I removed my cloak and gently draped it over Jenna's slender, pale body.
Jenna's gaze suddenly turned strange, her cheeks flushing with an enchanting blush. From my vast experience charming women, this was likely her first time completely naked in front of a man.
"Miss Jenna, I have a question. You burned property—I can replace that. But you injured my loyal subordinates. If I let it slide, how do I face the people who follow me faithfully?"
As I spoke, I stared coldly at her. She froze, her face openly showing agreement and regret. The situation wasn't as grave as I made it sound, but the question was crucial—this was my first step in testing her character and beginning to claim her.
From her reaction—and her earlier angry outburst—I could tell she was pure-hearted, unable to hide her feelings. Her regret proved her innate kindness, fitting the typical elven nature, and that she was reasonable.
Most importantly, I wanted her to see me as a dependable leader, planting the image of a heroic figure in her mind.
"I'm truly sorry. How are the ladies I hurt? Jenna is willing to apologize to them personally."
"I've already sent doctors to treat them. But if any die from their injuries, Miss Jenna—I'm sorry, but even as the holy elf clan's saintess and an ally of our Empire, I must handle you by law. I hope you're prepared for that."
Finally, the reaction I'd been waiting for: overwhelming guilt, then resolute acceptance. She nodded, ready to face any consequence.
Relief washed over me. The effort and gold spent on her hadn't been wasted. She was someone with a strong sense of responsibility—willing to pay with her life for her mistakes. That's exactly the kind of person I need. I have no use for cowards who run from accountability.
Don't doubt how someone as young as me became lord of a major northern county. This is my talent for reading people.
"Let's set the maids aside for now. Can you tell me why you secretly entered our borders—and why the dark elves ambushed you?"
I had her sit across from me. She was still uncomfortable, naked beneath only a thin cloak. A little trick of mine—I couldn't keep her fully exposed in front of a stranger like me. Giving her this barely-there cover let her at least try to maintain that sexy pose.
Embarrassed, but with no choice in the rush, she had to talk to me like this.
A month ago, they noticed unusual activity from dark elves and orcs. For safety, they sent envoys to the Empire requesting military aid. But the envoys vanished. The elders dispatched their finest young warrior and the newly ordained saintess—Jenna—on a secret mission.
Ambushed en route by ten high-rank dark elves, they killed five, but her companion died on the spot, and Jenna was gravely wounded. Lucky she met me—otherwise she'd be dead or crippled.
"So what do you plan to do now?"
"If possible, Jenna hopes… um, sorry, I haven't asked your name yet?"
"Sorola Rubia."
"So… Sorola?! "
For some reason, Jenna shot to her feet, staring at me in disbelief.
"Sorola? You're really… the lord of Febenli City… Lord Sorola?"
"That's me. Do you know me?"
"Of course! My uncle talks about you all the time. You're my idol."
What the hell? I'm only twenty, and a 200-plus-year-old elf calls me her idol? Doesn't make me happy—makes me feel ancient.
"Who's your uncle?"
"He's the second-ranked elder in the clan. He's followed your career closely. At fifteen you led troops against the orcs. No flashy victories, but for three straight years you disrupted their supply lines, starving their armies and keeping them from invading the Empire's borders again. For that, the imperial family granted you a barony—the youngest noble in Martial Rost history."
Jenna grew more excited with every word, like she was talking about her own achievements.
"Uncle always said that though you keep a low profile and lack standout martial or magical prowess, you're the spiritual leader of the north's eleven counties. The three northern races combined have over 600,000 troops, yet with less than 100,000 under coordinated defense, you've made the entire northern frontier impregnable. Uncle says one Sorola is worth 500,000 soldiers. He privately calls you 'the Magician of the Battlefield.'"
"Not that big a deal. I'm no Desert Fox."
Damn!
Look at those eyes—like she wants to pin me down right here. Worst part: if it came to a fight, ten of me wouldn't stand a chance against this saintess.
A renowned beauty trainer like me follows one rule: "Better I train the world than let the world train me." Otherwise, how could I face my peers? This situation put serious pressure on me.
"Sorry, Miss Jenna, could you stop staring at me like that?"
"Sorry… I'm just so excited."
"Back to business. What's your plan now?"
"Ah, right! I need to rush to your capital and petition the Emperor for troops to aid my clan."
"Too late. You were unconscious for seven full days. The dark elf-orc alliance will reach your sacred grounds soon. Even if we petitioned now, mobilizing takes time. From the capital to your lands? Ten days at best. By then we'd only be collecting bodies."
Jenna's mouth fell open, speechless. Her clan's survival rested on her—yet seven lost days made the capital trip pointless.
"Lord Sorola… please… there must be a way. Or can you rally the northern alliance?"
"Sorry. They're not attacking the Empire—I have no grounds to request aid from other counties. And assembling forces now? Still too slow."
"Then… what do I do? Lord Sorola, Jenna is willing to serve as slave or maid—please find a way to save my people."
Hook, line, and sinker!
Seeing Jenna panicked, eyes red with tears, I inwardly cheered. The best time to capture a girl's heart is when she's lost and helpless—then swoop in as the hero. Of course, I kept that hidden.
Despicable? Sure. But I bet you readers support me.
I sighed dramatically, stood, and paced in front of her for effect. Her anxiety grew; her only hope was me.
"Lord Sorola…"
"Miss Jenna, saving the holy elves isn't impossible, but…"
"But?"
"To break the siege, I'd have to go to your lands personally. The risk is extreme—fifty-fifty chance of survival. I'm not afraid of death (yeah, right), but if something happens to me, millions in the north lose their protector. If you were in my position, what would you do?"
Jenna hesitated, fell silent, then began to cry. Perfect cue. I sat beside her and gently pulled her into my arms for comfort.
"Don't cry, silly girl. How about a deal?"
"A deal?"
"Yes. I'll risk my life to save your entire clan. In exchange, you bind yourself to me by contract—swear me as your master and dedicate yourself to protecting my life."
"A… contract?"
Jenna squirmed in my arms, but I wasn't letting go.
"I trust you're not dishonorable, but I must safeguard the greater good. It's reasonable. What if your clan turns on me after the war and you abandon me? Then what?"
"But… holy elves haven't contracted with humans in a thousand years. I don't even know the ritual…"
"No worries. I'm half a summoner myself—deep knowledge of all contracts. If you agree, I can perform the ritual immediately, then ride with you to your sacred grounds and fight."
Poor Jenna had no time to think. No other choice—she accepted, becoming my active servant… and future sex slave.
"One life saves the whole clan" operation—massive success!
Good thing she couldn't see the wolf tail wagging behind my back. Heh heh heh… HAHAHA!
Outside Febenli City, beyond imperial borders in no-man's-land, I personally led thirty elite guards plus my newly contracted holy elf slave, assembled at the north gate.
After my careful styling, Jenna wore a stunning sea-blue and silver gown, adorned with delicate crafted accessories and a longsword at her waist. Her silver hair fluttered lightly in the breeze—heroic yet breathtakingly beautiful.
"Draw swords!"
Facing a ten-foot marble monument, we thirty-plus stood at attention. At my command, we drew our blades and pointed them skyward.
This monument, "Triple-Three Heroes," stands in all northern counties. Troops passing the north gate must dismount and salute—my personal military discipline.
"Salute!"
We pressed swords to foreheads in the Empire's highest military honor. Jenna didn't understand but followed solemnly, sensing the gravity—even my usual flippant self turned serious.
*(Brothers in arms, Sorola rides to war again. Watch over me.)*
"Lower swords!"
Blades pointed to the ground in unison.
"Sheathe!"
Metal scraped as we returned swords, then mounted for departure. Jenna rode in front of me on the same warhorse. Elves love nature, treating animals like kin—they rarely ride, never use saddles.
Jenna was no exception. Her swordsmanship and magic far outclassed mine, but her horsemanship? Pathetic. So I "suffered" by sitting behind, arms around her waist. Tall and slender, yet not bony—her fresh natural scent and toned muscles made holding her incredibly satisfying.
Holy elves select a promising female every three centuries for saintess training—ascetic, monk-like lives to amplify spiritual power and unleash devastating magic. Jenna's water affinity places her at senior mage level by human standards.
In the Empire, over a thousand registered basic mages exist, but only about three hundred reach junior level, a hundred mid-level. Top mages like my subordinate Karan—senior level—are fewer than thirty nationwide.
Karan's the association's rising star, youngest senior mage. But his achievement cost unimaginable sacrifice.
Landing Jenna—a senior mage slave with no salary? Huge profit!
Side note: since I haven't graduated, the association ranks me as a lowly apprentice. No eye for talent.
Among holy elves, their tenfold lifespan gives massive advantage in magic and sword training. With only 1.4 million population and 200,000 regular troops—no strong cavalry—the million-strong Empire never dares invade. Why? Thousands of junior to mid-level mages.
Imagine five thousand mages unleashing battlefield fireworks.
A certain anonymous expert—familiar with elves, once universally wanted by both elf clans for "messing with" elf women, now hiding incognito for millennia next to a southern county public toilet—analyzed: the Empire could crush the elves with certainty, but at the cost of 400,000 lives.
Losing 400,000 troops? Suicide.
"Still not used to it?" I teased, arms tight around the beautiful elf's slim waist. Jenna blushed, unsure how to respond.
"Don't worry. Ride a bit more and you'll get comfortable."
"Um… Master, you're only bringing these thirty knights? It seems…"
"Hahaha! Didn't your uncle say one Sorola equals 500,000 troops? Think that's not enough?"
"Well… yes, but…"
"Relax. My other forces are already moving—just secretly, or the plan falls apart. By the way, what's the deal with that pretty-boy Longevity?"
I grew bolder, whispering in her ear. The little virgin over 200 years old actually started trembling. Taking her would be nourishing indeed.
"That… Longevity is the most outstanding talent among the younger dark elves. Their clan is survival-of-the-fittest—age and gender don't matter. Pure strength decides rank. That's why someone so young became supreme commander."
I kissed her earlobe as reward for the answer, my mind already racing to the holy elf sacred grounds.
**Northern Military Distribution:**
Febenli County: 30,000 troops. Flanking border counties Sochiwu and Bidu: 20,000 each. Seven smaller rear counties: ~3,000 standing each. Total northern ten counties: 90,000.
Orc clan: 230,000. Holy elf clan: 200,000. Dark elf clan: 200,000.
**Imperial Forces:** Five legions of 100,000 each: Golden Winged Lions, White Snow Wolves, Black Dragon Knights, Sea-Blue Geese, Crimson Eagle Kings.
Capital garrison: 28,000.
Twelve border counties: ~260,000 defenders.
Forty-four inland counties: average 3,000 garrison, total ~140,000.
Empire total: 920,000–950,000 troops.
**National Forces:**
Martial Rost Empire: ~1 million total, only 500,000 mobile.
Diyari Kingdom: ~1 million total, only 400,000 mobile (larger territory requires more static defense).