[The Hidden One] Episodes 4-6 Author: Blood Coral

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

Chapter 1 ◆ Boundless Splendor

The road was covered with fallen leaves when suddenly the sound of hooves rang out. Five warhorses rode side by side, their passage like a whirlwind, swirling and fluttering the fallen leaves.

Galloping on horseback, whips cracking, blood boiling – for any man, nothing could be more exhilarating.

This was a far cry from the leisurely carriage ride they had taken when they left.

Such a huge difference was because the people and the circumstances had changed.

Before going to the Holy Land, Luke and his companions were just four poor students, but now they were wealthy, and along the way they had met unexpected people, from Cardinal Amarr to Prince Philip – figures they had never dared to dream of before.

Now, each of their saddles carried a three-meter-long spear, its tip covered with a red silk sheath.

These four show-offs, upon obtaining the spearhead, immediately had a shaft made, completely disregarding how inconvenient it was to carry it. The red silk sheath wasn't for concealment, but rather to make it more conspicuous.

They were all thinking about how, upon returning to the Admont Monastery, they would remove the sheath in front of everyone, revealing the replica of the Spear of Longinus beneath. This was why they had been riding so fast; they wished they could return to the Monastery in a single step.

After crossing a hill, Admont's silhouette was already visible. Suddenly, Luke let out a long, unnatural howl. Palm and Metro, influenced by Luke, also joined in with strange cries. Only Easter gave the three of them a look of utter disbelief. He was more concerned with his appearance, especially after what had happened before; he was now even more mindful of his words and actions.

"We're almost at the Nangdao Academy! We're all very wealthy now. As soon as we get back, I'm going to apply to become a trainee knight,"

Luke announced, puffing out his chest with confidence.

"Me too,"

Palm and Metro echoed, this time not just echoing Luke, but genuinely thinking the same thing.

"And then what? What's next? Have you thought about it?"

Ister didn't seem particularly excited. In his view, this was a logical step; they had already made this plan before even setting off.

When they set out, the future was uncertain, so they only thought about the return and didn't think further ahead. Now, they had not only achieved all their initial goals but also exceeded them by a considerable margin, so naturally, they needed to plan for the next step.

"I plan to stay at the Nangdao Academy for a while longer. Now that we're rich, I plan to pull out some of the instructors' most valuable secrets,"

Palm surprisingly said, the first to come up with an answer.

"I need to frequently travel between Asakus and the Nangdao Academy..."

Metro offered himself a reason. He knew his own limitations; in this group, in terms of combat strength, he was only ahead of Nice.

He used to have something to be proud of: his intelligence.

But this trip to the Holy Land was a blow to him. He realized he was somewhat inferior to Nice in this area.

What frustrated him even more was that he discovered he only possessed superficial cleverness, while Nice vaguely possessed the air of a wise man—a difference in level. For days, he had been pondering his role, finally concluding that he was best suited for gathering information and running errands.

Everyone's eyes turned to Luke.

"Do you have any suggestions?"

Luke was troubled. It wasn't that he hadn't considered the question, but rather that he couldn't figure out the next step.

Becoming a trainee knight meant they could move out of the Nangdao Academy, meaning they would have plenty of time to use themselves, but it also meant they would have to rely on themselves for everything.

Luke stared at Ister; he knew that since Ister had raised this question, he must already have some plans.

"I want to live with Nice for a while. I had this idea when I helped him build his house,"

Easter's answer surprised everyone.

"Why?"

Luke asked in surprise, eager to know the reason.

"I plan to learn some alchemy, and also see what valuable technologies those hermits possess."

Easter didn't intend to become a hermit. This was related to his long-held idea. He had always wanted to acquire a piece of land as his territory, even if it meant spending money on it. This meant he needed other ways to make money. This trip to the Holy Land had impressed him most about the value of technology. The Holy

Land he had painstakingly acquired was worth less than a few bags of quicklime.

No wonder so many people were enthusiastic about alchemy; it was no different from successfully refining gold.

"And what about you?"

Luke turned to ask Nice.

Nice felt confused: "I'm different from you."

He was a member of the church and couldn't possibly pursue any territory or titles.

"We're on the same side now,"

Luke began to encourage the little guy.

"My first consideration is strength. My strength is even inferior to yours,"

Nice said, already pondering his next move. Copying scriptures was a shortcut mentioned by the old man Simon, but it was neither the only nor the best shortcut.

Before, he had no money and this was the only path he could choose. Now, he could find a faster and more convenient way.

Luke frowned. He had already realized that the four of them were thinking the same thing. Palm and Nice were more direct, stating openly that they wanted to improve their strength. The other two didn't say it explicitly, but Ister wanted to learn something new, and Soul Form was also for improving strength, just not combat power.

As for Metro, Luke didn't think he was just going to the port for fun. Accumulating information was itself a form of strength. In the past, Metro only knew everything about the people and things in Admont, but now this guy clearly intended to expand his scope.

Now that they had a direction, they should focus on improving their strength.

Thinking about it carefully, it was indeed the case. They already had money and connections; what they lacked was their own strength.

Unfortunately, he still didn't know what to do. He had little talent in martial arts, and his potential for improvement was limited, so he couldn't learn Palm; he also had no special skills, so he couldn't be like Metro. Should he learn something else like East? Luke fell into deep thought.

Admont was already in sight.

Upon entering the town, Nice greeted the other four people. He planned to go to Old Man Simon's place first.

Besides needing the old man's guidance and to find the most suitable shortcut, he also didn't want to return to the Nangdao Academy with Luke and the others. These four guys, each carrying a Longinus spear, were like four peacocks displaying their plumage, walking with their heads held high—it was simply too conspicuous.

He didn't want to be so conspicuous. He had too many secrets, and if he were constantly exposed to others, they would eventually be revealed.

Dismounting, Nice took a bag filled with his belongings. He didn't plan to ride to the warehouse; there was nowhere to tether a horse there. Besides, he and the old man had many secrets to discuss, and he didn't want any other living being to overhear, not even a beast.

He then casually took a flat box from the saddlebag in front of his horse and handed it to Luke.

"Give this to the abbot when you see him. It's a donation to the Nangdao Academy,"

Nice said.

His trip to the Holy Land had made him increasingly adept at socializing.

In the church, to thrive, one had to cultivate good relationships with all sides. The church's greatest strength wasn't its military might or wealth, but its churches scattered throughout the land, its hundreds of millions of believers, and its extensive network of connections.

His goal was to become someone skilled in using his silver tongue to travel the world and forge alliances between nations.

"What's inside?"

Luke hesitated, unsure whether to open it.

"Is it top-quality piety jewelry?"

Ister was clearly more astute than Luke.

Nice nodded, but he was still worried that the gift would be looked down upon, so he specifically instructed, "There are five sets of jewelry in total. If the Dean doesn't understand their significance, explain them to him."

Upon hearing this, Luke and Ister both understood. Nice wanted them to mention their cooperation with Cardinal Amar to the Dean.

For Dean Nangdao, people of the bishop's rank were no longer considered important, but the cardinal still carried some weight.
The warehouse remained the same, but the contents had been replaced. The heavy bedding and blankets were much less, while thin summer blankets and straw mats filled half the warehouse. In addition, there was a significant increase in dried goods such as salted meat, cured meat, ham, and sausages, clearly preparing for winter.

Because there were so many things, the warehouse was quite crowded, making it difficult to walk.

Similar to the warehouse, the vegetable garden that Old Man Simon had cultivated was now quite thriving. The trellises he had built were now covered with loofahs, cucumbers, and grapes, and the ground was full of chives, lettuce, asparagus, and cauliflower—yellow, green, and purple, a beautiful sight.

"It's clear you had a very smooth journey this time,"

the old man said with a smile. He knew Nice had arrived at the Holy Land when the Knights Templar came to find him.

"Not entirely smooth, though; there were quite a few risks along the way."

Nice opened his pocket and took out a black sphere about the size of a fist. He cupped it in both hands and twisted it sharply, and the sphere immediately split in two.

Inside the sphere was a book, a crumpled book.

The old man's eyes widened instantly; he recognized it.

After a slight pause, he immediately realized what was happening and quickly pulled out a dozen or so stones engraved with runes from his pocket, throwing them around the yard.

The sacred aura emanating from the book was instantly contained within the yard.

"You actually crumpled the Holy Decree like this..."

The old man was speechless. Knowing it was a divine artifact, he had never seen anyone else besides Nesse dare to do such a thing.

A divine artifact is a divine artifact after all. It had been crumpled and stuffed into that sphere for over a month, but now, as soon as it was released, it immediately began to return to its original shape, without even a single wrinkle.

The soft, black substance sealing it was lead. This soft yet heavy metal served a similar purpose to the ark, and by being stuffed into the sacred soil, Nesse had managed to get away with it.

"They sent you to bring this back?"

The old man's expression was unusually grim. The person responsible for contacting him hadn't mentioned this at all.

Although he had long suspected that the Knights Templar might not accept Nesse as a new member, he hadn't expected them to go this far.

Based on his understanding of the Knights, he could even guess that they hadn't expected the young man to actually return the item. The Holy Decree was just bait, a distraction; the other treasures would definitely be delivered by another route.

The old man was pondering how to get justice for Nice and what he could get in return for the Holy Decree when he suddenly looked Nice up and down, finally fixing his gaze on the little guy's head.

"You've got quite a haul! This wasn't given to you by those knights, was it?"

The old man was quite surprised. He lifted Nice's hat, revealing a headband covered in sharp spikes.

Wearing this thing on one's head would definitely not be comfortable; the sharp spikes digging into the scalp would be very painful.

However, compared to the benefits it brought, this pain was nothing.

A replica of the Crown of Thorns was absolutely the most suitable artifact for a succubus.

"We met a cardinal on the way, and we made a deal with him, finally getting four Spears of Longinus and this thing in return."

Nice didn't specifically say it was a replica, because there was no need to explain. Even people who weren't from the church knew that artifacts of the caliber of Spears of Longinus and the Crown of Thorns could never fall into the hands of an individual.

"So, he must really appreciate you. Otherwise, no matter how much money you have, you wouldn't be able to get these things."

The old man was finally showing some interest in Nice's trip and wanted to know what Nice and his companions had done.

Gaining the favor of a cardinal was no easy feat, let alone acquiring these items without at least 20,000 to 30,000 gold coins.

The cost of a replica of the Spear of Longinus was about 1,200 gold coins, and the cost of the Crown of Thorns was even higher, close to 2,000 gold coins. The Knights Templar had spent 200,000 florins to purchase a batch of Spears of Longinus from the Church, which was only enough to meet the needs of the front-line knights. On average, each Spear of Longinus cost about 3,000 florins.

Suddenly, a smile appeared on the old man's lips. He had already decided what the Knights Templar would compensate Nice with.

What the little guy needed most was a sacred artifact. If the Knights intended to reclaim the Holy Decree, they would have to exchange it for a sacred artifact. Exchanging a sacred artifact for a divine artifact—anyone who wasn't an idiot would agree to this deal.

Even if he obtained the sacred artifact, he didn't plan to hand it over to Nesse too soon. The immense pressure would bring immense motivation; the little guy's strength was improving rapidly, far exceeding his expectations. If Nesse knew he already possessed a sacred artifact, the pressure would disappear.

No matter how good the sacred artifact, it couldn't compare to having one's own strength.

As the old man pondered, he heard Nesse ask, "I feel that copying scriptures is still somewhat inefficient. Is there a better way?"

"Now that you have money, you want to find an easier method?"

the old man asked with a smile. He didn't have any ulterior motives; it was human nature.

It was precisely because of the desperate search for shortcuts that human civilization progressed little by little.

Seeing that the old man didn't answer, Nice immediately misunderstood, thinking the old man was blaming him for being lazy. He quickly explained, "Of course, I will continue copying the scriptures, at least until I obtain the qualification of a copyist."

The old man didn't answer, but asked a completely unrelated question.

"Have you felt that after going to the Holy Land, the speed at which your Holy Power increased has accelerated considerably?"

Nice was puzzled. To be honest, he really hadn't felt that way.

The reason was actually quite simple. When he went to the Holy Land, he used the secret meditation technique passed down by the Symbol Society all day to absorb the Holy Power carried by the Holy Light Mark on the top of the mast. The effect of this absorption was almost the same as copying the scriptures, but the difficulty was much less, and he didn't feel tired at all.

With such a good thing that he didn't have to work for it, the speed at which his Holy Power increased naturally couldn't be slow.

On the way back, there were nearly three hundred Saracens on the ship. For the sake of profit, everyone put aside their differences in faith and lived together peacefully. Under these circumstances, he was too embarrassed to climb on top of others and pray there all day.

"It seems you haven't noticed this for some reason,"

the old man said regretfully. This was the best example, far better than a dry explanation.

"Do you know why church members are so concerned about pilgrimages? Wherever they go, they invariably visit the famous local churches, and if there's an opportunity to attend Mass, they absolutely won't miss it?"

the old man asked again.

Nice shook his head matter-of-factly; he hadn't even thought about it. In his view, going to church for pilgrimage and attending Mass was simply the right and obligation of church members.

The old man found a rock to sit on and began to explain.

"Because of holiness, every pastor possesses holiness, and every prayer increases holiness. When you copy scripture, each word you write adds a little holiness, and performing divine magic also increases holiness. The more holiness a pastor possesses, the faster his holy power increases."

What he was saying was always passed down orally within the church; no one would ever say it in public, and it would never appear in any scriptures. The church always felt that while holiness was key to God's faith and the fight against pagan gods, it was too utilitarian and easily led to misunderstandings. Hearing the

old man say this, Niss suddenly recalled his morning prayers in the chapel of the Nangda Temple.

At that time, the holy power allocated to him was pitifully small. He had initially thought it was because he was too weak, but now he realized that what he lacked was holiness.

"Holy power is the appearance, holiness is the foundation?"

Niss had already grasped the old man's meaning.

The old man, with a look of appreciative understanding, explained, "So-called sacred objects or relics are simply things that have acquired holiness. This could be man-made, or it could be due to long-term exposure to the power of faith, resulting in some kind of transformation. Those who are given holy names by the Church do so because their holiness doesn't dissipate after death. The true purpose of pilgrimage isn't to admire and remember, but to absorb that remaining holiness. This is the simplest, most direct, and easiest way to acquire holiness."

"No wonder you guarding the Holy Land are all so powerful,"

Nice exclaimed, suddenly understanding.

"That's not it. The amount of holiness you can absorb is limited. You've already gained almost all the benefits after staying in the Holy Land for a week. Even if you stay longer, your gains won't increase much. As for those famous churches that enshrine sacred objects, they can give you even less holiness. You only need to stay there for half a day to reach your limit,"

the old man quickly corrected Nice's misconception.

"You mean I should travel around?"

Nice was a little worried. At his age, traveling seemed a bit too early.

The old man shook his head. Of course, that wasn't what he meant. "That's for later. I'm telling you this so you won't miss any opportunities when they arise. I know you haven't even been to the church in town yet. That's not like a priest."

Nice blushed. He had indeed been a bit too pragmatic in this matter. Every time he came to town, it was either for a Sunday night date or to discuss matters with Luke and the others about the Holy Land trip. He had never thought about going to the church, let alone that he, as a priest, had never even entered that church once. It was unbelievable.

"So what should I do now?"

Nice asked. He didn't think that going to church often would make his strength improve faster.

"You can apply for lower-level ministry."

The old man had already thought of Nice's future path.

"Lower-level ministry?"

Nice had never heard of it.

"It's really just about preaching. Have you ever noticed how many people in a town go to church? Have you ever noticed what kind of people go to church?"

The old man felt it was necessary to give the boy a crash course.

A normal pastor would be sent to a seminary at a very young age, and by the time they became full-fledged pastors, they would know everything about the church. Nice was an exception. He was the sole heir to his family's estate and title, and it was impossible for him to join the church. His becoming a pastor was completely accidental, so he had never received a systematic education.

Nice knew that the old man was about to start his lesson again. He was very familiar with the old man's inspirational teaching method. The old man never gave the answers directly, but always let him find the answers himself.

He thought for a moment and vaguely remembered something.

Back in his hometown, it seemed that those who went to church were people of some status, at least shop owners who ran small businesses. The church was not large and could not accommodate many people. Those who truly needed salvation, such as farmers, laborers, and servants, never went to church.

"It seems you understand. There are many people in this world who are within the Church's sphere of influence, yet they are completely ignored by the Church. The reason is simple: they have no money, and there's nothing to gain from them, so no clergy member is willing to 'save' them."

The old man's sarcasm was palpable.

"A priest cannot be a clergy member, but he can preach..."

Nice muttered to himself. He had always found it strange that this was specifically listed.

Now he finally understood; it existed for serving the lower classes, and applying for this job was equivalent to indirectly having one's own diocese.

"What does this have to do with holiness?"

Nice asked, puzzled.

"Any church, even the smallest one, will naturally gather faith and generate a trace of holiness. As people's reverence for the church increases, the holiness becomes stronger and stronger, and the person who builds the church can share a portion of that holiness."

The old man revealed the key point.

Nice immediately understood.

At the same time, he also remembered something: within the Church, from bishops to ordinary priests, it seemed that everyone enjoyed building churches. He used to suspect it was an attempt to amass wealth, but now he knows that the money was indeed used for the construction of the church. Even if some was misappropriated, the proportion was very small.

Now he finally understands the mystery.

Soul-like figure gleaned a hidden meaning from these words. The amount of holiness a church could embody depended on people's reverence for it, not on the church itself, or on his application to serve in the lower ranks.

Didn't this mean that no matter how well he performed, it would be useless, and building a magnificent church would be more meaningful?

Tall and imposing buildings always inspire awe, which is why famous cathedrals are all built so tall and large, making people feel insignificant. Building a cathedral requires a large amount of manpower and money, and he happened to have the money.

In the mountains during late autumn, everything was golden.

The narrow mountain paths were covered with fallen leaves, requiring extra caution as one never knew what might be hidden beneath them.

Fortunately, Nice was no longer the Soul-like figure he once was. Not only had his strength increased significantly, but he had also gained more confidence, and more importantly… he was wearing chainmail.

At this moment, he held a slender bramble in his hand, a little over two meters long, as light as a feather. However, with each flick of his wrist, the "crackling" sound of the bramble striking the ground was exceptionally piercing and quite astonishing, far more imposing than Luke sweeping around with a stick.

Along the way, insects, lizards, and snakes occasionally crawled out. He wasn't alarmed when he saw them, just like Luke had done before, casually flicking the bramble at them.

As he walked, he suddenly stopped, his eyes vacant, seemingly pondering something.

After a moment, he sharply flicked his wrist, and the bramble twisted twice, heading towards a bush ahead.

Brambles are inherently soft, offering no leverage. If it were a whip, it would make quite a sound, but pricking like this had no power whatsoever.

The bramble struck the bush, immediately being stopped by a thin branch, then twisted.

Nice flicked his wrist again, this time not pricking, but whipping.

Withered leaves flew everywhere, and a gap was torn open in the dense bush, as if cleaved by a knife.

A knowing look appeared on Nis's face.

He put his hand in his pocket, and when he took it out again, he had a copper coin. The coin wasn't imprinted with a king's portrait, but with a mysterious rune.

Nis pressed the coin against the bramble, and uttered a mysterious incantation.

Instantly, the coin softened and quickly seeped into the bramble. The recently picked, greenish-blue bramble gradually turned golden as it was soaked in the copper liquid, and the previously limp bramble suddenly straightened, vibrating incessantly and emitting a buzzing sound, like a tuning fork.

Nis thrust again, this time targeting a nearby hazel tree.

With a soft "thud," the tip of the thorn twig pierced the wrinkled bark, but its tip wasn't sharp enough to penetrate deeply. The force of the blow caused the twig to bend like a bow.

"It's done,"

Nis thought with delight. He finally knew how to make a suitable weapon.

He had once envied Luke and his companions, each wielding a replica of the Spear of Longinus. While his replica of the Crown of Thorns was undoubtedly more useful, it wasn't a weapon.

Although he would always try to maintain distance and launch projectiles from afar, close combat was inevitable—a fact he had learned during the wolf hunt.

Mondstadt's rapier was undoubtedly a very effective and easy-to-use weapon.

While crafting piety jewelry in Asakus, he had considered asking the alchemists sent by the cardinal to forge him a similar weapon.

The result had disappointed him. Upon hearing his request, the alchemists immediately told him that the difficulty in obtaining such a weapon lay not in the alchemists' skill, but in the weapon itself.

The lighter and sharper the sword, the easier it would be to break; if it were also to be sturdy, the forging difficulty would be even greater.

The alchemists even asserted that the rapier forged for Mondstadt must have been crafted by a top-tier master.

Nys had initially thought all hope was lost, but at this moment, a sudden flash of inspiration gave him a glimmer of possibility.

The pursuit of lightness and sharpness necessitated a very thin blade, which inevitably led to reduced strength. This wasn't just a problem for swords; any type of weapon faced this issue. The longer, thinner, lighter, and sharper the weapon, the easier it was to break; the shorter, thicker, heavier, and blunter it was, the sturdier it was.

There was only one exception: the whip. Even the thinnest whip was not easily broken; even if it did break, it was only by being sliced or pulled, never by shattering.

Of course, carrying a whip into battle was impossible; the only way to weaken an opponent would be to make them laugh until they were exhausted. However, he could learn from the structure of a whip and forge a suitable weapon for himself using a combination of weaving and forging.

With this plan in mind, Nice quickened his pace. He needed to get back to the Hidden House as soon as possible; there were plenty of blacksmiths there.

He chanted an unfamiliar prayer, and as he chanted, his steps grew longer, his pace quickened, and his speed increased.

With Barmote as his guardian angel and the talent bestowed upon him by Mercury, he was already able to use the basic divine spells related to travel.

Two hours later, he finally saw the familiar valley.

Because it was autumn, all the leaves had fallen, and standing on the ridge, he could see the treehouse that Ister and the others had built for him.

Walking down the narrow, leaf-strewn steps, he first went to the abbot's residence.

Just like the first time he came here, the room was empty. He then went to the chapel, but it was empty as well.

Out of politeness, he had originally planned to greet Dean Gloria first, but since he wasn't there, it wasn't his fault.

Reaching the bottom of the valley, Nice went back to his house first, dropped off his luggage, and then immediately ran towards the blacksmith's workshop

. It was the most crowded place in the entire Hidden House, and he needed their help. Turning the winding mountain pass, he felt something was strange; unlike before, he was almost at the blacksmith's workshop, yet he hadn't heard the sound of hammering. Fortunately, as he rounded the last bend, he saw a large group of people gathered on the hillside. There

were not only people, but also some wooden machines.

Nice glanced at the sky; judging from the sun's position, it was almost noon, meaning lunchtime was approaching.

Nice didn't rush to greet everyone; he strolled over to one of the machines.

The machine's structure looked somewhat complex, with a multitude of pulleys and levers, dazzling to the eye. However, its function was simple: to thread rings together, connecting them into a chain.

Beside each machine, a person was turning the handle, providing the power.

All the rings had their notches flattened, and small holes had been drilled in them. When they emerged from the machines, each hole had an insert, seemingly made of copper, as someone was using pliers to flatten them one by one.

The existence of such convenient tools immediately sparked Niss's keen interest in mechanics.

Back in Flanders, he had witnessed others crafting chainmail, employing hundreds, even thousands, of laborers to complete this tedious task. Now, a dozen people plus eight machines could effortlessly accomplish such a feat.

When he left the Holy Land, he had forged 154 ballistae from over 300 benches; these ballistae had enabled their safe return, their meeting with Prince Philip, and the subsequent journey had proceeded smoothly.

Because of this, he knew that mechanics was a very useful subject. Niss secretly pondered whether he should add mechanics to his alchemy studies.

However, this would make his time even more pressing.

A series of knocking sounds startled him awake. He saw a soldier holding a hammer, tapping it a few times on a hanging iron plate. Everyone around stopped what they were doing.

Lunchtime had arrived.

"Back from the Holy Land? Any finds?"

the blacksmith asked with a smile. He was, besides Mondstadt, one of the closest people to Nys here.

"Quite a find! I even brought back some gifts for you all."

Nys was very good at socializing, a trait he inherited from his father. Whenever his father went somewhere, he would always return with a large pile of gifts. These gifts weren't necessarily valuable, but they made everyone who received them very happy.

The gifts he prepared were razors.

The Hidden Burial Grounds were all male blacksmiths, and everyone except Nys had beards.

These blacksmiths weren't short of razors; they were blacksmiths themselves, and used to forge their own razors. However, what they made couldn't compare to the gifts Nys gave them.

The razors Nys presented as gifts looked quite ordinary—jujube wood handles, brass shafts—nothing special. But the blacksmiths who received the gifts were all beaming with satisfaction.

The reason was that these razors had faintly visible, twisting patterns on their surfaces. These patterns resembled flowing water or ethereal clouds, indicating the presence of Damascus steel, a top-grade steel used to forge swords.

The Saracens, of course, wouldn't be so extravagant. Some of the razors were made from leftover materials, others from flawed pieces lacking strength. They weren't made by renowned craftsmen, but rather as practice pieces by apprentices, hence the low price of three silver coins each.

Of course, compared to ordinary razors, this was an astronomical price, but it was Damascus steel after all, and even leftover materials and flawed pieces were worth the price.

Taking advantage of everyone's good mood, Nice asked, "Do you know how to apply for the inheritance of a martial artist's soul?"

The blacksmiths were all somewhat surprised.

"It seems you really succeeded this time, you must have made a fortune, otherwise why would you dare to consider the martial artist's soul?"

the blacksmith laughed heartily, his eyes even gleaming.

"To inherit the soul of a martial artist, it will cost at least 15,000 silver coins. Do you have that much money?"

Mond rarely spoke, but he meant well and didn't want Nice to waste his money.

Inheriting the soul of a martial artist would certainly allow a priest to possess all the combat awareness and experience of a former peerless expert, but if one's own strength was insufficient, it would be impossible to unleash that power. In his opinion, even if one wanted to inherit the soul of a martial artist, one should at least wait until becoming a mid-level priest.

"Money is not a problem."

Nice was currently very wealthy, spending only gold coins. The few silver coins he had in his pocket were just change left over from buying things.

"Of course you're not short of money."

Dean Gloriel's voice came from afar. He'd somehow appeared and swayed as he approached Nice. "I just heard that four students returned to the Nen Academy after their training trip. They're all incredibly wealthy, each carrying a Longinus Spear, and they immediately applied to become apprentice knights. They don't seem to care about spending money."

Nice finally understood why the Dean's office was empty; the Dean must have gone to town.

"Longinus! Four of them!"

The blacksmith's face was filled with disbelief.

"Probably twenty thousand gold coins?"

another blacksmith estimated the price. This was truly a decadent era; no one cared what the Longinus Spear represented, only the price.

"More than that,"

another blacksmith interjected. They were usually quiet, but now that money, especially a large sum, was involved, their previous indifference vanished.

"And yours?"

The blacksmith looked Nice up and down, wondering where Nice had hidden his spearhead of Longinus.

Nice pulled down the hood of his cloak, revealing the headband.

"The Crown of Thorns... No way? You guys really struck it rich this time."

The blacksmith's eyes were almost red; this thing was worth more than the spearhead of Longinus.

They had worked hard for half a year, and the money each of them received probably wouldn't even be enough to buy half a spearhead, let alone this thing.

"I just heard you say you want to inherit the spirit of the warrior?"

the dean asked, wanting to confirm this.

"Yes, but I have a special request. I'm not very interested in going to the battlefield wearing heavy armor, carrying a shield, and wielding a warhammer. I prefer ranged weapons, especially small, concealed throwing knives."

Nice casually pulled open his blouse, revealing a row of throwing knives underneath.

With a flick of his finger and a quick flick of his wrist, a throwing knife shot out like lightning, instantly severing the rope binding the iron plate that had just been struck. The plate clattered to the ground.

Having demonstrated this skill, Nice needed no further explanation.

Dean Glory scratched his head; this request was giving him a major headache. A warrior's soul didn't appear out of thin air; it was a part of the soul extracted from the souls of the most elite warriors after death.

Frankly, there were very few people who used hidden weapons, and he had never heard of anyone who could generate a "martial soul." He wasn't sure if the church possessed such a warrior's soul.

"We'll probably have to ask the Inquisition,"

a nearby servant muttered.

"Right! The Inquisition!"

The dean was immediately enlightened.

The Inquisition engaged in all sorts of shady dealings; there were bound to be people there skilled in using hidden weapons. If they did, the dean wasn't worried about getting his hands on them. In the church today, there was nothing that money couldn't buy.

He wasn't worried that the Inquisition would deliberately inflate the price. There were few people who used hidden weapons, and priests who did were even more unusual; aside from Nice, he hadn't heard of another like them. And the Warrior's Soul didn't disappear after use; it was like chives—cut a clump, and it would grow back.

"Bring me 20,000 Grosso first."

The dean was willing to help, naturally because of the money, and he rightfully raised the price, given Nice's strange demands.

Everyone present knew the dean's temper, so they all remained silent.

Nice took a money pouch from his pocket and handed it to the dean; he had prepared it beforehand.

The pouch was full of gold coins, totaling roughly the equivalent of 20,000 grosso silver coins. Even if there were extra, he didn't intend to take it back. Whether the extra money was used as a bribe or a donation, he hadn't expected it wouldn't be enough.

Nice gained a deeper understanding of Dean Glory's greed.

The dean took the pouch and weighed it in his hand, knowing roughly how much was inside. He smiled and said, "Then I'll trouble myself to ask around for you. To be honest, your demands..."

He still shook his head with a troubled expression, seemingly very troubled.

The headmaster left, and everyone watched him walk away. No one said anything about this money-grubbing fellow. Only after the headmaster turned the corner did Nice turn to the blacksmiths who were eating and ask, "Could you forge me a set of throwing knives?"

He didn't dare speak too loudly, lest the headmaster, who was skilled at skinning people, hear him again.

"Don't you already have so many throwing knives?"

The blacksmith was quite puzzled; he had helped forge Nice's throwing knives in the first place.

"He's got deep pockets now; he must want weapons that can be imbued with magic."

Mond was the first to guess Nice's intentions; Nice had originally followed his path.

"You want to forge magical weapons!"

The blacksmiths pondered.

"Throwing knives are different from swords and the like. They're not very big; I'm afraid we won't be able to make anything special with them."

The blacksmith had something else to say: throwing knives couldn't possibly be made in single pieces; with a large quantity, the price would be difficult to determine.

For most weapons, the cost is split evenly between materials and labor. But for throwing weapons, materials are relatively inexpensive; the majority of the cost is labor.

"It doesn't need to be too complicated. Just attach a force field thread to the end of the throwing knife so I can retrieve it after throwing it. Otherwise, it's too wasteful; I can't carry enough to throw them all."

Nice had already figured out what he needed. His current strength wasn't enough; even a powerful magical weapon wouldn't help. A replica of the Spear of Longinus wouldn't be much more effective in his hands than a regular spear.

He needed these special throwing knives because throwing weapons rely on quantity, but carrying too many would be too heavy. That's why he was wondering if it was possible to make the throwing knives automatically return to his hand after being launched.

His idea of attaching a force field thread to the end of the throwing knife was borrowed from the old method of tying a thread to the end of a spear .

However, the tangible thread would increase resistance, and in a forest, it wouldn't be practical.

"That's easy,"

the blacksmith nodded.

"You don't need to tinker with the throwing knife at all. Just have Larvin make a clasp for you. When you need to use it, just attach it to the end of the knife. There's a loop there for attaching ribbons, right? Just attach it there."

Mond's mind worked faster than anyone else's. "If we could use this force field thread to change the trajectory of the throwing knife, that would be even more perfect, like the guided arrows of the magic archers or the wind arrows of the Chiron people."

People always have a tendency to push their luck, and Nys had a new idea.

"That's a question for Larvin."

This time, even the blacksmith wasn't confident. After throwing the knife, he also had to be able to control the direction, which was definitely a high level of difficulty.

"It should be possible,"

Mond said. "The range of guided arrows and wind arrows is over two or three hundred meters. Of course, it requires special skills. Your throwing knife can only hit a target more than twenty meters away at most, so this is much easier."

He was an expert in this area. He had also thought about making a sword fly out of his hand to kill someone in the past. This kind of tactic had actually existed for a long time.

Among summoning magic, there is a spell that can summon a magical sword that fights on its own. Ancient legends tell of a special race of elves called Sword Singers, who can make their swords fly through the air, swirling and thrusting.

"I also plan to forge something… a sword, a special sword,"

Nice said again.

Chapter Two ◆ Fragmented Memories

Blood, everywhere blood.

Besides blood, there were corpses, corpses everywhere.

And the omnipresent sounds of hacking and screaming.

This was a place more desolate than hell, where the dying wailed everywhere.

Intertwined with this were the flashing lights of swords and the flying blood.

His hand flashed with a ghostly light, but the light was unusually dim, always disappearing in an instant, and someone would fall in the next moment.

Those who fell were all sorts of people, most wearing armor and wielding weapons, some were followers or civilians.

Without the slightest pity, without the slightest hesitation, as long as someone appeared within his attack range, the light of his sword would flash.

His attack range was extremely long, exceeding one hundred meters at its furthest point, turning this vast area into a slaughterhouse.

No one could dodge his throwing knives, no one could parry them, not even heavy armor. Steel couldn't withstand the sharp blades, and several people clad in multiple layers of heavy armor had already fallen before him.

Suddenly, several people surrounded him, their bodies spitting out flame-like light. The weapons they held shimmered like spirits, and one could vaguely see runes formed by swirling light rising from them.

These were no ordinary knights; the spirits they wielded were not ordinary weapons.

He clearly knew he had encountered formidable enemies, so he stopped.

The three opposite him transformed into three streaks of light, rushing towards him, while the other knights scattered in all directions, clearly intending to flank him from both sides.

Suddenly, everything became chaotic? That was because he too moved, his speed so fast that ordinary people couldn't react.

Blades flashed, sword energy crisscrossed, and deep gashes ripped through the earth, destroying everything a foot above ground. In the blink of an eye, the battlefield was shrouded in dust.

His eyes were completely useless, but with a strange sense, he clearly knew the positions of the enemies around him.

A throwing knife flew from his hand, its speed incredible, seemingly traversing the distance in an instant, embedding itself in an enemy's throat.

The moment the tip of the knife touched the armor, a blinding fireball exploded.

That armor was definitely not simple; it was imbued with powerful protective magic.

The throwing knife was instantly blasted into pieces, but just as the knife shattered, the man collapsed.

On his neck was an almost imperceptible mark, just a very thin red line.

An exceptionally powerful knight died just like the ordinary people who were killed, unable to withstand a single blow.

One strike, one kill; another strike, another kill; he relentlessly unleashed deadly throwing knives.

The dust gradually settled, restoring the scene as before. The knights, their bodies glowing with fiery light, were all gone, leaving only a field of corpses.

Nice slowly opened his eyes, his vision still seemingly filled with blood.

It took him a long time to recover.

He was still in the chapel of the Hidden Institution. Before him, besides the cross, was Dean Gloriel, the butcher-like, greedy fellow, who was now smiling broadly, holding a money pouch.

"How are you feeling?"

The dean, unusually concerned for the money, asked.

"This Warrior's Soul is indeed worthy of being obtained from the Inquisition,"

Nice sighed, his chest still tight.

"What do you mean?"

the dean asked warily. Implanting a martial artist's soul is no small matter; sometimes accidents happen. Some martial artist souls are simply too powerful, and the recipient's consciousness can be corrupted and transformed into a soul.

Unfortunately, the martial artist's soul he obtained had questionable origins.

Records about it were scarce. All that was known was that it had been extracted three centuries ago, and no one had ever implanted it before. After all, few priests would choose hidden weapons, let alone use them as their primary weapon.

"This person is too cruel, too violent..."

Ness didn't know how to describe it. He even felt that this person couldn't be considered human anymore; he was practically a cold-blooded Grim Reaper, or a calm, bloodthirsty demon king.

From the remaining memories, he only sensed a thirst for blood and slaughter, yet when with this soul, he was incredibly calm, cold as ice, devoid of any impulse. Most of the time, his mind was blank, completely in a state of thoughtlessness.

The Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't seen those memories and naturally didn't know the extent of the cruelty and violence Ness described.

"It's alright, you'll get used to it after a while. Most warrior souls come from knights, and those people love fighting and killing. To us, it's inevitable that they seem a bit cruel and violent,"

Dean Glorill comforted him. Suddenly, he asked, "Was this person very strong when he was alive?"

Nice frowned and thought for a moment, then shook his head. "He probably wasn't the strongest. There are several scenes in the memory fragments where he was being chased, and those chasers were all extremely terrifying guys."

The dean breathed a sigh of relief. The stronger the implanted warrior soul, the higher the chance of problems. A guy who was constantly being chased didn't seem like a strong person at all.

Of course, Dean Glorill didn't know that the warrior soul implanted in Nice's consciousness, while perhaps not the strongest in the world when he was alive, was a terrifying figure who could stop a child from crying. He killed more people than all the other strong people at the time combined. Even more terrifying was that, except for a very few top figures, everyone else died with a single strike in front of him.

"Who is this person fighting?"

the Dean asked finally, wanting to confirm this.

The origins of warrior souls emerging from the Inquisition were often questionable; many were left behind by those who died within the Inquisition itself.

"Mostly Saracens, and some barbarians wearing horned helmets and scale armor,"

Nice's answer completely reassured the Dean.

"You should already know the incantation for 'War Soul Resurrection,' right? If not, I'll teach you now,"

Dean Gloriel said. "However, it's an intermediate-level divine spell; even if you learn it now, you won't be able to use it."

This was also why Mond believed Nice needed to reach at least the intermediate level before considering warrior souls.

"War Soul Resurrection" could directly activate a priest's warrior soul, instantly transforming him into a powerful warrior.

Although the strength after activation wouldn't reach the original warrior's formidable level, it was already far superior to that of an ordinary knight. It's important to know that those who could leave behind warrior souls were all top-tier powerhouses; even unleashing ten percent of their power was terrifying.

"I plan to transform these things into my own abilities."

Nis had already decided; the Warrior's Soul and the Enlightenment of Wisdom were similar things.

He had this idea because of the talent bestowed upon him by Mercury. For him, the Warrior's Soul was merely a guide, telling him how to become stronger, not something to be used directly as a weapon.

"Ambitious! I believe in you."

The Dean was immediately pleased. He didn't care about Nis's ambition; he was happy that the chances of problems were much lower.

Consciousness devouring only occurred when using "Battle Soul Revival" in battle. If he only used the Warrior's Soul as the Enlightenment of Wisdom, there would be absolutely no problems.

Leaving the church, Nis looked at the sky. It was already bright, but the sun hadn't risen yet.

He felt a little hungry and needed to find something to eat. There was black bread in the cafeteria, but he would never touch it.

Nis touched the throwing knife at his waist. He looked around at the surrounding mountains, wondering where to hunt.

Although he was now wealthy and could buy whatever he wanted, he had grown accustomed to hunting every day. Hunting was both a form of training and entertainment for him; moreover, he wanted to know if the things within the Warrior's Soul were truly useful.

Taking a feather from his pocket, Nice chanted a spell, and the feather transformed into a phantom—the shadow of a pair of wings. This phantom vanished from his body, and he felt his body suddenly become light and airy.

Following the narrow steps, Nice quickly ran to the top of the cliff.

The Hidden Abode was built on the south side; the northern slope wasn't as steep, but the incline was still between sixty and seventy degrees. Only a winding path through the mountains was slightly gentler.

In the past, if he hadn't taken that path, he would have been half-dead from the fall, even with the "Lightness Spell" applied to him. But at this moment, he leaped forward, his feet lightly touching the mountainside with incredible speed. At first, he seemed a little clumsy, his body slightly wobbly, but gradually, he became more skilled, his entire body like a giant bird, skimming along the mountainside, quickly traversing several ridges. With

a sudden turn, Niss changed direction from a downward descent to a horizontal leap, instantly soaring to the treetops.

The mountains were densely wooded, and he leaped and bounded among the branches as if running on flat ground.

His head seemed to be on a spring, constantly bobbing, his eyes scanning in all directions. This was an ability inherited from the soul of a martial artist—constantly observing the surrounding movements, leaving no blind spots. Niss had unknowingly learned this technique.

As for other skills, with his current strength, he simply couldn't use them.

In the jumbled fragments of memory, he saw that person leap seven or eight meters with a single bound, dodging faster than an arrow fired from a powerful crossbow. Not to mention their unerring skill with hidden weapons and their astonishing range of up to a hundred meters.

What was terrifying was that such range relied solely on arm, wrist, and finger strength; such accuracy on mere eyesight. No supernatural power was used; they were nothing like a magic archer. That person was a pure warrior, devoid of any divine arts, and seemingly knew nothing of magic.

Suddenly, a smile appeared on Nice's lips. With a flick of his wrist at his waist, a throwing knife shot out. With

a light twist of his wrist, he pulled it back, snatching a rabbit through the air. The throwing knife was embedded in the rabbit's neck.

This wasn't Nice's usual willow-leaf throwing knife; this one had barbs on both sides, so it could bring its prey back with it.

The ability to accurately hit targets even while moving at high speed was something Nice had never possessed before.

He wasn't a shrewd person; one rabbit was enough for him to eat for a day.

Turning back towards the valley, he didn't take the old path but instead found a slightly gentler slope and climbed directly up the mountainside. This kind of soul-like feeling was also a recurring theme in the memories of the martial artist's soul.

It seemed that besides killing, that person only had this one hobby: climbing many steep peaks and then jumping off them. The feeling of flying with the wind as he fell seemed to captivate him, and Nice also felt a kind of soul-like feeling. At

the end of the slope was a cliff, below which lay the valley where the Hidden Inn was located.

Nice jumped off completely unconsciously, and by the time he realized what a foolish thing he had done, he was already in mid-air.

Nice broke out in a cold sweat, feeling like he was going crazy. But beyond the fear, a strange excitement rose within him. He had a vague feeling that he would either fall to his death or become like that person. He

fell from the tree, landing directly beside his treehouse. Just as Nice was about to go inside, he heard a muffled explosion a hundred meters away. A moment later, he saw thick smoke billowing out.

Nice shook his head helplessly; it was East's doing again

. After a while, he saw the guy, completely blackened and emitting smoke, walking towards him, coughing loudly.

Since this guy arrived, explosions had been echoing through the valley, the only difference being the intensity of the explosions and the color of the smoke. Black smoke was generally safer, not toxic; the real danger was green or red smoke.

This time, it was black smoke.

Nice had no intention of cleaning up the mess for Easter. The guy was tough, quick-witted, and had a strong ability to protect himself; he was practically indestructible. Before, there was always the worry about the lab and its equipment, but after several explosions, he built a sturdy little mud house by the river as his lab, replacing all the equipment with iron and stone ones—so it wouldn't be a big deal if it got damaged.

He used to copy scriptures during the day, but because of this idiot, he'd ruined five or six nearly finished copies, so now he moved his copying time to the evening.

Luckily, he was rich now and didn't need to worry about wasted paper; in the past, such a failure rate would have bankrupted him long ago.

"Nothing's missing, right?"

Nice asked jokingly.

"Nothing's wrong, just need a shower and a change of clothes,"

Easter replied, unfazed by Nice's teasing.

"What? Not planning to keep making explosions?"

Nice was a little surprised. In the past, this guy would always wait for the smoke to clear before immediately starting the next experiment. Since it would explode sooner or later anyway, taking a shower and changing clothes was a waste of time.

To be honest, everyone in the valley was speechless at the special talent of Easter. People like him were definitely one in a million, just like geniuses.

"Forget it today, I don't want to ruin my image."

Easter tossed his hair, his face covered in soot, yet he was still trying to look cool, looking as ridiculous as could be.

"There's plenty of time, we can even go to town this afternoon."

Nice said. It was Sunday, and he and Easter naturally had to return to the Nangdao Academy.

"I plan to go to town earlier."

Easter was actually quite disheartened by the continuous failures.

Last night, he was thinking about whether he should give up.

Nice saw his thoughts and sighed, saying, "I'm worried that one day you'll blow yourself to pieces."

Hearing Nice say this, Easter lowered his head.

He had initially thought it would only involve learning the basics of alchemy, requiring no in-depth study or contact with anything related to magic, and shouldn't be too difficult. He hadn't expected things to turn out this way.

Seeing Esther's dejected look, Nice felt a little guilty. After a moment's thought, he suddenly had an idea.

"If all else fails, you can study mechanics!"

Nice had originally intended to learn on his own, but he had too many things to do—improving his strength, copying scriptures, studying alchemy, and learning magic—making it difficult to find more time.

Esther hesitated.

He had been here for a week and had seen a great deal. He had witnessed the Hidden Souls' use of machinery. There weren't only machines used to forge chainmail; he had also seen new waterwheels, and cotton gins, spinning machines, and looms powered by them. In addition, he had seen a new type of plow and sickle machine that hadn't been fully tested.

Mechanics was a promising field of study, but compared to the enormous profits from refining sugar, these things were certainly much less valuable. This made him feel quite frustrated.

"By the way, why aren't you continuing your alchemy research? Do you think I'm taking up space in the lab?"

East suddenly remembered that since he arrived, Nice had hardly been in the lab.

Feeling he lacked talent in this area, he naturally placed his hopes on Nice. They were a united team, and anyone's achievement could benefit the others.

Like this time, Nice discovered the technique for refining fine white sugar, with Luke contributing a little. The result was that each of the five of them got a share, with Nice and Luke only getting a symbolic extra.

"No need. During my time at the port, I worked fifteen hours a day. Those basic things, like controlling the heat and monitoring concentration, are already second nature to me. Alchemy, besides the techniques, is just about formulas. I have all the commonly used formulas."

Nice didn't mince words. His plan was to master some basic alchemy and be able to concoct some common potions. Now, he had no problem with practical skills; what he needed to improve was his theoretical knowledge.

"You're so unambitious! You're wasting such a great talent."

Easter muttered. That's just his personality; he always has to complain about everything.

Nice didn't want to listen to this guy's grumbling, so she retorted, "Your talent for martial arts is also quite good, so why specialize in swordsmanship? Isn't it the same principle? It's okay to learn more basic things, but specializing requires a lot of effort. I don't have time now; we'll talk about it later when I have more time."

Of course, Nice wouldn't tell anyone that if something didn't help improve his strength, no matter how talented he was, he wouldn't spend too much energy on it.

Easter was initially full of surprise, then his lips began to twitch, and his whole face became extremely strange.

He hadn't expected Nice to see him like that. His choice to specialize in swordsmanship wasn't some kind of foresight, but because swordsmanship was the coolest. He had always believed that for a handsome man like him, no weapon other than a sword was worthy of him.

"After my bath and change, I'm planning to head to the Nangdao Academy. Do you want to come with me?"

Ister quickly changed the subject, afraid he might accidentally give himself away if he continued. "Otherwise, you can remain your ascetic."

The ascetic he referred to was, of course, the fact that Nice hadn't kept his Sunday night appointment for two months before going to the Holy Land.

Initially, he, Luke, Metro, and Palm had all guessed that their prank might have worked, and Nice had actually followed the instructions in the book, taking internal and external medicines and doing various exercises. Several of the secrets required two months of consistent practice to produce results.

However, later on the ship, they learned from the two half-blood maids that Nice's penis was incredibly robust, not only surpassing Palm, the former laughingstock, but even making Palm, who had always been very proud of himself in this area, seem inferior. That's why they abandoned that guess.

"Let's go, of course!"

Nice replied immediately, somewhat impatient.

He hadn't seen that mysterious woman for almost half a year, and he was somewhat worried that she had forgotten him or had found someone new.

While East was taking a bath, Nice slipped into the treehouse. When he emerged, he wore a wide belt around his waist—the weapon he'd conceived on his way back to the Hidden House.

The belt was actually a scabbard, containing a soft sword.

This sword was forged by repeatedly forging two thin steel plates coiled together, sandwiching a thin, soul-like piece of soft steel in the middle. The entire sword resembled a soft noodle; without magic, it had no power when thrust, but its sharp blade was still terrifying when wielded.

Once enchanted, the blade became straight, like a four-foot-long slender sword, light and sharp, yet not easily broken.

With such a sword and thirty throwing knives, he wouldn't fear wolves, or even bears.

Having prepared, Nice chanted a prayer, casting several divine spells on himself, a warm current flowing through his legs.

The leaps between branches required agility and speed, while a long journey demands composure and endurance.

The former involves altering weight, a domain excelled by magic, while the latter relates to life energy, falling under the purview of divine arts.

He had traversed this path from the Hidden Nang Temple to the Nang Dao Temple many times. The first time was with Luke on a soul journey, when he was breathless. But now, the soul-like mountain path, the soul-like length, seemed like a leisurely stroll.

However, Nice couldn't feel proud at all. Ister, without using any divine arts, also strolled as if at ease. Despite using so many divine arts, Nice's speed was only about the same as Ister's.

The two hurried along, entering Admont just as the sun rose above the rooftops, around eight or nine o'clock.

Admont was bustling on Sunday. As soon as Nice entered the town, he felt the vibrant atmosphere.

"There seem to be a lot more people than usual,"

Nice said uncertainly, looking around.

"It's normal, it's autumn now! Many of these people come here for short-term work. The fields need harvesting, then the grain needs to be threshed and ground into flour. There's a lot to do, and even a lot of people aren't enough. It'll be just as busy next spring when planting begins."

Having lived here for a while, Easter naturally knew the reason.

"By the way, it gets even busier towards the end of the harvest season,"

he added.

"A market?"

Nice's hometown was also a small town. After the autumn harvest, everyone had more money and naturally wanted to spend some, so a market naturally appeared. In their area, the market after the autumn harvest lasted for half a month.

"We used to always take this opportunity to make a quick buck..."

Easter didn't finish his sentence; clearly, they didn't care anymore.

"There's something I've been forgetting to tell you. When we came back last week, I applied to the Nangdao Academy for lower-level service, and we should have received a reply by now,"

Nice said.

"Is there anything we can help you with?"

Easter wasn't a particularly helpful person, unlike Luke. The fact that he said this meant he truly considered Nice one of his own.

"I plan to build a church. The construction time shouldn't be too long, but it needs to be impressive, at least enough to awe people,"

Nice stated his purpose.

Easter immediately understood that this guy must have taken a liking to his design skills when he helped design the house, and now he wanted his help again.

"Are you planning to build a church out of wicker? Aren't you afraid the Inquisition will cause you trouble?"

Easter teased.

That was a bit of an exaggeration; even if the Inquisition had plenty of free time, they wouldn't bother with such a thing. However, something made of wicker, no matter how you looked at it, had nothing to do with grandeur or magnificence.

"Use wicker for the roof, wood for reinforcement where needed, and all the pillars and walls should be made of wood. As long as it's not visible from the outside, isn't that enough? Cover the outside with mortar and plaster the inside with lime..."

Nice had already figured out how to do it. He was becoming more and more like a member of the church, even learning to put on a show.

"Even if something like that is built, it will definitely collapse in less than ten years, not to mention the risk of fire,"

Easter warned.

"Would I stay in a place like that for more than ten years? By then, if it collapses, so be it. How many churches have collapsed already?"

Nice was completely unconvinced.

He was right; these days, you hear news of churches collapsing all the time.

Churches are built to be grand and imposing, so they are built as tall as possible. To show the glory of God, the light needs to be plentiful, which means they need many windows. It would be strange if something built like that didn't collapse.

As for how many builders had the same plan as Nice? Only heaven knows. Anyway, Nice was definitely not the first person to do it this way.

Night deepened, and Nice was already waiting in the room.

The room was clean, clearly someone had been cleaning it, and even the bedding had been changed to autumn sheets.

A thick cotton curtain had been added to the window. Since there was no glass, the curtain had to be used to block the wind; otherwise, the cold wind would seep in through the gaps in the blinds and make it very cold.

Lying in bed, Nice counted the time. He didn't know when it had started, but he had stopped doing evening prayers.

He prayed to receive holy power, so although he prayed diligently, he didn't follow a fixed time like other priests.

He didn't know how much time had passed when footsteps began to sound outside, and Nice's heart immediately jumped.

He wondered what would happen this time? Would it arrive as early as the first time? Or would it arrive as late as the second time? Or would it be like the last time, with only a letter that left him feeling utterly disappointed?

A series of light footsteps stopped at the door.

Nice jumped out of bed, not caring whether it was the woman or not, and flung open the door.

Still wearing that large cloak, still with her face tightly covered as before, stood in the doorway—it was indeed the mysterious woman Nice had been hoping for.

She flashed into the room like a gust of wind.

Nice locked the door behind her.

Although his heart burned with passion, he remembered the lessons of his previous two experiences. The trip to the Holy Land had matured him considerably and given him more confidence.

He stepped forward and gently helped the woman remove her cloak, then put his arm around her slender waist and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I was worried you wouldn't come,"

Nice said softly.

The woman didn't answer; it was a topic she didn't want to bring up, so she changed the subject: "You seem to have changed a lot. It's quite surprising. I didn't expect a trip to the Holy Land could mature someone so quickly."

She suddenly chuckled softly: "I've heard about your experiences. Your story is circulating over there now. Your four soul companions know how to show off."

Nice couldn't tell if her words were praise or sarcasm; it seemed like a bit of both.

"If you were us, what would you do?"

So he simply asked directly.

To his surprise, this time he didn't get an answer, but instead, a soft pair of lips pressed against his.

After a kiss that nearly suffocated him, he heard the woman murmur, "You used to be too eager, but this time you're too slow. Don't you know? The latter is more impolite than the former, because it's easy for me to misunderstand and think I've lost my appeal."

The woman lifted her long skirt and knelt on Nice, her waist bent, her buttocks slightly raised, her posture still as alluring as ever.

Nice was speechless, but this reminded him of Luke's words of comfort: "Perhaps if you stay cold for a while, she'll become more interested."

He suddenly realized that pursuing a woman and fishing for words were somewhat similar. Once the words were hooked, you absolutely couldn't rush to pull the rod, nor could you pull it too tight; you had to relax and tighten it at times.

Their tongues met, Nice savoring her nimble tongue, feeling its sweetness, while his hands were not idle either. One hand rested on her delicate breasts, while the other circled her waist, occasionally sliding down.

Having learned from his previous mistakes, he wasn't in a hurry at all; he had plenty of time today. Besides, he now possessed sufficient theoretical knowledge; the book Luke had given him contained a lot of information on flirting, and there were no traps in it.

His hand, caressing her waist, roamed erratically, occasionally brushing against her sensitive areas, but he never lingered long, always touching and moving on quickly. He knew that women were always aloof about things that were too easily obtained, while yearning for what they couldn't have.

Sure enough, with his teasing, the woman quickly became more proactive; her body gave a signal, pressing closer and rubbing her lower abdomen against him twice.

Nice still pretended not to notice, remaining immersed in his flirtatious game.

Finally, the woman couldn't resist any longer; she lightly scratched Nice's penis with her sharp fingernails—a clear enough hint that she couldn't possibly go any further.

This time, Nice couldn't play dumb. He stood up, unbuckled his belt, and his already throbbing penis, finally freed, sprang out, swaying gently.

The woman was startled. She held up two fingers, first measuring its thickness, then its length.

"You startled me,"

she said with a wry smile, pacing back and forth in front of Nice, her heart filled with indescribable emotions.

The most obvious feeling was fear. She didn't know if she could accommodate something so thick and long.

What would happen if it entered her?

She suddenly remembered her first time; it felt similar then.

But now, besides fear, she also felt a sliver of anticipation.

After all, she wasn't the naive little girl she once was. She knew the taste of sex, its wonder, and knew that the larger the penis, the more pleasure it would bring. After a long while, she finally made her decision.

"You're not allowed to move. I'll control everything."

The woman still didn't want to give up, but she was also wary of Nice's mischief, warning him in an unusually stern voice, "If you move, I promise... I'll never come again."

"I promise I won't move."

Nice put his hands behind his head and lay down on his back.

The woman gently helped Nice take off his pants and placed them on the shelf next to him, then helped him take off his robe, leaving him only in a shirt. Then she stood there, and after a moment, she placed a pile of underwear on the shelf, but she was still wearing the long dress and the veil on her head.

She straddled the bed, kneeling on Nice with her legs spread apart.

"Don't move,"

she warned again.

As she spoke, she pressed her body down, rubbing her beautiful genitals against Nice's large member.

Although there was no actual sexual intercourse, the two of them felt an indescribable stimulation.

Both men were naked down below. Nice was alright, but the woman was different; her genitals were incredibly soft and full, a testament to her maturity.

Nice quietly savored the sensation.

His attendant, Sharla, was also mature in appearance and full of youthful vitality, but the feeling was different.

Making love with Sharla was purely sexual stimulation; all the sensation was concentrated in his lower body. But at this moment, he felt his soul tremble. Although they hadn't actually started, an indescribable pleasure had already spread throughout his body.

After a moment, he felt his penis being gently grasped by a soft hand. The index finger and thumb of that hand hooked around the glans, and the wrist slowly rotated.

Sharla and Lilith had both used this technique.

Although the techniques were exactly the same, and the skill level was similar, the feeling was completely different.

Sharla used the most force; her hands constantly tightened and loosened, the stimulation so intense, like a passionate flame capable of melting everything.

Lilith, on the other hand, was like a mischievous sprite, her strength varying, her movements fast and slow, sometimes with scratching nails, sometimes biting teeth—making love with her always unpredictable, never knowing what the next move would be.

This woman was different; her touch was soft and gentle, as if not intentionally stimulating him, but rather meant to make him feel comfortable. Being manipulated like this made him feel languid all over, his heart tingling with a numb, tingling sensation.

Nice stretched contentedly, letting out a comfortable hum.

Just then, he felt his glans touch two soft, slippery things, inside which was an even softer vortex.

"Mmm..."

The woman let out a soft moan. The mere presence of Nice's large member at the entrance was already incredibly arousing. Its slight throbbing and the masculine energy it exhaled sent a jolt through her body.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, she slowly sat down.

At first, there was a slight pain, which she knew was because she hadn't been touched by a man in a long time, and also because the member was so large.

The pain gradually turned into a tingling sensation, and quickly into intense pleasure.

She had to stop after only sitting down a third of the way; the member was not only thick but also burning hot. The stimulation from that heat was something she had never experienced before.

She felt a surge of heat coursing through her abdomen from the member inside her, stirring up waves of desire wherever it went.

Suddenly, that wretched thing thrust in hard, and she cried out, her body stiffening instantly, but her legs went completely limp, and she landed hard on Nice's body.

Nice felt an extreme pleasure, as if he were falling into a bottomless quagmire, being sucked in and slowly sinking. He wanted to pull himself out, but his body was too weak.

His penis was also incredibly aroused, tightly enveloped, as if three soft bands were twisting and writhing towards him, with a small mouth at the very back, sometimes gently sucking his glans, sometimes drawing it in.

Nice had never experienced this wonderful feeling with any other woman.

But what excited Nice even more was that the woman was moaning on top of him, lying limply on him, her body trembling slightly.

Sarah and Lilith had also had similar expressions, and at those times he only felt the wonderfulness of conquest, which even aroused a trace of male desire for conquest within him. But now, besides the desire for conquest, he also felt a deep tenderness.

Nice gently embraced the woman.

"You said you wouldn't touch me,"

the woman said weakly, her tone clearly reproachful.

Nice quickly released his hands.

"That's not what I meant... Why were you pushing your thing in so hard inside just now?"

The woman rolled her eyes at Nice.

Unfortunately, Nice couldn't see her expression through the gauze.

"It wasn't me, I swear."

Nice raised both hands.

The woman hesitated for a moment, but finally chose to believe her, because she knew that a man's thing could sometimes move on its own, and besides, she could feel that it had gotten even thicker, making her feel even more uncomfortable.

"Keep this position, it's already very stimulating, I don't want to faint here, and I don't want anyone to leave."

She whispered in Nice's ear.

"This is boring."

Nice muttered.

The woman chuckled and gently pulled his hands to her buttocks: "I know you like it here, you can touch, but don't be too rough."

Nice's hand slid down and gently touched the woman's anus: "Can I touch it here too?"

The woman seemed startled, her body trembling slightly, but she didn't speak or show any dissatisfaction, clearly agreeing.

Nice had only meant it as a joke, but he hadn't expected to get permission, which emboldened him. His hand not only gently poked at that spot, but also continued to caress the area where their bodies were joined.

The woman was both angry and annoyed, but since she had given permission, she had no strength to refuse. Besides, she genuinely enjoyed the feeling.

She had never imagined that touching that shameful place could feel so wonderful—a wonderful sensation beyond mere sex.

Suddenly, she felt Nice's fingers slowly invading her, and she involuntarily clenched her buttocks.

Although this feeling was even more wonderful, and the strange stimulation was more intense, her pride prevented her from allowing this to happen; at least, it wasn't the right time.

"Don't push your luck,"

the woman warned again in a stern voice. "Let's talk for a while. Didn't you just ask me what I would do if I were you? I can tell you, I would put in much more effort to befriend that prince; he's far more valuable than Cardinal Emael."

She intended to use an interesting topic to attract the young man's attention.

Her method worked. Nice frowned and said, "Colonant is just a tiny country, practically nonexistent." "

It's like doing business," she continued. "You don't have much capital. If you invest in a large trading company, you won't even make a ripple. Don't expect any dividends; you might even be swallowed up by the higher-ups. Investing in a small company, however, gives you some say, providing an opportunity to shine. Don't underestimate Colonant just because it's small and weak; it's actually quite safe. Otherwise, it wouldn't have lasted so long."

The woman knew Nice was knowledgeable about business, so she used this example directly.

Nice understood the analogy immediately.

"But that prince is only the second son,"

he said, clearly seeking advice for the sake of advice.

"Your words prove that you haven't investigated the situation in Gorenant at all. The first heir to the throne, this prince's brother, is not favored by the King and Queen. Many ministers also worry that the Crown Prince's recklessness and ambition might pose a threat to the country. Prince Philip, on the other hand, is gentle and refined, yet quite shrewd. He has been living with the Styrian family to gain their approval. Even if he doesn't replace his brother as King of Gorenant in the future, he will certainly receive a large amount of land and a considerable population, allowing him to make his mark."

As if afraid that Nice wouldn't understand, the woman whispered in his ear, "There is plenty of land north of Gorenant, but it lacks manpower to develop it."

Hearing this, Nice's eyes lit up. He now understood why the prince had been so polite to them, and why his words subtly hinted at a recruitment effort.

He was initially overjoyed, but then became puzzled. This wasn't something a woman could possibly know.

While the church excelled at diplomacy, that was still a man's job. The nunnery was a completely isolated place. Even if the nuns had some sources, they could only know the length and girth of someone's penis.

Could the woman lying in his arms be a princess or something? The thought excited him even more.

Vanity and the desire to curry favor with the powerful were human nature, and Nice was no exception.

His reaction was immediately noticed by the woman, but she didn't know the reason for Nice's excitement. She assumed he was restless again, so she squeezed her legs together tightly around Nice's waist, sighed softly, and said, "Don't move. If you want to feel good, let me have my way."

With that, she moved her body back slightly, raising her buttocks slightly, pulling out her large member a little.

She didn't dare pull it out too much; she couldn't handle too much movement.

She pulled out a little, then immediately sat down again, her hips twitching slightly as she reached the bottom.

The intense pleasure sent shivers through both of them.

The woman stopped; she had to wait for the pleasure to subside, or she would surely faint.

"How does it feel?"

the woman asked with a soft laugh.

"There are even more wonderful sensations,"

Nice quietly expressed his dissatisfaction.

"Men always crave fleeting glory, but women are different. We're more realistic, so we like to prolong the good times as much as possible, even if it's not that intense, it doesn't matter."

A hint of resentment lingered in her voice as she spoke, clearly thinking of something unpleasant.

Nice sensed the change and quickly comforted her, "If this is all you like, I can keep you in this state all day. Unfortunately, we only have so much time together."

Hearing this, the woman felt much better, remembering that everything else was in the past, and the present was what mattered most.

"Don't worry, there will be a chance."

With that, she gently tightened her flower path, clamping down on Nice's member, then left behind a string of silvery laughter.

Chapter 3 ◆ Poor Village

The road was rugged and dilapidated, full of potholes, with fallen trees and rocks scattered everywhere. Some sections were completely collapsed. Even the path from Nangdao Temple to Yin Nang Temple was much better than this road.

In such a run-down place, Nice and Ister dared not walk too fast. They rode slowly, followed by a carriage carrying four mixed-race individuals—two men and two women. The driver, a mixed-race man, dared not go too fast; some parts of the road were very narrow, and others had slopes on both sides. He was worried the carriage would overturn.

At this moment, they regretted not working with Lord Metro in the first place. Even if it was busier and more tiring, it would have been much safer than this.

Not only the mixed-race children, but Easter also regretted agreeing to come along. He didn't hold back, complaining directly to Nice's face.

"Why did you choose such a place? It's poor enough, but it's infested with rats. Rats are so clever; they destroy everything they see and bring diseases, some of which even the church can't cure..."

Nice wished he could cover his ears. This guy hadn't stopped talking since they set off.

Now he finally understood why Luke had chosen such a guy. Both were chatterboxes, but Luke loved to talk and liked to chat with people whenever he had a chance, while this guy was usually quiet, but if he was upset, his mouth would start babbling incessantly. Suddenly

, Nice reined in his horse and stopped.

Easter, who was still complaining, didn't know what was happening. He first looked around blankly, then his expression became as serious as Nice's.

The four mixed-race followers also looked ahead in horror.

Ahead lay a scene reminiscent of a hurricane, with fallen trees and withered leaves and shrubs scattered everywhere.

Easter leaped off his horse, walked to a fallen tree, and crouched down, examining the broken branches—they were covered in gnaw marks.

"These were from rats,"

Easter said, his face turning grim.

"This is horrible! This isn't just a rat infestation; it's a monster's lair!"

Sharla trembled, while Lilith beside her closed her eyes, refusing to open them.

Nice already regretted his decision, but he couldn't back down; he was in charge.

"This should be Kaoni."

He spurred his horse, gave it a sharp tug, and the horse galloped forward. After about five or six miles, crossing a hill, he saw the edge of the forest.

Ahead lay a valley.

This place was only seventy-five kilometers from Admont, the terrain on both sides similar—rolling, continuous mountains—making the valleys within them a popular settlement.

Larger valleys became towns like Admont, while smaller valleys, unusable, gave rise to hidden huts. This valley, somewhere in between, contained only one village.

The village was visible from the hilltop, built atop an earthen fortress—a simple earthen rampart with rows of thatched huts, all roughly the same size except for the central one.

Atop a cliff on the western side, there appeared to be a stone castle, long abandoned, its outline barely visible.

East caught up from behind and also saw the abandoned castle.

"There must have been a lord here before," he remarked.

As a novice knight, he had seen more than Nis. East scanned the valley, roughly surveying the land with his eyes, and said, "There's far too little land here. The produce alone wouldn't be enough to support a lord."

A lord, even the lowest of the low, needed to pay a substantial annual tribute to his territory. Besides, during wartime, one must serve in the military, provide their own weapons, armor, horses, and provisions for the journey, plus a large retinue and soldiers. Each war is incredibly expensive.

If they win, all the money is gone; if they lose, all the wealth is lost. Without other sources of income, such a barren territory would definitely bankrupt its lord.

However, Ister was extremely tempted because this place perfectly met his requirements. But seeing the devastating aftermath of the catastrophe made him hesitant. He didn't care how barren his territory was, but a disaster-stricken land was a different story.

Besides the rat infestation, another thing that dissatisfied him was the inconvenient transportation. According to the map, only the road behind him led here.

The people living here seemed rather isolated, as there were hardly any proper roads in the valley, only a few narrow passageways, which could barely be considered large fields. Getting their carriage across would be quite a hassle.

It was late autumn, and while other places would be bustling with harvest activity, this place was eerily quiet. There was something growing here, though neither of them quite recognized it. The ears of the plant were small, with long awns, and it was planted sparsely, patchy here and there, like a scabby head.

A few farmers could be seen harvesting in the fields, lazily waving thin wooden sticks to sweep down the unidentifiable crops, then gathering the ears, stems, and soil together with brooms.

"The people here can't even afford a sickle,"

Ister said, at a loss for words.

Nice was also speechless; he now understood why the church cared so little for this place.

It was incredibly poor. Not only were there no sickles or other iron farm tools, but he even suspected there weren't any livestock like cattle or horses. Anyone hoping to profit from this scene would surely despair at the sight.

However, for a priest who needed to reap the rewards of piety and faith, this was fertile ground. Of course,

there was a prerequisite for any gain: he first had to solve the rat infestation. Otherwise, it would all be wishful thinking, and he probably wouldn't even be able to build a church.

The two rode towards the earthen fortress. Upon reaching it, they discovered that it was surrounded by a moat. They

hadn't noticed it from the hillside because the moat was so dirty, almost the same color as the surrounding soil. Even up close, without careful observation, one would mistake it for flat ground.

The moat wasn't very wide, but a horse definitely couldn't jump across it. Even if it could, it wouldn't be able to stand firmly on the other side; the wall was right there. The only way in and out of the fortress was a drawbridge.

"I am the priest sent here by the church,"

Nice called out towards the fortress.

The people inside the fort had already noticed Nice and Ister, so as soon as they finished speaking, a series of creaking sounds rang out.

The drawbridge had lowered.

A dozen or so people were already standing at the fort's entrance, all with their hats off and bowing respectfully.

"May the Lord bless you,"

Nice said, waving his hand. A billowing golden mist instantly enveloped the people—a mere trick, its effect only calming and soothing, yet undeniably awe-inspiring. Sure enough, the slight disdain the dozen or so people initially held for Nice's age vanished instantly, replaced by awe and anticipation.

"Who's in charge here?"

Nice didn't rush inside. He called out to the group, "I want to know about the rat infestation. When you reported it, you didn't say the situation was this bad!"

Hearing this, the men immediately focused their gazes on one person, their eyes burning with fury. The man

being stared at was a weathered, dark-skinned farmer, who looked to be in his fifties or sixties, though his hair was still black.

He panicked, stumbled to Nice's horse, and stammered, "When I went... to town, I definitely... exaggerated... it was very serious. It must have been... the person in charge of recording... who didn't pay attention."

"Do you stutter?"

one of the men behind exclaimed. "It would be a miracle if the priest could understand you speaking like that! We shouldn't have sent you in the first place; it only made things worse."

Several other farmers also joined in blaming the man who had gone to Admont to report the rat infestation.

Nice wasn't interested in their mutual accusations. He casually asked, "Is there a church here?"

The dozen or so men shook their heads in unison. They were barely getting enough to eat; how could they possibly have time to build a church?

Although secretly pleased, Nice feigned disappointment: "It seems we need to build a church first."

Seeing the troubled expressions on their faces, he quickly changed his tune: "Look around! Don't you realize you've been abandoned by God?"

"But we have no money..."

said a gray-haired farmer.

"You don't need money, you just need to contribute your labor,"

Nice reassured them.

He had initially considered offering to pay wages, but then thought better of it; sometimes doing good deeds can backfire, his father being the best example.

Even when doing good, he had to plan carefully, ensuring he would benefit from it.

"We also have a few attendants and a carriage; they probably can't come. Go and fetch them,"

Nice began issuing orders, subtly seizing control.

Several farmers immediately went to gather the men.

"Make room for us first,"

Nice commanded again.

"Yes, yes, yes,"

the farmer who had been the subject of the complaints nodded repeatedly; clearly, he was the one originally in charge.

The entire earthen fortress consisted of only one relatively large building, resembling a town hall, used only for meetings. This largest and best building was simply rammed earth walls, timber beams, and a thatched roof. There

was absolutely no flooring; the ground was bare mud. Furniture was out of the question; there were only a few rows of stone-supported planks for seating during meetings.

Nice didn't rush to move in; he walked around the fortress.

The fortress was a platform over two meters high, surrounded by a one-meter-high wall with a wooden fence—clearly not for stopping people, but for protecting against wild animals.

The people here seemed to have no concept of garbage disposal; stinking piles of waste were everywhere, swarming with flies and cockroaches.

Nice didn't know how long he could stay here. Frankly, he was starting to understand why no one wanted to serve the lower ranks. The lack of profit was one reason, but perhaps the more important reason was that no one wanted to live in a pigsty. This place was even worse than a pigsty; at least his pigsty was cleaned daily and was cleaner than this.

When he finished his tour and returned to the large house, the four mixed-race attendants had already arrived.

The villagers had actually managed to drive the carriage across the farmland outside.

Nice directed his two male attendants to begin decorating the rooms. The place definitely needed to be divided, at least into several spaces with cloth partitions. A living room was essential, he and Easter needed their own bedrooms, and the four attendants also needed sleeping places, with separate rooms for the men and women.

While he was still busy, he saw Easter leisurely walk in.

The man approached Nice mysteriously and whispered, "I just asked some people. There used to be a lord here. He was quite ambitious at first, but in the end, he couldn't even finish building the castle. He felt he couldn't bear the burden of this place and never took over again. This earthen castle was built by the villagers themselves. Twenty years ago, the villagers elected several representatives to appeal to Erna. The previous Duke of Has, the former Holy Empire Emperor, was also dissatisfied with the lack of annual payments, so he naturally stripped the lord of his title. This land should have become directly under the Has family's control, but no one wanted to come and manage it. Over time, it became a self-governed territory."

"What? You've taken a liking to this place?"

Nice knew that Luke and the others were now apprentice knights, and the next step was to figure out how to become knights. Besides finding a powerful noble to rely on, they also needed to plan for their own territory. "Have you asked the residents here what they think?"

“I’ve asked a few people. Some want a lord. The rats here are multiplying and becoming increasingly rampant. There have even been cases of rats attacking people. They’re terrified and want protection. Besides, the people here are fed up with poverty and hope the village can prosper. However, some people crave self-reliance.”

Easter inquired carefully.

“What are your plans?”

Nice asked. He certainly didn’t mind giving them a push. If Luke and his group could become lords here, it would benefit him as well.

If this place became private land, Luke, as the lord, would have the right to appoint a priest to manage the local religious affairs. In that case, he would have a parish, which would be very beneficial for the improvement of his holy power.

“If someone objects, becoming a lord is probably a bit unrealistic. I plan to set my sights on becoming the administrator here. After that, we’ll spend some money to buy all the surrounding mountains. These barren and disaster-prone mountains won’t cost much.”

Easter smiled, but his smile didn’t make people feel friendly; instead, it carried a hint of evil.

The land in the valley sustains its inhabitants, but its produce alone is insufficient. Firewood for cooking, pillars and beams for building houses, and even the wooden sticks the farmers carry all come from the trees of the surrounding mountains.

Once the mountains become owned, the people here can no longer use them freely; they will have to be mindful of the owners' wishes. However, they won't need to rely on the land's produce for their livelihood; they have money to buy food elsewhere.

Having the initiative, they can slowly drive away the opponents and gradually transform this land into their territory.

"No, I have to go back immediately and tell Luke what's going on here. He should write home and ask his family to pull some strings… Oh, right!"

Easter slapped his forehead lightly. "We can also ask Prince Philip for help… Let Metro handle that."

He sighed, looking distressed. "Looks like we'll have to spend money again. If I'd known this would happen, I shouldn't have been so generous and given away so much credit."

Hearing Easter's mutterings, Nice could only roll his eyes. They only had one item on credit—the sugar Abdul had. But Abdul was a partner, and they were also involved in the business; the sugar could be considered credit, or it could be considered capital.

Nice understood somewhat why Metro and Palm didn't like this guy much.

"What about me?"

Nice asked.

"I'm leaving all four of my attendants to you,"

Ister said casually. "Salar and Lilith can help you with a lot of things, and they can even sleep with you at night. The other two can do the heavy work."

In his opinion, there wasn't much to do here.

Before coming here, they had anticipated that food might be scarce, and even with money, they might not be able to buy anything. That's why they brought that carriage, which was loaded with flour, cured meat, and some dried vegetables—enough for six people to eat for two months.

"I plan to go into the mountains to take a look,"

Nice said, expressing his thoughts. He felt that the situation here was somewhat unusual. "I'm afraid taking only two people into the mountains won't be enough."

Ister pondered. The rat infestation was indeed a major problem

. One of the reasons he was in such a hurry to return to the Nangdao Academy was to find out what was going on. Before they took action, found someone to pull strings, and tried to become the administrators here, he needed to know the answer to the question. If it really was a disaster zone, he would definitely stay as far away as possible.

“You can hire those farmers; labor here must be very cheap. Didn’t we bring a few crossbows and shortbows? Let them practice first,”

Easter said. If it weren’t for the fact that this place was so remote and difficult to get out, he would have even suggested that Nice hire some mercenaries.

Suddenly, he remembered that there seemed to be someone available.

“I’ll send Palm over; he’s stronger than me. I’ll also have him bring a few pieces of chainmail. With these, you won’t have to worry. Not even rats, let alone wolves, can gnaw through chainmail.”

Easter left, not even staying overnight, departing that very day. Only Nice and his four half-blood followers remained.

Following Easter’s advice, Nice hired three local farmers. Just as the man had said, labor here was extremely cheap, costing only one silver coin a month. The three farmers were overjoyed, as if they had gotten a great deal.

Having taken his money, they naturally had to follow his instructions. For the next two days, Nice, along with his two male attendants and the three farmers, set up a fenced-off area in the harvested fields to practice archery.

The targets were made from harvested wheat ears, bundled into squares about the height of a person. The five "soldiers" took turns shooting at the distant targets with crossbows.

The targets were 150 meters away. On the first day, very few arrows managed to hit the targets. Not only the three farmers, but even Nice's attendants didn't know how to use the crossbow's aiming device. He had to teach them from scratch.

Fortunately, the crossbow was a weapon that didn't require much skill. After teaching them how to use the aiming device and practicing for another day, the five men were able to hit the targets most of the time.

Nice didn't have high expectations for these men. He didn't expect them to become expert archers; he would be satisfied if they could hit the target within 20 meters.

That afternoon, he was still leading five men in practice when he suddenly saw another carriage coming over the hill towards them. As the carriage drew closer, he recognized the driver as Palm.

For the past few days, Nice had had the villagers clear a road from the valley entrance to the earthen fort, so Palm hadn't stopped but had driven the carriage directly to them.

"Is this the pigsty Ister mentioned? It looks alright!"

Palm glanced at the earthen fort in the distance.

"Yesterday I had them do a thorough cleaning, removing all the trash, so it looks better now,"

Nice explained.

This was the second thing he had done besides clearing the road.

Not only did he do a thorough cleaning, but he also gathered the villagers to dig a ditch, bringing in fresh water, which finally made the moat around the earthen fortress look somewhat presentable.

"Here's what you wanted,"

Palm patted the carriage.

Nice went over and saw a pile of chainmail inside, all new, the very batch made by the Hidden Bag Institute.

"You borrowed these?"

Nice didn't think they were bought; Luke and the others all had full sets of armor, and spending money on a few farmers seemed a bit wasteful.

To his surprise, Palm denied his guess.

"You're wrong, these were all bought. Luke knew there was a vacant lot here, and he's like he's on a high. He's even made plans for the future; he intends to recruit soldiers as soon as he becomes the administrator here, and these are for those recruits."

Palm was rather brazen, completely oblivious to the other people around.

Nice, however, dared not be so careless. He glanced behind him; thankfully, the three farmers were quite far away and hadn't heard what Palm had just said.

"Come here, all of you, try on your armor!"

Nice shouted to the five men who were practicing with their crossbows. The five immediately dropped their weapons and ran over.

While the three farmers' attention was focused on the chainmail, Nice pulled Palm aside and whispered, "Have they made up their minds? Don't they care about the rat infestation?"

"You know Luke's an optimist. He always believes there's always a way out,"

Palm said.

Nice immediately understood. He knew Palm hadn't mentioned something, and it must be related to Easter. That guy was a gambler; even if the road was fraught with danger, he'd still take the risk. An optimist and a gambler combined—the result was that they dared to think and do anything.

"You rest for a bit. We'll go into the mountains tomorrow,"

Nice said.

Palm didn't refuse. He had driven alone, unlike Nice and Easter who had come with four attendants. He was indeed quite tired from the journey.

"What about those two women? Did you mess them up?"

Palm looked around, as if searching for Sharla and Lilith. Nice rolled his eyes. Even the priest in his hometown knew to feign piety and integrity; he was at least no worse than that priest.

"It's best to avoid these kinds of jokes,"

Nice gestured towards the three farmers.

Palm didn't care at all, instead finding Nice hypocritical.

"There's a bed available; it was originally for Ister, but you can sleep in it now. I'll have Lilith tidy it up for you..."

Nice suddenly stopped, seeing Palm pull a short gun from the cart, its tip a replica of the Longinus spearhead.

"You shortened it?"

Nice asked, somewhat surprised.

"Before coming here, we already asked around, and this is probably not just a simple rat infestation. Luke told us to go into the forest first and check it out. If we find anything, we should send word immediately..."

Palm paused, his speech unusually hesitant. "We might not be able to handle this."

His expression suddenly turned serious.

Nice felt a chill run down his spine. He had long felt that the scene of the hurricane-like destruction was abnormal. How could ordinary rats cause such damage to the forest?

Leading Palm into the earthen fortress, Nice had the carriage driven into the large house. Besides chainmail and weapons, Palm had brought some ham and sausages. These were worthless in the Nangdao Academy, but here they were definitely valuable. If no one was watching, the villagers would surely take them all.

Nice was busy when he heard arguing outside the door, followed by a heavy thud and the faint sound of Palm's shouts. He rushed out. He was extremely annoyed by Palm, this troublemaker.

Upon entering, he indeed saw Palm surrounded by a group of villagers, with one villager lying on the ground, while Palm's arm was tightly around a young girl. The girl was about fifteen or sixteen years old, with an oval face, large eyes, and brown curly hair; she was quite pretty, the only flaw being her somewhat rough skin.

Having been here for several days, Nice knew everyone. He knew the girl's name was Tina, the prettiest girl in the village, and that a large group of young men were pursuing her.

"What's going on here?"

Nice pushed through the crowd and asked Palm.

"I'm just asking her if she wants to be with me,"

Palm said nonchalantly. Inside the monastery, he had to keep a low profile, but outside, he didn't intend to be so restrained.

Although he had learned from his previous experience and dared not act arrogantly in places with diverse people, this place, besides Nice, only had a group of farmers, and Palm didn't think it necessary to care too much.

The man Palm had knocked to the ground was a young villager, who angrily shouted, "You bunch of old men only know how to bully people!"

A group of young men surrounded him, all looking indignant, but having just experienced Palm's power, none of them dared to make a move. Glaring at

Palm, Nice felt a headache coming on. He knew this guy would cause trouble, and he hadn't expected him to get into such a mess right from the start. Grabbing

Palm and dragging him into the main house, Nice was furious, but still asked in a low voice, "What exactly are you planning to do? You can't actually be interested in that woman and want to marry her, can you?"

"Of course not,"

Palm said nonchalantly.

"I know, you just want to play around,"

Nice knew these guys well.

"You can't say that. I felt an instant connection with this girl. I can't marry her, but I'm not just playing around either. Don't think of me as someone like East."

Palm glanced at Lilith standing to the side and added, "I won't share that girl named Tina with anyone else."

Nice looked at Palm with some surprise: "You're serious?"

In his surprise, he also felt a sense of relief.

What he feared was that Palm was just playing around and wanted to forcibly possess the girl. If that happened, before Luke and the others could even smooth things over, he would become the enemy of the villagers. As long as he was serious, it would be much easier.

"Go and call Tina's parents here... Oh, and she seems to have an older brother, call him here too."

Nice turned and instructed Lilith.

After what happened, the girl's parents had already been called and were outside.

These farmers were not very knowledgeable, and they were also very scared.

Kaoni is a self-governed territory, and many of its inhabitants are people who couldn't make a living elsewhere and came to this barren land to survive. Some were forced to flee their homeland due to oppression by nobles, so the word "noble" here is synonymous with beasts or even demons.

In their casual conversations, they often talk about nobles who, having taken a fancy to a woman, would use all sorts of methods to persecute that family—kidnapping, framing, even murder—they'd do anything.

Now, Lilith came out to let the girl's parents in, and the couple's legs went weak. Fortunately, their son was also called in, which gave them a little more courage.

The three of them shakily entered the large house, where only Nice was inside.

The couple looked around anxiously.

"Sir Palm isn't here. He asked me to tell you something."

Nice paused, waiting for the couple to calm down before continuing, "He likes your daughter very much and wants to be with her."

As he said this, Nice silently made the sign of the cross. The Church only recognized monogamous marriage and considered keeping a mistress a very serious sin.

Palm was committing a crime, and at this moment, he was aiding and abetting another's crime. According to the Church's rules of judgment, what he was doing was far more evil than Metro's pimping.

"Lord Palm wants to marry our daughter?"

The father's eyes widened in disbelief, but his gaze was filled with hope.

People like him, living at the bottom of society, constantly dreamed of rising above their circumstances. With even a little bit of resources at their disposal, they would daydream. Having such a beautiful daughter, he naturally hoped she would be chosen by a wealthy man.

It was precisely for this reason that when he heard the newly arrived nobleman bullying his daughter, he didn't react with the same anger as the other young men, but rather with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

"He's a knight; marriage between people of different ranks is forbidden,"

Nice said, effectively denying the father's hopes. However, he immediately noticed the bewildered expressions on the faces of the couple opposite him, clearly indicating that his "profound" words had been wasted.

Nice finally realized that playing these games required careful consideration; trying to outsmart a group of farmers was like casting pearls before swine.

Just as Nice hesitated about how to begin, he heard the girl's brother say from the side, "I understand. You think our status is too low, unworthy of you."

The presence of someone who understood both pleased and troubled Nice. Talking to someone who understood was much easier, but persuading someone who understood was considerably more difficult.

"How do you plan to bribe us?"

The girl's brother didn't seem overly angry; he and his father had a similar plan.

“Palm is a knight, and he doesn’t have a squire yet…”

Nice suddenly remembered the identities of these three people. Most likely, they didn’t even know what a squire was, so he had to explain.

“A squire isn’t a follower, unlike the four I brought. A squire is a knight’s second-in-command on the battlefield, and they undergo the same rigorous training as the knight. In fact, many knights were originally squires of other knights.”

Nice didn’t intend to explain too clearly; he just needed these three to understand that being a squire was a promising job.

“Going to the battlefield?”

The girl’s mother’s eyes flickered. As a woman, she always thought of the worst-case scenario first.

“Yes, being a squire is a dangerous profession.”

Nice didn’t want to lie.

“Then, I also have a chance to become a knight?”

The girl’s brother, on the other hand, didn’t care much about the danger; he cared about the opportunity.

“It’s difficult, unless your strength is astonishing… Given that you’ve missed the golden age for honing your martial arts skills, your achievements in this area won’t be very high.”

Nice was telling the truth; he knew that if he lied, these three wouldn’t believe him. Farmers are wise too; they can tell the truth from the falsehood.

Sure enough, the family's faces immediately darkened.

"So, what position can one hold in the end as a squire?"

The girl's brother was pragmatic; he knew he had no hope of becoming a knight, so he settled for second best.

"At most, you could become a sheriff or something, or the mayor of a remote town. It's not too difficult. As long as you go to the battlefield and are lucky enough to earn some military merit, it's easy to get such a reward."

Nice painted a rosy picture for the three men.

Of course, he wouldn't mention that being a sheriff wasn't a good job; it was easy to offend people, and one might end up like the sheriff in Asaks, easily killed by a high-ranking person like Palm.

"That's already high-ranking status!"

The girl's brother immediately became excited.

"I don't think so,"

Nice poured cold water on them. "Only noble sons, knights, or clergy like myself can be called upper class. Many people with some money or status, such as merchants and low-ranking officials, may not qualify as upper class."

Having experienced the port conflict, Nice was very concerned about this point and didn't want to get into trouble because of it.

The girl's brother, however, clearly didn't care. He didn't care about the true definition of upper class. To him, wealthy lords and officials definitely belonged to the upper class compared to people like them, and he was already satisfied to be in that circle.

However, Nice's words weren't in vain. He made the three people opposite him understand the nobility of knights even more.

These farmers had always thought that wealthy merchants and town mayors were on par with, or even higher than, knights because they seemed more arrogant and imposing.

The shining eyes of these three men made Nice realize that his persuasion had succeeded. To buy someone's heart, money is the lowest form of bribery; a better approach is to give them hope.

"Going to the battlefield is dangerous, what if..."

The girl's mother still had some concerns.

"If you're not satisfied with this, Palm will inherit a manor in the future, and he'll definitely need a trustworthy steward,"

Nice began to make empty promises.

He was already a little annoyed with this family; since it was just a hope, it didn't matter what he said. Besides, it wasn't exactly a lie; with Palm's wealth, buying a piece of land to build a manor was no problem at all.

Seeing that the three were still hesitant, Nice continued, "If you're still not satisfied and think it's too far away, he also has a property in Port Asaks that he can arrange for you to work there."

He paused here.

Nice suddenly realized that this family seemed a bit too eager; if he agreed too readily, they might have other ideas.

So he changed his tone and said, "It's just about doing things. You don't understand anything, you can't read, you don't know how to keep accounts, and you don't know how to do business. Even if I put you in charge, you wouldn't know how to do it. If you want to be promoted, work for two years first."

Although his words were harsh, for this family, it was already an irresistible lure. Moreover, unlike the previous two promises, this lure was tangible and could be fulfilled on the spot.

The couple and their son exchanged glances. They were truly tempted.

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