Chapter 120: Arlya’s Departure

At the same time, Arlya formally bid farewell to Phield.

She had to leave to fulfill her mission, even though their contract had not yet reached two months.

“The inheritance of the ancient dragons is about to begin. I must go there,” Arlya said, forcing an awkward smile. Then, like a magician performing a trick, she produced an ornate potion bottle. “Do you remember the black dragons we killed? I refined their blood. It might be useful to you.”

“Mm… thank you.” Phield knew there was no point in trying to make her stay, so he handed her a letter instead. “In exchange, take this. Inside is a voucher worth one thousand gold coins, along with a handwritten letter from me. If you encounter an enemy you can’t deal with, just give them this letter.”

“Oh?” Arlya curiously opened the letter and read aloud, “Phield Ross, Lord of the Nightfall Domain, demands that you immediately release Arlya. If you dare disobey, no matter how far away you are, you will be exterminated.”

“Anyway, take it easy, my good daughter.” Phield patted Arlya on the head. “If you ever come back, don’t forget to visit the Nightfall Domain.”

Arlya nodded obediently. “Alright. I will.”

The soldiers were also deeply saddened.

“Take care, Lady Arlya.”

“Wuuuh… from now on we’ll only be able to eat pig feed.”

Arlya fell silent for a moment. Then she carefully put the envelope away and waved to everyone.

After that, she left their sight, completely disappearing beyond the horizon.

“We’ll meet again someday.” Phield had an inexplicable feeling.

After seeing Arlya off, there was no time for sadness. Following Regin, everyone marched day and night until they reached the Viscount Lucius’s territory. There, they finally saw the last—and largest—city occupied by the rebels: Nogaisk.

The governor’s army had already completely surrounded the rebels’ stronghold.

Outside the city stood countless counterweight trebuchets. Giant stones the height of two or three men, or burning barrels set ablaze, constantly arced through the sky and were hurled inside.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

All kinds of dazzling magical power—spells and divine skills—were continuously bombarding the city.

Explosions were everywhere. From a distance, the city looked like a living hell, with corpses and collapsed buildings visible everywhere.

“The Holy Light will protect you, lost children.”

A dozen or so nuns from the church, led by a priest, were offering blessings to the troops.

Phield had just finished setting up his tent when he suddenly got splashed in the face with holy water. He wiped his face, speechless, but still politely said, “Thank you very much for your blessing.”

“No need to be polite. We deeply respect the warriors who defend their homeland. Wherever there are lost lambs, there we shall be.”

The priest walked around the camp with an arrogant swagger, looking everywhere for quite a while. Only when he noticed Phield frowning with clear displeasure did he leave as if nothing had happened.

“These people… it feels like they were inspecting my defenses?” Stroking his chin, Phield pondered. “I don’t know why, but whenever I see those nuns, I think of someone.”

Just to be safe, Phield ordered everyone to reorganize the camp. Cheval-de-frise were set up around the territory, and ballistae were mounted on higher ground.

This heavy ballista had been dismantled from the walls of the fortress they had previously captured. Unfortunately, they had only managed to seize one, and it had to be hauled by four horses.

By the time everything was finished, night had already fallen.

“Hey! Baron Phield, you finally arrived.” Knight Laurent rode over with five other knights, each mounted on a different-colored warhorse, greeting Phield enthusiastically. “I’m very happy to see you. After this battle is over, I must treat you to champagne!”

Phield was horrified, cold sweat breaking out instantly. That line was basically a death flag. In every movie he’d seen, anyone who said something like “After this battle, I’ll go home and get married” was guaranteed to meet God soon—and often dragged others down with them.

“Captain, the carriage is ready.”

“There’s nothing left to be afraid of.”

“Wait for me. I’ll definitely come back alive.”

Phield quickly blurted out three death flags of his own to cancel it out before wiping his sweat. “I’m very happy to see you too.”

“You arrived a day late, otherwise you would’ve witnessed a truly shocking spectacle.” Laurent jumped down from his horse and walked alongside Phield, gesturing excitedly as he spoke. “Just yesterday, the rebels lost a fourth-tier Divine Chosen! Can you believe it? Fourth tier!”

“The rebels actually have that kind of strength.” Phield widened his eyes in shock, genuinely surprised. “A fourth-tier Divine Chosen, plus the others… with that kind of power, they could practically be granted the title of count. Yet they chose to revolt. It’s hard to understand what they really want.”

According to the intelligence they had gathered, advancing as a Divine Chosen was extremely difficult. Rosalia reaching the second tier had already caused such a huge commotion. If the rebels could produce a fourth-tier Divine Chosen, their foundation must be incredibly deep.

Phield glanced around quietly.

Why did it feel like this empire had almost no truly safe places left?

There must be a traitor secretly funding them! And that traitor must be someone with a powerful background.

“I don’t know what they want either. Maybe they just want excitement.” Laurent shrugged. “But it’s worth mentioning that the allied army also lost a second-tier Divine Chosen. She came from Rick Province, and her lord died shortly afterward as well.”

Laurent removed his helmet. According to law and etiquette, when speaking of fallen Divine Chosen or nobles, one must remove their hat in mourning.

“The Empire will remember your contributions. Your glory will become the feathers of the griffin, protecting the Empress’s people.”

Phield wasn’t wearing a helmet, but he repeated the words as well.

“I didn’t expect that after the Divine Chosen died, her lord would die as well. Truly tragic,” Phield sighed.

Laurent looked at him like he’d misunderstood something and waved his hand. “That’s not it. The Divine Chosen did die in battle, that’s true. But her lord… got drunk, fell face-first into a pile of horse manure, and suffocated.”

“…Alright. Actually, you didn’t have to tell me the truth. I wanted to stay solemn for a bit longer.”

“I really want to have my own Divine Chosen.” Now it was Laurent’s turn to sigh. “Without a Divine Chosen, it’s almost impossible to get anywhere. I long to obtain the title of baron and restore my family’s former glory.”

Phield shrugged. “Then find one.”

The moment he said it, he realized how unrealistic that sounded. Divine Chosen were extremely rare. In a large city like Golden Eagle City, only one would appear every ten or so years. Only the imperial capital could reliably produce one every two or three years.

Worse still, cities capable of producing Divine Chosen were controlled by great noble families. The chances of one appearing in villages or small towns were almost nonexistent.

“Hard…” Laurent sighed.

“Don’t worry. I don’t have one either,” Phield shamelessly comforted him.

“I’m already a baron and I still don’t have one. So relax and enjoy life.”

“I hope you’ll find your own Divine Chosen someday,” Laurent said generously, offering his blessing.

Just as Laurent finished speaking, Phield suddenly noticed a green dot appear on the minimap.

“???”

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