Chapter 133
Chapter 133
The tide didn't shift overwhelmingly from the start.
But when the knight order of Count Zahid's territory—one of the First Prince Faction's border lords—collapsed and their forces began to crumble, an entire flank of the First Prince's army started to disintegrate.
The new weapons allowed common soldiers to hold off knights, while enemy troops were slaughtered from a distance by the mounted crossbow units. Meanwhile, their own knights primarily targeted disorganized knight orders or weaker soldiers.
A simple tactic, yet one that fundamentally overturned the continent's long-held belief that only knights could fight knights.
This strategy—no, these weapons—would shake the very foundations of the continent's military history.
But naturally, no one on the battlefield was thinking that far ahead.
To them, only the immediate results of MacLaine's new weapons mattered.
"Hold the line! Hold!"
"My Prince, we must retreat this time. The enemy's momentum is unnatural."
"You said it would be over soon! That the throne was within reach!"
"...You won't have to wait much longer."
Juan Douglas ground his teeth as he watched the enemy forces pressing in from all directions—and among them, the fluttering banner of the flame crest.
He still couldn't believe that the root of this upheaval was the army of some backwater barony.
He had thought they were nothing more than opportunistic fence-sitters, clinging to survival between the two factions.
To think they were hiding fangs and claws like this...
This time, he had been caught off guard. But next time, it wouldn't be so easy.
Juan Douglas inwardly gnashed his teeth, making baseless declarations to himself.
And in the midst of it all—
"Just cut off Romain's head! Can't you mages even do that?! What the hell have you been doing all this time to put me in this position?!"
The grandson he was supposed to make king was still screaming without grasping the situation.
"My Prince, I—"
"End this childish game right now! You can do it, can't you?!"
As if a Transcendent were some invincible weapon—this spoiled brat, nearing thirty, might as well have shoved his years up his ass.
Of course, the fact that Juan himself had raised the prince to be this way for easier manipulation conveniently slipped his mind in that moment.
"My Prince."
His already simmering anger at MacLaine seeped into his quiet voice.
And at that, the fear he had planted deep within Prince Rohiter's psyche since childhood began to take root in the prince's mind.
"N-No, I mean... Just..."
"Let us go."
"O-Okay."
The prince, his face pale, quickly moved in the direction Juan pointed.
Watching him, Juan let out a deep sigh before calling for his adjutant.
"Detonate all the prepared charges. Buy us time to retreat."
"B-But, Your Excellency... Those were our last—"
"I have more than just that hidden away. Do as I say."
"...Yes."
"And..."
Juan's gaze, indifferent to the surrounding chaos, fixed on the battlefield where the Half-Giant and the Storm Blade were still locked in fierce combat.
Beyond them, he stared toward where his true rival lurked, grinding his teeth once more.
"Let me show you just once how a mage differs from those brutes who only know how to swing swords."
A killing intent, veiled within a serene smile, spread chillingly through the air.
"They're retreating!"
"Push them back!"
"End this war!"
Even those lost in the frenzy of battle began to notice—the First Prince's retreat was blatant.
The moment an enemy flees is when they suffer the greatest losses.
Most of the Second Prince's forces rallied to embody this battlefield maxim.
"We're falling back."
"What?!"
"No arguments. Signal the retreat. We've done enough."
There was no flaw in Logan's reasoning, so the soldier silently waved the flag.
We've already earned enough merit—no need to exhaust ourselves further. This isn't even our war. What I really want is...
Logan swallowed words he couldn't voice and smiled faintly.
As the signal went out, he coordinated the withdrawal of the mounted crossbow units, knights, and soldiers, reorganizing their ranks.
And then—
Whoooosh.
The moment Logan's senses sharpened toward the strange energy pulsing across the battlefield—
Flash!
"Aaaagh!"
Boom boom boom boom boom!
Blizzards of silvery-white snow erupted across the tightly packed frontlines, where retreating and pursuing forces had converged.
A massive magical manifestation—engulfing not only the Second Prince's forces chasing the First Prince's army but even the First Prince's own stragglers left in the rear.
"Blizzard scrolls... This many?"
Rare and exorbitantly expensive 5th-Circle Scrolls detonated in such numbers that counting them was impossible.
Logan's decision to pull MacLaine's forces from the frontlines now seemed like divine foresight.
The clash zone had turned into pure chaos in an instant.
"After them! Chase them down!"
Duke Jordan's furious voice, infused with aura, echoed across the battlefield—but few followed the order.
Even as the bulk of the First Prince's forces retreated, the Second Prince's army was too busy regrouping their surviving troops.
A powerful but disorganized army.
Logan smirked, reminded once more of this civil war's nature.
Then—
An unmistakable, bizarre energy fluctuation pulsed directly above him.
No, above the heads of the advancing troops.
Without time to think, Logan instinctively leaped into the air.
"Watch out!"
Activating the Gale Boots' effects in rapid succession, he kicked off the air and charged forward.
"Young Master?!"
"Logan!"
"What are you—"
Confused shouts rose from below as Logan soared upward—
And right before him, a massive white sphere, easily over three meters in diameter, materialized.
The moment he sensed the terrifying power within it—
Logan clenched his teeth and summoned every ounce of his strength.
With no footing in midair, the Gale Boots provided one last platform for his third leap, while the Titan Gauntlet amplified his force to its peak.
All that power poured into his beloved sword, Lux—transforming it into a golden giant's blade over twenty meters long and a meter wide.
Earth-Splitting Slash!
The giant's sword cleaved the white sphere clean in half.
Crack—
A soundless rupture, heard only in Logan's mind.
Simultaneously, the shattered sphere unleashed a vicious cold in all directions.
Boom boom boom boom!
"Ugh!"
"Get down!"
"Hit the dirt!"
A chorus of screams erupted from MacLaine's forces below.
But moments later, all they felt was a frigid gust sweeping over them, leaving them shivering and bewildered.
Only one person—
Thud.
Stagger.
"Hah!"
Pale-faced and unsteady, Logan—and his sword Lux, now encased in ice—stood as the sole proof of the explosion's true power.
"Young Master!"
"Are you alright?!"
"D-Don't fuss. Ugh... c-cold. Damn bastard."
"Huh?"
"I mean Juan Douglas. That 'Freezing Wizard' has quite the aftertaste."
Logan stared at his sword, thinly but firmly sheathed in ice.
Whoooosh.
Even as he channeled heat and force into his hand, the ice—mere residual magic—refused to melt easily.
No matter how exhausted he was from that last strike.
At that distance, it couldn't have been direct. Did he set a trap? A delayed detonation? And just that much was enough? Damn it...
Logan's sharp eyes turned toward the retreating First Prince forces.
The stark gap between himself and a Transcendent was undeniable, but at least he had cleanly blocked the mage's parting shot.
In this decisive battle, he was still the victor.
As he consoled himself—
Creeeak.
The continuous infusion of force finally began cracking the ice encasing Lux.
And then—
An odd change in the blade caught his eye.
Oh?
After the battle at Twin Fortresses, the First Prince Faction was forced to retreat—not just to the nearby Turen Fortress, but all the way to Harun Fortress far behind.
Only then did the Second Prince Faction realize how devastating MacLaine's burning of their supplies had been—but it hardly mattered now.
After Twin Fortresses and two more engagements, MacLaine's standing within the faction was already unshakable.
"Now, now! The war isn't over yet, but on such a fine day, a toast among ourselves wouldn't hurt. Raise your glasses!"
At Duke Jordan Waltermein's words, the seven gathered in the small conference room lifted their cups in unison.
Pleased, the Duke pointed to the youngest among them—a red-haired, red-eyed youth—and continued.
"Here. Since MacLaine's forces joined our army, the tide has clearly turned in our favor. The final weight to tip the scales—that was MacLaine for us."
What balanced battlefield? We were losing.
Logan stifled a scoff. No reason to ruin the mood.
He met Jordan's gaze with a smooth smile.
"This gathering today is to honor that achievement. You've already accomplished much, but we hope for even greater deeds—and so, we make an unbreakable promise here and now."
"Had I known this was such a solemn occasion, my father should have attended."
"We all know full authority over your house already lies with you, Young Master Logan. What meaning would his presence hold? Or do you refuse my promise?"
"Of course not. Whatever you say, I shall receive it with humility."
"Hahaha! That's why I like you. Overflowing with talent yet remaining humble. How could I not cherish such a man?"
Since when have you cherished me?
The nonsense was making his tongue itch, but thankfully, the pleasantries soon ended.
"I, Jordan Waltermein, hereby declare: When this war ends—when we seize power—we will recognize MacLaine's rightful claim over the current Bifrost territory. Moreover, we shall grant half of Calria's eastern lands to your house. And by my direct authority, I shall petition His Majesty to bestow upon you the title of Marquis!"
A grave voice filled the room.
The moment the Duke finished, the assembled nobles—contrary to their usual dignified bearing—burst into excitement.
"Marquis?!"
"Good heavens...!"
"As expected of His Grace..."
"Always clear in rewards and punishments."
Even Logan's eyes widened slightly. Jordan's declaration exceeded everyone's expectations.
Except for one man, whose face flushed crimson.
"Your Grace! Then what of me?!"
"Ah, Roger. Don't fret. You shall receive territory surpassing Bifrost's, so no need to cling to old lands."
"But Your Grace—!"
"Enough! Roger, do you doubt my word?"
"N-No, it's not that..."
"Then it's settled. Why so much fuss? Now, let's enjoy this fine day. Raise your glasses!"
"Yes!"
Laughter bloomed among all but one in the strategy meeting.
Crash!
"Damn it! What? Another territory?! Is that a joke?!"
Bang! Shatter!
Roger Bifrost's rage showed no signs of abating.
Only when every object in the room had been reduced to debris did his tantrum cease.
Huff... Huff...
"Damn it all..."
His fury lingered because he already knew—there was no way out of this.
The repeating crossbows—even analyzing just the ones captured from Tomodo would let us produce improved versions. The schematics they handed over were downgraded, but the Duke doesn't realize that. Fool...
He considered speaking up, but it wouldn't change the tide.
Liberatio? That insane weapon is the problem, and they definitely didn't hand over the proper blueprints. But pointing that out to attack MacLaine...
Would only make him seem jealous.
A checkmate, no matter how he looked at it.
When his enemy had first joined as an ally, he thought nothing could feel more absurd.
Now, he felt that absurdity tenfold—along with utter helplessness.
One thing was certain...
"This civil war can't end like this."
The words slipped out before he could stop himself.
Panicked, he drew mana, scanning the room for eavesdroppers before finally exhaling in relief.
But the more he thought about it, the truer those words seemed.
Roger Bifrost's brooding gaze darkened.
And after a long silence—
"Call Aslan. And..."
Late that night, unseen movements began within Roger Bifrost's camp.