Your Majesty's money, why don't you engrave my name on it?

But... that's not right.

Where is the king? Where is the mastermind? Where did they all escape to?!

Raslaufer dragged his greatsword across battlefield after battlefield, creating more and more corpses with his passage, yet also surviving just as many. With Dople's trajectory as the boundary, Felix's front line was unbreakable, while the other side was already tottering in the storm.

"Marse!!"

Raslaufer roared to the sky, calling out the name of that arrogant king, but there was no response. The king was just a lone figure, and in such a chaotic battlefield, he was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to him, Raslaufer had returned to the vicinity of the starting point, where a crown lay tumbling in the blood-stained dust, but the brilliance reflected by its gems still made it stand out remarkably.

Raslaufer bent down and picked up the crown as if completely unguarded, but not only were his two most desired targets absent, but even other enemies were nowhere to be seen. When Dobler turned around at the sound of footsteps, he saw only a black dragonkin wielding an acacia wand approaching him with fanaticism, as if on a pilgrimage.

“Edward?” A lingering sense of reason made Leslaufer lower his raised greatsword. “What are you doing here?”

"Don't you think you rushed in too far ahead?" The black dragon descendant, who looked burly but was actually just a child in human form, gave a wry smile. "I came to protect you... but I've found that you don't need it at all."

No wonder Miss Margaret of the Lister family completely ignored Lord Raslaufer, focusing solely on protecting Angreta, who already had a unicorn by her side. Edward suddenly felt he might be a fool—he had clearly witnessed Raslaufer's terror, yet he thought that a different opponent would put this Doppler in grave danger!

Previously, Leslaufer had pushed too far forward, but now he's in the forward position!

“You’d better stand with the others. I can’t look after you here.” Raslaw was telling the truth. Not to mention “looking after” him, even with Daisy as a safety net, he might not recognize Edward in time if things got really heated.

“Don’t worry about that,” Edward, or rather Swampthroat, said, his gaze falling on the crown in Leslaufer’s hand. “I was near you just now and saw that tyrant running away—what do you plan to do about it?”

Raslaufer hadn't really thought about it; he had just picked it up casually.

“Then please leave it to me,” Swampthroat squeezed the vertical pupils on his Dragonborn face. “I think you’ll like it.”

Chapter 627 Retreat and Pursuit

A moment later, behind the retreating followers of Bane, a huge illusion about five meters tall was erected. It was just a knight, looking unremarkable, but at the tip of his lance was a crown that was specially highlighted and made impossible to ignore because it was surrounded by several red halos.

This was by no means the correct way to use the crown, but soon, shouts rang out as the crown trembled on the spear tip, crashing down on the already weakened enemy forces:

"Marseille's head is here!"

"Retreat! Retreat!" From the rear of the army formation, Bane's Black Hand stared intently at the illusion, but only this command escaped from her almost crushed teeth. She clutched her hastily bandaged left shoulder, from which blood and black mist tinged with silver moonlight were seeping.

That unicorn! She could never have imagined that the girl, who looked no more than twenty, was riding a unicorn! If it weren't for that celestial creature, she definitely would have—

"Ugh!" Black Hand angrily slammed her fist into her wound, letting the excruciating pain mingle with her rage. She might not be able to beat that girl! Though she desperately didn't want to admit it, it was the truth!

She's forty years old and has served in the military for over twenty years, yet she couldn't beat a little girl who wasn't even that old! If she were an ordinary soldier, she could easily convince herself with plenty of reasons, but she couldn't!

She is Bane's mastermind, a high-ranking member of the cult, and a commander of the army! She not only possesses superb combat skills but also enjoys divine blessings! Now, her only excuse is that she was injured by that Raslaufer before she even engaged in combat with him!

But that's not enough!

"Make your troops retreat even faster!" Marseille cried out to her anxiously from his horse beside her. "They're almost here!"

He turned his head and looked at the phantom of the lance carrying a crown, which was only inches away from him. His reason told him that the other party was actually still far away, but his emotions could not accept it.

Was his personal fighting ability really that much weaker than that mercenary's? Marseille refused to admit it, arguing that he had wounded Raslaufer, but this wound turned out to be one of the few injuries Raslaufer sustained over such a long period. So, whose fault was it? Wasn't it obvious?

“You boasted that you could easily crush them!” the king shouted at Bane’s black hand. “And look what’s happened! Is this Bane?”

"Shut up!" Black Hand roared, his wounds, which had just been partially healed by magic, reopened a little. "How dare you question our piety?!"

“Then you should be more devout!” Marseille was not intimidated by her and immediately retorted without any mercy, “If I had any more power, I would definitely kill that bastard and feed him to my tiger!”

Bane's Black Hand was too lazy to argue with him anymore. She suddenly realized that even if such a man did have some strength and did practice Bane's way, he might not be qualified to be a king.

Is it because he is not strong enough?

“We will retreat to your capital, Talecher City, as soon as possible. With its defenses, we still have room to maneuver,” Black Hand said after a moment of silence. “To answer your first question: this speed will not allow us to be caught up, and it will also preserve most of our strength.”

The executor's losses were quite significant, largely due to the enemy's high-level combatants. However, once back in the city, she would have time to upgrade some of the Bane's Fist members to fill the gaps. As for the losses of the Bane's Fist... they could draw manpower from the remaining conscripted troops. Having fought alongside Bane's followers today, their morale was generally "inspired," making it easy to select the best. The most irreparable losses were actually their armor and weapons.

Hopefully, Talecher will have enough supplies.

With this in mind, Blackhand led his army in a fighting retreat, heading towards Talleyshel. During this time, the allied forces under Felix's command approached several times, but in their pursuit, they struggled to defeat the Bane followers who maintained their discipline and morale. In the end, they could only keep a relatively close distance behind, slowly whittling down the number of those serving the king with sporadic firepower.

“At this rate, by the time they reach Talecher, we’ll probably only be able to reduce their numbers by less than a tenth,” Felix said, looking at the map with difficulty as he rode his horse. “These guys are far superior to the kingdom’s internal army! Tsk, unless we can launch Lord Raslaufer into their midst.”

The Earl felt a murderous gaze directed at him. He glanced up in Anne's direction and awkwardly shut his mouth.

He was just saying that casually. Even if they really wanted to do it, where would they find something to launch the Doppler?

"Damn Elisetrix! I can't take it anymore!" Sylvanas complained as she followed Felix. Her feet barely touched the ground; the magic bestowed upon her by her dark elf nature allowed her aching feet and leg muscles to rest for a while. "We're the ones who won, so why don't we just let them get away! We can't possibly eliminate them halfway through, can we?"

It's best to avoid attacking a city if possible, but if you have to set up catapults, ladders, ballistae, and battering rams on both sides, why bother with such a tiring chase? She's not good at this kind of long-distance pursuit, and she's almost at her limit.

“The faster we chase them, the faster they will chase us; the less we catch our breath, the more they will suffocate.” Erwin, running on the other side, was also somewhat tired, but he was encouraging Sylvia. “Don’t forget, they can definitely get to the city before us. If we rest, they will only be better prepared—don’t give them that chance.”

“Fine, let’s run until we die then,” Sylvia rolled her eyes and put her feet back on the ground. “Think about those evil cousins ​​who were bewitched by Corilon… They have to face the scorched sun and run through the forest chasing rabbits or squirrels for seven hundred years… Ah, yes, I feel much better.”

“We’ll be alright soon,” Marseille said. After days of being chased, he was no longer the arrogant man he once was. The king lay sprawled on his horse like a dead dog, his upper body bare and drenched in sweat, looking utterly disheveled. But when he saw the bright gray-white gleam in the sunlight in the distance, he immediately perked up. “Look! It’s Talleyche! We’re almost there!”

That idiot Fashan actually told him it was just a small force? When he gets back, he'll definitely skin that uncle alive and use the skin to make a cover for his throne!

Chapter 628 Just as Daisy said

Talleyshel, the magnificent city he had rebuilt at great expense, drawing upon civilians and slaves, finally reappeared before Marseille. Its walls, constructed of marble and rammed earth lime, were so solid that even an enchanted dagger could hardly penetrate them. It had turned the traitor who had been pursuing him against him, but now it would also help him utterly crush the rebels.

He's going to build those damned mercenaries and Felix inside the wall!

Thinking of this, King Marseille sat up straight, mustered his strength, and spurred his horse to the front of the column, rushing straight to the city walls. He shouted loudly to the already alerted defenders above:

"Open the city gates! I'm back! Open the city gates now!"

The pursuers were still some distance away, and they could safely enter Talleyshel—a much better place than the traitor Felix's little bunker. As long as they held out, the rebels couldn't possibly outlast him.

I heard their military expenses are sponsored by a businessman? A businessman! How could he possibly be richer than him? He's the king!

Marseille was smugly thinking about it, and he could almost picture Felix being forced to surrender. However, after waiting for a long time, the city gate, which was so close at hand, remained completely still.

Bane's mastermind sensed something was wrong: "What's going on?"

“We brought all the able-bodied men out; the rest are the old, weak, sick, and disabled…” But even Marseille felt this excuse was a bit far-fetched, so he shouted loudly towards the city walls again, “Hey! Open the city gates quickly! Your king has returned!”

Finally, a fully armed soldier poked his head out and looked down: "King? We don't see any king. Who are you?"

"I am—what did you say?!" Marseille exclaimed in shock. "I am your king, you bastard! I am the creator and ruler of Marseille and Talleyche, and the only legitimate monarch of this land! I command you to open the gates immediately!"

The soldier withdrew his head, but just as Marseille thought the other man was going to open the door for him, more heads popped up one after another, along with a series of crossbows ready to be fired.

They did not appear old, weak, sick, or disabled; on the contrary, they were all strong young men, and in terms of discipline, they were even more advanced than the guards Marsella had sent out.

"You say you're the king? Excuse me, where's your crown?" It was that same soldier again. "We only recognize the crown and His Highness the Regent. Right now, all we see outside the city is a naked madman on horseback!"

Marseille paused, startled. "What regent... Damn it, Fachan!" He snapped back to reality. "Get that greedy skunk out here! I want to know what's going on here!"

Fashan's head popped out from the city wall: "Oh, it's you. I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you at first glance. I'm sorry, you can't enter this city—it's all your own fault."

"Fashan, even you betrayed me?! I trusted you so much! I thought you were my uncle!"

A cryptic, mocking smile appeared on Uncle Wang's face: "Yes, I am grateful for your trust in me, but I attribute that to your stupidity rather than your kindness. As for your accusation of betrayal? Please understand this, Your Highness: I am not your subject, nor are you my king. Where does this talk of betrayal come from?"

"Oh, are you planning to attack the city? Let me remind you, the real 'traitor' is right behind you—look, he's coming."

Marseille hurriedly turned his head away. The Black Hand's orders had already been conveyed. The remaining troops, unable to enter the city, lined up with their backs to the city walls. Fortunately, Fassham did not take advantage of the situation. Instead, he watched with great interest from the sidelines.

If he could win, he would have already won; he's not worried at all.

“Looks like you’re in trouble, Marseille,” Felix said, standing before the allied forces. To his right was Angelita riding Verunara, and to his left stood Leslaufer, still the embodiment of a god of slaughter. “Surrender now. It’s your only way out. You and your family can retain your noble status. I’ve even found you a manor where you can retire in peace.”

Marse's expression was uncertain. He couldn't surrender, but... it seemed he really couldn't win. Perhaps he should choose a more dignified way...

But he didn't have a chance to speak, because Leslaufer had already spoken:

"I disagree."

This sudden statement not only stunned Marseille and Fasch, but even Felix was caught off guard and quickly tried to persuade them: "But Your Excellency Raslaufer, this is..."

“Your duel with me isn’t over yet, Marseille,” Raslaufer said, lifting one side of his upper lip. “Let’s settle this first, and then we can talk about other things.”

"And you, you're Bane's mastermind? Very well, you were the one who insisted on saving him before. Now, I'll give you both a second chance: come on, challenge me, and then I'll crush you under my feet."

“Don’t go too far, Raslaufer!” Bane’s Black Hand stepped forward, her wounds now healed. “I remember who you are now. You once served among us, didn’t you? You should know that the Lord of Discontent will not tolerate betrayal, let alone such blatant provocation!”

She raised her hand, and under the influence of divine magic, the jet-black glove looked incredibly fierce, as if Bane himself acknowledged the matter.

But all she got in return was bursts of maniacal laughter, one after another, like rumbling thunder before a storm on a cloudy day.

"Hahahaha, hahahahahaha!" Raslaufer, wielding his greatsword in one hand, strode towards his opponents. "Are you kidding me? You can't tolerate this? Come on! Let me see what he can do to me! And what can you do to me!"

"Take up your weapons, this is your last chance!"

Black Hand slowly tightened her grip on the hard-headed hammer, while beside her, the king, now stripped of his crown, gritted his teeth. Finally, as Doble took another step forward, as if the anger or fear in his chest could no longer be suppressed, Marseille leaped off his horse, pounced on the side, seized a lance bearing a long, triangular black spear banner, and charged towards Leslaufer with a terrifying roar.

This weapon, which could serve as both a ceremonial weapon and a killing weapon, was over three meters long. Besides its handguard and counterweight, it was also imbued with divine power, giving Marseille an extra three points of speed when charging with it. Then, Raslaufer raised one leg.

His ribs, covered only by a thin layer of flesh, snapped instantly. Blood seeped from Marseille's mouth, nose, and even his eyes and ears. He was lifted into the air, far from his lance, his city, and his kingdom, before finally crashing to the edge of an irregular little crater.

It looks like a stray dog ​​on the roadside.

Chapter 629 "Fair" Duel

"next."

Raslaufer tossed his lance up with his toes, casually gripping it in his hand. The triangular black flag at its tip fluttered in the cold wind. This plain black flag wasn't a victory banner to be flown after a victory, but merely used for marking positions and simple command. Even so, its capture by Raslaufer was still a humiliation for Bane's followers.

Even more humiliatingly, it only took two kicks for Raslaufer to go from facing his opponent to holding his lance. Now, he's starting to provoke their manager.

“Raslaufer,” Bane Blackhand’s face was now as black as her gauntlets. She knew this battle was inevitable, and even the outcome, life and death, were already predetermined. The only difference was the method—but she would fight for it. “If you’re still a man, then duel with weapons equal to mine! What does it matter if you use your strength to bully someone who is weaker?”

As she spoke, she swung the hard-headed hammer in her hand with great force, and the hammerhead, shaped like an iron fist, made an ominous buzzing sound as it cut through the air.

"Why waste words with this kind of person? Let's all charge forward!" Daisy, holding the lyre she had obtained from the dark elves, fanned the flames from the side. Her own lyre had only two strings left, so it would be a joke to say that she had no qualms about it.

When the Black Hand saw the bard, his expression darkened further: "If I were you, I wouldn't do this: we have no way out. If you insist on fighting here, we can only accompany you to the last man. Perhaps it won't do any good, but I swear in the name of Bane, the price you pay will far exceed expectations."

If it has to be a fight to the death... then let's fight to the death! Even this Duple couldn't possibly kill everyone here while ensuring that his allies suffer only minor losses!

“Alright, I agree to your proposal, even if… just for the sake of our past battles,” Daisy was about to say something when Raslaufer waved her off. He casually tossed his lance to the ground, then sheathed his Blackflame Greatsword, before drawing his Hellfire Blade. “Here, take a look at this?”

This hellish sword is still longer than a hard-headed hammer, but Raslaw has no more suitable weapon.

“Uncle Raslaufer.” Just then, Angelita suddenly spoke, riding forward to Duple’s side.

Leslaufer glanced up at her slightly: "What, are you itching to do it again? Not this time."

"Ah, do you really think I can fight her?" Angelita was somewhat pleased, but quickly became serious. "No, I've fought her before, and without Verunara, I can't beat her. What I wanted to ask you was, would you mind using a different weapon?"

“These priests are not good people. If you use a knife, they may not be convinced and it will be troublesome.”

Angelita's concerns were not unfounded; the previous mastermind had broken the rules of the duel by forcibly standing up for Marseille.

What suggestions do you have?

“Use this,” Angelita said, taking the owl-headed warhammer from her waist and handing it to Leslaufer. She winked at her uncle and chuckled, “This one’s powerful.”

“Learn something good from Daisy,” Leslaufer rolled his eyes, casually swapping his sword for a hammer. “Since you put it that way, use this one. The only difference is what kind of fatal wound we can inflict on her.”

The girl immediately perked up. She cleared her throat, took the warhammer, and as she sat up straight, she loosely placed the blade on Raslaufer's shoulder: "Well... then, in the name of the family, I grant you the right to use this warhammer to continue my grandfather's unfinished work—to execute this traitorous believer!"

To outsiders, this statement seemed nonsensical; even if the girl was riding a unicorn, she didn't seem to have the right to make such a claim. However, she truly did.

Raslaufer weighed the warhammer in his hand: "Then, as you command—you, come forward, and die."

Bane's Black Hand stared at the warhammer in Raslaufer's hand with a vacant expression. The weapon was indeed well-made, but the problem was that it was not a remarkable magical weapon. Compared to that battle sword, it not only sacrificed length but also had significantly reduced power. Meanwhile, the armor she wore was mixed with a small amount of adamantite.

“Arrogance is a way to die,” she said, cutting to the chase, charging straight at Leslaufer. “Your way to die!”

Iron Fist and Owl Bear Head collided violently. Reslaufer's strength sent the opponent's hammer flying, but the subsequent blow only produced a shower of sparks on Blackhand's shoulder armor. A certain property of the metal dispersed the force of his swing across the armor, rendering even a blunt strike ineffective. Blackhand used the momentum to spin around and swung his hammer back at Reslaufer, only to encounter almost the same situation.

The craftsmanship of the dwarves is certainly trustworthy, especially since this is a heavy armor custom-made for his friend by a skilled dwarven craftsman.

It seemed this battle was destined to drag on. But as the two sides exchanged blows, everyone, both on and off the city walls, held their breath, showing no sign of impatience.

There were almost no outsiders here; they could see the value in this battle—there was no magic, no divine arts, and no fancy techniques. Every strike was the most basic and deadly move, yet it could be countered and blocked by the other side. If they were in the place of either side, even with the same equipment, they would never have been able to keep the battle going for so long.

Raslaufer's martial arts skills weren't significantly superior to his opponent's, and without using his most suitable weapon, a quick victory would be difficult. However, he would still emerge victorious—his opponent was at a disadvantage in both stamina and strength.

"Drink!" Amidst the dazzling chaos, Raslaufer suddenly roared. He raised his hand to meet the opponent's warhammer. Although he took a solid hit to his left forearm, he managed to deflect the opponent's only weapon. His right hand, with the owl-headed bear shrieking in the wind, hooked the Black Hand's helmet with its beak, knocking off his head protection while slicing a strip of flesh from his face.

Dobler's allies erupted in cheers, their fists clenched in anticipation of the attack. One more blow, and Raslaufer would win the duel. But the black hand seemed to have anticipated Raslaufer's move, using the momentum of the blow to immediately lunge in another direction. Her target was none other than the greatsword Raslaufer had previously impaled in the ground!

She will use this sword to end its master's life!

Chapter 630 The Battle Banner of Raslaufer