Beside them were over a dozen wyverns, their backs loaded with boxes of all sizes filled with supplies meant for the Border Holy Church and the Goddess.
“Damn it! How did the perfectly fine Teleportation Array suddenly break!”
Zeweier finally clambered onto the wyvern’s back with the knights’ shoving, plopping down onto a specially made wide saddle, panting and complaining loudly.
He tugged at the scarf strangling his neck with his stubby fingers, the fat on his face trembling with anger and exertion.
“What rotten luck! Making me suffer the ordeal of riding a wyvern!”
In Zeweier’s view, riding wyverns was something only those crude soldiers and low-class knights did.
He, the dignified Second Prince, should travel instantly to his destination via the stable Teleportation Array.
“Your Highness, the magic core of the Teleportation Array has malfunctioned. Repairs will take at least three days. To avoid delaying your journey, we had no choice but to resort to this.”
“Alright, alright, stop the chatter! Take off now!” Zeweier waved his hand impatiently.
With several huge roars, the dozen wyverns beat their massive leathery wings and soared into the sky.
The fierce wind instantly rushed into Zeweier’s mouth, making it impossible for him to open his eyes.
The wyvern’s turbulence in the air churned the lavish breakfast he had just eaten in his stomach, nearly making him vomit on the spot.
But when Zeweier fought back the nausea and looked down at the shrinking Royal Capital Saint Roland below, the complaints in his heart were instantly replaced by a surge of ecstasy.
‘As long as I reach the Border!’
‘As long as I meet that legendary Goddess, deliver these supplies, and put on a good show with my concerned-for-the-people speech.’
‘Then the throne will be completely secure!’
‘Atticus, that brainless brute who only knows violence, and George, that clever-dick pretty boy who only talks big—they’ll have no choice but to watch me ascend the throne.’
‘Just thinking about getting the Goddess’s support, trampling those two brothers underfoot, sitting on that supreme throne, and trampling all the wealth and commoners of the entire kingdom underfoot to harvest at will…’
‘A little bit of flying now is just a little bit of flying.’
‘What’s a little hardship!’
‘As long as I become King, everything is worth it!’
“Hahahaha!”
Zeweier, facing the wind on the wyvern’s back, burst into unbridled laughter.
—
The Border, Tattle Town.
Consta sat behind the large desk in the Lord’s Mansion’s study, slowly removing her hand from the Magic Crystal Ball.
The faint red light on the surface of the crystal ball flickered twice and then went completely dark.
The room was so quiet that the sound of the wall clock’s second hand ticking could be heard.
This was the second time she had used this crystal ball to contact Saint Freya.
In the entire five years before that, this crystal ball had been locked in a hidden compartment at the bottom of a drawer, in a state of absolute silence.
These five years, under Saint Freya’s arrangement, she had been serving as the Border Lord in this remote Tattle Town.
Every day, she pretended to be dignified and elegant, dealing with the people sent by those greedy nobles, while also placating the starving and terrified commoners.
She knew the kingdom was rotten to the core and beyond saving; the nobles of the Inner Ring didn’t treat the commoners of the Outer Ring as humans, only knowing how to squeeze the last bit of value out of their pockets in every way possible.
But she could only endure, because this was the goal she and Saint Freya both wanted to achieve.
She and Saint Freya had been close friends since childhood.
The two had sworn since childhood to wait together for the descent of the Primrose Goddess.
Consta’s commitment extended only this far; after meeting Primrose, she had actually fulfilled this promise and completed her childhood dream.
But Saint Freya was not satisfied with just that.
Five years ago, she heard Saint Freya reveal the latter half of this promise.
That was—
To destroy the current foundation of the kingdom’s regime, seize everything, and offer it to the Primrose Goddess.
Consta initially thought Saint Freya was just joking.
But she quickly realized it was no joke—she was serious.
Because Saint Freya, right in front of her, made a contract with the Withered Ancient Power and became a different form.
A form that could no longer be called human.
She asked Saint Freya, “Why are you so certain that the Primrose Goddess will definitely descend?”
The earlier promise might still be explained as a child’s unrealistic dream.
But the latter half of the promise could only be taken seriously with the conviction that the Goddess would surely descend.
However, the answer she received was only two words.
Faith. Absolute faith.
At that moment, Consta realized that her own level of devotion was far from being as profound as the other’s.
Consta reached out and rang a copper bell at the edge of the table.
Ding-a-ling—
The crisp sound of the bell traveled far in the quiet study.
Before long, the study door was gently pushed open from outside.
A woman in a black-and-white maid outfit walked in.
She looked to be in her thirties, her hair perfectly neat, with no superfluous expression on her face.
She stopped two meters from the desk, elegantly folding her hands over her abdomen, and slightly bowed her head.
“Lady Ruler, you called for me.” The woman’s voice was very steady, betraying no fluctuation.
Consta observed the woman before her.
Her name was Masha, the steward of the Lord’s Mansion.
Masha was very similar to Yuna—both were the cold, reserved, and unsmiling type.
But Masha was far more experienced and ruthless than Yuna.
Yuna was merely a young knight trained diligently in a greenhouse environment.
Masha, on the other hand, had crawled out of piles of corpses—a seasoned veteran who would stop at nothing to achieve her goals.
“Masha.” Consta put away her earlier relaxed expression, her face becoming very serious. “Make arrangements. Have the Night Demon Society send their people.”
Masha’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her posture remained unchanged. “Understood. May I ask who the target is?”
“Zeweier.” Consta directly stated the Second Prince’s name. “He is currently riding a wyvern, carrying a load of supplies, heading from the Royal Capital to Tattle Town.”
Hearing this name, Masha’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. “His Highness the Second Prince? He is sure to have many guards with him; the defenses will be tight. If we want to move against him, we’ll need to dispatch a considerable force.”
“Her Highness the Princess’s intention is not to let him dirty the eyes of the Goddess.”
Consta explained, “The primary objective this time is interception. As long as we stop him halfway and prevent him from reaching Tattle Town, that’s enough.”
“The rabble of the Night Demon Society, even going all out, don’t have the capability to kill Zeweier under heavy protection. At most, they can make him fall off his wyvern, break an arm, lose a leg—it doesn’t matter. In short, the Night Demon Society is absolutely the perfect choice for this mission.”