Little Tyrant Doesn't Want to Meet with a Bad End

Chapter 356: The Military Prowess of the Ascart Fiefdom

It wasn’t easy to accurately determine a person’s battle contribution, especially when there were several parties competing for kills.

When multiple individuals hurled spells toward a single evil cultist, they could indeed obliterate him easily. But how were they going to split the contribution?

To simplify matters, the typical way to determine the greatest contributor in a battle was not through the number of kills but by the one who took down the enemy general.

And that was why Francis felt goosebumps all over his body.

He had no idea what was going on with those women, but he knew for certain that their eyes were on him. He knew that he would have to fight back with everything he had if he wished to escape with his life.

Loud cracking sounds began echoing from his bones.

At this critical moment, Francis decided to fracture 30% of his bones as a tribute for borrowing his god’s power. His physical condition deteriorated as a result of the ritual, but the smirk on his face showed his confidence that everything was in his grasp.

The highest divinity of the Saints Convocation was the Mother Goddess, whose strength far surpassed that of ordinary gods. However, the hibernating Mother Goddess wouldn’t answer a call for help even if the other party was an executive.

The lofty and inviolable Mother Goddess had never answered any prayers. Even catching the Mother Goddess’ eye was considered the greatest honor any disciple could ever hope for. For the past few centuries, the disciples had only seen the tip of the iceberg of the Mother Goddess’ glorious power.

It went without saying that the executives of the Saints Convocation were painfully aware of this issue, and it was a sore spot for them. They were at a disadvantageous position against other powers without their god’s support as this could easily cause a gap in terms of top-tier power.

Other than the Mother Goddess, the Saints Convocation had God’s Envoys too, and some of them possessed a decent level of intelligence. The only problem was that these God’s Envoys were in a habit of indiscriminately killing anyone who dared to appear in front of them, so it was impossible to garner their help.

This woe had burdened the Saints Convocation for many years, and it was only when the subordinate gods who had served the Mother Goddess back in the ancient era finally awakened that things started to change.

Francis was one of the few executives who could communicate with a subordinate god of the Mother Goddess and harness a portion of the latter’s power.

Amidst the loud cracking sounds, black miasma started to gush out from the fractured parts of Francis’ bones. It rushed at the crowd charging at him like a deathly fog filled with specters.

Lilian’s soldiers were the first ones to be swallowed by the black miasma. It didn’t take long for them to collapse to the floor under its effects, but what was even more horrifying was how their corpses swiftly withered afterward. To make things worse, the black miasma puffed out even more after receiving the nourishment of blood and flesh.

This terrifying sight caused everyone charging at Francis to freeze in place. Even Roel’s eyes narrowed in astonishment as well.

Francis was still suffering from agonizing pain from the earlier fractures, but he squeezed out a mocking smile on his face.

“This is the God of Plunder Fratier’s Miasma of Specters. Only the power of another god can hope to withstand its splendor. Ignorant blasphemers of the Mother Goddess, have your flesh and blood stripped away from you as you wither in repentance!” declared Francis grandly.

Despite his grand speech, his body was shuddering from pain. The fractures left him with no choice but to hunch his body forward in order to remain standing. The apertures created from the black miasma gushing out also made his voice sound like a bellow used in old kitchens.

His words were intended to be despairing, but it only left a bizarre look on Roel’s face.

Only the power of another god can hope to withstand it? Ah, it isn’t a problem then.

Roel’s expression visibly relaxed, and Francis soon understood the reason for it.

The black miasma continued to encroach on Roel and the others, but a towering wall made out of metal shields suddenly appeared in its path, keeping it at bay. At the forefront of this shield formation was a tall woman who gave off an aura of heavy firmness.

The tide of battle had started to turn.

There was no doubt that the power of the gods was a rare thing. Even in the massive Genesis Goddess Church, only the Xeclydes and a few other special bloodlines were able to tap into the power of the gods.

It was almost impossible to curb Francis’ long-range and omnidirectional miasma, and the evidence lay in how it had never failed him before. He did notice that one of the women possessed the Angel Bloodline, but the huge difference in their Origin Levels made her not much of a threat. So, he paid her no heed and focused his attention on the others instead.

Unfortunately, of all people, he chose to mess with the Ascart Fiefdom.

The Strength Sect and Unyielding Sect had chosen to join the Ascart Fiefdom under the guidance of their respective gods. In order to ensure that they were sufficiently competent to protect Roel, the two ancient gods had bestowed upon them blessings.

Cynthia was a rare Origin Level 3 expert in the Unyielding Cult, and her prowess had advanced by leaps and bounds over the past year thanks to Peytra’s blessing. Her heavy shield was cloaked in a pale yellow light that petrified any black specters that dared to approach, inducing anguished cries from them as they shattered into rock fragments.

Behind her, Rodney also began his assault. Crimson mana encased his body as his muscles started to bulge to an extreme degree. He rushed forward fearlessly and smashed his fists into the black specters, crushing them to bits. He showed that even the most primitive form of violence was terrifying if developed to an extreme degree.

Unlike the other two close-combat fighters, Wood’s fighting style was much more elegant as a spellcaster. As an honorable elder in the presence of his juniors, he resisted the urge to smash his staff into the enemy and instead began chanting. It wasn’t particularly smooth as it had been years since he last chanted any spell, but he was still able to summon a humongous skeleton arm.

What happened afterward could only be described as whack-a-mole, just a tad bit gorier.

Every time the humongous skeleton arm smashed down, a cluster of black specters would disintegrate into dust. Even the ground began trembling under his excessive show of force, almost as if they were in a construction site.

The interference of the trio who had received blessings from their respective gods undid the Miasma of Specters that Francis had summoned with great difficulty, forcing the specters to flee in a fluster.

This was a feat so incredible that it astonished the others.

When did the Ascart Fiefdom become this powerful?!

A glint flashed across Grace’s eyes as she made up her mind to report this matter to the Sorofyas. It was time for them to make a re-evaluation of the Ascart Fiefdom’s military prowess.

Bishop Philip of the Genesis Goddess Church was astonished by the sheer force, but as an honest man through and through, he didn’t think too much into it. He swiftly snapped out of his daze and rushed toward the other Origin Level 2 enemy with his staff.

Overall, those from the Genesis Goddess Church and Rosa were astonished by the prowess of the heretical army, but it was still acceptable to them. They were allies with the Ascart Fiefdom, so the growth in its military prowess wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Lilian, on the other hand, fell into deep thoughts.

Wait a moment, this feeling... Roel’s ancient gods? They can be used in such a manner too? If he could bestow this blessing on a large scale, it’s only a matter of time before the heretical soldiers under his command become a terrifying force...

Meanwhile, Francis had become completely dumbfounded.

What the hell are those three? I’ve already unleashed my ultimate move, but why am I still the one losing here?!

Knowing that he couldn’t let himself fall in defeat just like that, he quickly re-exerted his control on the remaining specters, trying to fend off the enemies as long as he could.

Last but not least, Alicia was delighted by the turn of events. Needless to say, the merits of those from the Ascart Fiefdom would be attributed to her.

“Well done, Cynthia! Lord Brother shall be mine!”

“““!”””

Alicia’s shout snapped the other three women out of their amazement, prompting them to quickly continue clearing the enemies.

Francis, as the enemy commander, received extra care as the three Origin Level 3 heretics of the Ascart Fiefdom focused specifically on him.

The other disciples of the Saints Convocation wanted to aid him, but they were already in a dire position themselves. Even Francis’ Origin Level 2 aide was getting overwhelmed by the veteran Bishop Philip.

This is bad. We’re going to lose at this rate!, thought Charlotte with a deep frown.

Due to the independence war a century ago, the Rosaian soldiers mainly specialized in defensive maneuvers, such as fortress warfare and long-ranged attacks. In comparison, they were much less competent in frontal assaults, resulting in their inability to kill steal.

What should I do? At this rate...

Watching as the gap in contribution grew larger, Charlotte clenched her fists tightly as she racked her mind to figure out a solution to rake in more contributions. It was then that a familiar cry echoed in her ears.

“What in the name of Sia! My home!!!”

The Eirbower Duke had finally returned to his mansion, only to realize that his own home had turned into a massive construction site—or perhaps calling it a demolition site might be more accurate—and he howled in agony. He clutched his heart so tightly that it looked almost as if he was suffering from a stroke.

His heart was surprisingly fragile for a man with a bear-like physique. Fortunately, before he could suffer a heart attack, he heard a haughty voice not too far away.

“Do you need money?”

“What?”

The Eirbower Duke turned his head over, only to see Charlotte Sorofya walking up to him. She pointed her finger at the disciples of the Saints Convocation and made an irresistible offer.

“100,000 gold coins. Kill them!”