Chương 178: 178：The Foundation of a Dynasty

Warchief Blackstone's breathing grew incredibly ragged. He could already envision that glorious spectacle. If they conquered the fortress, those arrogant nobles from the Blood Province would have no choice but to grovel at his feet and revere him as a god! The Warchief threw his head back and let out a thunderous roar. His laughter echoed through the grand hall, shaking the very stones until dust and debris rained down.

"Excellent! What a glorious madness!" Warchief Blackstone suddenly drew the massive executioner's scythe resting by his throne and smashed it down onto the stone table with a deafening boom.

"You have my word! As long as you can strike down Valentine!

"To display our martial might to that incoming inspection delegation, I will mobilize my main army! I will mass them at the border!

"You focus solely on the decapitation strike. I will personally lead thirty thousand warriors of the Bloodaxe Battalion to rattle the frontlines, masking all movements of your infiltration! I will support your raid with everything I have!" Having secured exactly what he wanted, Zagar offered a deep bow. The purple flames beneath his hood danced violently—the physical manifestation of his wildly expanding ambition.

"I thank you for your profound support.

"Warchief, give me three days.

"In the dead of night, three days from now, I will use Grand Duke Valentine's death to create the greatest uproar this swamp has ever seen." Meanwhile, in the guest quarters of Greywater Village. On the long mahogany table sat two cups of steaming purified water, alongside a plate of unappealing but remarkably hefty roasted Swamp Tubers. Cedric, the high-ranking commander of the Ironpeak Duchy, had not rested.

He had stripped off his dozens of pounds of full plate armor and sat in a simple linen undershirt, staring blankly into the dancing flames of the hearth.

"Commander, are you still thinking about the inspection today?" His adjutant, Cullen, was pressing a whetstone against the edge of Cedric's standard-issue sword. Hearing Cedric's heavy sigh, he set his tools down and spoke with indignant resentment.

"That Soren... his armory is definitely something to be jealous of. No wonder he could wipe out hundreds of Black Iron Orcs.

"But to put it bluntly, he's just lucky. That victory was bought entirely with superior equipment!"

"Cullen, you only see the superior weapons. You fail to see the true foundation that supports and commands them." Cedric slowly turned around. Walking to the table, he picked up a roasted Swamp Tuber dusted with wood ash. He meticulously peeled back the charred, blackened skin, revealing the soft, sweet, purple flesh inside.

"Do you truly believe the reason our Ironpeak Duchy cannot withstand an Orc charge in the open field is because our armor isn't thick enough, or our pikes aren't sharp enough?" Cedric lowered his voice, a deep sorrow lacing his tone.

"No, Cullen. We lose at our very foundation." Cedric tossed the peeled Swamp Tuber onto the table. His eyes widened, his gaze stabbing into Cullen like a knife.

"Think back. When our armies march through the border villages of the Duchy, what kind of looks do the civilians give us?" Cullen froze. Images of emaciated, jaundiced serfs flashed through his mind. They were terrified. Whenever the army passed, they would scatter in panic, bolting their doors and shutting their windows tight, desperately hiding even the few shriveled grains of wheat in their cellars.

"They guard against us... they even resent us," Cullen admitted softly. Cedric let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh.

"And you can't blame them. To maintain their lavish lifestyles and exorbitant military budgets, today's human nobility has squeezed the lower classes down to the marrow.

"Endless, crushing taxes. Forced conscription and labor. If a battle is lost, deserters will even pillage their own people's villages!

"While our soldiers bleed on the frontlines to defend the territory, at their backs are civilians we've oppressed to the point of utter resentment. An army like that is hollow and fragile on the inside. The moment it faces external pressure, it will completely collapse!" Cedric abruptly pointed toward the window. Though he could see nothing through the solid wood planks, he could almost visualize the villagers sleeping soundly in their stilted cabins outside.

"But Greywater Village is different! That man, Soren, has done something utterly terrifying!" Cedric's Adam's apple bobbed. In the quiet of the night, his internal shock only continued to ferment.

"As a dictatorial warlord, not only does he not oppress the civilians, but he has actually baked the protection of the weak directly into his military code!

"Did you not see it today? Those Goblins, Half-Elves, and even the crippled human veterans—they walk the streets with their heads held high, their faces brimming with hope for the future! Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Soren treats them as actual human beings. And in return, the absolute, die-hard loyalty these civilians display is unfathomable!" Cedric took a deep breath, delivering his absolute conclusion.

"An indestructible civilian foundation! That is the true, invincible trump card of Soren's army!

"Even if Soren's active-duty forces were completely wiped out, with a single rallying cry, elderly men and peasant women armed with cleavers and hoes would instantly plug his defensive lines! That is the kind of power that truly strikes terror into the heart!" Hearing this brutal breakdown, Cullen opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Cold sweat broke out across his spine. The next morning. As the first light of dawn broke, the torrential rain finally ceased.

A thick, dense white fog drifted over the Misty Swamp, blanketing the dark waters. Inside the stilted command post, Soren had already finished washing up. He was currently going through sets of one-armed push-ups, the defined lines of his muscles rippling with tension.

"My Lord! Urgent military intelligence!" Meyer rushed in. His eyes were sunken, making it obvious he had spent the entire night awake, collating information from multiple sources. Soren dusted off his hands and stood up. Grabbing a rough cloth towel, he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Speak."

"Last night, our Goblin scouts risked their lives wading through the swamp's waterways to piece together the movement patterns of the Orc main army!" Meyer strode rapidly toward the large topographical map. Pulling several small red flags from his coat, he slammed them down onto the southern edge of the map. Smack! Smack! Smack!

"In just the last few hours, Orc war drums have been echoing across the skies above Bloodfang Fortress!

"Massive columns of the Orc main force are abandoning their defensive sectors, frantically mobilizing and converging toward the Holy Halycon Empire's border command center—the Megalithh Fortress!" Soren's hand stopped mid-wipe. He casually tossed the towel over the back of a chair and strode over to the map.

"Converging onMegalithr Fortress?" Soren narrowed his eyes.

"Massing an army at the border to provoke an established superpower at a time like this?" He stared at the map, his tactical mind rapidly connecting the dots.

"The high-ranking inspection delegation from the Blood Province is arriving. Those untouchable, high-and-mighty nobles aren't coming all the way out here to eat swamp mud. They are absolutely here to hold Warchief Blackstone accountable. And at the same time, they expect to witness a performance grand enough to wash away their recent humiliations!

"Let's do the math, Meyer.

"Warchief Blackstone has a total force of one hundred thousand troops. He has moved tens of thousands of his main elites to pressure the southern border. To maintain operations at his headquarters, Bloodfang Fortress must retain at least ten thousand heavy infantry for defense." Soren's finger traced a heavy, deliberate route across the southeastern sector of the map.

"Meanwhile, that arrogant inspection delegation from the Blood Province is about to travel right through the perilous Misty Swamp.

"Those are the masters who hold the purse strings and his future in their hands. To guarantee their absolute safety, Blackstone must have drafted another staggering number of troops to sweep the route, enforce martial law, and construct a secure escort corridor." At this point, a dangerous, predatory sneer crept onto Soren's face.

"Juggling multiple fronts, his troop deployments have been stretched to their absolute limits. What does that mean?" Meyer drew in a sharp breath of cold air, realizing it in an instant. Overwhelmed by sheer excitement, his voice actually trembled.

"It means that the previously ironclad Orc defensive lines garrisoning the various outposts across the Misty Swamp have been thoroughly hollowed out! The entire region is now riddled with fatal defensive gaps!"

"Exactly." Soren lifted his head, his battle lust burning bright.

"All their main forces have been baited byMegalithr Fortress. They have absolutely no idea that deep within their own defensive heartland, a force capable of dealing a lethal blow is lying in wait!" Just at this critical juncture, as the strategic direction of the war was being locked in... Bang! The door to the wooden command post was violently shoved open, accompanied by a choking, acrid stench of scorched minerals. The arrival was none other than Greywater Village's Chief Engineer, Luger.

Half of the Hobgoblin's face was currently stained pitch-black with soot, and even his sparse whiskers had been curled by intense heat. Yet, he was dancing around, practically manic with glee.

"My Lord! Praise the Earth Mother! Praise your divine-like insight!" Luger practically tumbled and scrambled his way over to Soren. He took two heavy burlap sacks he had been clutching tightly to his chest and slammed them heavily onto the floorboards.