Chương 209: 209：Terrifying Kill-Death Ratio

"The Crimson Moon Knights..." Grand Duke Valentine fixed his gaze on the thousand-mile expanse of the Misty Swamp in the center of the sand table, drawing in a deep breath of freezing cold air.

"Marr..." After a long while, the Grand Duke, a man whose authority echoed through the Empire, let out a long sigh. It was heavy with a thousand complex emotions, his tone gravelly.

"This is far more than a simple grand victory." He paused.

"In other words... Soren, through his own sheer power, saved my life!" A life-saving grace, without a single word of exaggeration! Had Soren not struck with the fury of a thunderbolt, shattering the enemy mid-route and throwing all their deployments into chaos, Valentine would still be exhausting his forces dealing with the forty-thousand-strong army outside, completely oblivious to the fatal assassination closing in on him. As time ticked by and the morning passed, the sky grew bright.

More detailed reconnaissance reports, like an unending stream of urgent dispatches, continually flew back from spies across the swamp into the supreme command center of Megalith Fortress. They laid bare the complete development of the entire tactical board before the eyes of all the commanders. The Grand Duke, looking at the incoming intelligence regarding the split deployments, plunged into profound shock once again.

"After the fall of Bloodhorn Fortress, Soren's forces commenced massive, multi-point surgical raids deep within the Misty Swamp."

"According to the reports, a pikeman detachment of just over two hundred men, synergizing with a mere hundred wolf cavalry, laid an ambush in the flooded waters of Fang Gorge. They utterly routed a battalion of eight hundred amphibious Lizardmen."

"Subsequently, suspected large groups of longbowmen coordinating with Half-Elf units executed three hundred Black Iron Orcs on the spot in a different sector. Furthermore, they killed four apex siege engines equipped with heavy ballistae—the [Ironclad Ground Dragons]—right at the bottom of the gorge..." Grand Duke Valentine abruptly stood up, striding rapidly to the sand table!

"If the Blackstone Tribe's forty-thousand-strong heavy army wants to approach our Megalith Fortress, it is physically impossible for them to deploy in a parallel formation!" Valentine began to run professional tactical simulations.

"Marching through the winding, claustrophobic mud of the Misty Swamp, a grand army will inevitably be stretched into an agonizingly long column where the head and tail cannot support each other.

"These forty thousand troops are forced to segment into the vanguard, the main army, and the logistical supply train. In the worst-case scenario, the vanguard can only sustain roughly ten thousand troops." He spun around violently.

"Marr! Synthesize the statistics from today's chain of surgical ambushes! Calculate the battle results!" The veteran General Marr snatched up a quill, calculating furiously on a parchment map. His voice actually cracked.

"Taking everything into account, Soren's forces—in the span of just a few days, relying on an infinitesimally small number of troops...

"... actually managed to exterminate a full two thousand elite Orc combatants across a series of hunter-killer campaigns!" Two thousand! Valentine's eyes bulged wide.

"Soren won... using just that microscopic force!" This meant that Warchief Blackstone's ten-thousand-strong heavy vanguard—originally intended to posture and exert pressure upon Megalith Fortress—hadn't even caught sight of the fortress's black obsidian walls! They had been forcibly stripped of one-fifth of their total manpower mid-march, ground to dust by Soren's piecemeal ambush tactics and relentless tactical kiting! Even more horrifyingly, this included four [Ironclad Ground Dragons]!

"It is nothing short of a heaven-shaking triumph!" Valentine slammed his massive hand onto the sand table. The shockwave toppled the black flags representing the Orc horde, sending them clattering to the floor. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"With a minuscule volume of a few hundred battered troops, utilizing decentralized, segmented counter-encirclements, he firmly pinned their massive, advancing vanguard camp inside the swamp's mire, severely stalling their advance toward our Empire's northern border!" Just at that moment, a messenger stepped into the side hall, his voice echoing loudly!

"Report! Border battle reports from the direction of the Silvermoon Kingdom have been synchronized and received!

"Commander Galahad of Ironwood Fortress, coordinating with the aristocratic heavy cavalry general Gabriel, personally mobilized their forces!

"Seizing the defensive loopholes created by the Orcs' troop drafts... The two generals proactively abandoned their defensive posture, successfully laying an ambush in the Wailing Valley!

"Total annihilation of a fully-staffed, four-hundred-strong Black Iron Orc infantry battalion! Massive quantities of premium armaments intercepted!" Hearing this dispatch, General Marr nodded in deep gratification.

"Soren's chain of battles indirectly supported Ironwood Fortress. He created the absolute perfect window of attack for those Silvermoon troops who were originally forced to do nothing but hunker down and defend." Seeing the Crimson Moon Knights thriving off war deep within the swamp, claiming total victories and massive spoils; and seeing the allied fortresses of the Silvermoon Kingdom seizing this golden opportunity to deliver stellar combat records and rich rewards...

Grand Duke Valentine felt an immense, satisfying relief. Yet, as his gaze shifted to another corner of the sand table—to the branch outpost under his own jurisdiction—a profound, bitter sense of disparity surged into the legendary commander's heart, forcing a long, heavy sigh.

"Those bastards at Ironwood Fortress practically got handed military merits on a silver platter..." The Grand Duke tapped helplessly on the marker indicating a human settlement: Lone Cliff.

"But what about us?" Lone Cliff. The vanguard outpost built within the Misty Swamp, belonging to the frontline defensive net of Megalith Fortress. Valentine shook his head in deep sorrow.

"The official Empire garrison stationed there has, for years, consisted of exiled deadwood or bureaucratic grunts just waiting to die. Their combat power is far too weak." Such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! A perfect chance to claim kills, military merits, and spoils of war! Even if those incompetents mustered just a shred of courage to launch a flanking raid on the Orcs, they would have guaranteed a harvest!

"It's a pity they are utterly, absolutely useless.

"With such an opportunity hand-delivered to our doorstep, our own outpost is completely incapable of participating in this multi-front counter-offensive! We can only watch helplessly as Soren and the Silvermoon Kingdom reap the maximum military merits right in front of us!" The winter rain had finally ceased, but the air remained choked with the thick stench of blood and the acrid residue of dissipated shadow magic.

In the center of the courtyard of Bloodhorn Fortress, the three mountain-like corpses of the [Sons of Titan] lay strewn in pools of blood. The shattered rock-shields, coupled with the wounds punched straight through by magic and heavy ballistae, declared just how apocalyptic the battle had been. Leona, Commander of the Crimson Moon Knights, was currently leaning her colossal greatsword casually against the corpse of a Titan. She raised her head, her striking, fiery red hair flying wildly in the cold wind.

Her crimson eyes, which were usually notoriously rebellious and untamed, were now filled with profound shock and daze. And it wasn't just her. Standing to the side inspecting the defensive fortifications, Cedric and the Military Priestess Elena found their own hearts churning with turbulent waves.

"Mogg, the inspection delegation harboring the Province Oracle, conquering Bloodhorn Fortress, and even catastrophically wounding the Shadow Priest Zagar..." Cedric lowered his head, looking at his own hands, which ached slightly from gripping his sword hilt so tightly. He shook his head bitterly. He walked over to Leona, reaching out to pat the rock-hard muscular contour of the Son of Titan, and let out a long sigh.

"A century ago, during the Battle of the Bone Plains, the Empire was forced to deploy twelve High Mages just to kill three Sons of Titan.

"But last night? Less than a hundred infantrymen. Zero fatalities. With troop training and live combat command of this caliber... I, Cedric, have never bowed to anyone in my entire life. But today, I am completely and utterly humbled by Lord Soren." Hearing the deep admiration of this renowned general, Leona's brows practically danced with smug triumph.

"Well, of course! Just look at who trained him!" Leona slapped Cedric's pauldron hard, her tone dripping with blatant, unabashed bragging.

"Don't forget, Soren is the Vice-Commander of our Crimson Moon Knights!

"When I get back to the Royal Capital of the Silvermoon Kingdom, if those haughty, stuck-up aristocratic generals dare to put on airs in front of me, I am going to slap this battle report right across their faces! I'd like to see who still dares to call my Crimson Moon Knights an abandoned, exiled legion!"

To be perfectly honest, a rare, monumental triumph capable of being etched into the annals of humanity's war against the Orcs was indeed more than enough capital for any commander to brag about in social circles for the rest of their life. Just as they were marveling at the aftermath, several shadows atop the fortress battlements abruptly shifted.

Immediately following, the Intelligence Captain, Meyer, alongside a dozen Goblin scouts, peeled themselves off the stone walls, shedding their camouflage to drop lightly into the courtyard.

"My Lord! Urgent frontline report!" Meyer dropped to one knee, his face flush with excitement.

"The detachments we dispatched have returned with their spoils!" As Meyer's words faded, the towering ironwood gates of Bloodhorn Fortress were forcefully pushed open by the garrisoning soldiers. Accompanied by a low, rhythmic thudding, rows of soldiers marched in perfect formation, piercing through the white mist on the perimeter of the swamp. The various splinter detachments deployed from Greywater Village had finally broken camp, converging upon this vastly wealthy, conquered stronghold.