The Blood Sacrifice continued unabated. The Clan Leader, who had been captured earlier but later released, finally arrived, flanked by his retinue of subordinates. He knelt before Mr. Jones and cried out, "Boss Jones, disaster!"
"A little girl called the Imperator claims she's going to unite the entire Northern Territory and establish a Northern Territory Empire!"
A stunned silence descended upon the Blood Sacrifice grounds for a few seconds. Not out of fear, of course, but out of sheer astonishment.
The next moment, someone burst into laughter. "Seriously? You're telling us you were intimidated by a little girl's words and came running here, scared out of your wits, to report this 'shocking' intelligence?!"
"Could you be hallucinating from fear? Maybe she was actually some ferocious-looking brute, but your terrified mind distorted her into a little girl?"
"Seriously, dude, can you stop making me laugh?"
"Hahahahaha!"
Yet, despite the mockery, the Clan Leader actually fell silent for a moment, pondering the matter seriously.
Looking back now, it seemed he was the only one who called the Imperator a "dwarf" during their initial meeting. And that bald guy who joined them halfway through—now that he thought about it—probably wasn't with the Imperator at all.
But he was too furious at the time to notice, assuming they were all ganging up on him.
So, if a random passerby and everyone else present denied that the Imperator was a dwarf, and he was the only one who thought otherwise, could it really be his problem?
Besides, the "Northern Territory Empire" boasted a massive population. It was inherently strange that so many barbarians would submit to the rule of a little girl. The Clan Leader muttered to himself, "No way... Could I really have been so terrified I hallucinated?"
Seeing his earnest demeanor, even the barbarians who had been mocking him paused in surprise:
"Dude, are you serious?"
"You're actually not joking?"
Seeing their reaction, Mr. Jones frowned slightly. "Tell me everything in detail."
The Clan Leader then recounted in excruciating detail his entire capture by the Northern Territory Empire. It began with a group storming his clan's camp and beating everyone senseless. One of them, wielding a double-bladed Great Axe, proved particularly formidable.
After rendering everyone powerless, the captors forcibly abducted him and transported him to the heart of the Northern Territory. There, he witnessed an astonishing sight: a dense swarm of Barbarians, their numbers rivaling the 50,000-strong Falcon Clan. Beyond the throng, he saw sprawling brick-and-stone dwellings and vast, verdant vegetable fields stretching as far as the eye could see.
These observations alone were enough to confirm the formidable strength of this "Northern Territory Empire."
Mr. Jones exclaimed in astonishment, "You mean they built brick houses on the ice and are farming on it too!?"
The Clan Leader nodded frantically. "I even saw people harvesting crops in those fields!"
Mr. Jones fell silent. Even if this so-called "Northern Territory Empire" had no expansionist ambitions, the mere knowledge of their ability to cultivate crops on ice would compel him to invade them.
Nomadism was a defining characteristic of the Northern Territory. The Barbarians' lack of fixed settlements allowed them to migrate freely, frustrating both the All Nations Alliance and the Dragon Ember Empire, who could only passively defend against their raids. Attempts to invade the Northern Territory were futile, as the invaders could never find anyone to engage!
From this perspective, settled agriculture and permanent settlements seemed like strategic weaknesses, right?
The reality was quite the opposite. Having a settlement was synonymous with strength, because it meant they no longer needed to worry about food. Their next priority was to continuously grow stronger!
Regardless of Mr. Jones' intentions, Hysilens, having obtained the intelligence she needed, was already preparing to leave. All she wanted now was to hurry back to her Magnificent Mansion Spell, snuggle into bed, and get some well-deserved rest. The rest could wait until later.
Hysilens shot out of the water with a soft pop. The sound wasn't loud, but Mr. Jones seemed to sense something amiss, his brow furrowing immediately. "What was that?!"
At his command, all the surrounding Barbarians fell silent. Mr. Jones listened intently, hearing only the crackling of burning branches and the faintest of dying screams. Nothing else.
"Was it just my imagination?" he muttered.
Then he turned to his Barbarian subordinates and barked, "Gather all the Clans loyal to me! Have them assemble here immediately!"
Before launching a war, the first step was always to amass forces. This was precisely one of the reasons Hysilens hadn't attacked outright. Waiting for the enemy to gather their forces would make taking them down in one fell swoop all the more convenient.
Otherwise, the Falcon Clan had at least forty or fifty vassal tribes—how long would it take to capture them all?
Hearing their Boss's command, the surrounding Barbarians responded with a unanimous shout before dispersing. However, they didn't set out on foot to notify the vassals. Instead, accompanied by a series of piercing whistles, several massive eagles descended from the sky and landed on the Barbarians' arms.
Unlike other clans, the Falcon Clan possessed specialized "eagle keepers," granting them excellent vision and communication capabilities across the vast, unobstructed Ice Plains. This was one of the key reasons why the clan had risen to become the dominant force in the region.
Returning to Hysilens' perspective, the first thing she did after stepping ashore and returning to her Magnificent Mansion Spell was strip off her soaking wet clothes. Then... she went to soak in a hot spring.
This might sound strange—emerging from one body of water only to immerse herself in another—but there was a difference. She had been swimming earlier; now she was bathing. After scrubbing off most of the fishy smell, she grabbed a bathrobe, wrapped it loosely around herself, and sprinted barefoot to her room.
The hot spring was some distance from the bedrooms, but since she and Cerydra were the only ones inside the Magnificent Mansion Spell, it wasn't a problem.
As for where everyone else was:
Outside the Magnificent Mansion Spell, Aria was cradling Half in her arms, Douglas was savoring roasted potatoes one bite at a time, and Feidric, though absorbed in his Magic Book, occasionally glanced up at the front.
Cipher was crouched on the ground, petting the Little Owlbear's head while watching the scene ahead with keen interest, her tail swaying happily behind her.
Pan Ming followed closely behind Dirk, his hands clasped together, a sincere expression on his face. "To think," he said, "this humble monk would encounter another monk so far from my homeland, in a foreign land—truly a fortunate occurrence."
Dirk was speechless. "Hold up, buddy. I'm not some 'monk' you're talking about. I'm just a barbarian from the Northern Territory. What are you even saying?"
Pan Ming replied, "But you've already shaved your head as a vow. In the Eastern Ancient Kingdom, anyone who shaves their head to uphold a creed is considered a monk."
"But I don't have any creed like the one you're talking about," Dirk said.
"Didn't you swear allegiance to Her Majesty the Empress and pledge to do anything for her?" Pan Ming asked.
Dirk replied instantly, "Absolutely! I'd give everything for Boss Imperator!"
Pan Ming said, "And when you made that resolution, you shaved off all your hair. At that moment, you became a monk, albeit one with a different creed than mine. Still, meeting another monk in this foreign land is truly a blessing for this humble monk."
In truth, Monks and Paladins share similarities. Monks adhere to their creeds, while Paladins fulfill their oaths. The key difference lies in the fact that Monks don't derive any power from their creeds; they simply adhere to these precepts out of pure adherence.
For example, when Hysilens asked Pan Ming if he would eat meat, Pan Ming would rather starve than break his vow. Yet, if he had chosen to eat meat, he wouldn't have suddenly died or lost any power. Nothing would have happened—eating would have simply been 'eating.'
In a sense, many monks could become part-time paladins. For example, if Pan Ming were to take the Oath of Devotion here and now, reciting the same vows as Aria, he would likely immediately gain paladin powers, as his actions have always perfectly aligned with the oath's tenets.
But Pan Ming would never do such a thing. He doesn't crave power; to him, strength is merely 'strength,' an external attribute, nothing more.
Dirk blinked, listening to Pan Ming's explanation to the monks. After a moment, he stammered, "Uh... now that you mention it, I actually kind of fit the description? Am I really a monk?"
An ordinary barbarian might have been easily convinced, but Dirk had traded his hair for wisdom—a smart barbarian! He quickly realized the flaw in Pan Ming's logic. "Wait a minute! I didn't shave my head willingly! This is the price I paid Boss Imperator for wisdom! It'll never grow back!"
Pan Ming paused, slightly taken aback. "Such good fortune exists?"
Dirk: "?"
Pan Ming said, "Every so often, this humble monk must trim his hair. If only I possessed the ability to prevent it from growing altogether."
Dirk opened his mouth, paused for a moment, and then said, "If you want that, find Boss Imperator at dawn tomorrow. Offer something as payment in exchange for the 'ability'."
Pan Ming replied, "But this humble monk has no money. I fear I cannot afford the price."
Dirk said, "It's not about money. It's about offering something else. Maybe you'd become a bit stupider or something."
It was a perfectly logical reversal. The Barbarians lost their hair to gain wisdom, so Pan Ming might lose wisdom to lose his hair. Though... the latter sounded a bit strange.
Hearing this, Pan Ming said, "But to bother Her Majesty with such a trivial matter would be improper. Let this humble monk complete Her Majesty's mission first, then I'll mention it when we meet again."
Time flowed slowly, and two more days passed in a blur. Cerydra showed no haste in launching her attack, allowing the Falcon Clan ample time to gather their forces. Only today did she sense the moment was right. Summoning Aria, Pan Ming, and the others, she declared, "The time has come. Today is the perfect day to strike."
"The five of you will accompany the Dux Gladiorum, leading ten thousand troops to depart immediately."
The Northern Territory Empire boasted over two hundred thousand citizens. If pushed, they could muster an army of one hundred thousand—a testament to the region's militarized society where every citizen was a soldier.
But truth be told, such a massive force wasn't necessary. Cerydra needed these people to build houses and cultivate fields. The ten thousand troops she dispatched were primarily intended for managing prisoners of war after the battle. The actual fighting would be handled by Hysilens, Pan Ming, Aria, and their elite group.
Upon receiving their orders, the group swiftly departed, reaching the outskirts of the Northern Territory Empire. There, ten thousand fully armed Barbarians, led by Dirk, had been waiting for hours.
It's worth noting that this was true full armament: every Barbarian wore a metal helmet and full plate armor, and wielded two brand-new, razor-sharp hand axes.
Such equipment would be worth a fortune in any ordinary nation, but here it had armed a force of ten thousand men in the Northern Territory—a scale beyond absurd.
When Dirk first saw the gleaming new weapons and armor spread across the ground, he froze in place, utterly stunned. "Boss Imperator," he asked, "where did all this come from?"
Before this, the best weapon Dirk had ever used was an axe he'd scavenged from the ground during their southern march—nothing more. Now, holding a pristine new axe in his hand, he could scarcely believe he would one day wield such a weapon.
But Cerydra simply replied calmly, "They grew out of the ice. What's it to you? Why do you care so much? Just take them and distribute them. Use them, and be done with it!"
It's just a few cold weapons sprouting from the ice. What's so strange about that? If Cerydra wanted, she could even conjure firearms from the ice without much effort. The problem is these barbarians lack proper training. Even if we gave them Magitech Firearms, they wouldn't know how to use them, so we just conjured some axes instead.
Returning to the present, under the leadership of Hysilens and others, the massive army officially set out, forming a long column across the desolate Ice Plains.
During the march, Hysilens glanced back at the sprawling line. The ranks were uneven, with some soldiers jutting out to the left and others to the right. Their footfalls were utterly chaotic, and some barbarians, marching too closely together, frequently stepped on the heels of those ahead or got their feet trampled by those behind.
In short, the army's discipline was abysmal. For barbarians, fighting in rigid formations would severely restrict their combat effectiveness. Conversely, allowing them to fight freely—charging at will and killing enemies as they pleased—was the only way to unleash their true combat power.