Back to the capital? Great, when are you leaving? Murphy practically wished he could teleport Doyle and his black-armored personal guard squad straight to the capital that very instant. If only wishes were horses.

"When are you planning on heading back, Mr. Doyle?" Murphy asked, infusing his voice with a hint of concern, coming straight to the point.

The clueless knight didn't seem to realize how desperately he was being shown the door, belched gently, and said in a drawl, "About a week, I reckon. I won't be resting easy until the remaining five hundred are kitted out with basic gear."

He then clapped Byron on the shoulder, adding, "You're my mate, I've got to ensure you're safe before I can hit the road. That's my duty."

Murphy thought to himself that the two most concerning threats to the kingdom were currently facing him. Rather than fret over our safety, perhaps you might spare a thought for the civilians of the City of Gath.

Knowing Doyle's departure date allowed Murphy to breathe easier. He began to truly savor the otherworldly culinary delights—tender mushroom lamb chops.

The next day, after much contemplation, Murphy decided to use this downtime to reclaim his alter ego as an author, "The Humble Hero," a persona that had been dormant since the Count's untimely demise. With future travels across the kingdom inevitable, Murphy figured that having dual identities as both a mage and an author could only be advantageous, giving him a more established presence.

Yet Murphy didn't wish to start writing immediately. An overly prolific author might be taken lightly, so he planned to first gain renown with a few works, then proceed with a steady output of quality content to craft endings that would satisfy the majority.

Thus, he made his way to the storeroom of Castle Reed, naturally finding dozens of his own works copied on the Count's orders.

Whether it was "The Grand Knight’s Return" or the urban healer saga "Capital’s Divine Doctor," each bore the Count's name. Unfortunately for the fallen noble, he had secured a one-way ticket to the capital before he got a chance to publish them.

With patience, Murphy tore out the title pages of the dozens of books and signed his pseudonym, then used his own copy magic to print new editions.

In the evening, Alaric received a private commission from Murphy: distribute his work through his own channels to nobles of other territories, particularly those in the capital, subtly bolstering his reputation.

After these tasks, Murphy pulled out a long-untouched crystal, recording a message for Tyre in the Succubus Territory: Reed Viscountship secured, Phase Two can commence, I'll be back after a while.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

The Succubus Crystal Project had been underway for a while, yet stagnated in its initial phase. Now controlling a human kingdom territory with a mine of crystal ore, Murphy felt it was time to expand and glorify his efforts, otherwise, he'd be doing a disservice to his labors.

Knowing how peculiar human experience points (XP) could be, he was well aware a touch of his homeland's elements should be enough to influence most folk.

And if an idol girl group didn't do the trick, well, there was always the boy band option, wasn't there?

---

Elsewhere in Sleepy Hollow, Tyre, engrossed in choreographing for Warm Glow Hot Springs, sensed a familiar magical fluctuation. He rose and approached the teleportation array to find a crystal that had just been sent.

Alone, Tyre watched the message within the crystal. Excited, he found his sister Neil, "Grab the friends who didn't make the cut last time, His Majesty says we can kick off the next phase."

"What?" Neil looked puzzled at her brother, "Weren't all those succubi rejected last time?"

"Majesty mentioned they'll be of use later," recalled Tyre.

"What does His Majesty actually want?" Neil inquired.

"His Majesty wants a new succubus idol troop," Tyre said with conviction.

---

Murphy, eager to expedite Doyle's pesky departure, teleported back to the Lightless Tomb, instructing the skeletons, armed but uncaptured, to strip their armor.

He transported these armors to Alaric's dyeing shop, refurbished them, and sold them at a bargain to merchants in the City of Gath tasked with equipping the troops. This shrewd move armed the local force with five hundred sets (of questionable quality) armor in just three days.

Thanks to Alaric's reliable work, the dubious origins of the armor raised no red flags for Doyle. The craftspeople's refurbishing skills were nothing short of spectacular, resolving the equipment issue smoothly.

The skeletons in the mine had been suspiciously quiet. Had they not been demonic captives, the overseer would have considered awarding them employee-of-the-month badges.

Just as the armory was completed, news came in. The City of Gath’s standing army commander, with a flick of his pen, reassigned the soldiers from the mine back into training.

And the now lightly guarded mines? They were entrusted to the Viscount's good friend—Mr. Alaric.

The guild chairman, oblivious to any secrets within the mines, showed no curiosity. He understood the implications and handpicked several confidants for the task, insisting they face any situation head-on without fear.

All said and done, what was to take a week was completed in three short days.

Doyle soon reviewed the fully equipped soldiers in the City of Gath's training fields, followed by a fancy farewell feast and then officially began his journey back to the capital.

At dusk, outside the northern gate of the City of Gath, Doyle lingered in farewells to Murphy and Byron. Byron’s face was the picture of sorrow, though he felt nothing of the sort, while Murphy internally celebrated as he sent the pestilence packing.

The soldiers on duty were the same ones present on the day Doyle arrived at the City of Gath. Having had quite the scare then, they all sighed with relief watching their new lord's heir and the preeminent archmage chat jovially with the formidable knight captain.

After all, if even the lofty Count could be whisked away by these uncompromising knights, the guards feared for their necks. Seeing this scene play out filled them with renewed hope for the days ahead.

As Doyle prepared to set off, a white-armored knight, a bona fide guardian of faith, arrived stirring a cloud of dust along the royal road.

Not again, Murphy cursed silently.