Chương 89: 89：Leona's Pride

Soren looked out over the group of second-line soldiers gathered before him.

"Ein, step forward!"

"Sir!" Ein snapped his boot down and puffed out his chest.

"I have decided that today, we officially form an elite Longbow Unit, fifty men strong!" Pointing at the hundred and one spearmen standing behind Kyle, Soren issued his orders to Ein.

"Test them, one by one! Sift through this spear formation and pick out the fifty men with the absolute greatest arm strength!" A one-hundred-and-fifty-pound military heavy bow was no laughing matter. Without specialized training and tremendous arm strength, forget about aiming—just pulling the string back halfway was a monumental challenge. If drawn forcibly without proper technique, the immense tension could easily snap the user's fingers clean off!

However, thanks to the vast stores of flour and dried meat Soren had seized, these men had been eating their fill every single day. Coupled with their continuous, daily training wielding three-meter black-iron spears… Brute strength was the one thing these men did not lack!

"First rank! Step forward! Take a bow!" Ein barked, his gaze sweeping over his daily comrades without a shred of favoritism. A burly soldier with a scarred, meaty face tossed his shield aside, marched up to the wooden crate, and snatched up a longbow. He sucked in a deep breath. The veins in his arms bulged, and his face turned beet red as he forcefully drew the braided bowstring back until the bow curved like a full moon!

"Not bad! Solid stance! Go stand on the left!" Ein bellowed, clapping the man heavily on the shoulder. Another, slightly leaner soldier stepped up. He gritted his teeth and yanked backward, but he managed to draw the string only twenty percent of the way before his arms began to shake violently. His fingers slipped. Thwack! The bowstring snapped back, whipping brutally against the back of his hand and instantly raising a thick, bloody welt.

"Go back to holding your shield! No core strength, no steady footing! On the battlefield, you'd just shoot the back of an ally's head! Next!" After a grueling, full hour of drawing tests. Out of the hundred and one men, exactly fifty broad-shouldered, barrel-chested soldiers with astonishing arm strength were handpicked. Each of them was issued a military-grade longbow and four fully loaded quivers, each holding thirty armor-piercing arrows. Soren strode to the absolute front of the fifty-man formation.

"From this day forth, you are Greywater Village's premier Longbow Unit!" Soren casually drew a slender, three-edged armor-piercing bodkin arrow.

"Against any Orc not wearing heavy armor, these will punch clean through! Within a hundred paces, I expect your arrows to shred those greenskins' muscles, and even pierce their armor!" Soren turned around.

"Ein, at attention!"

"Sir!" Soren declared, "I officially appoint you as the Captain of the Longbow Unit. Effective immediately, you will lead these fifty men in high-intensity archery training! You are relieved of all other duties! Train them half to death!

"I want their thumbs blistering and bleeding until they form iron calluses! I want them to be capable of unleashing an entire quiver of thirty armor-piercing arrows in under a single minute! Do I make myself clear?!"

"Crystal clear, Sir! The First Longbow Unit will become the nightmare of any who stand against us!" Ein roared, lifting his longbow and raising it high toward the sky. …… Back at the Crimson Moon Knights' camp, the inescapable stench of rotting mud hung in the air, as it did year-round. The rain had only recently stopped, leaving the sky heavy and overcast, pressing down ominously from above.

Inside the spacious command tent at the very center of the camp, Leona irritably tossed her charcoal pencil onto a parchment map. Her stunningly beautiful face—always possessing a certain feral wildness—was currently twisted in sheer frustration. Ever since she received Soren's utterly absurd battle report, the notoriously hot-tempered and fiercely protective female Commander had felt like a hundred cats were scratching at the inside of her chest. She desperately wanted to visit Greywater Village herself.

She needed to see with her own eyes exactly how the Captain of her First Vanguard Unit—a man she had effectively exiled—had managed to raise a private army capable of slaying a Son of Titan while surviving in such a desperate environment. It wasn't just her. Even the newly appointed High Priestess, Elena, had expressed a strong desire to make a trip out to Greywater Village.

After all, to establish any semblance of order in this filthy swamp—a place so vile that even the gaze of the Gods struggled to pierce it—required truly incomprehensible ability.

"But I can't just leave..." Leona let out a long sigh, her eyes sweeping over the mountain of defense logs piled high on her desk. The Crimson Moon Knights' two thousand six hundred personnel were currently bogged down at the swamp's edge. Managing their daily rations and supplies, overseeing the excavation of deep trenches, and keeping a constant vigil against Orc guerrilla squads that could burst from the thick fog at any moment—it was a crushing mountain of tedious military logistics.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Not to mention, Elena couldn't leave either. The stunningly beautiful and righteous Priestess had only just arrived. Between comforting the wounded, performing purification rites for the fallen souls, and counseling cavalrymen slipping into battle-induced depression, all of her energy was thoroughly depleted.

Elena's snow-white clerical robes hadn't been fully dry for days; the hem of her dress was constantly stained with stubborn flecks of mud that refused to wash out. Neither of them had the luxury of just getting up and leaving. Just as Leona sat staring blankly at the fading sparks in the charcoal brazier, the rapid thud of horse hooves echoed from outside the tent. A guard called out loudly through the tent flap:"Commander!

General Galahad, Commander of the Ironwood Fortress, and General Gabriel are requesting an audience outside the camp!" Leona blinked in surprise, a flash of genuine astonishment crossing her crimson eyes. Ironwood Fortress? Why had they suddenly ridden all the way out to the Crimson Moon Knights' frontline?

"Send them in at once," Leona said, sitting up straight. A moment later, the waterproof felt flap was pulled back, letting in a bitter, biting gust of wind. Stepping in first was Galahad, Commander of the Ironwood Fortress. The once awe-inspiring general of the Silvermoon Kingdom currently looked utterly exhausted. His black-iron plate armor was crisscrossed with countless gouges and scratches.

The relentless, days-long rain seemed to have aggravated his old battle wounds, making his footsteps appear heavy and laboured. Following half a pace behind him was Gabriel, a General sent by the kingdom as reinforcements. A peculiar straight-sword hung at Gabriel's waist. With his every step, the faint scent of ozone—like a thunderstorm brewing—lingered around him, a signature of the Lightning-Enchanted Military Swordsmanship he was so fiercely proud of. Leona stood up and let out a hearty, booming laugh.

"What wind blew you two all the way out to my camp?" Galahad offered a bitter smile, raising a gauntleted hand to wipe the rain from his face.

"Leona, don't poke fun at an old friend. Aside from exchanging intelligence and discussing mutual support along the defense lines, the two of us actually made the trip specifically to pay our respects to High Priestess Elena." Gabriel nodded in agreement beside him. In this dark and precarious era, where survival from morning to night was never guaranteed, faith was one of the few remedies keeping human soldiers from succumbing to outright madness in the face of despair.

Both Galahad and Gabriel were devout believers of the Church of the Bright Moon. Upon hearing that High Priestess Elena—a favored figure before the Pope himself—had condescended to travel to the brutal frontlines of the Crimson Moon Knights, they knew they had to set aside their immediate duties. They came to meet her in person, hoping to seek a blessing from the Moon Goddess. Understanding their intentions, Leona immediately ordered a guard to fetch Elena from the rear camp.

A few moments later, Elena stepped into the tent. She was draped in her signature white robes, her silver hair flowing down her back like a radiant waterfall. The instant they saw her, Galahad and Gabriel—two battle-hardened Generals who wouldn't flinch before a mountain of corpses or a sea of blood—immediately dropped to one knee. They struck their right fists against the left side of their chests and devoutly traced the holy rune of the crescent moon. Elena's expression was righteous yet profoundly gentle.

Reaching out with pale hands, a faint, silvery luminance gathered at her fingertips. She gently rested her hands upon their heads, softly chanting a tranquil prayer of sanctuary. Once the holy formalities were concluded, an orderly brought over several coarse clay bowls and poured out an amber-colored wheat ale from a large earthen jug. A thick layer of white foam settled on top, exuding the strong, bitter aroma of malt.

Here, on the supply-starved frontlines, this was the absolute finest hospitality they could offer. The four of them sat around the warm brazier. Bound by the Church's strict tenets, Elena abstained from the alcohol. She simply sat quietly to the side, leafing through a slender prayer book in her lap. The three military commanders, however, raised their heavy clay bowls, clinked them together in the air with a loud clack, and each took a massive gulp of the bitter ale.

As the liquor hit their stomachs, the stiff atmosphere inside the tent quickly loosened up. The conversation drifted from the muddy trench lines to the recent, abnormal quietness of the Orcs. Before long, it naturally steered toward a name that had recently struck the misty swamps like a bolt of roaring thunder. Soren. At the mere mention of that name, Leona's hand paused over her bowl. Reflecting the dancing flames, her crimson eyes instantly gleamed with an unconcealable burst of absolute pride.

This was her soldier! A man who had marched out from under her command! He was the Captain of the First Vanguard, the very man she had placed such high hopes upon!

"Galahad, Gabriel," Leona purred slyly, setting down her clay bowl and crossing her long legs.

"Since you brought up my subordinate, I'd actually like to test you two veteran commanders today."