Chapter 869: Points
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The meeting room was in chaos. When it came to discussing how much power each faction had committed, everyone started dodging responsibility in unison.
Some claimed their families had suffered heavy losses and were down to their last reserves; others insisted that the forces they could spare for defense were all they had, or that what they'd brought was already drawn from Northend.
Everyone wore a façade of unity, but their hearts were at odds. When it came to reaping benefits, they were eager to pounce, but when it came to investing in the war, each clung to their strength, reluctant to risk it.
After more than ten minutes of arguing, there was still no progress. Some even started airing each other's dirty laundry, and a few nearly came to blows.
Only the seven major powers seated at the largest round table in the center remained silent.
After a long silence, the Azure Sword Saint, his face set in stone, finally opened his eyes and glanced at Heron, who sat beside him with a faint, mocking smile.
Heron casually swept his gaze around, spotting Leon slouched in his chair, half-asleep, and couldn't help but smile. Joey gave a slight nod.
At that moment, Heron finally reached out and tapped the round table twice with his finger.
Dong, dong...
A fleeting ripple of magic swept through the room. The two crisp taps sounded as gentle as a breeze, yet to everyone present, it felt as if thunder had exploded in their ears.
Boom...
Leon opened his eyes, stifling a yawn out of boredom. He knew the real show was about to begin.
Those two light taps from Heron were no ordinary gesture—they invoked the Force of Law. A sliver of magic as the trigger, sound as the medium.
It caused a brief resonance in everyone’s magic. The weaker their power, the stronger the effect.
For Grand Mages, the pain was obvious—the sound truly was like thunder exploding at their ears. That momentary magical resonance could have killed them, if Heron hadn’t held back.
Even the Mages couldn’t help but fall silent, faces pale. Only Title Archmages seemed unaffected.
But the lower-ranked Title Archmages were busy calming the ripples in their magic. The stronger they were, the less they felt.
The only ones truly unfazed were those seated at the central round table—all of them Fifth-Rank Title Archmages or higher.
Leon seemed completely unaffected, even yawning as if he'd just woken up. Joey's eyes glimmered with surprise—and amusement.
Heron's gaze flickered, lingering on Leon for a moment longer than usual.
Even the Azure Sword Saint, who had kept his eyes lowered in silence, now looked up at Leon.
In that instant, Star Sage Joey, Chairman Heron of the Black Tower, and the Azure Sword Saint all sized up the strengths and weaknesses of everyone in the room.
For a full three or four seconds, the room was so quiet it felt as if even the wind had stopped.
At last, Heron spoke, his voice measured and calm.
"What you’re all worried about is simple: if we win the Grand Gamble, how do you ensure your interests are protected? That’s an easy problem to solve."
As Heron spoke, the Azure Sword Saint kept his eyes lowered, and Joey remained silent—both clearly in agreement.
Everyone began to sense something was up.
When Heron spoke, it was the Black Tower’s will. Joey’s silent posture meant Cloudspire Tower was on board as well.
With this, the two strongest factions of the Andalusia Kingdom had made their stance clear, and the Azure Sword Saint, representing the royal family, remained silent as well.
Everyone knew that whatever Heron said next would be the final word.
"No one wants to put in the effort only to end up with nothing.
If we win this gamble, the territories controlled by each faction will be redrawn. The guiding principle will be fairness: whoever contributes most to the final assault will reap the greatest rewards.
Everything will be divided according to contribution. I believe no one will object to that. Besides, I know you're all worried about suffering heavy losses—afraid that even if you get your share, you won't be able to hold it.
So, the seven major powers here will lead in signing a Blood Oath: the spoils will be divided solely by contribution, and the territories assigned will be respected by all. For five hundred years, no changes will be allowed.
That way, whether by force or subterfuge, no one can take what rightfully belongs to you.
Even if you suffer devastating losses in this war, your territory will remain yours for five centuries—you won’t be able to give it away, even if you want to.
If anyone tries to break this rule, the seven signatory powers will be obliged to unite and strike back."
Heron made his proposal loud and clear. No one immediately objected; everyone knew it was fair—relatively speaking, anyway. There were plenty of loopholes.
After a long silence, an elderly Title Archmage at a nearby round table finally spoke up.
"Lord Heron, I have a question. Everyone knows this is the best way, but how do we measure contribution? Words are cheap—anyone can claim they did more."
With a casual gesture, Heron conjured a crystal orb into his hand. Its lower half was set in an ornate gold filigree base, held in place by four slender, claw-like prongs shaped like a woman’s fingers.
Inside the orb, countless runes surged and shifted, and at the very top hovered a large, glowing zero.
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"If you want true fairness and acceptance, it can’t just be talk. This crystal orb isn’t a magical artifact—well, not exactly. It’s more of a toy.
But it comes from the Nesser Dynasty, and was a toy made for Pureblood Elves. It can’t affect the battle itself, but it does something remarkable: it creates a system for accumulating points—a points system.
Everyone knows Pureblood Elves are powerful, but their birthrate is low—their descendants are far fewer than ours. Each one is precious, but they don’t want their children to slaughter each other; they value overall ability over individual strength.
This crystal orb was once a common toy in the Nesser Dynasty. It could simulate a battlefield, reflecting every participant in real time. If you killed an orc foot soldier, you’d get a certain number of points; kill an orc warlock, you’d get more. Each action earns different points.
And if you kill a First-Rank Mage or a Second-Rank Mage, the points you earn are different too. Every contribution is recorded inside.
As Heron spoke, he snapped his fingers. Two guards entered, escorting a Blazeforge Orc foot soldier. Heron flicked his finger, sending out a faint ripple of magic. The orc died instantly, without so much as a scream, and not a mark appeared on his body.
At that moment, the zero floating inside Heron's crystal orb shifted to a one.
Everyone understood immediately: the orb could clearly record the number of Blazeforge Orcs slain by each person—no room for confusion.
The white-haired Title Archmage frowned and spoke up again.
"Lord Heron, this points system seems too crude. If we just slaughter Blazeforge Orc foot soldiers by the legion, we could rack up thousands of points—surely that's not accurate..."
Many shared this concern. It seemed all too easy to rack up points—anyone here could wipe out thousands of Blazeforge Orc foot soldiers if they tried.
Heron smiled and pointed to the crystal orb.
"See? A regular Blazeforge Orc foot soldier is worth just one point. But a Blazeforge Orc Warlock might be worth four or five thousand. If you manage to kill the Ashen Orc chieftain, that's at least a million points.
So forget about shortcuts—it’s impossible. Killing all the Blazeforge Orc foot soldiers combined still wouldn’t earn you as many points as taking down a single chieftain.
No sooner had Heron finished than someone else raised a doubt.