What set Lorist apart from the other Sword Saints of the Galentea Continent was that he had not cultivated combat force — rather, he had used combat force to practice the Golden Water Art, a technique passed down through his family in his previous life, and it was through that art that he had reached this level. Now that he had mastered all four stages of the Golden Water Art, all that remained was the patient grind of daily meditation and practice to bring the art closer to perfection.
However, using combat force to channel a technique from his previous life had been a desperate measure born of necessity. With no predecessors' experience to draw upon, Lorist had essentially forged his own path on the Galentea Continent, a world of combat force. He had attributed his art to the secret training methods of Eastern warrior monks from the age of magical civilization, but Lorist knew full well that he was no legendary genius capable of creating an entirely new foundation from scratch. And so, in his cultivation, he had adopted the principle of "comprehension" — the word his grandfather had once taught him in childhood — hoping to pass down his family's technique in this world of combat force. That way, his rebirth in this other world would not have been in vain.
In his spare time in his previous life, Lorist had enjoyed surfing the internet and reading web novels — especially xianxia stories, where heroes drew their swords and roamed ten thousand miles before attaining enlightenment and eternal life. His luck, however, had been poor. He had transmigrated to Galentea, a world in its twilight. Forget about immortal swords and heroic cultivators — even ordinary mages had become legends from a thousand years ago. The only thing that felt remotely familiar was combat force. To be precise, the Galentea Continent was the kind of otherworld with no magic and only low-tier martial arts.
Transmigrating to such a world could only be called a stroke of terrible fortune for Lorist. Forget about eternal life or spiritual enlightenment — even as a Sword Saint, he would live only two or three hundred years longer than a mortal. Sometimes, when he thought about it, he would outlive his family, friends, and lovers by centuries. Even if he had descendants, after two or three generations he would be nothing more than an undying monster in their eyes. At that thought, Lorist felt a wave of listlessness — all the power and splendor in the world ultimately amounted to nothing.
It had been nearly twenty years since Lorist had transmigrated to the Galentea Continent. From a minor noble exiled by his family, he had risen to become the Grand Duke of Northland and Sword Saint of the Realm. His prestige and power had reached the apex of the
Becoming the ruler of a kingdom did not require rebellion as the only path. The once-mighty Krisen Empire had been ravaged by wars and left severely weakened. The
This was precisely why Lorist was so closely following the scandal of the Second Prince being cuckolded by his own bastard son. It was a massive scandal for the Krisen royal family — one that not only involved the royal family's honor but also implicated the Fissabrun family, whose influence in the Andinak Kingdom ranked second only to the Norton Family. While queens having affairs was not uncommon among the noble circles of the Galentea Continent's various kingdoms, a queen from the Fissabrun family becoming pregnant by another man before producing a legitimate heir was exceedingly rare. It concerned the royal bloodline's succession, which was precisely why it had become a scandal.
Lorist was curious about how this scandal would ultimately be resolved. The man who had slept with the queen was the Second Prince's own bastard son. Though it carried the taint of incest, if the queen gave birth to the child, it would technically still count as Krisen royal blood — the only difference being that the Second Prince would have been promoted from father to grandfather. The relationships were genuinely tangled, and Lorist found his head aching trying to sort it all out. He could only set it aside and wait to see how things developed.
Aside from this matter, Lorist had no pressing business in
Lorist had chosen the path of calligraphy and painting, perhaps still influenced by his grandfather from his previous life. He remembered clearly that as a child, he had often watched his grandfather wield the brush — writing characters and splashing ink across paper. Though he hadn't understood the art at the time, he had always remembered his grandfather's words: that writing and painting could calm the mind and settle the spirit, that the brush carried a kind of divine inspiration, and that a person's characters revealed the person themselves. So Lorist had taken up the brush.
What Lorist had forgotten was that the Galentea Continent had its own tradition of painting — only this tradition leaned far more toward what he recognized as the Western school from his previous life. It emphasized realism and portraiture, and even the tools were nearly identical: canvas, oil paints, brushes, palette knives, and the like. So when Lorist had announced his intention to paint, the servants had brought him precisely these supplies.
The locally produced snowflake paper was just barely usable, so Lorist picked up a brush and produced a landscape painting of mountains and sea — a view of Hidden Gold Bay. When Fatty heard that Lorist was painting, he came rushing over in high spirits to examine the work closely, declaring that Lorist's approach was refreshingly original, a style unto himself, truly remarkable. After delivering his flattery, he took his leave. Once outside, he complained to Redi, who had been the one to tip him off: "You call that painting? I thought that since His Highness is a Sword Saint, his painting would be something extraordinary. Turns out he's not even as good as my youngest son. Those dark blobs of ink he called mountains? I thought they were piles of dog shit..."
Poor Fatty had forgotten that as a Sword Saint, Lorist had exceptionally sharp senses. Every movement within the estate was within his perception. Fatty had complained too soon, and so his suffering began. Two days later, when the affairs Fatty had been responsible for finally reached a stopping point and he had a moment of free time, Redi immediately brought him to the estate atop Brin Hill. Lorist used the excuse that ever since Fatty had advanced to the Gold Rank, he had been too preoccupied with the Family's administrative duties to maintain his swordsmanship practice. This worried Lorist greatly regarding Fatty's ability to protect himself, so he had decided to personally give him some pointers. And so Fatty endured an agonizing training session...
"Your Highness, please have mercy on me! I'm the Family's Steward — I'm always surrounded by guards when I travel. It would never come to me to fight!" Fatty pleaded with a miserable expression.
"Out of the question." Lorist's face was stern. "As a Gold-rank knight of the Family, to have made zero progress in swordsmanship and battle energy all these years is truly a disgrace to our name. Since you happen to have some free time these next few days, I, a Sword Saint, am personally taking the time to instruct you. Instead of being grateful beyond measure, you complain nonstop — you really don't know how good you have it! Get up. Three more rounds."
"Just let me die! Three more rounds — you're trying to kill me!" Fatty lay lazily on the ground, refusing to get up. By now, he had finally pieced together what was off: "Wait, Your Highness, just say it straight — did I offend you somehow?"
"No." Lorist answered with a perfectly serious expression. "I'm merely concerned for your safety. If you ever happened to run into a Gold-rank assassin, you'd need to hold your own for a few exchanges before the guards could arrive to help. As the Family's chief administrative officer, you've made no shortage of enemies. I'm worried the merchant alliance might take their anger out on you and send an assassin. That's why I'm kindly helping you train..."
"That's impossible..." Fatty eyed Lorist with suspicion. "Even if the merchant alliance has no bottom line, they wouldn't risk provoking you — a Sword Saint — by sending someone to assassinate me. Besides, killing me wouldn't benefit them at all. I'm just a Steward, not the head of the Norton Family. Am I really worth the cost of sending an assassin?"
"Didn't I already say this was just in case? Better safe than sorry, you know," Lorist retorted.
Standing off to the side, Redi really couldn't hold back anymore and sneakily mimed the motion of holding a paintbrush. Fatty immediately understood why he was being subjected to this torture. He sighed and apologized: "Sorry, Your Highness. The day before yesterday I shouldn't have critiqued your painting. But honestly, your painting really can't compare to my eight-year-old son's — he's far better than you."
Lorist nodded. "Thank you for your assessment, but you don't need to apologize. I won't hold such a small matter against you. Get up, let's keep practicing. We'll try to trim down that protruding belly of yours over the next few days."
What saved Fatty was
Fatty scrambled to his feet in an instant. Now it was his turn to watch Lorist squirm.
Meet her, or not? Lorist fell into deep thought...
She was the first love of his two lifetimes, and had once been the person he loved most. But in the end, she had left him for another's embrace, leaving behind memories that were bitter, sweet, and painful all at once. Fate truly had a sense of humor — after more than twenty years, the two of them, scattered to opposite ends of the world, had intersected once more. The man she had married, Duke Fausta, the one who had taken her away from him, was now his prisoner. And her purpose for this visit was abundantly clear: to ransom Duke Fausta...
"Your Highness really ought to meet with her — after all, you're old friends, and after twenty-some years apart, you should catch up," Fatty said with a cheeky grin. He was just here for the show and was actually rather hoping to see Lorist rekindle things with his old flame, and incidentally stick a pair of cuckold's horns on Duke Fausta...
"Forget it. I won't see her. Better to remember than to meet. Baron Shrade, you go see her and deliver that message," Lorist said. Then he suddenly recalled something and asked with puzzlement: "When the merchant alliance came before to negotiate ransoms, didn't Count Kate discuss ransoming Duke Fausta and his family's military unit, the Flame Bird Legion, with you? Weren't they allies?"
"I asked about that. Count Kate said that although Duke Fausta came to the Mana Hill Plains to aid the merchant alliance at their invitation, leading the Flame Bird Legion, they surrendered entirely during the sea voyage without ever fulfilling a single responsibility as an ally. The merchant alliance won't pay a single coin in ransom for these utterly useless good-for-nothings, so the fate of Duke Fausta and his Flame Bird Legion has nothing to do with the merchant alliance..." Fatty replied.
It all fell on Duke Fausta's shoulders, because upon encountering Lorist and learning his name, Duke Fausta was the first to drop his sword and surrender. This shattered the will to fight of the high-tier powerhouses of the Invincible Fleet, like Viscount Penelope, who all cast aside their weapons as well, forcing the Invincible Fleet to raise the white flag of surrender."
So the upper echelons of the merchant alliance refused to acknowledge Duke Fausta and the Flame Bird Legion as their allies. When Count Kate came to Morant City to negotiate ransoms, they deliberately ignored Duke Fausta and the Flame Bird Legion, turning a blind eye. Fatty found it strange and asked Count Kate whether he intended to ransom Duke Fausta and the Flame Bird Legion as well, and it was then that he received this answer from Count Kate. It was Viscount Penelope who privately whispered the true reason to Fatty.
One really couldn't tell whether to call the merchant alliance's leadership ungrateful bridge-burners or profit-driven traitors without honor — it was probably just the shortsightedness of merchants. They had likely treated their allies as servants they could order about at will, believing that because Duke Fausta and the Flame Bird Legion hadn't fought to the death but surrendered instead, they had betrayed the alliance, and therefore the alliance could discard the relationship in turn. They never stopped to consider that sending a first-rank Sword Saint like Duke Fausta to face a Sword Saint was practically suicide — no person in their right mind would do something so foolish.
"So Duke Fausta and his family's military force, the Flame Bird Legion, are all currently stationed on Shilovas Island?" Lorist asked.
"Yes, Your Highness," Fatty replied. "Duke Fausta should have realized he might have offended the merchant alliance, so he volunteered to stay on Shilovas Island with the Flame Bird Legion. When those private merchant ships sailed back to the southern seas at that time, Duke Fausta wrote letters to his family and sent messengers as well. Who would have thought his wife would arrive so quickly. I suspect Winnie has come to see you this time probably to plead on his behalf or request a reduction in the ransom..."
"Go meet with her," Lorist said. "Bring them straight to Shilovas Island so the couple can be reunited. As for negotiating the ransom and whatnot, leave everything in your hands. The enemy of our enemy is our friend. Since the merchant alliance has abandoned their alliance with the Qigeda Kingdom, we should take the opportunity to widen the rift between them — ideally turning them from allies into enemies..."
"Fine, I'll do my best," Fatty replied.
...