Chapter 466: Time to call for a crusade

"You can send me two hundred and fifty purebloods and one noble. I’m interested in founding a combat unit called the Night Corps and..."

Ethan explained to Carmilla, calmly and without haste, exactly what he planned to do with that specialized combat unit.

It wasn’t a unique idea, much less a revolutionary one.

The Darkwall family itself had units similar to the Night Corps he intended to found in Goldenveil.

Of course, they operated in a far less structured manner and didn’t even have an official name. Most of the time, they were simply called the Shadows of the Ancestor.

They were ten high-level knights, wholly devoted to fighting behind enemy lines, assassinating key figures, spying, and sabotaging.

Still, they didn’t exist as a formal group. And the Darkwall family, as was common in the Kingdom of the Burning Ice, didn’t maintain permanent professional armies, unlike Goldenveil.

They had their family troops, guards, men-at-arms, and knights, but their numbers were minuscule. Almost the entire army of the family consisted of peasants conscripted in times of war.

With Goldenveil’s Night Corps, Ethan would create something different: a formally trained group—in secret, of course—but one with clear guidelines and vast experience, thanks to the Hell Soldier’s Portal.

It was worth remembering that the challenges of that portal were entirely customizable. Even Goldenveil’s police officers underwent training there.

Vampires—especially purebloods and nobles—withstood the passage of time far better than ordinary humans. Their minds would remain untouched even if they spent fifty, perhaps a hundred years training inside the portal.

It would be expensive. But Ethan was confident that, in a few months, he would have a unit trained to the level of a force with decades of experience in its specialty.

When he finished explaining what he expected from the Night Corps, Carmilla’s eyes sparkled, and a giggle escaped her lips.

"Hm~~... Oh, I know precisely who would be suited to lead such a force!" she said, her voice bright with excitement.

"I have four great houses of ancient vampires in my service... There were twelve once, but I have already seen to the extermination of eight of them. Traitors, every last one." She shrugged, as if speaking of the weather.

"Among the most loyal is the Nightwing family. None surpass them in shadow magic, and their heir is rather young and positively brimming with ambition. Ambitions which, naturally, can hardly be realized in a decrepit empire crumbling to pieces."

She downed the entire glass of wine in a single gulp, and a slight shiver ran through her body, from her shoulders down to her fingertips.

That wine was truly delicious.

Carmilla leaned over the small table in front of the sofa, stretching out her arm to grab the bottle and pour herself a little more.

The movement lifted her plump buttocks off Ethan’s lap, raising them right before him. The thin fabric of her dress stretched taut, hugging every curve, and the two full cheeks parted slightly with the stretch.

"I shall have him come to Goldenveil and present himself to you, along with the other nobles of his house. They would not dare refuse my orders."

"Good."

Ethan brought his hand down in a firm slap on her buttocks.

The sharp crack echoed through the room. His palm sank into the soft cheek for an instant, flattening the plump flesh beneath it before it sprang back with a heavy, lingering bounce.

Carmilla laughed, low and sweet, without even bothering to look back.

She felt that thick, throbbing bulge rub and press between the juicy curves of her butt, the soft flesh molding around it, her cheeks swallowing the hard ridge through the layers of fabric.

She finished filling the glass and snuggled back against Ethan’s chest, her head resting on his shoulder.

"It is going to be a rather long winter, is it not?" she asked softly, her fingers toying with the collar of his shirt.

***

While Ethan and Carmilla enjoyed the rest of the day...

The cathedral in the capital of the Kingdom of the Burning Ice, also known as the Diamond Cathedral, was a gigantic structure.

It wasn’t as large as the Cathedral of Arwen had been in its prime, and it was far from being as beautiful.

Still, it was enough to draw sighs from anyone who passed through its doors. 𝐟𝒓ℯⅇ

The name came from the immense white stone housed within.

On certain sunny days, with the blessing of Justiciar, God of Light and the Sun, the stone shone like a rainbow, bathing the faithful of the Nine in its divine light.

Blindness, cancer... everything could be cured by that light.

That was why, every year, hundreds of thousands of the faithful visited the capital, bringing with them fortunes in donations that the Church of the Nine, of course, never refused.

Inside the cathedral lay the prayer hall. And above everything and everyone, at the top of a staircase as white as snow and trimmed with gold, stood the throne of the Archbishop of the Kingdom of the Burning Ice.

He was an old man of divine appearance.

His eyes looked like molten gold. His robes were of silver and gold, threaded with precious stones that formed intricate patterns, sparkling in the sunlight that streamed through the stained glass windows.

His beard was white, so pure and brilliant that the strands seemed to dissolve into a sea of incomparable purity.

Seated on the throne, the old man watched in silence as a young figure entered the hall, her footsteps echoing softly on the cold marble.

Her eyes, too, were golden. She wore plain-looking silver armor and a long, modest blue skirt that covered her legs entirely.

With so much steel and fabric, it was difficult to make out any curves of her body. Only the beauty of her youthful, divine face was visible.

She was a young woman, perhaps eighteen years old, with short white hair, flawless skin, and eyes that bore the mark of Justiciar, God of Light and the Sun.

This was Solenne, the youngest saint on the entire continent, sent to the Kingdom of the Burning Ice after receiving a vision of an evil that dwelled in the Eternal Forest.

The Archbishop studied her with curious eyes and a serene smile, his wrinkled hands resting calmly on the arms of the throne.

That a saint had been sent to him meant only one thing: it was time to call for a crusade.