Chapter 363: Transformation

Ink-black shadows surged over Jesus’s entire body, as if tens of thousands of ants scurried through his flesh and blood—agonizing torment wracked him, his limbs trembling violently, veins bulging like twisted ropes beneath his skin.

Born of royalty, raised above all others, Jesus had never imagined he would endure such inhuman suffering.

How long had it lasted? Ten minutes? Half an hour?

Only when Mephistopheles showed signs of exhaustion, when the glow within the bead in his hand dimmed and finally vanished, did Jesus collapse like a sack of rotting flesh onto the ground.

He gasped for breath, weary, yet his eyes no longer held fear—instead, they shimmered with reverence.

Mephistopheles laughed aloud and dissolved the soundproof barrier.

He glanced at the lifeless bead in his palm and sighed. “The bead’s energy is nearly spent, all for Jesus.”

Black Wound’s voice was icy. “After all, this was a transformation of the highest ‘Abyssal’ tier—consumption naturally runs high.”

He glanced at the berserker beside him, who, unlike Jesus, belonged to the mid-tier ‘Frost’ transformation.

The difference lay in memory: Abyssal retained every recollection, every habit, merely twisting the soul.

Frost preserved only fragments—duller, less agile, requiring time to cultivate complex thought.

As the public face of the Holy Storm in the Kingdom of Audun, they could not let Jesus appear unnatural.

Mephistopheles smiled and extended a hand toward the seated Jesus. “Jesus, welcome—you are now officially one of us, a member of the Holy Storm!”

Jesus’s lips curled slightly. Though weary, he felt… good.

“It is my honor.”

He reached out, and was pulled to his feet.

Now, Jesus could no longer tell whether he was still Audun—or even whether he was dead or alive.

But none of that mattered anymore.

“Let us begin with Moonlight Valley—pry open this kingdom!”

Mephistopheles grinned. “But first, we need more soldiers.”

Though the bead’s energy had been depleted, it still held enough for Frost-tier transformations.

“That knight who just left—he seemed strong.”

Jesus smiled, a cruel twist of his lips. “To become a member of the Holy Storm—what an honor for him.”

He drew a deep breath, stepped slowly to the door, and pushed it open.

A short distance outside, Captain Idrisa of the Second Knightly Order stood idly, gazing at the sky, curious what the lord had been discussing with those three for so long.

“Idrisa.”

Startled, Idrisa turned. “My lord? What is your command?”

“I have a task for you. Come inside.”

Jesus’s demeanor was unchanged, nothing amiss.

Idrisa felt no suspicion—he hurried into the hall.

…

To prevent Jesus from doing something mad, Ronin had lingered in Shore City for a long time.

Yet to his surprise, Moonlight Valley remained eerily silent.

No search parties. No overtures to Ronin. Not even merchants traveling between the two places had heard of Ramsay and Angus’s deaths.

As if the two men had been insignificant nobodies.

Yet Angus, in particular, had been pivotal in Moonlight Valley.

Ronin began to wonder: Had Jesus’s former arrogance been entirely propped up by Ramsay?

Now that Ramsay was dead, was he cowering, too afraid to show his face before Ronin again?

Ronin did not know why—but no merchant from Shore City to Moonlight Valley brought him any useful intelligence.

Still, silence was better than trouble.

Time slipped away, and suddenly it was December 20th.

Hssss!

A sharp, pale-white flame lanced forth, striking the mountain wall ahead.

The solid stone crumbled like tofu beneath the searing beam, pierced clean through.

Ronin watched the result with deep satisfaction.

After weeks of relentless practice, he could now cast the Burning Ray with perfect precision.

Moreover, his combat prowess had grown substantially through sparring with Riedal.

Whooosh—whooosh—

The sound of flapping wings drew near, and soon two griffins landed before him.

Riedal and Macken leapt down.

With Karllos’s aid, they had successfully tamed the mounts of Ramsay and Angus—now they could ride griffins between distant outposts.

Thus, whether trouble arose in Shore City, Stone City, or Crimson Hill Village, Riedal and Macken could swiftly respond.

The only regret: Macken was still only a Silver Knight.

Had he been a Meteor Knight, Ronin’s concerns here would have lessened greatly.

But soon—after midnight—his number of energy essences would suffice to elevate Elron, and then Macken’s strength would rise.

“Tomorrow, I return to Ube Province to attend the Marquis’s birthday banquet,” Ronin informed Riedal and Macken.

Time flew. A year had passed.

In that year, Ronin and his followers had not only left the Mountain Village—they now held scattered posts across the land.

Territory expanded. Numbers swelled.

Though the original knights were dispersed, certain traditions endured—like the annual year-end Knightly Tournament, which fostered competition, loyalty, cohesion, and combat readiness.

It would be held separately in Ube Province, Stone City, and Shore City.

Ronin allocated five thousand gold coins to Riedal and Macken combined.

Of course, the prizes were minor—the bulk went toward daily stipends and recruiting more professional knights.

Ronin also appointed new responsibilities for Stone Province.

In short: Riedal could oversee and intervene in all matters, including commanding the newly formed knight squads of Stone City.

His status was akin to a viceroy.

Macken handled military affairs in Stone City and Crimson Hill Village; if uncertain, he could consult Riedal nearby.

“Though Moonlight Valley appears calm, do not lower your guard. Strengthen training for the Fifth Knightly Order and our own squad,” Ronin warned.

Rest easy, my lord—we shall remain ever vigilant toward Moonlight Valley,” said Ridal. “I have instructed Sanzuo to thoroughly interrogate all who travel to and from Moonlight Valley, and we are also rooting out the remnants of their agents left behind in Shorehaven. Should any intelligence arise, I shall notify you at once.”

No one would believe that when Ronin arrived in Shorehaven, Ramsay came immediately to assassinate him—without someone leaking word.

Yet uprooting Moonlight Valley’s spies is a complex and protracted endeavor.

The next morning, Ronin set off with Karllos toward the northern territory of Wu Bei.

Before departing, he invested the extra seventy-two Essence Shards into Macken’s body, raising his level progression to Silver Rank (590/1500).

On the road, even a fraction of added strength meant an extra measure of self-preservation.

By noon, Ronin had returned to Marsh Keep.

Outside the castle, the courtyard buzzed with the year-end Knightly Tournament; it was the slack season for farming, and many free peasants and passing caravans had gathered to watch.

Building on last year’s success, this year’s Wu Bei Tournament proceeded with remarkable smoothness.

Ronin watched from a distance for a while, then sent Garen to summon Elrond—the first eighth-rank transcendent of Wu Bei was about to be born.