[ "What does the Sovereign wish for me to do?" ]

  Hermos' voice echoed through Pippin, breaking the lingering silence and Mark's train of thought.

  [ "Lady Carmilla's patience is running thin, and the sound of those lamentations is frightening Lady Elizabeth. Karkinos has offered to—" ]

  Mark did not answer immediately, ignoring Hermos. He remained seated, his gaze fixed on the wooden door of the room, processing the situation.

  In the game, the Cindralisks had been nothing but pixels—a source of easy experience that he wiped out with a snap of his fingers while clearing invasion maps. They were the first race he had encountered in this world.

  Seeing those same "mobs" acting with such strong will—enough to defy their own fear just to beg for survival—left him unsettled.

  The description of the "men of metal with the sun in their hands" bothered him the most.

  Something about it made him think of the Solis Empire.

  And if the Empire was already close enough to the Ziggurat to be wiping out local monster tribes, then it would only be a matter of time before they knocked on his gate.

  But the logistics didn't add up.

  From what Mark had heard, the Empire's main conflict was happening along the eastern borders. What was an extermination force doing incinerating underground nests so close to his Ziggurat?

  Mark hesitated.

  Should he shelter the Cindralisks and stop them from being killed?

  The idea sounded absurd.

  Mark wasn't exactly a protector of wildlife. Just yesterday he had destroyed an entire nest of sandworms on the way to Luminaris without the slightest bit of remorse. He wasn't hypocritical enough to claim he cared about the well-being of a few desert lizards.

  On the other hand, the Ziggurat was enormous, and its defensive and maintenance structure depended on servants. He couldn't simply open the gates and allow hundreds of wild creatures to wander through its biomes—but he also couldn't ignore a potential movement from the Empire within his territory.

  Things were getting complicated.

  "Hermos," Mark finally said, his voice cold and decisive. "What servants remain under our command? Do not count the commanders."

  Through Pippin, Mark could feel Hermos' brief confusion.

  The question was unexpected, but with his impeccable efficiency, the butler quickly organized the numbers in his mind.

  [ "Gathering the First Officers from each sector." ] Hermos' voice resumed, adopting the tone of a technical report while Pippin straightened his posture on the bed.

  [ "Under Lady Carmilla's authority, we have the Sanguine Knight. In Karkinos' division, there is the Dragonfly Hunter. As for Lady Elizabeth's wing…" ] Hermos hesitated before continuing.

  [ "None have awakened. And under Malphas' command, we have The Sutured." ]

  Mark listened to the names, closing his eyes for a moment as he forced his memory to retrieve the images of the cards and icons he used to see in the game's interface.

  The Sanguine Knight appeared in his mind as a heavily armored crimson knight, the type of unit he placed on the front line to absorb damage. The Dragonfly Hunter was a giant dragonfly that attacked from the air. And The Sutured was a stitched humanoid that functioned as a nearly indestructible tank.

  He didn't remember the exact levels of those servants, but he knew they all hovered around level 200. In the game, they were the ones who gave invaders trouble before they even reached the Commanders.

  If the soldiers of the Solis Empire were truly the ones attacking the Cindralisks in the desert, sending mere cannon fodder would be useless.

  Since he was in the city and returning to the Ziggurat wasn't viable right now—and sending his commanders could attract attention—the elite servants were the perfect middle ground.

  This was his best choice.

  "Gather the Sanguine Knight, Dragonfly Hunter, and The Sutured," Mark ordered, his mind already outlining a plan to handle the situation without needing to leave Luminaris immediately.

  Despite not wanting to get involved, Mark would still send three of his lower-tier servants out of the Ziggurat. He wanted to resolve the situation with the least amount of effort.

  If it was possible to avoid being implicated, that would be ideal—but since they had already reached the desert, he had little choice.

  [ "Yes, my Lord." ] Hermos replied quickly. Even so, his tone carried confusion and intrigue over his Sovereign's choices. He clearly had many questions he wished to ask, but he did not.

  Mark leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

  Using his own resources to protect "mobs" still felt irrational, but the Solis Empire was advancing too quickly.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  If he allowed them to annihilate the Cindralisks, the next target would be the Ziggurat itself.

  Sending level-200 servants would also test the strength of the other side.

  Mark now had some idea of the power scale of this world.

  If level-30 monsters could already give a group of Silver-Rank adventurers trouble, what would some of his level-200 servants do?

  The curiosity to test the real performance of his forces in the physical world was beginning to outweigh his caution.

  Mark was letting his gamer instincts take over.

  Of course, if those scouts of "metal and sun" truly belonged to the Solis Empire… they were probably human.

  "Hermos," Mark said, his voice taking on a commanding authority. "Pass the orders. The three servants are to follow the lizards back to their territory."

  He paused, weighing his words.

  "If they encounter the men of metal who carry the sun in their hands, they are not to kill them. Instruct them to declare that the Cindralisks are now under my protection. The servants must repel the threat—but without unnecessary deaths."

  [ "Repel… without killing, my Lord?" ] Hermos' voice sounded stunned, almost a whisper of disbelief.

  Internally, Mark felt how irrational that sounded.

  Asking high-level monsters—creatures accustomed to defending the Ziggurat—to spare humans in direct conflict was almost a paradox.

  But the idea of ordering the execution of human beings still made Mark deeply uncomfortable.

  The game had placed him in Vaelin's imposing body, but his mind was still Mark's—someone who avoided real conflict whenever possible.

  He couldn't simply kill them.

  "Yes. Just drive them away. I want them to know there is a force protecting that tribe, but I don't want a declared war against the Empire."

  [ "As you wish, Sovereign." ] Hermos replied, regaining his composure, though his voice now carried a restrained emotion.

  [ "Your orders will be conveyed with precision. Know that we all eagerly await the day when you will once again walk these halls. The Ziggurat breathes because of you, if—" ]

  He seemed about to begin a long speech of loyalty and devotion, but suddenly cut himself off. His tone shifted instantly—from reverence to sharp authority directed at the small servant.

  [ "And you, Pippin! You must protect the Sovereign in this city of humans. Understood?" ]

  Pippin had his eyes closed while Hermos' voice escaped from his mouth. The little servant could only nod before the [Bloodline Resonance] connection snapped off with a mental crack.

  "Huff!"

  Pippin collapsed sideways onto the bed, panting with exhaustion, while Mark leaned back in his chair again, feeling the weight of the decision he had just made.

  He had done it.

  He had just sent level-200 monsters into the middle of a conflict, and all he could do now was hope they wouldn't get killed—and that they would follow his orders exactly.

  If they managed to defend the Cindralisk tribe without causing deaths, that would be the ideal scenario. When his servants returned, he would gain more information about the invaders in the desert and adjust his approach accordingly.

  But just when Mark was about to relax, his expression changed.

  He stayed completely still for several seconds as the realization slowly sank in.

  Wait…

  Wasn't what he had just done basically a declaration of war?

  Sending elite servants to stop the soldiers of a superpower from hunting monsters in the desert… and retaliating to protect them from death.

  'Holy shit!' Mark felt a surge of panic rise in his chest.

  He wasn't about to insert himself into a continental-scale geopolitical problem because of a small tribe of common mobs… right?

  The regret came instantly.

  If those "men of metal" were from the Solis Empire and his servants clashed with them, they would be marked as enemies—and by extension, the Ziggurat would be considered an enemy as well.

  And all of that because of a few lizards.

  Scrape!

  Mark jumped to his feet, the sudden movement making the table creak.

  "Pippin!" he shouted, startling the little servant who was still trying to catch his breath. "Reestablish the connection! Now! I need to change Hermos' orders!"

  Pippin scratched his bald head, his ears drooping and a deeply embarrassed expression on his face.

  He avoided Mark's gaze, fidgeting with his fingers.

  "I-I'm very sorry, Sovereign… but I can't. [Bloodline Resonance] is an exhausting technique. I can only use it once a day. There's a twenty-four-hour waiting period before it stabilizes again."

  "…" Mark was stunned. He tried to search his memories from the game and was certain the cooldown for that ability wasn't nearly that long.

  At most a few minutes.

  "Twenty-four hours?" he frowned as he murmured, frightening Pippin.

  The servant instantly shrank back, his long ears flattening against his head and his wide eyes filling with panicked tears. He dropped to his knees on the bed, bowing until his forehead touched the mattress, trembling like a leaf.

  "F-forgive me, Sovereign! Pippin is a useless servant! Pippin deserves to be thrown to the worms!" he sobbed, his shrill voice breaking. "I tried… I swear I tried to hold the thread, but my head hurts. I failed the Sovereign… Pippin is good for nothing!"

  Seeing the little servant fall into genuine panic made a wave of guilt rise in Mark's mind.

  He wasn't a tyrant, no matter how much Vaelin's body imposed that role.

  "Forget it, Pippin. Just… rest. You did a good job." Mark let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face.

  Pippin stopped trembling almost instantly, though his shoulders still jerked slightly from suppressed sobs. He slowly lifted his face, staring at Mark with pure disbelief, as if unable to process that he would not be punished for his "uselessness."

  Upon hearing the praise, the small servant's eyes filled again. He quickly wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands, sniffling loudly.

  "T-thank you, Sovereign!" he said, his voice thick with emotion.

  "Don't worry about it." Mark waved his hand, signaling him to relax, though internally his mind was a mess.

  He sat down again, massaging his temples.

  Twenty-four hours.

  In game terms, a broken and irritating cooldown. In real life, it was more than enough time for an irreversible diplomatic catastrophe. He now had three level-200 monsters wandering the desert with orders to confront soldiers from an unknown empire.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  Mark let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes.

  Pippin, noticing Mark's silence, scratched his cheek with a thin finger.

  Trying to be helpful—and remembering the order he had received earlier in the library to collect records about this world—the little servant suddenly had a realization.

  He reached up to his crooked top hat and, with a motion that defied the laws of physics, began rummaging through the bottom of it.

  "Ah! Sovereign… I almost forgot!" Pippin exclaimed, his squeaky voice breaking the tense atmosphere in the room. "While the Sovereign was talking with that green-haired female, I found something! You asked for maps and records, right?"

  Female?

  Mark glanced over, confused.

  He watched as Pippin pulled a thick volume from the hat—a hardcover book with golden details.

  "I already have enough books, Pippin…" Mark began, thinking about the pile Celina had selected. "I don't need more right now, I just need—"

  But Pippin was already beside him, holding the book out with a proud smile that took up half his face.

  Unconsciously, Mark reached out and took the volume.

  When he lowered his eyes to the cover, what he read made his stomach lurch.

  The title, engraved in large, imposing letters, read:

  "A BOOK OF HISTORY: THE EXTERMINATION OF DARKNESS BY LIGHT."

  Below the title was a detailed illustration of a knight in golden armor, surrounded by a solar aura, crushing the skull of a monster.

  "…"

  Mark stared at the book for a long moment.

  Maybe staying in Luminaris a little longer wouldn't be such a bad idea.