Chương 234: 234：The Suicide Mandate

"Commander Leona!" Galahad exclaimed in surprise, looking at the travel-stained, rugged beauty.

"I finally caught up!" Leona hauled back on her reins, her warhorse rearing high into the freezing mist. Vaulting from the saddle, she didn't even pause to catch her breath. She marched straight up to Soren, her expression a turbulent mix of fury, helplessness, and—upon seeing him—a profound, instinctual reliance.

"Soren, the final resolution from Supreme Command in the royal capital is out." Leona gritted her teeth, publicly dropping the chilling, heart-wrenching verdict right in front of the two fortress commanders:"Those bastard nobles roasting meat by their fireplaces! To bait us into bleeding for them, they preserved our ranks and the official, regular designation of the Crimson Moon Knights."

"BUT! That greedy Duke Fernando and the Prince Regent sang the exact same tune! They gave us absolutely zero leeway!"

"The suicide mandate remains in full effect! They demand that within one year, we must entirely reclaim the entirety of the Misty Swamp!"

"Otherwise... the moment that one-year deadline arrives, the Crimson Moon Knights will still face the fate of forced disbandment!" Hearing this draconian, impossibly harsh mandate, Galahad and Gabriel's faces darkened simultaneously.

"Absurd!" Galahad cursed furiously.

"The Misty Swamp spans thousands of miles! Warchief Blackstone has a hundred-thousand-strong horde garrisoned here! Even if they deployed three fully manned, main Imperial Legions, they couldn't guarantee reclaiming the whole territory in a year! This is literally forcing you to your deaths!" Yet, upon hearing this news, not a single trace of panic appeared on Soren's face. Instead, a fleeting look of cold mockery flashed through his eyes.

Wasn't this exactly the political outcome he had deduced back at his command post? The Prince Regent wanted to use Greywater Village as a meat-grinder to bleed the Orcs, yet was utterly terrified of Soren mutating into an independent warlord. Hence, he used a worthless piece of paper to chain Soren to the absolute frontlines.

"One year?" Soren sneered internally.

"In one year, when my Black Steel heavy legions and magical battalions are fully formed, backed by the volcanic defensive infrastructure... when that time comes, it won't be the Silvermoon Kingdom disbanding me. It will be me, Soren, making sure you fat pigs in the capital never sleep peacefully again!" Masking his towering ambitions flawlessly, Soren took a step forward. He gently patted Leona's shoulder, his steady, resonant voice carrying an immense, pacifying weight:"Commander, calm yourself."

"We've weathered worse storms. A worthless piece of paper won't frighten Greywater Village. If the sky falls, I'll be the one holding it up." Those simple words instantly evaporated the crushing anxiety in Leona's chest. She nodded heavily. The way she looked at Soren now carried a profound trace of absolute submission that even she herself hadn't fully realized. Half an hour later. Deep inside the innermost stone hall of Ironwood Fortress, a roaring hearth banished the biting chill.

This was a gratitude banquet of the absolute highest caliber. The long oak table groaned under the weight of sizzling, oil-dripping Taman Boar roasts and massive barrels of premium ale transported from the rear. Most notably, tucked between the thick cuts of meat were several plates of fresh, crisp leafy greens. In the highly toxic, acid-mud-filled Misty Swamp, fresh vegetables were exorbitantly expensive. It was clear proof that Galahad had bled his own pockets to host Soren.

As the ale flowed freely, the atmosphere at the banquet warmed up entirely. However, everyone seated at the table was a battle-hardened commander. After a few drinks, the conversation inevitably circled back to the brutal reality of the war. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Brother Soren," Galahad sighed, his face flushed red as he downed a massive gulp of ale.

"While the royal capital is incredibly harsh on your Crimson Moon Knights, old General Rodman heavily favors the pragmatic frontline commanders."

"Thanks to the absolute victory at the Valley of Lamentation, Supreme Command has finally realized the massive strategic gap in this defensive line. They've already issued orders: before winter fully sets in, they are redeploying an additional two thousand regular troops to reinforce Ironwood Fortress, along with ten heavy trebuchets!"

At this, Galahad's confidence visibly surged: "With these reinforcements, as long as Blackstone's hundred thousand troops don't launch a full-scale, all-out siege this winter, my walls absolutely will not fall!"

"Congratulations, Commander," Soren raised his mug in a toast. However, his razor-sharp gaze shifted toward Gabriel, who was sitting on the other side with his brow tightly furrowed.

"General Gabriel, you seem burdened by doubts?" Having his thoughts so easily read, Gabriel offered a bitter smile, setting his mug down and rubbing his temples.

"I can't hide anything from your eyes, Commander Soren." Gabriel reached into his tunic and pulled out a rolled parchment map, spreading it flat across the grease-stained table. He pointed a finger at a treacherous, sinister terrain deep within the swamp known as "Broken Horn Ridge."

"Old General Rodman promoted me, but he also handed me a lethal, agonizing task." Gabriel's face was etched with unshakeable stress:"He ordered me to lead three thousand men entirely out of the protection of Ironwood Fortress and march to Broken Horn Ridge. I am to build a brand-new frontline vanguard camp completely from scratch, deep within Orc territory!"

"But Commander Soren, you built your territory from the mud up! You know better than anyone how impossible this is!" Gabriel's voice grew agitated, taking on a tone of genuine desperation, practically pleading for advice:"The terrain there is a low-lying basin, surrounded on three sides by acid mud! I just sent engineers to scout it, and I've already lost a dozen men! Let alone having to constantly guard against ghost-like Orc Wolf Cavalry!

If this camp isn't anchored perfectly, it's just a sitting duck waiting to be utterly annihilated!" Sitting to the side, tearing into a piece of meat, Leona proudly tilted her chin, whipping her fiery red hair.

"Of course it's difficult! Did you think anyone could just waltz into a rotting mud pit and build a heavily fortified stronghold like our Soren did?" Faced with Gabriel's dire predicament, Soren did not just sit back and watch. Instead, his eyes narrowed slightly. He knew with absolute certainty: The perfect opportunity to entirely seize undisputed command over this defensive alliance had arrived!

"Broken Horn Ridge?" Soren stood up. Walking over to the table, he casually picked up a fine-steel paring knife. Without a single microsecond of hesitation, he violently carved a massive 'X' directly into Gabriel's highly classified military map!

"The camp location your engineers selected is pure, unadulterated suicide!" His words carried absolute, earth-shattering authority, ruthlessly vetoing the official resolution of the regular army's tactical staff. Rather than growing angry, Gabriel violently snapped to attention, staring at Soren with an attitude of intense, absolute focus and humility: "Please, Commander Soren, enlighten me!"

"Traditional military doctrine dictates pitching a camp backed by high ground and facing a water source. But in the Misty Swamp, that is utterly obsolete! Water sources here usually equate to lethal toxins!" Soren's eyes burned like torches. His knife danced rapidly across the map, utilizing modern, three-dimensional special forces doctrines to execute an absolute, cognitive dimension-strike against these native generals:"Pull the camp five miles east! Anchor it on Black Bear Slope!"

"The soil there is a hardened rock vein, highly resistant to acid corrosion! Do not attempt to build stone walls; you won't have the time. Fell the surrounding baobab trees! Drive three layers of thick logs into the ground side-by-side, and pack the gaps tight with rammed earth! That will be more than enough to entirely absorb direct hits from Orc heavy ballistas!" Soren's fingers rapidly tapped the outer perimeter of Black Bear Slope:"Abandon your dense, heavy infantry patrols entirely!

Break your forces down into micro-units! Implement the Rule of Three!"

"Three men to a fireteam! Scatter them over a five-mile radius outside the camp for wide-area, concealed overwatch!"

"If they encounter small enemy skirmishers, execute them silently with blowdarts and crossbows! If they encounter a main force, immediately break contact, retreat, and ignite signal smoke!"

"Your main camp garrison absolutely does not sally out! You strictly utilize those heavy trebuchets from behind the walls to execute beyond-visual-range artillery suppression!" Absolute silence. In the massive stone hall, the only sound was the crackle of the burning firewood. Whether it was the seasoned veteran Galahad, the noble-born Gabriel, or even Leona, every single one of them stared at Soren in utterly dumbfounded, world-shattering shock.

This modern defensive paradigm—incorporating decentralized micro-units, infantry-artillery synergy, and multi-layered defense-in-depth early warning systems—fundamentally and violently pulverized their primitive warfare mindset of "line up, charge, and get hit."

"Genius... this is absolute tactical artistry!" Gabriel was so intensely agitated his face flushed bright red. He cradled the scarred map in his hands as if it were a holy relic. Under Soren's razor-sharp, utterly surgical tactical guidance, the nature of this gratitude banquet underwent an earth-shattering transformation. It was no longer a simple gathering for drinking and boasting. It had evolved into a paramount strategic summit that would genuinely dictate the future of the entire Misty Swamp!

"Since we must face Warchief Blackstone's hundred-thousand-strong horde, fighting isolated battles is a guaranteed death sentence." Riding the immense wave of momentum he had just created, Soren flawlessly unveiled his true objective for coming here today. His piercing gaze swept across the room with the absolute aura of a Supreme Commander:"I propose that starting today, we establish a fully integrated intelligence and operational mechanism for a Four-Party Defensive Alliance!"