After I died, my personal maid rebelled.

As the refugee caravan emerged from the jungle, and patrol teams led the rescued people to meet on the main road, many people shed tears.

Warhorses galloped on the road, and well-armed soldiers were no longer their enemies. Many old people affectionately called these soldiers: the sharp blades of the Lord of the North.

"The peasant army that came to the royal city back then has all turned into monsters, not the kind you see, but monsters with tentacles on their bodies that spit out slime."

Misunderstandings are easy to clear up, as long as both parties give each other a chance to talk.

People like to view issues from a biased perspective. If the Northern Army had told them before that the reason no one was returning was because the peasant army had turned into monsters, the civilians in the southern part of the Central District would have definitely believed that this was a clumsy lie fabricated by the Northern Territory to cover up the massacre.

Then the monsters really came, killing their families and destroying their homes. When they heard this again, they would realize that the Northern Army had been resisting the monsters' invasion of humanity all along.

"The Duke of Oswald is a good man."

A sincere word of thanks elicited strange expressions from the soldiers present.

They had reached a temporary camp, and after two more days of travel, they would reach the capital. To promptly address the needs of the civilians, Commander Kate ordered his soldiers to distribute food and provide medical treatment.

Lucas and Monet, carrying fish soup and munching on soft bread, had forgotten their hatred for the Northern army after enduring the hardships and bloodshed of their journey. All Monet wanted now was to fill her stomach and get a good night's sleep.

Only Lucas, with his keen observation of his surroundings, noticed the soldiers' unusual behavior.

Could something major have happened in the Northern Territory? Lucas couldn't help but wonder. In the past, the members of the Goddess Faction would usually make a quick getaway, but recently they've suddenly adopted a desperate stance. Could it be Duke Oswald...?

"After you finish eating, find a place to rest. The tents over there are all empty. If you need anything, please contact us."

After giving a shout, the veteran quickly ran to the edge of the column and saluted the approaching person.

"Commander Ereon!"

Aerion's new appointment has been made: Commander of the Loyal Undead Legion, responsible for managing six thousand undead soldiers of the Loyal Undead Legion, as well as three thousand elite soldiers selected from various units who can withstand high levels of undead magic.

Even Federico had to admit that Eryon’s regiment was stronger than a division after hearing the appointment!

However, due to Sister Arabella's influence, in order to better utilize the strength of the Loyal Death Legion, they could only temporarily be placed under the command of the Second Division.

Arian gave a wry smile. "No need for you to salute me, senior. How was the patrol? Were there any casualties in the unit?"

"These are all small-scale conflicts that the troops can handle. However, according to the refugees, the curses and the nuns are becoming more and more cruel every day, and many villages have been massacred by monsters."

When this topic came up, the two of them sighed. Back then, they followed the Duke and the young lady in the hope of changing the fate of millions of oppressed people, but destruction is always easier to do than salvation.

"Oh, by the way, I've found a promising talent this time. See if you can train him and ideally have him join our army."

The veteran's outstretched finger was aimed squarely at Lucas. He quickly picked up the fish soup and covered his face. Lucas was truly panicked now. He never expected to have such a connection with Ariane, as if they could bump into each other everywhere he went.

Without getting a clear look at Lucas's face, Erian shook his head. "Senior, you're very eloquent. Why don't you persuade him to join your patrol team? You need a good candidate more than I do."

A rare stroke of luck smiled upon Lucas. Commander Eryon had no time to dwell on the past. If the enemy's army marched north to attack the royal city, the Loyal Legion would be the only force fighting outside the city. For victory, Eryon still needed to make many preparations.

Invited by the veteran, Lucas, who tossed and turned in his tent that night unable to sleep, squeezed into the same bed with Monet. Listening to the snores of the refugees around him and the whispers of the soldiers on night watch outside the tent, he experienced a dreamlike sense of disorientation for the first time.

Many things shouldn't be thought about too closely, because if you think about them too closely, you'll find them absurd.

Everyone has a few stories that, just recalling them before bed, make you want to slap yourself to death—stories that are either filled with lofty ambitions or feigned loneliness…

Lucas never imagined that he would one day have to defect to the Northern Army.

He came to the capital city only to wait for Sister Nicole. If conditions were right, he would take Monet with him and stay by Nicole's side. If the situation was dire, he could also gather information and take Monet to a safe place.

The world is already like this; many people have died in the past, and even more will die in the future!

He's on the goddess's side, unable to complete his mission, hinder development, or even overcome his own inner conflict. So even if he joins the Northern Army, what good could the outcome possibly be?

He wasn't some kind of hero. To ordinary people, he was a strongman, but in the ranks of the strong, he wasn't even worthy of guarding the gate.

But one sentence from the veteran shattered all his excuses.

"Young people, if we don't work hard, the kids who come after us won't even have the chance to fight for their lives..."

Gently removing Monet's hand, Lucas put on his trench coat, got out of bed, carefully avoided a pile of messy shoes, and stepped out of the tent to take a few deep breaths of fresh air.

The starry sky was breathtakingly beautiful. The soldiers standing on the outskirts of the camp glanced at Lucas, then turned back to continue their ordinary conversation.

Unable to sleep, Lucas walked among the tents. By a campfire, an old soldier warming his wine waved to him.

"Would you like some?"

"Okay." Lucas nodded, pulled his trench coat tighter, and sat down.

The old soldier poured him a steaming cup of ale and teased, "I can tell you're a heavy smoker and drinker just by looking at your fingers and between your teeth. Young man, you need to be more careful."

Lucas sighed and said irritably, "Is it because you're getting old that you have excuses for doing these things?"

"Hey, you actually guessed right."

The old soldier put down his wine jug, lifted his shirt, and pointed to a gruesome wound on his stomach.

"This place was left behind when I followed the Duke to fight the Blood-Clad Saintess. That was the first time I encountered a monster. I stabbed her with my spear, and blood would gush out."

"That was when we went to the Elf Kingdom to fight alongside the young lady. It was the work of the Undead. We were still in class at the time when a transfer order came down, and all the students had to go to the battlefield."

The veteran chuckled, straightened his clothes, and picked up his wine glass.

"I can't get through the night without getting these wounds drunk."

"Why?" Lucas downed his glass in one gulp, but before he could ask, the veteran refilled it.

The veteran interrupted him, "Because we can do it."

"I know what you young people want to ask. You're all too smart and insightful. Whoever goes first is a hero, and whoever goes second is a martyr, right?"

"Let me tell you, I just don't want to be a powerless person. At least the Duke has proven that I can still fight, I can still fight desperately. Even if I die a thousand times, I can still use my flesh and blood to create a bright future."

"Of course, I can't defeat a god. A god could crush me like an ant. But so what? I only decided to bite her first so she would take that kick, hahahaha!"

"Young man, you can't just be insightful; you must cultivate your spirit. Like me, you must roar at the world: 'Let them come! I'm fully prepared to die; even the gods are nothing but my burial offerings!'"