The human kingdom was frantically recruiting new troops and building defenses, desperately licking the wounds left by war.
The demons weren’t much better; they had a mountain of messes to deal with.
On the eastern front, after learning the outcome of the Threehill City battle, the dwarven army had orderly withdrawn into the mountains to continue wrestling with the elemental spirits in the dungeon.
But they left behind devastation.
The dwarf king had truly intended to “besiege Wei to rescue Zhao” and help humanity, deploying all sorts of siege engines and even treasured magical golems.
Duke Levi’s territory was heavily damaged. He now had to request material aid from the imperial capital to repair the eastern defenses.
The abnormal cold in the north left the Stewart family and demonkin territories in freezing conditions throughout the growing season. Massive crop failure was certain.
Food and heating supplies were short. They also had to organize teams to investigate the current north; three batches had already vanished without a trace.
Not to mention two dukes had died in this war. Their territories were in chaos; various factions maneuvered in the dark.
The pigfolk refused to accept other commanders, while the blood-clan duke’s several blood descendants quarreled over territory inheritance.
Add post-war blame-shifting and a certain “slime” problem.
In short, Emperor Mortis decided to convene a long-overdue imperial conference.
…
Sigmund traveled light, bringing only a few Blood Knights, and finally reached the edge of the churning blood curtain.
As the top culprit of this war, he had to personally rush to Twilight Fortress; he couldn’t attend remotely via projection crystal like Elinore and others.
If the Empire had ultimately won, capturing High Fort would have let him weather this storm.
But the sudden reversal turned everything to ash.
Originally he could share blame with that idiot Xenophon. Now the pighead had died on the battlefield; all pressure fell on Sigmund alone.
Worse, he had recently requested the *Book of Miracles* from the Emperor. The forbidden tome now lay in his tower’s secret chamber. Getting the reward early only worsened his position.
Standing at the blood curtain’s edge, Sigmund gazed at Twilight Fortress’s sinister silhouette and chugged several potions in a row.
Though Lin Jun didn’t recognize the potions, he clearly saw buffs popping up on little Sigmund’s panel one after another:
[Iron Will], [Mind Barrier], [Mental Protection]…
When he stepped into Twilight Fortress’s grand hall, the Emperor Mortis had not yet appeared, but projection crystals representing various factions were already lit.
Elinore was laughing and chatting with several blood-clan dukes, congratulating the prince on his new daughter.
The moment Sigmund entered under a servant’s guidance, the hall gradually quieted. All eyes focused on him; some even let out gloating chuckles.
In this malicious atmosphere, Sigmund’s gaze locked on the figure beneath the throne: succubus Mofrey.
She leaned in the shadows, fingertips twirling wisps of pink mist.
Mofrey wasn’t one of the Twelve Pillars; she was the Emperor’s personal inquisitor, controlling the Empire’s most secret intelligence and prisons.
She had also suffered heavy losses in this war; nearly half her carefully trained spies were gone, including her prized disciple Faya, lost infiltrating Threehill City.
Her presence in the hall made it clear this inquisition wouldn’t end easily.
Mofrey lounged on the throne steps, seductive violet eyes carrying a hint of cruelty as she looked at Sigmund. “So late. I thought you had defected, Lord Sigmund.”
“Defect?” Sigmund’s face darkened. He hadn’t expected such a huge hat right away. “As a blood-clan duke, how could I defect? And defect to where?”
“Naturally to your old friend,” Mofrey smiled lightly. “You didn’t think your past with Alama could stay hidden from me, did you?”
“Then you should know even better that I broke with him long ago; it’s to the death!”
“I used to think so…” The succubus unfurled a parchment. “Until I discovered that suspicious ambush at High Fort. You clearly could have killed Alama, yet you deliberately left at the critical moment, letting him live.”
“That ambush was my arrangement. If I wanted to let him go, why arrange it?”
Mofrey ignored him and continued. “Dragonroar Valley battle; according to surviving soldiers, you clearly had a chance to finish Alama but deliberately talked to delay, causing the reversal.”
“That was… I was careless. I didn’t expect those Puchis to have that ability.”
She suddenly stepped close, finger pressing his chest. “Careless? Or did you still harbor old feelings, even above loyalty to the Empire and His Majesty?”
“Ridiculous!” Sigmund glared at Mofrey. “I have no disloyalty to the Empire!”
“Lies have a thousand faces…” The instant the succubus met Sigmund’s eyes, her pupils swirled with violet light. “And I only trust the answers I find myself!”
“You…!”
Though Sigmund was prepared, at such close range he still retreated step by step.
His mental defenses were like a spiderweb in a storm, cracking layer by layer.
He couldn’t be charmed; that would expose too many secrets.
Not to mention the roommate in his head absolutely couldn’t be revealed.
But he also couldn’t attack Mofrey directly; that would be as good as admitting guilt. She had chosen this moment precisely because she knew that.
Consciousness growing fuzzy, blood energy coiled from Sigmund’s sleeve to his palm. Just as he was about to lose control and strike:
“DON’T F*CKING MESS WITH ME!”
The mental pressure on Sigmund instantly vanished.
Coming to, he found Mofrey’s eyes rolled back. As if struck hard, she went limp, knees buckling. Her forehead thudded heavily on the stone steps like a slaughtered pig, not making a sound.
The hall’s gloating laughter abruptly stopped. No one expected Sigmund’s mental power to be this strong.
Mofrey, a lord-tier expert in mental arts though not combat, had been mentally backlashed into this state by Sigmund?!
Dead silence; only the succubus’s limp body twitched slightly.
When Mofrey’s unconscious form was dragged out by two Blood Guards, a ripple of blood spread behind the throne. Emperor Mortis slowly stepped from the void and sat upon it.
He didn’t even glance at the dragged-away inquisitor, as if the earlier commotion never happened, and began discussing all matters except Sigmund with the demons.
Sigmund maintained an expressionless face but inwardly heaved a huge sigh of relief. He knew he had temporarily passed this hurdle.
He never imagined a day he’d feel grateful hearing that annoying voice.
So much that when the roommate kept complaining in his head about part of him had been dyed purple, Sigmund didn’t interrupt with his usual impatience.
(End of Chapter)
