Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

To my dearest Master:

Maggie sends you her sincerest greetings.

This winter, your humble slave has been traveling between eight Baron’s Domains and one Viscount’s Domain on the border, rushing about to collect Gold Coins.

Those dull-witted Lords are always dragging their feet, refusing to hand over the taxes they owe, forcing Maggie to scurry back and forth in the bitter cold.

It is infuriating to think of how these fools have delayed Maggie’s return to your side.

Maggie had originally planned to visit your territory for an audience sooner, but Archbishop John was always by my side, making it impossible to find a suitable excuse to slip away.

Then, I was forced to attend Duke Douglas’s banquet, spending my days mingling with those hypocritical nobles.

What should have been a two-month affair was then complicated by an urgent summons from the Royal Family, demanding Maggie’s immediate return.

With all the delays, it is already April.

Dearest Master, Maggie thinks of you at every moment.

In the quiet of the night, I always recall those evenings in Duval Castle.

...

Your warm embrace, your deep voice, and your profound eyes haunt Maggie’s dreams.

...

How I long to kneel before you once more and feel the gentle way you stroke my hair.

...

All these days, Maggie has spent every night thinking of your scent, yearning to serve by your side again.

...

Please have pity on your faithful slave and allow Maggie to return to your side soon.

Your loyal slave,

Margaret Leonice Purple Eagle

P.S. Maggie has already paid the first tax installment for you. Please do not worry about it.

Also, I have heard that the Rosenia People are secretly plotting against your territory. I implore you, Master, to be extra careful.

WHOOSH!

Murphy held the letter to the candlelight, watching the parchment slowly curl, blacken, and turn to ash in the flames.

This wasn’t the second letter he had exchanged with Margaret, but it was the second crucial one.

’The Rosenia People can’t hold back any longer,’ Murphy said to himself. ’Are they so eager to make a move at the start of spring? And they just had to choose my territory...’

He stood up and walked to the window, gazing at the mountains outside, still dappled with patches of snow.

In the Northern Territory, the April air still carried a biting chill.

’No, it’s not time yet.’ Murphy narrowed his eyes. ’Spring in the Northern Territory is still cold. The Rosenia People can’t afford the cost of launching an attack at this time of year. The earliest they could move would be late spring, or even early summer.’

’But no matter what, I don’t have much time left.’

Murphy’s mind raced.

If the Rosenia army were to attack the Duval Territory, they would have to choose the pass where the Black Wood Forest Outpost is located.

It was the only route capable of accommodating a large army.

As long as the outpost’s vigilance was heightened, he would get an early warning the moment the enemy appeared.

’If I can detect the enemy in advance, I can buy precious time. And with time, there’s room to maneuver.’

’I hope the arrangements I’ve made these past few months will be effective.’

Murphy’s gaze fell on the map spread across his desk.

"A command for the Black Wood Forest Outpost," Murphy said to the attendant waiting outside his door. "Effective immediately, raise the alert level to maximum. Report any unusual activity at once."

Watching the attendant’s back as he left to carry out the order, Murphy took a deep breath.

Late spring was about a month away, giving him that much time to prepare.

This one month would decide the fate of the Duval Territory.

...

「In the South of the Vilt Kingdom, deep within the Silver Dew Forest.」

An ancient stone building was half-hidden among the gnarled roots of old trees, its mottled outer walls covered in moss.

Inside, pale moonlight streamed through the broken stained-glass windows, casting eerie patches of light before a black marble altar.

A statue of a female deity stood in the center of the altar. Her figure was graceful, with fluid lines flowing from her shoulders and neck to trace an elegant curve at her waist.

On her indistinct face, her slightly parted lips held a hint of seduction.

Thirteen black candles surrounded the statue’s feet, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows on her smooth, marble-carved skin.

Margaret knelt piously before the statue, her waterfall of ink-black hair cascading over her shoulders, making her skin appear as white and translucent as jade.

On the silver coronet she wore, an amethyst shimmered with a mystical glow in the candlelight.

Her deep purple Sacrificial Robe was embroidered with intricate patterns in Golden Thread, its wide sleeves spreading out beside her like clouds.

She was bowed slightly, her feet crossed naturally. Her ten delicate toes were painted with a pearl-colored dye that gleamed softly in the moonlight, like newly opened oyster shells.

TAP, TAP, TAP!

Footsteps echoed in the empty altar chamber.

Richard’s figure appeared under an archway, his armor glinting coldly in the moonlight.

He dropped to his knees, prostrating himself respectfully behind Margaret. "Master, the letter has been delivered into Lord Baron Duval’s hands."

"I know," Margaret’s voice was cool and calm.

Richard hesitated for a moment before asking in a low voice, "Why didn’t you inform the Lord Baron that the Ghostly Touch is active on the border and will attack the territory within a few days?"

"Are you questioning me?" Margaret tilted her head slightly. The candlelight cast a soft halo on her delicate profile, tracing its gentle contours.

"This subordinate wouldn’t dare." Richard immediately touched his forehead to the ground, his helmet making a crisp sound as it hit the stone floor.

Margaret suddenly let out a soft laugh. "Tell me, is it a good thing or a bad thing for me that my Master possesses a territory?"

"This subordinate dare not comment."

"Answer boldly," Margaret’s tone was playful. "I absolve you of any crime."

Richard took a deep breath. "It is likely... not a good thing. You have been constantly thinking of the Lord Baron, Master. If the Lord Baron is tied down by his territory, he cannot always be by your side."

"Exactly! That’s it!" A feverish blush appeared on Margaret’s face, her dark eyes gleaming with an obsessed light. She stood up, her Sacrificial Robe trailing behind her. "If my Master has a territory, he can’t be with me whenever and wherever I want. How then can I comprehend the true meaning of the ’Origin of Control’?" 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Her voice, filled with a crazed excitement, echoed in the altar chamber. "Richard, the records of the Monte Clan must state that the first Enchanting Witch came from slavery. She endured countless sunless days of whippings and humiliation, finally awakening through a baptism of blood and tears to become a great and feared existence in the Wizard World. It is precisely because I was born a Princess, high and mighty, that I have never been able to grasp the mysteries of the Origin of Control. I can’t even cast a basic Magic spell like [Control Human] properly."

Margaret spread her arms, her Sacrificial Robe blooming like a flower in the night. "But my Master gave me the opportunity to experience what it feels like to be controlled, to be enslaved. But it’s not enough. It’s far from enough! I need my Master by my side, at every moment, so that I may comprehend it all!"

She suddenly let her smile fade. Her bare feet stepped lightly on the cold ground, her pearl-colored toenails glinting faintly as she walked slowly toward the kneeling Richard. "But I can never go against my Master’s will and force him to stay with me. In that case, I can only hope that he can overcome this crisis."

She looked down at Richard. "Isn’t that right, Richard?"

"Yes," Richard’s voice was low and submissive.

From beginning to end, Richard remained prostrate on the ground, his forehead pressed against the cold floor, not daring to lift his head to witness his mistress’s frenzied state.

...

「Cold Frost Viscount Domain.」

In the cold wind of early spring, two squadrons of Knights stood ready on the barren plains.

Six armored Knights sat astride their warhorses, their metal armor gleaming coldly in the pale sunlight.

Sixty Knight’s Attendants followed close behind them, and further back was an orderly formation of three hundred foot soldiers and five hundred men of the Vassal Army.

Their long spears were a forest of steel, and four-colored banners snapped sharply in the wind. Besides the main banner with its ice-crystal crest, there were also the crests of three Baron families: Snow Wolf, Ice Eagle, and Frost Bear.

The Knight leading the formation had a face covered in deep blue tattoos. The intricate patterns ran from his temples down to his jaw, like frozen tear tracks.

This was the current Viscount Frost, Victor Frost.

These tattoos recorded his bloody past. As the illegitimate son of the old Lord and a peasant woman, he had grown up facing discrimination.

When he was ten, his legitimate elder brothers used a poisoned dagger to carve these marks into his face, a brand for his lowly bloodline.

Ten years ago, on the night of a blizzard, Victor burst into the banquet hall with a War Axe and slaughtered all of his celebrating brothers.

He then presented an ancient Holy Artifact discovered in his domain to the Shepherd Headquarter District—a silver Holy Image said to be capable of performing miracles.

This act won him the favor of the regional Archbishop. With the support of the Shepherd Headquarter District, he was finally able to inherit the title of Viscount.

Victor reined in his warhorse and faced the army, which was ready to march.

The tattoos on his face contorted with the movement of his muscles, making him look particularly savage.

"Warriors! Thirty-one years ago, the heretics of the Duval Territory massacred our ancestors in the Black Wood Forest, spilling innocent blood on the frozen plains! Today, we will not only take back our land, but we will also claim justice for those departed souls!"

He raised his Longsword high, its blade reflecting the cold light.

"By the God of Truth, we will use sword and fire to purify those heretics who blaspheme against God! Let the flames of holy wrath cleanse their blood-stained hands!"

The soldiers roared with fervor, raising their weapons in response, "Purify the heretics! Avenge our blood debt!"

A cruel smile flashed across Victor’s face. He turned his horse to face south.

"In the name of the God of Truth—march on the Duval Territory!"