Chapter 151

An expansive green pasture stretched endlessly, with a crystal-clear river cutting through the vast grassland.

This place, which should have been teeming with vitality, was instead shrouded in dead silence. Viewed from high above, the verdant plains were densely dotted with countless tiny black specks—each one a human figure.

Sunlight beat down upon cold iron armor, casting a chilling glare that reflected an oppressive atmosphere.

Two armies had converged upon this plain as if by prior arrangement, the distance between them closing to less than four kilometers.

The mode of warfare in this world was both immensely complex and terribly simple. In conflicts between nations, whichever side's supreme powerhouse triumphed would claim ultimate victory.

The role of the ordinary rank-and-file was merely to occupy territory; the trajectory of a war was never decided by common folk. Only if the supreme powerhouses of both sides stalemated and failed to settle the outcome would the armies finally be brought into play.

Of course, powerful knight orders could also dictate the course of a war, but knight orders possessing the might of supreme powerhouses were vanishingly rare. Neither the Dawn Kingdom nor the Kexian Kingdom possessed knight orders of that caliber, leaving such battles entirely in the hands of the respective supreme powerhouses.

King against king, soldier against soldier.

Once matters deteriorated to this state, scheming and plotting became nearly impossible. The most direct and effective approach was a head-on collision.

The two armies deployed into formation, poised for a decisive clash.

The Dawn Kingdom deployed standard armored pikemen, each soldier wielding a long spear in one hand and a shield in the other.

Among them, the knight phalanxes—carrying heavy iron shields nearly two meters tall—were interspersed within the ranks of the foot soldiers.

Because the army led by the king consisted of knights and noble retainers from the core territories of the kingdom, men accustomed to good food, fine clothing, and meat at every meal, they were quite robustly built. Although they fell short of transcendent knights, they were still several times better off than the slaves and commoners arrayed against them, especially in the brutal environment of the battlefield.

Ordinary transcendent knights, stripped of the support of military formations, were in truth not much stronger than ordinary men, for they remained flesh and blood, vulnerable to a sharp blade that could pierce their vitals. The longer a battle dragged on, the more chaotic it became, leaving no way to guard against every threat.

At the very rear, standard doctrine dictated the presence of a mage corps, tasked with endlessly hurling simple, efficient, and devastating fireballs. Yet, not a single spellcaster was to be seen.

The king had left all the kingdom's spellcasters—practitioners of the primary spell corridors—behind in the capital, where they would be of vital assistance to the new monarch in the days to come.

Kexian’s forces, unlike the uniform standard-issue equipment of the Dawn Kingdom, displayed a chaotic jumble of gear and troop types. Some wore Chen'ao armor in the style of the Dawn Kingdom; others wore sand-proof headscarves and yellowish-brown scorpion-shell armor; a few commoners even clutched mere wooden clubs.

Their numbers were staggering, easily eclipsing the Dawn Kingdom's forces by more than a dozen times.

At the very front of the army, the King of Dawn sat astride a towering, magnificent steed, a gorgeous gold-and-crimson cloak rippling in the wind.

His temples were streaked with gray, his aged skin speckled with senile spots, and his blue eyes as clear as the summer sky.

"One, two, three... no, five. Where did those extra two come from?" The king gazed up at the sky, sweeping his gaze across the horizon, a trace of a self-mocking smile touching his lips.

"I originally only intended to lure out that desert rat, but it seems they've all come. Heh, it appears Dawn has truly been in decline for too long—so long that everyone regards my kingdom as a juicy piece of meat, and any stray dog dares to come take a bite."

A profound sorrow welled up from the depths of his heart.

It was entirely unexpected, yet completely within reason.

He was nearing his end. Instead of cowering in the capital to oversee the succession ceremony and crown the new ruler, he had arrogantly led an army northward. It was a profoundly foolish course of action. With his Tier 3 strength, facing Darcytun would undoubtedly result in his death, and there was even a chance the Sword of Dawn might fall into enemy hands.

Out of caution, surrounding nations had not dispatched their own armies, but that did not mean they were ignoring the conflict. On the contrary, they had all gathered here, waiting for him to be slain before stepping in to seize the Sword of Dawn.

Only then would they unleash their armies to carve up and devour the Dawn Kingdom.

In the past, he would never have done such a thing; he would simply have abandoned the north, trading territory away to foreign powers just as he had in previous crises, adding yet another stroke of cowardice to his disgraceful legacy.

"Mark, ask the East March Duke's men if they can reach the Duke right now. I have some words for him."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Mark leaped high, utilizing a specialized technique to vault through the air, swiftly soaring over the formation of one hundred thousand men and heading toward the rear.

Ten minutes later, Mark returned to the king's side, holding a brick-sized walkie-talkie.

Due to logistical constraints, portal dimensions, gravitational constants, forbidden-zone orbital calculations, and various other issues, Xuanlü lacked the capability to launch satellites in this world. To ensure communication, Xuanlü had developed a vast number of portable solar-powered relay stations, relying on numerous radio base stations to make up for the absence of satellites.

Along the route, the troops delivering fireworks and firecrackers had similarly set up these rudimentary communication relay stations.

This walkie-talkie was connected to the base station deployed by Xuanlü at the rear of the army, establishing a direct link with the base far away in the Eastern March. The accompanying Xuanlü soldiers did not know the purpose behind the king's request, but they raised no objection.

The king took the walkie-talkie, placing it familiarly to his ear. "Duke, how have you been lately?"

The device emitted a crackling static. A few seconds later, a steady male voice sounded from the speaker.

[Your Majesty, I am doing quite well. You, on the other hand, are nearly dead.]

"Hahaha, the Duke is as blunt as ever. Duke, I hear you have agreed to Irene's proposal of marriage."

[Indeed. This marital alliance is a risk-free, profitable venture for Xuanlü. However, all of this hinges on Irene becoming the Lord of Dawn. If she cannot, the deal is off.]

"Xuanlü, is it? ...Duke, we truly are cut from the same cloth. Do you believe I will succeed?"

The other end of the line fell silent for a long moment.

[Your Majesty, do you wish to hear the truth or a lie?]

"Speak your mind, Duke."

[No. Regardless of what you do now, you remain an incompetent king—an utterly incompetent monarch. History will leave behind only a few scant sentences about you, for Your Majesty is simply too mediocre, falling short even of history's tyrants in the realm of incompetence.]

"Hahahahaha, it seems I am a failure indeed, unable even to surpass others in incompetence."

[Your Majesty, the battle is about to begin. State your business.]

"Can the Dawn be entrusted to the Duke?"

[...Your Majesty, I have a particular hobby: crushing things that offend my eyes. And what offends me most are slaves, nobles, and capitalists. Are you certain you wish to hand Dawn over to me?]

The king's expression froze for a moment before he burst into hearty laughter. "Duke, you are truly no ordinary man. I have a premonition that you will turn this world upside down in the days to come. Dawn does not belong to a king, nor to the nobility—it belongs to the true, literal shimmer of light after the dawn."

"Can the Dawn be entrusted to the Duke?" the king asked once more.

[Yes.]

"Very well. Then I entrust Dawn to you."

Clutching the Sword of Dawn, bathed in blinding golden radiance, the king leaped high into the air, standing like a deity overlooking the earth.

In the distance, countless fine grains of sand churned upward, forming a giant hundreds of meters tall. The titan possessed no lower body, its massive arms planted upon the ground, its mouth a gaping fissure, and its empty, hollow eyes burning with the malice of a demon.

Darcytun stood atop the titan's head, gazing at the radiant King of Dawn floating ahead, a flicker of surprise crossing his mind.

This hiding tortoise still had some fight in him; he wasn't quite as weak as anticipated. Still, he remained absolute garbage through and through.

Darcytun was filled with utter disdain, an attitude not entirely born of arrogance, for even the surrounding nations held the King of Dawn in contempt. The fellow could hardly be called a monarch; the royal artifact in his hands was used not to expand borders or defend the realm, but to bludgeon his own lords.

He was an utter anomaly—a king incapable of reining in his own subjects, turning a blind eye to the encroachment of neighboring powers and carving away slices of his own territory every few years.

"All forces, charge!"

As per tradition, let the commoners clash first to warm up the atmosphere.

...

Hoo~

A deep, low horn sounded. Kexian initiated the assault, its troops marching with heavy, deliberate steps toward the Dawn army.

At the very vanguard were commoners, serfs, and freemen clad in coarse hemp, armed with wooden clubs. They accounted for sixty percent of the total force; the remainder consisted of the various lords' knight orders and Kexian's regular troops.

Drawn blades pressed against their backs, driving them relentlessly forward.

...

Weber Covell was born into an ordinary knightly family; for generations, his ancestors had served as retainers to the local lords. In his youth, reading biographies of knights, tales of wandering bards, and tavern legends, he—like most young men of knightly stock—had dreamed of growing up to become a mighty transcendent.

He would slay terrible monsters, rescue the kingdom, and marry a princess.

His family was fortunate. Unlike other knightly lineages that had declined due to a generational gap in transcendent talent, his family had begun to thrive by his generation.

At just forty years of age, he had already become a full-fledged knight, successfully entering the ranks of the nobility. (In terms of income, an entry-level knight could sustain a comfortably middle-class household; a Tier 1 knight enjoyed a wealthy household; and a Tier 2 knight held a non-hereditary noble title.)

Yet in the span of mere days, everything had changed.

Clad in his family's heirloom armor, holding a heavy iron shield nearly two meters tall, he listened to his heart hammer against his ribs while pressing close to his comrades.

This was the first time he had ever participated in a war of this scale, and everyone around him felt the same.

Because of the king's ineptitude and cowardice, aside from the suppression campaign led by Queen Irene over a decade ago, there had been no foreign wars to speak of. Whenever enemies attacked, they were forced to flee and surrender their territory.

Once upon a time, he had found such humiliation galling, cursing the king's uselessness. Yet now, he found himself beginning to understand the king's methods.

"Raise shields!"

The knight-captain roared.

Every man immediately hoisted his shield into position. The next moment, a dense barrage of attacks crashed against the iron barriers. The force and density of the strikes were so great that the impact sent shockwaves vibrating up through Weber’s arms.

The din of deafening impacts rang endlessly in his ears, his heart pounding wildly as death seemed to loom inches away.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the air beside him. Subconsciously turning his head, Weber saw a massive arrow pierce through a shield, gouging out his companion's eye.

It was a specialized shield-breaking arrow inscribed with spell corridors.

A piece of bad luck, Weber thought, offering a silent prayer of mourning while feeling a flicker of relief.

Though such arrows weren't exceptionally precious, they weren't cheap either. They were typically mixed in with ordinary arrows, a deadly lottery on the battlefield.

"Are you alright?"

"It hurts! My eye!"

His comrade's cry ignited Weber's own buried terror, touching off the hidden anxieties of everyone around them.

"Hold the line, all of you! Anyone who wants to live, hold your ground!"

Sensing the danger, the knight-captain unleashed a battle roar, forcefully rallying the wavering morale.

Under the influence of the roar, Weber felt a sudden surge of stability in his heart. He took a deep breath, determined to calm himself and use all his strength to survive this battle.

Weber, you can do this!

Then, halfway through his inhalation, he choked.

An intensely pungent, foul odor invaded his senses. Coughing fits erupted around him as his comrades began to retch.

After coughing half a dozen times, Weber felt the air grow searingly hot. Pushing his shield aside just a fraction, he was greeted by a sea of flame.

Amidst the roaring fire, demonic human silhouettes thrashed in agony, their heart-rending screams piercing his ears.

"What is the meaning of this?!"