The Sovereign System.

Two days later, the scouts returned from their journey west, confirming that an army was indeed marching toward Clayton City—almost thirty thousand strong. Their armor and direction of travel indicated they were from Lhair.

Another meeting was called, but this time, no one questioned Luke's theories. In fact, much to his surprise, they actively sought his input during the discussions.

Minister Chao remained silent throughout, his already sickly visage looking even paler. To Luke, the man seemed paralyzed by fear for his own life. Judging by his frail appearance, he likely lacked both combat skills and a tactical mind.

Perhaps the best news was that the Lhairan army had no siege equipment. To Luke, this confirmed his earlier deductions—the enemy had expected little resistance in capturing Clayton City.

"This is an opportunity," Luke said, addressing the room. "If they believe we lack numbers, they'll grow complacent. We should capitalize on that and launch an ambush. Not only will we catch them off guard, but their morale will likely plummet as a result."

"I agree. If we can thin their ranks early, the siege will be far easier to withstand," Master Gale added.

The room soon filled with discussions about various tactics, debating the best actions to take in different scenarios to maximize their advantage. The meeting stretched for over two hours before the final plans were set.

Afterward, Luke returned to his guest quarters, Kayson following closely behind. Since arriving at the City Lord's Estate, the two had been nearly inseparable.

Luke sank onto the lounge with a relieved sigh. His wound still ached, but moving around was becoming slightly easier. He wasn't sure why, but wounds seemed to heal faster in this world—or perhaps it was just his body.

"You should speak up more in these strategy meetings, brother," Luke said, turning to Kayson with mild concern. He knew the man was intelligent, yet he always deferred to him.

Kayson shook his head. "While I have a sound mind, I can't come up with better tactics than you, brother. It's best if I leave it to you."

"It's not just about coming up with tactics," Luke countered. "You're going to be a general one day, and generals don't just sit back and let others do the talking. Did you notice your father glancing at you during the meeting? He was hoping you'd speak up and assert yourself."

"So what? I should talk just for the sake of it? What would that accomplish?" Kayson asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

Luke chuckled, understanding his friend's frustration. "Speak. Ask questions. Clarify. If you engage in the discussions, people will respond. Hell, you could simply agree with a tactic and explain its benefits—there are no limits."

Kayson scratched his head in frustration but eventually nodded. "Look at us. We're both sons of viscounts, yet you're already so far ahead of me," he muttered, introspective.

Luke felt a flicker of surprise. If the old Luke Nero had heard those words, he would have thought the man was sick in the head.

"I can assure you, brother, before my father died, I was useless. It was only after coming to Clayton City that I began to change. It's not too late for you."

Kayson raised his head, his gaze questioning as if trying to gauge Luke's sincerity. After a moment, he gave a small nod. "I will do as you say, brother."

Luke returned the nod. "Good. Get some rest while you can. Once the enemy arrives, I doubt sleep will be a luxury we can afford."

At dawn, two days later, the enemy army finally came into view from the top of Clayton City's walls. At first, they appeared no larger than ants on the horizon, but as they drew closer, the true weight of their presence settled over the defenders like a suffocating shroud.

Standing atop the west wall, Luke surveyed the approaching force. His keen eyesight caught five figures at the front, clad in blood-red tunics over scale armor. Their helmets obscured most of their faces, leaving only two narrow vertical slits for their eyes—eyes that seemed to glow a sinister red, even in the dim morning light.

A creeping sense of foreboding gripped him. He was about to shift his gaze when the largest of the five figures seemed to lock eyes with him, despite the vast distance between them. An unnatural dread seeped into his bones. His breath hitched, and he quickly shut his eyes, trying to steady the frantic beating of his heart.

There was something deeply unsettling about those knights—something he couldn't quite grasp. But before he could dwell on it further, an unexpected sound rang in his ears.

[DING]

Luke stiffened. Without hesitation, he summoned his system window. A new quest appeared before him.

Auxiliary Quest: Send a message

Details: The Church threatens the dominion of the Sovereign and must be given a lesson. 

Task: Kill the subordinates of your enemy. [0/5]

Reward: The Sovereign's Blessing

Failure: Your enemy receives The Pope's Blessing

His eyes flicked over the quest details, reading them once, then twice. A deeper meaning lurked within those words.

The mention of "the Church" clearly referred to Lhair, a self-proclaimed Holy State. And there was no doubt in his mind that the "subordinates" he was tasked with killing were the five knights leading the enemy army. But that wasn't the part that unsettled him the most.

This quest implied that he had a personal enemy in Lhair.

Whoever commanded these knights was the true target.

'Is it the Pope?' The thought surfaced immediately. 'Does this guy also have a system?'

He had no way of knowing. Not yet, at least. But if the system had marked someone as an enemy, it meant they were a threat—a real one.

His gaze returned to the five knights. Even from this distance, they radiated an aura of strength. If they were truly blessed by the gods, as Sebastian had mentioned before, then they were not opponents to be taken lightly.

A cold unease settled over him. If another person like him—a wielder of a system—existed in this world, then what did it mean for him?

Luke shook his head.

'It can't be that. I'm probably reading too much into it,' he told himself. He had to stay focused—overthinking wouldn't get him through this siege alive.

A more likely explanation was that his "enemy" referred to someone who stood in the way of his ascension as a Sovereign. At most, it was a high-ranking figure in Lhair—perhaps even the Pope himself.

"Commander, the generals have given the signal to get into position," a soldier called out, snapping Luke from his thoughts.

"Alright," Luke replied, gripping his cane as he made his way along the ramparts toward the northern wall. His wound had healed significantly over the past two days, and though he could now walk unassisted, the lingering pain remained.

He wasn't sure if his recovery was unusually fast compared to others, so he kept the cane for appearances' sake. The fewer questions people had, the better.

Upon reaching the north wall, Luke immediately began issuing orders to the minor officers. He had been allocated twenty-five hundred men, the majority of whom were proficient with bows.

As his commands were carried out, the soldiers swiftly moved into position. Soon, apart from twenty or so men patrolling the ramparts as decoys, the rest pressed their backs against the walls, hiding from view.

They were setting a trap—making it appear as if the city's defenses were thin, luring the enemy into a reckless assault. If executed correctly, they would cut down a significant number of Lhair's troops before they had a chance to regroup.

Luke made no effort to hide himself. He adjusted his plumed iron helm and tightened the straps of his breastplate. It felt snug around his midsection—probably a result of neglecting exercise while recovering from his injury.

'I'll need to get back in shape when this is over.'

The thought nearly made him chuckle. Thirty thousand men were about to lay siege to the city, and here he was worrying about his waistline. The absurdity of it was almost comical.

An hour later, through his Eagle Eye skill, Luke observed the Lhairan army completing their encirclement of the city. The bulk of their forces were concentrated in the west, where the largest Holy Knight stood alongside another of his kind. The remaining three knights were stationed at the other city gates.

Even from his vantage point, Luke could feel their oppressive auras.

On the ground...

Reeve Normann stood before Clayton City's towering gates, a wide grin stretching beneath his iron helm.

After nearly two grueling weeks of marching—through forests, mud, and even a damned river—he had finally arrived at his destination.

With his forces now surrounding the city, he stepped forward, calling out to the soldiers atop the walls.

"Open the gate, and we'll let you live!" he shouted, barely containing his amusement.

"Fuck off! You're not welcome here!" a voice from the ramparts shot back.

Reeve laughed—a deep, hearty sound. He found their defiance amusing.

"The Bishop of Lhair has declared the Marxx Kingdom evil," he bellowed. "Welcome or not, we will come inside and cleanse the world of you heathens."

"Evil? How rich, you whoreson. Fuck off back to your mountains with your tail between your legs!" the soldier atop the wall jeered, seemingly unfazed by the thirty thousand men surrounding the city.

Reeve's amusement faded. Their defiance felt off.

Without a word, he extended his hand. A nearby soldier placed a spear in his grasp. Reeve barely adjusted his stance before launching the weapon with a practiced motion.

The spear cut through the air in an instant, striking the soldier cleanly through the neck. He barely had time to react before his body went limp, slumping forward and tumbling from the thirty-foot-high walls. He landed in a crumpled heap below, unmoving.

A wave of laughter and cheers erupted from the Lhairan army. Soldiers jeered and taunted, reveling in the display.

But Reeve remained indifferent. The act brought him some satisfaction, but no amusement. He turned to the Redeemer at his side.

"Give the signal to attack. I want Clayton City to fall by dusk."

"Yes, General."

A moment later, banners were raised high above the Lhairan army. The steady beat of war drums carried across the battlefield, rippling through the ranks. Soldiers moved into position, forming disciplined lines as they prepared for the assault.

Reeve stood motionless, arms crossed, watching as the north and south flags were lifted.

It was time.

He raised his hand.

"CLEANSE EVIL IN THE NAME OF THE GODS! CHARGE!"

A deafening war cry erupted from the soldiers as thousands surged forward, weapons drawn. At the forefront, the Holy Knight from earlier led the charge, his crimson-clad figure moving with purpose.

Reeve glanced up at the city walls, expecting to see panic or hesitation among the defenders.

But there was none.

His brow furrowed.

'Are they unshaken because we have no siege weapons?' he mused. Then, a slow grin formed.

"Who says we don't?"

A moment later, the ground trembled as if an explosion had rocked the battlefield. The city walls shook violently, sending chunks of stone cascading to the earth below.