Ethan grabbed the leader by his hair, ignoring the man’s pained groans as he dragged him toward the barrier.

The protective field recognized his authority, allowing passage for both captor and prisoner.

Territory Lord privileges.

His subjects followed at a respectful distance, their faces showing mixtures of awe and bloodthirsty satisfaction. The brutal efficiency of their Lord’s counterattack had shattered any lingering doubts about his capabilities.

Inside the barrier’s safety, Ethan threw the crippled leader onto the sand like a discarded sack.

The man’s broken legs twisted at unnatural angles, fresh blood seeping from the severed tendons.

Perfect. Pain keeps them focused.

“Stay back,” Ethan commanded his subjects. “Just in case he pulls something stupid.”

Elena nodded, her enhanced bow still ready despite the minimal threat their prisoner now posed.

“Understood, my Lord.”

Marcus positioned his team in a protective perimeter while Jack’s warriors maintained watchful vigilance.

Professional soldiers understood the necessity of harsh interrogation even if they preferred not to witness it directly.

They know what’s at stake.

Ethan knelt beside his captive, studying the man’s pain-wracked features with clinical detachment.

Gold-rank regeneration would keep him alive for hours despite his injuries—plenty of time for a thorough conversation.

“Let’s start simple,” Ethan began conversationally.

“What’s your name?”

The leader spat blood, his defiance flickering like a dying flame.

“Go… go to hell.”

Wrong answer.

Ethan’s boot connected with the man’s jaw in a precisely measured kick. Teeth scattered across the sand like broken ivory, followed by a spray of crimson.

Pain teaches faster than words.

“Name,” Ethan repeated, his voice unchanged.

“Vincent,” the leader gasped through ruined lips.

“Vincent Marlow.”

Progress. Good.

“Better. Now, Vincent Marlow, you mentioned ‘your Lord’ earlier. Tell me about this organization you work for.”

Vincent’s eyes showed the calculation of a predator weighing survival odds. His earlier confidence had evaporated completely, replaced by the fear of a man facing certain death.

He’s reconsidering his loyalties. Excellent.

“My Lord will—”

Another kick interrupted the threat, this one targeting Vincent’s broken ribs. The sharp crack of additional fractures echoed across the desert.

No more threats. Only information.

Vincent screamed, his body convulsing as fresh agony coursed through damaged nerves.

Blood frothed from his lips as punctured lungs struggled for air.

“Your Lord isn’t here,” Ethan stated calmly. “I am. And I’m the one deciding whether you live or die.”

“Okay! Okay!” Vincent gasped desperately.

“I’ll talk! Just… just stop…”

Ethan leaned back slightly, his expression unchanging.

“Good choice. Start with your territory’s location.”

Geography first. Know the battlefield.

Vincent’s shattered jaw made speech difficult, but survival instinct overcame physical discomfort.

“The jungle… deep in the jungle to the north. Hidden in the canopy…”

As I suspected. There really was a territory there.

“How deep?”

“Quite deep… around a hundred kilometers from the edge. Multiple levels built into the trees…”

Defensive advantage. They chose well.

Ethan nodded, filing the tactical information for future use.

“What brought you here? This seems outside your normal territory.”

Vincent coughed, spraying more blood onto the sand.

“Mission… we were on a week-long mission. Just returning when we spotted your barrier…”

Random encounter, not planned surveillance.

“What kind of mission?”

“Looking for and raiding… smaller territories to the east. Collecting tribute for the Lord.”

Ethan’s expression hardened as the implications became clear.

This wasn’t isolated banditry—it was systematic exploitation of weaker territories.

“How many others know about this place?”

“Just… just us three. We were supposed to report back tomorrow…”

Twenty-four hour window before they’re missed.

“Tell me about your forces. Numbers, ranks, structure.”

Vincent hesitated, loyalty warring with self-preservation. Another measured kick to his broken ribs resolved the internal debate quickly.

“Few hundred subjects!” he screamed. “Most are Silver-rank! Ten captains at Low-Gold!”

Significant force structure. They are quite powerful territory, definable not new.

Ethan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried more menace than shouting.

“Continue.”

“Two generals… Mid-Gold rank. And the Lord…”

“What about the Lord?”

Vincent’s face went pale beyond what blood loss could account for.

“Peak-Gold when we left. But he’s been very close to a breakthrough… might have reached Low-Platinum by now.”

Low-Platinum. This will be troubelsome to deal with. Very troublesome.

The revelation hit Ethan like a physical blow. Platinum rank represented a fundamental power threshold.

This isn’t a small threat anymore. It’s potentially devastating.

“What’s his talent?” Ethan pressed.

“Domination… C-Grade Swordsman talent.”

A swordsman…

Behind him, Ethan could hear his subjects shifting nervously as Vincent’s revelations painted an increasingly grim picture.

They were facing a territory led by someone approaching Platinum rank.

No wonder they’re so confident. They’ve never lost.

“How often do they send out raiding parties?”

“Weekly…We have a timetable, Each team has its schedule,” Vincent responded.

They are constantly on the lookout for new territories.

“What happens to Lords who refuse to submit?”

Vincent’s laugh was bitter, tinged with the memory of witnessed atrocities. “Examples. Public executions. Their subjects become entertainment.”

Psychological warfare through terror.

Elena’s bow creaked behind him as her grip tightened. The casual description of such murder was pushing even experienced soldiers toward their limits.

They’re understanding what we avoided today.

“What about territories that fight back successfully?”

“Doesn’t happen. The Lord’s talent makes resistance impossible once he arrives personally.”

A good swordsman eliminates conventional defense.

Ethan processed the tactical implications rapidly. Normal fighting confrontation would be suicide against such a large territory.

They needed different strategies entirely.

Asymmetric warfare. Hit and run. Avoid direct confrontation.

“How long before they investigate your disappearance?”

“Tomorrow evening… when we don’t return from patrol.”

Thirty-six hours to prepare if we count the time that they will take to send a team and for the team to be nearby,

“What were your orders regarding finding new territories?”

Vincent coughed again, his breathing becoming increasingly labored.

“Scout and report. If weak enough, handle it ourselves. If not…”

Send for reinforcements.

“How many would they send?”

“Depends… small territory like this? Maybe a full captain’s unit. Nine Silver-ranks plus the captain.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep