"That bastard's clearly a swordsman. How does he have such luck?"
Moongrum arrived with the main force, cutting the banter short. Facing the veteran knight, silent as stone, no one dared crack a joke. They straightened up, all business. Assigning quarters, hauling supplies, organizing equipment—the work dragged on until dusk.
During the handover, Throne pieced together the situation. This was the frontline, just past the Village of the Albinaurics, backed by a towering cliff. Three thousand troops—not massive, but a far cry from the numbers a decade ago. With several heroes and a slew of knight-level fighters, their strength was unmatched in Liurnia.
Allen had erected a massive watchtower on the camp's eastern edge. The group climbed to the top, the cool breeze brushing past as they surveyed the land. Ahead lay a forest, behind them the cliff, and to the north, the lake. Military camps dotted the islands in the lake's center, Cuckoo flags hanging limp over the gates.
Veterans all, they spotted the problem at a glance.
"This terrain's no good for a large-scale battle. Over a thousand men couldn't deploy here."
"Those Cuckoos aren't coming out to die. They're holed up on those islands like cowards."
"Initial reconnaissance puts their numbers at twelve hundred, mostly concentrated in the central camp."
The three lake islands formed a pincer, sitting about two hundred meters from shore—an awkward distance. Arrows fell short, the lake surface exposed, any boats easy targets for enemy fire.
The Cuckoos weren't fools.
Throne rubbed his chin. The Cuckoos were inferior in quality, so tactics would have to bridge the gap. No matter how strong the Carian Knights were, they couldn't cross the lake on reeds. Heavy armor meant certain death in the water.
Sink the boat before the man, shoot the horse before the rider. In this small pond, Throne couldn't conjure a steel warship for the knights to land. The Cuckoos were stalling, plain and simple.
"By the way, is that the Moonlight Altar back there?" Throne asked, abruptly changing the subject.
The others turned. From the watchtower, they could see a massive church.
"Yes, but don't even think about going up there. There's a Glintstone Dragon nesting there."
"The one from the Academy?"
"No, it's been here for ages. Why the sudden interest?"
Throne shook his head, thinking it a shame. But with his current mission, he couldn't abandon it to loot the area. Besides, if he remembered right, it was deadly up there.
He refocused, pointing to the distant camp. "We need to take it down, and fast."
The others looked at him. Who didn't want to wipe out the Cuckoos? The problem was their hedgehog-like defense, clinging to their geographical advantage. Getting close with those small wooden boats was a pipe dream.
"Throne, any ideas?" Moongrum's voice was low.
"Geographical advantage narrows the gap, but it comes down to the blade in the end. Aside from Matthews, they can't stop me."
"But we aren't invincible. We can't just charge the front line." Moongrum flexed his gauntleted fingers. "I could cut down ten Cuckoo Knights alone, but if they pin me down, this armor won't stop a volley of crossbow bolts." He shook his head.
Brute force wouldn't win wars—else the Starscourge General would've conquered the continent solo.
Allen clapped Moongrum's pauldron. "Lord Moongrum, patience. Throne's got tricks to spare."
Tricks? Throne's jaw tightened. Like he was some back-alley schemer. He stared at the dirt between his boots.
Truth was, he wasn't some ancient tactician with contingencies for every scenario. Just one man with a single advantage—this so-called "strategist" could swing a sword bloody enough to matter.
"The Cuckoos' morale's brittle. Execute only the ringleaders. Spare the rest."
"Psychological warfare?" Allen nodded. "That'll work."
The others exchanged glances. No objections.
"Assemble at dawn," Throne said. "Hit their forward camp with long-range volleys first."
"Using lives as fodder?" Moongrum's helm turned sharply. "Why the rush?"
"The faster we break them, the sooner we move to phase two." Throne leaned against the palisade, ignoring their doubt. His palms pressed into rough timber.
"This is the feint. Adula's backing us. The real strike comes from you and me."
A hero's work—plunging into the fray where others couldn't follow.
Allen's fist cracked against the wall. "Of course. Use the army as bait, then crush them with elites." Frost edged his voice. "We've all mastered Thopss Barrier. Mage volleys won't touch us."
"You planned this from the start?"
"Bolls was supposed to lead the distraction." Allen jerked his chin toward camp center, where a massive shield loomed—twice as tall as a city gate. "Then I'd spearhead the real assault."
"The Cuckoos aren't fools." Moongrum crossed his arms. "They've fortified against night raids. And your plan overlooks one gaping hole—"
He thrust a finger toward the command tents. "Their leaders hole up there. You can't just 'execute ringleaders' when they're buried behind five hundred men."
Throne's vision was clean: decapitate leadership, seize their standard, watch morale shatter. But the enemy had prepared for such strikes. A dozen elites might breach the flanks… yet never reach the heart. At best, they'd carve an opening for the main force.
Victory was likely. But the cost? Unacceptable. These weren't just enemies—they were Liurnia's future subjects. Every corpse wasted potential.
"Leave the center to me."
"Don't jest." Moongrum's visor hid his sneer. "You're strong, but scattering five hundred alone? Unless you're Radahn reborn, boy, curb that arrogance."
Throne chuckled. "If a man's not arrogant in his youth, when will he be?"
Throne smiled slightly and pointed toward the middle of the camp. "Relax. I don't gamble with my life."
The others followed his gaze. Near the supply wagons, something thudded violently against wooden bars.
......
The news of the arrival of several hundred Carian Army soldiers couldn't be hidden from anyone. The already nervous Cuckoo Knights immediately went on full alert.
Their current state was incredibly awkward: they couldn't escape, couldn't retreat, couldn't win, and didn't even dare to show any sign of betrayal. Otherwise, if they pushed the Raya Lucaria Academy too far, the Academy could completely abandon them.
Magic professors, after all, had different value and had places to shift the blame. But the Cuckoo Knights, led by Matthews, had long since stained their hands with the blood of the people of Liurnia and would 100% be hanged on the gallows.
The morning light shone through the tent flap.
The knights, who hadn't slept all night, looked at each other. They had argued fiercely for half the night, still without a result. Escape was impossible. The only thing stabilizing the morale now was that everyone had blood on their hands; surrendering meant death.
But once the army set out, deserters would be impossible to stop. There was nowhere to retreat to, either. The Academy still wouldn't allow them in for "coordinated defense," and wouldn't even open the town in front of the gate, making them gnash their teeth in hatred.
Even worse, surrender letters had been shot into the camp in the middle of the night. Matthews opened one, instantly crumpled it into a ball in frustration, the scar on his face looking incredibly ferocious.
"Bastards, they want to wipe us out completely."
Breathing ceased in an instant. It was just like when they had slaughtered and pillaged villages—the expressions on those civilians' faces were now being replicated, nearly identical.
According to the letter, the dozens of knights and mercenary leaders in this large tent all had to die, with no room for negotiation.
Throne had many flaws, but the one thing he didn't understand was repaying evil with kindness.
"Gentlemen, we have no way out." Matthews said with absolute firmness, scanning everyone coldly: "The Academy could have abandoned us, and the Cuckoos could have betrayed the Academy. Since the Carians want us dead, there's nothing left to say. Besides, it's not certain who will win or lose this battle."
He stood up, paced around the large tent, and shouted: "I have received news that the Lunar Princess is involved in a conspiracy. That big shot has always wanted to kill her. If she had stayed hidden in the Royal Manor, fine, but since she dared to come out, the conflict will inevitably intensify."
The oppressive atmosphere finally eased a bit. These knights all knew the Cuckoos had a secret collaborator; simply put, they had people backing them too.
"So as long as we stall, we have a way out?"
"Yes, the Academy is doing everything it can to communicate with them. Trust me, those mages won't give up." Matthews stopped, looking at everyone again. "Tell me, do we fight for our lives, or accept some bullshit trial?"
"Let's do it."
"Kill them!"
"Maybe I'll even get to taste a demigod."
In an instant, swords were drawn in the tent. Everyone was flushed red—this was fighting spirit born of fear, like a trapped beast pushed into a corner.
"Right. Only through fighting, slaughter, and drinking the blood and flesh of the weak can we survive. Don't worry, the camp has been fortified for so long; it won't fall that easily."
Matthews nodded with satisfaction and issued orders in succession.
"First, control the men below; anyone who dares to shake the morale will be executed without mercy. Second, strengthen the guard and keep a constant eye out for sneak attacks by Carian powerhouses. Third, send someone to negotiate, to stall..."
Before he could finish, a panicked messenger ran in.
"Commander! The Carian Army is assembling—they're about to attack!"
What? Knights surged to their feet. The Carian reinforcements had only arrived yesterday, hadn't they?
Matthews's mouth twitched as he slowly fastened his helmet. "Seems our plan's been figured out. Let's move. Once the Carians' blood stains the lake red, they'll calm down. Then we'll talk."
......
Throne barely glanced at the Cuckoos. These once-formidable foes were relics of the past. His only concern was how to obliterate them as quickly as possible.
The clang of armor echoed around him.
From the watchtower, Throne watched the iron tide roll toward the lake in disciplined columns. He'd seen grander displays, but this army was his. Many of its low-to-mid-level officers had fought beside him.
"I've come so far," he murmured. "Finally, I can plan for my own people."
He exhaled softly. Heavy losses weren't an option.
"And yet you insist on taking risks when you could win by playing it safe," Melina shot back.
"I'm the sharpest blade in this army. Playing it safe wastes time."
"Is it really that urgent?"
"No." Throne turned, descending the watchtower with a faint smile. "Those Cuckoos just aren't worth the effort."
He followed the iron tide to the lakeside, where the Carian Army had formed a massive phalanx, facing the Cuckoos across the water. Engineers assembled siege machinery.
The Cuckoos weren't idle—ballistae and trebuchets launched projectiles from afar.
Amidst the chaos, a behemoth pushed to the front. Carian Knight Bolls, clad in heavy armor, wielded a shield like a city gate. Little could breach it, and the high-arcing stones were shattered by accompanying mages.
"If I had Radahn's Gravity Magic," Throne thought, "I'd have Bolls crush them from the front and save us the trouble."
He observed the Carian Knight's strength. From a distance, the Cuckoos wavered. Throne had arrived too quickly—their knights hadn't had time to steady their morale. Fear gripped them.
"Allen and Moongrum are already on the move. Now, I need to make the Cuckoos even more nervous."
"What are you planning?" Melina asked, curious. She'd never seen Throne wage war before.
Braving the hail of crossbow bolts, Throne reached the front. Sparks flew from Bolls's shield as Throne raised his hand.
"Simple. Let them know true terror."
Whoosh—
Purple light erupted. A black hole formed above his head, and meteorites materialized from the void. Throne unleashed his Gravity Magic, its range surpassing even Glintstone Sorcery. The Cuckoo mages could only stare, helpless.
Bolls stepped forward onto the lakeshore, shielding Throne's body.
Then—meteorites whistled across the lake's surface, crashing into the Cuckoos' left camp. Wood splinters flew, ballistae reduced to scrap. Before they could react, a second and third wave of meteorites descended.
Throne became a heavily armored turret, hurling long-range magic as if it cost nothing. His firepower rivaled the trebuchets' barrage.
"All troops, move left! Push the boats out! Trebuchets, concentrate fire!" Bolls barked. The army shifted according to orders.
The sky shattered under fireballs and explosive shells. Water geysers erupted across the lake.
Throne cut his magic.
The Cuckoos were already regrouping troops from two camps—consolidating defenses. A dragon's roar split the air.
Adula prowled the battlefield's edge. Her "old friend" Smarag materialized over the lake, circling the camp. Neither Glintstone Dragon advanced. The sky seethed with enough firepower to shred wings to tatters.
"The actors have all taken the stage." Throne's voice was calm. "That's enough."
He drained a blue flask of crimson tears. Magic surged through his veins. Under the giant shield's cover, he retreated to the rear.
A few silent trebuchets waited. Arnold, sweat gleaming, barked orders at men unloading iron crates.
"Hey." His voice carried over the clatter. "Aim carefully later. Don't just chuck everything into the lake."
A soldier grinned. "Don't worry. I'm the real veteran here."
Arnold patted his chest in assurance, then asked curiously: "By the way, what exactly are you planning to throw in there?"