Chapter 126
Chapter 126
- Advance!
Bwooooooo!
Thud.
As the trumpet blared from Vifros Castle's walls and the massive iron-reinforced gate lowered over the moat, the knight order was the first to cross, mounted on their steeds.
All 150 knights wore plate armor emblazoned with the flame crest on their chests.
Their meticulously forged steel armor gleamed brilliantly under the sunlight, asserting their formidable presence.
Among them, one figure stood out—wearing armor that was slightly more distinctive than the rest.
Eileen Floyd, now clad in custom-fitted armor—unlike the standard-issue set she had worn when she first joined the knight order.
Her armor, tailored to her smaller frame, had a subtle silvery sheen, distinct from the others.
"Don't bother telling me I'll be an easy target. I've heard enough of that already," she snapped, sensing Logan's gaze.
"I was merely expressing concern for a comrade. At least within our territory, no knight denies your worth as 'Sir' Eileen now."
Even if the title is a bit odd.
Swallowing the last part of his thought seemed to soften her expression slightly.
"R-Really...?"
She had clearly been sulking earlier, but her face brightened so quickly that Logan couldn't help but chuckle.
Well, she's only nineteen.
Though Logan had given her the opportunity, her seamless adaptation was entirely her own achievement.
She deserved the praise.
"Most importantly, it suits you well. And judging by the sheen, that's no ordinary steel."
"R-Really? Hmph. Well, Hamar crafted it with a mithril alloy, so the defensive capabilities are guaranteed."
"Mithril?"
"Don't look at me like that. I did borrow my father's name to acquire it, but I paid with my own money—my reward."
"Ah. Haha, who would criticize that? It's impressive. Definitely worth the risk of standing out. It'll improve your mobility too."
Mithril alloy, custom armor.
At that level, the boost in survivability outweighed the risk of drawing enemy attention.
"Hehe. Thanks."
Her beaming smile reassured him.
...Reassured?
The thought made him stiffen momentarily.
Of course I'd feel responsible—I dragged her from a comfortable life into this battlefield.
He forced himself to look away, turning his attention to the assembled forces.
Behind the knight order marched 1,500 crossbow cavalry.
Though not clad in gleaming plate armor like the knights, they wore high-quality chainmail, armed with repeating crossbows, backup sidearms, and swords.
Twelve spare magazines were strapped to their horses—standard equipment for MacLaine's crossbow cavalry.
A unit that had become synonymous with MacLaine's military might.
Composed of soldiers with the potential to become knights, their pride rivaled that of the knight order itself.
Behind them, infantry marched in disciplined ranks.
Their standard gear consisted of chainmail, spears, and repeating crossbows.
Without horses, they carried only three spare magazines at their waists—but that was enough.
Their numbers alone exceeded three thousand.
Further back, supply wagons followed at regular intervals, loaded with provisions, ammunition, and other consumables.
Though additional supplies would be sent from Vifros Castle later, the current stock ensured at least two to three weeks of sustained combat.
At the forefront of the supply train stood Clayton and his disciples from the Golem Tower.
They drove ten tightly sealed wagons, their contents hidden from view. Clayton, leading the first wagon, spoke worriedly to the small girl beside him.
"Victoria. Are you sure you're alright?"
Even now, Clayton could feel the weight of thousands of eyes upon them—especially the heterochromatic gaze of a certain knight who kept glancing back from the Grand Prince's side.
"...I'll be fine, Master. My brother won't object anymore."
"Your brother only worries for you—"
"That's exactly why! I need to prove I can handle myself."
For his sake.
"Hmm. Still, stay close to me. I promised your brother as much."
"...Yes, Master."
Clayton sighed softly.
His prodigious disciple—who had mastered first-circle magic in under nine months—was stubborn to a fault.
Her insistence on joining the war had nearly turned the entire tower upside down.
Though he had laughed it off—knowing it stemmed from the siblings' fierce protectiveness—Victor had been reprimanded and even demoted by the Grand Prince for his outburst.
Yet, the boy had stared Clayton down with a threat-like plea:
"You must protect my sister, no matter what. If anything happens to Ria, I don't know what I'll become."
Though Victor was a prodigy who had reached intermediate aura mastery at a young age, he was still no match for Clayton.
His disciples had been furious at the audacity, but Clayton had only smiled, recognizing the desperation in the boy's eyes.
And curiosity had stirred within him.
One sibling a genius in swordsmanship, the other in magic. Does this family have dragon blood running through their veins?
Their unique appearances and extraordinary talents made them impossible to ignore.
Clayton's gaze met Victor's heterochromatic eyes as the knight glanced back once more.
"Victor. That's enough."
"S-Sorry."
"Have you still not understood what I told you?"
"Of course I have."
Sheltering her blindly wasn't the answer.
He knew that now.
But—
"Then?"
"...How can I not worry when my little sister is following me to war?"
It was only natural.
That was Victor's conviction.
"Your sister has always felt the same way."
"...Yes. I suppose so."
"Clayton will take care of Ria, so stop fretting. And watch your own health too. No more reckless charges like last time—for her sake."
"Understood."
Though Victor nodded, his thoughts ran deeper.
The fact that I can worry like this—that I can dream of a future—is all thanks to Lord Logan. Ria still needs his protection.
His sister. And his lord.
Those were Victor's priorities.
His own safety came second.
"Quite the spectacle, isn't it?"
Logan smiled as he surveyed his forces after speaking with Eileen and Victor.
And rightly so.
Even after leaving fifty knights and a thousand soldiers behind to guard the territory, he commanded an army nearing five thousand.
Add to that the proven might of the crossbows and secret weapons—
A military power unimaginable just a few years ago now rested in his hands.
Soon, sixty additional knights from Pereta's forces would join them—
A result of squeezing Pereta dry after their heavy losses at Tomodo Castle.
And though not mobilized yet, over ten thousand militia trained in crossbow use stood ready...
This will be enough.
He was confident that no variable could derail his plans.
Logan locked eyes with his younger brother watching from the castle walls and raised a hand in farewell.
The sight of his brother's confident smile, pounding his chest, dispelled the last remnants of worry in Logan's heart.
"Now, we begin anew."
His gaze turned toward the fiercest battleground of the current civil war—the Twin Fortresses.
The Twin Fortresses—Alun and Alon—originally part of Duke Walterheim's domain, were named after the two moons lost to myth a thousand years ago.
Each fortress was among the kingdom's ten largest, built a day's march apart to guard the southern plains from the orc hordes of old.
The region was once called Walterheim, and the first duke had taken the name as his own, pledging to protect humanity and the kingdom.
Sadly, that noble legacy had faded, and now the fortresses served as battlegrounds where humans of the same kingdom slaughtered one another.
As the initial frenzy of battle waned into cautious probing—
A force of nearly five thousand appeared from the western fortress's rear.
"Flame crest banner confirmed! It's House MacLaine!"
"Hah. They actually came... And with five thousand? Hah..."
Duke Jordan Walterheim stared down at the approaching MacLaine forces from the battlements, letting out a dry chuckle.
Though their numbers would bolster his army of over forty thousand by an eighth, his expression remained grim.
Roger Vifros, quick to read his mood, stepped forward.
"They're likely just a rabble. Desperate to inflate their numbers after their earlier losses."
"Perhaps... But their movements suggest disciplined training. Their equipment is impressive too. Isn't your judgment clouded by resentment, Roger?"
Roger shot a glare at the man who'd spoken—Luchen Talos, an unremarkable-looking noble with brown hair and blue eyes.
To Roger, Luchen was an ambitionless layabout who took perverse pleasure in obstructing others.
Most shared that view—were it not for his position as a border lord and his marriage into the Walterheim family, few would tolerate him.
Yet Duke Jordan trusted him implicitly.
Hence his place at the duke's side now.
And as always—
"What do you think, Luchen?"
The duke sought his opinion first.
"At a glance, their equipment rivals yours. Their training seems thorough, and they've already proven themselves against Roger here. If they're sincere, they'll be a valuable asset."
"And if not?"
"If they're here to stir trouble, they'll be a fatal poison."
Roger interjected, "For once, we agree."
"Though I doubt it," Luchen added lazily.
"What?"
"Those supplies, those troops—they're too valuable to waste. If they'd come as a small elite force, maybe. But throwing away this many would cost them too much. If they defect to the First Prince's faction after this, they'd be swallowed whole. Only fools wouldn't see that."
Roger bristled at being called a fool, but the duke spoke first.
"Inform His Highness. We'll receive them. Might as well make it grand."
"Your Grace!"
"Be generous, Roger. Remember what I said? They're just arrow fodder—use them and discard them."
"Ahem. That's not my concern, but—"
"Enough. Use them to weaken the First Prince's faction while we prepare our counterattack. That's all that matters."
"...Understood."
Not long after, MacLaine's army arrived before the western gate.
As the soldiers announced their presence, the gates of Alun Fortress swung open, and a contingent bearing the phoenix banner advanced to meet them.
Over five hundred knights.
And two Transcendents.
But at the forefront was a palanquin carried by eight soldiers—
Seated atop it, Second Prince Romain von Grandia gazed down arrogantly at the arriving MacLaine delegation.
"Loyal vassal Patrick MacLaine pays homage to His Highness Romain von Grandia, the rightful heir to the throne!"
As Patrick knelt, the knights behind him followed suit—
While the soldiers behind them scrambled into a chaotic mix of kneeling and standing.
The prince regarded them with a twisted smirk.
"Rightful... Hah. A given, but you're rather late."
What kind of idiot is this?
Logan, bowing behind his father, nearly looked up in disbelief.