The night was as black as ink, and all was silent.
Yet in that deep darkness, Nolan's eyes shone like reflections of the full moon, bright enough to dazzle.
That radiant light pierced straight into Nepheli's heart, making her already restless mind, stirred by alcohol, pound even faster.
The warrior woman's outfit could hardly be called clothing. It looked more like a rough assembly of cloth strips and animal hides.
Those scraps barely covered the most essential parts of her body. Large stretches of skin showed through, carrying a raw, primal allure.
Her waist curved with striking grace. Her full chest rose like towering mountains, while her slender midsection dipped like a stream flowing into a ravine, soft and lithe yet brimming with fierce strength.
The fur wrapping her hips framed their firm curve, and with every movement, a few thin straps swayed lightly in the air.
Nepheli met Nolan's gaze head-on.
Instead of turning away shyly like most girls, she returned his stare without the slightest hesitation.
Why does she look even more impatient than I am?
With that thought in mind, Nolan sat down first on the large, soft bed.
He raised his head, staring unblinkingly at Nepheli before him, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Perhaps the alcohol had finally taken hold. Nepheli suddenly felt her cheeks burn hot, as though two small flames had ignited beneath her skin.
Without waiting for Nolan to say anything, she strode over and sat down beside the bed with casual boldness.
Just like the way of the barbarians: simple, direct, and passionate.
And so, the night passed in the most straightforward way imaginable.
During the day, Nolan guided Vyke along the path of the strong.
At night, Nolan guided Nepheli along the path of the strong.
The days repeated themselves like this, and time slipped away unnoticed. In the blink of an eye, half a month had passed.
One morning, Nolan stepped out of his room with long, energetic strides, looking refreshed and full of life.
It was still early. The sky had only begun to lighten, and the world remained dim.
Yet torches in the distance lit up the horizon.
Amid the calm and lingering toll of bells, a column of cavalry rode swiftly down the country road in neat formation.
As dawn slowly spread, hardworking villagers gathered around crude wooden tables, enjoying simple but warm breakfasts.
Every face carried a look of satisfaction and quiet happiness. Not long ago, such a scene would have felt like an impossible dream.
Looking out through the window, it seemed as though the whole world had become a sea of galloping warhorses and cold steel armor.
At some point, a rumor began circulating among the people.
"The great knight Nolan Bethel deserves to be our true lord!"
The words spread like wildfire, winning the heartfelt support of countless villagers.
In the past, the villagers had lived in constant hardship, their lives hanging by a thread each day.
Every morning when they woke, a single thought would creep into their minds.
Today might be the last day of my life.
But things were different now.
This once-suffering village had come alive with new vitality. Hope filled every corner, leaving no place for despair or suffering.
If you walked along the village roads now and still looked troubled, weighed down by worry, there would soon be someone kind enough to step forward and point the way ahead.
One road led toward iron and battle songs.
The other led toward simple, quiet living.
Before the first light of dawn broke, Morton Manor had already awakened and begun the work of a new day.
Squads of soldiers in heavy iron armor stood along the earthen walls of the fort.
Holding spyglasses to their eyes, they watched the distant horizon for the slightest movement.
The light of the Erdtree poured down like a golden tide, reflecting off their faces. Their sharp gazes were like hawks scanning the sky.
Messengers moved back and forth to relay orders. Eight watch posts lined the manor's walls, while patrols scouted the outer perimeter.
Below the walls stood two hundred fully armed soldiers in silent formation, as if ready to answer the call to battle at any moment.
These soldiers were not all villagers from Morton Manor. Many among them were subjects who had come from other lands, along with Tarnished who had answered the call.
"This land has welcomed a brave and benevolent master."
The rumor spread from the mouths of the people as if it had grown wings, racing far and wide and drawing more and more people to gather here.
Naturally, it also reached the ears of the surrounding lords.
On a small hill not far away, more than a dozen powerful warhorses stood gathered together.
At their head was a knight clad in jet-black armor and a dark robe. His tall frame carried a massive greatsword across his back.
Noticing several lords waiting behind him, the knight pulled gently on the reins, guiding his warhorse to turn around with practiced grace.
Several barons quickly stepped forward, their expressions respectful. They bowed together and called out in unison.
"Lord Leonor!"
As nobles of the Golden Dynasty, they should not have shown such respect to someone who was, by all rights, an enemy of the dynasty.
But the man before them was no ordinary figure.
He was a Pureblood Knight of the Dynasty of Blood. Simply put, he was a hero.
On the surface, the war between Godrick and the Eleven Lords appeared evenly matched.
Both sides fought fiercely, and the battlefield seemed locked in chaos.
Yet those truly involved understood the reality. The rebels had already fallen into a disadvantage.
Their territory was smaller. Their soldiers were fewer. And their enemy possessed a Demigod.
With such a vast gap in strength, how could the rebels possibly hope to win?
Victory was nothing more than a foolish fantasy.
Yet even knowing the odds were hopeless, this war had to be fought.
It was not that the nobles were courting death out of boredom.
Godrick simply refused to spare them.
Leonor stood before the assembled lords and spoke with stirring conviction, painting a promising vision for the future.
"Rest assured. Our lord has never regarded Godrick as anything worth fearing. When the Dynasty reveals its might to the world, you will still retain your noble titles."
The Pureblood Knight was offering them promises he did not entirely believe in. He had little respect for these men who bullied the weak yet trembled before the strong.
Thinking back to the brutal Battle of the Haligtree three years ago, the Dynasty of Blood had suffered heavy losses.
Their lord had been severely wounded by the Golden Needle Knight through underhanded means. Even now, the injury had yet to fully heal.
The dynasty was currently in a phase of rebuilding its strength.
These lords were weak and far inferior to the great lords, but having them was still better than having none.
"Baron Will, is it true there is a hero guarding that manor?"
"That should be correct."
One of the barons stepped forward from the crowd, his brows tightly furrowed.