Chương 183: 183：Killing with Borrowed Blades

Soren turned around and strode down the wooden stairs. On the training ground, the seventy Frontline Elites who had consumed the [Minor Troll Serum] stood absolutely motionless in the thick mud. Every single one of them stood nearly two meters tall. The solid layers of pitch-black heavy iron armor enveloping their bodies, combined with slash-resistant padded under-armor, granted them an utterly terrifying level of physical protection.

In their hands, they gripped two-and-a-half-meter armor-piercing heavy halberds—weapons more than capable of cleaving a fully armored warhorse in twain. Alongside these elite infantrymen, a line of commanding officers flanked Soren. The silver-haired girl, Lyra, kept several throwing knives dancing nimbly between her fingers, melting seamlessly into the shadows behind his back. The martial monk, Renn, stood with his thick arms bared. Thanks to his [Hardened Skin], his bulging muscles gleamed with a bronze luster.

He was rolling his wrists, producing a continuous, sickening string of cracks. Chief Magical Advisor Victor had not only brought an abundant supply of mana potions but stood entirely ready to unleash a deluge of magical firepower at a moment's notice. The trap expert, Gary, was practically a walking armory. He was draped in customized bear traps, tripwires, bamboo tubes filled with corrosive acid, and an assortment of vicious, Goblin-made concealed weapons. Every inch of him was laced with lethal contraptions.

"Hold on, Meyer!" Just before issuing the final order for the army to march, Soren suddenly called out to the Intelligence Captain. He retrieved two parchment scrolls from a leather pouch at his waist.

"Deploy your absolute fastest Goblin messengers! I want these two sealed letters delivered before noon today. One goes to Ironwood Fortress fifty miles away, directly into the hands of Commander Galahad. The other goes to Thomas, the administrator of Lone Cliff!" Meyer accepted the letters, hesitating for a fraction of a second.

"My Lord... are we asking them for reinforcements?"

"Reinforcements?" Soren scoffed.

"The Orcs' massive troop redeployment has completely hollowed out their outposts. I've laid out that intelligence, word-for-word, in these letters.

"Since Warchief Blackstone has been so kind as to drain his surrounding guard forces, I am going to muddy these waters as much as humanly possible!

"As long as Galahad and Thomas still care about military merits and gold...

"When they see the completely defenseless Orc granaries, armories, and watchtowers... the monumental temptation of easy pickings, massive plunder, and free commendations from their superiors will be irresistible!

"The moment they give in to greed and dispatch their troops to raid the perimeter, this entire Misty Swamp will plunge into total, chaotic warfare within the next two days!

"With fires burning everywhere and defensive lines in absolute disarray, our true elite strike force will be able to ride the endless fog and chaos straight into the heart of the inspection delegation!" Standing in the rear, Cedric felt his scalp tingle with sheer horror. This was a masterclass in open manipulation! Soren was using the enemy's vulnerabilities as bait to manipulate two neighboring human factions into doing his bidding without spending a single copper.

He was making them willingly act as the meat-shield covering net for Greywater Village's main assault, and they would probably be thanking him for it!

"My Lord... you are truly a sovereign of unfathomable depths," Meyer whispered. Completely awestruck, the Intelligence Captain dropped heavily to one knee before swiftly concealing his form, completely dissolving into the surrounding toxic mist.

"The rest of you, move out!" At Soren's command, this absolute core unit marched out with a thunderous step. Unlike the second-line battalions, they did not deliberately seek out winding, hidden paths to set up ambushes. Boasting a lethal combination of heavy halberdiers, a high-tier martial monk, and a silver-tier mage, they possessed the raw, unadulterated strength to bulldoze straight through any isolated Orc patrol in this wretched mud! Soren raised his right hand, pointing resolutely due south.

Directly toward the Holy Halycon Empire's highest border command center: Megalithh Fortress.

"Soren, where exactly are we going?" Leona couldn't help but ask. She was trudging through knee-deep sludge, fighting for every step.

"Aren't we supposed to be ambushing the inspection delegation?"

"Commander, I invite you to think a little deeper," Soren replied as he hacked through a thick wall of obstructing vines.

"Warchief Blackstone and his Orcs expended a monumental amount of effort, pulling elites from across the entire warband just to protect this high-ranking inspection delegation.

"Do you honestly think a group of nobles possessing absolute provincial authority came all the way out to this desolate, godforsaken warzone just to look at the flowers, admire the grass, and roll around in the swamp mud?" Leona and Cedric's minds reeled. In an instant, they grasped the terrifying implication behind Soren's words!

"Therefore, my Lord," Mage Victor added seamlessly.

"Those VIPs' sole objective is to witness a devastating, apocalyptic victory to validate Warchief Blackstone's might! And within a hundred-mile radius, there is only one stage grand enough for a performance of that magnitude!" This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it All four of them blurted it out in perfect unison:"They're attacking the human border command! Megalithth Fortress?!"

Soren let out a cold sneer, his [Eagle Eye Perception] instantly piercing through miles of dense fog ahead.

"Exactly. It doesn't matter if our second-line troops manage to encounter the delegation or not. As long as we drive our spear straight towarMegalithith Fortress, sooner or later, we are guaranteed to crash headlong into our heavily guarded prey.

"Entire army, double-time march!" Meanwhile. Megalithlith Fortress. True to its name, this border stronghold—built utilizing the sheer, monolithic national power of the Holy Halycon Empire—was carved directly into the mountainside. Its dark gray walls were constructed entirely from interlocking obsidian blocks, each weighing thousands of pounds. Viewed from afar, it sprawled magnificently across the mountain range, guarding the Empire's northern gate with an aura of endless, suffocating lethality.

At the very top of the fortress keep. Inside the central war room, the atmosphere was stretched to the absolute breaking point. The massive, three-dimensional topographical sand table in the center of the room was bristling with small, glowing red war flags. The supreme commander of the Holy Halycon Empire's northern frontier—a legendary general hailed as a grandmaster tactician by every neighboring nation—Grand Duke Valentine, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze locked entirely upon the map.

Though he was past sixty with greying temples, his immovable, tower-like frame was still draped in immaculate heavy plate armor that radiated the absolute majesty of the Empire. The sheer, suffocating pressure exuded by this apex general was enough to force the surrounding high-ranking tacticians and commanding officers to consciously suppress their own breathing.

"Repeat the intelligence details relayed by the reconnaissance battalion. Do not omit a single word," he commanded. On his left, the Grand Duke's son, Alaric, bowed deeply, his expression incredibly grave.

"Father, over the past three days, our frontline Royal Griffin scouts have utilized their high-altitude advantage to continuously relay magical topography readings.

"Deep within the Misty Swamp, the Blackstone Warband—the main body of the hundred-thousand-strong Orc army that has been entrenched for months—has initiated a massive, unprecedented troop mobilization!" Alaric grabbed a handful of small red flags and forcefully stabbed them into the northern edge of the sand table, clustering them tightly together.

"Centering around Bloodfang Fortress, four heavy Bloodaxe Battalions and three Black Wolf Cavalry Battalions previously garrisoning major outposts—totaling no less than forty thousand combat-ready elites—have completely abandoned their defensive postures against smaller human factions like the Ironpeak Duchy.

"They are whipping up a frenzied offensive! Splitting into three columns, they are currently bulldozing their way straight toward the border defensive lines of Megalithalith Fortress!

"Based on their current march speed, we estimate that by dusk today or dawn tomorrow, the vanguard of the Orc horde will reach the twenty-mile plains directly outside our fortress!" The moment those words dropped, the aristocratic tacticians in the hall could no longer remain seated. A frantic wave of disbelieving whispers immediately erupted.

"Absurd! That is categorically impossible!" Old Counselor Marr, a man with a long, meticulously groomed mustache who prided himself on his vast strategic intellect, struck his cane heavily against the floor. He practically sprinted to the sand table, his brows locked into a deep frown.

"Grand Duke Valentine! Warchief Blackstone has commanded those beasts for decades. Among the Orcs, he is universally acknowledged as an old fox with peerless strategic vision!" Marr pointed his cane at the towering model of their city defenses, analyzing the situation with a face full of sheer disbelief.

"Has he truly gone mad?! We are the Empire's primary bulwark! The ultimate fortress! Megalithgalith Fortress has a garrison of fifty thousand men! Our walls are equipped with two hundred large-scale alchemical ballistae and a cluster of thirty Wyverns!

"To attempt a siege relying on conventional flesh-and-blood infantry, siege ladders, and those clunky Goblin trebuchets..." Marr's voice rose a full octave, entirely consumed by confusion.

"Even if Blackstone threw his entire hundred-thousand-strong army at us, launching relentless, day-and-night assaults for a solid year—as long as our supply lines hold, he wouldn't be able to chip a single flake of obsidian off our outer walls!

"This kind of suicidal military operation—crashing headlong into an impregnable stronghold—completely contradicts Blackstone's famously deep, cautious tactical doctrines!

"Why would he dare press his grand army against our core defensive line?! Is this a smokescreen for some cryptic conspiracy? Or is it pure, unadulterated posturing?!" Old Counselor Marr's frantic questions perfectly voiced the deep, agonizing confusion shared by every commanding officer in the room—a profound perplexity that even Grand Duke Valentine was struggling to decipher.