Lord: I have built a witch's sanctuary.

Chapter 94 The Foundation of Frostwolf City

Chapter 93 The Foundation of Frostwolf City

100 meters.

Fifty meters.

Thirty meters.

The faces of the two Fimbulbs were now clearly visible, their狰狞 expressions suggesting they foresaw the pleasure of the slaughter.

Lorraine finally moved.

He neither begged for mercy nor retaliated. He simply turned his head slightly and whispered to the air beside him, "Ohm, dinner's ready."

Ohm, who had been standing behind Lorraine, suddenly let out a dazzling light in his bright silver eyes.

"Command confirmed. Space folding protocol released. Warehouse ports open ————".

Lorraine raised his right hand, and the ancient [Camp Relocation Order] in his palm burst forth with an unprecedentedly dazzling light.

But the light did not fall to the ground and form a building; instead, it tore open a huge, dark spatial rift in the open space in front of the city wall.

It was like a gaping maw leading to an abyss.

"Don't you guys think you have a lot of magic power?"

Lorraine looked at the two who rushed towards him, a cruel smile curving his lips. "Let's see if you have more magic or my wealth."

Rumble—

That wasn't thunder.

That was the sound of countless gears meshing, steam gushing, and metal colliding, forming a torrent of steel.

Serlins' smile froze on his face.

He saw a mechanical hand emerge from the crack, followed by a second, then a third—

Not one.

Not ten.

Instead, it was an endless, densely packed, swarming mechanical frenzy, like an ant colony!

That was all the wealth Lorraine had accumulated over the past few days, scavenging through the entire ruins of the Tower of Babel and using Ohm's all-purpose mechanical repair shop, like a squirrel hoarding pine cones.

Five thousand Tier 3 mechs!

"What the hell is this?!"

Serlins screamed in a piercing voice.

He saw that the mechs were covered with all sorts of incredibly powerful weapons: spinning chainsaws, glowing hot guns, and all kinds of missiles and cannons.

They have no fear, no pain, and no need for morale.

They have only one instruction:

Slaughter all the carbon-based life forms in front of you.

"Charge," Lorraine uttered softly.

next second.

The black mechanical tsunami completely engulfed the two pitiful points of blue light.

"Get out of here! All of you, get out of here!"

Modir's roar was drowned out by the clanging of metal.

He unleashed an annihilation wave, instantly turning the dozen or so mechs in front of him into scrap metal.

Those alloy armors with third-tier strength were as fragile as paper in the face of his power.

But there were only a dozen or so units.

Compared to the total of five thousand units, these dozen or so are just a drop in the ocean!

One batch fell, and more immediately followed.

These mechs have absolutely no sense of martial ethics.

Some grabbed his legs and started to self-destruct, some frantically cut his shield with chainsaws, and even a few reckless mechs jumped on his head and fired a barrage of fire at the shield with their molten steel guns.

"Ants! They're all ants!"

Modir unleashed his magic wildly.

Every second, he had to destroy several mechs.

Every second, his shield has to withstand hundreds or thousands of attacks.

If it were an ordinary army, it would have collapsed long ago in the face of such a one-sided massacre.

But these are machines.

They are tireless and fearless of death. Even in the moments before they are destroyed, they will activate an overload program and throw their internal energy cores at the enemy like bombs.

This is Lorraine's tactic.

Simple, crude, and utterly devoid of aesthetic appeal.

It's all about throwing money at it.

Tier 3 mechs are expensive to build? No problem, the Tower of Babel has no shortage of scrap metal and energy right now.

"This isn't right! Modir! This isn't right!"

Serlins' scream was filled with obvious terror.

He discovered a fatal problem.

The shield of [Heart of Fimbulb] is indeed unbreakable, but maintaining this "absolute defense" requires mana.

Each time the shield is attacked, regardless of the attack intensity, a small amount of magic power will be forcibly deducted to maintain its stability.

If facing attacks from several powerful individuals, this amount of energy expenditure is insignificant.

But now, hundreds of chainsaws, hundreds of axes, and hundreds of self-destructing cores are bombarding the shield every second!

The speed at which the magic power was consumed was like a dam bursting, with it cascading down in a torrent.

"My magic! I only have half my magic left!" Serins panicked.

He tried to control the bone dragon to fly away from the battlefield.

But those mechs actually stacked themselves into a human pyramid!

The lowest-ranking mechs clung tightly to the ground, while the mechs above them stepped on their comrades' shoulders, layer upon layer, creating a "mountain" tens of meters high. Countless mechanical arms gripped the bone dragon's tail, wings, and claws.

boom!

The bone dragon let out a mournful cry as it was forcibly pulled down from mid-air and instantly swallowed by the black mechanical sea.

"No! I am the messenger of winter! I am the king of fear!"

Serlins was dragged into the group of mechs.

The shield began to flicker, a sign that its magic was about to run out.

"Lorraine! You despicable scoundrel! Come out and fight me one-on-one if you dare!"

Modir was still putting up a desperate fight, but the annihilation waves he unleashed were noticeably thinner and slower in frequency.

On the city wall.

Lorraine leaned on the railing, and somehow produced a handful of sunflower seeds, which she slowly cracked open.

"A one-on-one duel?"

He spat the sunflower seed shells into the air, saying, "Aren't I just using my 'wallet' to take on both of you one-on-one?"

This is the true power of money.

at last.

Accompanied by a crisp sound of glass shattering.

The ice crystal shield that the two of them were so proud of, which was said to be an absolute defense, shattered completely.

Magic depleted.

Modil and Serlins are now like lobsters that have been peeled; even with their fourth-tier bodies, they appear exceptionally delicate in front of these steel monsters.

"Victor, Anna."

Lorraine brushed the crumbs off her hands, her tone suddenly turning cold. "Show them out."

"roar!"

Victor, who had been holding back his anger for a long time, shot out like a cannonball.

He stepped on the head of a mech in mid-air for leverage, transforming into a streak of earthy yellow meteor, his Wolf King Greatsword brimming with fury and fighting spirit.

Then he swung it at Modil!

"Die, you son of a bitch!"

Mordil was about to raise his hand to block when he discovered that he couldn't even conjure a small fireball with his magic.

He could only watch helplessly as the massive sword, as large as a door panel, rapidly enlarged in his field of vision.

puff!

The greatsword slashed in from the shoulder and out from under the crotch.

Before Modir could even scream, he was cleaved in two.

A fourth-tier powerhouse, perished in the Winter of Annihilation.

the other side.

Seeing his companion die a horrible death, Serlins was terrified and turned to try to escape the mech group.

"Since you're here, why not stay and warm up?"

Anna's soft voice rang in his ear.

But to Serlins' ears, the sound was more terrifying than the death knell of hell.

A pale white flame, as if it were alive, gently landed on Serlins's back.

There was no explosion.

There was no roar.

The moment the flames touched his skin, Serlins let out the most piercing wail of his life.

"Ahhhhh"

Fearing that fourth-tier monsters might also possess some kind of exceptionally durable skin, Anna relied on her previous method...

First, summon extreme cold to freeze Serlins into an ice block, then summon pale fire to rage fiercely!

In just a few seconds.

The wailing stopped abruptly.

All that remained on the ground were a few clumps of spoils and a section of a frozen, withered finger that hadn't been burned.

On the battlefield, the roar of machinery gradually subsided.

The mechs, like loyal guardians, retreated neatly to both sides, making way for the corpse.

Lorraine leaped down from the city wall, his black leather boots crunching on the blood-stained snow.

He walked to Mordir's cleaved corpse, bent down and picked up the dulled Heart of Fimbulb, then walked to Serlins, who had been burned to ashes, and took a storage ring from the only finger that hadn't been burned.

"Poor wretch."

Lorraine weighed the spoils in her hand, pursed her lips, and turned to look at her subordinates behind her, who were covered in oil and blood.

Sunlight pierced through the thick clouds, and wine stained the mottled steel shell of the Tower of Babel.

"Clean up the battlefield."

Lorraine turned her gaze to the orbs of light from the spoils dropped by the monsters.

"This time, there will surely be a lot of loot!"

Frostwolf Castle, Inner Castle Council Hall.

The pine wood in the fireplace crackled, and the firelight cast a crimson glow on the map of the North hanging on the wall.

It's warm and spring-like here, with the sweet scent of red wine and incense filling the air, a world apart from the frigid cold outside that could crack steel.

The Countess sat regally on the velvet-covered main seat.

She swirled a half-glass of blood-red wine in her hand, her gaze fixed on the inconspicuous red dot in the upper right corner of the map—the location of the White Wolf outpost.

"This snow is really heavy."

She took a sip of her drink, a mocking smile playing on her lips. "In that godforsaken place, the snow must be piled up above the rooftops by now."

Percival, standing beside her, appeared somewhat agitated.

Ever since the envoy stripped him of his transformation spell, his face, which had returned to its original ordinary, even somewhat sleazy appearance, always wore a gloomy expression. He stared intently at the red dot, as if trying to burn through the map.

"Mother, I'm worried."

Percival grabbed the silver letter opener from the table and slammed it into the map. "That bastard's life is as tough as a cockroach. The envoy said his soul fire is still burning, and he's even reached the moving city. We can't just sit here and wait."

"What's the rush?"

The countess put down her wine glass and let out a soft snort.

She stood up, her skirt sweeping across the expensive carpet, and walked to the sand table beside her.

The sand table was filled with black flags representing the Frostwolf Clan's forces.

"Let's see our trump card, my silly son."

The Countess stretched out her well-maintained fingers and gently stroked the flags, her tone revealing a nauseating arrogance and conceit. "To completely crush that bastard this time, and to deter those restless fellows in the North, I'm prepared to use the entirety of our family's resources!"

She pulled up a flag with three skulls painted on it and waved it in front of Percival.

"Look carefully."

"A full ten second-tier witches."

The Countess's voice rose a few decibels, tinged with pride, "These are ten second-tier witches! Even the Earl of Black Iron City might not be able to mobilize so many high-level spellcasters at once. And our family has a foundation of three hundred years."

"These three hundred years of accumulated knowledge have given us three witch advancement rituals sufficient to advance to the third rank!"

Percival's expression softened slightly, but his eyes remained sinister: "Only ten Tier 2s? That bastard even made it to the mobile city of the Golden Age; his strength is probably not to be underestimated."

"Only ten?"

The countess laughed out loud as if she had heard a joke.

She pointed to a row of densely packed small flags behind the sand table, "Open your eyes wide and look here. Five third-tier witches!"

She lowered her voice, her tone becoming mysterious, "Although these five people share the three incomplete advancement rituals from the family, and the magic circulation is also a bit flawed, what does it matter? The third rank is the truth."

"That bastard Lorraine, even if he survives the snow season, it only proves he has one or two third-tier witches under his command. We, on the other hand, have five of us. What can he possibly use to stop us?"

Percival looked at the rows of flags and his breathing quickened slightly.

The countess was pleased with her son's reaction and continued reciting the figures as if they were her hoard of jewels.

"There are also fifteen fully armed Tier 3 knights."

"A heavily armored assault team composed of fifty second-tier knights."

"Plus those three hundred elite private soldiers armed with alchemical crossbows."

The Countess leaned forward, her hands gripping the edge of the table, her eyes gleaming with fanaticism. "With this setup, it's more than enough to take down a fourth-tier monster, let alone an abandoned outpost!"

Percival's Adam's apple bobbed, and the anxiety on his face was finally replaced by greed and cruelty.

"And that one—" he lowered his voice, looking at the tightly closed black door in the corner of the council chamber, "was the lord you brought back yesterday also—?"

Mentioning "that person," even the arrogant and domineering countess unconsciously suppressed her smile, a hint of awe flashing in her eyes.

"That's right."

She took a deep breath, her voice trembling with excitement, "That's our true pillar of strength. A genuine fourth-tier witch—the Poisonous Widow." To get her involved, I promised the family's tax revenue for the next ten years.

Fourth order.

In this era where ordinary people are as insignificant as ants, the fourth tier signifies strategic-level deterrence.

That was a terrifying being capable of slaughtering an entire city by himself.

"There is a fourth-level expert in charge, and such a huge army."

The Countess picked up her wine glass again and gently touched the letter opener in Percival's hand, making a crisp sound. "My son, what are you still worried about? I'm afraid we won't even need the fourth-tier expert we invited to make a move; he'll turn into a lump of ice in despair."

Percival finally smiled.

That smile was twisted and ferocious.

"I'm going to chop him up and feed him to the dogs."

The mother and son stood in front of the warm fireplace, fantasizing about the celebration after their victory.

In their minds, this is a game where an elephant crushes an ant.

What they didn't know was that right at this very moment...

In the far northern wilderness, thousands of miles away.

Their proud theory of fourth-order invincibility has been reduced to ashes.

because.

Three fourth-tier monsters, stronger than fourth-tier humans, were easily killed by Lorraine.