[The Hidden One] Episodes 22-24 Author: Blood Coral

[The Hidden One]

Author: Blood Coral
Publisher: Hetu Culture

Chapter 1 ◆ Teaching

The church was indeed much warmer than the woods on a rainy day. To avoid disturbing others, Bishop Rom arranged for the people to stay in the back storeroom. It was a bit crowded and dirty, but safe and had food.

The storeroom was also guarded by a disheveled middle-aged man in his forties. With the power of Nice, Pastor Fran?ois, and Bishop Rom, keeping this man out of the way was a piece of cake. So, at this moment, he was fast asleep, leaning against a burlap sack, and nothing could wake him. Even when he woke up, he wouldn't know anyone had been there.

Nice, the old pastor, and the bishop, of course, wouldn't stay in the storeroom. They went to the bishop's prayer room, where they could talk freely without worrying about being overheard.

Besides discussing business, Nice also wanted to use Bishop Rom's help to baptize and ordain Emily. The weight of baptizing a bishop is completely different from that of baptizing an ordinary priest; it's like bearing witness—the higher the rank, the more credible the testimony.

At this moment, Emily knelt quietly before the cross, enveloped in a pure white holy light.

The incense burner beside her burned frankincense, its fragrance filling the prayer room, mingled with the scent of holy oil—the very oil Bishop Rom used to ordain Emily.

This was undoubtedly a very wasteful affair. The ordination ceremony was lengthy, requiring a large amount of holy oil, something only Nice could afford.

Only the initial period of the ceremony required incantation; the bishop had to guide Emily into that mysterious world of consciousness, after which he simply watched. None of them could help or intervene.

The prayer room was large, so the three of them sat in a corner, observing Emily's condition while discussing future plans.

Bishop R?hm harbored a sliver of hostility towards Nice, unrelated to the ongoing war, but stemming from his intense hatred of Nice's rampant destruction of farmland. Had it not been for Pastor Fran?ois's presence, he likely would have already taken action.

Nice was fully aware of this animosity, but he paid it no heed. He knew from the old pastor's introduction that both the bishop and the old pastor were like spirits, disillusioned and resentful of the Church's corruption, yearning for change, yet lacking the power to do so.

Compared to the Vatican's various misdeeds, Nice's actions were insignificant. Since the bishop dared not speak out against the Church's ugliness, he couldn't afford to dwell on his affairs.

Sometimes, integrity itself is a constraint.

From the moment they sat down, Nice deliberately steered the conversation towards the Church's corruption and decadence, enjoying the two old men's expressions of resentment and helplessness.

"Pastor Fran?ois, do you believe that a few hundred almshouses can save the world?"

Nice asked a pointed question, seemingly directed at the old pastor, but actually aimed at Bishop R?hm. Of the two, the old priest at least took action and persevered persistently. Bishop R?hm, however, had some intentions, offering only support to the old priest—his only action.

"Do you have a better way?"

Bishop R?hm asked, a hint of anger in his voice. Just as Nice had expected, his earlier words had provoked him.

"Kaoni lifted thousands out of poverty, Asakus benefited tens of thousands, and now Prince Philip's territory is gradually becoming wealthy… Most importantly, in giving them the soul of wealth, I didn't take anything away from them; on the contrary, I gave them opportunities for self-criticism and education."

Nice smiled at Bishop R?hm.

Bishop R?hm's momentum immediately weakened; nothing was more powerful proof than facts.

This was also why he hadn't attacked Nice earlier; deep down, he genuinely admitted that Nice had done better than him and Fran?ois.

"Next, I plan to build a dozen or so academies in the North, just like the Admont Academy, to give noble children the opportunity to receive an education. At the same time, I also plan to use the name of the academies to set up some handicraft schools and accounting schools, which are for commoners. Commoners should also have the opportunity to receive an education."

The two old men nodded. They knew that Nice never spoke carelessly, and he usually kept his word. They could also see that he was using the guise of serving the interests of the nobles to smuggle in his own selfish motives to popularize education among the people.

Nice continued to add: "To enter the handicraft schools and accounting schools, one must be literate, so I also plan to open popular schools in various farms to teach people to read and do simple arithmetic."

The two old men's eyes lit up, especially the old pastor. He had been preaching among the lower classes for a long time, so he was deeply moved by the ignorance and stupidity of the common people. He had also thought about imparting some knowledge to those poor people, but the results were not ideal.

The more ignorant people are, the more pragmatic they are. They don't believe that reading and writing will bring them any benefit, so they simply ignore it. If their children want to study, they will prevent it and even take their anger out on those who impart knowledge. The old pastor often lamented his lack of understanding until he heard Nice's words. Nice's method was quite simple: to lure them with benefits. Those

who could read and do basic arithmetic would have the opportunity to enter a higher level of education, and after completing their studies, they could earn a lot of money and no longer have to toil in the fields.

"That's a good idea, but... are there that many teachers?"

The bishop was indeed very tempted.

"The church pastors are all very free!" Nice said calmly. When Kaoni first started, he also used church pastors as teachers and the Bible as textbooks.

This approach had multiple benefits: the church pastors had something to do, the people gained knowledge, and they became more devout than they are now.

Nice had absolute confidence in the last point. Whether in Kaoni, Asax, or the Five Peaks, those workshops all relied on the support of the monks of the Hermitage. Mond and his men not only provided the technology but also managed the workshops, so from the workers to the workshop owners, no one dared to be undevout. They prayed twice a day, and never missed Sunday services.

"This is indeed feasible."

Bishop Rom could find no fault with it, but then he immediately remembered something, and his face darkened: "What's the use of doing it so well? Once the higher-ups notice the situation here, many hands will definitely reach out."

"Just keep those hands out of reach, won't they?"

Nice said.

"How is that possible?"

The old priest gave a bitter smile; he knew all too well the character of those in the church's upper echelons.

"Just split off from the church, establish a new, loose denomination, no longer under the control of the Papacy,"

Nice said, revealing his true thoughts.

The two old men stared at Nice in shock; these words were almost insane.

"I'm not crazy. The Church's control is weakening significantly. As long as we join forces with the secular lords, we can definitely resist the Papacy's orders."

Nice had already made up his mind.

"That would only make it a church for nobles. I don't agree with that."

The old priest almost jumped up.

In his view, although the Church was corrupt and greedy, it still wore a mask of hypocrisy, while the secular lords were utterly devoid of spirit; they were simply plundering.

"Does the Church now stop the lords' atrocities?"

Nice said coldly. "Why do I see the opposite? The lords, under pressure from the Church, are abusing their own people."

This left the old priest speechless.

Bishop Rom, however, didn't share the old priest's concerns. This was related to each person's background; he came from a noble family, so he readily accepted Nice's words. He was more concerned about the new denomination Nice had mentioned.

"What does a loose denomination look like?"

Bishop Rom asked.

"Like the Church in its early days, using the Presbyterian structure, but the Pope must be abolished; there can be no absolute leader."

Nice had already thought it through.

This was also why he chose Bishop Rom; Pastorilla was the most suitable person for this.

Because he intended for Elizabeth to ascend the throne, the compromised lords would gain greater power, and the monarchy would be significantly weakened. Therefore, the only option was to adopt the Presbyterian system from the pre-imperial era.

By adopting this structure, the secular community could use this doctrine to negotiate with the Papacy, persuading the local church to adopt a similar structure; otherwise, the district bishop's power would be too great.

As he spoke, Nice observed Bishop Rom, noticing that the bishop didn't show any displeasure, clearly indicating a lack of ambition.

"Wouldn't this put the Pastmera regional church in an awkward position, a level below the churches of surrounding countries?"

the old priest questioned from the side.

Nice laughed.

"To put it bluntly, the Papacy is like a repulsive fat man, its enormous ass pressing down on everyone, making it hard to breathe. Now we finally have a chance to move that ass off. Even if it seems like a lower status, so what? At most, it just means the regional church's higher-ups lose their chance for promotion."

He glanced at Bishop Rom again.

Bishop Rom clearly didn't pay attention to the last sentence; he was currently pondering Nice's words.

Bishop Rom could, of course, see that this was a case of using secular power against the Papacy. Centuries ago, such a thing would have been unthinkable; a single decree from the Papacy would have wiped them all out, and even the Kingdom of Pastmera would have vanished. While the Papacy's influence in the North was limited, it could easily destroy a small country if it wanted to.

Seeing that the bishop was listening, Nice continued, "Others, those adults being held back by the fat man's big buttocks, seeing this place so relaxed and carefree, must be envious. And... no secular king wouldn't want to see his country's great church so gentle..."

The two old men carefully considered Nice's words.

They could completely guess the implied meaning.

Once a precedent was set, other countries would follow suit, because their monarchs would see immense benefits. They could gain the convenience of the church without worrying about the dangers of its increased influence; and local church leaders would feel more relaxed, because they would become independent kingdoms, and those who lost their chance for promotion would no longer bear the heavy pressure of the Papacy.

"Achieving a complete separation will probably take a very long time,"

Bishop Rom muttered to himself.

"Whether it takes a century or two, we just need to get off to a good start,"

Nice said nonchalantly.

"A good start—"

Both old men fell into deep thought.

Bishop Rom was thinking about separating from the Church. In his view, without the bloated upper structure, especially the thoroughly rotten Papacy, things would be much better.

The old priest wasn't interested in these things. He knew the helplessness of the lower classes. Even if the Church oppressed them less, there was still oppression from the secular nobility. What he really cared about was Nice's initial plan. The old priest always felt that

Nice had something else to say. He knew very well that the more ignorant people were, the easier they were to control, while those who could read and write, although easy to talk to, often had their own ideas, and too many of them would definitely cause problems. The old

priest vaguely sensed that Nice had a next plan.

If he couldn't see through it, he simply didn't think about it. The old priest only hoped to do as much as possible before the end of his life. 　　The sky was pitch black, with occasional flashes of lightning, while the ground glowed red, filled with flowing lava. The solidified rocks were riddled with holes, resembling a honeycomb, a truly terrifying sight.

Even 　　more horrifying were the black figures that occasionally emerged from the scorching lava. These creatures resembled humans, but possessed black wings. 　　This was Emily's inner world, completely unlike the bright world Nice had once witnessed; it was a veritable hell on earth. 　　Suppressing her revulsion, Emily slowly unfolded the "Book of Revelation" in her hand. This artifact had unexpectedly appeared in her consciousness as well, something no one had anticipated. 　　Suddenly, the earth trembled violently, and nearby lava churned and surged, even erupting tens of meters high. 　　Two figures, one large and one small, emerged from the enormous crack. The larger one sat half-reclined, appearing languid, while the smaller one possessed a delicate face, resembling a twelve or thirteen-year-old girl. 　　Neither figure had wings, but Emily knew they were far more terrifying than fallen angels with wings. 　　The moment they appeared, she knew their identities. 　　The larger one was Belial, the Lord of Sloth. Don't underestimate his abilities; while his ostensibly duties are laziness and sleep, his greatest power lies in the control of time. 　　To maximize the effectiveness of the Book of Revelation, one must become a prophet, thus requiring a guardian angel who controls time. 　　"If you've come to me seeking the future, it's definitely not the best choice," 　　Belial said weakly. 　　Emily wasn't surprised; Ness had already told her this. 　　Even gods can only touch upon certain aspects of the laws of time, let alone these angels. Belial controls the flow of time; he can speed it up or slow it down—a powerful ability, but useless against a prophet. 　　"I need your power," 　　Emily said through gritted teeth, her tone unusually firm. 　　Bellier smiled slightly, and his figure vanished. 　　In that instant, a languid, ghostly image appeared in Emily's consciousness. 　　The contract was complete. 　　Fallen angels qualified to be called "Lords of So-and-So" were no ordinary beings. Emily suddenly felt time slow down considerably; if time had previously flowed like a ceaseless river, now it felt like glue.

She possessed the memories of the Warrior's Soul passed down from Nice. The Warrior's Soul allowed her to slow down everything she saw, a power she had always envied, and now she possessed it herself. The Lord of Sloth was indeed powerful, bestowing such a formidable ability upon her so easily.

Emily also held high expectations for another fallen angel. This one was far more famous than the Lord of Sloth; he was the Lord of Sloth's twin brother—Belial, the King of Lies.

In mythology, the King of Lies was arguably the second-ranking fallen angel, also playing the role of strategist.

"I sense the hatred in your heart. The target of your revenge is precisely my enemy, so I give you this."

The King of Lies reached his hand into the lava, and when he pulled it out, a gleaming sword emerged from the magma.

Emily's pupils constricted sharply. She knew, of course, that there was only one sword associated with the King of Lies—the Seven Sins Sword, capable of harming even gods.

The test she had just undergone was to erase the seven original sins represented by this sword.

Having finally cleansed herself of all seven original sins, it was ironic that she received such a legendary, malevolent sword.

Emily carefully caught the slowly falling sword, and the Seven Sins Sword instantly transformed into a beam of light, engulfing her body.

In that instant, the entire space of consciousness shattered and was completely annihilated. There was no longer any lava or honeycomb-like rocks, but deep within Emily's consciousness, two phantom images of fallen angels appeared. After

a moment, Emily slowly opened her eyes. She saw Ness and two old men standing before her.

"How do you feel?"

Ness asked first.

"I feel much more relaxed,"

Emily replied.

"This is the inevitable reaction after the original sins are cleansed."

Bishop Rom, of course, didn't know about Emily's experience in the space of consciousness; he was simply drawing this conclusion based on past experience.

To be honest, at first, he didn't believe that this girl genuinely wanted to join the church, but now that he saw Emily had actually passed the test and cleansed herself of all original sins, he changed his mind.

"See? I told you so, didn't I? These so-called heretics are all potential believers in God, and far purer than most priests,"

Nice said from the side.

"You're absolutely right. Some priests, for their own selfish desires, have destroyed countless fields, and millions will have to endure hunger as a result. Compared to such priests, those heretics are indeed much more endearing,"

Bishop Rom said sarcastically. Although he had decided to cooperate with Nice, he still harbored prejudice against the young man.

Nice smiled, unconcerned. "So, you plan to stay in Pastmera?"

Bishop Rom asked, wanting to get rid of this scourge as soon as possible.

"I plan to take these people to Iberia,"

Nice stated his plan, glancing furtively at Emily.

Even now, Nice remained wary of the bishop. If the bishop intended to betray them, Emily, who possessed the Book of Revelation, would certainly react.

"I thought you'd go back to Shamaen... The road to Iberia is easy to travel; I'll arrange it as soon as possible."

Bishop R?hm had no intention of betraying him, as it would do him no good. On the contrary, according to the plan he had just made, he could control the church in Pastmera and realize his long-held ambition.

"It would be best to travel by water,"

Nice suggested. Traveling by water would allow them to travel day and night, and the ship would be naturally isolated from the outside world, greatly reducing the chance of being exposed.

"I know,"

Bishop R?hm agreed impatiently. As long as this troublemaker could be sent away, he would do anything.

Once he got serious, the church's efficiency would be very high.

Early the next morning, before even the prayers had begun, more than a dozen carriages quietly left through the back door of the church.

These carriages were all borrowed by Bishop R?hm overnight, and the drivers were all his trusted subordinates. All the carriages were equipped with rain shelters, and the sides were completely covered, leaving no gaps.

Sitting in such a vehicle on a rainy day, enduring the dampness and bumpy ride, is definitely not a pleasant experience, but for these fugitives, it's much more comfortable than the previous two days.

Bishop Rom's hasty arrangements were partly to get rid of Nice, this plague, as soon as possible, and partly because now was the safest time to leave. The lords and bishops of Divar still thought the escaped fugitives hadn't gone far and were hiding in some secluded corner, so they kept their passes tightly shut, searching carefully through the fields, mountains, and forests, completely unaware that the person they were looking for had already fled the border.

The largest and most comfortable vehicle at the end of the caravan was prepared for Nice, but he wasn't alone; Emily, Sylvia, Delia, and Daisy were also inside. Emily, dressed as a nun after her ordination, bore a resemblance to the former Margaret.

"I've taught you everything I could, even the prayers; you don't need to spend time memorizing them anymore,"

Nice sighed inwardly. When the old man Simon taught him, it wasn't so easy. He had gone to great lengths to learn magical swordsmanship from Mondstadt, how could it compare to this girl's effortless ease?

"However, what you gain this way doesn't truly belong to you. What you need next is a lot of practice,"

Nice had to warn, because he had discovered that Emily indeed had many problems. This girl was fickle; she was good at learning new things, but she refused to practice.

"I don't have holy power,"

Emily indeed began to make excuses. "

You're just trying to slack off,"

Delia said rudely from the side.

Sylvia and Daisy remained silent, but their eyes clearly understood Delia's words. They both knew Emily's temperament very well; otherwise, with her dual divine favor, her achievements wouldn't be so limited.

Hearing this, Emily's eyes flashed with a fierce light. After becoming a favored one of the Goddess of Nemesis, her magnanimity had become exceptionally small; she absolutely could not be provoked. Because of this, Sylvia and Daisy were extremely cautious, but Delia alone didn't seem to care much.

Nice had no choice but to stand up to ease the tension. Right now, he and Emily were actually on the best terms; the girl no longer harbored hatred for him, but she remained cold towards Sylvia, Daisy, and Delia.

"You can put your divine magic practice aside; practice something else first,"

Nice said, knowing the best course of action was to find something for Emily to do.

He secretly probed his ring and rummaged through it, then immediately felt a surge of joy. He pulled a slingshot from his pocket, something he had made shortly after joining the Admont Nang Academy. Back then, he was a complete novice, unable to even defeat the wild wolves in the mountains.

To Nice now, it was merely a toy, but it had saved his life back then, so he had kept it all this time.

"You used to like using hidden weapons, which is because you are a chosen one of the messenger god. However, your method of using hidden weapons was somewhat opportunistic, completely imitating the water spirit Undine's method. Now that you have lost the ability to control water, your strength has been greatly reduced."

Nice himself started with hidden weapons. When he followed Elder Simon from Frank to Admont, he practiced throwing darts as soon as he caught up with him.

"You seem to be using opportunistic methods too."

Emily pointed at Nice's war gloves with her finger. Always pampered by her parents and brothers, and high and mighty like a princess, she had never heard such harsh words before, so she couldn't help but retort.

"Alright, I won't use opportunistic methods." Nice

took off the gloves, and the warrior's spirit immediately returned to his consciousness, falling back into slumber.

Lifting a corner of the tarpaulin, Nice picked up the slingshot, aimed it outside, and gently flicked it with his finger.

A series of soft clicks were heard, and a dozen green beans flew out of the car, hitting the trees by the roadside.

Leaves fell one by one, their stems all broken.

"Even if I can't use divine magic, even if I can't use the Warrior's Soul, I won't lose all my strength."

Nice handed the slingshot to Emily.

Emily didn't object to this kind of practice; shooting with a slingshot was fun, and she loved using it to hunt birds when she was little.

"That's interesting, is there more?"

Delia also became interested. She was a chosen one of the Moon Goddess, who was also the goddess of hunting. She had been bored on the journey, and now she finally found something to relieve her boredom.

Emily snorted, picked up the slingshot, and went to the side of the car. She also lifted the tarpaulin a little and started shooting at the roadside.

She didn't just shoot leaves, but whatever she saw. Since she was using mung beans, she had as many as she wanted.

At first, her accuracy was a bit off, but after all, she was a chosen one of the Messenger Goddess and the Fury Goddess, and her foundation was much better than Nice's back then, so she quickly found the knack, hitting at least seven or eight out of ten shots.

"Get me one."

Delia was also a girl who never grew up. Seeing that Emily had something to play with, her hands started itching too.

Nice probed the ring again with his consciousness and found several animal tendons. With these and a few twigs, he could make a slingshot.

Under the effect of "Crafting," all the materials floated in mid-air. The animal tendons dispersed, turning into countless fine threads, then reconnected and fused back into a single piece. The twigs also rapidly changed shape, becoming the form he desired.

In just over a minute, a new slingshot appeared in Nice's hands.

Delia snatched the slingshot, grabbed a handful of green beans, sat down next to Emily, lifted a corner of the tarpaulin, and started shooting.

The Moon Goddess's chosen ones were definitely no less skilled in archery than the chosen ones of the Messenger God, and Delia's skill surpassed Emily's, instantly making Emily look inferior.

Every time Emily missed a target, Delia would defiantly follow up with a shot; she never missed.

Emily was very unhappy. She glared at Delia, the slingshot already pointed at Delia without her realizing it.

Seeing the two women about to fight again, Nice quickly grabbed Emily.

Emily's face turned pale and then red, glaring at Delia, unable to swallow her anger. Suddenly, her expression changed, and she groped Nice's crotch in an unusually suggestive manner, asking in a seductive voice, "Does making love with you increase my strength?"

"Where did you hear that?"

Nice panicked a little. Only Margaret, Elena, and the goddess warriors knew about this.

Emily subtly made a gesture of opening a parchment scroll.

Nice understood immediately, but even in understanding, he was extremely annoyed. The Book of Revelation had actually betrayed its former owner.

This was simply too much.

"I need strength."

Emily suddenly unbuckled her belt, her movements unusually decisive, pulling her trousers down to her knees.

Daisy gasped and turned her head, her face burning red. She wanted to get out of the carriage but was afraid of being seen by passersby and arousing suspicion.

"Don't joke around."

Nice didn't dare to provoke this girl at all. He didn't even want a master-disciple relationship, let alone a romantic one. If she turned to hate out of love, it could definitely affect Margaret and the others.

"Am I not pretty?"

Emily frowned.

She didn't like men much, and she especially disliked being penetrated by men. In this respect, she was quite similar to Delia. She was doing this mostly to gain power; she wanted revenge. She was willing to try anything that would help her improve her strength. A small part of it was to embarrass Delia and, incidentally, get revenge on Daisy.

But at this moment, Nice clearly showed no interest in her, which infuriated Emily. She was very confident in her appearance.

Besides, for a woman to stand in front of a man with her pants down, and the man to remain unmoved, was the greatest insult to that woman.

"I have many women,"

Nice could only try to explain, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

"I don't mind,"

Emily said calmly.

"I won't take responsibility for any woman,"

Nice shrugged.

"I don't mind, I only make love with you to gain power, you don't need to take responsibility... However, you can't get me pregnant,"

Emily said sternly, not finding her request unreasonable at all.

She was a woman of her word, and actually pulled on Nice's belt.

Nice's penis was already erect, standing like a rod; the girl tried to grasp it, but her hands couldn't hold it.

It was indeed extra-large; apart from Sylvia's deceased husband, the girl had never seen or heard of anything larger. But she didn't care, because when she and Sylvia were having sex, the thing inserted into her vagina was also this thick.

She slowly sat down with her back to Nice.

Emily's vagina was very tight, which surprised Nice.

With more sex, the vagina gradually loosens; Margaret, Elizabeth, Anna, and Elena had all loosened considerably compared to before, the only one who hadn't changed was Xingna, but she was a super-level martial artist.

Nice enjoyed Emily's tightness.

This tightness, yet somewhat unsettling, lacked the tautness of a virgin's vagina, and wasn't like Xingna's gripping grip. Emily's vagina was very elastic, tightly enveloping his penis, yet easily opening with a slight stretch.

Another strange thing was that her vagina didn't secrete much lubrication, yet it was very slippery, making insertion easy.

Nice wrapped his arms around Emily's waist, his hands gently caressing her genitals.

This area was soft and smooth; was it because she wasn't fully developed, or was it her natural state? Emily's genitals were completely hairless.

Emily's figure wasn't particularly good; she was too thin, her abdomen lacking soft flesh, feeling hard to the touch.

"Is it comfortable?"

Emily asked coldly.

"Comfortable, extremely comfortable,"

Nice could only reply.

However, in his mind, Nice only gave it a passing grade, and that was only because of Emily's stunning beauty.

This girl's vagina, besides being tight, had no other appeal; the vaginal walls were smooth with little friction, and the secretions were minimal. Nice

slipped his hands inside the girl's clothes, gently touched her, and then withdrew; he almost thought he was sitting on a boy.

"Disappointed?"

Emily asked.

"Nothing,"

Nice replied, genuinely unconcerned, his hands moving down below.

Nice's taste in women is based first and foremost on their temperament, and Emily's temperament was quite good, which was enough.

"Now I'll teach you how to use a slingshot."

Nice picked up Emily and moved her to their previous spot, doing this to prevent her from asking any more questions.

Gently taking Emily's hand, Nice let her pull the bowstring herself; all he needed to do was change her aim.

Emily actually aimed quite accurately, but she lacked confidence; even when she locked onto a target, she always felt uncertain.

Nice knew exactly what Emily needed.

Confidence is built up little by little through countless practices; with just a little time, Emily would definitely shoot as accurately as Delia.

"Aren't you doing quite well?"

Nice whispered in Emily's ear. With his help in aiming, the girl's shots were never missed.

Nice's other hands gently rubbed the girl's clitoris.

The clitoris is the most sensitive part of a woman's body, and it was the same for Emily, but Nice's technique was very skillful; there was no overly strong stimulation, but rather a gentle teasing that evoked a faint pleasure.

This pleasure made Emily feel incredibly good. Her previous sex with Sylvia was intense and wild, the feeling of quickly reaching orgasm was absolutely exhilarating, but after a while, she felt something was missing. Now, she finally found what was missing.

However, Emily didn't want to admit it, because she discovered that what she lacked was her femininity.

In the past, when she was with Sylvia, she always played the role of the husband, being proactive and dominant, conquering, conquering, and conquering again in bed. But now, she was being violated by someone else, being manipulated by a man, which made her feel very awkward, yet it also awakened her feminine side.

The pleasure rose from her lower body, climbing up her spine. Emily felt weak all over, and her head was spinning.

Emily could feel the movement of the air.

She could feel the movement of the air when she ran, and she could even control it, letting the wind carry her or use its power to change direction, but she had never used this skill for concealed weapons.

The wind was a cause of error, but for Emily, who could manipulate the wind, it could also be a very useful tool.

Emily's fingers flicked lightly, sending green beans dancing in the wind, flying towards the roadside trees and bushes. The surrounding wind pushed them, carrying them to their targets.

Leaves on the trees were riddled with holes, and flowers in the grass were scattered everywhere.

"Very good."

Nice released his hands from Emily's aiming, moving them to the girl's crotch. "Once you're skilled at this, try not aiming, just go for it by feel."

As Nice spoke, he channeled a trace of sexual energy into Emily's vagina. This trace was so small it was almost imperceptible and wouldn't cause a strong reaction.

The function of this sexual energy was that, under his control, it could roam freely within a woman's vagina, directly stimulating sensitive spots, especially those deep within. Furthermore, the sexual energy could remain within a woman's vagina, settling on a sensitive spot, transforming into a seed of love. He could awaken that trace of sexual energy later, if he so desired.

Women like Margaret, whose seeds of love he had already planted, only needed a few gentle touches with his hand to bring them to orgasm, without even needing penetration.

Niss also planned to plant the seed of love within Emily; it was his method of controlling women, but he was much more cautious with this girl.

Controlling his sexual energy, Niss slowly moved it through Emily's body, carefully observing her reactions.

Like Sylvia, this girl was rather aloof, her initial reactions not very strong, but once a certain limit was exceeded, they would become exceptionally intense.

Women like them either didn't accept at all, or once they did, they would give themselves completely.

As one sensitive spot after another was discovered, Niss's eyes were opened.

Emily had many sensitive areas that other women didn't have, such as her small anus, which was extremely sensitive inside and out, as was the depths of her anus.

This was similar to Sylvia's.

When he first discovered these abnormalities in Sylvia, he thought it was an exception.

With so many women and extensive experience in this area, Nice quickly realized that this sensitive spot was something that had been developed. If it could be developed, it should be able to be modified and strengthened. Many new ideas flashed through Nice's mind.

Unfortunately, he couldn't try these ideas on Emily, at least not until he had her completely.

Nice carefully channeled more of his sexual energy into Emily's body, dispersing and settling on the identified sensitive spots.

Waves of faint yet dizzying pleasure stimulated Emily's nerves, and her body went completely limp, leaning against Nice.

"Push harder down there, suck me a little,"

Nice said directly into Emily's mind. He knew Emily was proud; if he said this in front of Delia, she would definitely be angry.

Sure enough, after glaring at him angrily, the girl struggled slightly, seemingly unwilling to have sex with him anymore. But failing to do so, she reluctantly twisted her body a few times, and then her vaginal opening began to suckle.

This was the first time the girl had done this; before Nice, she had never had a man. When she had sex with Sylvia, she had used a dildo, which required no stimulation.

Some things women are born with, like these techniques for pleasing men. Emily's sucking was very forceful; there was no indication that this was her first time using this technique.

"That's fantastic, you're the best. Now relax this area, and then slowly twist..."

Nice instructed, but this time he wasn't teaching concealed weapon techniques, but rather the art of sex.

Nice had many women around him, including quite a few like Xingna, each with their own set of superb techniques, so Nice was an expert in this area.

Emily resisted this kind of training. When she was with Sylvia, she loved to make Sylvia suffer, watching her beg for mercy. It always filled her with a sense of accomplishment, but it also instilled in her a deep-seated belief that becoming a real woman would make her just like Sylvia.

A terrifying image flashed through Emily's mind: she saw herself lying on the bed like Sylvia, her body limp and lifeless, her buttocks covered in handprints, her genitals red and swollen…

Her heart was filled with resistance, but her body betrayed her will. The small mouth deep inside her vagina sucked and slowly swallowed Nice's glans, mimicking his movements as he instructed.

"Don't stop down there, don't stop up there either. Keep your eyes on the target, I'll guide you to aim,"

Nice continued his instructions.

Almost instantly, a red dot appeared in Emily's vision. Wherever she looked, the dot stopped there. This was the "consciousness connection" with this soul. She also realized that Nice had captured her senses, followed by an unusually penetrating and intense stimulation in her genitals.

This was exactly what she wanted, but she would never say it aloud.

Emily was both ashamed and angry, but she couldn't lash out because everyone around her was watching, especially Delia. That woman would definitely ask why, and then she would be the butt of a joke.

Emily could only remain silent, enduring the intense pleasure and suppressing any moans.

The restraint quickly turned into enjoyment, because the intense stimulation was exactly what Emily wanted. Her flesh sent signals of satisfaction and joy; she felt completely comfortable, a pleasure she had never experienced before.

"Don't embarrass me,"

Emily struggled to say deep within her consciousness, her last request.

"Don't worry, I'm just teaching you something, and incidentally, letting you learn to enjoy the wonders of being a woman,"

Nice quickly replied.

"I don't want to be a woman,"

Emily retorted.

"But you are indeed a woman, and a very beautiful, very charming woman!"

Nice's penis thrust in and out, proving his words: "I guarantee you'll like this feeling."

The gentle thrusting and the ensuing pleasure intoxicated Emily; she said nothing more.

Chapter Two ◆ We're All Relatives

A ship approached the dock, a very secluded dock located in a grove of trees on the outskirts of Iberia. The dock was unusually lively; it was Sunday, market day, so long lines of carts and sleds stretched out, mostly loaded with goods.

The ship finally docked, and the boatman jumped ashore, securing the mooring rope to a nearby stake.

A group of people emerged from the cabin, led by a young man in his twenties, surrounded by four women. One was a young, beautiful woman with blonde hair and purple eyes; another was mature and alluring. Both women appeared cold, yet their eyes were filled with satisfaction and contentment.

The other two women were also beautiful, but seemed unwell, their expressions dazed, and their legs weak.

The man was, of course, Nice; the women were Emily, Daisy, Delia, and Silvia. The four of them had been with Nice the entire journey.

Emily was utterly unrestrained; day and night, she was practically always nestled in Nice's arms, and most of the time, her vagina was filled with his penis. However, her lovemaking with Nice was always gentle and soothing, rarely intense.

Sylvia's situation was similar; she never wore her pants the entire way, her legs, buttocks, and vagina were covered in Nice's semen. Completely opposite to Emily's relaxed and carefree state, she suffered greatly, having to deal with two husbands, Nice and Emily. Nice was highly skilled, always managing to drive her to the brink of ecstasy. Emily, already somewhat violent and crazy, now had an added layer of vengefulness, making her even more ruthless.

But even though such things were extremely painful at the time, the aftertaste was incredibly pleasurable. Besides, Sylvia had a penchant for masochism; the more painful it was, the more intoxicated she became.

The two watching, on the other hand, found it unbearable. Daisy was incredibly shy, with nowhere to hide, and also had to guard against Nice suddenly taking her into his "harem." Delia didn't care, but her pride was strong, making it impossible for her to shamelessly join in. What made her even more uncomfortable was that she was afraid of being mocked by Emily and was too embarrassed to relieve herself, so she could only endure it desperately.

A man who looked like a butler squeezed out from the crowd on the shore. He bowed and greeted Nice with unusual respect, "Master, you must be tired. I have prepared everything for you."

Behind the butler was a group of servants, all holding riding whips, and a row of sleds was parked in the distance.

Nice turned and waved to the people on the boat, "Hurry, hurry, we're almost home."

Upon hearing that they were home, the large group of fugitives, young and old, immediately perked up.

There were many people on the shore, but with the butler leading the way, everyone managed to squeeze out.

Everyone got onto the sleds, and the butler personally drove for Nice. They didn't take the main road but went directly up a hill.

"As per your request, Miss bought a manor a dozen miles away. It's a large place and quite remote,"

the butler explained as he drove, explaining why they didn't take the main road.

Nice's initial promise was to provide each of the fugitive families with an estate—a small farmhouse estate with two or three houses and a small yard.

Anna, given her status, couldn't possibly afford such an estate, hence the current arrangement.

"It's alright, let them stay temporarily,"

Nice said, unconcerned. Large estates had their advantages; everyone could live together, eliminating the need to recruit from outside, and any unexpected events could be handled quickly.

"The Governor requests your presence as soon as possible,"

the steward added casually.

Nice nodded; he could easily guess why the Governor of Cherharlan had summoned him.

It was already September, the rainy season was nearing its end, and in the North, harvesting would begin in some areas by mid-to-late September, meaning their plan was about to commence.

"What changes have you seen in grain prices here lately?" Nice asked casually.

"As for grain prices, they can only be described as insane, changing daily,"

the steward replied hastily. He was a confidant of the Governor of Cherharlan and knew the secret.

"Has the Governor not tried to control it?"

Nice was somewhat puzzled. Although they had planned to raise grain prices, they hadn't intended to raise them too high all at once.

"It's not just us raising prices now; many people have heard the news, and a whole bunch of people are frantically hoarding grain,"

the deacon said gleefully. "The Farodi family and the Permond local church have definitely shot themselves in the foot. Originally, not many people paid attention to grain prices in the north, but after they complained to the Papacy, everyone knows you plan to manipulate grain prices. The first to react were the Saracens, who have always done business with you, and then more and more people joined in."

Nice was indeed somewhat taken aback; he hadn't expected such an unexpected turn of events.

The sled moved slowly, taking nearly 45 minutes to travel the dozen or so kilometers.

The manor was exceptionally secluded, nestled in a valley, though the surrounding mountains were very low, just slightly higher hills.

The entire manor was shaped like a C, surrounded by a three-meter-high stone wall, large enough for a person to stand on top.

Because of its proximity to barbarian territories, the manors in the North often resembled castles, providing protection against small-scale attacks.

Upon seeing this manor, Nice immediately guessed it belonged to one of Anna's relatives.

The refugees dismounted from their sleds, clearly enjoying the place. This group belonged to the broader category of nobility; they had neither titles nor lands, possessing only noble blood and a small amount of land. Their circumstances were merely adequate. Due to their status, they had witnessed extravagance and prosperity, and had always envied life in a large manor. Now, their dream had finally come true.

The manor was fully equipped. In the main hall, a long table held a neat stack of deeds and documents, all prepared for them. These included ownership of the manor and surrounding land, which needed to be divided and allocated to each household—a considerable undertaking.

Nice had no interest in handling this; he left it to Emily and Sylvia.

Emily held the highest status among the group, while Sylvia was their savior; no one dared question their decisions.

Since there was nothing else to do, Nice lost interest in staying any longer and left the manor for Angel Castle. The butler had told him that Governor Cherharan had spent the entire summer there.

The uniquely shaped castle had become a landmark of Iberia, and the Governor's wife frequently used it to entertain guests. Thus, this castle, which should have belonged to Anna, had become, in effect, another governor's residence.

The rainy season in the North was oppressive; nowhere could be visited during this time, not even the gardens, which were always damp and undesirable. Angel Castle, however, was different. Its water features gave it a unique charm in the rain, and the hot springs ensured it was never cold.

Initially, Anna discovered these advantages and stayed at Angel Castle. Later, the Governor's wife also found the benefits and stayed, and eventually, Governor Cherharan moved there as well.

Even from a distance, Nice sensed the bustling activity around the castle. Carriages came and went, and the once barren land surrounding the castle was now dotted with villas. Further away, foundations were being laid, clearly for a surrounding wall.

The castle's security was also much tighter than before. As a de facto occupant, Nice didn't need to be announced; he walked straight in.

Just as he entered the hall, he heard hurried footsteps coming from the stairwell. Anna came running down the stairs. Two or three meters away from Nice, she leaped up and threw herself into his arms, clinging to him like a sloth.

"You have no idea how worried I was! I wouldn't allow you to take such risks again… I prayed for you every day while you were in Divar…"

Anna chattered on, both complaining and overjoyed.

"My dear daughter, please come down first. I need to speak with your fiancé," said

Governor Cherharan, who had also received the news. He emerged wearing a bathrobe, clearly having just been soaking in the hot springs.

He wasn't alone in the hot springs; several of his relatives accompanied him.

Even with Governor Cherharan's power, manipulating grain prices was something he couldn't accomplish alone, so he enlisted the entire Gesar City-State Alliance, with his relatives contributing the most. As soon as Nice arrived, he informed the others.

Governor Cherharan's relatives no longer felt the estrangement and antagonism they had at the beginning of the year towards Nice.

This was because Nice's current status was vastly different from six months prior. At the beginning of the year, he was merely a minor figure, controlling only a small port; although wealthy, his position was low. Now, Prince Philip, whom he supported, was seen by outsiders as the future king of the Kingdom of Corunant, and he had instigated the Shamarne civil war, directly placing Margaret on the throne.

Nice now possessed the qualifications to stand on equal footing with them.

"I now deeply regret giving this castle to Anna,"

Anna's uncle, Marquis Holden, joked.

Anna, clinging to Nice, puffed out her cheeks and said angrily, "I hate you all! You're always running around here, I can't even have a moment of peace."

Seven parts of her anger were feigned—children always like to show off their proudest possessions—but three parts were genuine, because with these people around, she and Nice couldn't have a secret rendezvous. The castle was perfect in every way except for its small size.

"When will you build me a castle like this?"

Anna's uncle asked shamelessly.

"I'll just approve a design I don't need,"

Nice replied casually. However, if the other party took it seriously, he would spend some time creating a design. He was quite confident in that area now.

"Alright, let's go inside and talk business,"

Governor Cherharland said, not wanting to waste time.

He said "go inside," but instead walked into the courtyard. The largest room was already prepared with all sorts of things—food and drink—and beautiful maids in light, thin dresses were serving them. Nice had put this all out first.

Nothing in this world is easier to accept than enjoyment. Unbeknownst to many, Governor Cherharan and those around him were all influenced. Now, the entire upper class of Iberia no longer serves whole pigs or sheep when entertaining guests; everyone is focusing on exquisite presentation.

What slightly annoyed Nice was that the decor had been altered.

To create a natural ambiance, this waterfront house had originally been deliberately decorated somewhat messily, but now it was neat and orderly, with everyone seated according to their social standing.

Nice sat towards the back; according to Anna's seniority, he was the youngest.

"You must already know that things are getting a little out of control here,"

Governor Cherharan sighed.

"It's not a bad thing. We wanted to drive up grain prices anyway; this doesn't contradict our original intentions,"

Anna's uncle, the short, stout marquis who was very henpecked, seemed unconcerned.

"Out of control means things could change,"

Marquis Holden warned from the side.

"At most, the Farodi family won't listen to us and will buy grain from elsewhere... The problem is, the price they offer won't be cheap either,"

the short, stout man said.

"You already have accurate information?"

Nice knew the short, stout man wouldn't speak without reason; he would never underestimate the intelligence capabilities of the Gesar City-State Alliance.

If someone really was involved, their forces would be disrupted. Hoarding grain and speculating on prices wasn't about making a fortune; Governor Cherharan wanted to take the opportunity to control the grain trade in the North, and he wanted to win the war outside the battlefield.

"It's the Morang Alliance that's behind this, but there's definitely something more to it. It's very likely that a faction within the Church is helping the Farodi family,"

Governor Cherharan revealed what he knew.

Nice immediately realized he had forgotten the complexity of the Church.

He was able to get Cardinal Eymar's help because the Farodi family had been operating there for so long, and with dozens of bishops in the church, each with their own backers and connections, their combined power far exceeded his.

"It seems I need to go back south and see Cardinal Eymar,"

Nice decided.

"The cardinal is very busy these days,"

the governor reminded him.

Nice thought for a moment and immediately understood.

Clement V had passed away at the end of April, and it was now September; the mourning period should be over, and the struggle for the next papacy must have already begun.

"Do you know where the cardinal is lately?"

Nice asked because he was somewhat hesitant. If Cardinal Eymar was in Avignon, he certainly wouldn't go there.

The governor wasn't surprised that Nice didn't know; Nice had been causing trouble and completely isolated from the world, so information was naturally scarce.

"I heard he's in Lean,"

the governor said.

This answer was exactly what Nice expected. The Papacy is currently in Avignon, but most of the residents there are papal supporters. Other factions within the Papacy's upper echelons are mostly in Lean, making Avignon essentially a secondary capital.

"Does the Papacy's leadership intend to move back to the Papal States?"

Nice asked.

"I don't know,"

Governor Cerhalan waved his hand dismissively. While the Gesar Alliance's intelligence network is pervasive, they cannot obtain information like this.

Under the lamplight, several scribes diligently took notes, recording the analysis results and countermeasures.

The meeting lasted all day. Governor Cerhalan and Nice patiently dissected and analyzed every recent event, reviewing every possible contingency plan. They couldn't possibly remember their conclusions; writing them down was definitely the best approach.

"A whole day of discussion is exhausting!" the governor said, rubbing his temples, looking weary.

Nice himself was exhausted, and he nodded, "That should be about it. Even if there are still some loopholes, we can deal with them tomorrow."

Everyone around him breathed a sigh of relief. Not only were the governor's relatives exhausted, but even the scribe responsible for copying the text couldn't straighten his wrists.

Seeing that things had finally stopped, the steward ran over and said in a humble voice, "My lords, the banquet is ready."

"What time is it?"

Governor Cherhalan glanced at the sky.

The moon had already risen high above the rooftops.

"Eight o'clock,"

the steward quickly replied.

"Our lady and my Anna have probably been waiting for a long time."

Governor Cherhalan sighed softly, then waved his hands and said, "Quickly tidy up this place and prepare the table."

A group of male and female servants immediately came in, carrying tablecloths and tableware, and busied themselves as soon as they entered.

Soon the table was set, and the tablecloths were all the things Nice had come up with.

"Are you finally done talking?"

The governor's wife and the other women walked in with unhappy expressions, without even glancing at her husband.

The other ladies also harbored a hint of dissatisfaction in their eyes; they had been starving while waiting for these men who had no sense of time. However, when their gazes fell upon Nice, they all became eager.

Nice began to sweat, but quick-wittedly, he pulled a bunch of roses from his pocket and said with a beaming smile, "I don't have anything else of value, just some flowers I grew myself."

The women immediately beamed, while the men present twitched at the corners of their mouths. However, seeing Nice produce so many roses at once, their hearts relaxed. Being able to produce so many Timeless Roses meant that Nice had found a way to cultivate them, which also meant that they could buy them as long as they had the money.

Previously, their reluctance wasn't because the flowers were too expensive, but because they had the money but nowhere to buy them.

"You've acquired another coveted commodity,"

Governor Cherharland sighed, shaking his head.

Of everyone present, he knew Nice's situation best. Timeless Roses were highly sought-after commodities both in the real world and in the Pantheon; as many as there were, they would sell.

The others were also filled with envy. They didn't care about the profits; what truly envied them was that with this product, Nice could knock on any door. Even if the homeowner didn't welcome Nice, his wife and daughter would still invite him in.

This rose was absolutely the ultimate tool for quickly building connections.

Filled with envy, everyone sat down. This time, there were no children at the table. Clearly, Anna's relatives had realized that Nice couldn't be compared to their sons and daughters, and therefore had given up on the idea of comparison.

"It's already September, and some places have already started harvesting sugarcane. Are you going to show off your skills again?"

Anna's aunt, the leader of the group of women, asked with a smile.

"Shamaen can't do without me."

Nice didn't want to say much on this topic. According to last year's sales, the sugar business was already booming. In any case,

the technology for refining fine white sugar had already been handed over. Starting this year, the sugar business would mainly be handled by the Cardinal, the Duke of Styria, and the Marquis of Cerhalan. The Rosicrucian Order would only hold a small share, so he wouldn't get involved anymore.

"You must have a new target in mind. Why don't you tell me?"

the woman continued.

"Right now, the most profitable business is grain trading,"

Nice replied shrewdly.

"That's only temporary. What are you planning to do next?"

The woman persisted.

Nice was momentarily speechless; to be honest, he hadn't really thought about it carefully.

Since heading north, his mind had turned to a wider world, and he hadn't paid much attention to his old ways. But looking back now, the reason he had been so successful during this period was ultimately because he had money and a group of wealthy allies.

Nice fell into deep thought.

"You're very talented, but even the most talented person can't always have new ideas,"

Governor Cherharan said casually from the side, seemingly trying to excuse Nice.

However, Nice understood the implication; Governor Cherharan was giving him pointers.

Since he had no new ideas, he should look back at the old ways.

Upon closer examination, while the sugar business was extremely profitable, compared to the traditional spice and silk trade, it was a drop in the ocean, and even less than the massive grain trade.

"I now have two territories, both bordering barbarian lands. I plan to open up trade routes first,"

Nice said.

"Your mind is sharp,"

the governor praised, pleased that Nice had understood his hint.

"But be careful. Once the trade route is open, it'll inevitably compete with these tribes. Don't let those barbarians take advantage of you,"

Marquis Holden said seriously.

His words were clearly pointed. It wasn't a secret that Nice paid higher prices to the barbarians and sold things to them at slightly lower prices. The barbarian king had Murphy's wife deliver a message that he intended to use Nice to suppress other merchants.

Nice didn't intend to cooperate with the barbarian king, but that didn't mean he would accept the lesson from here.

"The barbarians aren't monolithic. My next target is the barbarians. I've already successfully cooperated with two tribes; perhaps a third, a fourth will follow."

His words were somewhat irrelevant, essentially a rejection of the other party's implication.

No one was a fool, and the atmosphere at the table immediately became tense.

Seeing the atmosphere freeze, Governor Cherharan laughed, "What's going on? Is it really worth all this fuss over such a small business of furs, pottery, and scrap metal? That's a problem for the merchants down there. Besides, those merchants are too greedy."

The governor's wife glared at her brother and then said, "Do you really think your niece has such poor taste that she'd choose a brainless fiancé?"

Her words were cryptic, seemingly biased towards both sides, yet also like a subtle jab at both, but the effect was obvious: it instantly dissolved the tension.

The lady's words highlighted the key issue—they were relatives.

The living conditions in the North were exceptionally harsh, with half the year spent in freezing cold and a long rainy season in the summer. To the north were barbarians, and to the south, the Papacy.

Surviving in the North was difficult enough; for a family like theirs to maintain its current status was even more challenging. They absolutely could not afford the infighting of the southern nobles.

In the North, the larger the family, the more importance they placed on internal unity.

The Farodi family is the best example. This family gradually gained control of five kingdoms precisely because of the unity among relatives; the current rulers of the five kingdoms all have Farodi blood.

It's relatively rare to see families like the two brothers of the Kingdom of Gorenant, or the uncle and niece of the Kingdom of Shaman fighting to the death.

"Yes, we are relatives,"

Marquis Holden quickly said, which could be considered an apology.

"Barbarians are excellent riders, and they are also skilled at horse breeding. After this war ends, I plan to cooperate with them,"

Nice reciprocated, signaling a willingness to reconcile.

As long as there are knights, there will be a demand for horses; this is a large-scale business, but unlike the grain trade, the profit margin is not low.

"I heard you found a batch of Frost Shovel Bugs?"

Governor Cherharan smoothly steered the conversation to this topic.

The number of demonic creatures is already small, and those with high reproductive rates and docile temperaments are even rarer. Frost Shovel Bugs are precisely one such type, and any lord would be tempted by them.

"I'm trying to figure out how to solve the breeding problem,"

Nis said, merely to buy some time. He certainly wouldn't be stingy with Governor Cherharan and would definitely send a batch, but if he sent them now, he wouldn't have enough for himself.

Nis also had ideas; he wanted to build a powerful light cavalry force, and the Goddess Warriors were the most suitable candidates, so he himself needed two or three thousand Frost Shovel Insects.

Of course, he also knew this was only a temporary measure. Once demonic creatures left their original habitat, they would gradually degenerate. These Frost Shovel Insects could only reproduce for five or six generations at most, after which their lifespan would be greatly shortened, their size would decrease, their strength would weaken, and they would gradually lose their value.

Because of this flaw, armies throughout history that tamed demonic creatures as mounts could only dominate for a short time and could not last long.

"I'll order a thousand Frost Shovel Insects first. You can give them to me a year later, but you need to give me fifty insects first; my soldiers need to be trained,"

Governor Cherharan said.

Hearing the governor's urgent tone, Nice immediately sensed something was amiss. He couldn't help but ask, "Is things not peaceful here either?"

The governor nodded silently.

"Could it be because of me?"

Nice immediately thought of the series of assassination attempts against him earlier this year.

They were in the right then and there, so their retaliation was more aggressive.

"You don't need to worry about it. Their assassination attempt was already targeting us. If we had appeared weak then, things would have been even worse."

Governor Cherharan essentially acknowledged Nice's suspicion.

He told Nice not to worry, but Nice couldn't afford to be. He had to squeeze out at least five hundred Frost Shovel Insects, let alone fifty.

Nice was helpless, but he had no other choice. Then he remembered something: "The barbarian king sent me a message that seemed somewhat threatening. Could it be…?"

"That's possible. That barbarian king may seem rough and boorish, but he's actually very cunning, not to mention the dwarf beside him. Even I'm somewhat afraid of that guy's intelligence."

Governor Cherharan's expression was grave.

"As far as I know, he's not young anymore. Does he still have any ambitions? Besides, I remember he only has daughters, no sons at all. What's the use of conquering more territory?"

Marquis Pierre muttered.

Nissten suddenly remembered that in that hall, a large group of women were fighting over Metro and the silk he had brought. At the time, he thought these women were all the barbarian king's wives and concubines, only to later find out that his daughter was among them.

"It's hard to say. That wolf may be old, but its teeth are still sharp. Didn't it recently purge the Second Family?"

Governor Cherhalan reminded him.

Nice was startled; he realized that the barbarian king might indeed be planning something.

Suppressing internal strife is often a sign of external action, a way to eliminate worries about the rear.

There are countless reasons for external action. Perhaps the wealth he brought from the south tempted the barbarian king; perhaps the succession struggle in Gorenant and the internal strife in Shamarne gave the barbarian king an opportunity; or perhaps the reforms he spearheaded made the barbarian king feel threatened, fearing two more powerful neighbors to the south of his territory, thus planning a preemptive strike.

The barbarian king's request for Belitty to deliver a message to Rogersfield might be a conspiracy.

If he went, he might be detained there; if he didn't go, it would be disrespectful, and the other side could use that as an excuse to start a war.

Nice was immediately overwhelmed.

By this time, he fully understood that from the moment they sat down at the dinner table, this group had been testing him. The Marquis Holden's deliberate words earlier were definitely a test, perhaps to see if he was easily controlled.

All of this was ultimately to force him to choose sides. Faced with the immense threat of the Barbarian King, he could only rely on this group of people.

Once he understood this, Nice calmed down.

There was a stubborn streak in his personality; the more the other party schemed, the less he would yield. The scene before him somewhat reminded him of the night his father died.

The dinner was very lavish and exquisite, and the taste was beyond words, but Nice's mind wasn't on it.

After dinner, he told everyone he was a little tired.

He naturally had a room in the castle; Anna's parents, while occupying his room, wouldn't go so far as to take it over as well.

To Nice's surprise, Anna actually followed him in.

"I know you're upset,"

Anna said, closing the door behind her. "But they are them, and I am me."

Nice had been holding a grudge, but Anna's words immediately eased the tension in her chest.

Closing the door behind her, Nice carried Anna to the bed.

Her long dress fluttered to the floor, followed by her underwear, and finally her pants.

Anna lay on the bed, draped in a thin gauze robe, her legs already parted by Nice.

A soft moan escaped her lips; something new had entered her body. Anna hadn't seen Nice for six months, and her body was filled with longing and passion.

Anna hadn't yet begun to develop, but her genitals, meant for men, were fully opened. Her mons pubis was unusually full, her pink clitoris protruding like a small grape. Her vagina tightly gripped Nice's genitals, the surrounding flesh rubbing against each other, a strong suction deep within.

Neither of them moved, because there was no need.

When Nice's penis entered Anna's body, the seeds of love scattered throughout her body were awakened. No need for flirting or excessive foreplay; Anna instantly entered the mood, and in her most wonderful state.

"To be honest, I envy Margaret,"

Anna said, wrapping her legs tightly around Nice, as if afraid he would slip away. "Margaret doesn't have so many worries."

Nice noticed a hint of sorrow on Anna's face; he knew what she meant.

Anna's father and relatives all had their own plans, which clashed with her own in many ways, leaving her caught in the middle and very uncomfortable.

"I miss the days when I was with you,"

Anna said with longing.

Nice knew what she wanted to say and shook his head seriously. "Not now. My situation is very dangerous; it's not safe for you to be with me."

"I know, Father said the same thing,"

Anna said helplessly.

"Things will be much better once the war in Shamarne is over,"

Nice could only promise, but he dared not make any absolute statements, as new changes might occur.

"Actually, it doesn't matter if we don't go to Shamarne, as long as we can be alone together,"

Nice said, revealing his true feelings.

"It's all your fault for building Angel Castle so nicely,"

Anna said, half-jokingly angrily.

"We really need to find another quiet place,"

Nice said knowingly .

"How about that manor?"

Anna winked slyly. She chose such a remote place because she had some ideas.

"There are more people there,"

Nice shook her head.

"Is it because of those women?"

Anna asked with a light laugh, adding at the end, "I won't be jealous."

Nice slapped Anna's buttocks hard, then went all out.

Waves of pleasure assaulted Anna's consciousness, pushing her to the edge of orgasm in an instant, but Nice didn't cross that line, leaving Anna hanging there.

This was punishment.

After five or six minutes, Nice gently thrust.

Anna's body arched up, her legs straight, her mind blank.

She didn't know how much time had passed before Anna finally relaxed, lying weakly on the bed, panting heavily.

Nice stroked Anna's body; her completely undeveloped body always gave him a different feeling.

“I only have relationships with those two women,”

Nice explained.

“That’s only a matter of time. Other women will be in your bed too.”

Anna knew Nice very well. “I really don’t mind that thing of yours…”

She poked Nice’s exposed penis with her finger. “It’s too strong. I can’t handle it all by myself. Someone has to share the burden.”

“You don’t seem to lack people to share the burden,”

Nice joked.

“You miss them?”

Anna wrapped her legs around Nice’s waist again, her hips swaying, making Nice’s thing wriggle inside her vagina.

Nice remained silent on this question.

“Even if it’s just so the two of us can meet, you have to build me another castle.”

Anna was really fed up with her father. At first, he would go back to the city to work, but now he simply treated this place as the governor’s mansion.

"Angel Castle is a unique masterpiece; it's probably hard to surpass it,"

Nice sighed.

"Then let's build a ship,"

Anna immediately suggested. Having grown accustomed to Angel Castle, she certainly wouldn't want to live in a place inferior to this .

Nice's heart skipped a beat; he recalled the time he spent with Emily and the others on the way here.

"That's a good idea,"

Nice's mind was already working.

Back at the manor, Nice immediately felt a surge of life. Those who had escaped had already made this place their home, and everyone was going about their business.

"Hello, hello, hello everyone,"

Nice greeted everyone he saw. At this moment, he still resembled Sward; he didn't intend to let these people know the truth. They would remain in the dark, living a life of seclusion.

"You're back so soon? I thought you were going to stay at the governor's mansion for a long time,"

Delia mocked. She knew Nice's identity and was naturally aware of his relationship with the princess of Iberia.

Nice slapped Delia's bottom. Although he didn't push her down, he often made such frivolous gestures on the car and boat, and the woman didn't seem to care much.

"Call everyone else over,"

Nice said.

Although she liked to banter with Nice, Delia would never joke when it came to serious matters, and she immediately did as Nice asked.

Once Daisy, Emily, and the others had all arrived, Nice immediately said, "I'm going south right away..."

"You're really busy,"

Delia couldn't help but mock again.

This time Nice got angry. He grabbed Delia's waist, lifted her horizontally onto his lap, and slapped her bottom hard.

"Waaah—you dare hit me!"

Delia tried to struggle and fight Nice, but when it came to close combat, she was far from good.

"If you keep messing around, I'll tie you up at the gate and punish you on the spot,"

Nice threatened, and he also casually groped between Delia's legs.

Delia was now a little scared. She didn't really care about having sex with Nice; if Daisy hadn't been there, she probably would have joined the three men already. But to be brutally violated by a man in front of so many elders and villagers at the gate—she absolutely didn't have the guts.

"I'll say it again, I'm going south. The time is uncertain; it might be short, just a week, or it might be much longer,"

Nice said, not daring to make a definitive statement.

He had originally planned to go south as well, because he had many things to discuss with Cardinal Amar in person, but it wasn't as urgent now. The conversation at the dinner table had suddenly brought him to his senses; he needed to see the Cardinal as soon as possible.

"You want us to go with you?"

Emily asked.

"You must come with me. I need to confirm your identity,"

Niss said. "The others don't need to come. You're going to the Kingdom of Shamarne."

"Is it really necessary to be in such a hurry? The others haven't settled down yet,"

Daisy said, mustering her courage. After speaking, she immediately covered her backside with both hands, afraid that Niss would treat her the same way he treated Delia.

Of course, Niss wouldn't be so frivolous with Daisy. A woman who doesn't understand must be treated in a ruthless way.

"I've already given the instructions here, so you don't need to worry. Shamarne will need your strength soon,"

Niss stated bluntly.

"We're fine here,"

Sylvia gently tugged at Daisy.

Daisy wasn't stupid; she knew this wasn't the time to bargain. From the day they escaped, they had no way out. If they didn't follow Niss, they would have to rely on others, and it would probably be worse than what they were doing now.

"After you arrive in the Kingdom of Shamarne, go to Shewood Valley to find the Goddess Warriors. I'll inform them beforehand,"

Niss explained his plan.

"Why won't we go south together?"

Delia started causing trouble again. Ness lightly patted Delia's bottom, a tingling sensation rising from deep within her body making her shiver.

Although punishing this troublemaker, Ness still answered the question: "You've experienced my running speed. Although you might be able to catch up with me for a short time, you won't be able to in the long run. I'm not going south for sightseeing, so I can't waste time on the road."

Delia wanted to say that she was the fastest among these people, but then she thought better of it and shut her mouth.

It wasn't that she was afraid Ness would make things difficult for her again, but she was worried that even if she could keep up, she wouldn't be able to take Daisy with her. She was going south, and her good friend was going to Shamaen?

"Can Emily keep up with you?"

Daisy was a little skeptical.

“I’ve already taught her a lot. Even if she’s a little slow and can’t keep up with me, I can just give her a little extra help, it shouldn’t be a problem… Besides, this is a practice opportunity.”

Nice had to explain, because it was Daisy who had raised the question. This woman was meticulous and somewhat suspicious, and if he didn’t explain it to her clearly, something might go wrong.

Nice’s words were completely truthful, so he spoke with confidence.

“When do we leave?”

Emily, who hadn’t spoken until now, finally spoke. This meant that things were settled. Although Daisy and Delia didn’t want to admit it, Emily, being the youngest, was the leader of these people.

“Pack your things,”

Nice said.

“In that case, we can leave now.”

Emily was even more decisive than him. The death of her parents and brothers had made her indifferent to everything. She could leave or stay as she pleased, which was unusually carefree.

Besides, Nice had paid for everything on the way here, whether it was meals or boats. If she wanted to buy something, she would just ask Nice for money. She had developed a habit of this and found it more convenient than carrying her own money.

Of course, Nice couldn't just leave like that; he still had many things to deal with.

So many people couldn't just sit around doing nothing, and it was already September—too late to start farming. He definitely needed to make proper arrangements for these people.

These people might wander off if they had nothing to do, and their identities were very sensitive; if exposed, it would cause a lot of trouble. So he had to keep them from leaving.

"Since your ancestors were members of the former Imperial Priestly Council, they must have left behind methods of cultivation. Forget about the elderly; the others, especially the children, should spend some time on it,"

Nice said to Sylvia.

This was to keep the young people and children tied up; he was quite at ease with the elderly.

"They've already done that,"

Sylvia said.

Although she had saved these people, it was impossible to leave none behind; almost every household had someone who couldn't escape. This blood feud wasn't as heavy as Emily's, but it wasn't much lighter either.

So, on the carriage, the elderly forced their children and grandchildren to practice alchemy, not daring to waste a single second, and it was the same now. All those busy were middle-aged or older; anyone slightly younger was busy practicing in the east wing.

"I'm going into the city later. Find a few experienced and capable people to come with me; I'm going to buy some alchemical tools and materials."

This was the most suitable business for these people that Nis had thought of.

Making magical artifacts was a time-consuming, laborious, and tedious job, but undeniably, it was a quick way to make money, and if they wanted to sell, they could do so in the Pantheon, where it was absolutely safe.

"No one knows alchemy..."

Sylvia felt ashamed that none of the descendants of the former Imperial Priests were proficient in alchemy.

Studying alchemy requires money, and these people no longer have that kind of spare cash.

"Then let's learn. I'll buy some books and materials,"

Nice said. Of course, he couldn't give these people precious materials to practice with.

Nice didn't have much else, but he had a huge pile of all kinds of seeds. He planned to cultivate a batch of magical plants to use as materials.

Sylvia went out and soon returned with several old men. The old men might have less energy and limited strength, but they were steady enough not to cause any accidents.

Outside the manor, the sleds were already prepared.

"You'll come with me too. I've already ordered a few things for you from the Pantheon,"

Nice said.

An old man drove the sled, and Nice and Emily sat in the back.

Chapter 3 ◆ Magic Armor

Three sleds slowly moved forward, pulled by horses.

There was no road leading out of the manor, so the sleds became the only means of transportation, and they were very slow.

Nice was going to the Pantheon's contact point here.

More than an hour later, the sleds stopped in front of an inn on the outskirts of Iberia. The contact point was not in the city.

Like tailor shops, inns are places with frequent comings and goings, and each guest has their own room, offering some privacy. However, from a security perspective, inns are certainly not as secure as tailor shops. Fortunately, the Church's influence in the North is not as great as in the South.

Inns also have their advantages; they have many rooms and can accommodate many people at a time.

However, Nice had no intention of entering the Pantheon. He directly summoned the innkeeper. Before even reaching Iberia, he had already contacted them and ordered a batch of goods.

Behind the inn was a storeroom filled with miscellaneous items. The innkeeper stepped on a box, and the miscellaneous items automatically moved aside, revealing a sloping staircase leading downwards.

The innkeeper led the way, with Nice following closely behind, followed by Emily and the old men.

Downstairs was a large warehouse, with items neatly arranged in metal cabinets. The Pantheon's liaison point had some common goods, and all the alchemical tools and materials he needed were inside.

Leaving the old men behind and instructing them to retrieve their items from the list, Niss asked the shopkeeper, "Where are my things?"

"Please follow me."

The shopkeeper pressed a button on the wall beside him.

The bricks on the wall began to rearrange, and in a moment, a doorway appeared. Behind the doorway was a secret chamber with a huge glass tank in the center, filled with a jumbled mess of things. Upon closer inspection, one could vaguely discern muscles, tendons, and blood vessels.

These were things he had asked Ostoff to procure for him before the incident, when he was still living in that town as Sward. They could be considered a pile of unfinished products, parts of a flesh-body armor.

Entering the secret chamber, the doorway behind him automatically closed.

Niss was a cautious man; he still erected an isolation barrier to separate the inside from the outside before walking to the tank. He had dealt with such things countless times in the Pantheon's laboratories, but this was the first time he had actually handled them.

The muscles and tendons were still alive; one could clearly feel their pulse.

The new design was less like a physical armor and more like auxiliary arms. A strangely shaped segmented limb extended from each of the original arms and thighs. Two resembled mantis forearms, only lacking the blade at the top; the other two were odd, resembling flea legs but not quite, appearing thin and long without much strength.

Nice raised his palm and released the "Life Creation Technique" through the thick glass.

This time, however, he didn't rush to assemble the parts. Instead, he stood there silently sensing, wanting to test the "insight into life" Daisy had mentioned.

A faint vitality, a powerful pulse, and the terrifying power hidden beneath it—all of this seemed so discordant. His first feeling was that this thing was a freak, a deformity, something that should be discarded immediately.

The aversion to the Black Swamp that had faded over time surged up from the depths of Nice's heart once more.

Perhaps the people of the Black Swamp were easy to get along with, perhaps Hugo and the others were just simple-minded scholars, but one thing was undeniable: they were all toying with life. In that respect, they were all evil.

This included himself, of course.

Suppressing his self-loathing, Nice began using "Life Creation" to assemble all the parts together.

The greatest difference between "Life Creation" and the abilities of Hugo and Ostoff was that it could not only perfectly fuse living tissues together, but also alter them, allowing the tissues of these two different kinds of beings to acquire each other's characteristics.

Ostoff's "Cellular Adhesion," Zero's "Living Tissue Welding," and Hugo's "Mind Stitching" were all merely hard links, forcibly connecting living tissues. The more thoroughly he fused them, the more these two completely different species became a new species.

Unconsciously, the feeling of disharmony gradually faded. Although it still gave a deformed and distorted feeling, it was no longer as repulsive as before.

The tangled mess in the sink gradually changed its shape, slowly coalescing into a human form.

The bricks on the wall shifted again, and the doorway reappeared.

Nice waved to Emily.

Emily entered the secret chamber, puzzled. She didn't know why she was there, but she saw a water tank in the center. Seeing the two strange-looking objects in the center of the tank, she immediately understood.

The thought that these two objects were pieced together from materials taken from the corpse-like structure sent a chill down Emily's spine, and her face turned green.

But in the next instant, all sensation vanished as she heard Nice coldly ask, "Do you want revenge?"

For her at that moment, nothing was more important than revenge; it was the meaning of her life.

"It can help me get revenge?"

Emily asked, forcing back her resistance.

"This thing is made from the body parts of a Death Mantis and a Hobbes flea. Wearing it, you can instantly gain the speed of a storm… provided you can control it,"

Nice said.

Emily was immediately tempted, but a hint of disdain remained on her face: "You just told Delia you couldn't take anyone else with you. Why not just get a few more of these magical armors?" "

You're joking. Delia might be okay, but putting Sylvia and Daisy in this is just sending them to their deaths! With their reflexes, they'd just crash into trees and mountains,"

Nice said.

Spellcasters like Sylvia and Daisy are best suited for flying hundreds of meters in the air, where there are no obstacles. This magic armor, however, only allows for ground-hugging flight, covering a distance of forty or fifty meters per second. People with less developed brains simply can't react in time.

This thing was originally designed for goddess warriors. When it was designed, Nice focused most of his attention on increasing speed and reducing energy consumption, neglecting other aspects. Therefore, it has many flaws and is definitely an extremely dangerous tool. Emily said nothing more.

With a splash of water, one of the magic armors flew out of the tank. By the time it landed in Emily's hand, there wasn't a single water stain left on it.

The thing didn't look very appealing; it looked like a humanoid figure made of a bunch of thick hemp ropes, with two pairs of amputated limbs at the arms and legs.

What Emily found strange was that the hands and legs weren't fitted into the amputations, but rather parallel to the two pairs of amputations.

"How strange, why did you make it like this?"

Emily couldn't help but ask.

“Human bones simply can’t withstand that kind of speed and force, so I separated them. You can think of them as two knives and two powerful springs,”

Nice explained.

“And what about these things?”

Emily tugged at the elastic tendons, which were as thick as rope.

“You can think of them as armor, but their purpose isn’t to block swords, but to protect you from being torn in two by the powerful burst of force.”

Nice made a slow movement.

“I feel like a rabbit in an experiment.” Emily had a terrible feeling; she was sure no one had ever used this thing before.

This trip south was probably partly for testing the reliability of this contraption.

“This magic armor is mine.”

Nice pointed to the water tank.

Nice’s meaning couldn’t be clearer: if there was any danger, he would be in trouble too.

Emily relaxed a little, and a thought suddenly popped into her mind: “Is this thing difficult to make?” “Why do you ask that?”

Nice was a little surprised.

The physical armor is unlike ordinary magical equipment; it cannot be replicated. Without Ostoff, these parts simply couldn't be manufactured. Without him, the parts would remain just parts, not magical armor.

Because it's an exclusive trade, it can be said to be both incredibly difficult and incredibly easy to produce.

"If I'm not mistaken, this kind of magical armor is for those goddess warriors, right?"

Emily asked, looking at Ness.

"You're half right. Initially, I did this research for myself,"

Ness said.

Emily believed him. She knew all of Ness's secrets and was intimately familiar with his situation.

Ness possessed the soul of a warrior, but he didn't follow the path of a warrior, so he lacked speed and strength. Divine magic and spells could compensate for these deficiencies, but not for long. To extend the duration, other methods were needed.

For a moment, even Emily herself felt the urge to join the Black Swamp. Her situation was the same as Ness's, and she followed the same path, so this magical armor would be of immense help to her.

However, the thought of dealing with corpses all day immediately dampened Emily's interest.

"You want the Amazon warriors to wear this magical armor and build a powerful army? I can help you,"

Emily offered as bait. Having spent time together, Emily had long since realized that Nice was a man who wouldn't act without a benefit: "In the former Empire's army, there was a group of Wind Chasers. One of my ancestors happened to be the commander of this unit, and he left behind a method for training them."

"What do you want?"

Nice asked, intrigued by what Emily held.

He had read descriptions of Wind Chasers tactics in ancient texts; this unit originated from the Spartan Mountain Forces, a renowned and formidable force in ancient times.

During the Soul One era, the Spartan Mountain Forces and the Amazon warriors were allies, but also clashed. When allied, the Spartan Mountain Forces always took the lead, with the Amazon warriors relegated to supporting roles. When enemies, the Amazon warriors never won. This clearly demonstrated the disparity between the two.

"I also plan to build an army. I'll recruit my own people and find my own funding, but I need you to provide this magical armor,"

Emily said, staring at Nice, wanting to see his reaction.

Before even completing her apprenticeship, she was already thinking of starting her own business. Nice was speechless, but he didn't dare underestimate this girl. A person who would definitely become a Saint-level powerhouse in the near future making such a request wasn't just wishful thinking.

Nice didn't intend to ask Emily where to recruit people. Her family's ability to become the leader of that region meant they must have some special connections and methods.

"If your men wear this kind of magical armor and slaughter church priests, the higher-ups will definitely suspect me. Do you think I'm that stupid?"

Nice directly refused. He didn't want to cause misunderstandings and bear a crime that wasn't his own, but he also didn't want to ruin his relationship with Emily: "You recruit people first. Once you have enough, I'll tailor-make a more suitable magical armor for you."

Emily kept looking at Nice, wanting to know if he was just being perfunctory. After a long while, she was certain there was no perfunctory attitude.

Coming out of the inn, three sleds were piled high with grain sacks.

This wasn't a cover-up. There were over sixty people on the manor, and even if each person only consumed one pound of flour a day, that would still be over sixty pounds. The monthly food consumption would be close to one ton, and the grain carried by these three sleds would only last for a month and a half

at most. Of course, there was also an element of cover-up; all the alchemical supplies were hidden inside.

Just as Nice and Emily were about to leave back on the main road, they heard the sound of approaching hooves. A troop of cavalry was heading their way. However, the leader of this troop wasn't a soldier, but a man dressed as a deacon, accompanied by a farmer.

Nice suddenly remembered that the farmer seemed to have accompanied them on their journey, paying close attention to their pile of grain.

He had found it strange at the time, initially thinking he was a church spy. He asked Emily, but she casually replied, "He's just a stranger."

So he hadn't paid much attention, but it seemed to have caused trouble.

"Stop right there!"

the deacon shouted righteously.

"Where did you get this grain?"

an officer behind the deacon asked angrily.

"Just bought it, what's wrong?"

Nice asked calmly.

Encountering such a mess while buying some grain left Nice both amused and exasperated, but it also served as a wake-up call.

Such things are already happening before grain prices have even truly skyrocketed; who knows what strange things will happen once their plan is implemented!

"I suspect this is stolen goods from the military supply depot. You're all coming back with me,"

the soldier shouted.

Nice had originally planned to use his eloquence to silence them, but he hadn't expected these people to be so arrogant, immediately accusing him.

Depressed, Nice was also somewhat puzzled. He had been to Iberia before and knew a little about the local army.

The Iberian army was nominally under the control of the Governor of Cherhalan, but in reality, it was controlled by the Merchants' Guild and obeyed the nobles and merchants of Iberia. Such an army certainly couldn't hold a high position. Because of this, from officers to soldiers, the army was generally law-abiding and dared not easily offend anyone. Such a blatant act of robbery was highly unusual.

He absolutely did not believe it was because they appeared to be of low status, and that there was a steward from some family there, so the officer was opportunistic.

A guy with that kind of brain would never rise to the rank of officer.

They looked quite ordinary, but before revealing their identities, who could guarantee they weren't subordinates of a powerful family? People from powerful families are intolerant of injustice; a servant being arrested without reason, or belongings being confiscated without warning, is a public humiliation. They'd definitely want to get their revenge, and the first one to suffer would be this officer.

Almost instantly, Nice considered many possibilities. He stopped hiding and took out a crest from his ring—the crest of the Brescia family.

Having revealed his identity, Nice no longer held back; he had to find out the truth behind this.

With a flick of his finger, a flash of silver light appeared, and the warhorse the butler was riding suddenly collapsed to the ground. The slender silver thread, like a sharp battle axe, severed the horse's neck.

The next instant, the silver thread wrapped around the butler's neck.

"Which family are you from?"

Although the tone was unusually calm, the deadly silver thread around their necks, and the example of the decapitated man beside them, sent chills down the spines of those opposite him.

They never expected that going out to earn some extra money would lead them to such a deadly figure.

"You dare..."

the deacon tried to say something defiant.

A flash of silver thread, a splatter of blood, and a head flew off. Then another flash of silver thread, and in the next instant, it was wrapped around the officer's neck.

"You answer that question."

Nice remained as calm as ever, showing no remorse whatsoever.

If he were just an ordinary person, the sled's grain being confiscated and them being taken back to the outpost would be a catastrophic outcome. Without food, they would likely starve to death, and going to the outpost would only bring unexpected disaster upon a beautiful girl like Emily.

Ever since Palm shot and killed the sheriff who had angered them with a crossbow outside the port of Asaks two years ago, he had understood one thing: human life was as cheap as weeds in this world. After the recent incident, witnessing the Church's distortion of truth, and seeing the Divard King and his lords, knowing their subjects were innocent yet still raising their swords, he was even more convinced of this.

He had now set a rule for himself: he wouldn't actively seek trouble, but if someone offended him, he would show no mercy.

"This man was sent by our commander, Baron Uster. Because grain prices have skyrocketed recently, the Baron has ordered us to intensify our checks and absolutely prevent any grain from leaving the country."

The officer was sweating profusely; he knew this explanation wouldn't hold water, and unless the person opposite him was an idiot, they wouldn't believe his nonsense.

Nice remained silent.

He knew this Baron Uster; they had dealt

with him before. The baron wasn't particularly enthusiastic, but he wasn't cold either. At the beginning of the year, when Governor Cherharan orchestrated the annihilation of the opponents, the baron had played a significant role. The strongest man in the opposing camp, the Grand Knight Beredin, ranked first in Iberia, was stopped by this baron and a few of his men.

Clearly, this baron was abusing his power, using Governor Cherharan's orders to seek personal gain.

Having figured this out, Nice flicked his wrist, and in a flash of silver light, several soldiers opposite him, including the one who had betrayed them, were decapitated.

Nice flicked his fingers repeatedly, and several tiny sparks landed on the corpse-covered log. These sparks seemed insignificant, but they spread immediately upon landing, burning the log to ashes in the blink of an eye.

He wasn't afraid of the baron; he just wanted to avoid trouble.

They were all from the Soul One faction, and the baron had no intention of harming him, so it was best not to delve into this matter. If he let these people go back, it was hard to guarantee they wouldn't say something. If they just stirred up trouble, that would be fine, but if someone spread rumors that the baron was afraid of him, or that he was afraid of the baron, they would both be in a passive, cover-up situation.

Now that the man was dead, he only needed to inform Governor Cherharan, and the governor would definitely handle the matter properly.

Nice was 100% certain that Governor Cherharan couldn't be completely unaware of this; his feigned ignorance was probably not only because he didn't want to take it seriously, but also because he intended to use these people to restrict the flow of grain. The things these people did were bound to offend a lot of people, and Governor Cherharland probably already planned to kill them afterward to quell public anger.

"You really are a bastard,"

Emily said coldly, glancing at Nice. She could completely guess Nice's reasons for doing this; even if she couldn't, the Book of Revelation would tell her the answer.

Nice actually nodded. He also felt like a bastard. He had always acted with a clear conscience, but this time he wavered.

"Don't think so much. You did it for everyone,"

an old man beside him comforted him.

Another old man sighed and said, "There's no such thing as justice or fairness in this world. Everyone has their own stance. Sward has always protected us. Everything he's done is for our benefit. To us, everything he's done is just. Miss Emily, what you said earlier is correct, but your stance is a bit problematic."

Nice looked at the old man with some surprise. Such philosophical words wouldn't be surprising coming from Simon, but from this old man, it was quite astonishing. He had been paying close attention to the group throughout the journey, knowing exactly who was capable. This old man was definitely an ordinary person.

What surprised Nice most was Emily's reaction. This strong-willed girl shouldn't be easily offended, but she remained silent, seemingly agreeing with the old man's words. Clearly, this old man was not simple.

Nice regretted not having thoroughly investigated the group of fugitives. He no longer lacked capable fighters, but he was short of mages and priests. What he lacked most, however, was a strategist.

"It seems things aren't safe here either. It's best to keep everyone indoors as much as possible,"

Nice said to the old men, trying to change the subject.

"We'll be careful. After this disaster, even the children understand how dangerous the outside world is,"

one of the old men added.

Nice was uncomfortable with this strange tone, but he had to admit the old man was right.

＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

Two blurry figures darted through the hills. The first figure was completely indistinct; it blended seamlessly into its surroundings. Even if one stared at it, most people would think they were seeing things and wouldn't perceive anything there. The other figure was much clearer, like a wisp of gray smoke gliding rapidly along the ground.

"Watch your footing. Hobbes the Flea's stomp is incredibly powerful. If you don't activate your force field pedals in time, one stomp will leave a mark on the rock, and on mud, you'll sink deep..."

"Watch your posture and those wings on your back. Your body should be closer to the ground. Don't worry about falling; the oncoming wind will support you. The wind is much stronger than you think..." "

Your steps are too rhythmic. This isn't running; you're gliding. When to push off depends on the ground conditions..."

The dim figure ahead was naturally Ness, who had been instructing Emily all along.

It must be admitted that "moving at will" is an extremely powerful talent. Ness had taken two whole years to reach Emily's current level.

"Moving at Will" allows one to integrate any speed-related skill into their existing abilities. Emily's foundation was already strong; her family's secret techniques were the essence of a secret transmission from the priesthood of the former Empire, no less advanced than the secret arts of the Paisons sect. However, much of her family's heritage had been lost over the long years, making it inferior to the system Nice created by leveraging the power of a warrior's soul on top of the Paisons sect's secret arts.

Now, Emily has learned all of Nice's techniques, filling in the gaps in her knowledge. This rapid journey has given her the opportunity to fully integrate them, and she can now keep up with Nice.

At their current speed, if they focused solely on traveling, they could definitely reach Lean within a day. However, to give Emily more opportunities to practice, Nice not only took a long detour but also deliberately chose various challenging terrains, thus slowing their pace considerably.

As evening approached, Nice stopped, found a mountain peak with a depression in the middle, and the two pitched their tent.

The tent was small, even smaller than the carriage, so it felt cramped for two people to squeeze in.

Emily's heart skipped a beat. During her time in the carriage and on the boat, she had deliberately made things difficult for Delia and Daisy, which was why she had acted so wantonly. But sex, once it happens too often, can be addictive, especially with Nice's superb member.

A fleeting thought crossed her mind, and Emily's body reacted immediately, twitching slightly.

Nice understood instantly. His right hand gently touched Emily's crotch, revealing a slit.

Upon seeing this, Emily was immediately annoyed: "You were prepared all along."

"Of course not,"

Nice would never admit, saying seriously, "This kind of clothing was designed for long journeys. It's a one-piece suit from head to toe, which is troublesome to take off, so I made an opening here. It makes certain things much easier."

Nice's words became increasingly suggestive as he embraced Emily.

Emily accepted this explanation; in fact, her anger was originally a manifestation of shame, and once she had a plausible explanation, she lost her temper.

Nice's member entered Emily's body; he didn't thrust, but simply pressed tightly against the base, simultaneously stimulating the desire within her.

On the ship, he had secretly planted the seed of love within Emily, but he hadn't dared to go all out.

After spending so much time together, Nice had already thoroughly understood Emily's temperament.

Emily wasn't difficult to get along with; she was very strong-willed, so it was absolutely impossible to embarrass her. Getting her to groan loudly or scream was impossible, and even if he did, she would be furious afterward because of the embarrassment.

However, as long as she didn't feel ashamed, she was willing to try anything, even methods that many of Xingna and Margaret wouldn't attempt.

"How did you come up with this position? Was it to escape?"

Emily asked while enjoying the stimulation of sex.

"You know my situation; you should know very well that I don't feel very secure,"

Nice sighed.

Emily was silent for a moment, then her lower body began to suckle forcefully. She rarely did this, clearly moved by what had just been said.

She felt the same way; having suddenly lost all her loved ones, she was insecure and only felt relaxed by being with Nice. Of course, she would never say this aloud.

"You've only taken three years to reach this level of strength. Can I do that too?"

Emily suddenly asked. At this moment, her biggest concern was revenge, and revenge required strength.

"You're already very strong,"

Nice said.

"Not enough at all. Without Undine, my strength has been greatly reduced."

Emily said with some regret. Although she had obtained the artifact "Revelation," it couldn't be used in combat.

"This is a great opportunity. Only the power you possess yourself is truly the best. You learn very quickly." Along the way, Nice had watched Emily grow stronger.

"I don't need your comfort,"

Emily sneered… Her small mouth deep inside her body tightly gripped Nice's penis, sucking hard.

This move delighted Nice, because it meant that Emily had completely accepted him.

"This isn't meant to comfort you. I have a weakness; too many things distract me, unlike you, who are single-mindedly focused on revenge,"

Nice sighed softly.

Emily nodded silently, acknowledging this. Through the "Revelation," she already knew what Nice was capable of.

A person's soul, while cultivating martial arts, magic, and divine arts, already has its energy scattered. While divination, alchemy, and the creation of magical armor all fall under the categories of magic and divine arts, they are entirely independent disciplines requiring a great deal of time to study. Yet, while studying these, Nice was also proficient in business, sweating, architecture, and brewing, not to mention countless other miscellaneous skills.

"That's not bad, otherwise how would you be where you are today?"

Emily said.

Emily said this because she really wanted to learn those things.

Her personality was fickle; she was interested in many things, especially Nice's ability to manage his territory and the unique buildings he constructed, which deeply fascinated her. Not to mention Nice's talent for extravagant enjoyment. She wished she could be like Nice, able to pick up a glass of wine, take a sip, and immediately name its vintage; smell the cheese and instantly identify its ingredients and techniques; and be knowledgeable about famous dishes from various countries…

Nice was speechless at Emily's words. He had to admit that without his focus on management, he wouldn't have his current status, wealth, and connections; and without his focus on life-creation techniques, he wouldn't have this magical armor.

The journey had been quite fruitful for Emily, and it had also made Nice realize something: he had thought his progress in martial arts had reached its limit, but that wasn't the case. With the magical armor, he could unleash even more terrifying power.

"You said you're distracted by too many things, are you trying to remind me to give up on building my own team?"

Emily was very sensitive, to the point of being suspicious.

"I didn't say that,"

Nice denied immediately. "One person's strength is limited after all. Having a group of subordinates makes everything easier." Hearing this, Emily was delighted. She casually asked, "Give me some advice on how I should build this army?"

"Haven't you thought about it yet?"

Nice was quite surprised.

Emily stuck out her tongue. Many of her actions were the result of momentary impulses, but she had a problem: once she had an idea, she would get stuck in it and couldn't get out. Like now, she wanted to build her own team, and the more she thought about it, the more she felt she had to do it.

"Alright! First, you need a trustworthy helper,"

Nice said.

Emily frowned. She knew what Nice meant.

Over the past few days, her hatred for Sylvia had gradually faded, but the resentment remained. Sylvia still treated her the same as before, but she didn't.

If she wanted a trustworthy helper, Sylvia was the only one who could do it.

"My second suggestion is that you don't need to build an army; you should build an assassin organization,"

Nice said this time without any ulterior motives.

"An assassin organization?"

Emily's heart skipped a beat; she had indeed taken it to heart.

As a chosen one of the Messenger God, she was naturally drawn to the shadows, and now, as a chosen one of the Furies, her fascination with the darker aspects of life only intensified. An assassin organization clearly appealed to her more than the military.

"What do the people you're trying to recruit do?"

Nice asked tentatively.

Emily knew Nice had his reasons for asking, but she didn't care. "My family has a tradition of adopting orphans, but we never bring them back to Divar. Instead, we scatter them across various places, and once they grow up, they work in the various merchant houses that our family secretly controls."

Nice was taken aback. He had assumed these heretics hidden in the North were barely making ends meet and had long since lost their former glory. He hadn't expected them to possess such hidden power.

If things hadn't happened so suddenly, without any prior warning, they might not have suffered such a great loss.

Emily's tone suddenly shifted, becoming sorrowful: "My ancestors fled to Divar seeking peace and tranquility, and they succeeded. But this prolonged peace has cost us so much."

Nice had a question she'd had for a long time, but now finally had the chance.

"Your strength is considerable; at least escaping wouldn't be a problem. Your father and brother should be chosen by the God of Messengers, perhaps even doubly chosen. Why didn't any of them escape?"

Emily's sorrow deepened: "They actually had a chance to escape, but they couldn't bear to, because my mother and six sisters-in-law were there. They didn't have the ability to escape."

"Your mother and sisters-in-law should also be chosen by the Gods, right?"

Nice asked again.

“They haven’t awakened. There’s a reason they became Chosen Ones. Delia and Daisy were Chosen Ones from a very young age; their childhoods were anything but enviable. Sylvia wasn’t originally a Chosen One; it was the deaths of her husband and children that triggered her.”

Emily gave Nice a bitter smile. “Don’t even mention women; many men haven’t awakened either. My two brothers are like that.”

Nice now understood why Emily lamented that a peaceful and stable life had cost them so much.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore. Anyway, what’s done is done. For me, the most important thing now is to improve my strength… Do you have any advice for my assassin organization?”

Emily suddenly became strong.

This change made Nice a little uncomfortable, so he followed Emily’s words back to the original topic: “There are many successful assassin organizations. You can refer to their methods. You can discuss this with Sylvia.”

Nice was still trying his best to bring the two of them back together. For Emily at this moment, what she needed was warmth, not advice.

Suddenly, he remembered something, gently patted Emily's bottom, and whispered in her ear, "You'd better gather those people quickly; the chance for revenge might come soon."

His whisper was filled with murderous intent.

Emily's eyes widened instantly.

She had two groups of enemies: one was the surrounding lords, the direct perpetrators of the massacre; the other was the high-ranking members of the Divar regional church.

"You're not kidding?"

she asked, finding it hard to believe.

Nice gave him an affirmative look; he had just realized it himself.

He had originally planned to use others to do his dirty work, using internal strife to eliminate the high-ranking bishops of the regional church. However, Governor Cherhalan's warning had made him realize that he wasn't the only one capable of such schemes, and that his opponents were far more powerful in terms of connections.

His advantage was a group of goddess warriors under his command, while his opponents, having lost contact with God, were temporarily in a slump. If they missed this opportunity, they would never have another.

"Are you crazy? Aren't you afraid of the church's repercussions?"

"I'm not crazy," Emily asked in surprise.

"The Papacy is actually quite pragmatic. They mostly express condolences for the dead. If avenging the dead is easy, they'll do it. But if there's a price to pay, no one will do it. The Knights Templar poisoned the Pope and raided Avignon, killing so many cardinals, yet the Papacy not only didn't intensify their pursuit but also withdrew their previous arrest warrants."

Nice laughed.

He had just realized this.

All along, he had been blinded by the Papacy's power and hadn't considered why the large-scale massacres of clergy had never stopped for over a thousand years.

First, the northern barbarians tied rows of clergy to stakes and beheaded them; then, Jochi Urus hunted clergy like rabbits. The Papacy's reaction had always been indifference and apathy.

The Papacy didn't care how many clergy were killed, as long as the slaughter didn't affect the entire church or themselves.

“Besides, the Papacy is currently leaderless. If someone makes a suggestion, there will definitely be opposition. There’s no way they can attack us.”

Nice wasn’t reckless; he was desperate. The crisis from the north left him no time for deliberation.

“What happens after the new pope is elected? Aren’t you afraid of retribution?”

Emily asked.

“What do you think I’m going to Lean for?”

Nice shook his head. He felt Emily wasn’t thinking things through. If she had even the slightest question, the artifact *Revelation* would surely provide the answer. The fact that she asked such a question meant she hadn’t even considered the purpose of going to Lean.

This time, he wasn’t just going to see Cardinal Amar, nor was it just to gather information, nor was it just to ask for help.

He was going to find a powerful figure, someone stronger and more powerful than Cardinal Amar, someone who could suppress all voices within the Church.

He brought Emily along because he wanted to use her abilities, and the artifact *Revelation*, to find the person most likely to become the next pope.

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