Chapter 412 - 285: Bartley

Looking down upon the battlefield from high above, one would see a distinct red sea relentlessly surging toward a black jungle of steel.

It had become difficult to distinguish one person from another, but when the Lord enveloped himself in Holy Light, he stood out like a prince on a white horse amidst a crowd of barefoot peasants.

Mandela watched all this from the back of a Griffin high in the sky. He and Fulina had discussed this in private; his niece held the Lord of High Cliff Castle in the highest regard. She said his talent for commanding small-scale battles was exceptional and his strength was terrifying, having once single-handedly defeated three hundred Berserk Minotaurs.

But knowing it and seeing it with his own eyes were two completely different things. The sheer visual impact was beyond what words could convey.

What surprised Mandela even more was that the man’s Holy Light Cultivation had reached such a high level.

Although Mandela hadn’t cultivated the Holy Word Treasure Manual, he knew that old geezer from the Holy Light Church was only at about this level. And this Lord of High Cliff Castle was still so young; his future was boundless.

"Tsk, tsk. What a kid." Mandela watched him grip a Broadsword as wide as a door panel. With a casual sweep, the area before him was instantly cleared, the Demons falling like snapped sugarcane stalks.

He couldn’t help but rub his bald head, which shone brightly under the sun. "If he joined the Red Swordsmen Corps, he could definitely hold his own. Hell, he might even end up taking my position."

"Lord Mandela, you can forget about that." Bodoff smiled faintly, his gaze shifting to a young woman beside him. "Lord Levi has long since joined the Holy Light Church."

"Oh?" General Mandela looked at Fatir. "But didn’t I hear he’s a member in name only?"

A smile played on his lips, making his intention to poach the man obvious.

After all, anyone who wouldn’t try to snatch up such a promising talent must have had their eyes poked out by a Goblin with its grandmother’s embroidery needle.

"In truth, that’s just a rumor." Fatir’s delicate lips parted, but her exquisitely beautiful face showed no change in expression. "The Holy Light Church is already preparing to establish Levi as the Holy Son. We are only waiting until these Demons are dealt with to go to Gonda and finalize it."

Her knack for weaving truths and lies showed she had learned the art well from a certain someone.

"Is that so? But hasn’t the Holy Light Church gone a thousand years without appointing a Holy Son?" Mandela persisted. "Besides, according to the doctrine of the Holy Light Church, the Holy Son and the Saintess are meant to be wed."

His gaze was intense as he stared at the aloof, seemingly ethereal young woman beside him.

Back when the Holy Knights reigned supreme for an era, the Saintess of the Holy Light Church was responsible for managing the Priests who studied Magic, while the Holy Son was the leader of the Holy Knights.

Without a doubt, both the Saintess and the Holy Son possessed Holy Light Talent that was at the pinnacle, and they were the most beloved by the Holy Light Goddess.

Therefore, to ensure the Holy Light Church’s continued prosperity, the two with the greatest Talent would be joined together in the hope that they would produce offspring who could inherit their parents’ Talent, or even surpass it.

This method was, in fact, time-tested.

A rat can only beget a rat, and the offspring of a Giant Dragon can only be a Giant Dragon.

Although it wasn’t unheard of for a monster to be born among rats, one that far surpassed its own kind.

But the odds of that were far too low; one might not appear even once in a century.

After the decline of the Holy Knights, the title of Holy Son was relegated to the annals of history.

"If my other half were a person so exceptional in both Talent and character, then I doubt any Saintess in the history of the Holy Light Church would refuse." As she said this, a faint blush finally touched Fatir’s impassive face, but no one noticed. "And I am no exception."

"Damn it, that kid is one lucky bastard." Mandela rubbed his bald head, thoroughly frustrated. "I mean, I’m not so bad myself. I’ve got the muscles, and as for my looks..."

He suddenly understood why that guy was so popular. "Okay, fine. In that department, I admit I’m a bit outmatched."

You have to understand, this Saintess was known as the "Daughter of the Goddess" in Gonda, which just goes to show how beautiful she was.

The princes and nobles pursuing her were numerous enough to form a line from Gonda to the Holy Sith Kingdom. Even His Highness the Prince was among them, yet not a single one could catch the young woman’s eye.

Yet now, she was throwing herself at some country bumpkin Lord who had risen from the sticks.

What truly frustrated Mandela was that Fulina couldn’t seem to go two sentences without mentioning this Lion Hunter Knight. He feared there was something unspoken going on between them.

This feeling—that two prize flowers had been picked by the same man—left the bachelor feeling as if he’d just eaten a whole lemon.

The Chosen Swordsmen, carried by the surrounding Griffin Knights, looked at their instructor’s bald head and his face, which was scary enough to make a child cry. They all curled their lips in unison. ’A bit outmatched? He sure knows how to flatter himself.’

’If you were judging by looks alone, the other guy is an Elf, which would make our instructor a Goblin. A Goblin with zero self-awareness, at that!’

"Damn it, what are those looks for?" Mandela burst out, flustered and exasperated. "I’ll have you know, when I was young, I was a famous handsome man back in my hometown!"

"Hahaha, I bet the boss’s hometown was a small village of a few thousand people."

"You bet. Back in my village of a few hundred, I was a real looker, too."

Amidst waves of laughter, the Griffin Knights carried the Lion Heart Red Swordsmen, along with Fatir, Bodoff, and the others, and flew swiftly toward the distant Hengduan Mountain Range.