Chapter 110: Probe

Alamil’s residence was not in the gleaming core camp of the allied forces, but situated on a temporarily purified slope overlooking the war zone and the relatively calm rear.

It was less a military camp than a perfect fusion of a mobile holy site and a command node.

The core of the residence was a semi-permanent elven-style dome hall, constructed from white stone temporarily shaped and reinforced by magic, its surface shimmering with a soft white luminescence.

Intricate vine patterns and holy symbols of light were carved upon it; the Dawn Sect emblem’s edges were softer, bearing rays like those of a rising sun.

The structure was elegant and light, resembling a giant glowing mushroom, yet its base was heavy, connected to the earth with reinforced defensive runes, reflecting its dual identity as both temple and frontline command post.

“Lord Alamil, shrouding yourself in the fog of evasion does no good for you or the allied forces’ future.”

Sakavi’s voice was calm, yet carried the oppressive weight unique to the Black Dragon, as if lava flowed beneath frozen ice.

“Let me remind you of a reality: the Empire of Luo Sen’s granaries will not remain endlessly open for this cross-dimensional expedition. Their reserves are insufficient. When the common folk at home begin whispering over grain prices, when noble tables are forced to cut their third dessert—”

He leaned slightly forward, shadows flowing like solid matter across the light emblem before Alamil.

“Even the most devout faith cannot withstand the calculations born of gnawing hunger. Time has never been the Deep Expeditionary Force’s ally—and the Empire of Luo Sen’s patience… has long since been ticking away in the hourglass.”

Alamil’s gaze sharpened instantly; the gentle morning light around him seemed to freeze for an instant. He did not anger, but emitted an extremely faint, piercingly perceptive cold snort.

“Hmph, Duke Sakavi, your pretense of concern over supplies may fool others, but not me.” His voice remained calm, yet lost its warmth, revealing the sharp edge of a holy servant, “What you truly fixate on is far more than the gold arbitrage from smuggling goods along the supply lines.”

He raised his hand, fingertips tracing the void, a faint glow outlining a rough topographical map.

“The black soil plains at the heart of the Scorching Wastes cover roughly thirty percent of this plane and are among the few areas preliminarily purified, capable of rapidly restoring large-scale food production.”

His gaze, as tangible as stone, settled on Sakavi’s dragon eyes, “Your appetite is fixed on this true ‘granary,’ isn’t it? This is no longer reasonable concern over supply lines—it is… a preemptive claim on the strategic lifeline.”

“My lord, your misunderstanding is truly regrettable.”

Sakavi’s voice softened; his dragon claw swept idly through the air, as if weaving shadows and faint light into a simplified topographical map.

“The ‘development’ I refer to is the Iron Blade Fertile Land—the black alluvial plain formed where the Mudu River, originating from the eastern Riftstone Highlands, is deflected southwest by the Iron Ridge Mountains, at the bend of the structural valley.”

“That is the easily accessible farmland, the sleeping granary the allied forces have yet to notice.”

His claw-tip pressed firmly on the southwestern corner of the map.

“As for the Soul-Eating Delta at the Mudu River’s estuary… that is my next item on the list. The Bone Rot City entrenched there and its demon lord are a poison thorn lodged in the throat of future water transport.”

“But for now, my blade is still occupied by more immediate troubles, leaving no hand free to deal with it.”

Sakavi lifted his gaze; his molten-gold vertical pupils showed no ripple of exposed ambition, only calm calculation.

“The plains of the Scorching Wastes, though vast, are obvious meat to the allied forces. To seize them prematurely invites only trouble.”

“But the Iron Blade Fertile Land and the Soul-Eating Delta… are dishes still off the table—more hidden, more practical. I’ve always preferred to eat the dish no one is watching.”

“Complete control of Riftstone Continent.” He slowly repeated the phrase, weighing each syllable’s weight, “Duke, you truly are… a master of silent maneuvering.”

He stepped half a pace forward, his fingertip hovering above the sand table, lightly pointing at the rugged landmass outline.

“Though this continent occupies only a quarter of the entire plane, your seemingly humble focus on ‘a few fertile patches’ ultimately aims to grip the entire chessboard firmly in your palm.”

He raised his gaze; the morning light in his eyes sharpened like the first sunbeam piercing thin mist.

“This still… compels me to feel concern. Not because of greed itself, but because if this power tilts entirely to one side, the future’s balance will hang on a single thread.”

“Then, my lord, compared to the upcoming decisive battle against Deep Pit No. 72, what does the fate of this continent matter?”

Sakavi’s voice plunged suddenly, echoing like thunder in a chasm. His dragon wings unfurled slightly, shadows nearly engulfing the entire temporary sanctuary.

“Do not forget—this plane is merely a stepping stone. The allied forces’ true target is the deeper, far more perilous Deep Core. When your demigods turn their gaze toward darker depths, who else can—”

His vertical pupils glowed with molten gold, each word striking the polished stone surface:

“In the shortest time, turn scorched earth into fertile fields, transform demon nests into supply depots, and continuously deliver food and arrows to you?”

“The allied forces need not a perfect ally, but a man who solves practical problems. And I am precisely that man.”

“A very fine response, to be honest.” His voice returned to gentleness, yet grew deeper than before, “Your tactics always… precisely tread the cliff’s edge, yet never give anyone cause to push you down.”

He leaned slightly forward, his eyes, brimming with holy light, fixed on Sakavi, his tone flat yet each word clear:

“Even if I could purify your soul right now, you’d still find a way to make me believe keeping your claws is more useful than cutting them off.”

“Yet, as a hunter who has dealt with countless darknesses, I must give you one piece of advice.” His surrounding glow dimmed momentarily, making his next words feel especially heavy.

“Those who walk the tightrope between the Deep and Order, no matter how skilled… will eventually stumble and fall. When that day comes, all your carefully calculated schemes may become your own coffin.”

“Your support is reassuring.” Sakavi nodded slightly, his voice steady as ever, as if the dangerous exchange had never occurred.

“Then, when will the allied forces deliver the basic purification cores and soil-enhancement runes to the designated locations? Time is now a currency more precious than gold.”

“More than that, I care how much force you’ll contribute to the coming cleansing campaigns. We fight, you profit from our gold—there’s no such easy deal.”

“I will deploy three legendary dragons, twelve master-class dragons, and three hundred dragons total to fight, and I will personally lead five Pig-Headed Legions to clear the vermin from this land.”

“Good. Now that our needs and contributions are clear.”

He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm yet etched like a brand:

“Then allow me to state my bottom line—the plains of the Scorching Wastes, you will not touch.”

“To the allied forces, it may be merely one of many strategic targets; but to me, and to the Order I represent, it is the foundation for lasting stability in this plane.”

His aura rippled faintly, as if drawing an invisible boundary, “I do not doubt your vision, Duke Sakavi. No true fertile land escapes greedy eyes. And I will ensure this land belongs solely to light and order.”

His tone slowed, yet each word weighed a thousand catties:

“This is the basis of cooperation—and the guarantee that our relationship will not become complicated. I hope you understand and respect this.”

“What of the Rotmire Continent? This southern land of the Deep plane seems unwanted by any faction—I believe I may extract some benefit from it.”

“Rotmire Continent… hah.” He shook his head slightly, as if lamenting Sakavi’s uncanny ability to find every “unmarked” corner, “That swamp of poison gas, plague, and mutated swamp creatures has indeed not yet been formally placed on any party’s agenda.”

He shifted tone, his gaze turning clear and sharp.

“But Duke Sakavi, ‘unclaimed’ does not mean unowned land, nor does it mean free to plunder. If your ‘benefit’ means clearing the continent, establishing outposts, and providing a springboard for future allied advances southward… we can discuss.”

His tone grew slightly heavier.

“But if your ‘benefit’ means turning it into another unregulated private domain, like Riftstone Continent, or exploiting its complex terrain for certain… undisclosed dealings, then my answer will be the same as for the Scorching Wastes: you’ve taken enough already.”

“Rotmire Continent may become a new pilot for cooperation, provided it is open, transparent, and aligned with the allied forces’ overall strategic framework. You may intervene—submit a plan, specify your inputs and outputs, accept necessary oversight. It may be your next ‘business scope,’ but it will never be another ‘private garden.’”

“In that case, I shall submit my application. After all, among the allied forces, only I have lizardman units skilled in swamp warfare, hahaha!”

“I appreciate your efficiency, Duke Sakavi. May your application be as convincing as your lizardmen.”

“I wonder, though, how much manpower and resources you can spare to develop so many places at once—this land is far from short of bandits and evil forces.”