Chapter 135
Chapter 135
The first sign of trouble came from a porter passing behind Hamar.
Walking normally one moment, then suddenly staggering the next—the porter dumped his load of straw directly onto Hamar.
"Ugh—!"
Thud.
Crash.
Hamar's startled cry, a flash of light, and Ronian's fist all converged in an instant.
The porter, who had been thrusting a dagger through the falling straw, collapsed as the light faded from his eyes.
Thump.
"Ugh, pah! What the—? Open your damn eyes— Huh?"
"Young man, you must've overexerted yourself. Let's get you to the inn."
Ronian, far younger than the fallen porter, grabbed the unconscious man by the scruff of his neck and hauled him up.
Hamar blinked in confusion, a vague sense of unease settling over him, but—
"The young lord..."
"Such a noble person, doing that..."
"He'll be blessed."
The gathered villagers murmured in admiration.
Compared to the first day, when Ronian's identity as the second son had been revealed and everyone had prostrated themselves in reverence—paralyzing the entire market—this was a drastic change.
Amid the murmurs, Ronian smirked faintly, sensing the presence of those watching him.
The moment their comrade was subdued, the hidden assailants froze in place.
'They must be panicking.'
A knight-level fighter concealing their presence to launch an ambush—it was a tactic that could easily overwhelm even a superior opponent.
That was why they had been confident.
And that was exactly why they were now stunned.
'But they can't afford to stay still.'
They had already lost one man.
Only when Ronian began moving with his captive did the hidden assailants stir again.
"Young lord, that guy earlier—something felt off about him..."
"You're mistaken."
Hamar frowned.
"No, seriously. Something was weird."
Ignoring Hamar's grumbling—whether it was dullness or sharp instincts—Ronian focused on the concealed presences around them.
If they didn't want him returning to the lord's manor, the attacks would continue.
'Daring to pull this in our territory? I won't let this slide.'
Even if the others retreated, they had already captured one. They could trace his origins.
That alone was enough, but more captives meant more information.
So if he kept provoking them—
"Huh?!"
"Hey! What's your problem?!"
"Watch where you're going!"
Commotion erupted in the market as people scrambled out of the way.
The next attackers were far bolder than the first.
A giant of a man, towering over Ronian by a head, strode forward and planted himself between Ronian and Hamar, blocking their path—
At the same moment, a skewer vendor twisted the kebab he had been handing to Hamar and thrust it toward his throat.
In that split second, a flash of orange light erupted from Ronian's waist as Mane, his beloved sword, unleashed four waves of aura.
BOOM!
"ARGH!"
Ronian had tried to minimize the shockwave's impact on Hamar, but his control over the Divine Sword Secret Art was still imperfect.
He ignored Hamar, who had collapsed foaming at the mouth, as more pressing threats remained.
"White-robed merchant! Gray staff! After them!"
He barked orders at the MacLaine knights who had surrounded the area—
BOOM!
A distant explosion made Ronian's face pale instantly.
"The workshop?! Damn it!"
Slinging the unconscious Hamar over his shoulder, Ronian sprinted toward the explosion like a madman.
By the time Ronian and the knights arrived at the workshop, it was already over.
"I—I'm sorry. Ierm, Namor, and Tebrun—all three were kidnapped. We defended the materials, but... a presumed high-level aura user..."
Cough.
Mid-tier knight Thompson spat out a thin trail of blood, his face pale.
"I'm... sorry."
"No. It's fine. It could've been worse."
"Without armor, exposed to a barrage of repeating crossbow bolts... He won't have escaped unharmed either."
"Yeah."
Ronian's expression remained grim, so Thompson hesitated to mention that the unmasked assailant's face had seemed vaguely familiar.
'It's not certain.'
At the very least, he needed to remember where he had seen the man before speaking up.
As Thompson racked his brain, another knight cautiously spoke up in his stead.
"Lord Logan's orders were to prioritize defending the Liberatio materials warehouse. This isn't solely Knight Thompson's fault."
"I know."
Ronian's icy tone silenced the reporting knight.
Though his voice was low, the pressure radiating from him was heavier than any shout.
The gathered knights stood frozen, not daring to speak.
"The problem is that we anticipated this and still failed. Damn it... How am I supposed to explain this to my brother...?"
Gritting his teeth, Ronian paced restlessly, muttering to himself.
The sight of the usually polite young lord seething in rare fury was more terrifying than any outburst.
"Can the three kidnapped dwarves reproduce our weapons?"
After a long silence, Ronian's question made Temar jolt.
"If you mean the repeating crossbows, then possibly. But for Liberatio—even if they saw some materials, they'd never figure out the formula."
"Are you sure?"
"Y—Yes! Absolutely!"
Temar gulped at the faint madness flickering in Ronian's crimson eyes.
"The repeating crossbow will spread eventually. But Liberatio? Never. Absolutely never. Understood? Remember that."
Ronian bit his lip hard, recalling his brother's words.
"Good. It's not over yet. Double the workshop's defenses. We can afford to loosen security elsewhere. Concentrate all soldiers and knights here. Especially this place."
"Yes!"
"Interrogate the captured assassins. Find out who they belong to, who sent them—grind every last detail out of them, then burn them alive! Make them regret ever daring to touch MacLaine!"
Everyone shuddered at Ronian's chilling orders.
"They're the seeds of devils—never let your guard down."
As Hamar's words echoed in Temar's mind, he swore to himself never to cut corners or act defiant.
Unfortunately for Ronian, there would be no time to interrogate the captured assassins.
An emergency alert spread throughout MacLaine Town due to urgent communications from the main camp on the battlefield.
[Forces under Marquis Calria's command—the Gray and Morgan Viscounties—are advancing toward MacLaine Castle.]
The report came from scouts monitoring the eastern territories beyond the castle.
"A pincer attack, inside and out. These bastards—"
Ronian's eyes burned with fury.
"Mobilize all knights! Mobilize the militia! We'll crush these invaders with MacLaine Castle as our center!"
A full wartime conscription order was issued across the territory.
The sparks of war had reached MacLaine lands, now stripped of their main forces deployed to the central front.
Whoooosh!
"With barely any knight forces expected, this should be easy."
"Indeed. Who would've thought we'd get such an opportunity? Truly, how fortunes change..."
Chris Morgan enthusiastically agreed with Joe Gray's remark.
The armies of the two viscounties had been confronting Earl Ersen's forces—subordinates of Duke Walterheim of the Second Prince Faction—at a strategic point on their way to the central front.
Despite bearing the titles of earls and viscounts, their military strength was surprisingly lacking.
Since they weren't core forces advancing to the massive clashes at the central front, the faction's leadership saw them merely as sentries guarding the northern and southern fronts.
But then—
At some point, an order arrived.
Abandon the standoff and strike MacLaine.
Though additional detailed demands were attached, those could be addressed after securing the territory. They even received assurances not to worry about Earl Ersen's forces potentially exploiting their absence.
So they eagerly marched south.
Though individually insufficient for their ranks, their combined forces amounted to nearly 80 knights and 2,000 troops—more than enough to overwhelm a mere barony stripped of its main forces.
Their new weapons, already proving effective on the central front, were also prepared as contingencies.
Yet, as they entered the plains before MacLaine Castle, an unimaginably vast army blocked their path.
"What the hell is all this?!"
"Surely... over ten thousand strong?"
How could a mere barony, having sent most of its forces to the central front, field ten thousand troops?
The two viscounts nearly panicked—until the approaching soldiers' equipment came into view, prompting sighs of relief.
Shabby armor and a single small crossbow at their waists.
That was the entirety of most soldiers' armaments.
"Conscripts! Hah! How irresponsible. The MacLaines must be desperate. Prepare for battle! Hold your ground! They're just rabble!"
Joe Gray shouted to rally morale, though one detail nagged at him.
Chris Morgan beside him seemed equally uneasy.
"Surely those crossbows aren't all... those, right?"
"Only madmen would give conscripts weapons capable of killing knights. And crossbows require significant training. This is just bluster to intimidate us."
"O-of course."
They exchanged these reasonable words, desperately ignoring their rising dread.
Yet, unable to shake their unease, they played their prepared card.
"Knights, raise your shields!"
"They're all conscripts! Stay calm and crush them!"
The two viscounts pointed only to the few hundred properly equipped soldiers and the dozens of knights clad in flame-crested armor amidst the ten-thousand-strong force.
In their minds, the "obvious" equation was clear: crush these regular troops, and victory would be theirs.
But—
The moment their knight order began advancing—
Thudthudthudthud!
A relentless barrage of black quarrels poured forth, shattering both their knights and their common sense.
"Aaargh!"
The sky turned black with endless waves of quarrels.
Knights wielding thick iron kite shields barely withstood the impacts, forced to retreat step by step—
But their horses had long since fallen, bristling like porcupines.
The rapid-fire crossbow volleys from ten thousand troops were far more horrifying than the rumors suggested.
"Hold! Hold and advance!"
Some lunatic was shouting—
This is insane!!
Jayden, knight-captain of House Gray, gritted his teeth and glanced back.
Realizing the madman was his own lord, he could only bite his lip and turn forward.
"Advance!"
Reluctantly, Jayden gave the order, forcing himself forward step by step.
And then—
Maybe... just maybe...
If mid-tier knights like himself reinforced their kite shields with Force and led the charge, they might break through this hellish barrage.
Their preparations hadn't been in vain.
Filled with tentative hope, they pressed on—
Thudthudthudthud!
The quarrel storm dwindled, then ceased entirely.
The sound of galloping cavalry replaced it.
Now!
"All units, form—?!"
Jayden rose energetically to shout—
But the enemy knights were already upon them.
At their forefront, a red-haired, red-eyed youth still bearing traces of adolescence hurled the first of many glowing red stones now soaring toward them.
Where have I heard of those...?
In the extreme tension of surviving the quarrel storm, Jayden's mind struggled to recall the stones' nature—
KABOOOM!
Only as explosions and flames engulfed him did realization strike.
"Magic bom—?!"
But by then, it was far too late.
Slick!
A blade wreathed in sunset-hued Force—perfectly matching the redhead's fiery aura—severed Jayden's head in one stroke.
And then—
"Annihilate them all!!"
A roar that decided the battle's fate echoed across the plains.
[We've wiped out the invaders, Brother.]
"...Good work."
[But the kidnapped dwarves are entirely my fail—]
"No. Don't dwell on that. Strengthening our defenses is enough. They won't have the strength to provoke us further. What of the prisoners?]
At this, his brother's voice grew heavier.
[All captives... took their own lives. Another failure on my part.]
Ronian's expression darkened further.
Seeing this, Logan shifted topics.
"How's the militia holding up?"
[Some panicked, but with zero casualties, morale is soaring. We're seeing more volunteers for training after this battle.]
"Oh? That's good. Train them thoroughly. In the worst-case scenario—"
Logan lowered his voice.
Ronian's face hardened further as he listened.
[Is that truly...]
"...It's a possibility."
[I'll prepare flawlessly this time. I won't disappoint you again.]
"You've never disappointed me, Ron. Stop saying that."
[No. For my own conscience, I'll ensure everything is perfect this time.]
"Honestly..."
As Logan shook his head, Padric interjected quietly.
"That's enough, Logan. Your brother knows his responsibilities."
"...Right. We've cleared one hurdle, at least."
[Return safely. Father. Brother.]
"Of course. Enough of that."
Logan chuckled dryly at his father's words, and the communication ended.
But Padric still regarded his eldest son with concern.
"You're truly resolved to do this?"
"Yes. There's no telling how much longer this war will drag on otherwise."
"Isn't it too risky?"
"It's necessary."
"The Duke won't simply allow it."
"I'll make sure he has no choice."
"Fine. If you say so."
After speaking with his father, Logan turned toward the lavish command tent at the center.
Lately, the Second Prince Faction's leadership convened daily—sometimes multiple times—for meetings.
The time was approaching to propose the move that would break this war's stagnant deadlock, despite their current advantage.