Money is something no one ever finds excessive, but Malin wrote what he knew into a handbook because he saw in these soldiers glimpses of his own past experiences.
He saw soldiers willing to die for their families, the courage to fight to the death for friends, and noble officers thick-facedly seeking his decisions for the sake of their subordinates.
Therefore, he handed the handbook over to those two commanders. Malin initially did not know their ranks, but in the morning, all the soldiers and officers saluted them, their eyes filled with unmistakable respect—clearly, they were their commanders.
Of course, they later introduced themselves, and Malin learned that there was a position called political commissar, ostensibly established to boost the troops’ morale.
This position often required being at the forefront, and only the bravest in a legion could don the red and black military uniform.
This made Malin feel that he had not chosen the wrong people, for facing Chaos required each brave soul to perform their duties faithfully.
Of course, Malin was not sure if His Majesty would approve of his actions, after all, he was meddling in military affairs, but he heard from the Divine Envoy that the Infantry Divisions accompanying the guards were branched from an army established during his family’s Duke-era—so they probably wouldn’t be so petty.
Moreover, Malin was also going to write another copy of the Sharpshooter Training Handbook and the First Aid Handbook for Faye, to be passed on to His Majesty.
There shouldn’t be any significant problems; even if scolded, he expected they would be ’all bark and no bite.’
With this thought in mind, Malin awoke and prepared to return to Carterburg with the Divine Envoy.
"You seem well-rested," the Divine Envoy remarked, glancing at Malin and then noticing the firearm in his hand: "A firearm of Chaos, why did you pick this up? Where is your own gun?"
"I gave it to the two commanders of the guards, Vitelli and Ataf. I’ve had this one purified and plan to take it back to examine its mechanical structure and metal composition, to confirm if this firearm of Chaos really originated from another world."
"This is an intriguing perspective; should you have any information about other worlds, be sure to notify the Pantheon Church, Malin."
"No problem, Your Excellency, I am aware of the importance."
The conversation ended there, and the Divine Envoy nodded in satisfaction. He stood up, glanced at Malin, and said, "Come, young man, let us go."
Malin followed the Divine Envoy through the portal.
As before, the scenery in the void was not beautiful. As soon as he realized he would soon see the ladies, Malin’s heart filled with joy, and he stepped forward toward the light ahead.
As he stepped forward, he saw the Divine Envoy twist his head around, his face a mix of surprise, shock, and fear.
What happened to him?
With this thought, Malin stepped out of the exit.
In front of him loomed a massive wall. Malin looked to its sides, only to find the wall stretching further than the eye could see. Like a towering cliff, the wall stood before him, making Malin feel insignificant by comparison.
The wall was forged of deep red, brass, and black steel, extending from one horizon to the other. In front of Malin, there was a staircase on the wall that seemed to allow him to ascend slowly.
Malin thought for a moment; given everything he had seen, this had to be the Evil God’s Divine Realm. The only question was—whose Divine Realm was it?
It certainly wasn’t the so-called benevolent father’s; un wall, the benevolent father preferred things other than steel—like corruption and disease. If Malin were in his Divine Realm, he should be contemplating how to die by now.
Next, Sinspawn could be ruled out. Unlike the wall and the benevolent father Nagoth, Sinspawn, as widely known, was a lover of joy. Given the ascetic structure displayed on the wall, if this were Sinspawn’s Divine Realm, then Malin would need to reconsider how he would prefer to die.
Third, this didn’t seem like the domain of a certain parrot. For Jianqi, mysticism would be his favorite, and steel, Malin believed the parrot would surely go mad.
By elimination, the answer was becoming clear—the tyrannical Stairway Fortress.
Since it was this Evil God who sought him out, Malin put aside all hope of luck and boldly ascended the stairs.
This ’fortress’ was filled with terrifying elements—aside from the normal ring of pinnacles surrounding the walls, various galleries and arches adorned with blood and bones met Malin’s eyes. Beyond that, the fortress of tyranny seemed to be a massive prison. As Malin walked, he saw countless bizarre Demons chained to the walls or miserably crammed into iron cells. These structures appeared indestructible, and although the Demons screamed, wanting to flee the prison, it was clear they could never do so.
From time to time, Demons in tiny cages reached out to Malin, begging as if they wanted his help.
But Malin could only offer no help—as one of their fingers was thicker than his waist, it was better he didn’t cause any trouble for them, himself, or the master of this fortress.
The Stairway Fortress was rumored to have vast staircases, but in Malin’s eyes, they seemed to fit just fine for walking. Although it was a long trek, looking up at the summit redefined the notion of ’distant,’ and occasionally, one would notice mindless climbers whispering or even hung upon the walls.