't it?" The prince smiled slightly, this kind of questioning was expected. He immediately countered, "Your Excellency isn't very familiar with the laws of Gorenant, is you? The title of Protector doesn't grant authority in peacetime. Only after a war mobilization order is issued can a Protector of a province summon the lords to coordinate various aspects of defense."

The man opposite him was taken aback by this answer. To be honest, he hadn't studied the law. The white aura surrounding Prince Philip also proved that he wasn't lying.

Many lords on and off the stage who supported Siegel were caught off guard.

However, a few people below showed anxious expressions. They were knowledgeable about the law and knew that the term "Protector" was constantly changing. Sometimes it was an honorary title, sometimes a formal position, and sometimes, as the prince said, a position that only truly took effect during wartime. There was room for debate on this matter.

Unfortunately, before the hearing began, the old Marquis Morid had set a rule that anyone wishing to speak had to come up on stage, or they would be expelled from the hall. So these people could only wait anxiously. Before they could even rush onto the stage, someone had already spoken.

"We not only believe you've neglected your duties, but we also suspect you of colluding with those barbarians. Why was only my territory robbed this time? Why are the territories closer to you unscathed?"

the third person said aggressively. He only dared to say this much; according to the original plan, they should have covered their tracks more thoroughly, but he was afraid of being judged as lying, so he dared not reveal much.

Prince Philip was secretly delighted; he had been waiting for someone to ask such a question.

"That's exactly what I wanted to point out. As far as I know, those two barbarian tribes attacked us because they were ambushed; someone deliberately provoked a conflict,"

Prince Philip shouted. "Those who provoked the conflict certainly thought they had done it very cleverly, without leaving any trace. Unfortunately, they were wrong, terribly wrong."

Prince Philip pulled an arrow from his pocket; it was a black, unyielding arrow.

"We found such arrows on several of the slain barbarians."

Prince Philip rolled up his sleeve, revealing a faint scar. "A few months ago, I was ambushed, and those assassins used this kind of arrow. Later, in order to eliminate the bandits in Gorenant, we launched a bandit suppression operation, and we were ambushed again while escorting bandits. Those ambushers used this kind of arrow." "

That proves nothing,"

a lord below blurted out.

"Throw him out,"

Old Marquis Morid waved to the guards on either side.

Immediately, four guards ran over, grabbed the lord, and dragged him out.

Prince Philip nodded to the old man in thanks, then continued, "This certainly doesn't prove anything, but if it can be proven that the assassins and the later ambushers were one group, that they were always with certain people present and under their protection, then that would explain the matter."

Prince Philip turned to look at the people standing on the platform, and sure enough, the expressions of several of them immediately changed.

"How will you prove that?"

asked the old Marquis Morrid, who was not going to believe a casual remark.

"The court magician, Master Morati, once placed a mark on me. Anyone who harms me will be cursed, bearing an indelible mark that is invisible and undetectable under normal circumstances, requiring a special method to discover. During the bandit suppression, I had Master Morati perform a ritual to place another mark on the captured bandits. Previously, I had pretended to be helpless against those assassins and ambushers, letting them roam freely, all so that I could capture them all at the opportune moment."

Prince Philip moved about on the stage, his eyes sweeping from one person to another. Those he looked at were all lords who had sheltered these two types of people.

This was the plan Nice had devised, and the reason he was so confident.

In fact, Prince Philip's words were a mix of truth and falsehood, not entirely true. He did indeed bear the magical mark placed by Master Morati, but that mark only took effect when his life was in danger. At the time of the assassination attempt, he only suffered injuries to his arms and was far from being fatal.

However, this couldn't be considered a lie. Prince Philip didn't say that the mark had been activated; he only said, "If anyone harms me, they will be cursed." Therefore, the divine spell set up on the platform to determine whether someone was lying had no effect.

It was true that the bandits had the mark, and among those who escaped were spies he had deliberately planted. This was originally a trap, designed to wipe out Siegel's men in one fell swoop.

As for the arrow he initially produced, it was also real, but connecting the attack and assassination solely based on the use of a soul-like arrow seemed somewhat far-fetched.

Outside the hall, the royal guards were busy, with squads of soldiers, led by mages, arresting people.

Not all lords owned houses in the royal city; nine out of ten stayed in inns. At this moment, the lords were all at a meeting, leaving only their subordinates in the inns. Faced with the ferocious soldiers, these men were completely bewildered and had no idea how to react.

The general in charge of the royal city's defenses was Edward Bustern. He didn't want to get involved in this conflict, but someone had reported that dangerous elements were among the lords' retinues—the assassin of Prince Philip and powerful bandits who had been rescued. These were all desperate criminals, at least equivalent to mid-level knights, skilled in archery, assassination, and ambush.

He couldn't ignore such a warning, nor dared he. If these people caused trouble and injured anyone in the inner city, he would be in deep trouble. Therefore, he had no choice but to send troops to arrest them.

All of this was naturally arranged by Nice; he dared to take this tactic because he was absolutely confident.

Indeed, there were marked individuals in those inns. Most of them mingled with the lords' guards, while others entered as servants.

The teams responsible for arresting people were led by mages who each carried a crystal ball. A single glance was enough to identify any marked individuals in the inns. If so, the guards would surround the inn, drive the innkeepers out, and then pass each person past the mages. Anyone bearing a mark would be immediately exposed.

Naturally, some would resist, but the royal guards were no ordinary force; they were elite troops, and they were well-prepared. The soldiers were all clad in heavy armor, wielding halberds, and wearing iron-clad shields on their arms. The knights carried longswords, and their squires carried their bows and arrows. Anyone who dared to resist or try to escape would be immediately apprehended.

This massive manhunt quickly came to an end.

When Edward Bustern and his knights led the chained prisoners into the hearing hall, a commotion erupted within.

Edward Busteron, an old man in his fifties, was one of King Drake's most trusted men, like Pietro. Behind him followed a squire carrying a list.

"Someone just reported that a large number of dangerous individuals had infiltrated the inner city. Most of them have now been captured. What I find unbelievable is that these dangerous individuals were actually followers and subordinates of some people here."

The old knight glanced at the stage.

The row of twelve people standing opposite Prince Philip was now visibly shaken; at least half of them were sweating profusely and trembling.

"Have all the assassins who tried to kill me been captured?"

Prince Philip asked anxiously.

"I'm sorry,"

the old knight bowed slightly, "those men were desperate criminals. I had people keep an eye on them, but unfortunately, they not only resisted to the death but also committed suicide as soon as they sensed danger. Not a single one survived."

Hearing this, the prince angrily clenched his fist, but inwardly he was overjoyed.

The assassins were the most likely source of trouble because their marks were fake. If even one was captured alive, the court sorcerer Morati would immediately recognize it; dead, however, there would be no problem. All curses target the soul; once a person dies, the curse naturally disappears.

"This is a hearing about whether Prince Philip betrayed Gorenant, not an investigation into the assassination and ambush,"

someone in the crowd tried to salvage the situation.

Unfortunately, things had reached a point where most lords realized the situation was dire. Even those who had initially sided with Siegel, unless deeply involved, chose to stand aside and observe.

"The barbarians came to kill because their own people were killed, and the person who orchestrated this used the same arrows used by the assassins who tried to kill me. Do you dare say the two are unrelated?"

Prince Philip questioned the lord who had spoken earlier.

Before the man could reply, a beam of holy light enveloped him, and he quickly swallowed his words.

The church had many ways to circumvent these restrictions, spreading lies with a mouthful of dubious "truths," something these lords lacked.

Seeing their silence, Prince Philip wasn't about to let the opportunity pass. He pointed indignantly at the row of people opposite him and rebuked them: "For your own selfish gain, you're willing to provoke conflict and create disputes. Haven't you considered that this could lead to war? You'll drag the entire Gorenanteus into war, countless people will die in the chaos, many towns will be reduced to ruins, and decades of hard work by many families will be completely wasted."

The most venomous part of his words was the last sentence. People are selfish, and when their own interests are involved, many will think things through carefully.

Most lords didn't believe this would lead to war, but the possibility of provoking those two barbarian tribes and causing them to kill, burn, and plunder indiscriminately was high.

"Those two tribes are in cahoots with you,"

Viscount Valdro Andrasia bluntly stated. "You not only gave them land, but also a lot of money, and even helped them build settlements. How do you explain that?"

"Does normal trade count as collusion?"

Prince Philip scoffed. He turned and walked to the edge of the platform, addressing the lords below. "I can tell you all that more barbarian tribes may migrate south in the future because a large mining area has just been discovered outside the border. So far, copper, iron, tin, and lead have been mined. I exchanged 30,000 slaves for all the metals they mine over the next two years. It is because of this metal that I am able to re-equip my knights. My workshops are also producing exquisite silver-plated utensils, which will appear on the shelves of various towns within a month..."
Prince Philip spoke eloquently about the gains he had made from border trade on the platform. Behind him, a group of servants opened the boxes they had brought, which were full of samples.

Whether among the lords below or those on stage, everyone felt that Prince Philip was obsessed with money, turning the serious hearing into a merchandise exhibition.

However, beneath their disdain lay a deep-seated envy and a burning desire; it was as if they saw not samples, but chests upon chests of silver coins, as if they heard not eloquent explanations, but the clinking of coins.

Before they knew it, Prince Philip's speech had exceeded the allotted time, but even the old Marquis Morrid forgot to stop him.

On the north side of the inner city of Pola Parma stands a vast yet desolate castle, originally the residence of the Royal Knights. Two centuries ago, the Knights moved outside the city, and the castle became a place of house arrest.

Before the hearing, many speculated that Prince Philip would spend the rest of his life there, but now, a group of lords have moved in instead.

However, these men are not under house arrest, but rather temporarily detained until the investigation concludes and they are judged on their guilt or innocence.

Because the initial charge against Prince Philip was treason, the charge of false accusation is relatively serious, especially since they now face three charges: assassination of a member of the royal family, harboring a wanted criminal, and deliberately provoking war—any one of which could cost them their lives.

Prince Siegel, of course, was unwilling to easily abandon these lords, so after the hearing, he and his men scrambled to seek help, trying to save their lives.

That afternoon, he had just left the inn where Count Garon was temporarily staying and was about to board his sled when a man suddenly ran up to him and said, "Your Highness Siegel, I have something I'd like you to see."

The man stopped five or six meters away from the sled, clearly not wanting to cause any misunderstanding.

The man looked furtive, his entire body wrapped in a large cloak, even his face was covered.

"Who are you?"

The eldest prince didn't like strangers, especially such secretive individuals.

"You'll understand after you see it."

The man flicked a magic chip the size of a fingernail at Siegel and then turned to leave.

A bearded knight beside Prince Siegel caught the chip in mid-air. He glanced at his prince, unsure how to handle it.

"Take a look inside,"

Siegel ordered the mage responsible for guarding him.

The magician quickly took the chip, glanced at it intently, and his expression immediately turned serious. After a moment's hesitation, he returned to the prince's side and whispered, "Your Highness, you should take a look. This thing... this thing is hard to say."

Prince Siegfried's nerves tightened instantly. He climbed into the sled, drew the curtains with a "whoosh," and closed the blinds.

The magician very obediently sealed the sled, then took the chip, channeled a wisp of magic into it, and a cone-shaped beam of light immediately shot out from the center of the chip. The beam projected onto the front wall of the carriage, instantly displaying a moving image.

This image was filmed in the Valdero family's hall, showing Valdero and his son, Vasam Valdero, who appeared unusually agitated.

Accompanying the image were rapid and indistinct sounds of arguing, intermittent, some parts unclear, others very clear.

"I'm going to kill him, I'm going to slaughter him! And that prince won't get away with it either. I'm going to kill them both, I'm going to tear them to pieces!"

"I never wanted to go there in the first place. Now that we've chosen our side, there's no need to play both sides." "

Philip himself isn't that great; it's his foreign henchmen who are formidable. If we can get rid of them, everything will be fine. Of course, if we can also kill Prince Philip, Prince Siegel will be even more grateful to us."

"I'm not playing with fire. Like you just said, the barbarians know Philip is wealthy and will definitely try to take advantage of him. So we don't need to kill him ourselves; we can just pass on some messages to the barbarians." "

His Highness the First Prince personally summoned me. He gave me a letter of appointment, appointing me as the chief administrator of Haruk Province."

"Prince Siegel himself came here. He signed more than one letter of appointment, but all of these appointments will only be honored after he ascends the throne."

"His Highness the Crown Prince approved my suggestion. He even gave me a group of men, weapons, and a whole set of magical arrows—that must have cost a fortune! Prince Siegel is no less wealthy than his brother."

"Philip doesn't live in the castle; this is a golden opportunity."

"A godsend! He's going hunting; let's turn the hunting grounds into his graveyard."...

Prince Siegel listened quietly to the conversation recorded on the chip, his gaze growing increasingly cold. After a moment, he signaled for the playback to stop.

"This must have been secretly recorded by someone from the Valdero family. I've heard... the second son of the Valdero family is a magician, and a very cunning one at that."

The magician stopped the chip's operation and also voiced his guess.

Actually, Prince Siegel had already guessed this without him saying it.

"Why do you think he gave me this?"

Prince Siegel asked, frowning.

A magician who could serve as a guard must be a trustworthy person, and magicians are generally quite intelligent, so they often also act as advisors.

The man thought for a moment and immediately offered two possibilities: "Perhaps he's trying to use this as leverage to get us to rescue his father and brother… Of course, that's not very likely; another possibility… he wants to inherit the title and land, so…"

Prince Siegfried nodded. He also felt the second possibility was more likely, but his current headache was how to handle the situation.

The chip contained six dialogues in total. At first, it wasn't a big deal, but later it became extremely problematic. This was only one side of the story, somewhat weak as evidence, but enough to prompt His Majesty the King to investigate. There were plenty of ways to get the Baldero father and son to talk.

"There are our people among the guards there, should we…"

The magician beside him made a killing gesture.

"No, that would be too easy to expose us."

Prince Siegfried showed a pained expression, but his gaze grew increasingly cold.

He suddenly realized something: he didn't actually need to take action himself. As long as he didn't launch a rescue, the four charges combined would be enough to send these people to the guillotine.

His only concern was how to do it as naturally as possible. He couldn't let the Baldero father and son speak, nor could he let his supporters lose faith because of his "ineffective rescue." Most importantly, time was of the essence.

"We can't kill them, but we must find a way to prevent them from speaking,"

Prince Siegfried said coldly.

The night in Gorenant was unusually cold; even with a fire burning in the room, the cold wind still seeped in through the cracks. But at this moment, what King Drake felt coldest was his heart.

"Old Baldero suffered a stroke out of nowhere, and young Baldero's worries and anxiety have caused him to lose his mind,"

King Drake muttered to himself.

Pietro kept shaking his head, clutching a chip in his hand, the contents of which were exactly the same as what Prince Siegfried had seen.

"Impressive. I underestimated His Highness Philip and that young priest. I had anticipated their previous moves. I was suspicious when so many prisoners were abducted on the way, and it turned out that my suspicions were correct. It was a trap. But this move is completely unexpected. They have really kept this scheme well hidden. It seems that the assassination attempt was part of the plan."

Pietro sighed deeply at the thought, for even he hadn't realized it was a trap. "I've never seen you so distraught,"

King Drake sighed, his own heart heavy. Every father wants to see his son capable, but when that capability frightens him, it's not a good thing.

"In terms of scheming, I'm no match for that little priest. He had already laid out such a grand scheme before he even arrived."

Pietro now understood everything. "I've been overlooking one thing: of the five main members of the Rosicrucian Order, besides himself, the other four are non-eldest sons without inheritance rights in their families. They understand the mind of the Soulkin best." "You

mean, before they even came to Gorenant, they had already decided to bribe the non-eldest sons of various families?"

King Drake seemed to understand his old friend's meaning.

"In any family, as long as the eldest son is alive, the other sons cannot inherit anything. Family ties cannot outweigh interests..."

Pietro said, then remembered something: Prince Philip was also not the eldest son. He quickly changed his tone: "That young priest immediately set his sights on the non-eldest sons of various families, but his goal is not to help these non-eldest sons control their families, make them lords, and gain their support. His goal is far higher; he wants to establish a centralized monarchy."

The higher one's wisdom, the easier it is to overthink. Pietro was unaware that he had veered to another extreme. Before coming to Gorenant, Nice hadn't considered so much. The original plan was to first understand the situation, then form alliances and gradually win over the surrounding lords. It was Prince Siegfried's aggressive offensive that disrupted their plans.

As for the defection of the second son of the Baldero family, it was even more unexpected. Nice hadn't originally thought that anyone would betray their family.

Although Luke and his brothers were also sons without inheritance rights, none of them had ever considered secretly killing their father and brother to seize control of the family. Even Ister, who had never experienced the warmth of family, had never entertained such thoughts.

Duval, the second son of the Valdero family, came to them on his own initiative; that was after the assassination attempt.

"Do you think Siegel still has a chance?"

Drake asked. He had a premonition that the strategy of using his two sons to check and balance each other was likely to fail.

"This chip only came into our hands after the Valdero father and son's incident, precisely to make Siegel do something foolish. Your eldest son has already stepped into the trap; it's too late for you to stop him,"

Pietro said helplessly.

At this point, he could completely guess Nice's plan.

There were definitely many more Soul-like chips, and by now, these chips had probably been delivered to many powerful figures who originally supported Siegel.

Anyone who wasn't too stupid, after seeing these chips and considering the inexplicable incident involving the Valdero father and son, would definitely guess that Prince Siegel was behind it, to prevent those two from speaking out. Even so, it wasn't foolproof. Siegel would definitely find a way to silence them, and the best way to kill these two men discreetly was through the King. Prince Siegel would openly run around trying to save them, while secretly working against them, convicting them of their crimes and sending them to the guillotine.

Pietro even guessed something else. He knew very well that Siegel was a ruthless man, and to kill these two men without arousing suspicion, he might sacrifice a dozen or so other imprisoned lords awaiting execution.

A week later, in the outer square of the inner city of Pola Parma, a huge rack of swords was erected on a platform two meters off the ground.

One by one, the once-powerful lords were pushed onto the platform, and the executioners pressed them onto benches, locking their heads with large yokes.

With a soft clang, the large blades hanging on the rack fell, blood splattering, shooting two or three meters away, and heads rolling into baskets below.

The area below the platform was packed with people. Those standing at the front were all nobles, some were family members of dukes and marquises from the city, and others were subordinates of lords from other places. Those standing on the periphery were commoners.

The commoners were naturally very interested in beheadings; they had come just to watch the spectacle, so every time a head was chopped off, they would cheer.

In a building not far from the square, hundreds of people gathered. Prince Siegel stood at the front, his expression somber and resigned. He said helplessly, "I did everything I could to rescue them, but alas… I failed. I offer my deepest apologies to these people and their families. I have let you all down." After

a moment of silence, he raised his voice, filled with anger, and said, "This failure was due to our underestimation of my brother's cunning. He set a trap from the beginning, but only now has he closed it, causing us heavy losses." His face contorted

with grief and his voice hoarse, he roared, "I will never forget this blood feud! One day, Philip will pay for it! I swear, blood must be washed away with blood!"

"One day we will take our revenge!"

"Blood must be repaid in blood!"

Below, Siegel's staunch supporters fueled the atmosphere, their faces contorted with grief and indignation as they raised their arms and shouted at the top of their lungs.

The lords who had rushed from all over were somewhat affected, and a hatred for Prince Philip arose in their hearts, which somewhat lessened their disappointment in the prince before them.

However, seven or eight lords appeared unusually indifferent, standing at a distance as if watching a show. They all possessed the characteristics of shared souls, were of relatively low status, had good reputations, enjoyed the trust of others, and were well-liked.

These individuals had all received identical chip fragments after the incident involving the Baldero family.

As those in the know, they had been keeping a close eye on Prince Siegel's movements afterward. So, while Siegel outwardly ran around trying to rescue the dozen or so lords, he secretly pushed them to their deaths, all of this was witnessed by them.

Because of this, these men were extremely disappointed in Prince Siegel, and today they had come only to see what Prince Philip was planning to do.

Suddenly, a bell rang in the distance—the bell of requiem.

The sound of the bell indicated that the execution was over, and the dozen or so lords had all been beheaded.

Prince Siegel stopped and walked to the window, looking towards the square.

He had intended to mourn the dozen or so dead, but unexpectedly saw a court attendant riding towards him. The attendant, seemingly oblivious to the prince's presence, immediately called out, "Your Highness Siegfried, His Majesty is looking for you!"

"I'll be right there,"

Siegfried replied hastily.

Turning around, Prince Siegfried apologized profusely to the lords, "His Majesty summoned me. I'm sorry, I'll be right back."

With that, he ran downstairs.

The lords left behind exchanged bewildered glances. A month ago, when those dozen or so heads were still on their respective masters' shoulders, the lords might have obeyed Prince Siegfried's orders. But now, they all had a less than favorable view of him.

They had supported Siegfried for their own benefit, but now they had gained nothing, suffered heavy losses, and even risked their lives—it was simply not worth it.

"I have some business to attend to, so I won't wait any longer. Please give my regards when Prince Siegfried returns,"

a lord announced loudly.

He was already being quite polite.

"I also have some business to attend to."

"I just remembered I have to visit..."

The other lords also prepared to leave, some even too reluctant to exchange pleasantries, heads bowed as they prepared to depart. Just then, a cloth bag was suddenly thrown out, followed by a shower of magical crystals scattering like snowflakes.

"What is this?"

"Who threw this?"

A furious shout echoed through the room.

Only those who had already seen the crystals before showed surprise, but their astonishment was fleeting; they quickly understood.

Ninety-nine percent of the lords present were knights, with only one being a mage. This man was originally the second son in his family, without inheritance rights, but after his brother's accident, he inherited everything.

This mage lord picked up a crystal, infused it with magic, and a beam of light immediately projected onto the ceiling, drawing everyone's attention.

When they recognized the people inside as the Baldero father and son, who had just been beheaded on the guillotine, the room fell silent.

The video played slowly.

Not all the lords in the room were intelligent, but with so many people, someone was bound to understand the situation. Moreover, several were in the know; without the chips scattered on the floor, they might have kept the secret, but now they had no choice but to reveal what they knew.

After some whispering, everyone's expression changed.

If they had only felt disappointment towards Prince Siegfried before, now it was more than just disappointment; it was hatred.

The dozen or so lords who had been beheaded had been incredibly loyal to Prince Siegfried, offering their services and resources for a promise, only to be killed by him in the end. This chilled everyone to the bone.

At the same time, the lords present, like Pietro, felt a shiver run down their spines at Prince Philip's methods.

Having begun his scheme so early, every step Siegel took afterward seemed to fall into a trap he had laid beforehand, a trap that tightened ever tighter until it became a deadly noose around his neck.

Such cunning and ruthlessness chilled everyone present, not to mention that Prince Philip possessed astonishing wealth and formidable military power in addition to his cunning and ruthlessness.

"Perhaps we should make another choice,"

a thought crossed everyone's mind.

A fast horse galloped towards the palace. Prince Siegel was deeply unsettled; he didn't know why his father had summoned him.

Upon reaching the palace gates, Siegel leaped off his horse and, without waiting for the palace attendants to announce his arrival, barged in—as he always had.

Among the many palace attendants, none dared to stop him. Prince Siegel was the former captain of the palace guard; although the position had been revoked after he was granted land, its influence remained, and many of the attendants were still his former subordinates.

Prince Siegel stormed into the meeting hall, looked at his father on the throne, and said loudly, "Father, did you summon me?"

"You still can't shake your reckless temper,"

the king sneered, a hint of displeasure in his eyes.

His displeasure wasn't just directed at his son, but also at the servants. How could someone so easily barge into his presence? Wasn't his safety highly questionable?

Drake didn't believe his son wouldn't harbor murderous intent towards him, especially since his eldest son was inherently cold-blooded and ruthless, capable of anything.

He also didn't believe that being a Grand Knight meant he was immune to assassination attempts. The world was full of deadly things; throughout history, at least three saints had died at the hands of ordinary people, and five or six more had been tampered with by ordinary people before dying at the hands of others.

However, he didn't intend to lash out at the moment.

"What do you want with me?"

Siegel only wanted to get back as quickly as possible. His prestige had greatly diminished, and he needed to appease the lords who supported him.

King Drake sighed softly. Any lingering pity he had felt was now gone; his son was nothing more than a tool in his eyes.

"I want to ask you something. Did you obtain a chip? One that records the conversation between the Baldero father and son?"

King Drake asked calmly.

Siegel was startled; this was exactly what he feared.

"No, absolutely not."

At this point, he could only deny it outright.

"Don't be so quick to lie."

King Drake stared at his son, a cold smile playing on his lips. "I can tell you something. I have such a chip. Someone brought it to me specifically after the Baldero father and son's incident. As far as I know, at least six of the lords who support you have also obtained something like a soul."

Hearing this, beads of sweat immediately appeared on Siegel's forehead; he felt a tightness in his chest. He had initially thought that the second son of the Baldero family had sent him the chip to gain his support in order to inherit the territory and everything else, but he hadn't expected it to be a trap. He was racking his brains, trying to find a solution, when he saw the king turn his head to the side, seemingly listening to something.

Siegel knew something must have happened again; his father was listening to a report from a spy.

Back when he was the captain of the palace guard, he knew nothing about the king's direct intelligence agency—one of the few departments his father forbade him to touch.

Thinking about this, Siegel couldn't help but regret it. He had been too certain that the throne would eventually be his, so he hadn't built his own intelligence network. Now, it seemed like his biggest mistake.

Siegel knew that Philip had built an intelligence network, established with the help of those outsiders, and he had already attributed his failures to intelligence failures.

There was some truth to that; many of the rescued bandits were Philip's informants, and this was precisely what had cost Siegel dearly.

Lost in thought, Siegel noticed King Drake had turned around, his expression strangely peculiar, a mixture of helplessness and contempt.

"I just received news that among the lords you gathered, there was one of Philip's men. The moment you left, that man scattered a bunch of chips. Now, everyone who originally supported you knows what you've done."

Drake stared at his eldest son, wanting to see Siegel's reaction.

Siegel's face turned deathly pale, then ashen, emanating a heavy killing intent.

"You've already used an assassin once, and you saw the result. Can you guarantee you won't fall into a trap again?"

Drake didn't care that his two sons were killing each other; he just didn't want Siegel's sacrifice to be in vain, as this son still had some use. Sure enough, his reminder struck like a thunderbolt, leaving Prince Siegel frozen in place.

Siegel had indeed become paranoid, no longer daring to trust anyone, and was constantly on edge, feeling as if a mountain of traps lay ahead of him.

"The Baldero father and son have already paid the price for their folly, and more than a dozen people have lost their heads along with them, yet you have emerged unscathed. This is somewhat unreasonable. I will issue a decree stripping you of your crown prince title, and adding a reprimand ordering you to remain within the territory for the next five years."

This was punishment, but also protection. Being confined to the territory prevented Siegel from traveling freely, reducing the possibility of conflict. The king had clearly gone to great lengths.

Unfortunately, Siegel was a reckless and impulsive man. He was completely ungrateful and instead cried out indignantly, "You can't do this! It's not fair to me! I can't even leave my territory, how can I compete with Philip?"

"In my opinion, it's the opposite. Your problem is that you spend too little time in your territory. I advise you to focus on your own territory and think about how to manage it properly. Stop playing those meaningless games."

Drake decided to give Siegel one last piece of advice.

Unfortunately, Siegel still wouldn't listen.

"This isn't fair! Philip has so many outside supporters. You sent him to Styria back then to prepare for this day. What have you given me?"

Siegel felt more and more wronged as he spoke.

King Drake felt a pang of sorrow. Of course, he didn't think he had done anything wrong. If Siegel hadn't been so incompetent, if he hadn't had that burning ambition, how could he have ended up being replaced as crown prince?

But at this moment, he didn't intend to explain anymore. He was a father, but he was also the King of Gorenant.

"You think I don't know? You have supporters behind you, otherwise where would all those magical arrows come from?"

The king sneered. "I even know what you promised to gain their aid."

He grew increasingly enraged. "The Baldero father and son have accused Philip of treason. I don't know if Philip is truly a traitor, but I know your actions absolutely qualify as treason. For that, I wish I could send you to the guillotine. And now you're still protesting your innocence? Should I hold another hearing and let everyone judge your actions?"

This rebuke, unlike his earlier outburst, carried a hint of murderous intent.

Siegel felt as if he had fallen into an icy pool, chilled to the bone. He was now increasingly certain that the king had spies among his most trusted confidants.

"Get out of here, or I'll have you thrown out,"

Drake said resolutely, pointing to the door.

Siegel had long lost his previous imposing manner. He walked backwards, stunned, until he reached the doorway, when he heard his father roar, "Which captain of the guard is on duty today? Arrest him immediately! I don't need a nefarious person serving me. And the servants from the main gate to the meeting room door haven't fulfilled their duties either. Strip them of their knighthood immediately and throw them out! My personal knightly order has no need for useless people."

These two orders had nothing to do with Prince Siegel, yet they felt like two heavy slaps to his face. He finally realized what he had done wrong.

Everything he had was given to him by his father, so once he lost his father's favor, he had nothing.

His younger brother, Philip, was clearly smarter than him; he had known this all along, and thus desperately accumulated what belonged to him.

Chapter Two ◆ Don't Be Too Happy

A detached courtyard, with low bungalows and a small yard about a meter wide behind them—this was an ordinary inn, common in Columant.

This inn was located in the outer city of the royal city, in a rather remote location.

Three men sat in the far end of the room, all draped in thick cloaks. One was tall and thin, looking sickly, his face deathly pale; the other appeared timid.

"As agreed," Nice said, pushing a document towards the two men. "The Valdero family's title has been split in two, from Viscount Andrasia to two barons, with their lands and other properties divided equally. To prevent disputes between you two, His Highness intends to build a road between your territories. However, it's agreed beforehand that this road will be one hundred meters wide and will belong to His Highness."

Nice pushed the document towards the two men.

The two men were Duval, the second son of the Valdero family, and Popov, the third son.

After the assassination attempt, Nice's first suspect was Vasam Valdero, the eldest son of the Valdero family, because the information collected by Metro clearly showed that he was narrow-minded and vindictive.

At the same time, the information also mentioned the Valdero family, describing the second son, Duval Valdero, as a selfish and treacherous character.

Nice had only intended to test the waters. He didn't approach Duval Baldero directly, but instead went to his third son, Popov Baldero.

The files described him as cowardly and useless, but Nice remained convinced that a chicken couldn't be raised in a snake pit; the Baldero family was all greedy and insatiable, unlikely to produce an outcast.

It turned out Nice's guess was correct; this cowardly young man seemed to possess a ruthless heart.

This led to the chip and a series of conspiracies against Prince Siegfried.

"I have no problem,"

Duval said. He was a smart man, and having followed Prince Philip's affairs closely, he knew that Prince Philip was different from other lords in Gorenant; he didn't care about gaining or losing territory, but was enthusiastic about opening trade routes.

"I have no problem either,"

Popov wasn't stupid. He was originally the least likely to inherit the territory, and he was quite satisfied with what he had. Besides, he knew the benefits of opening trade routes.

After speaking, Duval and Popov took the agreement.

Popov knew very few words, practically illiterate, but Duval was different. As a magician, he was quite learned. He read the agreement from top to bottom, then read it aloud to his brother. After a brief discussion, they both signed their names.

"I am very willing to serve Prince Philip. I wonder if His Highness can accept someone like me?"

Duval asked after handing the agreement back to Nice.

This man had betrayed even his own father and brother; his reputation was completely ruined. No one would accept such a person as a ally, so he was just speaking casually, not expecting any approval. Otherwise, he wouldn't have brought it up now; he would have spoken before signing the agreement.

To the brothers' surprise, Nice answered without hesitation, "Welcome. His Highness Philip has no shortage of knights, but magicians are few and far between. With your abilities, you are certainly qualified to have a place."

This answer clearly took the brothers by surprise.

Nice didn't explain. He rolled up the agreement, stuffed it into a tin can, and stood up.

Duval and Popov escorted Nice to the door.

An open-top sleigh was parked at the entrance, a common sight on the streets of Pola Parma.

Nice sat down, draped a blanket over himself, and waved to the Valdero brothers.

The sleigh started moving, and as it turned a corner, the driver turned and asked, "Why did you agree to take in the second son of the Valdero family on behalf of His Highness? This fellow betrayed his father; he'll surely betray His Highness in the future."

The driver was Sean. Lately, he'd been in a terrible mood due to the bad news Berg had spread, and he was further infuriated by the knights who were gradually leaving. Now, he hated traitors more than anything.

"Did those two betray His Highness?"

"No."

"Did they help the Prince a great deal?"

"Yes."

"Shouldn't those who have rendered meritorious service be rewarded?"

Sean gritted his teeth, but finally nodded. These were all things that those in power had to do.

“Rejecting these two is reasonable but unreasonable. Accepting them, at least, will show others His Highness the Prince's magnanimity and assure them that achieving results under his guidance will bring corresponding rewards.”

Ness had to say this to Sean. Among Prince Philip's men, Sean and Black were definitely those he needed to win over, so he couldn't let them leave a bad impression.

“Aren't you worried they'll betray us again?”

Sean couldn't argue with Ness, but he had his own principles.

“Isn't preventing them from having the opportunity to betray us enough? If I don't even have that kind of confidence, His Highness isn't worth following.”

Ness didn't care if his words reached Prince Philip's ears.

“I can't argue with you, but I just feel something's not right.”

Sean sighed.

This time, Ness wouldn't explain further; he knew best where the problem lay.

The need for unwavering loyalty among subordinates was an inevitable consequence of the feudal system. Each lord was supreme in their own land, possessing absolute power. Furthermore, lords could obtain everything they needed from their territories without relying on the king's favor, making loyalty paramount.

Nice hoped to establish a monarchical autocracy, with everything in the hands of the monarch. If the ruler controlled the situation effectively, there would be no need to deliberately pursue the loyalty of his subordinates.

"What do you plan to do with the Baldero brothers?"

At Prince Philip's residence, unlike Sean, the prince didn't express dissatisfaction with accepting the two brothers. This was because he was in a position of power and his ideas were clear. What he cared about was where to place these two men.

"Duval is skilled in summoning magic. He's not a popular person, but his abilities will be very useful to you. You can buy a batch of cattle, sheep, and horses and give them to him to be in charge of breeding. The calves, lambs, and ponies can then be sold to other lords in the surrounding area, and Duval can receive 30% of the profits."

Nice had already thought everything through.

Prince Philip didn't think it was a good idea, shaking his head repeatedly. "After two years, he definitely won't want to work for me for free anymore."

"Colonante is located in the north, and there are only a few months of greenery throughout the year. Cattle, sheep, and horses all need fodder. Duval is skilled in summoning magic, but he can't summon grass,"

Nice explained.

Prince Philip now understood. He realized that this not only restricted the Baldero brothers but also the surrounding lords.

However, upon further reflection, Prince Philip felt a renewed sense of unease.

It wasn't him who could force grass to grow in winter, but rather Nice. This meant everyone was under Nice's control, which was something he didn't want.

Nice, of course, understood Prince Philip's thoughts and smiled slightly, saying, "I plan to make a trip to Thousand Forest Tower when I have some free time. There are many frustrated magicians there; perhaps I can lure a few over. You could also contact the church and have them send a group of priests... preferably more enlightened ones, like those from the Admont Hermitage. If we combine the two, we won't have to keep bothering me."

Nice said this to allay the prince's concerns.

Sure enough, Prince Philip's face lit up, but amidst his joy, a trace of worry remained.

After a moment, Prince Philip said awkwardly, "There's a problem. The Golanites aren't very welcoming of mages and priests, and I'm afraid this will cause dissent among my knights."

This wasn't without reason.

A mage needs to hone their skills and conduct research, consuming far more resources than a knight. In a harsh, cold land like Golanites, the limited resources available aren't even enough for the knights to distribute, so naturally, they're not very welcoming of mages.

As for priests, the existence of the church is seen as a threat by the northern kingdoms, so they've implicitly restricted its influence.

"You think your position is secure and you'll definitely inherit the throne, so you're planning to start winning over the surrounding lords?"

Nice had already grasped Prince Philip's thoughts.

Prince Philip didn't answer, fearing that admitting it would seem too heartless, but he genuinely felt this way.

To be fair, he was indeed concerned about Nice's proposal for centralized monarchy. If he were still deadlocked with Siegel, he would have taken the gamble, but now that Siegel had lost hope of inheriting the throne, he hesitated about continuing.

"Now is not the time to be happy; the real test has just begun,"

Nice bluntly poured cold water on his hopes. "Your current situation is the same as Siegel's back then. Now, you must be wary not of anyone else, but of your father, His Majesty the King."

"I'm not in a hurry to ascend the throne like Siegel,"

Prince Philip said nonchalantly, even feeling that Nice's words were alarmist.

"Have you considered the thoughts of your knights? If you can't consistently reward them, if you can't consistently improve, they will definitely leave you, and even if you want to rebuild in the future, no one will be willing to follow you,"

Nice warned.

Prince Philip fell silent. He knew this was his most fatal flaw. To change things, he would have to redistribute the territories of his knights, which would inevitably lead back to the old ways of Gorenant.

As for reducing the number of knights, he didn't even dare to think about it; that would only chill the hearts of his men, and ultimately, everyone would leave him.

"What you'll be dealing with next is no longer assassination attempts and ambushes, nor conspiracies and intrigues, but rather the alliances and rivalries among the surrounding lords for their own interests. There are definitely His Majesty the King's spies among them. Besides, although your brother has lost his original position, he still has powerful backers. He is now forbidden from leaving his territory, which may be a good thing for him, as it will give him time to manage his own domain."

Nice suddenly remembered something that could alert Prince Philip.

"I have a way to make you understand your situation. Just find out if your cousin will still marry Siegel,"

Nice said with a cold laugh.

This statement was clearly devastating; Prince Philip, who had been in a good mood, instantly turned grim.

Nice was somewhat surprised; he hadn't expected this to happen. King Drake had acted so quickly!

"Did I guess right?"

Nice felt no joy. Knowing the situation at Ice Peak, no one could be happy.

"You've convinced me."

Sensing something was wrong, Prince Philip made a quick decision. He realized that celebrating now was premature; he would have to wait at least another ten or twenty years to inherit the throne, and anything could happen in that time.

Prince Philip recalled Nice's earlier words. His situation was similar to Siegel's; Siegel, too, was impatient, wanting to seize power sooner, which had angered his father. He didn't have such thoughts now, but ten or twenty years from now was another matter entirely. Therefore, the best solution was to find something to do.

Three days later, news spread from the capital that Siegel and Sophia were engaged.

Prince Philip already knew this news, but upon hearing it, he still appeared unusually disappointed.

If he had previously been somewhat skeptical of Nice's words, he was now completely convinced; at this moment, a trace of resentment towards his father arose within him.

Prince Philip now understood that his father's decision to push him forward as a competitor to his brother was not a genuine intention to pass the throne to him, but merely a pawn to counterbalance his brother.

At this moment, he also understood one more thing: within the royal family, there was no such thing as father-son or brotherly affection.

"We must find a force that can counterbalance Ice Peak Mountain,"

Nice sighed softly.

"I plan to recruit knights again, but this time I will raise the standards."

Prince Philip was also somewhat determined. He had originally intended to maintain the status quo, but now he suddenly realized that only by possessing absolute power could he be truly secure.

"Are you planning to raise the standards to a higher level?"

Nice asked.

"Only in this way might I be able to rival Ice Peak Mountain in ten years,"

Prince Philip said, his tone uncertain.

Prince Philip originally had six Grand Knights under his command, a considerable number of high-ranking knights. However, there was a significant gap between high-ranking and Grand Knights. Normally, in ten years, the number of Grand Knights could increase to around fifteen, certainly exceeding the number of Grand Knights under Siegel's command, but still not comparable to Ice Peak Mountain.

Currently, over a hundred members of the Knights Order had left. If they filled the vacancies and recruited over a hundred more high-ranking knights, under the age limit of twenty-five, their chances of breaking through the bottleneck would be much higher. If one out of ten could become a Grand Knight, perhaps they could barely close the gap with Ice Peak Mountain.

"It's better to directly find a force that can counterbalance Ice Peak Mountain,"

Nice said, not optimistic about this long-term investment.

"You definitely won't find one in Colunant,"

Prince Philip said, spreading his hands.

Nice was at a loss for ideas; he lacked information in this area. He did have ready-made candidates; the Knights Templar were certainly not lacking in Grand Knights. They could easily field two hundred, let alone twenty, and there were five or six nearing the Saint rank. Unfortunately, he dared not do so.

Suddenly, Niss recalled the ambush he had suffered in Iberia, ambushed by a group of magic archers.

Although the ambush failed, and he ultimately killed them all during the assassination attempt, this did not prove magic archers were useless. On the contrary, the threat they posed to him far exceeded that of knights and mages.

In the south, magic archers were few in number because they struggled to break through the bottleneck and advance to the Super rank. Therefore, only those who believed they had no hope of reaching the Super rank but possessed magical talent chose this profession.

The situation was slightly better in the north, for reasons that were hard to imagine. It was because the Church's development in the north was restricted; places like the Admont Academy were extremely rare. Knights without connections could not receive training in the Church like Luke and his companions. Thus, becoming a magic archer through magic training became an option.

"Perhaps we could form a mounted archer corps like the Jochi Urus,"

Nice brought up again.

Prince Philip was very interested; no lord in the north didn't want a mounted archer corps. The Jochi Urus' invasion had left the northern people with the impression of unparalleled mounted archery.

What was even more appealing was that archer knights were much less expensive than regular knights. Archer knights wore light armor, and their horses didn't wear horse armor, making them much cheaper. Because of the lighter load, the range of warhorses was much wider; a good horse could cost at least ten times more than an ordinary one.

However, forming a mounted archer corps wasn't easy; many had tried, but all had failed.

The power of bows and arrows was ultimately too limited, and there were many ways to counter them. A mounted archer corps couldn't function without its own unique skills.

On the way back from the capital, Nice and Prince Philip pondered the idea of forming a mounted archer corps, but the original plan proceeded as scheduled. Halfway there, Prince Philip had notices posted everywhere, announcing his intention to recruit knights again to fill the vacancies left by those who had left. The recruitment criteria were age under twenty-five and rank of high-ranking knight.

Prince Philip initially thought such stringent conditions wouldn't attract many applicants, but to his surprise, over a dozen people signed up on the very day the notice was posted.

"Now, everyone has high hopes for you. Most people believe you'll be king, so they're all scrambling to join your side,"

Nice succinctly revealed the underlying reason.

"They're all sycophants,"

Sean said with a hint of disdain. He hadn't accompanied the prince on his journey, setting off later, and he knew best what people thought of Prince Philip during those days of rampant rumors.

"Those who regret it most now are probably the knights who withdrew,"

Nice said with a smile.

Prince Philip immediately smiled upon hearing this, while Sean breathed a sigh of relief; nobody likes traitors.

Suddenly, the sleigh driver let out a cheer. After a moment, he knocked on the partition in front of him: "Your Highness, we're almost home! Sagramont and his men have come to greet us."

Prince Philip immediately peered out and, sure enough, saw a procession approaching. Everyone was dressed in festive attire, carrying colorful banners.

"Long live the Prince! Long live His Highness! May His Highness enjoy great military success!"

The knights who came to greet him galloped away, waving their banners, each one seemingly overly excited.

The most excited of them all was Sagramont, who was running at the head of the procession. During the Prince's absence, he had been managing the territory in his place, and all the rumors in Nice had been kept from him. Therefore, the pressure he had endured during those days of rampant rumors was unimaginable.

"Your Highness, as soon as I received the news..."

Sagramont didn't know what to say; his lips trembled.

Prince Philip looked at his conservative yet loyal subordinate, unsure what to say.

This hearing was also a test for his men, and few could withstand it. Most of his knights had wavered; during the days when the rumors were at their peak, almost no one participated in training, and even work was suspended. Few were able to remain dedicated, and Sagramont was one of them.

"You've worked hard this time,"

Prince Philip patted him on the shoulder, a gesture of affirmation.

Prince Philip's gaze then turned to the knights who had come to greet him. He had initially had four hundred knights; now only two hundred and forty remained, forty of whom had gone south and hadn't received the news.

This was certainly tragic, but in a way, it was a good thing. After this elimination process, only truly reliable men remained.

"Your loyalty has been proven beyond doubt, so I hereby decide that each of you will receive an additional twenty acres of land and five servants,"

Prince Philip announced loudly.

A cheer erupted from below. These knights had persisted in their gamble, hoping to make a quick profit, and now they had won.

Twenty acres of land wasn't much; given the yield of the land in Gorenant, it could barely feed two or three families. It was more symbolic than practical. What truly mattered to them was the prince's trust. Besides that, the addition of five servants also pleased them.

These five servants would be purchased from their own homes, with Prince Philip providing the funds. They would then undergo intensive training to become stewards and deacons.

In the North, not only were artisans scarce, but good stewards and deacons were equally lacking. "Your Highness," 　　Sagramont reminded them with a wry smile,

"when you bestowed the lands, they were all right next to each other, with hardly any space between them." 　　Of course, there was a solution; they could simply exchange the fiefs. Since it was still winter and the land hadn't been cultivated, the problem wasn't too serious. 　　Prince Philip hesitated for a moment. 　　"What does it matter? We can just allocate another piece of land. It might be a little inconvenient for each family, but it's much more convenient for His Highness," 　　Nice said casually from the side. 　　His suggestion had two purposes. 　　First, it would be easier to manage; simply number the allocated land and distribute it to each knight, eliminating the need for land swapping. 　　Second, it would prevent knights from concentrating land in the hands of a single family through marriage alliances. 　　In Columant, many large families were established this way, starting with only one piece of land and expanding their territory and power through continuous marriage alliances. 　　Prince Philip thought for a moment and understood Nice's intention. He turned to Sagramonte and said, "Let's do it that way." 　　Sagramonte glanced at Nice. As a conservative, from a traditional family, he disliked this approach, but he wouldn't show his dissatisfaction because he knew it would benefit Prince Philip. 　　He also didn't want to add to the prince's worries on this auspicious day. 　　Berg was now a scene straight out of the New Year celebrations, with lanterns and decorations everywhere, and everyone dressed in their festive best. It was even more lively than during the New Year. After all, many people would be home for the New Year, but now all of Prince Philip's knights were gathered together, celebrating the victory. 　　The main hall of Prince Philip's house had been completely renovated, with a newer, larger, and more imposing throne placed in the center. 　　Luke brought out a gold-red robe, studded with gold and jewels. 　　"Isn't this a bit inappropriate?" 　　Prince Philip looked around with concern. The robe seemed somewhat over the top, easily leading to certain speculations. 　　"You should have confidence in yourself," 　　Nice advised from the side. It was actually his idea to have Luke prepare this outfit: "Do you think that even if you don't wear this robe, some people will change their opinion of you?" 　　These words struck a chord with Prince Philip. To be honest, he had been resentful of his father's arrangements all along the way. 　　Thinking of all this, Prince Philip finally took the robe and put it on. 　　Wearing it, he indeed exuded an indescribable aura. 　　Philip himself felt different; he felt more confident and more ambitious. 　　He snatched the map from Nice's hand, strode to the head seat, spread it out on the long table in front of him with a whoosh, and then loudly proclaimed, "Before, because of the obstruction of certain people, I haven't had time to focus my energy on the territory. Now that their intentions have been exposed, no one will hold us back anymore. I will make Berg as beautiful as paradise, and all those who follow me will live prosperous and happy lives." 　　His words were met with applause. 　　As a knight, he certainly hoped to achieve great deeds and leave his mark on history, but first and foremost, he wanted to ensure a better life for himself and his family. 　　Berg had only one main road, a zigzagging road, with a small alley at one corner. At the very end of the alley stood a house—Nice's home in Berg. 　　Since the construction of their territory began, Nice had rarely lived here, so it was mostly empty. However, when Nice accompanied Prince Philip to the royal city, Margaret and Elena moved in. 　　Although the time they were away was short, it felt like months to Nice and Margaret, so as soon as they returned home, Nice was immediately impatient. 　　"We have plenty of time. I've prepared a bath for you," 　　Margaret quickly stopped him. 　　"How about we bathe together?" 　　Nice clung to Margaret. 　　"Bathing with you will only make me dirtier," 　　Margaret glared at him. 　　"Or you can keep me company?" 　　Nice shamelessly bargained. 　　This time, Margaret didn't refuse. 　　The bathtub was placed in a corner of the hall, next to the fireplace, with hot water boiling in a large pot on the stove. A towel was draped beside the tub, and Nice leaned back, half-sitting, half-lying; Elena served him, lathering him with soap and scrubbing his back. 　　Margaret, dressed in a loose-fitting long dress, sat beside Nice listening to him recount his trip to the capital. 　　This had become a habit; whenever Nice accomplished something remarkable, he would tell Margaret, not to boast, but to hear her opinion. 　　Margaret was usually able to point out his shortcomings or pinpoint his mistakes. 　　From spreading rumors detrimental to his side to Siegel and Sophia's engagement, Nice finally offered his advice to Prince Philip.

"You plan to use the mounted archers to balance the military strength of Ice Peak Mountain?"

Margaret asked softly, almost as if talking to herself.

Nice was a little surprised; Margaret wouldn't usually act like this.

After a long pause, Margaret seemed to have made up her mind and said, "There's a group that would fit your requirements, but they're a separate faction and can't possibly serve under Prince Philip. They'll only temporarily join your camp."

Nice was slightly taken aback. If someone else had said this, he certainly wouldn't have considered it.

Outsiders like them were already unreliable; a faction that couldn't serve under them was even less dependable.

But Margaret's words piqued Nice's curiosity. He had been pondering Margaret's true identity.

"What I need are magic archers,"

Nice reminded her.

"They could also be considered magic archers,"

Margaret seemed to be deep in thought, her tone distant.

"They probably won't trust anyone anymore,"

Elena, who never usually interrupted, suddenly said from the side.

She too seemed preoccupied with something.

"Them? Could they be the Goddess Warriors?"

Nice guessed, since Elena was one of the Goddess Warriors.

However, Elena was an unusual Goddess Warrior; she had believed in God since childhood and therefore knew no divine magic, only martial arts.

"Goddess Warriors are very strong, and the group I'm talking about is even more extraordinary; they are stronger than ordinary Goddess Warriors."

Margaret wasn't boasting.

"Let me state the conditions first. Besides being independent and not under our control, there must be other conditions."

Nice never believed in free lunches.

"They have their own territory, but now there's a bit of trouble."

Margaret didn't intend to hide anything.

"Are their opponents very strong?"

Nice didn't think it was a problem; for knights, conflict also meant opportunity.

Margaret didn't answer, but sighed softly and said, "Haven't you always wanted to know my identity?"

"You're finally telling me?"

Nice asked softly.

"I... once had another name—Elizabeth."

Margaret seemed somewhat reluctant to mention this name.

"The Queen of Shamarn?"

Upon hearing this name, Nice immediately understood Margaret's former identity.

Princess Anna had mentioned that Margaret was her relative, so he investigated all of Anna's relatives, including Queen Elizabeth of Shamarne, who was of similar age.

However, he ultimately dismissed this theory, because the rumored Elizabeth was a naive and willful girl who became queen only because someone was needed to lead the people of Shamarne. She was essentially a symbol on the throne, and she couldn't retain it afterward. Once the crisis passed, she was easily deposed and replaced by her uncle.

"Aren't you a little surprised?"

Margaret looked at Nice with amusement.

"Are the rumors all false?"

Nice asked, now filled with curiosity.

"You can't say they're false,"

Margaret said, unsure how to explain; there were too many secrets involved.

Nice was completely bewildered; he had read Elizabeth's biography.

Elizabeth was the only daughter of King Brutus III of Chamarne. During his lifetime, Brutus III, like the governor of Cerhalan, gained the approval of his subjects and passed the throne to Elizabeth.

At the age of fifteen, Elizabeth married King Horton II of the neighboring kingdom of Pastmera, with Chamarne annexed as part of her dowry.

This should have been a joyous occasion, but Horton II died in an accident just a year after his marriage. Elizabeth had no children, so the throne of Pastmera passed to Horton II's brother, William V.

According to custom, the two previously united kingdoms should have been separated again, and Elizabeth should have returned to Chamarne to resume her queenly status. However, William V, unwilling to relinquish his prize, detained Elizabeth.

This sparked conflict.

The people of Chamarne installed a new king, electing Elizabeth's uncle, Sebastian, and declared Chamarne's renewed independence.

William V didn't want this outcome, so he sent troops.

The Chamaran also mustered their forces, and a major battle ensued on the border. The Chamaran, unprepared, suffered a crushing defeat, and Elizabeth's uncle was captured.

The matter should have ended there, but the remnants of the Chamaran army rallied, rescued Elizabeth, and re-established her as queen. They reorganized their army and went to war with William V once more.

This time, William V was less fortunate. He suffered a crushing defeat at Levin Canyon, losing most of his army and his own life in a foreign land.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth ultimately failed to secure her throne. Her uncle, Sebastian, was released and eventually won the power struggle, reclaiming the throne.

"Anna said you were once her idol. I don't believe that Elizabeth is you,"

Nice said, shaking her head repeatedly.

"I am indeed Elizabeth, I'm not lying to you,"

Margaret insisted, kissing Nice on the cheek.

"Really?"

Nice glanced sideways at Elena beside him, wanting an answer from her.

"Yes,"

Elena surprisingly gave a positive reply.

Nice was even more confused. As a member of the church, he could certainly tell whether Elena was lying. Suddenly, he saw Margaret and Elena exchanging glances, and he became even more certain that something was amiss.

Thinking of this, Nice couldn't resist any longer. He jumped out of the bathtub, grabbed Margaret by the knees, lifted her up, and placed her in the tub.

Margaret's dress was immediately soaked by the water, clinging tightly to her body, looking exceptionally alluring.

"Your Majesty, I will completely conquer you!"

Nice shouted, lifting the long dress.

His penis was already hard when he entered, and Elena's occasional teasing while she served him bathed only intensified his arousal.

Nice pressed his enormous glans against Margaret's flower path, and with a forceful thrust, it immediately slid in, penetrating all the way to the hilt.

Now he knew every sensitive spot on Margaret's body like the back of his hand. If he wanted, he could make Margaret do whatever he wanted—make her cry, make her laugh, make her orgasm, make her break down—all at his whim.

This time, he went all out, his thick, long penis thrusting relentlessly to the bottom of her vagina. His left hand caressed and rubbed Margaret's various sensitive spots, while his right hand gently pinched her clitoris, stimulating the seed of lust planted within her.

In just a moment, the woman was disheveled, her eyes glazed, and soft, melodious moans escaped her nose, seemingly unable to bear it any longer. Yet, her vagina actively sucked, each suck perfectly synchronized with Nice's thrusts. This wasn't a sexual technique, but a natural bodily response, the result of Nice's complete development of her.

Not only did her vagina actively suckle, but the inside was the same. The base of Margaret's vagina felt like a small mouth, sucking, licking, and even gently biting. The surrounding soft flesh twisted and turned, clinging tightly to Nice's genitals like clay. The sensation was indescribable.

Nice watched Margaret's vulva, watched his large penis penetrate deeply, and watched it roll back as he withdrew, revealing her pink, soft flesh. His heart was filled with warmth and satisfaction.

This wise and elegant woman was now completely conquered by him, completely his.

He brought Margaret to orgasm again and again, and Nice himself ejaculated. He loved watching his semen mix with Margaret's secretions, turning into a thick, cloudy, foamy paste with each thrust, sticking to Margaret's lower abdomen, buttocks, and between her legs.

This was why Margaret had said that bathing with Nice only made them dirtier.

After an unknown amount of time, Margaret's breathing grew weaker and weaker, and her genitals gradually turned red.

Nice finally stopped. He knew that if he continued, Margaret might get hurt, which was not what he wanted. Fortunately, he didn't have to worry about finding a place to release his pent-up desire.

Nice turned and glanced at Elena.

Elena was quite self-aware; she knew that the remaining lust would be released on her body, and she was prepared. So, as soon as Nice looked at her, she immediately knelt down beside the tub.

Elena was completely naked; unlike Margaret, she wasn't particular about covering herself, even during such acts.

With a soft "plop," Nice's penis plunged deeply into her vagina, and both of them groaned in ecstasy.

Elena's sexual skills had become increasingly formidable. Her techniques were devoid of finesse, relying purely on sheer force to induce spasms. Now, the gold bar she used for practice had been replaced with one seven inches long, two fingers wide, and weighing over thirty pounds. After being coated with honey oil, it was something most people couldn't withstand holding for long, but she could maintain it all day.

However, Elena's vagina wasn't as hard as steel; on the contrary, it was soft and sticky, like Margaret's, clinging tightly to Nice's penis like clay.

Elena's reactions were similar to Margaret's, her vagina sucking and swallowing in sync with Nice's thrusts—after all, they had both been trained by Nice.

This time, the lovemaking was much more intense than before, the room filled with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and moans of "uh-huh!" Elena would occasionally shout things like "Harder!", "Fuck me to pieces!", "I can't take it anymore!", "Let me fly!"

Nice's soul, like a raging torrent, fueled the lust within Elena, bringing her to the brink of climax before suddenly stopping.

This feeling of being neither fully satisfied nor climaxed was excruciating for Elena. Just then, she heard Nice ask, "Is Margaret truly Queen Elizabeth of Shaman?"

"Yes,"

Elena replied affirmatively once more.

Nice continued to gently massage Elena's sensitive spots, his soul still stimulating that lustful impulse, but he wouldn't let her reach climax, leaving her hovering on the edge.

He wanted to know the truth.

Elena cried out with a hint of a sob, "I swear."

Nice softened, and he increased the speed of his thrusts.

After a moment, a scream echoed in the room.

"The goddess warriors of Shewood Valley?"

Prince Philip muttered to himself.

"They can become our allies, nominally joining our ranks. The advantage is that you don't need to spend a penny; they can support themselves. The disadvantage is that we might be drawn into the conflicts of Shaman… I've heard it's not peaceful there,"

Nice probed.

"I've heard that too. Queen Elizabeth seems to be planning to overthrow her uncle and reclaim the throne,"

Prince Philip casually remarked, a piece of news that greatly surprised Nice.

Prince Philip didn't seem to realize the need for secrecy; after all, it was a matter for another country.

Nice, however, froze. He then remembered that Margaret hadn't been seen for months after arriving in the north, clearly having gone to Chamarne.

What troubled him was that if Margaret regained the throne, wouldn't she have to leave him again?

"What do you think of their plan this time?"

Nice hadn't considered keeping Margaret by his side; he was willing to make sacrifices for the woman he loved.

"It's hard to say. King Sebastian of Chamarne has been very incompetent, causing widespread discontent in the country, while Elizabeth is very prestigious among the people..."

His Highness commented.

"That can't be, can it? The rumors I've heard are different. As far as I know, Her Majesty the Queen is somewhat willful and immature."

Nice became increasingly doubtful.

Prince Philip pondered for a moment, then said with some uncertainty, "There are indeed some strange things here. I met that Queen when I was a child, and she was indeed as the rumors said, but..."

Prince Philip paused for a moment, as if recalling something, before finally saying, "After she returned from Pastoria, she seemed like a completely different person. Although outsiders say she's just a figurehead, I heard from insiders that Elizabeth deliberately had this spread to lull the enemy into a false sense of security."

He glanced at Nice as he spoke.

Prince Philip, of course, didn't know that the woman beside Nice was the young Queen he was referring to; he only felt that Nice's style was very similar to that of the Queen. He had no idea that Nice's mind was in turmoil; the phrase "After she returned from Shamaen" had suddenly brought Nice to a realization.

Nice had always found it strange that Margaret sometimes seemed like two people: one quiet and shy, the other passionate and unrestrained. The former was always advising him, while the latter never seemed to offer any advice.

Perhaps Margaret really was two people, twin sisters.

In noble families, twins were always considered an omen of bad luck; even if one wasn't killed on the spot, they would be sent far away so they would never see each other again.

In that case, the one who grew up in the Chamaran court must be Elizabeth, which explained her haughty demeanor and undeniable willfulness, though without any trace of childishness.

Margaret was likely the one sent away. Lacking affection from a young age, she appeared somewhat aloof towards everyone and everything. Her adoptive mother was probably a wise person; otherwise, she wouldn't have possessed such strategic acumen or knowledge.

Nice himself, guided by the old man Simon, gradually became the person he is today, so he understands the importance of a good teacher best. Once this is understood, the other mysteries will be solved.

It wasn't Elizabeth who returned to Shamarne, but Margaret. She assumed her twin sister's identity, leading the people in the name of Queen to fight against William V, ultimately achieving victory. However, she was ultimately a substitute; the throne belonged to Elizabeth. Therefore, after Shamarne's independence, a power struggle undoubtedly occurred between the two sisters. Given Margaret's personality, she might have chosen to back down, allowing Elizabeth to reclaim the throne. Unfortunately, she soon lost in her struggle against her uncle, losing the throne once again.

Nice could even guess that Elizabeth would ultimately be quite lonely, because Margaret at least had several bodyguards around her, and Elena was undoubtedly Margaret's person, not Elizabeth's follower. Besides, when Margaret and Princess Anna met at that small villa in Admont, there was also a female magician bodyguard; that woman was most likely also Margaret's entourage.

"How is Shaman doing now?"

Nice suddenly felt it necessary to help Margaret.

"It can only be described as internal and external troubles."

Prince Philip shook his head. "King Sebastian ousted Elizabeth, but he also sowed the seeds of disaster. Many people are dissatisfied with him, and some even believe that his release was a conspiracy by the Kingdom of Pastmera. To consolidate his power, Sebastian had to use harsh methods, which earned him the reputation of a tyrant. And because those who oppose him most fiercely are those who served under Elizabeth and made great contributions to the independence of Shaman... you can imagine the damage to this king's reputation."

Nice understood completely. The Kingdom of Shaman was probably a huge volcano, ready to erupt at any moment.

"Judging from your tone, you seem to have a deep affection for that king."

Nice probed again.

"It's not about affection. I only know one thing: sitting in his position, he often couldn't do what he wanted."

Prince Philip sighed. There was a hint of self-pity in his words.

However, the grudges and grievances involved were indeed difficult to explain, and even Nice didn't know how to evaluate them.

Clearly, Sebastian was more suitable to be king than Elizabeth, so it can't be said that Sebastian was wrong to oust Elizabeth.

Elizabeth reclaiming the throne from Margaret can't be said to be wrong either, after all, it was rightfully hers, and Margaret had always held the title.

If there had to be a mistake, the biggest mistake lay with Margaret; she shouldn't have given up the throne in the first place.

However, Nex wasn't sure if there was more to the story. Perhaps some people thought Elizabeth was easier to control, or perhaps some conservatives believed Elizabeth was the rightful heir, or perhaps someone was directly acting on Sebastian's orders…

The more Nex thought about it, the more of a headache he got; this was the most complicated matter he had ever encountered.

"How strong are those goddess warriors?"

He decided to stop thinking about those questions and move on to a more practical topic.

"Their strength is hard to describe. These goddess warriors played a crucial role in defeating Pastoria's army. Unlike knights, their main weapons are bows, spears, and throwing axes. They excel at ambushes and surprise attacks, but they are very different from archer knights, and their fighting style is completely different."

Prince Philip paused, comparing the two in his mind.

"What about their fighting style?"

Nice wanted to judge for himself.

"These women's fighting style is somewhat similar to yours. They both use divine magic to enhance the lethality of their arrows, spears, and throwing axes. The divine magic bestowed by the Valkyries is very similar to elemental magic. They can make their weapons emit lightning, fire, and ice. Their arrows are light, with little penetrating power and not very strong, but they travel a long distance."

Prince Philip glanced at Nice again, and he realized that this was no longer similar, but exactly the same.

"I plan to go to Shamarne. Even if you don't want to cooperate with them, I plan to form an alliance with them in the name of the Rosicrucian Order."

Nice had made up his mind.

He didn't have any direct subordinates in the Rosicrucian Order.

In the past, he didn't care at all. Even on the battlefield, with Luke and the others blocking the way, he only needed to follow behind, casting spells and shooting arrows. But now, he increasingly felt the need to have his own fighting force.

Chapter 3 ◆ Balance of Power

Having just returned to Belgor, he had to leave again. Niss couldn't help but sigh; perhaps he was born to be a busybody.

However, this trip was completely different from the one to the royal city. He had two women accompanying him in the sleigh, so the journey wasn't lonely.

Before boarding the sleigh, as usual, Niss took out his divination silver plate and sprinkled a few beads into it. The beads immediately began to spin wildly, occasionally colliding with each other, and they didn't stop for a long time.

Niss frowned slightly.

This was a sign of celestial chaos, indicating that something big was about to happen.

Niss quickly used his divine magic to predict the future.

Just like the divination result, the future was shrouded in mystery, as if shrouded in layers of fog, and the future was unpredictable, like a giant kaleidoscope. He glanced at Margaret without a second thought.

Such chaos in the heavens couldn't be caused by human intervention; it could only be due to war or some other major catastrophe.

"I need to make some other preparations,"

Nice muttered to himself. He had initially thought this would be a wonderful journey, but now it seemed hopeless.

Returning to his room, Nice went down to the cellar. In one corner lay bundles of arrows.

These arrows were very strange; the shafts were thick, but there were no arrowheads.

Nice hesitated for a moment, then finally took most of them and stuffed them into a magic pouch.

After doing this, Nice ran to another corner, moved a sack full of spices, and stepped on the floor.

A large tile immediately moved aside, revealing a large hole and a ladder leading down to the bottom.

Descending the ladder, the surroundings became increasingly eerie, and a faint rumbling sound could be heard.

It was an underground river; the temperature inside the cave was far below freezing, but the river hadn't frozen.

Below the ladder lay a flat, dark area shrouded in a black mist, covered with countless strange and unusual plants.

These plants needed no sunlight; they all relied on dark energy for production. Because of the nearby underground river, this place had an exceptionally abundant supply of dark energy and sufficient moisture, allowing the plants to grow remarkably lushly.

Nice didn't descend to the bottom but instead waved from the stairs.

The dark land immediately floated up, then automatically folded in half, then in half again, and then in half again… until it finally became a piece the size of a book.

This is the Black Swamp's imitation of the "Paradise in the Palm" from the Thousand Forest Tower.

The wonder of the "Paradise in the Palm" lies in its ability to automatically absorb sunlight within a hundred acres to power plant growth. The Black Swamp lacks this technology, so they can only manipulate the plants, making them absorb negative energy.

Back on the ground, Niss retrieved some more scrolls. This time, he prepared scrolls with wide attack ranges, the kind specifically for war.

Of course, armor was also essential. He had previously commissioned a set of mithril armor from "Snake Fang," the most expensive magical equipment he had ever acquired. The

investment paid off; it was a top-tier magical piece of equipment, with defensive capabilities comparable to Prince Philip's adamantite armor, but much lighter, making it ideal for someone like him who preferred mobile warfare.

Niss also didn't forget his bow.

The bow Abdul had given him had completely changed, its limbs covered in various runes and magic circles, along with some strange and unusual parts.

"Are you going to war?"

Gistell, in his wandering form, asked impatiently as he saw Nice loading armor and a bow onto the carriage.

"It's possible."

Nice had never dared to underestimate this archmage who had to obey him; he was currently the strongest force he could rely on.

Hearing this answer, Gistell blinked. He was quite helpless. Although he was quite strong, he knew nothing about prophetic magic and hadn't even studied astrology. So, if the future was uncertain, he would be powerless.

"In that case, I should prepare myself."

As a mage, especially an archmage, he generally valued his life, and Gistell was no exception. He turned and ran into his room.

When he came out, he had changed his attire. He was no longer wearing a long, flowing mage's robe, but a close-fitting short robe, which, judging from the material, seemed to be woven from drawn metal threads. He also carried a large oval shield and a very long magic staff.

The purpose of a magic wand is to amplify magic. Short wands are generally used because they are easy to wield; longer wands like this are mostly used in war.

Nice was already seated in the carriage.

The three sleds were specially made; the entire carriage was constructed of ironwood, impenetrable even by powerful bows and crossbows. The walls were lined with strong defensive magic arrays, capable of withstanding a single strike from a high-level spell or close-range attacks from a medium-sized crossbow.

Windows are always the most vulnerable parts, so they were only palm-width wide, positioned at eye level, allowing a view of the outside scenery and serving as firing ports. Above the window sill was a long, narrow wooden plank, about an inch thick; flipping it down closed the window. It

was practically a small fortress.

Several sleds sped across the snow, and inside one of them, a thrilling erotic scene was unfolding.

Elena lay listlessly on the chair, her legs spread wide and raised to her chest, her genitals facing the ceiling. Nice straddled her, his enormous penis deeply inserted into her vagina.

The vaginal opening rhythmically opened and closed, a thick, foamy, white fluid constantly overflowing from it, her mons pubis slightly swollen and red. Her anus was also swollen and red.

Nice's hands kneaded Elena's large breasts; either one was too big for him to hold in both hands.

Not only were they large, but they were also beautifully shaped, a perfect pear shape, perky and elastic. The nipples were the size of grapes, a tender pink color, making them incredibly tempting.

Compared to when they first met, Elena has become increasingly feminine. She's still tall, perhaps even a bit taller, but she's lost that "robust" feel. Her shoulders are more rounded, her back isn't as broad, and the bulky muscles are gone; her overall lines have become incredibly soft.

Her skin has also become much whiter, with a jade-like sheen, soft to the touch, no longer as hard as before.

This is the result of Nice's constant nourishment, and also thanks to the energy within him. That energy, somewhere between holy power and magic, has a transformative effect on the body, especially noticeable in women.

This transformation doesn't just soften her lines; it also alters various bodily functions.

Elena's appearance is becoming more and more beautiful, more and more like a woman, while her strength has doubled, her explosive power is three times what it used to be, and even more impressive is her recovery ability—minor injuries heal overnight.

Of course, this was a wonderful thing for Nice. When making love with Elena, even a bit roughness didn't matter. Even though it was swollen and red now, a good night's sleep would restore it to normal.

Nice gently licked her ample breasts, an advantage she didn't have with Margaret or Princess Anna. Margaret's breasts weren't small either, but she never let him touch them; in Margaret's words, they were for the children.

Princess Anna didn't seem to care much, though hers were only slightly swollen, not much to see.

Nice's penis moved in and out of Elena's vagina incessantly. He didn't move quickly, because there was no need. Now he could directly stimulate a woman's sensitive spots, without needing that primitive method.

This slow approach allowed him to better enjoy Elena's beauty—the tight embrace, the powerful contractions and sucking—something other women didn't experience.

Like now, his mental tentacles covered every corner of this beautiful woman's body, stimulating every sensitive spot, filling her consciousness with intense pleasure.

Too much pleasure is also a kind of pain. Elena was constantly tormented, longing for release, but each time she was about to climax, she was abruptly pulled back.

It was a punishment, and also a form of displaced anger.

Elena knew Margaret's true identity, yet she still helped Margaret lie and testify for her, saying that Margaret was Elizabeth. This enraged him, so he wanted to punish the liar.

The mastermind behind this was Margaret, but he couldn't bear to harm her, and besides, Margaret couldn't withstand such torment, so Elena became the substitute.

"Where did you learn all this nonsense?"

Margaret leaned lazily against Nice, asking with puzzlement.

She knew Elena had suffered for her, and she knew Elena was currently enduring torment, but she didn't stop her, nor did she plead for Elena, because it was useless. In bed, her little lover was an unreasonable tyrant, and this was the only way she could distract Nice.

Nice didn't know any of this, and he did want to know something, so he asked, "Have you heard of a booklet circulating in the Admont Nang Academy? It records many secret methods for dealing with women?"

"You mean that thing?"

Margaret spat lightly; of course she knew about the rumor.

Merlot was able to inquire about the female Nang Academy, and women's curiosity is far stronger than men's; surely someone would inquire about the male Nang Academy as well.

"Isn't that book just a prank, according to the rumors?"

Margaret clearly knew a lot. Suddenly, something occurred to her, and her expression turned serious. "Could it be a secret book of inheritance?"

Ness had only learned of this after extensive research, and that's why he was so surprised by Margaret's erudition.

"Is there a mark in one corner of that book?" Margaret asked urgently.

"There is such a mark."

Ness used his finger to apply some mucus between Margaret's legs and drew it on her right breast.

It was a symbol with its head pointing to the lower left, its tail to the upper right, and its body slightly curved.

"That's the mark of Cupid. No wonder it appeared where you are, and it's full of methods for dealing with women."

Margaret pinched Ness hard to vent her frustration.

"It seems that in the end, you women get the most benefits."

Ness was very annoyed about this.

"Who told Cupid to be a god? The divine power he wields naturally serves the main god."

Margaret was slightly smug. As someone who benefited from it, she knew best what advantages the energy within Nisvane had for women.

The increased strength and stamina were merely superficial benefits; what truly concerned Margaret was its impact on the internal workings of the body. In the past few days, each time she cleansed her body, she washed away a large amount of grime; during meditation and prayer, she felt her body was much clearer and more efficient than before.

These benefits weren't immediately apparent, but the cumulative effect was significant, making it much easier to improve strength or break through bottlenecks. Because of this, some unpleasant thoughts began to arise in Margaret's mind.

"You can't possibly benefit from it all, can you?"

Margaret asked. She still cared about Nisvane; if this only benefited them and not Nisvane, only causing him drain, she wouldn't want him to do it.

Nisvane pondered. In his memory, since the fusion of magic and holy power, his sensitivity to the elements had worsened, and the connection with the little creature was like being separated by a thin mist, not as easy as before. On the contrary, his abilities in the four categories of life, spirit, transformation, and illusion had improved significantly.

This could be considered another type of specialization, as these four types of magic were the domain of the God of Love.

The impact on divine magic was even smaller; healing, blessing, and divination divine magic remained unchanged, while purification divine magic seemed much weaker than before, but fortunately, he never performed such rituals.

However, this matter was quite good for him.

When women are passionate, their spirits are extremely excited, emitting strong spiritual fluctuations, which he was able to absorb.

In just a few days, his spiritual power had increased by 10%.

The strength of spiritual power is very important for mages, especially for him. This not only means that magic is more powerful and attacks have a longer range, but most importantly, it can accelerate the advancement of his realm.

He had a book in his hand called "How to Quickly Advance Your Realm," the contents of which would be useless to others, but extremely useful to him.

If his mental strength could reach about five times its current level, even without sufficient magic power, he could forcefully break through to a higher realm.

Once his mage rank reached a higher level, he could create his own magical artifacts to resist prophecy. Even if he didn't reach the level of a bishop, he wouldn't need to worry about the church's threat.

In his original estimate, it would take at least three or four years for his mental strength to increase fivefold. Now, it was hard to say. If he were more "diligent," spending two or three hours a day having sex with women, he might achieve his goal in a year.

Of course, if he couldn't do anything else on the journey and could only spend all day inside women, his mental strength would increase even faster.

At this moment, he was connected to Elena's consciousness. He kept this beautiful woman on the verge of orgasm, keeping her in a state of extreme arousal. This wasn't just punishment; it was also a way for his soul to absorb the mental fluctuations she emitted. The

extreme pain resulting from the ultimate pleasure was not only intense but also extremely complex.

The more complex the mental fluctuations, the greater the benefit to Nice, but he still couldn't understand the intricacies.

Suddenly, a strange idea popped into Nice's head. His hand gently pressed on Elena's genitals, this time stimulating not sensitive spots, but the nerve band controlling the urethral sphincter.

That area was close to many sensitive spots, already abnormally sensitive, and this stimulation made it even more uncontrollable.

Elena lost control of her bladder. She often did this before, but only during orgasm, so she didn't feel anything. But now, she clearly felt herself losing control. No matter

how thick-skinned she was, she was still a woman, and a strong sense of shame surged through her.

Shame, pleasure, and pain intertwined, and Elena's mental fluctuations became increasingly intense and complex. Nice absorbed all of this rapidly, and almost instantly, he felt his mental strength swell nearly twofold.

Indeed, adding another emotion completely changed the experience; it was like brewing wine, the best wine containing all sorts of flavors.

Suddenly, Nice increased the intensity of the stimulation, no longer restricting the pleasure within Elena's genitals. In an instant, Elena's breathing became labored. Her body arched, even her toes pointed, and she trembled all over, her skin flushed a rosy red. The pent-up pleasure burst forth like a dam breaking.

This was an unprecedented climax; in that instant, Elena lost consciousness. Even someone as strong as her couldn't withstand it, triggering her body's automatic protective mechanisms.

She didn't know how much time had passed before Elena slowly awoke. She heard Nice whispering in her ear ,

"I love you. I really love you. If you'd like, I want you to stay by my side 　　forever. " Elena froze 　　. These

were the words she most wanted to hear, and an indescribable warmth welled up in her heart.

＊ ... 　　The procession stretched for five or six hundred meters, including large wagons, horse-drawn carriages, sleds, and sleds, all awaiting inspection. 　　At this moment, those conducting the checks at the roadblock weren't soldiers, but a group of thugs. They were ragged, disheveled, wore their hats askew, and carried sticks. Their actions during the checks were blatant harassment; any woman who appeared attractive was subjected to their advances, and the wagons loaded with goods were never spared—they always managed to steal something. 　　Of course, these men had a good eye; they knew who to mess with and who to avoid. So when Nice's sled reached the roadblock, the rider showed them the travel permit, and they immediately let them pass. 　　These thugs couldn't read, but they recognized the seal on the permit—the emblem of the Kingdom of Gorenant. 　　Gorenant was only a medium-sized country in the North, but it was large enough for Shamarne.

Shaman is a small country with a population of over 500,000, separated from Gorenant by another country, making it a close neighbor.

"Shaman has become a chaotic and corrupt place,"

Margaret murmured, gazing out the window, her heart heavy.

"He wants to suppress those who risked their lives for Shaman's independence. Any upright person would despise him, so he can only employ those scoundrels,"

Elena commented from the side.

Nice was somewhat surprised; he had always thought Elena was a rough-around-the-edges type, but she could be quite thoughtful.

The sled started moving, and after passing the obstacles, the speed increased.

Margaret sat directly on Nice's lap, wanting to get a closer look at this land she had once loved, and which had also caused her so much loss.

Suddenly, she frowned, letting out a soft "hmm" through her nose.

That was Nice; it was a habit he had long since developed—whenever a woman sat on his lap, he would always instinctively enter her body.

A tingling sensation made Margaret weak all over. She knew this little man was up to his old tricks again. If it were before, she would definitely have stopped him, but now, she didn't even feel the slightest resistance. Instead, she wanted Nice to penetrate her deeper and harder.

A smart woman like Margaret could, of course, guess that Nice had unknowingly tampered with her. There were many ways to control a woman in this world. Yet, she couldn't muster any anger.

"Don't think about those worries. Don't think of yourself as some kind of high and mighty God. You can't decide other people's fates,"

Nice comforted Margaret, holding her close.

"You're not very convincing talking to me like that,"

Margaret said, blushing, and lightly flicked Nice's penis with her finger.

"Tell me about Shaman. What's so special about it that makes it worth fighting over?"

Nice asked, deliberately trying to start a conversation.

"To me, Shaman is the most beautiful place in the world,"

Margaret said softly, her eyes somewhat unfocused.

"There's nothing here, but someone treats it like a treasure,"

Elena said dismissively.

Clearly, what happened back then left her with a deep dislike for this land.

"There seems to be a village over there,"

Margaret said, sitting up. Her movement caused Nice's thing to penetrate too deeply.

Margaret's body jolted, and her legs trembled.

"Is it necessary to get so worked up? You're just asking for trouble,"

Elena said, her words carrying a hidden meaning.

Nice also saw the village. He pulled open a drawer under his chair, put a lens over his right eye, and with a slight fluctuation of magic, the distant scene came closer.

The village had only a dozen or so households, and it looked desolate. At least three houses had their roofs collapsed under the weight of the snow, and some sleds were scattered around the village, covered in snow, clearly unused for a week.

"Very desolate, isn't it?"

Although Margaret hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she could already guess the situation.

"It seems your uncle has indeed made a mess of the country,"

Nice said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Perhaps influenced by Prince Philip, he had always felt that King Sebastian wasn't entirely bad, that many things were entirely excusable, and that the chaos in Shamarne was largely due to power struggles. But now he had changed his mind.

Even with all the reasons, the king was undeniably responsible for the country's poor governance. No wonder some people wanted to continue their journey by sled; every kilometer or two, they could see similar villages, all strikingly similar, exceptionally desolate and bleak. This was different from the Kaonni they knew.

Kaonni, plagued by rats, was also poor and desolate, but it was still bustling with life. The people there, for their own sake, for their land, dared to attack Nice, at least proving they weren't just mindless zombies. But here, Nice felt a deathly stillness; the people here didn't seem alive, barely clinging to life.

As the sled entered a small town and stopped in front of an inn, Nice felt this oppressive and stifling atmosphere even more intensely.

The inn was quite large, with many sleds and sleds parked in front, and many cart drivers and laborers busy at work, but no one was seen greeting customers at the door.

Nice and Margaret dismounted from their sleds and entered the inn, but no one came to greet them.

The inn's lobby was crowded, yet completely silent. At the far end of the lobby, a boy of about fourteen or fifteen stood with a blank expression.

"Do you have any rooms?" Nice

asked as he approached .

The boy didn't answer, casually tossing a bunch of keys onto the counter.

"I need a separate courtyard, at least five rooms,"

Nice added.

The boy took back the keys, tossed another bunch onto the counter, and then listlessly patted the table. Immediately, a disheveled laborer ran over, hunching over and gesturing to Nice.

"Are all the people here mute?"

Nice raised his voice.

An angry throng of faces erupted in the lobby.

"Who dares to speak carelessly these days?"

the coolie leading the way explained helplessly.

"Are you out of your mind?"

the boy behind the counter shouted.

The coolie shuddered. He had just remembered the rumors that the king's spies would disguise themselves as foreigners and try to trick them into saying forbidden things.

If he were caught red-handed, he wouldn't be the only one in trouble. After all, he didn't have anything of value on him, and those spies would definitely try to implicate the innkeeper, sometimes even affecting the guests.

That's why everyone was now trying to play dumb, and they wouldn't talk to anyone they didn't know well.

Knowing he had made a mistake, the coolie treated Nice like a plague carrier, leading her straight to the room door and then disappearing like a shot.

Nice opened the door, puzzled. To be honest, he still couldn't figure out what was going on.

The room was quite nice, a square, U-shaped cloth room with a courtyard in the middle, surrounded by rooms—two large rooms and four small rooms. The door was quite large, big enough to park the sled inside.

These courtyards were for the wealthy, offering both comfort and security.

Nice called out from the doorway, and the sled driver dismounted, led the horse around to the back, and then drove it into the house.

Elena had already run to the backyard; a while later, she returned with half a roasted lamb. Although they had brought their own food, they always bought groceries at inns, and the food in the carriage was for unforeseen circumstances.

Seeing Elena return, Nice casually closed the door and then tossed four runestones into the four corners of the room, isolating the courtyard from the outside world.

After doing this, Nice asked, "What happened to those people?"

"My uncle is worried someone might overthrow him. To prevent collusion and incitement, he's kept a group of spies. Anyone who dares to spread rumors unfavorable to him will be arrested, and those spies use this as a way to make money."

Margaret had previously returned to Shamarne and knew what had happened.

Nice thought for a moment, then looked at Margaret with suspicion. His intuition told him that this was definitely related to Margaret.

This kind of terrifying rule, where people dared not even speak, could not last long. In the inn lobby, he sensed that those people were mentally unstable.

Judging from the timeline, Margaret must have come to Shamarne before the New Year. If she had deliberately revealed herself, it would have certainly aroused King Sebastian's suspicion, leading him to take such a crazy action.

Suddenly, the knight on guard duty atop the wall shouted, "What do you want?"

The shout had barely faded when the knight leaped from the wall, looking somewhat disheveled, a volley of arrows whizzing past his scalp.

Nice reacted quickly, pulling up his hat and veil to protect his only weakness.

Elena grabbed Margaret and shoved her into the sled.

Gistell was a step slower; being a mage, he couldn't match the knights in this regard. A burst of lightning crackled around him, countless lightning orbs floating around him, before a protective barrier enveloped him.

The door was kicked open with a bang, and a vagrant-looking man rushed in, pointing at Nice and shouting, "It's him! It's him!"

This vagrant wasn't a spy for the king; he saw Nice was unfamiliar with the area and wanted to cause trouble to make some money.

Behind him followed a squad of soldiers, clad in armor and carrying crossbows, their sharp arrows all aimed at Nice's group.

"What do we do?"

Elena asked, completely disregarding these men and only seeking Nice's opinion.

"Kill,"

Nice decided, because he disliked having crossbows pointed at his head.

The moment Nice gave the order, a blinding flash of lightning erupted.

When it came to speed, no one was faster than the Archmage Gistell; with a mere thought, lightning orbs shot forth.

Only one orb flew out, striking the crowd with a purple bolt of lightning before exploding violently.

With a deafening roar, the entire gate was blasted open, and those standing inside and outside were torn to shreds.

The lightning orb wasn't just pure energy; if it were merely a simple explosion of lightning, it would only inflict a fatal electric shock on those nearby, not cause this devastating result.

The explosion occurred because the lightning orb itself shattered from the electrical force, transforming into a rapidly expanding shockwave that pulverized any obstacle.

The scene of flying blood and gore was absolutely shocking, and the soldiers who had surrounded the courtyard panicked.

They had come to make money, expecting to subdue these outsiders by intimidating them or killing someone, allowing them to take whatever they wanted. However, the outsiders were completely unconcerned, attacking without hesitation, and their strength was formidable.

What frightened the soldiers even more was that such indiscriminate killing suggested powerful backers, and the attackers were foreigners. At this moment, the Kingdom of Xiaman was on high alert internally but unusually weak externally. If their superiors knew they had caused such trouble, they would surely use their lives to appease the enemy's anger.

Thinking of this, the leading officer, in desperation, shouted, "Kill them all! Today it's either death or destruction!"

Unfortunately, he didn't realize his shout was excessively loud.

Upon hearing the order, Nice didn't hold back: "Charge out, leave no loose ends."

Nice hadn't brought many men, but they were all agile. The archmage Gistell was the most ferocious; his fighting style was quite different from ordinary mages, more like a master of concealed weapons.

A series of soft crackling sounds rang out as he leaped into the air, followed by seven or eight lightning orbs raining down like hailstones.

The violent explosions collapsed part of the courtyard, and those outside, even those in heavy armor, were left bleeding from all seven orifices.

"We can't stay here any longer, let's go,"

Nice ordered again.

The northern nights were unusual; the ground, covered in a thick layer of snow, was actually brighter than the sky. In the distance were dark mountains, with a faint glimmer of light visible in one corner.

The sled headed towards that light.

After an unknown amount of time, the source of the light grew closer.

It was a pass, a very narrow pass.

On either side were sheer cliffs, with a narrow crevice in the middle barely wide enough for one person to pass through.

This was undoubtedly a masterpiece of nature, a naturally formed perilous place, and atop this perilous terrain stood a man-made fortification.

Because it was too dark, Nice couldn't see the structure clearly, only a platform at the top from which the firelight shone, and indistinct figures moved about—quite a few in number.

The sled stopped, and as it approached, Elena took over as driver.

She threw her head back and let out a long, sharp whistle with a peculiar rhythm.

Suddenly, with a soft whoosh, a flaming arrow fell from above.

The arrow wasn't aimed at the sled, but at something nearby, and flames erupted—it was a brazier.

"Elena, it's you!"

The person above clearly recognized Elena. As her words fell, a commotion arose, followed by a creaking sound, as if a huge winch was turning.

Elena drove the sled in. The crevice in the mountains was very narrow, and the sled occasionally scraped against the rock face.

The crevice was over a hundred meters long, and once through it, a bright and open space appeared before them.

Inside was a valley, much larger than Kaoni's valley, and the surrounding mountains were much higher.

This was definitely a place that was easy to defend and difficult to attack.

About a hundred women, clad in battle robes and chainmail, stood around the exit of the crevice, surrounding the sled. Fortunately, they were not carrying any weapons.

The door opened, and Margaret was the first to step down. She walked quickly towards the woman at the head of the group: "Sasha, it's so good to see you again."

"Me too."

The woman opposite Margaret hugged her, then suddenly sniffed and said in an incredulous tone, "You... what's that smell on you? It's like you've been gang-raped by dozens of men."

Margaret was furious at the words and pinched the woman's waist hard, making the woman scream.

Nice also got off the carriage and looked around.

This was definitely not a prosperous place; everywhere you looked were huts, not much better than where Kaoni had started.

"We've traveled all day and fought with Sebastian's men; we need a place to rest,"

Elena shouted.

The people around were clearly more welcoming to Elena than to Margaret, after all, she was originally one of them. Nice and the others

were led away and settled in. The knights who drove the carriages were all crammed into one room, the great mage Gistell had a room to himself, and Nice, due to his special status, was taken to a room in the middle of the valley. Margaret went with the woman named Sasha; they had important business to discuss.

Elena was the most comfortable; this was her home, and the people here were either her relatives or her friends.

"We'll prepare something to eat for you right away."

A woman in her forties patted Elena's back affectionately; she was Elena's mother.

"I'm not hungry, I'd like to take a bath to warm up,"

Elena said.

"You're more womanly than before."

A girl of about fifteen or sixteen pinched Elena's body. "Is it from being with men?"

Upon hearing this, Elena's mother immediately leaned over, sniffed her, and then gave a strange smile. "I felt something was off earlier; you had a strange smell... Was it those knights? Or the young man with Margaret?"

This mother seemed unusually gossipy, seemingly unconcerned that her daughter had been taken advantage of.

"I'll take a bath first, then we'll talk,"

Elena quickly broke free.

"Come on, let's go together. Let's see how you've changed; you seem to have changed a lot."

Elena's small breasts followed her into the bathroom.

A group of women related to Elena also followed behind.

The valley was quiet but also dull, so finding a topic of gossip wasn't easy for these women. Besides, they also wanted to know what was happening outside.

The bathhouse was in a corner of the valley, a large wooden hut without windows. Surprisingly, even the floor was covered with wooden planks. The hut was steamy, and people were constantly pouring water onto a scorching hot iron plate to create more steam.

This kind of steam bath was a tradition of the barbarians.

At this moment, the bathhouse was crowded with people. Elena lay naked in the middle, her legs spread wide, revealing her swollen mons pubis and the sticky, foamy substance hanging from her thighs and buttocks. She wasn't Margaret, and she didn't feel ashamed at all. On the contrary, she was quite proud. She now had men who liked her.

Because of her extraordinary height, no man had ever wanted her before, which had made her feel very inferior.

"That man doesn't look very strong,"

Elena clicked her tongue in amazement.

"You're inexperienced. The size of a man's penis has little to do with his strength,"

a young woman next to her said with a grin.

"Is his thing really that good?"

another woman asked nonchalantly.

"He's like a donkey,"

Elena commented on Nice's thing.

"Isn't that a bit much?"

"You're kidding."

"That's impossible."

The women gasped.

"I'm not lying, his thing is this thick and this long,"

Elena gestured.

Another gasp rang out in the bathroom, many women involuntarily touching their genitals, wondering if they could accommodate something that big.

"It seems like quite a lot comes out,"

Elena said, wiping the sticky fluid from her vulva.

"And that's not all."

Elena slightly raised her buttocks, pulling a very thin thread from her anus, almost unnoticeable if you weren't paying attention: "Serving him requires using not only the front hole but also the back hole. My and Margaret's four holes are filled to the brim every day."

Another gasp rang out, this time with a hint of envy in addition to shock.

In another room, another group of women were discussing a much more serious matter.

The room was filled with a variety of people, mostly women in their forties and fifties, with only a small number of younger women. The leader, however, was a woman in her thirties.

This tribe, composed entirely of women, had a unique rule: their leaders were never very old. While older women were experienced, they were often considered too worldly-wise, lacking ambition, prone to compromise, and slow to react.

Sasha sat close to the female leader; she was the future leader.

"I never imagined someone as rational as you would fall in love with a man, especially at such a young age,"

the female leader joked. Even the most capable and intelligent woman couldn't resist a bit of gossip.

"I didn't expect it myself,"

Margaret replied, a hint of shyness on her face. She and Nice had been in the carriage for the past few days, their bodies reeking of that substance. She herself hadn't noticed, but the others could smell it immediately. Although they didn't shout like Sasha, their ambiguous smiles betrayed their thoughts.

"You brought him along this time, surely not just so we could offer our blessings?"

the female leader asked with a smile, subtly steer the conversation to the point.

"I'm just the middleman; he's the one who wants to see you,"

Margaret said.

"Does he, like you back then, need someone to fight for him?"

the female leader asked with a wry smile, her eyes suddenly sharpening. "We've been fooled once already; we don't want to be fooled again."

"I haven't deceived you, and you haven't gained nothing,"

Margaret said, adept at these kinds of political deals.

"You can't deny that you didn't keep your promise… Back then, you shouldn't have returned the throne to Elizabeth. You know, she wasn't cut out for it."

The female leader was relentless; she had to get Margaret to admit her mistake to gain the upper hand in the upcoming negotiations.

"Back then, it seems you weren't on my side either. Part of the reason I gave up the throne was out of despair."

Margaret's gaze swept over the women nearing forty.

That was eight years ago. Those who were in power then have all retired, but their actions were certainly unethical.

Sure enough, the women looked embarrassed, and even the female leader opposite Margaret was speechless. Her earlier complaint could be interpreted as Margaret using them and then abandoning them, but the reality was that they were the ones who changed their minds first.

It's difficult to say who was right and who was wrong in this matter; their covert maneuvering was merely a way to gain more leverage in negotiations.

Seeing that she hadn't gained any advantage, the female leader changed the subject again: "What does your man need us to do for him? We already have a territory now, and the situation isn't nearly as urgent as it was eight years ago."

"That's not what I've heard,"

Margaret said with an air of certainty. "Sebastian has always wanted to take this land back. He had some reservations before, but this time he's going to take a hard line. As far as I know, he's mobilized over ten thousand men. Are you confident you can hold them off?" "

Our place is easy to defend and difficult to attack, and with over three thousand men, his small force might not be able to break through,"

the female leader said firmly.

"Are you even including five-year-olds?"

Margaret feigned indifference.

"The number of children who can't fight isn't that many, so this is just nitpicking. This isn't like you at all,"

the female leader said, expressing a hint of doubt towards Margaret.

"I didn't want to say this, but most of the older women here are wounded. Can they still fight?"

Margaret felt genuinely ashamed to admit it, as these wounds were sustained in the Battle of Shamarne.

Sure enough, her words drew anger from many of the women.

"Nice is a priest, and he has close ties with some of the church's higher-ups,"

Margaret explained subtly. She was there to forge an alliance, not to declare war.

The barbarians also had clergy and skilled healers, but when it came to healing, the church's priests were the most adept. This wasn't just due to divine magic, but also to the resources available to them. Many injuries required medicine to fully heal, and medicines capable of treating internal injuries were extremely expensive.

Margaret used this as a point of leverage, making it difficult for the women to refuse. They couldn't possibly not want their family and friends to recover.

"What price do we need to pay?"

the female leader asked, somewhat tempted.

"This has nothing to do with me, you can negotiate yourselves."

Margaret knew very well that the most important thing in negotiations was to maintain a steady pace and not be too hasty, lest she reveal all her cards at once.

"Just like before, we need to see the sincerity of your man first,"

the female leader said. When they first allied with Margaret, they also put her through a series of tests.

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/37225.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=37225&aspx=1

Last access time:

Previous Page : Paradox H - ☆, Increasing Temperature

Next Page : The King of the Rising Sun (Episodes 1-5) Author: Wang Huai