stjorthotic Chapter 101 Returning Home in Glory
Chapter 101 Returning Home in Glory
Chapter 100 Returning Home in Glory
Frostwolf City, atop its towering walls.
A snowflake drifted down and touched a slender fingertip wearing a black lace glove, melting instantly.
Catherine raised her head, her pale purple eyes, as still as water, gazing at the horizon shrouded in endless wind and snow.
The earth trembled rhythmically and slightly, the sound deep and majestic, as if an ancient behemoth was striding across the ice plains, unhurried yet carrying an unquestionable will, step by step toward Frostwolf City.
It's that mobile city.
It is the trajectory of Lorraine.
She sighed deeply, a cool sensation spreading through her fingertips.
She's been thinking a lot lately.
She had witnessed firsthand, on that desolate snowfield, that man commanding his nascent witch to unleash a swarm of insects with unbelievable tactics.
After that, she sensed the magical fluctuations belonging to the Lorraine architecture countless times through the keepsakes she left behind. Each time, they grew stronger and more intense, like a bonfire burning fiercely in the night, so dazzling that it startled her.
She knew that the illegitimate son who had been thrown away by his family like trash had already established himself on the snowy plains and was even developing better than anyone had expected.
But she never imagined that she would witness Lorraine ascending to a mobile city of the Golden Age.
Even now, this steel behemoth is heading straight for Frostwolf City!
"This rate of growth—isn't it terrifying?"
Catherine couldn't help but mutter to herself, her voice carrying a hint of bitterness and—a bitterness she herself was unaware of.
Wronged.
She subconsciously touched the spatial pouch hidden under her nun's robe, which contained the investment she had prepared for Lorraine.
Many precious rare items and at least Tier 3 monster materials.
But now it seems that this "gift" that she considered so precious is still something that a lord who has developed to the point of being able to control a mobile city would even value.
The thought, once it crossed her mind, felt like a tiny needle pricking her heart, making her very uncomfortable.
She shook her head, trying to shake this inexplicable emotion out of her mind.
Let's take it one step at a time.
In any case, the more unfathomable Lorraine's depth of knowledge and experience is, the better it may be for her.
The wounds on my soul were permanent damage caused by forcibly breaking the lordly contract with the prince.
For years, she tried every possible method, but she was still unable to heal, which became the biggest obstacle to her advancement to the fifth rank.
But Lorraine—and his mysterious mentor—since they can even control mobile cities, perhaps they really do have a way.
Moreover, he possessed a crucial intelligence document that he could use for exchange.
Catherine's eyes suddenly turned cold, and the image of the man sitting high on the throne, seemingly gentle and kind, but in reality cold and ruthless, flashed into her mind.
Prince Thursmir—no, perhaps he should be called His Majesty the Emperor now?
The snow season had cut off communication with the capital for far too long, and she no longer knew whether the politics in the capital had changed at this moment.
She would never forget how, long, long ago, the man described his "purification plan" for the entire kingdom to her in a secret room, in an almost fanatical tone.
Frostwolf City is an extremely important node in this bloody plan.
Those words still echo in her ears.
Originally, the prince had cast a secret spell on her, which would burn her soul to death if she tried to reveal these secrets.
But fate played a cruel trick on her. In her quest for freedom, she recklessly detonated her witch spirit core, forcibly breaking the contract and destroying the royal palace. As a result, her soul was severely damaged, and the secret technique used to seal her mouth also became ineffective.
This is a stroke of luck amidst misfortune.
"Sersmere, you owe me, and I will get it back with interest." Catherine's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible, yet it carried a chilling coldness.
She slowly withdrew her gaze from the distance, turned around, and walked down the city wall.
The wind and snow grew heavier, and the heavy footsteps grew closer.
She must be fully prepared before Lorraine returns to Frostwolf City.
Lorraine, you absolutely mustn't die at the hands of your own family.
at the same time.
Frostwolf Castle, Inner Fortress.
Even the heavy velvet curtains couldn't keep out the wind and rain outside. Large raindrops pounded on the glass, making a dense, pattering sound, as if countless hands were tirelessly pounding.
Percival huddled in the blankets, his forehead burning hot.
He was sick, with a high fever, and a chill that seemed to seep into every bone of his body.
However, what made him even more uneasy than the physical discomfort was the deep, rhythmic rumble coming from the depths of the earth.
thump.
Each tremor felt like the footsteps of death, landing squarely on his heart.
thump.
Percival covered his ears tightly, but the sound seemed to penetrate his flesh and reach his soul.
It is that moving city—the Tower of Babel.
It was Lorraine, the illegitimate son who was abandoned by his family in the northern snowfields and should have frozen, starved, or been torn apart by monsters long ago.
He is back.
They've returned with a walking steel mountain.
"Cough cough—" Percival coughed violently, his pale cheeks flushing sickly.
He recalled how, just a few days earlier, his mother, the esteemed Countess, had displayed to him the unfathomable depth of their family's heritage with an almost fanatical confidence.
Those third-tier witches hidden in the shadows, those loyal knights, and that fourth-tier powerhouse hired at great expense, capable of suppressing everything.
His mother said that Lorraine was nothing more than a stray dog who had stumbled upon a few pieces of Golden Age junk in the wasteland by sheer luck. She said that if he dared to set foot in Frostwolf City, he would be instantly crushed into dust.
But Percival was still afraid.
He listened to the approaching footsteps that seemed to shatter the earth, and the rhythmic roar of the wind and thunder outside the window. A fear, born of instinct, gripped his throat.
He struggled to get out of bed, staggered to the window, and laboriously locked the latch completely.
It was as if this way, the terrifying sound and the terrifying person could be locked out together.
After doing all this, he seemed to have exhausted all his strength, and slid down on the carpet, panting heavily.
Cold sweat soaked his bathrobe, making it sticky and clinging to his body.
"It's okay—it's okay—" He hugged his knees, buried his head deep in them, and murmured to himself in a voice only he could hear.
"He didn't even know I existed—he had no idea that Lorraine existed in Frostwolf City."
"His revenge is against Mother, against the entire family—what does it have to do with me?"
Percival desperately tried to find reasons for himself, attempting to weave a small net to protect himself with these pale words.
"Yes, the worst outcome would be that I would just turn back into Percival, be driven out of the castle, and become a commoner—at least I would survive, I would survive."
He kept repeating it, as if he were hypnotizing himself.
"As for Mother—he wouldn't go so far as to kill his own stepmother, would he?"
The moment the thought popped into his head, he forcibly shut it down.
He dared not think any further.
Fear is like the tide, while reason is a fragile castle on the beach.
In the end, exhaustion and high fever triumphed over everything.
Percival curled up on the cold carpet, wrapped himself in the blanket like a cocoon, and fell into a deep sleep.
In the chaotic dream, the wind, rain, and thunder disappeared, and the earth-shaking footsteps could no longer be heard.
He just hoped this sleep could last a little longer, much longer.
Once you're asleep, you're not afraid of anything.
However, what he didn't know was that during his slumber, the steel behemoth shrouded in the storm had silently come to a stop beneath the walls of Frostwolf City.
Like a colossal beast awakened from antiquity, it lowered its head and scrutinized the tiny prey shivering in the wind and rain with its cold, steely eyes.
The next day, early in the morning.
The torrential rain that had shrouded Frostwolf City overnight finally stopped, the dark clouds dispersed, and the long-awaited sunlight pierced through the clouds, gilding the ancient city with a faint golden hue.
However, the guards on the city wall had no interest in appreciating the scenery after the rain.
Each of them was deathly pale, their lips purple, staring intently at the indescribable behemoth outside the city with eyes that looked at a monster.
The Tower of Babel.
The legendary mobile city from the Golden Age now stands silently beneath Frostwolf City, like a mountain range that has stepped out of mythology.
Its four feet, gleaming with a metallic gleam, were deeply embedded in the earth, and the shadows it cast alone covered most of the outer city wall.
On the tower, countless dark cannon muzzles, like the eyes of demons, silently watch over the city walls, proclaiming their destructive power without a word.
However, the atmosphere on the observation deck on the second level of the Tower of Babel was completely different from the deathly silence on the city walls.
"Hahaha! Did you see that?! Did you see the expressions on those bastards' faces?! Like their fathers have just died!"
Victor's gruff laughter broke the morning's tranquility.
He was dressed in heavy knight's armor, yet he was leaning on the railing without any regard for his image, pointing at the distant Frostwolf City walls, laughing so hard he was doubled over.
"Damn it, I've been dreaming of this day! Back in the day, I was driven out of that city gate, and those city guards looked at me like I was some kind of stray dog on the street!"
He spat fiercely, but his eyes were red.
It was a color of humiliation and hatred intertwined.
Olivia stood beside him, her elegant green dress making her seem somewhat out of place in this steel fortress. She glanced disdainfully at Victor, who was spitting as he spoke, her delicate brows furrowing slightly.
"Victor, watch your words. You are now the Knight Commander of Babel, no longer the drunken mercenary you once were."
"Hey, how can that be the same?"
Victor waved his hand dismissively. "Before, I was drowning my sorrows in alcohol. This time, when we get back, it'll be a victory celebration! Let me tell you, I know this Frostwolf City like the back of my hand! I know which restaurant has the best roast meat and the strongest ale!"
He turned his head, looking intently at the crowd with a hint of excited pride, as if he were showing off a treasure.
"After the young master finishes his business, how about we go to the best tavern in town, Iron Beard? It's on me! We'll eat and drink to our hearts' content! We won't leave until we're completely drunk!"
"Who wants to be like you, you drunkard?" Olivia rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile slightly.
How could she not be excited?
Back then, she was just a fallen noblewoman from a remote territory, who had to humbly beg passing merchants for a few bags of grain seeds.
But now, standing atop the mobile city, overlooking the largest main city in the entire Northern Territory, those once high and mighty counts and viscounts are now no different from panicked ants beneath the city walls in her eyes.
All of this was because of the man in front of her.
Lorraine.
He wore a simple black trench coat, his hands in his pockets, calmly gazing at the distant Frostwolf City.
Sunlight shone on his profile, outlining his features as clearly as if they were sculpted.
His eyes held no excitement, no ecstasy, only a deep, unfathomable calm, as if the vast city before him were merely a mark on his map.
"Lyra, do you want to go back?" Lorraine asked calmly without turning around.
Lyra, standing in the shadows, trembled slightly, a hint of unease flashing in her heterochromatic black and gold eyes.
She subconsciously touched her undamaged left arm and whispered, "I—I will follow the young master's arrangements."
For her, Frostwolf City was a synonym for nightmare.
Here, she is a "jinx" despised by everyone, and every time she goes out, she is met with disgusted and avoided gazes.
Returning home in glory?
She dared not think.
Lorraine seemed to see through her thoughts and said calmly, "Then let's go. Let's go to the shop you've always wanted to go to but never dared to, and buy the things you've always wanted to eat but couldn't afford."
His words contained no warmth, yet they flowed like a warm current into Leila's heart instantly.
The girl's eyes immediately welled up with tears. She nodded forcefully, swallowing back the "thank you" that was stuck in her throat.
She knew that the young master didn't need thanks; what he wanted was loyalty.
Just then, Anna, who had been standing quietly behind Lorraine, suddenly spoke softly.
"Young Master."
"Um?"
"The communication device—it seems to be flickering." Anna pointed to a device in the corner of the observation deck that was constantly flashing a faint light. "Someone is requesting to speak with us."
Victor and Olivia's laughter and conversation came to an abrupt halt, and all eyes turned to Lorraine.
At this time and in this place, who could it be?
Lorraine showed no surprise, as if everything was under control.
He slowly turned around, his deep gaze falling on the shimmering magic circle, a cold smile curving his lips.
The fish has taken the bait.
"Who is it?" he asked softly, as if asking Anna, or perhaps asking himself.
Anna walked to the magic circle, gently tapped it with her slender finger, and a stream of information appeared before her eyes. She glanced at it, then looked up, her calm voice echoing from the observation platform.
"Reporting to young master, the other party's identification is—it is the Countess."