Chapter 142
Chapter 142
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 142
Chapter Title: 45. The Day the Path to Heaven Opens (1)
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Starting with Highwind Keep, the sturdy fortresses of Dotrin began to crumble one by one.
The fortresses in the southwest, adjacent to Highwind Keep, fell first, followed by those in the west. Soon after, every military outpost was either destroyed or occupied by the Imperial Army.
This happened after nearly five months since the war began.
Having suffered losses and fatigue from clashing against the fierce resistance of the Dotrin Kingdom's forces, the Imperial Army took a respite in the captured fortresses and outposts.
Even during that time, reinforcements departing from the Imperial homeland continued to arrive at the front lines.
Once reorganized, the Imperial Army paused to catch its breath before resuming their advance.
But before they could push deeper into Dotrin territory, before they could even take that first step out of the fortresses toward greater victory...
It happened.
All the fortresses and outposts they had occupied collapsed with thunderous roars.
Structures that had withstood concentrated magical barrages crumbled like sandcastles. Key facilities and buildings within burst into flames simultaneously.
It was far too sudden for the Imperial Army to respond, a horrific disaster beyond their ability to handle.
In one fortress, legion commanders and knights were enjoying a welcoming feast for nobles and troops from the homeland. In another, commanders were celebrating their hard-won victory. In yet another, they were deep into meetings, forgoing sleep to devise future strategies and tactics.
All of them were crushed amid the fortress collapses.
Those who lost limbs wailed from every corner, while the dying weakly sobbed. A few imperial princes and legion commanders, protected by powerful mages and paladins, desperately tried to rescue their soldiers.
It was utter chaos at its peak, but the disaster wasn't over.
Dotrin Kingdom forces attacked the hellish ruins of the fortresses.
It was a massive offensive across the entire front.
No resistance was possible.
The Empire's knights and soldiers desperately fled the crumbling fortresses.
The Dotrin Kingdom Army pursued them relentlessly.
After a nightmarish week, the Imperial survivors who escaped Dotrin's borders numbered less than half their original force.
Casualties were estimated at a minimum of 40,000.
Adding the missing nobles and knights, the Empire's losses in that week were enough to obliterate an average kingdom several times over—truly staggering.
Human resources were depleted to the extreme, and even more supplies were lost.
For even a vast and mighty empire, it was damage impossible to ignore.
And amid it all, dire news arrived.
The Empire's 2nd and 4th Princes, who had been touring the front lines to console the troops, returned as corpses.
The surviving legion commanders and nobles trembled at the thought of the Emperor's impending rage.
To escape it, they sought out the 3rd Prince's banner.
In this war of惨敗, only the 3rd Prince had achieved any meaningful victory.
Astonishingly, he was the only one who had foreseen the signs of the horrific disaster and the hero who saved the most troops.
Through him, it was revealed that Dotrin's fortresses had been rigged from the start to collapse instantly upon activating some device.
The frontline catastrophe wasn't a natural disaster—it was Dotrin's scheme.
Once that truth spread, fear turned to fury.
The Empire's nobles vowed bloody vengeance, and the Emperor tacitly approved rather than punishing the defeated.
Knight orders and armies from across the Empire gathered at the Dotrin border.
Thus began the Second Dotrin Conquest.
"May the glory of the Burgundy Imperial Family endure forever!"
"Long live His Imperial Majesty!"
The knights shouted fervently, as if spitting blood, then drew their swords across their own throats in unison.
The sacred throne room was dyed red with blood.
The Emperor watched impassively.
Then, curtly, he spoke.
"Remove them."
His voice was flat, as if ordering servants to clean up spilled food.
Waiting knights, faces rigid, carried out the command.
Once-honored Imperial Knights, who had failed to protect their lord and thus taken their own lives, were discarded like trash.
"Hmph."
The Emperor, with clear eyes, drummed his fingers on the armrest of his jade throne.
Tap. Tap.
A heavy silence blanketed the throne room.
Dukes and marquises of the Empire—who wielded king-like authority in their domains—prostrated themselves flatly, awaiting the Emperor's words.
After a long while, the Emperor finally spoke.
His first question wasn't about his fallen kin or the tens of thousands slain.
"The Dual Swords Ian, was it?"
It was about a lowly mercenary.
This was utterly bizarre.
He wasn't widely known, nor had he swayed the war's tide. Just a swordmaster who briefly appeared in the southwest front.
A trivial figure whose name the Emperor wouldn't even know without the 3rd Prince's report.
Not someone the ruler of a great empire should mention.
Yet the nobles didn't dare question it.
The Emperor didn't explain. He commanded.
And his decisions were always right. They had to believe that.
Doubt was disloyalty, and the Emperor never tolerated the disloyal.
This time was no different.
The nobles remained prostrate, awaiting orders.
"Convey this to the Ivory Tower's Tower Master."
The Emperor spoke.
"If he doesn't step forward, I will personally shatter his purity."
The nobles involuntarily snapped their heads up.
Then, meeting the Emperor's gaze, they hastily lowered their eyes.
The Emperor's pupils gleamed strangely.
Too profound for a mere human's gaze—like an abyss.
Just a glimpse filled the nobles with soul-shattering terror.
But they couldn't tremble forever.
They had to respond.
The Emperor despised those who ignored his words.
"We shall convey it exactly as commanded."
The Emperor waved his hand dismissively.
The nobles fled the throne room, scarcely breathing.
"Do you perhaps think he is the one Your Majesty has sought?"
In the now-empty throne room, a voice echoed from nowhere.
Daring to speak first without revealing itself before the Emperor—blasphemy beyond measure.
Yet the Emperor neither bellowed for it to show itself nor took offense at the question.
"Impossible to say."
He even answered courteously.
"We shall merely observe."
The Emperor sank deeper into his throne.
"If he truly is the one Your Majesty seeks, the high mages of the Magic Tower will only serve as stepping stones for him to reach even greater heights."
"That wouldn't be so bad."
The Emperor chuckled lowly.
It was a parched laugh, like sand swept by desert winds—utterly arid.
"...What brings you such joy?"
The voice asked, and the Emperor replied with lingering amusement.
"Those ancient traces that raise their heads no matter how many times crushed— so pitiful, so endearing."
"If you wish, Your servant shall go and uproot them at once. The young prince born with the fate of a hegemon, that mercenary who arrogantly called himself a one-man army. I shall behead them all and lay their heads at Your feet."
"I desire no such thing."
The Emperor forbade it.
"Go to the front lines now and observe."
Observation alone was permitted.
"And when you return, ensure I know all as if I had been there myself."
The Emperor's command was absolute; the voice affirmed obedience.
Dotrin's fortresses had all collapsed, its outposts neutralized. The Dotrin army had deeply withdrawn inside its borders. The Imperial Army advanced unhindered into Dotrin territory.
What blocked them was the endless Dotrin swamps.
Paths through the dense forests were too narrow and poor for a large army.
So they divided their forces into three.
Some worried about dispersing strength, but they were few.
The vanguard, with the smallest force, still numbered around 20,000. The main body was 50,000 strong, and the rearguard nearly 30,000.
Each was enough to topple a kingdom.
Defeat in detail was impossible from the start.
"Dotrin's swamps are a labyrinth. Charging in relying solely on numbers is like leaping into fire with faggots on your back."
Some staff officers repeatedly voiced concerns.
To nobles seething from the bitter defeat of the First Conquest, such caution grated.
They executed them all, claiming it lowered morale.
Having eliminated the naysayers, the commanders ordered the march into the swamps.
Lingering unease was quashed by keeping the three armies at set intervals with constant communication—for any contingency.
It was eminently sensible, a solid strategy.
But their common sense and plans were laughably insignificant before the primordial swamps.
Moving tens of thousands through narrow forest paths demanded excruciating patience.
Impatient commanders tired of the slow pace, even sending messengers to whip the front ranks.
But the vanguard troops had their own woes.
First, the paths were too narrow. Second, even those were in poor condition. Third, they had to stay vigilant against Dotrin ambushes anytime, anywhere.
Faster progress would have been the real anomaly.
Drastic measures were needed.
The Imperial command solved it by investing manpower.
Many vanguard soldiers set aside swords and spears for axes and sickles.
Nearly 10,000 hacked through ankle-grabbing underbrush and obstructing trees, widening the path.
Still slow, but better than before.
At least, to the commanders.
To the troops, it was hell.
In sweltering heat that exhausted just walking, swinging sickles and axes was torture.
But the heat wasn't what drove them to despair.
The shaded forest, untouched by sun for ages, teemed with horrifying insects. Unidentified bugs dogged the soldiers all day, sucking blood relentlessly.
Despite constant motion, by day's end, their bodies swelled red.
Tormented by itch and pain, they couldn't even sleep properly.
But commanders ignored their plight.
Most were knights who repelled pests with mana; others enjoyed mages' aid, staying comfortable in the heat.
They couldn't empathize.
Only when over half the logging crew succumbed to a mysterious insect-borne plague did commanders grasp the severity.
They hastily mobilized mages for mass disinfection.
Mages used subtle spells to control bugs or summoned birds and beasts—their natural predators—to drive them out.
Still, it wasn't enough to eradicate the swarms.
At least the plague's spread was barely contained.
More troops were thrown into logging.
Desperate to escape this nightmare forest ASAP, soldiers swung sickles and axes without rest.
The stalled advance picked up slightly.
But only briefly.
Dotrin forces, unseen until now, ambushed the vanguard.
Vanguard troops, stripped of armor and helmets for logging, wielding awkward, heavy sickles and axes, were slaughtered without proper resistance.
Knights and mages belatedly repelled the enemy, but casualties were heavy.
That was the start.
Dotrin troops struck sporadically, fleeing before full skirmishes erupted.
Now the vanguard fought not just the swamps, but Dotrin itself.
The quickened pace slowed again.
To prepare for sudden Dotrin attacks, logging troops couldn't shed armor.
Heatstroke victims surged.
Survivors battled heat and fear of ambushes, exhausting body and mind.
Vanguard commanders sent messengers daily, reporting woes to the main body.
But the main body, simply following the widened path effortlessly, dismissed them.
Commanders grudgingly drove their men onward.
Better some die to heat than linger in the swamps—they thought.
As if sensing this, Dotrin ambushes intensified.
No longer small-scale; sometimes entire legions wiped out supply trains.
Then, knight orders and mages from main and rear joined the vanguard.
With them, Dotrin ambushes lost effect.
Several Dotrin mountain infantry companies were annihilated. No more raids followed.
"Should've requested knight and mage support sooner," vanguard commanders sighed in relief.
But it was an illusion.
The brief peace was merely the calm before the storm.
Three Dotrin legions ambushed the long vanguard column.
They repelled them after a fight, but at great cost.
Precious food burned, weapons ruined.
Worse: legions hit hardest were scattered into the forest.
In other battles, they'd regroup quickly.
But here, in the swamp's heart, surrounded by woods...
Few returned.
Most vanished into the trees, as if devoured.
Only then did vanguard commanders feel dread.
They'd boasted 100,000 could crush Dotrin repeatedly.
Arrogance and ignorance birthed this horror.
They recalled staff officers warning of swamp dangers—too late, all executed.
Commanders pressed on, chewing regret.
Dotrin attacks continued.
They navigated the forest like home, luring Imperials in.
Once dragged inside, it was over.
But nothing lasts forever.
Not even the swamps.
The endless forest finally ended.
"Outside!"
Imperial soldiers cheered, bursting from the trees.
Normally, commanders would restrain them, sending scouts first.
But the swamps had eroded their patience and judgment, turning them into beasts craving only the world beyond.
"Oh, gods."
Soldiers and commanders knelt, kissing dry ground.
Then, thousands of arrows rained upon the jubilant Imperials.
Countless fell dead.
"Shields! Heavy infantry!"
"Archers, return fire!"
In the horrific arrow storm, commanders belatedly screamed orders to form defenses.
Their desperate cries worked; panicking troops formed ranks, readying for battle.
Heavy infantry formed solid phalanxes, advancing slowly. Archers behind loosed volleys.
"Getting troops out is priority! Formed units, clear the path!"
Commanders bellowed on.
While counterattacking, they dispatched messengers to alert those behind.
Once reinforcements arrived fully prepared, these Dotrin rabble would be no issue.
But the forces they'd awaited in the swamps couldn't help.
"Dotrin knights!"
Dotrin knight orders and mages rampaged through the swamps—unseen until now.
Imperial knights and mages rushed to engage, but they were too spread out.
Without proper resistance, countless knights and mages perished.
Yet the Empire's numbers endured; many survived the onslaught.
Survivors rallied around paladins.
"Show them the might of a great empire!"
With a paladin's resonant roar, they charged the Dotrin knights.
Just before reaching them, a man emerged from the forest, blocking their path.
Gripping gleaming golden twin swords, he shouted,