“Sander!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Kill him!”

“Yes, sir!”

Sander had always obeyed Lint’s orders, and to him, these ancient nobles were no different from random strangers on the street.

Upon hearing Lint’s order, Sander drew his sword with a metallic clang and strode forward.

“How dare you! What do you think you’re doing, Lint? This is the Boule Chamber, and these are your elders!”

While Fury’s words were threatening, his actions were swift. He quickly drew his sword and assumed a fighting stance, igniting the Lancelot Family’s snow-white energy at the same time. His movements were fluid and rhythmic, demonstrating his prowess even at his advanced age.

Sander moved faster. His longsword, imbued with green energy, descended in a powerful slash.

Though Fury was old, he was an experienced fighter and immediately held up his sword to block the blow, preparing to divert the onslaught. Fury never expected to defeat Sander by himself after Sander made the first move; he only needed to hold out for a few exchanges until the other ancients reacted. They would never allow Lint and Sander to continue their rampage.

However, as soon as their swords met, Fury realized something was wrong. A burst of pressure hit him, and Sander twisted his sword, sending Fury’s weapon flying.

“Great Knight!”

Fury’s expression shifted from calm to terrified. Never mind a few moves, he wasn’t sure if he could survive the next blow. Besides, none of the ancients possessed the power of a Great Knight, so no one could stop Sander from killing him.

“Wait! Let’s talk things over.”

Fury was frightened; never had he expected that Lint’s personal attendant would possess the strength of a Great Knight. If he had, he never would have stepped out to challenge Sander, or at the very least, not so openly. Now, his only hope was to convince Sander to spare him, though he had no idea how.

Yet Sander had no intention of stopping. Without Lint’s explicit orders otherwise, Sander would not rest until Fury was dead.

After the flash of Fury’s weapon, Sander’s sword swung through the air unimpeded toward Fury’s neck. The longsword, imbued with the energy of a Great Knight, sliced through Fury’s skin as easily as a blade cutting into tofu, severing the major artery and windpipe.

Fury’s head rolled to the middle of the aisle, blood spilling everywhere. Some of the ancients sitting in the front rows were unable to dodge the spray and were partially covered in blood, looking quite wretched.

After Fury’s head rolled once around on the ground, silence finally settled over the chamber. No one had expected that Lint’s subordinate would possess the power of a Great Knight.

Even if Lint’s management skills were commendable and he had some powerful assets, the ancients had confidence that they could suppress him, at most, with a handful of knights. They never expected that Lint would have a trump card like Sander, who was a Great Knight, and that he would strike down the most vocal of their number, Elder Fury, without hesitation.

Given how effortlessly Sander had dispatched Fury, he likely wasn’t a novice Great Knight, but rather, a veteran of the rank.

The atmosphere in the Boule Chamber was heavy with apprehension; the once indignant ancients dared not even move.

“Does anyone else wish to take control of Flooding Snow City?” Lint asked. As he spoke, he scanned the chamber, and those ancient nobles under his gaze quickly shook their heads, afraid that they would be next on the chopping block.

Seeing that no one dared respond, Lint continued. “I understand that you all wish to contribute to Flooding Snow City during this time of crisis. If you want to help, just tell me directly; I’m not denying you the chance.”

The words Lint spoke left the Boule Chamber’s ancients speechless. Elder Fury’s head remained on the ground, eyes still staring upward—how could Lint say such things to them now?

“Everyone, please follow Sander to the Fifth Legion’s encampment. You will temporarily report to him, and you will have your chance to fight.”

“What?”

The ancients weren’t stupid; clearly, Lint intended to drag them onto the battlefield. Although those who had reached the Boule Chamber’s rank possessed the power of a knight, after so many years of resting on their families’ laurels, none were eager to return to the frontlines.

“Oh? Is someone unwilling? Anyone with objections may step forward now.”

Though Lint’s tone was calm, Sander stood behind him, glaring daggers at the group of ancients. The last remaining braveheart among them promptly retreated, defeated by the mere sight of the blood on Sander’s sword.

Despite their hesitation, none of the ancients dared step forward.

“Seems everyone is willing to don the armor once more for Flooding Snow City. No wonder they are the elders of my Lancelot Family.”

“Sander, take them to the Fifth Legion’s encampment and inform the legion commander that these members of the Lancelot Family are volunteering to join their ranks. They pledge to shed their last drop of blood for Flooding Snow City. If anyone dares run, they shall be treated as deserters.”

And just like that, with the flattery and enlistment, Lint had made his decision. The fifth legion would be more than happy to accept such a group of veterans, even if their age meant they were no longer at the peak of their abilities. A dozen or so individuals with knight rank battle prowess could easily make up for the fifth legion’s shortage of high-level fighters.

The only question was whether the fifth legion’s commander dared to accept them. Lint was certain that Osser would, and that not a single one would leave. Osser was a fence-sitter, and now that the conflict between the two sides had clearly been settled, he knew he couldn’t possibly lead the fifth legion to declare independence—he wasn’t Lancelot, after all. Therefore, joining Lint’s side was practically his only option.

“Everyone, please follow me.”

As Lint remained standing, Sander gestured, signaling for the ancients to depart.

With a sigh, the first ancient stepped out under Sander’s gaze, followed by the rest, who trudged toward the fifth legion’s encampment one after another. Sander took up the rear of the procession, personally escorting them into Osser’s hands.

“Seek aid from the River Valley? Hah.” Lint scoffed to himself, thinking back on the ancients’ plan to extricate themselves from their current predicament.

There was nothing wrong with seeking aid from the Imperial Capital; although the distance between the northern lands and the royal estate was considerable, the kingdom still boasted five dragon knights capable of traversing such a distance in less than a day. If even one dragon knight could be dispatched, it would greatly aid in relieving the northern lands’ current crisis.

Yet appealing to the River Valley for aid was a foolish move. The nobles there were more akin to merchants; though they strove to maintain their knight training, they had long forgotten how to wage war, leaving their martial preparedness dismal, to say the least.

These nobles spent their time indulging in leisure rather than honing their skills at arms, and their soldiers were no match for even the peasant farmers under the command of the lords of the northern lands. Appealing to them for aid was utterly absurd; Lint wouldn’t even bother with such a venture if he had to deal with a bunch of incompetent allies.

If not for the fact that they all belonged to the same Golden Dragon Kingdom, Lint would have considered sending troops to plunder them first and recoup some losses…

He needed to prepare for both contingencies. If the Imperial Capital could not spare any dragon knights, he would have no choice but to purchase supplies at high prices from the River Valley and forge an alliance with the lords of the northern lands, hoping to stem the tide of cannibal demons marching eastward.