Chapter 113 Lucian’s preparations, starting over

As Arius focused on cultivating spirit insects and venomous creatures, the De Molinos family’s territory remained largely undisturbed. The turmoil of the Eight Kings’ struggle for power and the invasion of the demonic sects had yet to reach them.

Meanwhile, with Lin Yaode leading a hundred thousand elite De Molinos family troops to the battlefield—and after a series of strategic public announcements—the Albigensians Sect had temporarily ceased requisitioning resources, armored guards, or cultivators from the De Molinos family.

Within the clan, efforts were being made to train more mortal armored guards, while simultaneously mobilizing resources to recruit external cultivators.

The presence of the Blood Wolf Hall cultivator unit, led by Goat Child, ensured that integrating a few wandering cultivators into the family ranks would not disrupt internal stability.

After all, the Blood Wolf Hall’s cultivators were unwaveringly loyal to the De Molinos family—for their lives were held firmly in Arius’s grasp.

Yet Arius did not rule purely through coercion. These cultivators were provided with ample resources and status within the family.

Force alone could not guarantee their genuine loyalty. True control required a balance of reward and punishment. A blow with the stick, followed by a sweet reward—that was the true art of leadership.

Internally, the De Molinos family continued to consolidate strength, expand trade routes, and work diligently to repair their small floating airship.

Once the repairs were complete, Simon intended to dispatch a group of clan members and cultivators on a journey to the territory of Corvalis State.

Of course, careful planning was essential. The lands of Aragon State were far from peaceful, and even with an airship, crossing the borders was no simple feat.

Time passed swiftly, seasons shifting unnoticed.

The vast lands stretched endlessly beneath an autumn sky. Red-tinted frost leaves covered the mountains, and the wind carried a sharp chill. The hum of insects in the fields gradually fell silent beneath the touch of the autumn breeze.

At the border of Pyrenees County, the scent of war lingered in the air.

The bodies of mortal armored guards had long since decayed into stark white skeletons.

Rust-covered broken swords and fractured armor, bearing the scars of battle, lay scattered across the mountain ravines.

The wind swept up dust and fragments of bloodstained garments, carrying them across the barren land—as if attempting to return these remnants to their homeland.

“The ambition of the Eight Kings is built upon the bones of the common people… How can they still claim to walk the righteous path? How can they call themselves just?”

“These mortals were innocent… they should not have fallen here.”

A grand procession marched past the battlefield, their banners bearing the insignia of Huangtian Stronghold.

Within the ranks, a young man dressed in simple hemp robes—following closely behind Lucian—spoke with sorrowful indignation.

This youth was none other than Pyrelis Jason, the Crown Prince of Aragon State. He gazed at the battlefield’s carnage, his heart heavy with grief and helplessness.

As Crown Prince, he had been raised with the belief that his duty was to restore the Aragon royal family’s prestige and protect its people.

To him, these mortals—now reduced to nothing but skeletal remains—had once been his subjects.

His people, now dead. His subjects turned to dust. The sight filled him with a complex mix of emotions.

Hearing Pyrelis’s lament, the Old Diviner walking beside him remained calm, his voice indifferent.

“Young master, you’ve seen too little of the world.”

“This pile of bones? It’s nothing.”

“The drought that struck not long ago—that was true hell on earth.”

“And tell me—were these mortal armored guards not already stained with blood in life?”

“For them to perish here… is a form of liberation.”

“In war, both sides suffer losses. That is the nature of conflict.”

“Only once Aragon State is unified once more, only when a ruler consolidates power, can these mortals receive real protection—instead of being reduced to mere fodder for the battlefield.”

As the Old Diviner spoke, his eyes drifted subtly toward Lucian.

The chaos within Aragon State was already set in motion—unstoppable, inevitable.

Yet, deep in his intuition, he sensed that Lucian… might possess the potential to seize control of Aragon’s fate.

“We must keep moving.”

“No more idle chatter.”

“We must reach Hyolled County within two months.”

“Only then… can we begin to establish our foothold.”

Lucian’s calm voice cut through the exchange between the Old Diviner and Pyrelis.

This time, Lucian was acting under Carl’s orders—his mission was to establish a foothold in Hyolled County.

The situation in Hyolled County was treacherous. The forces of four feudal lords were entrenched within its borders, each vying for dominance.

With his current strength and the small force accompanying him, Lucian’s journey to Hyolled County was bound to be perilous.

But peril was also an opportunity.

If he could establish a stable foothold, he could gradually break free from Carl’s control.

Four lords fighting for power—why couldn’t he turn this chaos to his advantage?

If the right opportunity presented itself, Lucian planned to leverage the influence of these rival feudal lords, using their power to propel his own rise.

Carl had aligned himself with Dylan Yates, recognizing him as his adoptive father and gaining the favor of Jackson—a powerful figure.

For Lucian to carve out his own domain, striking out alone was not an option.

Carl was suspicious by nature and ruthlessly jealous.

Should Lucian distance himself too openly, he would surely become the target of his retribution.

Although they were both of the Lin bloodline, Carl was no longer the man he once was.

Having endured countless trials and temptations, he had long since abandoned family ties for power.

His heart had grown cold, his ambitions consuming him whole.

Lucian had once considered walking away from the struggle altogether.

After all, the natural disasters had ended, and with his cultivation level, returning to the De Molinos family would not be difficult.

There, he could continue training in the Divine Demon Nirvana Technique, slowly growing stronger within the safety of the clan.

But as he looked upon the chaos consuming the land, he abandoned the notion of retreat.

The world had descended into an age of warring lords, of kings clashing for supremacy.

And he, too, wished to grasp his three-foot sword and carve out a legacy of his own.

To claim a battlefield worthy of his name.

To bring peace to the mortals caught in the storm.

Even after witnessing endless slaughter, blood-soaked fields, and corpses piled high, a part of Lucian remained unchanged.

He was not a sentimental fool, nor was he overflowing with naive compassion.

But within his abilities—he would grant mortals a place of safety.

“Move out! Keep marching!”

Casting aside his chaotic thoughts, Lucian took the lead, surging forward at an unrelenting pace, heading straight for Hyolled County.

Meanwhile, at the border of Pyrenees County, within a massive military camp, several powerful figures stood tall.

Each exuded an overwhelming aura, their cultivation firmly at the Level 3 realm.

In a corner of the camp, Carl stood respectfully behind Dylan Yates, his expression filled with caution.

Beside him, the corpse puppet of the Ten Thousand Venoms Master stood motionless, its eerie presence looming.

Carl had been inching closer to Dylan Yates’s inner circle, and his adoptive father had mentioned him numerous times in front of Jackson.

Because of this, Jackson had begun granting Carl special privileges.

Even now, he was permitted to attend high-level strategic meetings, sitting in on discussions that could determine the fate of entire regions.

“The Luo River Basin has been the site of over four hundred large-scale battles throughout history—the tides of war have always shaped its destiny!”

“Remember this—this single, seemingly small river basin has decided the rise and fall of countless factions!”

At the head of the room, Jackson stood clad in obsidian-black armor, his frame heavyset—bearing a striking seven-point resemblance to Dylan Yates.

His voice boomed with fervor as he analyzed the battlefield situation with an impassioned speech.