Chapter 92: Sending Off the Deity

To the west of Victor’s domain stretched an endless chain of mountains. Though none of these hills rose higher than seven hundred meters, their slopes were gentle, their vegetation luxuriant, and they were home to herds of wild boar, yellow antelope, and short-tailed deer.

A dozen short-tailed deer were grazing leisurely on tender alfalfa in the valley. Suddenly, the dense shrubs on the hillside trembled, and the wary creatures scattered in all directions.

Moments later, a colossal beast, towering over three meters high, rose from the thicket. It was a gigantic bear, its glossy fur, razor-sharp claws, and intimidating size all marking it as a ferocious bear.

Watching the deer disappear into the distance, the bear showed no interest in pursuit. Though it weighed nearly three thousand pounds and could outrun and outlast any of these nimble animals, it had more important matters at hand today.

With a mighty leap, the bear shattered the resilient bushes around it, leaving two deep paw prints in the earth, and cleared a ten-meter-wide ravine to land atop the opposite hill. It was continuing its patrol of its territory. As a ferocious bear, its domain spanned twenty kilometers across and fifty kilometers in length; within this vast expanse, it was the undisputed master. Every female bear within was its mate. Yet lately, it had discovered two powerful beasts encroaching upon its land. To protect its harem, it must drive out the intruders.

It was the season of earth, when flowers bloomed profusely and wild bees buzzed industriously among the blossoms. Not far off, a massive hive hung from the treetops. The sweet nectar and succulent larvae within were the bear’s favorites. Though the wild bees' stings were potent—especially those of the soldier bees, whose savage mandibles could pierce most animals’ hides—none were enough to harm the bear. Usually, it would snap the tree in two and, amid the bees’ frenzied assault, gorge itself on its beloved treat. But today, its mind was elsewhere: it had caught the scent of its adversary, dangerously close.

The bear stood upright, its three-meter height affording a broad view. Then it saw the beast invading its territory—a giant, oddly shaped wolf, with bluish-black fur, chilling fangs, and luminous green eyes. The bear’s mane bristled, making it appear even larger, and it issued a deep, menacing growl—a warning for the wolf to leave.

The bear was not afraid, but instinct told it this foe would be troublesome. Even if it could kill the wolf, it would likely be wounded itself. If only the wolf would depart on its own, an unnecessary conflict could be avoided—a tacit understanding between mighty beasts.

The wolf did not retreat; instead, it lifted its hind leg and urinated on the bushes—a brazen provocation. Enraged, the bear bellowed, its roar echoing through the mountains, and lunged at the wolf, intent on tearing the insolent creature apart. The wolf turned and ran, and the bear gave chase, only to realize, to its frustration, that it could not match the wolf’s speed. No matter—the bear was confident that its stamina would eventually exhaust its quarry.

The ferocious bear barreled through the forest, snapping trees, crushing shrubs, flattening brambles—nothing could impede its progress. Yet, upon reaching a certain valley, the bear stopped. Seeing its pursuer halt, the wolf ceased fleeing and turned, issuing a taunting howl. The bear was unmoved; its instincts screamed that further pursuit meant death.

The bear sniffed the air, but with the wind in its face, it detected nothing. Still, unease lingered in its mind, so it decided to withdraw, ignoring the wolf’s provocations, and turned away.

After a few steps, a piercing scream from behind caused the bear to halt. It was the cry of a female bear. Turning back, it saw a sight that filled it with rage—a second wolf was dragging a beautiful young female from the far side of the valley.

The bear recognized her; she was its favorite mate. Her supple fur and pungent scent had always entranced him. Now, she was helpless in the wolf’s jaws, dark red blood streaming from her throat. The bear was consumed by fury, charging at the wolf with bloodshot eyes, heedless of any threat to its own life.

A silver streak shot from the undergrowth, piercing the bear’s iron-hard skull. The bolt, as thick as a pigeon’s egg, exited through the back of its head. The bear’s immense vitality carried it forward another hundred meters before it collapsed with a thunderous crash.

The two wolves severed the unfortunate female’s throat, but hesitated to approach the fallen bear until it stopped twitching. Then, trotting over, they sniffed and howled. Only then did a hunter, camouflaged with branches, rise from the thicket.

The hunter whistled, and two black ravens flew from the woods, circling above the gigantic bear’s corpse before cawing and heading north. There, two companions awaited news before entering the bear’s lair to collect a special mineral specimen.

The hunter emerged from the bushes, carrying a massive crossbow adorned with leaves, and approached the carcass. Drawing a silver dagger from his belt, he began to skin the bear.

This hunter was an alchemical militiaman under Victor’s command.

Fearing a tribe of ogres might inhabit these mountains, Victor invested his scant funds to produce ten alchemical ravens, one alchemical militiaman, one auxiliary soldier equipped with forging skills, and two warhounds. He ordered these alchemical creatures to conduct a survey of the area.

After a month’s reconnaissance, the alchemical creatures had found no ogre tribes among the mountains, only two small groups of gnolls. They also discovered vast groves of oilwood and a seam of refined iron ore. However, a ferocious bear had nested near the mine, hindering further exploration.

Upon receiving this news, Victor consulted closely with Reynold and decided to hunt the bear, dispatching a militiaman with a mithril heavy crossbow.

The mithril heavy crossbow was a top-tier weapon secretly forged by several alchemical auxiliaries at the upper camp. To make it, Victor reluctantly dismantled a military-grade heavy crossbow, and Buso fused its materials with mithril to forge the new weapon. Ordinary men could not string it even with a winch; only militiamen with a strength score of seventeen could manage. Its power was exponentially increased—Victor believed it could even kill an ogre.

The monkey-like militiaman entrusted with the mithril crossbow did not disappoint, successfully slaying the fearsome beast. Ferocious beasts were notoriously difficult to deal with—their wild instincts always kept them from danger. They were far more sensitive and clever than their kin. Yet cleverness is not wisdom; beasts differ from sapient beings in their inability to master their nature. When a ferocious bear encountered an alchemical militiaman who knew its instincts, it became mere prey. In the eyes of Nairil Empire’s alchemists, the concept of “ferocious transformation” did not exist; every combat unit they produced was, in fact, a ferocious beast.

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Hager entered the small dining hall to find his team sullenly sipping purple cane wine.

“Everyone seems rather down today.” Hager pulled out a chair and sat down with a cheerful grin.

After a silence, one member finally spoke up: “Leader, look at the other teams—they’re all celebrating, their leaders have become village chiefs. Only us, we’re still just a village group.”

“Leader, I don’t understand. In what way are we inferior? Why are we stuck at the bottom?” another member grumbled indignantly.

The others, though silent, drank gloomily, cup after cup.

Hager glanced around; at other tables, villagers were laughing and chatting loudly. By contrast, his own group was much more subdued. He shook his head and chuckled—such unworldly farmers.

“I know you all blame me for not contending with the other leaders for the position of village chief. But you’ve all heard the cooks’ saying: ‘The best dish is always served last.’”

“Tell me, which village does the Lord value most?” Hager asked with a smile.

The members exchanged looks; one ventured, “The Brick Kiln Village?”

“The Lord does value the Brick Kiln Village, but that’s because the Blacksmith Village hasn’t been established yet. Think about it—when the Blacksmith Village is built, how many workers do you think the Lord will assign us? I tell you: no less than three hundred! Then who will be the number one village in the domain?”

“Leader, you truly see things more clearly than us,” one member exclaimed, pounding the table.

Watching his members shake off their gloom, Hager smiled and sipped his purple cane wine. Victor’s domain had many treasures, but Hager was most eager for the yet-to-be-built Blacksmith Village. He’d participated in the construction of the others and understood their intricacies well, but the Blacksmith Village was directly tied to military supplies. As a spy cultivated by the York family, Hager paid special attention to this.

“Unfortunately, we still have too few people here. When Baron Victor recruits miners, I hope the family will send me more helpers,” Hager thought to himself.

A guard approached and said, “Leader Hager, the Lord wishes to discuss miner recruitment with you.”

Hager’s heart leapt with joy. As he left the dining hall with the guard, he heard his subordinates cheering behind him.

The upper camp was a place of mystery and authority in the minds of all the domain’s people; only a few could enter directly without prior notice. Hager was not among them. When he entered Victor’s office, all smiles, he saw several familiar faces, and his smile froze.

A quill spun swiftly between Victor’s fingers, his other hand stroking his chin—smooth and clean-shaven, with no sign of stubble. Victor was somewhat dismayed; on Earth, he had to shave every two days and wished he didn’t grow such troublesome facial hair. Yet now, without a beard, he was reminded of a strange, ancient profession from his previous life.

Three companions looked awkwardly at Hager, all realizing they had been exposed.

“Archil greets the Baron. Good day, my lord,” Hager said with a wry smile, bowing to Victor.

Victor exchanged a look with Nelson, then asked, “Archil is your real name, so you’re a York family spy?”

“Yes, my lord. I am indeed a York family spy. Can you tell me how you saw through me?”

Hager noticed that Captain Nelson’s hands were empty; clearly, Victor had no intention of using force against him, so he admitted openly. He was also curious—he and his men were as skilled at farming as any peasant, so how had Victor uncovered their true identities?

“Do you recall telling me you collected honey for noble lords in the eastern provinces?” Victor smiled. “I believe you’ve eaten honey, but I doubt you ever collected it. I happen to know that ordinary farmers cannot collect honey. Wild bees are extremely fierce, and regular leather armor cannot withstand their bites. Collecting honey requires specialized teams, typically organized by nobles. No one would sneak honey; not only would they be whipped, they’d lose a considerable bonus.”

In Victor’s memory, the young baron’s father had two beekeeping teams—his family’s main source of income.

“So, after I was exposed, you quietly investigated those around me, until you found us all, then confronted us?” Hager asked, disappointed. He had thought a companion had accidentally given them away, but it turned out he himself had slipped.

Victor said nothing, smiling. Hager was his own discovery, but the two guards had been uncovered by Barol’s methods, and the other one was also Victor’s find.

“So, Sir Knight, do you still wish to keep up the act?” Victor said, smiling at an old farmer.

The room fell silent. The old farmer looked at Victor in astonishment, then gradually straightened, a self-assured, commanding presence arising from him. Nelson’s brows shot up; he stepped forward, positioning himself before Victor.

The old farmer’s eyes showed a hint of admiration as he looked at Nelson. Though confident he could defeat the mercenary, Nelson possessed a fearless, iron-blooded aura, and the old farmer believed that even facing a golden knight, Nelson would not flinch. This was a brave warrior.

“Gryce York, at your service, Baron Victor,” the old farmer said, giving Victor a knight’s salute.

Victor patted Nelson’s shoulder, signaling him to relax. “Leave us. I wish to speak with Sir Gryce in private.”

Once everyone had departed, the old knight said to Victor with a bitter smile, “Baron Victor, how did you discover I was a knight?”

“Because you were quite unprofessional,” Victor replied, amused.

The old knight could never have guessed Victor could detect a person’s elemental attributes. Since Hager’s exposure, Victor had occasionally scanned those connected to him, and thus discovered the knight disguised as a farmer. In truth, Hager was professional; the other spies had not been uncovered by observing Hager, but by the old knight’s many mistakes, which Victor then tracked down one by one using Barol’s method.

“My lord, you really shouldn’t have exposed me,” the old knight said, chagrined.

“Why?” Victor asked, his gaze intense.

“I was ordered by the Lady to protect you in secret,” the knight replied candidly.

Victor’s face darkened. After a moment, he said, “Sylvia is truly extravagant—dispatching a noble knight in disguise as a lowly farmer, just to protect me?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s the truth. In fact, when you recruited mercenaries, the Lady had already prepared a team for you. Unfortunately, you chose the Bear Mercenaries. Victor, please believe, we mean you no harm,” Sir Gryce said earnestly.

Victor was silent for a long time. “Does Nicole know your true identity?”

If Nicole knew, Victor would have to part ways with her. He had too many secrets, and the power of the great families filled him with dread. After all, making a knight masquerade as a farmer, doing farm work daily, was an almost unimaginable feat. Yet Sylvia had made it happen.

“Nicole is unaware. Bruce is unaware. They don’t even know me. My origins are the same as Nicole’s, but I am old now.”

Gryce sighed. The family had nurtured him, so he must serve; disguising himself as a farmer to protect Victor was humiliating, but he had to pave the way for his children—this was the Lady’s promise to him.

“You may go,” Victor said quietly.

“My lord, let me stay to protect you. The others can withdraw.”

If Gryce returned now, his mission would be a failure. Even if the family would not punish him, the promised conditions might not be honored.

“I don’t need your protection. I am not a York family vassal. You have overstepped your bounds,” Victor said coldly.

He then raised a hand to stop Gryce’s entreaties, and tossed him several parchment scrolls.

“Take these back. Sylvia will not trouble you.”

Gryce opened them, and a look of relief replaced his worried expression. He said to Victor, “As you wish, my lord. Before we depart, allow me to do one last thing for you.”