After finishing his work for the day, Mo sat by the window, staring blankly at the oppressive gray sky.
Half a month had passed since the Witch King’s visit, and everything was progressing according to Mo’s plan.
The Witch King had indeed provided Mo with considerable support—enough, in fact, for him to establish himself as a king and secure a territory of his own.
Whether in terms of resources or manpower, the support far exceeded anything Mo had received in the past.
Most importantly, he didn’t have to worry about whether the newcomers would betray him.
The Witch King’s strict selection process was extremely reliable.
In any case, Leithanien would be the main battlefield of the Four-Nation War, so the Witch King’s interests and Mo’s goals were aligned.
The people sent here were all civil servants under the Witch King.
Managing shelters and distributing supplies were simple tasks for them.
Their combat capabilities, however, were another matter.
It was difficult to say whether the Witch King hadn’t intentionally sent them here to hide and protect them.
After all, post-war repair and reconstruction were major disciplines in their own right.
The footsteps of war were drawing closer.
Leithanien was already showing signs of internal unrest, and rumors had begun circulating that emissaries from Gaul had arrived in Leithanien.
If everything went as expected, within a week, this group of Gaulish emissaries would arrive with grand ambitions of “reshaping the heavens and earth,” only to be crushed into a ball by the Witch King and sent flying back to the Gaul Emperor.
Thinking about it, Mo had spent many years wandering between the two countries and could be considered to have some influence in both.
Originally, he had intended to use that influence to ease tensions between the two nations and buy them some time.
But after learning through his connections what Corsica I had sent, all Mo wanted to say was:
Do whatever you want.
They actually wanted Leithanien to bow its head and submit?
Had Corsica I gotten too full of himself, or had the Witch King forgotten how to wield his blade?
Well, judging from the circumstances, it seemed that Corsica I really had gotten too full of himself.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have attempted the high-level maneuver of taking on three opponents at once.
He was indeed a military genius.
But he wasn’t the only genius on this land.
War was not some docile beast waiting to be tamed.
No one person could control its direction.
When ambition exceeded ability, disaster was inevitable.
Sigh.
What a pity.
During this period, the Witch King would occasionally come to this small tavern to rest, practically treating it as his own home.
He came and went whenever he pleased, and he never missed an opportunity to mock Mo for not knowing this or that.
It annoyed Mo so much that he had gone off and learned bartending overnight.
It just so happened that Mo was the only one stationed here during this period.
There was no one else in the tavern—not even anyone to share the warmth with him.
And Fremont had no idea where he had run off to.
Someone, please help!
Fremont: Thanks for the invitation.
I’m at the library looking up information.
If you need anything, send me a message.
Recently, the frequency of the Witch King’s visits had noticeably decreased.
Mo hadn’t seen him for several days.
It seemed that the Witch King’s research into the Desolate Realm had made significant progress, and he had likely entered a critical stage.
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
Causing trouble at a time like this…
Wasn’t that practically walking straight into the line of fire?
Mo felt sorry for the emissaries for three seconds.
Although the Witch King didn’t care much about these troublesome affairs, if someone interfered with his research…
Heh.
Then they really were asking to get themselves blown to pieces.
Sigh.
Just thinking about what would happen next gave Mo a headache.
It seemed he needed to prepare for war in advance.
With that thought, Mo stood up, intending to head to the stronghold and notify them to make preparations.
Then—
Interestingly, they weren’t from the same faction.
The group on the right were clearly locals from Leithanien.
They were dressed lavishly and obviously weren’t commoners.
They were most likely representatives sent by nobles or Electors to win Mo over.
The group on the left was even more interesting.
They were actually Gaulish.
If Mo wasn’t mistaken, they were the newly arrived Gaulish emissaries.
Looking at the two groups standing before him, Mo couldn’t help sighing.
What kind of mess is this?
“If you have something to say, say it.
“If not, leave.
“Leithanien people, you go first.”
Mo couldn’t be bothered to avoid the confrontation.
He simply drew the longsword at his waist, planted its tip against the ground, and tapped it lightly.
Clang.
The crisp sound echoed through the room.
Seeing Mo draw his weapon without warning, the surrounding people instinctively took a step backward.
The leader of the Leithanien group swallowed nervously before stepping forward.
“We represent the will of many nobles in Leithanien and extend an invitation to you.
“Join us, resist the Witch King’s tyranny, and make Leithanien great again!”
“Pfft…”
The Gaulish emissaries standing nearby couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Hahahaha!”
Their laughter was filled with undisguised disdain and contempt toward the Leithanien nobles.
When Mo had been in Gaul, he had naturally received similar recruitment attempts.
The result had always been the same.
He had beaten every group of lobbyists who came to recruit him until they could barely stand.
Hearing the Gaulish people’s ridicule, the Leithanien representatives’ expressions became ugly.
Yet they endured it without lashing out and continued trying to preach to Mo about the benevolence of the Leithanien nobles.
Mo rolled his eyes.
He was too lazy to listen to their nonsense.
He casually swung his longsword.
Bang!
The incessantly chattering Leithanien representative was sent flying by a single strike.
“If you’re finished with your nonsense, get lost.
“I can’t be bothered to listen to your chatter.
“Don’t let me see you again.
“Get out.”
The remaining Leithanien representatives hurriedly helped their unconscious leader to his feet and fled in defeat.
Tsk.
They didn’t even say anything tough.
Poor rating.
Mo sheathed his sword and turned his attention to the Gaulish emissaries.
“Your turn.
“What do you want with me?”
The leading Gaulish emissary stepped forward and respectfully presented a letter.
Then he explained the purpose of their visit.
It was a letter from Corsica I.
The Gaul Emperor intended to form an alliance with Leithanien and use it to contend with the other nations in Terra’s core region, ultimately restoring Gaul to a position of hegemony.
But to achieve that goal, the Witch King had to be removed.
Leithanien could not continue to be ruled by a monarch as powerful as the Witch King.
The reins of any alliance had to be firmly held by Gaul. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
To that end, Corsica I planned to use war to end the Witch King’s rule and military force to shape Leithanien into an ally suitable for Gaul’s interests.
And the true purpose of this group of emissaries was not simply to deliver a letter to the Witch King.
More importantly, they had come to intensify the conflict between the Witch King and Gaul, thereby creating a legitimate pretext for Gaul to launch a war.
To put it bluntly, these emissaries were all death squads.
When Corsica I sent them here, he had never intended for them to return alive.
They would use their own lives to light the fuse of war and trigger a brutal conflict.
That was also why they had come to find Mo.
If Mo agreed to join them, then with cooperation from both inside and outside Leithanien, Gaul could achieve its objective at a lower cost, freeing up more of its strength to restore its position of hegemony.
If Mo refused, they at least wanted him to remain neutral and refrain from actively interfering in the war between the two nations.
In fact, they had deliberately come here at the same time as the Leithanien nobles.
The nobles’ attempt to recruit Mo had even been instigated by them.
The lobbyists Mo had driven away would inevitably return to their superiors and report the incident, most likely with considerable embellishment.
The Witch King’s eyes and ears would certainly hear about it.
Once the seeds of suspicion were planted, it would be impossible for Leithanien to maintain a friendly attitude toward Mo’s presence.
At the very least, it could force Mo into a neutral position, preventing him from interfering in the war between the two nations.
It was indeed a clever plan.
A textbook open conspiracy.
One that was practically impossible to avoid.
After all, Gaul had no Liches.
They didn’t know that Mo had never established contact with Kazdel.
Instead, they regarded him as an extension of the Wendigo—or perhaps even the will of the Sarkaz.
If such a force entered the battlefield, it could have a decisive impact.
After all, what kind of Wendigo wandered around for no reason?
As for the conditions Gaul offered, they were quite generous.
Independent territory.
A mobile city.
Military support.
Construction assistance.
Political status officially recognized by the Emperor.
It could be said that as long as Mo accepted their terms, he could establish a state within a state.
And this fit the plight of the Sarkaz extremely well.
They had no fixed homeland and were not recognized by the nations of Terra.
It was almost the perfect offer.
However—
I refuse.
The Witch King had treated Mo well.
Even if much of it stemmed from his own peculiar sense of humor, the Witch King had genuinely provided Mo with considerable assistance.
Moreover, Mo despised betrayal.
Big Daddy’s tragedy had been caused by the betrayal of others.
Mo would never pledge allegiance to anyone.
But neither would he actively betray anyone.
That was his bottom line.
It was also his principle.
Besides…
Had these people seriously misunderstood the Witch King’s power?
Mo had every reason to believe that the moment the emissaries appeared outside the tavern, the Witch King was already watching them.
The Witch King came here almost every day.
Mo absolutely wouldn’t believe that he hadn’t already made some arrangements.
“If you want to seek death, I won’t accompany you.
“Get lost.
“Go back to wherever you came from.
“Don’t let me see you again.
“I’ll only say this once.”
Mo tossed the letter aside.
Then he turned around, locked the tavern door, and walked away into the distance.