Chapter 362: Divine Storm

In the gilded hall of Moonlight Castle, three distinguished guests had come at Jesus’s invitation.

Of the three, two were towering, formidable knights encased in black armor.

They spoke not a word, their expressions icy, their backs bearing greatswords two meters long, each blade radiating danger without pause.

The third was an anomaly.

His skin was as pale as snow, his slender, gaunt frame entirely swallowed by a black mage’s robe, his long crimson hair lending him an uncanny, otherworldly allure.

“Please wait a moment—Count will arrive shortly.”

Idrisa, the host, arranged servants to attend to them while sending word to the Count of Moonlight Valley.

The otherworldly man glanced left and right, a faint smirk curling his lips. “The last meteor knight—Ramsey, was it? I sense no trace of him here.”

Idrisa’s heart tightened. For reasons he could not name, he felt an unshakable aversion to these three—something unnatural clung to them, a creeping unease he could not shake.

“Ramsey is not at Moonlight Castle.”

The rumor of Ramsey’s death had not yet been made public; he would not speak of it to outsiders.

Soon, Jesus entered the hall. Idrisa bowed deeply, then led all servants out.

“Gentlemen, long time no see—how fares the Moonlight Forest?”

The otherworldly man rose, revealing a smile both alluring and sinister.

“Your lordship’s domain is breathtakingly beautiful. My companions, Black Wound and the Madman, and I became so entranced we might have lingered indefinitely—had you not sent word.”

Jesus sat, exchanged a few pleasantries, then cut straight to the purpose of his summons.

“I agree to cooperate with you.”

He paused. “But I have one additional demand: you must prioritize my safety above all else.”

The otherworldly man’s mind stirred. There was something beneath those words—had something happened in Moonlight Valley? Was Jesus’s life in peril?

And with Ramsey absent… could it be that Ramsey had met his end?

Yet he asked nothing. Instead, he offered a sincere, amiable smile, bowing with elegant grace.

“Murphist, on behalf of Lord Flamewing, welcomes you into the Holy Storm! From this moment, you are our agent within the Kingdom of Auduin—and as an ally, your safety shall be our sacred duty!”

The Holy Storm—a powerful organization risen from the Kingdom of Tricia—Jesus had heard whispers of.

It was said the recent uprisings in Tricia had been orchestrated by them, just as the Polnt Bandits had seized territory as their own.

But unlike the Polnt Bandits, who were crushed, the Holy Storm had not only survived—they had been legitimized by the Trician crown.

According to Murphist, this was because their leader, Lord Flamewing, wielded power at the pinnacle of Silver Moon rank—power that, when unleashed, could rival even the Radiant Knights.

Jesus half-believed the tale, yet doubted Flamewing’s true strength.

Radiant Knights—how many decades had passed since one had been seen? Who dared claim to stand shoulder to shoulder with such a legend?

Yet he could not deny the power radiating from these three.

Their leader, Murphist, was a rare Grand Mage. Black Wound, with his darkened skin, was a Meteor Knight. The Madman, a Golden Knight.

Such a trio, wherever they went, would draw intense scrutiny.

Normally, Jesus would have welcomed such formidable allies with open arms.

But the Holy Storm’s ambitions were no simple matter. They sought to emulate the late Emperor Orland, to end the stalemate between two kingdoms and forge a new empire—the Holy Storm Empire.

Jesus scoffed inwardly at their grand dream—but within it, he saw opportunity.

He had long felt he was meant for more than the petty title of Count. He craved greater power, higher rank, vaster lands.

To that end, he had long coveted the Ushan Domain.

Yet under the current kingdom’s order, he could not act openly.

These three had come to Auduin to stir the waters, to sow chaos.

In that chaos, seizing Ushan would become far easier.

And they had promised him—if the empire rose—he would be made a Duke of the Holy Storm Empire.

Duke or not—that was a distant mirage. Jesus cared only for the opportunity they brought.

But in accepting, he would betray Auduin. And so he had hesitated—until yesterday.

When he suspected Ramsey and Angus were dead, he felt his own life trembling on a thread—and then he made his choice.

Whether he betrayed Auduin mattered little now. His only imperative: survive. Live unharmed.

Next, they settled the terms of cooperation.

First, Jesus must provide Murphist with a town and at least thirty thousand souls as the Holy Storm’s base within Auduin.

Second, he must assign a knightly order under Black Wound’s command to guard the base.

In return, Murphist would station Black Wound beside Jesus to ensure his safety—and, to a degree, obey his orders, resolving his troubles.

“If you seek to create chaos,” Jesus said coldly, “I urge you to make Ushan Domain your first target.”

The Holy Storm had come to sow disorder, to create openings.

And Ushan Domain—once weak, now regaining strength—was the perfect target.

Jesus could avenge Ramsey and Angus, vent his fury, and carve a path northward.

“Count, we require detailed intelligence on Ushan Domain.”

Jesus did not hesitate. “No problem.”

He laid bare every secret—every troop movement, every stronghold, even the possibility that Ramsey and Angus had been murdered.

“Ushan Domain is indeed an excellent target—but direct assassination is not the wisest path.”

Murphist’s eyes gleamed with cunning. “We require greater chaos—more players, more blood.”

“Oh?”

Jesus’s pulse quickened. This gaunt man was dangerous—and yet, he found himself strangely eager.

“What do you intend?”

“We must first strengthen ourselves.”

Murphist smiled mysteriously. “Count, would you care to grow stronger?”

Jesus frowned. One moment, Murphist spoke of drawing others into chaos—the next, he asked if Jesus wished to become stronger. What connection was there?

Though puzzled, he answered: “Every knight seeks greater power. I am no exception.”

Murphist raised a hand—and a black orb appeared in his palm.

“I have a way to make you a Golden Knight within a single day. Would you care to try?”

Jesus’s eyes widened.

“What do you mean?”

It means exactly what it says.

Mephistopheles spread his hands, the black bead in his palm radiating a dark luster.

He cast a glance toward the two knights beside him—Black Wound and the Ruffian.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

They moved simultaneously, seizing him left and right before Jesus could even react.

At the same moment, Mephistopheles raised his hand and erected a barrier, sealing all sound within the room.

“What are you doing?”

Jesus roared in terror, his voice trembling with outrage.

He knew their strength—but they were allies, bound by mutual benefit. There was no gain for them in turning on him.

“Back when Ramses was by your side, we dared not act so openly. But now that he’s gone, our arrangement must change.”

No sooner had the words left his lips than the black bead in his hand blazed with thick, inky radiance.

“Don’t worry—joining us is your honor.”

Mephistopheles’ voice dripped with seduction. “We have no intention of harming you.” (End of chapter)