Chapter 624: The Last Knight of the Knight

"... Saint Sis above! That box contains rifle bullets, not your grandmother! Handle it gently!"

"You fool over there! Get out of the way! The wagon can't pass!"

"Hurry! Move!"

Crude shouts tore through the hot air outside Crow City, as military supply wagons rolled into the expanding camp.

This was the northeastern frontier of the Campbell Duchy.

It was also the newly demarcated frontline.

Citizens of Crow City whispered among themselves about this matter—some tense, some confused, but most excited.

These border folk had long resented the rats to the north. Their hatred of ratmen was roughly equivalent to the villagers of Silverpine Town's hostility toward imps—

One dumped rat droppings in their granaries, the other urinated on their heads.

Compared to that, the ratmen's threat was clearly greater. After all, imps lived in labyrinths and were limited in number.

The Carrion Clan's ratmen, however, were not only numerous but repeatedly probed the boundaries of the human world.

Unfortunately, Count Spinol had no interest in this frontier region, and the baron lacked the resources to bear the cost of northern expansion alone.

This was the greatest flaw of feudalism: the interests of different families could not be unified. Some wanted to solve the problem, others wanted to appease it; no one truly cared what the old farmers thought—only occasionally did they happen to agree with them.

Only the famed "White-Haired Duke" could act.

Although Edward himself didn't know what they were thinking, it didn't stop the border folk of Crow City from regarding him as a savior sent by Saint Sis.

It was amusing, really. Originally, the title "White-Haired Duke" was a sarcastic nickname given to Edward by traditional nobles to mock his "political theater," but among commoners, it took on an entirely different meaning.

After all, commoners never heard the gossip of the upper circles; they trusted the royal harmony version printed in the Lei Ming City Daily.

On the high slope, Edward squinted down at the slowly unfolding camp and returned his telescope to Sir Wesley beside him.

"Our mobilization speed is twice as fast as before, Sir Wesley—this is your doing."

Sir Wesley took the telescope and said with a smile.

"I cannot take the credit, Your Majesty. I believe this is more the railway's achievement."

"Hah! Undeniably, Prince Colin's railway has helped us immensely," Edward grinned, turning and descending the slope. "Come, we still have details of our strategic deployment to discuss."

Sir Wesley bowed respectfully.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Although Edward had decided to leave the "glory" of the front line to the lizardmen of Mud City and the dwarves of the Mountain Kingdom, it didn't mean the Campbell Duchy intended to stand idly by.

After all, this was their own frontier.

More importantly, this was a once-in-a-lifetime "learning opportunity" Prince Colin had secured for the people of Campbell.

After the military meeting ended, Sir Wesley, as Duke's Marshal, proposed an additional suggestion to Duke Edward—

Rather than merely observe, they should learn through combat.

Thus, a new force, the "Mountain Regiment," was born.

Ten thousand mixed troops composed of adventurers and refugees from Leyne would undergo a complete transformation here.

They abandoned the thousand-man squad tactics brought from the continent of Os, adopting instead a new organization better suited to the Rockse 1054 bolt-action rifle: "companies" and "regiments."

This doctrine originated from the dragon-descended people of the ancient Kingdom of Gutauf.

A single lizardman with the loudest voice could command about ten others—that was one "squad."

A lizardman with keen eyesight, speed, and a loud voice could coordinate three squads within his line of sight—that was one "platoon."

Why three?

Because a lizardman's best-used front claws had three fingers, and coincidentally, Campbell's infantry formations were also three ranks deep.

Three and four were a highly scientific "command multiplier." Though scientific thinking was new to the people of Os, "empiricism" had been passed down for over a thousand years on this land, so the Campbells quickly absorbed this advanced tactic.

Three mountain regiments, each subordinate to three companies, each company six to eight hundred men.

This new organization would serve as a pilot for the duchy's military reform; thereafter, the duchy's army would no longer rely primarily on conscripts but instead establish a modern standing army with professional soldiers as its core.

Reforming the military structure was another major blow against traditional feudal forces, following the recovery of land and ecclesiastical authority.

To fill the ranks, recruitment notices bearing the Campbell family crest plastered every street and alley of Lei Ming City.

Adventurers who lived by the edge of the blade went mad. What attracted them wasn't just pay, but Campbell's "nationality."

Notably, although "ecclesiastical nationalization" occurred in Os Year 1054, Campbell's nationality law was not enacted during Edward's reign.

Long ago, the Lei Ming City Council had passed similar legislation, distinguishing between "subjects of the Duke" and "foreigners," and for the first time legally defining who could inherit land in the Campbell Duchy, who was protected by council laws, and who had to pay extra taxes to the monarch.

This differed fundamentally from nationality in the information age.

In 1054, the Campbell Duchy had only just reached the stage of "native subjects"; nationality was sought mostly for tax exemption and inheritance rights, not for "permanent residence" or free welfare.

Still, this could be understood as the embryonic form of nationality.

For adventurers in Lei Ming City, this was nearly the best shortcut—aside from marrying a local—to gain legal citizenship of this fertile land.

Just as this massive war machine roared to life, an out-of-place carriage slowly entered the dusty camp.

The carriage was painted in polished black lacquer, its wheels wrapped in shock-absorbing cork, standing out sharply amid the chaos.

Like a pampered lapdog that had wandered into a wolf pack.

The door opened, a gleaming leather shoe stepped onto the muddy ground, and Sir Dickbin stepped down with a look of disgust, as if offended there was no red carpet.

He was the envoy of the Leyne Kingdom to Campbell Castle, his glossy hair combed perfectly, as if licked by a cow's tongue.

Though time had etched lines around his eyes, it had not stripped away the greasy indulgence from his skin.

Seeing the reception officer approaching, he shoved the man aside, pulled a comb from his pocket, and combed his hair while muttering curses.

"Take your filthy hands off me! I don't want to hear a single word! Take me to your Majesty! Now!"

The reception officer stared blankly.

He hadn't even raised his hand—yet he'd been shoved for no reason. Still, he bowed politely; he wouldn't be as crude as a Leyne noble.

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Inside the tent, Edward was discussing frontline deployment details with Sir Wesley and other officers.

They needed to prioritize opening a supply line to the Mountain Kingdom to meet their dwarf brothers.

Sending a cold written message was less sincere than announcing their resolve with gunfire.

The dwarves' scouts were surely observing the duchy's border movements; their envoy would arrive soon.

At that moment, the tent flap lifted and a messenger ran in.

"Your Majesty! Sir Dickbin requests an audience!"

Sir Wesley frowned.

"Who let that man in?"

The messenger stammered, unclear.

No one had ordered him in—no one dared stop him. After all, Leyne Kingdom was still nominally Campbell's suzerain, and the envoy was a noble.

Edward raised an eyebrow but didn't scold the messenger; instead, he smiled.

"Let him in."

He hadn't expected the Leyne envoy to arrive faster than the dwarves on the neighboring peak—only one day behind him.

When he sent troops into the Dusk Province, Sir Dickbin hadn't even uttered a single word.

"Yes!"

The messenger exhaled in relief and ran off.

Soon after, the tent flap lifted again, and Sir Dickbin strode in, bringing a wave of perfume with him.

Several officers frowned.

Not because of the perfume—but because of the envoy's impudence. He showed no proper courtesy; instead, he radiated arrogant condescension, offering only a slight bow, his expression dripping with superiority.

"Duke, I bring greetings from His Majesty, the great Theoden!"

His smooth, shrill voice sounded more reptilian than a lizard's—even Sak Windrider's voice was more pleasant.

Edward didn't look up, his gaze still fixed on the map, replying indifferently.

"I, on behalf of the Campbells, greet you—and the thing behind you."

At those words, Dickbin's fake smile froze; a flicker of anger crossed his oily face.

"Is this how you show respect to your suzerain, Duke Edward? I thought the Campbell Duchy was the paragon of the Knight's Homeland, yet you display such appalling manners."

"Knights of the Knight's Homeland show respect only to true knights."

Edward finally lifted his head and tossed his pencil onto the map.

"As for you... Sir Dickbin, if you've come to chat with me about old times on Theoden's behalf, save your breath—I've long exhausted my patience with him. But you've arrived just in time: I want you to take back those Leyne men with broken limbs and missing limbs outside Crow City. They are, after all, your people."

"Your Excellency, I have no time for your hypocritical 'love for the people' act. Don't perform for me."

Dickbin snorted, straightened his perfectly smooth collar, and his tone turned aggressive.

"I come here on behalf of the Devalu family to hold the Campbell family accountable. Your army has violated the ancient covenant by advancing into the Ten Thousand Swords Mountains—this is an unrighteous and unjust act."

Unrighteous and unjust?

Sir Wesley chuckled softly; the other officers burst into laughter, while Sir Bertrand fell silent, then sighed lightly.

Ever since he had slain General Hannor, the "Spear of the Duchy," he had carried guilt, believing he had destroyed the honor of the Knight's Homeland.

Yet seeing this envoy of the Knight's Homeland, his guilt lessened... behind Count Derek stood such an ugly thing.

Fortunately, he had not hesitated or shown mercy.

Unaware he had already lost all dignity of the Knight's Homeland, Dickbin, enraged by the laughter, stepped forward, pressing on.

"You fools are still laughing! The Ten Thousand Swords Mountains lie within the Mountain Kingdom's sphere of influence, as decreed by ancient pacts of the Second Era—do I need to remind you?"

"Your army's mobilization along the border will provoke serious diplomatic disputes, anger our dwarf allies, and even draw imperial condemnation! For regional stability, I demand, on behalf of the King, that you immediately cease this folly—or—"

"Or will King Theoden do nothing?"

Edward took up the thread of his words, his tone as flat as reading an expired newspaper, leaving Sir Dickbin speechless.

After a long while, he finally forced out a sentence, his face flushed.

"Of course… the Lionheart Knights would never stand idly by!"

Clearly, he still had some sense of shame—otherwise, he would have uttered that shameless line without blinking.

The Lionheart Knights, stationed in the Dusk Province for a year, had not advanced a single step toward the Wanren Mountains; instead, they turned around and marched triumphantly toward Roland City.

Edward chuckled, his gaze growing colder as he looked at the neatly groomed knight, as if gazing at an insect.

To be honest, he had no good intentions in inviting this man in—he merely wanted the newly risen nobles of the duchy to witness the disgrace of the Lyne nobility, to unite those around him… Yet this man's ugliness had first disgusted himself.

From start to finish, this knight had not asked a single word about the wounded Lyne people lying on stretchers outside, nor mentioned the atrocities the ratmen had committed in the caves; instead, he cared only about the dwarves in the Wanren Mountains.

Even as he walked into this tent, those horrors had been right before his eyes.

He had begun pretending to be blind.

"Then let your Hagemore bring his knights to fetch these people home."

He sneered, circled the table, strode to the tent entrance, and yanked open the heavy curtain.

Whoosh—

A clean, sharp sound—the hot June wind, thick with the stench of rotting wounds, flooded instantly into the tent.

Dickbin instinctively stepped back, pulled out a silk handkerchief sprayed with perfume, and pinched his nose with a frown.

"What are you doing? Close it at once!"

"Open your eyes, Sir Dickbin."

Edward pointed outside at the refugees and barked.

"The faithful under the Holy Light are kept, tortured, and slaughtered like livestock—those who don't know might think they're sardines in a can!"

"And you, a coward pretending to be a noble, sit here talking to me about some damn ancient pacts and dwarves! Sir Dickbin, I don't even ask whether you still hold any faith in the Holy Light—demons would laugh at you. I only ask: where has your shame and dignity gone?"

Dickbin cast only a fleeting glance at the hellish scene before him, then quickly averted his eyes as if burned by a cigarette.

His face flushed red—not from shame, but because the Cambellians had the audacity to expose his wounds right before his face.

"Your Grace, do not fly into a rage! And do not change the subject! I am currently… discussing your problems!"

"Once the ancient pact is broken and sacred duties neglected, the corruption of Chaos will come to our land! Can you bear that responsibility?"

"As for these commoners… in this chaotic age, a few deaths are common. Do not let these lowly lives ruin the happiness of good people. Your Grace, you are too young—your father would never have done anything so reckless!"

The air inside the tent suddenly fell silent.

All eyes turned to him. Sir Wesley lowered his smirking lips, while Sir Bertrand narrowed his eyes.

This worm…

How dare he casually mention the name of the late Cambell king?

Dickbin seemed to sense the shift in atmosphere; his Adam's apple moved with difficulty.

"You… what are you going to do?"

They did nothing—only looked at him as if he were trash.

Even Sir Bertrand, the most traditional of noblemen, now held nothing but pure revulsion in his eyes.

Immoral, without boundaries, without faith…

Is this the last knight of the "Land of Knights"?

Edward suddenly smiled—a cold smile with not a trace of warmth, only bone-deep chill.

He turned his head toward Sir Wesley beside him.

"Look, Wesley—this is our Earl Derek's old friend… the backbone the Land of Knights discarded, so much so that even I, the least knightly duke, must pick it up for them." Sir Wesley sighed lightly.

"The tulips are withering. It is indeed regrettable."

Edward turned back, glanced at the trembling Dickbin retreating backward, then looked at the two guards standing at the entrance.

"Give this friend a rifle, and take him to the Mountain Regiment's 'Lyne Camp.' I agree with Marshal Wesley—the Lyne people's kin should be saved by the Lyne people themselves. He can take his rifle and talk to the ratmen about their ancient pact, and while he's at it, search their caves for Lyne bones… if any remain."

The two guards at the entrance stepped forward to seize him, but Sir Dickbin leapt up like a squirrel caught by the tail—he had never imagined the "White-Haired Devil" would be this unreasonable.

He no longer cared to respond to the mocking insult; he only screamed in panic.

"You! How dare you! Wait—I'm an envoy! I'm a noble! Take your filthy hands off me! For the sake of Saint Cis, let me return to Roland City—I must report this to Your Majesty!"

The two guards, like wolves, ignored his protests entirely, seized him on either side, and dragged him out like a dead dog.

"This matter isn't urgent—you'll have plenty of chances to meet your monarch. Just remember to send my regards to Theoden."

Edward picked up the pencil he'd dropped on the map, and didn't spare another glance at the knight being dragged out.

"Also, tell him he still owes me two debts."

"I'll settle them with him eventually!"

…

The June sun scorched the suburbs of Crow Cry City, and also the forests farther north.

At the very moment Sir Dickbin was dragged out of camp like a dead dog, a thirty-man fully armed squad moved silently through the forest beyond the northern border of Count Spinor's woods.

They were the duchy's most elite warriors—each soldier possessed at least Steelgrade strength, and among them were several Silvergrade powerhouses!

And the silver-haired girl leading them had even entered the Diamondgrade realm.

"Prince Corin."

As she slashed through the thorny brush ahead, waist-high, Elin slowed her pace and turned her head toward Corin beside her, her eyes still carrying a trace of apology.

"…You truly didn't need to risk yourself alongside me. This forest is riddled with ratmen traps and ambushes—if anything happened to you, how could I explain it to the people of Corin Duchy? Protecting the people along the Flowing River is the duty bestowed upon me by the Radiant Light—it does not belong to you."

"And what about protecting you?"

"…"

Elin said nothing, but her flushed ears betrayed her accelerated heartbeat.

As if sensing the teasing in those deep violet eyes, she scowled, shooting him an irritated glare.

"Your Highness, please don't joke like this—I'm serious. You've already helped us too much. I won't let you risk yourself again for my sake—"

"I'm not joking. I'm serious too."

Luo Yan smiled faintly, waved his wand, and made the thorny vines ahead bend automatically aside.

"The Corin family are also the Chosen of the Divine. You bear the duty to protect the people along the Flowing River—and I bear the duty to protect the lands bathed in the Holy Light… which is also my duty. As for worrying about me, it's entirely unnecessary."

"Corin Duchy is a haven for adventurers—I've opened my eyes in forests since childhood. This place feels like home to me. And if I truly met misfortune, adventurers needn't mourn me—they'll sing my tale forever."

Every day, people grow old in this world—but not everyone truly lives.

Luo Yan had intended to say this, but Elin's expression was too delightful; his flirty words twisted mid-sentence.

"Of course, I must admit… these noble-sounding reasons are all excuses I just made up. You are the real reason I'm here."

Around them, only the rustling of insects remained.

Elin, bent over hacking through brambles, fell silent again.

But Luo Yan beside her saw clearly—her ears, peeking above her hair, were like a red-hot key inserted into a silver chest.

He could even guess what she was thinking—

No wonder he's Prince Corin.

So kind, brave, and warm-hearted… Hehehe…

Enjoying this rare sight, Luo Yan smiled faintly, then stopped his teasing words—no need to overdo the untimely tenderness.

Poor Princess Elin didn't know the Demon Lord was lying with his eyes wide open.

He wasn't a believer in Saint Cis—he was merely curious what impossible black tech his old colleague from Xuebang had been tinkering with behind his back…

Or rather, black magic.

The group pressed forward swiftly through the woods.

Suddenly, Sarah, who had been silently trailing behind Luo Yan, halted. Her expressionless face lifted slightly, her amber pupils sharpening.

"Something's ahead."

Teresa beside her glanced at Sarah in surprise—she, too, was a Goldgrade transcendent, yet she'd sensed nothing.

Is this the power of a "Prince's Guard"?

Indeed, unfathomable!

Without the slightest carelessness, she drew her sword and shouted to the warriors behind her.

"Prepare for battle!"

"Hah!"

The Cambell youths roared in unison, drawing their swords, their potent "Sacred Energy" surging to its peak—beneath the green canopy, a dazzling golden radiance erupted!

Luo Yan gave a approving glance at Sarah, whose perception had further improved, then drew a slender wand from his sleeve.

He'd actually sensed it earlier—but he'd deliberately concealed his ability to maintain the Prince's persona.

"Holy Shield!"

With a soft chant, intricate runes materialized in the air, then dissolved into shimmering silver light, precisely coating each soldier's armor with an additional layer of holy radiance.

Feeling the Prince's infused power, the soldiers' morale surged; their knightly longswords gripped tighter, stronger.

At that moment, a chilling, piercing roar erupted from deep within the dense forest ahead.

"Roar—!"

The ground trembled violently; two men-wide oak trees snapped like brittle twigs.

Amid flying splinters, a stitched giant rat, five men tall, charged forward like a runaway war chariot.

Its body was sewn together with limbs of various beasts; rotting flesh oozed thick, ink-green pus, reeking of unbearable stench.

The terrifying pressure could freeze even the most seasoned adventurers—but not a single person here so much as flinched.

"Haah—!"

Aileen let out a sharp cry, her form flashing like lightning as she charged forward first.

In her hand, the "Songlight" carved a perfect semicircle through the air; the brilliant blade-light instantly sliced through the giant rat's massive body.

Plosch—!

The sound of flesh and bone parting!

The roaring beast didn't even have time to scream before it was cleanly split in two by a streak of lightning, its foul organs spilling out like an avalanche of viscera.

But this was only the beginning!

Bing! Bing! Bing!

Suddenly, from the surrounding thickets, a dense clatter of bowstrings rang out—hundreds of venom-coated, ink-green crossbow bolts rained down like a storm, targeting Aileen at the front.

Yet none of the bolts, capable of piercing steel plates, so much as touched Aileen.

In the instant before they struck, a gentle breeze brushed past—and the entire sky of arrows dissolved into fluttering green leaves.

"I told you I was serious," Luo Yan smiled faintly, his calm expression unchanged as the tip of his staff shifted from pale gold to ink green.

It was a Life School spell—he caused the flying bolts to sprout fresh green buds once more.

"Thank you!"

Aileen cast him a grateful glance over her shoulder, her feet never slowing; her entire form became a silver meteor streaking through the forest, piercing deep into the enemy's rear.

The full power of a Diamond-Rank warrior was laid bare!

Not a single rat-man could withstand even a single strike from her Songlight!

Having adapted to her vampire nature, Aileen was even stronger than before—thanks to the endless stream of life energy her Songlight could draw upon!

Meanwhile, Luo Yan, standing at the rear, didn't idle. He twirled his staff casually, then lightly tapped its tip to the ground.

Hum—

A pale blue ripple expanded outward from him at high speed, sweeping past the ranks of his foot knights.

The ripple spread silently for dozens of meters; when it touched the hidden ambushers concealed in the thickets, it erupted into searing flames!

Boom—!

"Ah!"

"My tail! My tail!"

Over a hundred clan rats shrieked in broken voices, writhing in the fire, trampling each other as they fled, spreading death and terror back into the rat-men's ranks.

The young Campbell men stared in stunned silence.

Such incredible power!

Though they'd long heard the Prince was a powerful mage, they'd always assumed he was merely a scholar who sat in high towers studying spellbooks.

They never imagined that in actual combat, his methods were just as formidable as battle mages—perhaps even more so!

Luo Yan controlled the burning flames, not killing the rat-men outright, but holding them at just the right temperature.

He could have used more efficient black flames, but here it was unnecessary—after all, everyone around him were servants of the Holy Light.

The rat-men's morale was crumbling.

Yet just as they were about to break, a dozen rat-men priests in black robes stepped forward, chanting vile incantations.

Ink-green light flooded into the rat-men's pupils, then thickened into a crimson deeper than blood. Their eyes filled with veins, their courage reignited, and they screamed as they charged forward again.

"Human trash! Die! Die!"

They swung rusted swords and axes stolen from dwarves, surging like a black tide as they crashed into the Campbell foot knights.

And then—

Like waves crashing against rocks, they died first.

Behind them, the slaughter continued; in mere breaths, Aileen had slain two more stitched giant rats attempting to ambush her.

Silver strands danced in the wind; not a single drop of filth clung to her, not even her breathing stirred.

At that moment, a dozen stealthy elite clan rats climbed the towering oak trees.

They mounted several thick, long-ranged rune crossbows, their black muzzles aimed squarely at Colin, standing at the center of the formation.

Targeting the mage first was sound strategy—but clearly, they'd vastly overestimated both their own strength and the power of those few rune crossbows.

Luo Yan saw them, but didn't even lift his eyelids—as if they were merely annoying flies perched there.

The next instant, a black phantom flashed from the treetops; silent daggers sliced through the necks of a dozen rats.

Plosch—!

Corpses tumbled from the trees like dumplings dropped into boiling water; the howling wind only arrived late, finally tearing the leaves from the branches after Sarah leapt down.

Her dagger spun like a sawblade; Sarah landed lightly, never pausing, her amber slit-pupils narrowing as she locked onto the rat priests standing behind the horde.

The pressure of a higher predator loomed over the rat-men—a scent more terrifying to them than any supernatural force.

"Squeak—!"

The rat-men's morale, just rebuilt, teetered on collapse again; they scattered in panic, desperate to put distance between themselves and this cat.

Sarah didn't even glance at them. Her lithe form blurred once more; her short sword leapt into her hand, and in an instant, several rat priests mid-casting had their throats slit.

Watching their strongest warriors fall one by one, the remaining clan rats and slave rats shattered completely.

They abandoned armor and weapons, chittering wildly as they fled into the forest's depths, leaving behind only a field of corpses and broken arms.

Less than ten minutes!

A full thousand-strong rat-man force was utterly routed by this thirty-man squad, leaving behind a bloody, mangled carnage in the dense woods!

The rat-men on Bone-Burial Peak were far from this weak—but unfortunately, the Weaver's Nest's cave spiders had already drained too much of Shi Laike's military strength… that had happened the night before last.

The flames burning on the corpses faded silently.

Aileen wiped the thick black blood from her Songlight and sheathed her blade.

Her gaze swept over the sea of corpses, fixed on the direction the rat-men had fled; her delicate brow furrowed slightly.

"It seems something significant truly lies behind them… those stitched giant rats don't look like natural mutations—they're clearly alchemical creations."

"Yes, I thought the same…"

Luo Yan slowly opened his eyes; a flicker of magical ripples passed through his deep purple irises.

"The firebird I summoned saw something interesting in the sky… there appears to be a rat burrow there, but beyond that, I couldn't see clearly."

In truth, he had no need to summon any firebird.

His "Butterfly of Ten Thousand Phenomena" had been hovering above Lin Hai all along, like a satellite observing every movement across this land.

"Then let's go take a look—see what they've hidden in that rat burrow."

Aileen drew a deep breath, turned, and looked toward Teresa, who was approaching her.

"Rest for three minutes, then continue forward!"

"Yes, Your Highness!"

Teresa gave a formal knight's salute, then shouted orders to regroup the soldiers and check equipment and supplies.

Sarah came to Luo Yan's side and quietly slipped a dozen rune-inscribed magic stones into his hand—loot she'd taken from the rat priests.

Luo Yan tossed most of the stones into his storage ring, keeping only one between his fingers to examine, a hint of keen interest crossing his brow.

"Soul School magic."

A milky-white mist formed beside him, murmuring softly in surprise.

"No wonder players said they encountered spells that strike directly at the soul… turns out it was Soul School stuff all along."

"I hope that's all it is."

Luo Yan pondered for a long while, glanced toward Aileen, then decided not to give her the stone—he tossed it into his storage space instead.

The Scholarch's affairs could wait. He wasn't sure whether the Grand Sage had been involved—or how deeply.

That man likely still believed he was the arrogant "ally," the Chosen of the Mysterious Mist… he sincerely hoped the Grand Sage would keep believing that.

The Hero needs only to swing his sword; the Demon Lord has far more to consider.

How far this battle should go—he'd decide based on circumstances.