Lord: I have built a witch's sanctuary.

Chapter 42 The Prince's Plan

Inside a luxuriously decorated guest room in the inner city of Frostwolf.

"Lorraine" was sprawled out on the bearskin couch, clutching a golden-brown, juicy roasted chicken leg and devouring it without any regard for decorum.

"This is what life should be like..."

The young man dressed as Lorraine casually tossed his half-eaten chicken leg onto the carpet, whereupon a seemingly magical alchemical golem appeared out of nowhere and silently cleaned it up.

He touched his handsome face—Lorraine's face, but now it bore the greed and complacency of Percival.

Just then, a full-length mirror in the corner of the room suddenly rippled like water.

The mirror that had been reflecting the luxurious room instantly turned pitch black and deep, as if leading to an abyss in another dimension. A chilling aura seeped out of the mirror, instantly overpowering the heat of the fireplace.

Percival was so startled that he rolled off the soft couch.

He didn't even bother to wipe the grease from the corner of his mouth. He scrambled to the mirror, knelt on one knee, bowed his head deeply, and trembled slightly with fear.

"Sir...sir."

There was no reflection in the mirror, only a low, hoarse sound, like two pieces of pig iron rubbing together.

"How is the mission progressing?"

Percival swallowed hard, forcing a fawning smile:

"Everything went smoothly! Absolutely smoothly! That damned Lorraine has been tricked into going to White Wolf Outpost. Given the intensity of the blizzard these past few days, he's probably frozen solid by now! I now have complete control of Frostwolf City..."

"hehe."

A soft laugh interrupted his boasting.

The laughter was devoid of warmth, filled only with intense mockery, as if watching a clown's clumsy performance.

"Frozen into an ice pop?"

The voice from the mirror carried a hint of mockery, "Percival, is your brain filled with mush? If he's dead, why is that soul flame representing Baron White Wolf in the Book of Consecration... still shining like the fucking sun?"

"Wh...what?!"

Percival jerked his head up, his face filled with disbelief and terror.

"This is impossible! There's nothing there! Not even a single intact tile! Even if he was lucky enough to find some supplies, in this kind of weather where even third-tier magical beasts frequently appear, how could he possibly survive?!"

However, when he glanced back at the Book of Conferment, the flame was indeed astonishingly bright.

"This...this..."

Percival stammered as he tried to explain, but found himself speechless.

Facts speak louder than words. The Book of Consecration is a branch of the Kingdom's legal artifacts. It says that if a person is alive, then even if the body is cold, the soul must still be there.

"I don't want to hear your nonsense."

The voice in the mirror suddenly turned cold, and an invisible pressure descended through the mirror, pressing heavily on Percival's shoulders.

"Snap!"

The cracking sound of bones was particularly jarring in the silent room.

Percival let out a scream as he was pressed to the ground, his cheek pressed tightly against the carpet. His once perfect "Lorraine" face showed signs of collapse due to the excruciating pain, and his original mediocre, even ugly, face was faintly visible beneath his skin.

"You have ten days left."

The voice was like a heavy hammer of judgment, striking Percival's heart again and again: "The climax of the moment of upheaval will arrive in ten days. If, within those ten days, the fire at White Wolf Outpost has not been extinguished..."

"To protect the secrecy of the Prince's Plan, I will retract the 'Thousand Faces' ability that I bestowed upon you."

"No! Sir! No!"

Percival let out a piercing howl, like a dog whose spine had been broken.

"I am crucial to the prince's plan! Only I can take Lorraine's place! Only I can help His Highness conquer the North without bloodshed! Without me, the entire plan will collapse! I am unique!"

He kowtowed frantically, his forehead slamming against the floor with loud thuds, blood staining the expensive carpet.

The person in the mirror remained silent for a moment.

Then, an even more unrestrained burst of laughter erupted.

"Hahaha! One of a kind?"

"Percival, who gave you such a ridiculous misconception?"

"What do you think you are? A key pawn? An indispensable ace?"

The voice was filled with cruel pity, "No, you are nothing more than a disposable expendable. The prince's plan is as grand as the movement of the stars, and you are at best a speck of dust kicked up by this massive machine."

"The North, do you really think the North is that important to His Majesty the Prince's plans? Or rather, can you really see the whole picture of His Majesty's plans?"

"Even without you, even if Lorraine hadn't died, the prince's chariot would still crush all obstacles. Your existence is merely to make the wheels turn a little smoother."

"Do your job. Or, die."

hum-

The ripples on the mirror surface subsided abruptly, and the terrifying sense of oppression vanished as well.

The room returned to warmth and silence, as if everything that had just happened was an illusion.

But Percival remained lying on the ground, his body soaked in cold sweat, as if he had just been pulled out of the water.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes empty and filled with despair.

"Just... a speck of dust...?"

After a long while, he slowly got up and touched his face with trembling hands.

The touch from his fingertips still revealed Lorraine's perfect bone structure, but this body, which he was once so proud of, now felt like a torture device that could be ripped off at any moment.

Ten days.

Only ten days.

Percival stumbled to the window, staring intently at the darkness to the north shrouded in wind and snow.

That's the direction of the White Wolf outpost.

The flames there are still burning.

"Lorraine...why aren't you dead yet?"

His fingernails dug deep into the window frame, his eyes blazing with a mad dog-like venom and terror. "Since you won't die, then I'll make sure you die a horrible death! No one can take my inheritance away... no one!"

On this snowy night, no one knew what the prince's plan was.

But a counterfeiter, driven to the brink of despair, at that moment felt a murderous intent towards his "brother" whom he had never met, an intent even stronger than that of a father's killer.