Chapter 131: Cultivation

On the east side of Blackfort Town, nestled between the city garrison and the guard station, a large area had been cordoned off with simple wooden fences. This was where Victor’s retainers were quartered.

It was morning. Several young garrison soldiers stood atop the high watchtower, looking down at the camp below and occasionally erupting into mocking laughter.

"Haha, I’m dying!"

"Oh! That must have hurt! Look! He’s clutching his backside—his pants must have split! Hahaha!" One soldier hammered his fist against the railing, thoroughly amused.

"Look at the expressions on their faces; they’re as wrinkled as cabbages."

"Country bumpkins are just that—they don't even know how to perform basic drills," another soldier remarked with disdain.

"What are you doing?"

The speaker was an elderly warrior. Deep lines etched his face, and he walked with a slight limp, yet his gaze remained sharp. Under his watchful eye, the soldiers scrambled to stifle their laughter, though they remained red-faced and strained, clearly struggling to contain themselves.

"What are you laughing at? Don't forget, you are on duty," the old warrior scolded sternly.

"Captain, I really can't help it. Look at what Baron Victor’s guards are doing! Haha!" One soldier burst out laughing again, and the others followed suit.

The old warrior walked to the edge of the watchtower and peered down. Every movement of Victor’s retainers was visible. He saw dozens of men stretching their legs over the wooden fence and forcing their heads down toward their knees. Their faces were twisted in agony, a sight that was indeed hard not to find comical.

"These men are Baron Victor’s guards; they are exercising. There is nothing to laugh at; in fact, it is something you should learn from," the old warrior lectured. "Even though we are in a time of war, you cannot abandon your daily training."

The soldiers exchanged confused glances. They all knew the Captain was a retired veteran of the Fanged Legion, recalled due to the war decree, and a man of great seniority. However, they found it impossible to accept the idea of learning from those country bumpkins below.

One soldier plucked up the courage to ask, "Captain, what is the use of learning that kind of exercise? We have the training methods of our own noble house."

"Exactly. I heard Baron Victor’s guards are just low-born mercenaries. What kind of good training methods could they possibly have? Exercising like that won't increase their strength at all."

The old warrior glared, feeling it necessary to correct the arrogance of these young men. "None of you have tasted blood yet, and already your eyes are fixed on the heavens. Do not look down on these mercenary-born guards. They may not be as strong as you, but in a one-on-one fight to the death, none of you would be their match."

Seeing the young men hang their heads, the old warrior roared again, "Keep your heads up! You aren't their match in a duel, and if it were ten against ten, they wouldn't be yours either."

"Captain, are we really going to learn their exercise method or not?"

The old warrior was silent for a moment before shouting, "You idiots, I only want you to learn their spirit of diligent training! When you have free time, don't just stand around giggling."

The War Bear mercenaries were unaware of the scene at the watchtower; they were immersed in the agony of their training. Dozens of days ago, three spirit-monkey militia members had arrived at the camp, bringing them the primary, simplified secret cultivation method. Shortly after, Victor had appeared before the War Bear militia and given a simple instruction: "Train hard."

The War Bear mercenaries understood the implication and were ecstatic. Everyone knew that Lord Victor possessed a secret force whose strength rivaled that of Nelson. This meant that Lord Victor held a special training method, and this was likely what the three strangers had taught them. Consequently, the War Bear mercenaries approached the primary secret form with immense enthusiasm. What they hadn't expected was that the "special" training method was truly special—leg stretches and muscle loosening were agonizing for veterans whose average age was over forty. Yet, precisely because of the pain, the War Bear mercenaries became even more convinced that the method was effective. Thus, under the puzzled and mocking gazes of others, they practiced diligently every day. Of course, no one knew that these were merely the basics of the "Crouching Ox" secret form; without the subsequent training steps, they would never truly master it. This was why Victor was unconcerned.

The ant plague had been raging for over a hundred days. The ant swarm's offensive against Longstone Fort had diminished significantly, and scouts from the York family had discovered that some ant-man leaders were returning to the Great Swamp alone, confirming the suspicion that the swarm would eventually return. Sylvia acted decisively, leading three Great Knights to intercept these retreating leaders. Victor supported this decision and ordered Blackfeather to assist them in tracking the stray leaders.

Victor realized he had become the greatest beneficiary of this ant plague. In terms of time, at least 200 alchemical humans had been manufactured, a secret base was under construction, and the soul-fire limit and financial reserves of the alchemy tower were steadily increasing.

Now, he had also formed a secret alliance with the York family. Victor believed that in the near future, whether facing the next ant-man assault or navigating the internal politics of the kingdom, as long as the York family stood at the forefront, he would gain the time and space to grow.

But this alone was not enough. Alchemical humans were not true humans after all. To realize his vision, loyal subordinates were essential. Currently, the only people Victor could rely on and trust were the War Bear mercenaries.

How to ensure the War Bear mercenaries remained completely loyal was an important problem Victor needed to solve. He believed that if he achieved two things, most mercenaries would not betray him. First, land and family: Victor decided that after the ant plague ended, he would allocate a plot of land to every mercenary and help the bachelors find suitable partners. Once their children were born, his plan could be fully implemented. Second, re-establishing a closed system of benefit distribution—through dividends, expanding fiefs, and providing subsequent secret cultivation methods, he would bind them firmly to his chariot. Victor believed that the promise of increased power was a temptation the War Bear mercenaries could not resist.

Having finished his day's training, Victor strolled through the Rose Manor gardens. He found himself increasingly fond of lush, green environments. He discovered that in places where the breath of nature was strong, his mind became clearer and sharper, and his energy recovered exceptionally quickly.

As he walked, Victor mentally deduced the simplified methods of the Spirit Monkey secret form. He had many ideas, though the current environment did not allow him to test them.

"My Lord, good day."

Victor looked up to see Lilia, dressed in a beautiful maid's gown, bowing to him with an elegant demeanor.

"Lilia, what are you doing?" Victor asked with a smile.

"My Lord, I am learning flower arranging with Head Maid Merry. Look, these are the roses I just picked." Lilia curtsied to Victor again, raised the flower basket in her hands, and spoke in a melodic voice.

Lilia's conduct perfectly matched the etiquette of a personal maid, but Victor’s expression darkened. "Lilia, I don't like you calling me 'My Lord'."

"My Lord, I was too rude before. Now, with Head Maid Merry guiding me, I will surely become a qualified personal maid," Lilia said softly.

Looking into Lilia’s clear, bright eyes, Victor felt a pang of pain; he had indeed neglected her feelings during this time.

Victor stepped forward and hugged the young girl, whispering, "I'm sorry. Lilia, I have been negligent of you."

"My Lord, I have been trying so hard, but I am too clumsy..." Lilia could not control her emotions; she clung to Victor and sobbed uncontrollably.

"No! You are very smart," Victor said in a deep voice.

"I can't help you. I am not a noble knight, and I'm not pretty enough... I can't even be a good personal maid." Lilia buried her head in Victor’s chest, crying out her grievances.

"You don't need to be a personal maid. There are more important things waiting for you to do."

"Really? What else is there for me to do?" Lilia raised her tear-streaked eyes and asked.

"Just be yourself, and always stand by my side."

In Victor’s view, Lilia had no complex background. While she was a bit naive, she could follow him without reservation—something even Nicole could not do—and that was the most important thing to Victor!

"It's that simple?" Lilia looked at Victor in confusion.

"Simple?" Victor smiled. "It isn't simple to stand by my side forever. Learning to arrange flowers is useless; you must learn other things."

"Learn what?"

"First, learn mathematics."

Victor took Lilia’s hand and walked away, leaving the basket of roses abandoned on the grass.

***

The Bory United Kingdom, Aden Port. Duke Peter’s main castle was located here.

"Young Master Raymond, this is the gift Master Philip just sent over."

The impeccably dressed butler respectfully placed a box on the table.

A young man who was painting looked up, glanced at it, and then continued his work, asking casually, "What is it?"

"A battle technique scroll from Sword Saint Draven. Master Philip spent 50,000 gold sols to purchase it from Baron Billet," the butler replied.

The paintbrush stopped, and the young man stood up and walked to the table. He was about thirteen or fourteen years old, with refined and handsome features, black hair and eyes, and slightly pointed ears—he clearly possessed the bloodline of a Moon Elf.

"How many more of Prince Draven’s battle technique scrolls do I need before I collect them all?" the youth stroked the parchment scroll in the box and asked the butler.

"Young Master, there are seven battle technique scrolls left behind by His Highness the Sword Saint. You need three more to obtain the Sword Saint’s complete heritage," the butler replied.

The youth pondered for a moment and then asked, "Riley, you come from the White Tower and have studied history. Tell me, is that rumor true?"

Riley stepped forward and whispered, "Young Master Raymond, rumors are not to be trusted. According to White Tower records, there were only four awakened Moon Elf bloodlines at that time. Three of them met with misfortune, and it was from that time on that Lord Draven’s hair and eyes turned gold. Whether there is a necessary connection, no one knows."

"The Wimbledon family line flourished again after Draven, until now, when it has begun to decline. But even so, there are more awakened Moon Elf bloodlines currently than in Draven’s era."

"You may go now," the youth said coldly.

"Yes, Young Master. I take my leave."

Butler Riley bowed respectfully and backed out of the room. As he left, a subtle smile appeared in his eyes; he had just seen a vein bulge on the back of the young man’s hand.