Chương 259: 259：Justice as a Pretext, Looting as the Goal

"My Lord, I have another piece of top-secret intelligence to report!" Meyer gulped hard. Casting a complicated glance at Isabella standing nearby, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper:"While you were leading the troops to absorb the barbarian forces at the Broken Blade Mountains, I personally infiltrated the borderlands of the Ironpeak Duchy."

"Though I couldn't secure hard, physical evidence of Cullen conspiring with the Orcs, I completely mapped out the latest troop deployments of the Duchy's border forces!" Meyer snatched up a charcoal pencil and stabbed it heavily onto a specific spot on the map.

"Look here! Sunset Hills, located northeast of our Misty Swamp!"

"General Cedric's adjutant, Cullen! He is currently acting as an independent commander, leading a fully-manned heavy infantry battalion entirely detached from the Ironpeak Duchy's main defensive line. And he has stationed them in this incredibly bizarre location!" Soren took the map, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto the red mark. Isabella was equally startled. She immediately leaned in to inspect the map.

The moment her eyes processed the location, her brow furrowed deeply, the sharp instincts of a senior intelligence officer kicking in.

"That's impossible!" Isabella pointed at the map, refuting the deployment with sheer disbelief.

"The Sunset Hills is flat, open terrain! There are absolutely no natural chokepoints to hold! It is in no way a strategic location to defend against an Orcish southward invasion!"

"For Cullen to lead a heavy battalion and garrison there... he's completely exposing his flank to the enemy! This deployment blatantly violates every single rule of basic military doctrine!" Hearing Isabella's shocked outburst, a dangerously dark smile crept onto Soren's face. Violates military doctrine? Soren let out a cold, mocking sneer in his heart.

"Of course he's not there to defend."

"The Sunset Hills might lack defensible terrain, but it acts as the primary flatland corridor connecting the Broken Blade Mountains directly to the Misty Swamp!" Soren's finger traced the route on the map, his voice dripping with icy realization.

"If Cullen truly has secretly defected to the Orc Alliance, his garrison there isn't a blocking force. He is positioning himself to throw the back door wide open at the critical moment!"

"He intends to let the [Bloodbone Legion], and the [Cult of the Withered's] plague alchemy wagons, march straight through the hills and directly into the Misty Swamp!" The sheer apocalyptic weight of this deduction hit Isabella like a physical blow. Her face drained of all color, and she stumbled two steps backward in absolute horror.

"Meyer." Soren slowly turned his head, his gaze locking onto his Goblin Intelligence Captain. His eyes were utterly brimming with unadulterated killing intent.

"You mentioned Cullen is leading a heavy infantry battalion? What is the exact state of their equipment?" Hearing his Lord's question, Meyer instantly rubbed his hands together. A look of overwhelming greed washed over his green face as he eagerly reported:"My Lord! We're talking about the absolute crown jewels of the Ironpeak Duchy's armory!"

"Cullen is Cedric's top adjutant. The battalion he took with him is fully outfitted with Mithril-alloyed Heavy Plate Armor! Not only is the defensive capability absurd, but it's remarkably lightweight!"

"They are also equipped with the Duchy's most astronomically expensive Heavy Repeating Crossbows! Hell, for every ten men, they are even issued an iron-plated supply wagon!"

"Those bastards eat nothing but fine white bread, and even their combat boots are studded with fine-steel anti-slip spikes!" Listening to Meyer's practically drooling description...

"Cullen, oh, Cullen. When we parted ways at Ironwood Fortress, I explicitly warned Cedric to watch his back around you."

"Unfortunately, Cedric's sentimentality blinded him. He couldn't bring himself to clean house." Soren slowly, tightly gripped the hilt of his longsword, a terrifying, predatory glint igniting in his eyes.

"Since Cedric refuses to believe you'd betray humanity... since he couldn't bring himself to swing the executioner's blade..."

"Then I'll be the one to clean his damn house for him!"

"If Cullen truly intends to betray the human faction and submit to the Orc Alliance..."

"Then marching my forces out to annihilate him entirely is simply acting as the sword of justice! It is eliminating a heinous traitor for the good of all humanity!"

"When the dust settles, not only will I hold the absolute moral high ground, not only will I shatter the Orcs' scheme to bypass our defenses..." Soren licked his suddenly dry lips, his absolute ambition burning wildly in the depths of his eyes.

"But I will also possess the perfect, unquestionable justification to absorb every single piece of elite military hardware from that battalion!"

"Mithril-alloyed heavy plate! Heavy repeating crossbows! Iron-plated supply wagons!"

"With that obscenely luxurious haul, my newly absorbed Steppe barbarian recruits will be armed to the teeth! I will forge them into the most terrifying, blood-curdling heavy infantry phalanx on this entire continent!" Meanwhile, in the Silvermoon Kingdom, the Royal Capital. Deep within the towering, grandiose Supreme Command Citadel, dark velvet curtains were drawn tight, blocking the howling winter winds from entering the opulent secret chamber.

In the center of the room, a magical communication array pulsed erratically with a blinding red light. The sheer volume of the emergency transmission had overloaded the array, draining the energy of several high-tier mana crystals and causing micro-fractures to spiderweb across their surfaces. It was a highest-priority crisis alert from Commander Galahad at Ironwood Fortress. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

General Rodman, a seasoned veteran with a head of pure silver hair and a face carved from granite, glared furiously at the glowing intelligence hovering above the array.

"Animals! A pack of godless, heartless animals!" General Rodman violently drew his longsword from his waist and viciously cleaved the solid oak weapon rack beside him in two, sending splinters flying across the room!

"Poisoning the aquifers of the Misty Swamp? Weaponizing the wind gaps to release corpse-rot miasma? Do these barbaric Orcs intend to exterminate every living, breathing soul within a thousand miles?!" The old general panted heavily, his ragged breathing echoing through the silent chamber. His eyes were wide, burning with profound agony and rage. As a legendary defensive commander who had bled for the human front lines his entire life, Rodman knew exactly what this meant.

The Misty Swamp might be a treacherous hellscape, but it wasn't just home to Greywater Village, the Crimson Moon Knights, Ironwood Fortress, and Lone Cliff. It was the sanctuary hiding tens of thousands of desperate human refugees fleeing the fires of war! Once the [Cult of the Withered] ignited their plague alchemy wagons at the wind gaps, the highly virulent toxic gas would ride the howling northern winter winds...

If even a single infected, coughing refugee managed to flee across the border, the entirety of the Silvermoon Kingdom's northern provinces would drown in festering boils, coughing blood, and apocalyptic death!

"General... we must immediately order all frontline units to seal their water sources! We must petition the Royal Court to urgently dispatch massive stockpiles of anti-venom herbs and Purification Scrolls to Ironwood Fortress and Greywater Village!" a junior adjutant pleaded, dropping to one knee, his voice trembling with terror.

"Dispatch?" General Rodman felt as though he had just heard the sickest, most twisted joke in the world. The burning light in his eyes instantly dimmed, replaced by a suffocating wave of profound powerlessness. He collapsed heavily into his bear-skin-draped armchair, all the strength leaving his aged body.

"Do you honestly believe the Prince Regent sitting on his golden throne, or that conniving, power-hungry Duke Fernando, gives a single damn about the lives of the soldiers bleeding in the muck?" The old general let out a hollow, desolate laugh.

"They've been losing their minds over the fact that Soren is operating entirely outside their control behind enemy lines, refusing to bow to their political dictates."

"Now that the Orcs are planning to unleash a mass plague, those high-and-mighty lords in the capital are probably laughing in their sleep!"

"They are practically begging for the Orcs to do their dirty work. They want the plague to bury Soren, the Crimson Moon Knights, and every last refugee in that swamp, entirely wiping the slate clean!"

"When a nation loses its soul... the rotting noble houses will be our ruin..." Rodman tilted his head back, hot tears swirling in his aged eyes. He possessed a thousand lifetimes' worth of fury, yet in this moment, he was left with nothing but agonizing sorrow....... Simultaneously, on the southern borders of the Misty Swamp, the Holy Halycon Empire, Megalith Fortress. A heavy blizzard raged outside.

Massive, freezing flakes battered against the obsidian walls of the fortress, which towered dozens of meters into the sky. Grand Duke Valentine, the supreme commander overseeing the entire northern front of the Empire, was currently radiating an oppressive, volcanic fury that made the very air in the room feel heavy.

"Well played, Warchief Blackstone! Well played, Cult of the Withered!" Grand Duke Valentine gripped the red-stamped emergency intelligence report dispatched from Greywater Village by Soren. His grip was so intensely tight that the thick parchment was crumpled into a tight ball.

"Since they can't win in a frontal, honorable clash of steel, they resort to the most despicable, underhanded methods imaginable to turn the Misty Swamp into a catastrophic hellscape!" The Grand Duke laughed out of sheer fury, the sound echoing with boundless killing intent in the cavernous, heated chamber. Standing nearby, his chief tactician, General Marr, frowned deeply and quickly stepped forward to offer an analysis:"Please quell your anger, Your Grace.

Our Holy Halycon Empire boasts a highly developed structure of Holy Priests, and our national treasuries are heavily stocked with anti-toxic magical herbs and Holy Water. Our natural resistance to plagues is extremely high. However..."

"However, the moment this plague spreads, the Empire's borderlands will still suffer astronomical losses!" Grand Duke Valentine's eyes went wide with rage, cutting straight to the absolute core of the crisis:"A plague does not recognize national borders! When the toxic winds from the swamp blow over, they will contaminate our border farmlands! They will poison the warhorses grazing in our pastures!"

"Tens of thousands of infected vagrants and frenzied beasts will stampede in every direction! No matter how impregnable the Empire's defensive walls are, they will be riddled with holes by this invisible, suffocating gas!" Grand Duke Valentine took a deep, steadying breath, forcefully smoothing out the crumpled parchment on his desk.

"This Soren..." The Grand Duke's voice was filled with unrestrained praise and profound awe.

"To be able to so calmly and accurately dissect the enemy's geopolitical strategic intent, and to instantly issue a continent-wide early warning to his allies!"

"Marr!" The Grand Duke spun around, his cape billowing.

"Issue my supreme military decree! Effective immediately, the entire border front enters maximum combat readiness! Mobilize every single priest from the rear-echelon monasteries and deploy them to the front lines! Order the alchemical workshops to work day and night, running their cauldrons raw to mass-produce antidotes!"