Chương 38: 38:The War Monster

Son of Titan. Shadow Priest. Ironwood Fortress. Tore down the gates and withdrew. Soren. The old commander drew in a sharp breath of cold air.

"They weren't heading for your Ironwood Fortress..." Galahad replied, "Yes. Soren said Ironwood Fortress simply got in the way of their purging operation."

"Warchief Blackstone sent out this trump card for one reason only: to wipe out Soren's small squad of a few dozen men in the heavy fog." Beneath the sheer absurdity of the situation lay a spine-chilling truth. The true target of that deadly trump card—a murderous force so terrifying it would make even the King hesitate—was actually just a single frontline captain. The devastating battle Ironwood Fortress had endured was nothing more than the accidental collateral damage of their passing.

"Galahad." Rodman slowly sank back into his chair. The shock in his eyes had morphed into a feverish excitement.

"Your rigid tactics aren't worth a tenth of his adaptability."

"And what's truly terrifying isn't just this tactic of Soren's."

"A shallow water ambush. Hiding beneath barely a foot of freezing, stagnant water swarming with leeches."

"Sixty-five men, holding their position in agonizing silence."

"If even one of them let slip a single breath bubble, if just one man's muscles cramped, that high-tier Shadow Priest would have noticed. Within half a second, he would have turned that entire marsh into a pool of thick gore."

"But he pulled it off." Rodman furrowed his brow deeply.

"This proves that not only does he possess a brilliant tactical mind, but those sixty-five light infantrymen under his command have completely abandoned all fear of death."

"Just what kind of terrifying leadership does that require?"

"Listen closely, Galahad. If it had been your five hundred spearmen standing in those shallows against that enemy squad today, instead of the Son of Titan..."

"... You wouldn't have made it back to Ironwood Fortress. Your entire force would have been annihilated!" Galahad's eye twitched violently. But he couldn't refute it. If his Ironwood Fortress troops were caught in that shallow water ambush, his proud phalanx of spearmen wouldn't have even touched the enemy's shadows. A heavy silence fell over the hidden chamber once more. Suddenly, Rodman stood up as a realization abruptly connected the dots in his mind.

He walked over to his bookshelf and pulled out several military gazettes and battle reports that had been delivered to him recently. Because he was a retired general idling at home, this intelligence had reached him with a slight delay. Last month. Less than three thousand members of the Crimson Moon Knights had fiercely defended the Storm Rift Fortress, surrounded and besieged by an army of tens of thousands of orcs from the Blackstone Warband.

With an overwhelming disparity in forces and their supply lines cut, it had been a hellish, hopeless situation. Even if he, Rodman, had held the commander's seal and led the campaign personally, he would only be confident in saving a little over half of the troops through a fighting retreat. But... Leona hadn't retreated. The military reports received by the Royal Capital stated that within the Storm Rift, the alchemical fire oil on Warchief Blackstone's supply wagons had mysteriously exploded.

Furthermore, from over a kilometer away, an unknown arrow had snapped the forearm Warchief Blackstone used to shield his heart. This sudden loss of command broke the all-out siege of the tens of thousands of orcs, forcing them to open their encirclement and ultimately allowing the Crimson Moon Knights to rout them. At the time, as the dignitaries of the Silvermoon Kingdom clinked their wine glasses, they all chalked it up to the Goddess of Fortune smiling upon the female commander's greatsword.

Even Rodman had believed it was just a desperate gamble in a dire situation—a blind cat miraculously finding a dead mouse. But now... Rodman slammed the reports back onto the desk. He finally understood!

"No... it wasn't Leona. That commander, who only knows how to hack and slash with a giant sword, could never pull off a ruthless kilometer-long sniper shot against an enemy commander, nor could she precisely detonate alchemical fire oil." Rodman's eyes locked intensely onto the faintly glowing communication array. All of these seemingly impossible, logic-defying miracles perfectly overlapped with the name Galahad had just reported.

"Soren." Rodman savored the name on his tongue. This was the man who was using the swamp's environment to systematically choke off the orcs' breathing room within the Misty Swamp. Not only had he saved the entire Crimson Moon Knights, but now, by continuously slaughtering orcs in this very swamp, he had driven Warchief Blackstone to absolute madness. The Warchief was willing to pay any price to eliminate Soren's squad first!

"He's a monster of war..." Rodman took a deep breath. He looked at Galahad's projection.

"Galahad, the tides in the swamp have turned."

"For years, we've only focused on building fortresses to protect the refugees in the swamp from being slaughtered and eaten alive by the orcs."

"Since Soren has already initiated a counterattack in the swamp and struck a painful blow to the Blackstone Warband, we can abandon our purely defensive strategy. We must launch tactical strikes and join Soren in a counter-offensive against the orcs!" If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"But, My Lord..." Galahad touched the hilt of the longsword at his waist."Ironwood Fortress has just lost fifty elites. Our forces are spread too thin..."

"I'm not so senile as to send you to your death, " Rodman interrupted.

"I will dispatch a general and reinforcements from the Royal Capital to replenish your ranks." Galahad was stunned.

"Who?" he asked. In a royal court obsessed with parliamentary bickering, endless banquets, and debauchery, there were very few candidates actually capable of fighting a grueling war in the muck of the swamp.

"Gabriel, " Rodman stated. The scion of the pragmatist noble military faction! Just a month ago, it was this very Gabriel who had led a few retainers deep into the mist to scout the orcs' movements, successfully delivering the intelligence back to the Royal Capital. When it came to navigating the poisonous trees, sinkholes, and miasma paths of the swamp, Gabriel wouldn't be stumbling blindly—he was practically a living map!

Furthermore, Gabriel himself specialized in Lightning-attribute Knight Swordsmanship, possessing the offensive power to blast through the thick armor of the orcs. Add that to his glorious track record of independently leading a squadron of seven hundred lancers in a direct charge that slaughtered a host of Blackstone Boarmen... Galahad's eyes lit up." If Sir Gabriel brings reinforcements, Ironwood Fortress's zone of control could be expanded by at least fifty miles!" Rodman nodded.

"I will draft the orders in my name and transfer Gabriel and his forces to your command."

"With him assisting you, your forces will be vastly strengthened. That way, you won't be a burden holding Soren's squad back." The magic array began to dim and flicker. Rodman stood up and popped the collar of his heavy coat, his gaze piercing Galahad with razor-sharp intensity.

"Pass a message to him for me."

"If the opportunity arises..." Rodman paused." I must meet this Soren." Pop. The mana crystal exhausted its final shred of energy, and the mithril lines carved into the stone pedestal went completely dark. Rodman's projection dissolved into motes of light, fading away in the damp underground cellar. A few days later. The endless, freezing rain over the Misty Swamp had finally ceased. The winch of Ironwood Fortress's drawbridge groaned as two thick hemp ropes pulled taut.

With a heavy thud, the drawbridge slammed into the thick mud on the far side of the moat. The clatter of hooves shattered the stillness of the puddles. One hundred cavalrymen, clad in chainmail and carrying light combat crossbows on their backs, filed through the fortress gates. The leading warhorse was exceptionally massive. The knight atop it unfastened his woolen cloak, revealing a breastplate engraved with the crest of Lightning Vines. The pragmatist noble general, Gabriel.

However, riding side-by-side with Gabriel was a pure black draft horse. The woman atop it wore no cloak—only a set of exceptionally thick, full-body plate armor. A massive broadsword was slung diagonally across her back. The Commander of the Crimson Moon Knights, Leona. The two dismounted and strode up the stone steps of the main keep. As she walked, Leona reached up to brush a dead leaf off her shoulder.

"Sir Gabriel, if your scouts hadn't been so sharp back there, my vanguard battalion would have peppered your light crossbowmen with arrows, mistaking them for wilderness bandits." Two days ago, as Gabriel led his troops into the Misty Swamp, he had accidentally stumbled right into the defensive perimeter established by Leona's main force of two thousand six hundred soldiers. The Crimson Moon Knights already had their arrows nocked.

It wasn't until Gabriel held high the official military decrees of the Silvermoon Kingdom that both sides finally stood down. After confirming that Gabriel was en route to reinforce Ironwood Fortress, Leona—who conveniently needed to get a clear picture of the allied deployments in the area—decided to bring a squad of guards and travel alongside him. Gabriel flipped up his helmet's visor and offered a word of praise,"Your encampment is exceptionally well-fortified.

Three layers of overlapping open and hidden sentries."

"The fact that the main force of the Crimson Moon hasn't rotted away in this swamp has defied the expectations of many back in the Royal Capital." As they spoke, the two pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the main stone keep. The interior was dim, illuminated only by the crackling braziers at either end of a long table. Galahad sat beside the table. His eyes were completely bloodshot, his eye sockets sunken from severe exhaustion. Hearing the doors open, Galahad looked up.

"You're Leona? I saw you once at the Military Academy. Even you're here?" Leona's eyelid twitched. She recognized Galahad. This was the arrogant general who had once drawn his sword to duel an instructor at the Royal Military Academy. Yet the man sitting before her looked utterly defeated and deeply depressed.

"What happened?" Leona asked. She unslung the door-sized greatsword from her back and planted it heavily against the stone floor.