Chapter 197: Legion

"Father, are we eating corn today too? I don't want corn anymore; I want pumpkin."

In the field, the little girl looked at her hard‑working parents, pouted innocently and said she had been eating corn for several days, and now she wanted sweet pumpkin even more than corn.

Her father—a short Niksaran—straightened his back, wiped the sweat from his face, and comforted, "Don't worry, sweetheart, just one more day of corn, and the pumpkin will be ripe tomorrow."

The father glanced at the pumpkin patch not far from the cornfield, then looked toward the distant Niksaran Basin, his eyes filled with satisfaction.

Their lives had never been so good; the Great Master had sprinkled mysterious spells over their cultivated land, causing the crops to mature once a month. They no longer needed to hunt animals laboriously; they could simply farm peacefully, supplemented by domesticated birds and beasts, and easily fill their bellies.

In the former Tikar City, such a life was unimaginable!

Moreover, the Great Master taught them the wondrous power called "spell," and although he himself, being of dull talent, has made no progress, his prodigious daughter is now a bona‑fide level‑1 Mage!

As days improve, people become more motivated.

That was the only thought in the father's mind at that moment.

"Dad, what's that?"

Just as the father was lost in thought, the little girl suddenly pointed far toward the direction opposite the Niksaran Basin and asked curiously.

The plump mother beside the father followed the daughter's gaze and exclaimed in alarm, "Darling! Look quickly!"

The father turned his head and was stunned by the scene before him.

Across the vast, endless plain, golden sunlight bathed the iron armor of nearly ten thousand knights. They formed a tidy formation, advancing slowly, iron hooves crushing dead branches and flattening grass. These knights wore black iron armor, and the eyes beneath their helmets radiated cold indifference.

Huge banners fluttered in the wind, bearing the golden lion emblem of the Am Empire.

At the front of the column stood a white‑skinned man in exotic, ornate attire, riding a majestic warhorse; his robe was etched with mithril lines that glimmered uniquely in the sunlight.

"Heaven! An army! It's an army! Quick, we must go back and warn everyone!" the man shouted in terror.

The knights moved in perfect unison, like rolling black waves advancing, their heavy hoofbeats spreading a suffocating pressure through the air.

Just as the three turned to run, an invisible force bound them; their eyes rolled wildly with terror, their bodies stiffened, unable to move.

The army advanced slowly, its sounds growing nearer; the fields were neither far nor close to the basin, at least six or seven kilometers away, and no one could witness what was happening here.

With the hoofbeats ringing in his ears, the white‑skinned man in exotic attire raised his left hand, and the black sea instantly halted, stopping its march.

The three bodies were slowly controlled by the invisible force, turning to face the white‑skinned man.

"Native."

The man looked down from his height, eyes narrowed as if regarding them like ants on the roadside, his tone cold, as if they were insignificant dust.

"Tell me, which direction is the Huaceli Alliance?"

His tone was hostile, and the father immediately sensed the gravity of the situation.

The force was released, and the father suddenly fell to his knees, trembling incessantly, his heart sinking at the interrogation.

Not heading to the basin—good, the people living in the basin won't be implicated.

But the Huaceli Alliance?

A flash of hesitation crossed the father's eyes; the Alliance's direction overlapped the basin, which is a necessary passage. If he points the way, the army will also pass through the basin's gorge.

No, it can't be. Realizing this, the father immediately rejected the idea of speaking plainly.

He must lie.

The basin and the Alliance lie to the northeast, but his dark, gaunt arm slowly pointed northwest.

"In that direction, sir," he forced a flattery‑laden smile with all his effort.

The Mage curled his lip, lowered his gaze at the man, a hint of interest flashing.

"What a foolish fellow; do you realize you just gave up your only chance to survive?"

The Mage's words made the man panic; he suppressed his unease with all his might, looking at the Mage in terror, "What are you saying? I clearly gave you directions—please spare our lives!!"

"Giving directions?" a harsh glint flashed in the Mage's eyes: "A mere native dares to deceive me?"

The Mage's words left the man with no hope; he knew the terrifying figure had used some method to detect his lie.

"Run!!" he shouted abruptly, seized his daughter and turned to flee. His plump wife, having just stood up, fell flat, sobbing as she watched her husband's retreating back.

"Don't worry," the Mage slowly lifted a staff set with ruby, "they will stay with you."

!

A tongue‑twisting incantation rose like a death‑whisper, and icy‑blue energy flared at the staff's tip.

Four‑ring Conjuration spell — Ice Pillar!

"Pfft!"

Two sharp, thick ice pillars suddenly rose from a portal beneath the father's feet, impaling the man and the daughter he held, threading them together like candied fruit skewers suspended in midair.

The woman, seeing this, could not believe it and screamed wildly as if driven mad.

The Mage gave a cold glance; three Scorching Rays shot from the magical ring on his fingertip, piercing the woman's brain, and her scream instantly fell silent.

"Hmph, truly clueless, making me waste a four‑ring Spell Slot," the Mage said in a cold tone, as if he had just slain a few poultry, his words more concerned with his own Spell Slot.

"You lot of useless trash, just eating here?! And you expect me to act myself!" the Mage, still irritated, turned and cursed the army's knights.

Among the army were soldiers of high professional rank, but none dared retort to the Mage's insults; after all, the man before them was Boris's apprentice, a full‑fledged nine‑ring Mage, and neither title was one they could offend.

"Hmph!"

Seeing no one step up to vent his anger, the Mage let out a cold snort, not pursuing further; after all, they were just a bunch of muscle‑only peasants, not worth contesting.

He had just raised his hand to order them onward; through a spell he had already probed the dead man's mind and learned the truth—it's to the northeast.

Moreover, there seemed to be a native tribe there? Hmm, perhaps he could fill his private stash.

While contemplating this, the Mage prepared to leave, when he suddenly felt gooseflesh on his hand, the hair on his neck standing up, and a sense of impending disaster surged in his heart.

"W‑what's happening?" he muttered to himself.

In the next instant, the sky dimmed.

He looked up and saw a colossal silhouette hovering in midair, its violet eyes staring at him coldly.

(End of Chapter)