Chương 144: 144：Waiting for a Proud Lion to Fall

Before long, the lavish, high-stakes banquet drew to a close. Soren had absolutely no intention of spending the night within Megalith Fortress. After eating his fill, he cited the urgent defensive needs of Greywater Village and requested his leave. RUMBLE! With the deafening grind of massive mechanical gears, the fortress's colossal ironwood portcullis slowly began to rise. A howling, freezing wind instantly tore through the gap, whipping up a flurry of snow and grit right into their faces.

Up on the walls, hundreds of the Empire's heavily armored halberdiers stared down with blank, utterly dumbfounded expressions. Grand Duke Valentine, Imperial Chief Tactician Marr, and the Silvermoon Kingdom's veteran General Rodman... These three apex commanders—men whose mere stomps could send tremors through armies hundreds of thousands strong—had actually stepped out of the warm keep side by side.

They stood right there in the freezing mud of the fortress gates, personally seeing off a seemingly insignificant Vanguard Vice Commander. Even if the King of the Silvermoon Kingdom himself had come to visit, he couldn't have asked for a grander escort!

"Lord Soren," Grand Duke Valentine called out, standing tall against the biting wind as he watched the young man swing into the saddle.

"The doors to my Ducal Estate shall remain forever open to you."

"I thank Your Grace for the profound honor," Soren replied with a slight, respectful nod.

"Hyah!" The warhorses reared. Soren, alongside his Intelligence Officer, Meyer—who had been holding his breath in sheer terror this entire time—cracked their reins. Side by side, their massive steeds galloped forward, plunging headlong into the dense, creeping fog of the night.

"M-M-My Lord..." It wasn't until they had ridden nearly two miles out that Meyer finally felt his heart drop back into his chest. He was trembling so violently with excitement he could barely speak.

"That was Grand Duke Valentine! And General Rodman! You... you're a Vice Commander now! You hold the exact same rank as Lady Sylvia!" Even though Meyer had spent his entire life trapped in the backwaters of the Misty Swamp, even he understood the absolute, god-like authority a Grand Duke wielded.

"Shut up, Meyer." Soren pulled back slightly on the reins and flipped his heavy cowl over his head. His eyes flared briefly as he activated his [Eagle Eye] perception, instantly scanning the dark periphery.

"Don't get distracted by empty titles."

"Remember this: the single, actual, tangible reward I squeezed out of them tonight is the secret logistics pipeline Old General Rodman promised."

"The absolute second those supplies hit Greywater Village, we are expanding the blast furnace output. Understood?"

"... Yes, my Lord! Meyer understands!" Back at Megalith Fortress... Just as Soren's silhouette was completely swallowed by the depths of the Misty Swamp. High atop the inner keep's towering ramparts. The howling wind violently whipped at General Marr's heavy bearskin cloak. His face was twisted in profound incomprehension. He quickly strode up behind Grand Duke Valentine, who stood with both hands resting heavily on the stone battlements, gazing out into the dark abyss.

"Your Grace!" Marr finally voiced the agonizing question burning in his chest.

"I simply cannot fathom your decision! A god of war who perfectly balances grand strategic vision with flawless tactical execution... talents like that are a rarity even in the Empire's entire two-hundred-year history!"

"Since he refuses to pledge loyalty to the Empire, that means he will inevitably become an obstacle in the future!"

"Why did you not order the Iron Guard to secretly detain him within the fortress?" Marr's expression turned utterly ruthless.

"We have a hundred different ways to 'persuade' him over time! Brainwashing, torture, or even holding the lives of every single soul in Greywater Village hostage! Why on earth would you let a tiger return to the mountains?!" Hearing this brutally pragmatic advice, Grand Duke Valentine slowly turned around. Like an aging but infinitely majestic lion, he stared down at his Chief Tactician. He slowly shook his head, a chilling, all-seeing composure washing over his weathered face.

"Marr, my friend... your perspective on these matters is ultimately too narrow." Grand Duke Valentine casually brushed a layer of frost from his pauldron and spoke into the freezing wind:"Do you truly believe Soren was merely rejecting the Empire's fiefdoms tonight? Do you honestly think he holds some burning, unshakable loyalty to the Silvermoon Kingdom?" The Grand Duke emphasized every single word:"Through those few short exchanges, I have already seen straight to the bottom of his true ambition."

"His righteous, patriotic excuse for refusing a comfortable post in the Royal Capital and insisting on staying in that forgotten swamp? It sounded incredibly heroic, didn't it?"

"But the truth is, that little wolf cub's mind is terrifyingly lucid."

"The reason he insists on staying in a resource-starved, death-trap like the Misty Swamp has absolutely nothing to do with that 'one-year reclamation' pledge."

"He is doing it to completely sever himself from the high-level oversight of the Royal Capital! He has already claimed the entire Misty Swamp as his own private domain!"

"He is taking advantage of the Kingdom's inability to govern the area! He is using that lawless, grey zone to independently forge his own private, fiercely loyal army!" This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"In fact... I dare to take this thought to its most terrifying extreme."

"This young genius... he intends to strike while the Silvermoon Kingdom's royal authority is crumbling. He plans to use Greywater Village as his cornerstone to carve out his own kingdom. The boy has the burning ambition to crown himself King!" Hiss! The moment the words left the Duke's lips, General Marr felt his scalp tingle with sheer horror. He lost his composure entirely, gasping out loud:"Crown himself King?! With a ragtag mob of a few hundred refugee peasants?! Right under the nose of our Empire?!"

"That... that's impossible! That's the textbook definition of not knowing the immensity of heaven and earth!" Faced with the Chief Tactician's overwhelming shock, Grand Duke Valentine remained extraordinarily placid. He let out a long, heavy sigh.

"There is no need to panic, Marr."

"And that is exactly why I did not order the men to forcefully detain him tonight. It is why I let him walk away." The Grand Duke turned his ancient, penetrating gaze back out toward the endless, sprawling expanse of the continent of Aeresia.

"Because that level of ambition is completely unachievable. It is, ultimately, nothing more than a fleeting, delusional bubble."

"Let us take ten thousand steps back and assume the absolute best for him."

"Let's assume Soren is truly blessed by the God of War himself. Let's assume that, just as his military pledge dictates, he somehow pulls off the impossible and miraculously crushes Warchief Blackstone within a year using his current, pitifully small force."

"So what?! It is utterly meaningless!"

"What is the ultimate endgame of war? It is resources! It is sheer mass!" The Grand Duke's tone grew impassioned.

"Open your eyes and look at this continent! Even a setting sun like the Silvermoon Kingdom commands a baseline population of over twenty million souls!"

"Our Holy Halycon Empire? We maintain a standing army of one million men! Our total population has reached a staggering one hundred million!"

"And that Orcish Horde dominating the vast northern expanses? They are completely unreasonable."

"Just counting pure-blooded orcs alone, they boast a massive population in the hundreds of millions."

"And that's not even counting the dozens of vassal tribes with reproductive rates as terrifying as cockroaches—goblins, ghouls, lesser demons. If you add them all together, the population of the Orcish Horde is easily measured in the billions!" Grand Duke Valentine drew in a cold breath.

"Even just counting the localized orc forces currently entrenched along the borders of the Silvermoon Kingdom and our Empire... they easily command a population of over ten million."

"He is facing Kingdoms, Empires, and Hordes that can casually deploy organized main battle legions numbering in the hundreds of thousands. And what does Soren have?" The Grand Duke asked rhetorically.

"He has Greywater Village. A population of a few hundred."

"He wants to carve out his own destiny? Crown himself King?" The Grand Duke shook his head firmly.

"It is a myth. An absolute impossibility."

"When attempting to bridge a population and resource gap of tens of millions to one... I don't care what kind of tactical genius he is. I don't care if he is the literal God of War reborn in mortal flesh. It cannot be done." This brutal, undeniable breakdown of the world's macro-strategy caused General Marr's frantic breathing to finally steady. Yes. The Grand Duke is absolutely right. In the face of that kind of sheer, overwhelming mass, individual genius was completely useless.

Grand Duke Valentine clasped his hands behind his back once more, his gaze piercing the night as he delivered his final verdict:"Right now, Soren is a young man commanding a force of a few hundred."

"He has only ever experienced small-scale skirmishes."

"The small scope of the battlefield, combined with his genuinely breathtaking tactical foresight, has naturally created the illusion that he is invincible."

"These consecutive victories on a hundred-man scale will easily breed an unchained, boundless arrogance within him."

"But it is useless." A deeply confident, predatory smile broke across the Grand Duke's face.

"Wait until this boy eventually attempts to scale up his forces and truly step out of his little pond."

"Wait until he is forced to face the thundering charge of the Empire's heavy cavalry phalanxes, or truly clash head-on against a hundred-thousand-strong elite orc army."

"When he suffers the most catastrophic, agonizing defeat of his life... when every single ounce of blood, sweat, and tears he poured into his army is utterly annihilated..." Grand Duke Valentine smiled, pulling his collar tight against the freezing cold.

"At that moment, when this peerless genius is standing in the smoldering ruins of his dream, soaked in his own blood... only then will he truly realize how utterly insignificant he is in this world."

"It is then that he will desperately crave the power of a true State. And when that day comes... I will personally deploy my legions to step in and save his life. It will be completely natural to scoop up a master commander who has finally been tempered by the fires of true despair, and bring him completely into the Empire's fold." The Grand Duke's booming, utterly confident laughter echoed across the icy ramparts.

"Not only will he be infinitely more loyal than if we forced him to stay today... it will be vastly easier to control him."