Today, they too are going to their deaths.

Just as Cui Xun was rapidly learning extraordinary knowledge, an ambush related to him was taking place on a distant road.

"You extinguished the flame I left behind."

The agent, who was carrying out a cargo transportation mission, was suddenly lifted up by a powerful figure with one arm.

The agent did not struggle or touch the gun at his waist. He knew that the other party was too strong for him to resist, so he simply tried to calm himself down and prepare for communication.

There is still hope as long as the other party does not kill him immediately.

Only a handful of people knew about his operation, and they were likely all affiliated with the royal family. At most, they had some conflicting interests, but it wasn't a life-or-death struggle...

Unfortunately, Major Andrew didn't give the royal agent a chance to reply. With a sudden burst of strength, he crushed the man's skull.

He knew that these agents couldn't provide the information he needed. They only knew how to transport important items to the target location as quickly as possible, and most of them didn't even know why they were transporting them or what they were transporting.

Obviously, they couldn't possibly know his identity, his plans, or what he meant by the flames he mentioned.

But before killing someone, you must give a reason for killing them.

Only in this way can we clarify the weight of life and the value of death, and give meaning to killing.

The agent's blood and brains splattered onto his uniform, slowly seeping into it, as if the uniform had swallowed them whole.

When this uniform was first made, it was nothing special, but the last soldiers of the fallen kingdom wore it for over a hundred years, killing countless lives with it. Gradually, it also learned to eat, just like its master.

Major Andrew liked its frugality, which allowed him to save time on cleaning and instead immediately check the spoils of war.

He pulled the package from the corpse, casually unsealed it, and took out the contents one by one.

Two original texts written by old friends, a textbook that is outdated, two books of rubbish left by a good-for-nothing, and a sword, a familiar and excellent sword that even he was impressed by.

Its hilt is shaped like a cross, constructing a simple temple that envelops the swordsman in an extremely minimalist way, turning the place where the swordsman stands into his territory. A red gemstone carved from a dragon's eye is inlaid on the hilt. The dragon's wrath flows within it, and has not yet dissipated.

Major Andrew gripped the sword, infusing it with his spirituality.

The longsword had long been tamed by the Queen of Albion, and it resisted the invasion of outsiders.

Crimson flames immediately rose up, attempting to burn the swordsman's hand.

If it were an ordinary person, they would be burned alive even if they let go at this moment. Even a superhuman with some skills would probably have to cut off an arm to survive. But Major Andrew felt nostalgic in this temperature.

He easily suppressed the demonic sword and even had the mind to greet it.

"Meriaduk, long time no see."

However, the longsword, now free of its past traces, showed no reaction. It simply continued to release its power until the towering demonic flames completely engulfed Major Andrew, the intense heat distorting the air around him.

Andrew had anticipated this.

He was not Meliaduk's master, but merely his master's comrade-in-arms, and the weapon taken by the Queen had clearly been painted with her colors.

But he couldn't help feeling a pang of sadness.

The motherland was destroyed, the heritage was severed, history was covered up, and relatives and friends were all slaughtered. Only the traitors raised their glasses in the enemy's country, boasting of their wisdom.

Now, this familiar sword, which had changed hands several times during the war and was eventually seized by the enemy, has returned to his hands in a defiant manner, and his preparations for the Albion Rebellion have been affected.

In a way, isn't this a good thing?

Out of fear, he fled across the land, never lingering, never establishing contact, only daring to observe the queen's decline from afar, watching the kingdom that relied on her power rapidly decay.

He did not intervene when the colonies rebelled; he did not intervene when the various supernatural societies stirred up chaos; and he did not intervene when the internal strife within the royal family was at its most intense.

He used that time to learn and accumulate strength, partly because he worried that the time was not yet ripe and that the accumulated strength would not be enough to destroy the kingdom, and partly because he wanted to use his own hands, rather than relying on the strength of others, to complete his revenge.

If a rebellion were to break out, he would enjoy watching the blood flow endlessly across the land. If the sparks of rebellion were extinguished, then he would have to take matters into his own hands.

He alone, without resorting to a kingdom-wide rebellion to unleash his secret magic, would find it difficult to defeat the Kingdom of Albion. However, wandering around, destroying the country that had robbed him of everything and taking the lives of its citizens through assassinations would surely be a very pleasant thing.

The most delightful thing is that the Queen is still alive, and she can even sense everything happening in her land, but she can only watch it all unfold.

In a sense, the posture of being unable to move or speak, simply sitting on the throne, might not be considered living.

It doesn't matter, as long as he's happy.

"Should we start by killing the agent at his destination? Or should we be a little gentler and kill the recipient first?"

Andrew was very curious about what kind of charm the mysterious man of unknown origin possessed that could make Prince Charlemagne, who was originally going to cooperate with him, give up the ritual of mercy to prolong the Queen's life, and even make the veterans of the Serpent Cult postpone their riot.

That person must be extremely powerful and noble, yet also incredibly gentle and patient, capable of restoring prosperity to the Kingdom of Albion.

Therefore, he must be killed.

Thinking this, Andrew gripped the blade and cut open his own palm.

His flesh and blood kept seeping out, weaving into a thin membrane as his palm slid across the blade, enveloping Meliaduk.

The demonic sword, tamed by the queen, fiercely resisted the enemy's power, but the uncontrolled, masterless demonic flames were unable to break through the seal specifically designed to target it, and could only silently endure it, eventually falling into a dormant state.

Andrew estimated that it would take him about two days to get the magic sword to recognize him as its master with the lowest possible compatibility.

This is the same time it would take him to reach his destination city by train, but given his status, taking the train is not really appropriate.

Andrew tightened his collar, picked up the headless agent's body again, and stuffed himself into it along the severed neck as if putting on a piece of clothing.

Amidst the eerie sounds of flesh tearing and bones shattering, he donned this identity.

The ordinary-looking middle-aged agent scratched the back of his head, tightening his skin to make his hair stick firmly to his body. His clothes also slowly shifted, becoming more form-fitting.

To have survived the attacks of countless powerful figures to this day, and even to be mistaken for dead by some, Andrew must have some skill in disguise.

He packed the items back into the package, resealed it, and then boarded the agent's steam locomotive to continue his unfinished cargo delivery mission.