Chapter 65
Chapter 65
Chapter 65
Gafeld von Saschly, commander of the 1st Battalion of the Heavy Cavalry Regiment, passed through the canyon after opening the fortress gates.
Two thousand cavalrymen followed behind him.
The moment they set foot on the Eternal Snowfield, they completely destroyed the bridge. It couldn't be left for the Ain to use.
Gafeld immediately led his cavalry to a position far from the Black Wolf's attack point.
It was to carry out Aiden's orders.
The regiment commander's directive to the cavalry was clear: charge. Strike the beasts' flank and rob them of their momentum.
The precondition was the gathering of all Ain. That condition had been met, and Gafeld had no choice but to follow through.
Amidst the clamor of the entire army, he slipped out through the gates.
Gafeld turned his horse to face his cavalry.
Under the night sky, the elite riders blanketed the snowy plains. Nine companies, each 200 strong, formed wedge-shaped formations.
The essence of the wedge formation was to break through enemy lines and swiftly disengage—requiring immediate changes in direction and course.
Thus, commanders led the front of each column.
His adjutant spoke up.
"Battalion Commander, we have less than an hour left."
Gafeld nodded.
Though outwardly calm, he was just as tense as his soldiers.
The howling of wolves, the roars of tigers and lions, the frenzied cries of countless beasts—
These sounds evoked an instinctive terror of predators that no one could escape.
The noise grew closer.
Horses snorted nervously, their breath frosting white under the moonlight.
The cavalrymen swallowed dryly. Despite the bone-chilling cold, sweat trickled down their backs.
They wanted to flee immediately, but not a single one did.
They knew all too well what would happen if the North fell. Their families left behind would be trampled mercilessly.
Gafeld slowly guided his horse through the ranks.
They needed to ease their tension and bolster morale.
"The Hero declared that you are the protagonists of history. Do not falter. Do not lose heart. Do you wish for future generations to remember you?"
The cavalrymen swallowed their fear and roared in response.
"We do—!"
Gafeld nodded and continued.
"Do you wish for the scriptures to record your valor?"
"We do—!"
Their voices echoed across the frozen plains, carried by the northern wind.
"Then what are you?"
The cavalrymen slammed their lances downward in unison.
"We are the Empire's spear! The hooves that trample the enemies of the gods! We are the Vacheksar Heavy Cavalry!"
The heat of their defiance melted the winter's chill.
The beasts' cries arrived.
Gafeld lowered his visor.
Clank. The cavalry followed suit.
Screeeech! A radiant light tore through the sky. Gargantua—the execution frame that had beheaded a god—stood embedded in the distant snowfield.
The battalion commander bellowed.
"Protagonists of history! Trample these beasts and dye the snow crimson!"
"Charge—!"
Two thousand lances pointed forward as one.
The horses reared.
The earth trembled beneath them as hoofbeats pounded the snow, closing the distance.
Then, the ground erupted in thunderous vibration.
Battle cries and fervor intertwined, cutting through the air.
Black dots appeared—beasts, swarming the snowfield like a dark tide.
They grew larger.
A halo exploded at the vanguard of the beasts. Aiden.
The creatures hidden in darkness revealed themselves.
Dripping saliva, gleaming fangs, crimson eyes, razor claws, bulging muscles, jagged horns—
Every manner of predator charged toward Gargantua.
To reclaim the head of their god.
Their hate-filled howls were right before them.
At the moment of impact, Gafeld roared.
"Crush them—!"
"Charge—!"
With a deafening clamor that shook heaven and earth, the heavy cavalry collided with the beasts.
Beyond the canyon, on the snowfield where the Eternal Snowfield began, a massive divine spear had flown in and embedded itself.
Four heads were impaled upon it—something the soldiers stationed at the wall didn't recognize.
But one man did: Grand Marshal Randaren of the Magical Artillery Corps.
His face twisted in horror just as—BOOOOM!—a thunderous roar erupted from the front.
Every gaze on the wall snapped toward the snowfield.
In the distance, the heavy cavalry swept through black dots.
The elite riders charged the beasts' flank, trampling them underhoof.
The Ain's momentum visibly slowed.
The cavalry swiftly disengaged and began moving toward the left side of the wall.
The beasts didn't pursue. Their focus was solely on the god's head. As the dark tide regained speed, the Grand Marshal bellowed.
"Prepare!"
Randaren's divine form soared into the night sky.
Azure mana flashed in the air as he traced a small magic circle with his finger.
It rapidly expanded, soon blotting out the surroundings entirely.
The Magical Artillery Corps immediately began chanting, and the wall was engulfed in a kaleidoscope of mana.
Archers nocked their bows.
Randaren glanced below before reciting loudly.
"Heavenly Scribe, Vacheksar's Grand Sage Paidnash, grant us the right to slaughter these beasts!"
The colossal magic circle blazed with radiant light as low-tier spells flew into its equations.
The archers followed suit—their arrows aimed not at the beasts, but at the magic circle itself.
First and second-tier spells, ordinary arrows—
Insignificant forces arced through the equations.
They were insignificant no longer.
Fireballs became meteors, lightning became thunderbolts, shockwaves became gravity, arrows became ballista bolts—all streaking across the darkened sky.
A devastating force tore through the atmosphere and plummeted earthward.
The beasts looked up at the impending calamity.
There was no escape.
The moment the explosion touched the ground, the snowfield was no longer pure white.
The blast swallowed the surroundings before erupting into crimson pillars that swept across the plains.
Beast carcasses painted the snow black and red, while melted snow burst into geysers.
Not a single two-legged creature remained in sight.
But beyond, countless more dots still surged forward.
Randaren had three more shots left. In that time, he had to inflict maximum damage before retreating.
Magic had also been embedded in the canyon—enough to slaughter a considerable number of beasts.
Randaren immediately began chanting again.
Aiden, having shaken off the beasts' pursuit, headed toward the left side of the wall.
The Heavy Cavalry Regiment followed closely behind.
"Regiment Commander!"
Gafeld spurred his horse forward, riding alongside Aiden.
His visor raised, his face was filled with awe, respect, and exhilaration.
Aiden glanced at him.
"You executed it perfectly. Well done."
Gafeld replied as calmly as he could.
"I merely fulfilled my duty."
"Good. Who scored the most kills?"
From the back, a young soldier shouted.
"1st Battalion, 2nd Company, Squad Leader Goyard! Six kills!"
His lance was draped with tattered flesh and hide.
Aiden nodded approvingly.
"Once the Holy Land is complete, transfer there as a cavalry lieutenant. You may bring your family."
Squad Leader Goyard froze stiff at the unexpected reward.
Every imperial citizen dreamed of relocating to the Hero's Holy Land, and for a commoner like him, the rank of cavalry lieutenant was unimaginable.
Envious murmurs rose from all sides.
"Th-thank you!"
Aiden nodded before turning his horse toward the left gate of the wall.
At Siron's whistle, the gate groaned open.
The Execution Corps rushed out and dropped the bridge connecting the canyon to the wall.
They crossed swiftly, entering the Empire's northern territory.
About a kilometer away, a second defensive line had been established.
Though there was no protective wall, thirty thousand heavy spearmen stood in dense, horizontal formations. Trenches and barricades supplemented their defenses.
Soldiers stretched to the horizon's edge, with scattered forces gradually regrouping.
As Aiden approached the camp, cheers erupted from all directions.
His feat had likely saved tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of imperial lives.
Soldiers who had left families in nearby territories shouted his name even louder.
The entire cavalry followed proudly behind him.
Aiden pushed through the ranks toward the command tent without pause.
He had no time to acknowledge the soldiers.
The moment he lifted the tent flap, the generals stood and saluted.
Commander Ibishuller of the Grand Temple Knights stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"I must first apologize. Please forgive my earlier discourtesy."
Aiden shook his head.
"Think nothing of it. I bear no grudge. More importantly, there's urgent work ahead."
Ibishuller had many questions, but he set them aside for now.
Aiden approached the tactical map, drawing the officers' attention.
"I'll keep this brief. I killed the beasts' spirit lord."
Everyone's ears pricked in disbelief. But Aiden continued calmly.
"Except for the canine Ain, every beast will now be after me."
It was inevitable. Killing their spirit lord wasn't enough—he had desecrated it. The beasts' fury defied description.
"And the dogs will still be after Elder Gielran."
Among the spirit lords Aiden had slain, none were the nine-tailed fox worshipped by the canine Ain. Their target remained Gielran.
Crown, the highest-ranking officer of the Holy Execution Corps, smirked.
"We'll need a defensive formation."
Aiden nodded and pointed at the map.
"Spread the ranks around Elder Gielran and me. Once the beasts attack, tighten the encirclement and eliminate them in one stroke."
Deploying units and intricate formations weren't Aiden's expertise.
He had provided the outline—the rest was their job.
They had at most two or three hours before the wall fell. Though they couldn't fully redeploy all forces, they had to assemble the best possible defense.
Aiden spoke again.
"I'll explain the details of the spirit lord's death later. For now, focus on the immediate threat."
They were reasonable men.
Discussions began, and Aiden exited the tent.
He climbed back onto Petra and gazed at the wall.
Amidst the countless beastly cries, one howl stood out above all—a sound brimming with overwhelming presence.
The descendant of the monster that devoured the moon. The White Beast King's voice.
Aiden clenched his fist.
The Fenrir Route was a graveyard for players, one of the biggest reasons for game resets.
But Aiden had no reset button. Death was final—this was reality.
Steeling himself, he listened.
From a considerable distance, a chill approached that rendered the northern winter pale in comparison.
The White Beast King was at ease. Humanity was not.
As the cold voice drew nearer, the soldiers' faces grew ashen.
Aiden opened his status window.
It would have to do.