In the end, Ryan and Sylvia still couldn't see the clown artist's performance. They had barely taken a few steps when the maid captain suddenly squatted down as if electrocuted. "Ugh!"
"Sylvia, what's wrong? You again?" Ryan quickly approached her and squatted down.
"That dark elf must be... Ugh!" Sylvia felt her heart fill with anger and embarrassment. Ryan had just helped her temporarily lift the curse, but that dark elf must be casting spells again!
"Can you stand, Sylvia?" Ryan thought to himself that he would have to... ahem... severely criticize Olica when he got back. This was too much!
"Damn it... Damn it! Why is a woman's body so... so uncooperative?" Sylvia gritted her teeth, trying to stand but couldn't control herself.
Seeing this, Ryan simply scooped her up in a princess carry. "Forget it, we can't watch the performance like this. Let's head back to the tavern for now."
"Ah!" Sylvia yelped as Ryan lifted her. She clutched his shirt weakly. "Just... one more time... please."
"Okay." Ryan carried Sylvia back to the Grail Praise.
Fifteen minutes later, Ryan carried the utterly embarrassed maid captain, who was covering her face with her hands, in a princess carry. The duke's face was a mix of emotions as he gently said, "I'll take you back, Sylvia."
Sylvia felt her dignity, honor, and personality had been shredded before Ryan. She was too ashamed to move, silently nodding, unsure if Ryan had noticed.
But Ryan did notice. Holding her to make her more comfortable, he said, "Don't worry, I'll have Olica lift the curse when we get back. Too bad we missed the performance today."
Sylvia's face felt like it was burning, unable to say a word. She also regretted their interrupted date, but her pride and courage were exhausted. She could only cover her face.
"Next time we get a chance, let's go on another date, okay?" Ryan decided to be direct. Given Sylvia's proud and stubborn nature, who knew how long it would take to ask her out again.
Her face flushed, Sylvia felt conflicted about such a bold invitation. Agreeing seemed too forward and shameless for a maid of Lady Sulia, the castle's maid captain. But refusing was also tricky, given Ryan's position and his promise to bring back her father. If she refused and Ryan changed his mind, what then?
Finally, Sylvia nodded slightly, shyly saying, "Find a suitable time..."
"Then it's a deal!"
"A deal..."
Returning to the castle, Ryan brought Sylvia to Sulia. Seeing Sulia's amused look, the maid captain was mortified, almost fainting again.
Sulia leaned against the bed, her golden curls cascading down like a waterfall. After exchanging a few words with Ryan and a goodnight kiss, she focused on Sylvia. "Get up, Sylvia. Ryan's gone."
"Ugh, Miss, I'm so sorry..." Sylvia buried her face in the blanket, her voice muffled with tears. "I..."
"Haha, it's okay, Sylvia." Sulia, unable to move easily due to her pregnancy, held Sylvia's hand. "I'm glad you went on a date with Ryan. I know you've been upset since our wedding, feeling left out during our honeymoon and then ignored afterward, right?"
The maid captain didn't answer.
"I told you, you'd become Ryan's courtier one day." Sulia's voice was gentle. "I don't want you to leave me, Sylvia. Seeing you and Ryan together makes me happy. Misunderstandings need to be resolved."
"Miss..."
Meanwhile, Ryan returned to his room, barely sitting down when a pair of pink arms wrapped around his neck. A dark elf whispered in his ear, "So, Master, did you like it?"
"Olica!" Ryan said, somewhat reproachfully. "How could you do something so excessive to Sylvia?"
"I didn't cut off her limbs, which is already quite good." Olica's long black hair carried a faint fragrance as she nuzzled Ryan's neck. "Did you take advantage of this chance to capture that proud and serious maid captain?"
"It's not that simple." Ryan shook his head, smiling wryly. "You know Sylvia's personality."
"Master, I'm creating opportunities for you!" Olica said triumphantly. "That maid captain knows too many secrets. You can't let her go; she must be yours. The castle's secrets can't be known by outsiders."
"Hmm." Ryan agreed. Sylvia did know too many secrets.
"Master, failing to capture her must have built up a lot, right?" The dark elf spun around, sliding into Ryan's arms with a seductive smile. "Want me to help?"
"You rascal!" Ryan picked up his close maid and placed her on his lap, kissing her lightly. "Don't think about taking charge!"
Old World, Bretonnia, Duchy of Carcassonne.
After spending considerable time recruiting new troops in Tyrell, Fugen felt it was time. He left Captain Pedro Alvarado of the Ashes Legion and Kislevite Felix to continue recruitment, while he led a small elite force of over 300 greatswords, foot knights, Kislevite winged lancers, and a unit of Araby guards towards Bretonnia.
Accompanying them were the Norscan woman Ingrid, the cheerful Halfling Habby, and Fugen's brother Angron.
The Norscan woman, seeing the dire state of Tyrell, gave up finding work there. Admiring strong individuals, she offered her services to Fugen, who nonchalantly accepted.
Their small group, though few, carried many goods, attracting many bandits. They chose to cross the dangerous Black Mountains, plagued by greenskins, beastmen, and human bandits, especially with the Broken Nose tribe rampaging in the western Black Mountains. Halfling Habby strongly advised against this route, fearing for their safety.
But after crossing the mountains, not only did their goods remain intact, but they also gained additional supplies. Their journey had not resulted in losses but had instead secured more funds for the Ashes Legion.
"Almost there. Just over that mountain lies the border of Bretonnia." A five-meter-tall troll fell with a crash, its head cleaved in two, its body sliced into several pieces, tumbling off the cliff, startling countless birds.
Angron sheathed his beloved vibranium axes and pointed at a stone marker in the distance. "Fugen, look. That's the border marker. Beyond it is the Duchy of Carcassonne."
In the summer heat, under the bright sun and clear skies, Fugen looked over the rugged mountain path. Beyond the mountain lay Carcassonne, where even from a distance, he could see a flock of sheep grazing under a shepherd's guidance.
"It seems we're almost there. Is that the shepherd you mentioned, the Carcassonne shepherd?" Fugen's silver hair fluttered in the mountain breeze as he leaned on his power sword, Glory, gazing into the distance with boundless ambition.
For ten thousand years, he would reclaim everything he had lost, bit by bit.
"Yes, the Carcassonne shepherd," Angron laughed heartily. "These shepherds are the first line of defense against invasions, reporting any threats to the knights in nearby castles, especially Castle Carcassonne, where Duke Hubert resides. Brother, have you heard the story of the green skin invasion? It's a famous fable in Carcassonne."
"Tell me," Fugen said with interest.
"Once, a young shepherd, bored while grazing his sheep, liked to falsely alarm the villagers by shouting, 'Greenskins are coming! Greenskins are coming!'"
"The nearby serfs, grabbing their weapons, rushed to the front lines, only to find no greenskins. The shepherd claimed he was mistaken, and the serfs left angrily."
"The second time, the shepherd again cried greenskins, and the good-hearted serfs rushed up again, only to find no greenskins. The shepherd claimed they ran away, and the serfs were furious."
"Days later, the greenskins really came, overwhelming the sheep. The terrified shepherd cried out, 'Greenskins are here! Greenskins are really here!'"
Fugen, sensing the fable's direction, continued, "But no one believed him, right?"
"No, this time the knights came. Carcassonne's knights formed a lance array, annihilating the greenskin raiders. They also executed the shepherd on the spot for causing false alarms, reporting to the Duke that Carcassonne doesn't tolerate rumor-mongers and never lets down its guard."
"..." Fugen thought the fable had taken a dark and abrupt turn but immediately recognized the information within it.
First, the fable indicated the duchy was constantly attacked by various forces, keeping all residents on high alert.
Second, it described a tiered defense system with shepherds as the first line, serf villages as the second, and nearby castles as the third line of defense, built over a long time.
Lastly, from the knights' perspective, the duchy was under strict rule and speech control.
Fugen grasped this and smiled solemnly. "Angron, where is Castle Carcassonne?"
"Beyond the plateau lies Castle Carcassonne. It's large, with inner and outer walls and a main keep, housing about thirty thousand people. It was a high elf fortress during their Old World colonization, defending the region from invasions. After the elves retreated, Bretonnians took over, and it's been a strategic point guarding southern Bretonnia since the
kingdom's founding." Angron continued explaining.
"For a thousand years, this duchy has repelled endless attacks. The people endure constant warfare, proud to protect Bretonnia from frequent greenskin invasions. The duchy rarely involves itself in internal politics, as knights believe defending against southern threats is their duty." Angron went on. "So, everyone here, from knights to serfs, receives military training. In large-scale invasions, all residents take up arms to defend the kingdom's borders."
"Life here must be tough." Fugen pondered.
"It's better now. Ryan's territory has become prosperous, influencing nearby Winford and Bordeleaux, attracting knights to defend Carcassonne. Moreover, the duchy's livestock now has a market, as free folk can afford meat, boosting the pastoral economy." Angron said. "Though I still prefer my own mutton; it tastes better."
"Ha!" Fugen thought, typical of you. The Primarch of the Emperor's Children said no more, signaling the army to speed up over the mountains, aiming to reach Castle Carcassonne by nightfall.
Checking the map, Fugen noted Castle Carcassonne's proximity to the Black Mountains, a strategic point necessary to control before advancing north to threaten Bretonnia.
So, the Duke guards the kingdom's gate?
The army quickened its pace, crossing the Black Mountains, finally entering Bretonnia. On the endless alpine meadows, Fugen rode a pureblood elven warhorse, and Angron rode a hippogriff.
If all went well, they would soon reach Castle Carcassonne.
But as they descended the alpine meadows towards the castle, something was wrong.
At the mountain's base, smoke billowed from burning villages, the scent of roasted meat and grains mingling with the stench of blood in the river.
Hundreds of beastmen rampaged through human lands, minotaurs slaughtering villagers. The bodies of a woman and two children lay torn apart, the remaining villagers taking refuge in the Lady's shrine for a final stand.
Cries, screams, and roars filled the air.
"Beastmen!" Fugen's face darkened. He raised his sword, his voice edged with anger. "Prepare for battle, soldiers! Let's tear these chaotic beasts apart!"
"Yes!"
An encounter battle was imminent.
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