Chapter 392: Gaining Another Saint Rank Ally

Hughes lowered his head, overcome with humiliation.
Unable to defeat the enemy on the battlefield, he had to rely on Saint Viggo, South Seraph’s only Saint Rank, defecting to the enemy just to secure a chance at survival. If it were only his own life at stake, Hughes would rather die. However, his life was now tied to Jonan's legacy and the future of the South Seraph people. He couldn’t die—not when his life belonged to the South Seraph restorationists and no longer to himself.

Viggo stared at Charlot, visibly tense and filled with conflicting emotions.

He hadn’t expected that Charlot, someone so unremarkable not long ago, would now command the loyalty of two Saint Ranks. As soon as they arrived at Asaburg, they had heard Charlot’s name, a figure who had become a giant to the South Seraph restorationists.

As South Seraph’s only Saint Rank, Viggo had traversed the land tirelessly for the cause of restoration, willingly submitting to Jonan and Hughes without complaint. Yet, he was weary of such a life. Viggo longed for the respect, immense power, and leisurely lifestyle enjoyed by other Saint Ranks.

Thus, Viggo decided to gamble. If he lost, he would perish with South Seraph’s last hope. If he won, he could save Hughes and protect the dwindling spark of the South Seraph restorationists.

Charlot contemplated for a long while before asking, “How many men are left in the South Seraph restorationists?”

Hughes didn’t expect such a question and answered quietly, “Fewer than a thousand.”

Charlot remarked coolly, “There are fewer than ten thousand South Seraph people left now.”

“If you keep fighting, there may be no one left.”

Hughes interrupted Charlot, declaring, “No one can make the South Seraph people submit!”

“For a free South Seraph, we will fight to the last drop of blood, the last man standing!”

Charlot fell silent, his expression turning respectful. After a pause, he said, “I can let Hughes go, but Viggo’s allegiance alone isn’t enough. I need Viggo’s family and disciples. I heard he has a wife and a son. Send them to me as well.”

Hughes struggled for a moment before responding in a low voice, “Fine.”

Charlot turned to Black Dragon and ordered, “Release him.”

Black Dragon smiled faintly and complied, letting Hughes go. Herolf the Golden Ram snorted, retracting his oceanic combat energy. The Flame Combat Energy knight, who had been pinned to the ground by Herolf’s power, stood up in disgrace and silently joined Charlot’s side. He had indeed decided to pledge his loyalty to Charlot.

Hughes rose without a word and left immediately, disappearing down the street.

The battle had started and ended quickly. The young men who had been teasing Annie earlier now found themselves losing control of their bodily functions, trembling with fear.

Charlot paid them no attention. They were clearly not good people—likely gang members or even human traffickers, possibly with blood on their hands. But unless they were in his jurisdiction, he wouldn’t concern himself. The entire Old Continent was plagued by such issues.

In the Lukavaro District, Charlot had managed to eradicate gangs, stamp out human trafficking, and replace them with the more orderly forces of moderate merchant guilds. But beyond his territory, he could do little.

Charlot and Annie boarded a carriage.

Despite the intensity of the earlier skirmish, the second-hand carriage remained miraculously unscathed. As they drove off, a clap of thunder rolled across the sky, and an unexpected downpour began.

The three Saint Ranks had already left silently. The street, quiet for a moment, began returning to normal. People hurried to notify the body collection squad to remove the corpses of the slain young men, lest they disturb nearby businesses.

Hughes ran through the rain without stopping to seek shelter. He wanted to scream, to fight someone, to vent the frustration building in his chest.

He couldn’t understand why Jonan, so wise and visionary, had failed to restore South Seraph. Nor could he understand why all his own tireless efforts had still left him unable to surpass Charlot.

Hughes despised himself for his weakness and powerlessness. Viggo had defected to the enemy to save him, and yet what was the point of his survival?

For the first time in his life, Hughes felt utterly lost. Jonan was gone. Even Viggo had left.

For the first time, Hughes began to doubt whether South Seraph could ever be restored.

But he had no answers.

His combat energy intensified as the Blood Furnace technique, a secret he had honed through years of grueling practice, activated instinctively. A core of blood energy began to condense within him, forming a “blood core.”

The moment the blood core solidified, Hughes’s sprint turned into a series of leaps, each step propelling him dozens of meters. In the blink of an eye, he was out of Asaburg.

Charlot, meanwhile, remained unaware of what had transpired with Hughes.

He was pleased with his newest acquisition of another Saint Rank subordinate.

After escorting Annie back to the Brittany Ducal Estate, Charlot took his three Saint Rank followers to Cold Spring Palace.

Before he could rest, Princess Axo Axel summoned him. Charlot brought his followers to the Rose District, where the princess resided, and found Yansen Lupin and High Priest Auguslatin already present.

Upon seeing Viggo, Yansen Lupin exclaimed, “Isn’t this Saint Viggo?”

Viggo flushed and muttered, “I’ve just pledged my loyalty to the Mecklenburg patriarch.”

Even Princess Axo Axel and High Priest Auguslatin were visibly shocked.

The high priest, familiar with Charlot, asked, “How did you manage to win over Viggo?”

Auguslatin had not only heard of the Flame Combat Energy knight but had also faced him briefly in battle. Their strengths were evenly matched, both at the bottom of the Saint Rank at level nineteen.

Viggo’s face reddened further.

Charlot, ever gracious, chuckled and replied, “Viggo agrees with my vision. He believes only I can save the South Seraph people.”

Viggo nodded stiffly. “After reading the Charlot Chronicles, I came to believe that only the Mecklenburg patriarch could bring peace to South Seraph and happiness to its people.”

“As a South Seraph native, I must set aside personal reputation and sacrifice everything for my homeland.”

The high priest couldn’t help but interject, “Sacrifice for South Seraph? By pledging allegiance to Charlot?”

“Hmm. You’ve made the most significant decision of your life.”

“I, too, think Charlot Mecklenburg is a man with a bright future.”

The high priest’s words were sincere. Over the past fifty years, apart from Zimourman, no one came close to matching Charlot’s potential.

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