Chapter 1570: A Gameplay

Meanwhile, Lory stirred from her long sleep in the front passenger seat. A soft yawn escaped her as she pushed the blanket down from her shoulders. The morning light filtered through the windshield, washing everything in a pale golden hue.

Still half-lost in her dreams, she slowly adjusted the seat upright and blinked at the road stretching endlessly ahead. Beside her, Zhao Li Xin was driving. He had taken over the wheel when she grew sleepy after driving for two hours in the middle of the night.

His posture was relaxed yet steady, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel while the other leaned against the window frame, propping up his head. Even in such a casual position, there was nothing careless about him.

His gaze remained sharp, fixed on the road ahead, calm and unwavering. The dim morning light traced the line of his jaw and the bridge of his nose, giving him that quiet, composed air he always carried, effortless, controlled, and impossibly reliable.

"You’re awake?" His low baritone voice flowed through the quiet car like a warm melody. The sound alone cleared the haze in her mind, and her lips curved into a bright smile.

"En..." she hummed softly. "Where are we?"

"We passed the border an hour ago," Zhao Li Xin replied, we should arrive at the summer port in five hours if there’s no traffic, from there we will take the cruise and cross to Arsedia Beach." Zhao Li Xin said.

Lory rubbed her cheeks tiredly, trying to chase away the last trace of sleep. "Because of the Bael attack, it’s getting harder to enter Arwegia’s territory," she muttered with a faint groan.

"Only a few people are allowed in now. One of them is the guests from the luxury cruise ship, and even then, they go through extremely strict inspections. it’s gonna be annoying..."

Lory could already imagine the endless queue, the slow-moving line, the suspicious glances from officers who scrutinized every passport and every face. The thought alone made her tired.

"Why don’t we just sneak in, like we always do?" Zhao Li Xin asked lightly, as if suggesting something as simple as taking a shortcut.

"Nah." Lory shook her head firmly. "We shouldn’t do anything that might make the authorities suspicious. We’re going to use Noxcra’s name to move around the city. If we offend them now, it’ll only cause trouble when we need their cooperation later."

"Oh..." Zhao Li Xin responded nonchalantly.

To him, it truly didn’t matter which method she chose. Sneaking in or walking through the front gate, it was all the same in his eyes. Obstacles were merely formalities.

"By the way," Lory suddenly turned to him, frowning, "aren’t you tired? How long have you been driving?"

She glanced at her watch, and her eyes widened. "Ten hours?! You’ve been driving for ten hours?!" she exclaimed in shock.

"Yes, it’s just ten hours." Zhao Li Xin glanced at her briefly before letting out a soft chuckle.

Sometimes, he really wondered how she could forget how resilient his body was. A cultivator of his level had once traveled for days using qinggong without rest, crossing mountains and rivers without slowing down.

Compared to that, sitting in a comfortable seat, pressing the gas pedal, and guiding the wheel along an open highway was almost laughably easy, hardly worth calling an effort at all. If anything, it was boring, but never difficult.

Lory was taken aback for a moment, her mouth still slightly open in disbelief. Then realization slowly dawned on her.

"Oh... yeah..." she muttered awkwardly. Sometimes she really did forget that the man beside her was never normal. ℯ𝓵.

"Anyway, are you hungry?" he asked gently. "I got you hot tea and a sandwich for breakfast."

He tilted his gaze toward the cup holder beside her. A cute poko-poko tumbler sat there, faint steam still clinging to its lid. Next to it was a small transparent box holding a neatly prepared sandwich.

Warmth spread quietly through her heart. Say what you want to say about Zhao Li Xin, but he had always been the most considerate, kind, and gentle lover she could ever wish for, and for that, she is very lucky.

"Sorry, we can’t stop for a proper breakfast," he added, a subtle note of regret in his tone. "The place we’re going is still far."

Lory took the tumbler and sipped the tea. It was still pleasantly hot. She shook her head with a soft smile.

"It’s fine, honey. This is already perfect." She opened the sandwich box and took a bite. Even the bread was warm. As she ate, she stole a glance at him, watching how focused he remained on the road, how steady and dependable he looked.

Such a good husband. Even if she were granted another thousand years to live, she knew she would never find someone like him again.

"You not eating?" she asked gently, though she could already guess the answer.

"No, I’m not hungry, you eat first," Zhao Li Xin gave her a reassuring smile.

Lory knew Zhao Li Xin did not need food like a normal person. Most of the time, he only ate to accompany her, a true foodie. A moment later, she finished her sandwich and took another sip of her hot tea, leaning back in her seat as she quietly enjoyed the passing scenery outside.

While Lory was enjoying the rare moment of peace with Zhao Li Xin. At home, in the Harland kingdom, a storm was beginning to rise. Two days later, after Lory left, Alfred Hubert appeared without warning on Harland’s national television platform.

There was no dramatic introduction, no sensational headline beforehand, just his face filling the screen, older, wearier, but unmistakably resolute.

His voice, though strained by years of grief, did not tremble as he began recounting what had happened to him. He spoke about the S.A.I.N.T. organization, about his beloved daughter Jessi Hubert, and what really happened to her.

The studio fell into a suffocating silence, so dense it felt as though the very air had thickened. It pressed against the walls, against the lights, against the lungs of everyone inside.

The host sat frozen, barely able to control her expression. The cameraman forgot to adjust the focus. Even the staff behind the scenes stood motionless, as if any movement might shatter the fragile tension hanging in the room.

Alfred did not cry, but that was what made it even more unbearable. No tears fell, no dramatic outburst. Only the faint tremor in his voice betrayed the abyss beneath his calm exterior.

Each word left his mouth measured, restrained, yet weighted with a grief so profound it seemed to echo long after the sound faded.

Beside him sat Madeline. When Alfred finished telling his story, she continued, and the air only grew heavier. Maddeline recounted how she and her older sister, Olivia Myre, had been recruited into the S.A.I.N.T. organization when she was eight, and Olivia was seventeen years old.

Her testimony did not waver as she described what happened when they were sent to Black Hill Town by the Paladins and the Dragxtarn. She gave a vivid description of the steel dome she saw inside the cave, the ritual, and the horror that followed.

She told the world how the healers, including Jessi and her own sister, Olivia, were used as sacrifices to break Nazareth’s shield, how they were herded like cattle into a slaughterhouse, how they became sacrifices.

The word struck like a hammer. Some of the staff couldn’t take it anymore and ran out of the studio. Others stood frozen in place. Luckily, the camera was on automatic mode because the cameraman had stopped paying attention to his own equipment.

The truth was too much for them.

The Dark Age War had taken so many lives around the world. Who hadn’t lost family, lovers, or friends during that time? Who hadn’t felt fear and despair? Who hadn’t been hurt or nearly died? They had all felt it.

They had thought everything that happened was just fate, an unfortunate incident that engulfed their world. But now these people were telling them it had all been a scheme. Had someone planned the end of the world? Why?

They didn’t want to believe it, and she refused to believe it!

Sadly, that fragile hope was crushed the moment Samuel Albretch entered the studio.

He began by introducing himself as the former captain of Luxemborough’s elite army unit, the Black Fang, a Dragxtarn known among soldiers as one of the strongest among the Dragxtarn. He was also a man who had been officially declared dead years ago, yet there he was, breathing and alive.

When Albretch stepped into frame to corroborate Madeline’s testimony, the reaction was immediate and explosive. Social media platforms crashed under the surge of traffic. News anchors across the world stumbled over their scripts as they struggled to verify the impossible.

People might still doubt Madeline and Alfred. They had no impressive backgrounds, no powerful titles, and no authority that demanded automatic trust. Some viewers might see them as people chasing fame, or perhaps as individuals bought by someone to ruin another person’s reputation.

But Samuel Albretch was different.

He was an elite soldier from Luxemborough, and also one of the Dragxtarn. His name carried weight. His rank commanded respect. The Dragxtarn were known as the most loyal and disciplined soldiers Luxemborough possessed. Men like him were not easily bribed, nor easily threatened.

The man who had been officially declared dead years ago suddenly appeared, and of all places, he had to be in Harland.

Samuel confirmed that everything Madeline and Alfred had said was true. He explained what had happened, how he had been ordered to lead the oblivious healers to their deaths, how he had refused, and how he had been forced to fake his own death as a result. He revealed why he had remained in hiding for so long.

Then, he spoke about the death of his late wife, how his family dead fabricated by Luxemborough goverment as an accident. It was at that moment that the final thread of doubt began to snap.

Within minutes, every major network picked up the story. Within the hour, it spread across the country faster than a dry leaf catching fire in the summer wind.

All over the world, international outlets began translating and rebroadcasting the interview in real time. Commentators argued fiercely on live panels.

Officials released cautious, carefully worded statements. Public figures who had close relationships with Luxemborough and the S.A.I.N.T. organization scrambled to distance themselves, issuing denials and clarifications as quickly as their publicists could draft them.

The name S.A.I.N.T., once spoken with unquestioned reverence, now ignited widespread suspicion. And inevitably, the scrutiny extended beyond the organization itself. Luxemborough’s involvement, direct or indirect, was dragged into the spotlight. Public pressure mounted by the hour.

Citizens demanded answers. Political commentators called for transparency. Investors watched nervously. Allies requested clarification through diplomatic backchannels. Even loyal supporters began asking for a firm denial, anything to stabilize the narrative before it spiraled further.

But no statement was given away. Not from Theodore Navaro, or Alexander Behrenn, even from Lucas. Their silence was not hesitation, it was calculation.

In high-level power struggles, the first response often determines the terrain of the entire conflict. A premature denial could trap them in a defensive position.

An emotional rebuttal could legitimize the accusations. An aggressive counterattack could escalate tensions into open political warfare.

So they did what experienced power players do: they waited. They carefully analyzed the situation while searching for any weaknesses they could exploit.

They couldn’t rush. They had to be patient, because a careless move could cost them dearly. It was like a game of chess; players who move too quickly often lose, and they had no intention of losing.