Although Mo had left Leithanien to travel through other nations, his followers here had never stopped recruiting new members on his behalf.
Under Tom’s efforts, quite a few people had gathered.
Nearly forty of them now stood quietly inside the tavern, packed together in a dense crowd.
Anyone who didn’t know better might have thought they were plotting some grand conspiracy.
Tsk.
This really did feel like an illegal gathering of a criminal organization.
We were a legitimate civil rights organization and charity.
Law-abiding citizens through and through.
Before Mo left, there had only been around twenty people here.
Had the number really doubled just during his little trip around the continent?
Well, Mo would never believe there weren’t spies from other factions mixed in among them.
Fortunately, they weren’t rebels like the remnants of the Witch King would become later.
Otherwise, things would have been much more troublesome.
Don’t ask why there were so few people.
Any more than this, and they would probably be wiped out immediately under accusations of being a cult, a treasonous organization, or something equally ridiculous.
Besides, Mo’s actions were essentially about serving the people without expecting much in return.
Yet the people of this land were already struggling with everything they had just to survive.
How could they possibly have the strength to help a group of strangers?
Mo looked around the tavern.
After thinking for a moment, he suddenly felt that something was strangely familiar.
A tavern.
A gathering.
A speech…
Hiss…
It’s you!
Ms.
Beer Hall Putsch!
This feels just like a beer hall riot.
What?
You say I’m not a failed art student?
Oh, that’s not quite right.
When you’re out in the world, you define your own identity.
Since no one knows what I originally did anyway, I can become one if necessary.
Bread worth five hundred thousand marks?
Don’t worry.
Although we don’t have that much now, we’ll have it soon enough.
Once the war begins, everyone will be eating dirt anyway.
It seemed that all the necessary elements had gathered.
Mo looked down at the crowd and suddenly didn’t know what to say.
Sigh.
Whatever.
He didn’t like pointless chatter anyway, so he might as well get straight to the point.
“I won’t say much. Those who want to hear more can imagine the rest themselves.”
“What I want to tell you is that war is coming.”
“Coming here was your own choice, and what you do is your own decision. I’m merely an outsider. This is ultimately your home.”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you what to do, should I?”
Mo’s crimson eyes were like burning flames as they swept across everyone present. This story is hosted at novelping.com.
An oppressive atmosphere permeated the tavern.
It was as though the entire world had frozen in that instant.
“That’s all I have to say.”
“From here on, proceed according to the plan. Good luck to all of you.”
With that, Mo turned and left to begin arranging the next phase of his work, leaving the gathered crowd behind.
Silence descended over the tavern.
No one spoke.
Even the most energetic members wore solemn expressions.
Every person held a flame of determination in their heart.
In the past, they had lived at the very bottom of society—unrespected, unwanted, and ignored.
But now, their opportunity had finally arrived.
An invisible flame spread throughout the crowd.
It was still weak, but its shape had already begun to take form.
Of course, this fire probably wouldn’t grow very large.
After all, the Witch King was no mere figurehead.
But at the very least…
It was a glimmer of hope.
May they find a good ending.
After the gathering dispersed, the spies mixed among the crowd quietly left the tavern.
They immediately reported everything that had happened to their respective superiors.
Most of those superiors were nobles and other influential figures.
The nobles’ attitude toward Mo had always leaned toward winning him over.
After all, Mo’s roots weren’t in Leithanien, and he was essentially alone.
Anyone who provoked him would be the one suffering the consequences.
The nobles, however, were different.
Their influence was deeply rooted in Leithanien.
As the saying went, the barefoot have nothing to fear from those wearing shoes.
If they angered Mo, there was nothing to be gained.
Therefore, most of them maintained a wait-and-see attitude toward Mo’s actions.
Except for one old geezer who preferred not to reveal his name.
At the highest tower in Leithanien, Fremont stared at the intelligence report before him, momentarily at a loss for words.
When Mo had first arrived in Leithanien, Fremont had already begun paying attention to him.
After all, a Wendigo wouldn’t simply wander around for no reason.
Fremont had initially suspected that Kazdel had some sort of business with him.
Because of that, he had even deliberately waited at the Witch King’s tower for two days.
Yet he eventually discovered that this newly arrived Wendigo really did seem to be doing nothing more than wandering around Leithanien.
During his first few days, Mo wandered from place to place, writing and drawing as he went, almost as though he were conducting an inspection tour.
Although Fremont was rather curious about Mo’s behavior, he wasn’t idle enough to watch him every moment of every day.
He had plenty of matters to deal with himself.
So he simply found someone to keep an eye on Mo and report anything noteworthy.
As a result, Fremont received the news almost immediately after Mo returned to Leithanien.
In fact, Fremont had already been aware of what Mo had done in the other nations.
Protecting the rights of the Infected.
Building wartime shelters.
To Fremont, it seemed almost absurd.
He had once suspected that Kazdel was conducting some new experiment.
That was until Kazdel sent a reply explicitly denying it.
According to the letter, Kazdel didn’t even know of Mo’s existence.
That immediately caught Fremont’s attention.
He had originally intended to find Mo and question him personally.
And now, Mo had finally returned to Leithanien.
“Fremont, what has left you so perplexed?”
A deep and majestic voice came from behind him.
The speaker wore magnificent black robes.
His enormous horns, intertwined with black and red, immediately revealed his identity.
“Helzoin.”
The Lich, who had long since grown indifferent to the passage of time, turned toward the monarch behind him and shook his head.
“It’s merely a junior making some meaningless attempts.”
“Oh?”
“That sounds interesting. Is it that mysterious Wendigo?”
Fremont silently looked at the Witch King.
He wasn’t surprised in the slightest.
This was Helzoin’s nation.
Everything here was like notes written onto a musical score, all falling beneath his gaze.
The Wendigo’s arrival had rudely inserted his own notes into that composition, making himself particularly conspicuous within the Witch King’s grand score.
Mo’s actions had long since appeared upon that score.
The Witch King already knew everything.
Only incompetent monarchs needed eyes and ears.
The Will of Leithanien itself had already transformed into a power comparable to heaven and earth.
Massive thunder.
Endless rain.
Howling winds.
All of them wrote their own melodies upon the grand score known as Leithanien.
“An interesting newcomer.”
“As the incarnation of war and violence, he is actually calling for peace and equality.”
“Since when did even the philosophies of the Wendigo begin to change?”
“I have tacitly permitted his transgressions and allowed incompetent officials to make way for him.”
“I am very curious to see what kind of picture he will present to me.”
The Witch King merely stood there, yet his arrogance and hubris were unmistakable.
Fremont looked at him disdainfully and openly mocked him.
“I was wondering how he managed to organize a group of people right under your nose.”
“So even you, the ‘Will of Leithanien,’ have become his supporter.”
“Then, our noble Majesty…”
The Lich’s disdain was completely undisguised.
“May I ask you to condescend to visit this interesting foreign guest?”
“Very well.”
“Huh?!”
Today’s outcome:
Liberi wins!
Congratulations to Fremont on officially joining the ranks of the spiritual Liberi.
How joyous.
How joyous.