Lanqi Felt the Demon King's Army Was Nothing Much

"......" Lanqi felt that this woman named Gloria did not seem like an enemy. She bore no strong malice toward him, but rather a far more complex mix of emotions—perhaps jealousy, doubt, and indignation, none of which truly amounted to hostility. Lanqi understood almost immediately: she had to be a direct retainer undercover in the Protos Royal Academy. And someone from their Domination branch as well. His authority was higher; as long as he used the [Proof of Saint - Domination] to perceive, he could subtly sense anyone holding a [Proof of Resurrection - Domination]. Yet she seemed a bit unhappy. Lanqi could only smile helplessly, offering her a gesture of goodwill. His emerald-green eyes were naturally guileless, his expression tinged with a faint sorrow and concern. "...?!" This made Gloria clench her fists, veins bulging on the back of her hands. In her eyes, Lanqi's expression at this moment looked as if he were saying: *Side just happens to favor me—what can I do?* Gloria forced down the pulsing veins on her forehead and turned her head away, refusing to make eye contact with Lanqi any longer. *I really want to punch this green-tea bastard!!* He had not uttered a single word, yet it felt worse than calling her an absolute idiot to her face. *How could the Bishop of Domination take a liking to a guy like this?!* This bastard did not look like someone from their Domination branch at all. Instead, he resembled those creeps from the Extinction Branch. If he just happened to be a Sealer too, he would be a formidable contender for Holy Son of Extinction! Gloria had no intention of saying anything more to this Holy Son of Domination. He was indeed the favored one; she could do nothing about it. She had followed the Holy Son of Domination here today merely to see what was so great about him! As the two ceased communicating, the students arriving in the classroom began to take their seats individually. There was hardly any conversation; only the soft rustle of desks and heavy books echoed through the room. Every corner of the history classroom was steeped in the pale white light of a winter morning. Historical maps and timelines on the walls swayed gently in the breeze, while vines and leaves outside the window drifted with the wind, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the glass from time to time. Footsteps multiplied, and the flickering light outside grew busier. The classroom remained enveloped in a cool stillness. Until the chime of the hour silenced all the classroom's murmurs, and every student waited quietly of their own accord for the lecture to begin. By the doorway, a steady, brisk series of footsteps sounded. The door slowly swung open, and a figure appeared in the room, silhouetted by the light. He was a young man around 1.85 meters tall, with inky-black, medium-length hair that occasionally curtained his eyes—eyes as profound as a starry night, carrying a deep melancholy, as though the mysteries of the universe were hidden within. Dressed in a long black coat, he gave off an unrestrained, casual air. His face was handsome yet slightly haggard, clearly bearing the marks of chronic sleep deprivation. The lecturer for this course: Sido Arendelle, associate professor in the History Department of Protos Royal Academy. "Alright, class. Although I usually prefer an interactive discussion in most history courses, for this lecture on *Modern Imperial History*, I hope to get through it smoothly on my own without being interrupted too many times. Of course, you may raise questions at any time, but I might not necessarily answer them. Understood?" Sido's voice was not deep at all; rather, it was clear, bright, and casual. Regarding Sido's upfront declaration of phoning it in, the students offered no commentary, answering only with silence. They all knew why Associate Professor Sido said this. Right now, the Protos Empire was at the center of the storm, and a doctrine known as Wilfortism was currently sweeping through— Once an opportunity arose, they would first declare your "stance improper," and then force you to bend over backward proving your innocence. If your self-defense failed to convince them, they would rather kill by mistake than let anyone slip through. This ideology was met with resistance by many, but also championed by many. And Modern Imperial History touched upon the modern history of the Northern Continent, an account intimately intertwined with the Empire's current state of affairs. Every time Sido covered the Holy War, the current geopolitical situation, its origins, and its ramifications, students would often get worked up into heated arguments, disrupting the class to the point where it could not proceed, and some even began questioning Sido's own stance. Sido had applied to the academy for a teaching assistant, but no suitable candidate could be found to maintain classroom discipline for him. After all, the Protos Royal Academy was full of scions of powerful nobles; no sane person wanted—or dared—to offend them. Sido placed the yellowing, leather-bound book in his hand onto the podium and activated the magitech projection behind him. At first, he said nothing, simply playing a piece of footage. Dusk deepened as heavy dark clouds swallowed the colorful afterglow, casting an ominous shadow over the entire sky. In the distance, something was slowly advancing. What initially seemed like a bottomless black pit revealed itself, upon closer inspection, to be numerous humanoid figures clad entirely in pitch-black heavy armor. Yet they were not human, but a horde of grotesque demons. Deep scars were carved into each demon's flesh, fanatic flames flickered in their eyes, and their ferocity seemed crawled straight out of hell. And once this force arrived, everything changed. The sky was devoured by a dense crimson fog, like a bursting demonic eye glaring down upon the earth. What had once been a peaceful town was now a slaughterhouse of death. Shadows of smoke and war flickered between crumbling walls, mangled corpses shattered beyond recognition lay scattered beneath the ruins of houses, blood had dried into dark red stains, and the stench of blood permeating the air was more nauseating than any rot. The land was cursed, no different from hell, every inch of air choked with suffocating terror until the last breath of life vanished entirely. Only mountains of corpses remained, their faces contorted in agony, despair, and horror. Those indistinct bloody figures flitted like vengeful wraiths through every corner of the town, trailing shredded flesh and insatiable hunger. "This footage did not take place a hundred years ago, but one year ago. People suspect that the ghosts of the Demon King's Army's special slaughter unit have returned." The projection behind Sido flickered as he spoke nonchalantly. Panic gripped the north. People even begged for the protection of the Bishop of Extinction rather than face those cruel demons. Meanwhile, the other northern kingdoms refused to acknowledge that these demons originated from within their borders. Yet even if this demon force had come from deep within the Calamitous Wasteland in the far north, they would still have had to cross the northern kingdoms, and they would undoubtedly need a base. Later, more and more evidence and accusations pointed toward something amiss in the Kingdom of Asethelan. Investigative reports also indicated that the border towns neighboring the Kingdom of Asethelan had suffered an exceptionally high rate of missing persons over the years. Ultimately, starting from northern citizens fearing for their own safety, the panic gradually spread to the Imperial Capital. In the end, the Empire chose to expel the Church of the Goddess of Fate—which had deep ties to the Kingdom of Asethelan—and welcomed the Resurrection Church. Furthermore, this turn of events did not look like a plot by the Resurrection Church, because the various bishops and branches across the Northern Continent were already rife with internal conflict; they were incapable of uniting, and even deciding who represented the Empire required fierce infighting. "As things stand, a war between the Protos Empire and the Kingdom of Asethelan is inevitable. And the other northern kingdoms will not sit idly by and watch the Kingdom of Asethelan be swallowed by the Protos Empire. No matter what, this will be a..." Sido's voice trailed off; he did not finish his sentence. This would be a terrible war with no winners. Yet this war conformed to the historical foundation and trajectory the Protos Empire had established over the past century. Going to war with other races was simply an irresistible historical trend. Even without this particular spark, another would have inevitably ignited it. Perhaps many students in the classroom harbored their own thoughts, such as questioning whether the pretext for this war was flawed, whether the evidence—including this footage—was authentic, and whether another conspiracy lurked behind it all. Yet anyone with their wits about them would never raise such questions in public; otherwise, they would be accused of harboring severe anti-war sentiments. "......" Sitting in the back row of the classroom, Lanqi stared at the recorded footage of the Demon King's Army, lost in thought. In the main story of the game—roughly one year from now—the Northern Continent would plunge into a protracted, grinding war. The cause was identical to what Sido had just described. In truth, there were no discrepancies in any of it. From Lanqi's perspective, there was only one thing that did not add up— The number of provinces. After arriving in the Northern Continent, Lanqi had verified it multiple times: the Protos Empire currently possessed seventeen provinces. Yet one year later, the map of the Protos Empire had altered, leaving only fifteen provinces in its home territory. Upon cross-referencing maps, Lanqi found that two provinces in the north had vanished into thin air. In other words, some unforeseen disaster would occur during this war, causing an unknown and colossal catastrophe in the northern provinces. To cause damage on that scale, the natural disaster triggered by failing an eighth-tier Shadow World would not be powerful enough, while the likelihood of a ninth-tier Shadow World failure was far too slim; it did not seem to be caused by a natural disaster. "What's with that look on your face?" Gloria, the direct retainer of the Bishop of Domination, eyed Lanqi strangely. She noticed that the gentle and harmless-looking Lanqi was frowning slightly. Could the dignified Holy Son of Domination really be making a fuss over mere demons? "I can't help feeling that these guys don't look like demons," Lanqi mumbled in bewilderment, resting his chin in his hand. Compared to the Ikerite Five whom he had personally trained according to the orthodox pedagogical principles of Purgatory Corridor Academy, this squad was still lacking something.