Lin Jun cradled the jar of honey, strolling lazily before the ranks.
Trailing closest behind him were not the adjutant but two half-vampires who remained hunched, eyes never blinking as they watched the smallest shifts in his expression.
One of them was the “Loyal Retainer No.1” who had, by a hair, survived being taken by Veyralis that day.
He later wailed that the madwoman had merely thought his hand shape and the face of another companion were “nice-looking,” and casually “took” them away.
Lin Jun, kind-hearted, didn’t hesitate to force a precious regeneration potion down his throat and restore him.
The other was Lin Jun’s newly chosen Loyal Retainer No.2.
Now Lin Jun scanned around and, as expected, Loyal Retainer No.1 proved more perceptive—he decisively flopped to the ground so Lin Jun could sit comfortably on him.
Loyal Retainer No.2 was instantly heartbroken, deeply reflecting on why he’d been one step slower and missed the chance to demonstrate his loyalty.
That was exactly why Lin Jun insisted on having two—competition in service industries improves quality; monopolies lead to declining service standards.
On the battlefield both armies had long since arrayed in grim formation; murderous intent hung in the air, almost tangible, waiting only for Sigismund’s order to erupt into bloodshed.
Yet Sigismund, the supreme commander, merely sat at the front, dipping his finger into the honey jar again and again, slowly bringing the amber-thick sweetness to his mouth.
His absurdly casual demeanor seemed to ratchet up the stakes of the fight; that invisible pressure made many human soldiers on Highfort Fortress’ walls sweat and struggle to breathe.
But Elinor and Veyralis—who had worked with him long enough—thought something else.
They had noticed Sigismund’s odd “habit.”
Since the last attempt to corner Alamar, Sigismund had failed at the crucial moment for the sake of honey; combined with his current girth, the two women easily recognized Sigismund’s problem.
Undoubtedly, Sigismund had probably been struck by some vicious curse, or paid a terrible price for some great power!
He must periodically consume large amounts of sugar, or else he would fall into weakness, perhaps even… risk death!
The latter possibility seemed even more likely!
After all, Sigismund and Alamar’s enmity was well known; apart from his own life, what could be more important than personally killing Alamar?
It couldn’t be that the proud border duke had truly become so foolish as to give up the chance at glory for a sweet taste!
Elinor felt a secret, guilty pleasure at this newly discovered fatal flaw in Sigismund.
Although she had been angry at Sigismund for letting Alamar escape previously, Alamar was now trapped like a frog in a jar, and Highfort Fortress couldn’t hold forever—so the credit would eventually belong to her.
From that perspective, discovering an opponent’s fatal weakness without lifting a finger was a godsend.
Veyralis’s thoughts were simpler; she licked her lips, violet eyes flashing with excited danger as she whispered, “The way he licks honey… so cute! I want to kill him right now!”
Meanwhile, at the center of the battlefield, inside Sigismund’s mind—
“Stop eating! Order the attack already! If you delay any longer, the sun will rise!” Sigismund’s mental voice roared.
“Why shout?” Lin Jun’s consciousness answered lazily. “After all, this is your war, Sigismund. Why should I bother commanding it?”
“It’s your body now!”
“I don’t care,” Lin Jun muttered, “as long as I get my honey, I’m satisfied. Power and glory—I’ve got enough for now.”
“Then let me take over; I’ll make it up to you later!”
“Nine out, thirteen back, compounding daily.”
Sigismund fell silent.
Even though he currently held an advantage, Highfort Fortress wasn’t paper—completely breaking it would take at least a week to half a month.
If they actually calculated interest the way Lin Jun joked—“nine out, thirteen back” [a facetious, usury-style phrase implying impossible compound interest]—it might as well be the same as selling the body outright.
Time ticked on. The front was terrifyingly quiet.
Lin Jun had already eaten nearly half the jar of golden honey when Sigismund finally spoke again.
In a tone none of his subordinates had ever heard—almost gentle and friendly—he said inside Lin Jun’s mind, “I understand. You resent that I casually sent your dog… your people into danger before. That was thoughtless of me. But didn’t you already get your revenge in the ambush on Alamar? We share one body now; if we keep retaliating at each other, we’ll both lose and let outsiders profit!”
Reasonable; Lin Jun nodded.
Seizing the moment, Sigismund proposed, “How about this: you name your terms—what would make you help me? It won’t take much time, just issue a few simple attack orders. The rest of the time you can enjoy your honey in peace, how about that?”
“Nine out—”
“Not that one!” Sigismund almost bit off the words, struggling to hold back his boiling anger.
Fortunately, Lin Jun finally stopped clinging to that dreadful usury gag.
“You’re right. We should pull together; sabotaging each other is pointless.”
Sigismund wanted to bellow, “You’re the one always sabotaging me!” but now that the other’s attitude had softened, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to argue—he transmitted a contented “mm” into Lin Jun’s mind.
“So, I think you deserve half the credit. Doesn’t His Majesty have that Book of Miracles about the Abyss? After the war, when rewards are assigned, you can swap it and let me see it!”
“Half… of that, huh…”
That book had once been the bait he used to coax the necromancer Margas into helping.
It wasn’t an empty promise.
If the original plan had proceeded smoothly, he truly would have petitioned His Majesty for that book as a reward.
But now… there were three dukes fighting side by side!
Anyone with half a brain could see that even if they seized Highfort Fortress, his share of material rewards and land would shrink dramatically after claiming the Book of Miracles.
Still… between two evils, choose the lesser. That was better than being punished by His Majesty for losing the campaign because of an annoying houseguest inside him!
...
Lin Jun waved for his adjutant.
“Notify Veyralis—have her trolls charge the left flank, with the rest of her troops following; if possible, sabotage the underground mana transmission nodes. Let Elinor lead an assault on the rightmost magic tower; that tower’s damaged and should be… You take the Blood Knights—split them into three companies of a hundred, deploy them in loose skirmish lines to accompany the main assault at the gate, making a show of a frontal attack but retreat upon contact…”
What “simple commands”—Lin Jun recited Sigismund’s entire plan in one breath until his mouth went dry.
Watching the adjutant depart with orders, he snorted, “With so much force, why not just F2A and be done with it… all the fancy moves.”
Lin Jun certainly didn’t want the demons to win; a single dominant demon power would obviously block his mycelial expansion plans.
But honestly, he couldn’t help humans much.
He only controlled half of Sigismund. Small manipulations were fine; anything too blatant and without the imperial upper echelons’ reckoning, Sigismund himself would choose mutual destruction.
Lin Jun had no intention of sacrificing himself for humanity.
He only hoped the Pujis’ father would pull through; on the mental level he’d give them his fullest support!
——
Golden Valley City, a small city in the middle-west of the kingdom, garrisoned by two thousand troops.
Although close to Duke Brennus’s front, fortunately the flames of war hadn’t reached it.
During the standoff, like other towns, Golden Valley became a temporary shelter for the wounded and a transit hub for supplies.
If there was any difference from nearby fortresses, among its two thousand garrisoned troops five hundred were Pujis Corps and five hundred were orcish units; human soldiers made up only half.
The various orc tribes, nominal members of the United Kingdom, mostly lived in the undeveloped southeastern jungles.
Although the tribes collectively didn’t control territory comparable to any duke’s holdings, and were often excluded from major decisions and suffered discrimination in many places, when faced with the Empire’s threat they were undeniably indispensable and were conscripted in full.
Unlike humans, their recruitment quota was mandatory.
Tiger-people possessed innate strength, leopard-people were agile—excellent soldiers.
The problem was the conscripted orc units weren’t only tigers and leopards; orcs were a very mixed bunch.
Rat-people, fox-people, bird-people… many were weak.
And some groups counted as orcs had joined the Empire—such as pig-people.
The conscripted orc troops were a motley crew; in a battlefield requiring unified command and discipline they weren’t ideal.
But something was better than nothing.
Angela, commander of these orc units, would have liked more troops, even if mixed.
Right now she felt no security.
News of Brennus’s army routed, the Sword Saint gravely wounded or perhaps dead, spread through the city with the flood of fleeing troops.
Civilians abandoned hope, packed their belongings and fled en masse, seeking safer rear areas.
Golden Valley lacked towering walls and powerful mana towers.
No one believed the city could withstand a demon assault on a mere surrounding moat without a major army.
Even Angela didn’t think they could hold.
Yet no withdrawal order had been issued.
Naturally, desertion began.
A month ago those who complained about not getting glory at the front were now running; in days thirty Puji Masters deserted, and over fifty ordinary soldiers fled—only the orc units had so far no deserters.
That wasn’t because Angela was superior; by law deserter punishment for orcs was harsher and could affect entire tribes.
As an officer, unless she planned to defect or doom her family, she had to obey orders.
Now she could only pray the demon army would keep chasing Brennus’s remnants eastward and not notice little Golden Valley.
But that was impossible.
The demons chased Brennus’s remnants, yet they wouldn’t pass up easy prey.
Several demon contingents split off to pounce on nearby weakly defended areas.
They came for two things—kill and loot.
When Angela saw a serpent-people contingent appear at a distance, despair set in.
About two thousand strong, they looked like front-line combat troops with high morale.
Angela’s side was only local garrison forces, losing men daily to desertion.
The outcome was obvious.
The city walls—if unfortified by special magic arrays—were mainly good for collecting taxes in peacetime.
As a small, unimportant city, Golden Valley had none of the fortifications of a true stronghold.
The serpent-people didn’t hurry to assault; they camped beyond arrow range.
Angela guessed they intended to wait for the city to collapse from within.
And at present, their strategy seemed to be working quite well.
“Viscount Knight, maybe… maybe we should retreat!” a trembling commander suggested. “We can’t win. Even if we do, it’ll only draw more demons and bring retribution! Better—”
Before he could finish, the viscount responded with his sword.
A head rolled, bouncing to Angela’s feet; she swallowed hard.
None of them had expected the usually affable Viscount Knight to draw steel in such a moment.
“Where would you run? Lead your family to be fined into slavery? Or surrender to the demons and be taken as slaves?” the gray-haired viscount spat, blood from the blade shaking off. “Grip your weapons! For your family, for your dignity!”
“No one dared to oppose him.
Yet that night nearly a hundred more deserted, including the Pujis Corps commander.
Strangely, Angela and another colleague were promoted, becoming thousand-man commanders; the Pujis Corps was placed under her command…
The next day, as expected, the serpent-people did not wait—they attacked.
But when the clash truly began, the situation turned out somewhat different than either side had anticipated?!