Thud.
Ghislain Fenris collapsed onto the ground. Blood continued to flow from his mouth, nose, and ears.
This sword, filled with his will, had the power to cut through the very fabric of the world, but the recoil was immense. It consumed a staggering amount of his mental strength.
Yet, what mattered most was that he had ascended to a new realm.
Although the amount of mana he wielded now was less than in his previous life, his understanding and enlightenment had reached a higher level.
Ghislain looked at Aiden's corpse with a mixture of emotions.
"Aiden."
No response came from the lifeless body. The once-confident Aiden was now nothing more than a cold corpse.
Letting out a shallow breath, Ghislain murmured, “Finally, I’ve caught you.”
As one of the "Seven Strongest of the Continent," Aiden had been an extraordinarily difficult opponent.
Just as Ghislain had grown stronger, so too had Aiden. Unexpectedly, the man had always been diligent in his training, despite his overwhelming arrogance.
In truth, Aiden’s obsessive self-love had made him meticulous about self-maintenance and improvement.
But now, Ghislain had finally severed one of the persistent threads of enmity that had connected them through two lives. This was the man who had once taken Ghislain’s life by severing his neck in the previous life.
It was only natural that Ghislain felt some measure of relief.
“Hah... I didn’t get to tear you apart, though.”
He had no particular interest in mutilating a corpse. Besides, Aiden was far too skilled for such a crude ending.
Even in his final moments, Aiden had managed to imitate Ghislain’s newfound level of mastery. Killing him the same way he had died in his past life would have to suffice.
“Lord Ghislaineee!”
“Master!”
“Waaaaah! His Grace has won!”
The knights of Fenris and the cavalry forces erupted into cheers as they rushed toward him.
They could scarcely believe it—His Grace had defeated such a terrifying enemy!
What’s more, the final blow had been incomprehensible. Even though the sword swing had seemed agonizingly slow, the enemy had taken it without any resistance.
The knights chalked it up to both warriors simply exhausting themselves from fighting to the brink.
“Who cares how it happened? We won, and that’s what matters!” shouted Gordon, his joy spilling out into the air.
Victory was enough. Ghislain’s unmatched martial prowess was Fenris’s greatest weapon and source of stability.
The knights began pulling out healing potions and pouring them over Ghislain. By now, this had become something of a ceremonial habit.
“Splash, splash, splash!”
Once again, they drenched his face with potions. Ghislain, too weak to resist, simply accepted it.
Vanessa, clutching her own wounds, rushed over and shouted, “My lord! Are you alright? You can’t lose consciousness now! Focus on my voice! A chicken outnumbers ducks by four, and ducks are nine fewer than pigs, so—”
“...Stop,” Ghislain cut her off wearily. “Don’t do that.”
He had no interest in solving such riddles.
Struggling to his feet, he looked around at the gathered soldiers and knights. “Forget about cleaning up the battlefield. We need to move immediately.”
Vanessa tried to object. “My lord, you must rest and receive proper treatment!”
Ghislain’s condition was dire. While the potions had healed his external wounds, some of Aiden’s mana still lingered within his body.
Completely drained of energy, it would take time to expel all of it.
But Ghislain shook his head firmly. “Count Vipenvelt is moving quickly. I’ll recover on the way.”
Unable to argue further, his subordinates quickly made basic preparations before mounting their horses.
Ghislain, his voice heavy with fatigue and his eyes half-closed, muttered, “Let’s go. There’s not much left.”
There was nothing else to worry about. Once they neutralized Count Vipenvelt’s forces, this war would finally reach its end.
Rumble-rumble-rumble!
Ghislain and the cavalry rode forth once more, their movements full of determination.
They had gained much from the battlefield, but to move quickly, they abandoned it all.
The artists who had been observing from behind the Atrode army had long since fled in terror.
The only thing they managed to take was Aiden’s prized white horse.
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***
Count Vipenvelt, advancing rapidly with his troops, frowned as he listened to the messenger's report.
“What do you mean there’s no contact?”
“We couldn’t find any trace of them, sir. Their location remains unidentifiable.”
Count Vipenvelt halted his army.
He had planned to rendezvous with the forces led by the spy, but even the messenger hadn’t been able to reach them. There was only one possible explanation for such a disruption.
“They’ve been dealt with already.”
Even if the spy’s identity had been discovered, for them to have been eliminated this quickly was too fast.
After pondering for a moment, Vipenvelt nodded.
“It seems the army that split into two moved faster than expected.”
The forces of the 9th and 10th divisions must have been handled by the Ruthanian army. That much was certain, which was why Vipenvelt had chosen not to go after them himself.
Likely, the Ruthanian forces that dealt with the 9th and 10th divisions had swiftly turned their attention to the spy’s troops and eliminated them.
“Tch, what a shame.”
While he hadn’t expected to bring the spy’s entire army, even a portion of their forces could have been useful as cannon fodder.
It would’ve been nice to use them as arrow shields, but that chance was now lost.
“Still, soon enough, either Duke Fenris or the Turian prince will be dead.”
The 2nd and 4th divisions were advancing together. No matter how strong those two were, they wouldn’t be able to withstand the combined assault of two divisions.
Vipenvelt felt confident that good news would arrive soon.
The 3rd division was a concern, but as long as they could buy time, it wouldn’t matter.
“Let’s move. It’s regrettable, but there’s no choice.”
After all, the spy-led army had only been intended as a distraction. Vipenvelt was confident that his 1st division alone was more than enough to defeat the weakened Ruthanian forces.
Rumble-rumble-rumble!
The 1st division surged forward at a grueling pace.
With a force of 30,000 strong, there was much to carry and organize, even when trying to move swiftly.
Despite this, they were making excellent time. Count Vipenvelt’s confidence in using such mobility to win battles stemmed from his army’s efficiency.
At this pace, they would arrive on schedule—assuming nothing interfered.
“Stop for a moment!”
A 6th-circle mage from the 1st division suddenly called out.
Before anyone could ask what was happening, the mage unleashed his mana. Other mages quickly followed suit, radiating their own mana.
Seeing this, Count Vipenvelt barked an immediate command.
“Stop! Everyone halt!”
Neigh!
The sudden order to stop threw the advancing formation into chaos.
But the mages ignored the disarray, focusing entirely on pouring their mana into the ground ahead.
Soon, the earth trembled slightly, and small flames burst forth from multiple locations.
Whistle...
The flames were faint and unimpressive, clearly diminished in power.
They flickered across several spots on the battlefield.
“What’s going on?” Vipenvelt asked with a frown.
One of the mages clicked his tongue in frustration as he replied.
“It’s a trap. Significant amounts of mana are emanating from underground. It appears they’ve used runestones to set up an ambush.”
“In that case...”
The mage scanned the area with sharp eyes.
“Yes. There’s a mage nearby who activated this array. They must be hiding somewhere close.”
“Search the area immediately! Check for more traps!”
The soldiers and mages carefully examined the path ahead. The sheer number of buried runestones boggled the mind.
Invaluable time was being wasted on clearing this nuisance.
Count Vipenvelt clenched his teeth in frustration.
“These bastards are truly determined.”
No one but the Ruthanian army used runestones so liberally, as though they were mere pebbles.
It was obvious who was behind this.
“That Jerome fellow, no doubt.”
The interference was blatant. Vipenvelt was beginning to regret letting him go earlier.
Finding the hidden mage wasn’t even a challenge.
“There he is!”
“Catch him!”
“Deploy the mana barrier!”
As expected, the culprit was Jerome.
The moment his position was revealed, Jerome bolted. He widened the gap between him and his pursuers before using a teleportation spell to escape.
Both Count Vipenvelt and Gatros bit their lips in frustration.
The man was maddeningly elusive and endlessly troublesome.
While the 1st division grew increasingly annoyed, Jerome was suffering just as much.
“Huff... Huff... Damn, this is exhausting.”
Jerome glanced down at the long slash across his chest, grimacing.
“Wow, that took forever to heal.”
The wound Aiden had inflicted was only now beginning to close. The mana left within the injury had been wreaking havoc in his body.
To conserve mana, he had only administered basic first aid.
Even though he had reached the level where he could recover mana through breathing, the enemies he faced were too powerful for that alone to suffice.
“I’ll take a short break before continuing.”
Jerome’s mission was to hinder the enemy and buy time.
The problem was, he had no idea how long he was supposed to keep doing this.
He couldn’t tell how the war was progressing, so all he could do was repeat the same actions over and over.
Fortunately, Jerome was used to such monotony. His work with artifacts had made him a remarkably patient man.
“Well, time to get back to it.”
After a brief rest, Jerome resumed his task. Moving ahead of the 1st division, he began preparing new traps.
His subspace still contained a small stash of runestones. Although he could absorb the mana from the stones, it was far more convenient ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ to use them for traps.
Quickly carving new arrays, he buried the runestones across the area. Once triggered, they would explode after a delay.
When the 1st division appeared on the horizon, Jerome activated the traps, smirking.
The runestones would buy him some time, even if the enemy managed to disarm them.
However, the enemy’s response soon changed.
Boom! Boom!
Gatros was now leading the charge. Each time he moved, black energy surged from his weapon, burrowing into the ground.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The runestones detonated as they came into contact with Gatros’s energy. As he detected their mana, he unleashed waves of power, neutralizing the traps en masse.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
In an instant, the carefully laid traps were rendered useless.
Jerome clicked his tongue in disappointment as he observed.
“...What a brutish way to handle things.”
At this rate, the 1st division would be significantly drained by the time they reached the battlefield. That they continued expending energy this recklessly could only mean they were confident in their chances of victory, even in such a state.
“Well, if that’s how they want to play, I’ll just have to keep them entertained a bit longer.”
Boom!
Jerome shot forward like a streak of light. Mana blades glowed brightly in his hands.
“You’re here!” Gatros roared, his eyes ablaze.
“Let’s not rush things too much,” Jerome quipped.
Crash!
The two clashed without exchanging further words. Priests and knights swarmed around Jerome, launching attacks from all sides.
As one of the "Seven Strongest of the Continent," Jerome held his ground admirably, even under such a relentless assault.
Despite the injuries he had yet to fully recover from and the fatigue from repeatedly hindering the Atrode forces, Jerome managed to keep fighting.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The pressure from all sides was overwhelming. While fighting, Jerome gradually widened the distance between himself and his enemies. Spotting an opportunity, he leapt aside and taunted them.
“If you chase me, you’ll just waste more time! Feel free to follow if you can afford it!”
Though his provocation risked his life, it was a worthwhile gamble to buy time.
Gatros and the priests found it increasingly difficult to pursue him.
One man continued to delay an entire army.
Jerome’s evasive tactics made him a frustratingly elusive target.
While they could catch him if they dedicated all their forces to hunting him down, the Atrode army couldn’t afford to focus solely on Jerome.
“You damned bastard!” Gatros cursed, seething with rage.
With no choice but to advance cautiously, Gatros, the priests, and elite knights led the charge. Even the mages moved closer to the frontlines.
Jerome returned several more times to disrupt their path, but the Atrode army’s responses grew more aggressive.
In the end, Jerome, exhausted, had no choice but to retreat.
“I’ve done all I can.”
The battle was nearing. To assist his allies, Jerome needed to recover his mana.
Finding a secluded spot, he settled down to rest.
Thanks to his efforts, the Atrode forces had lost significant time.
Count Vipenvelt spurred his army onward, shouting, “Faster! We must deal with the Ruthanian forces before they regroup!”
If they could eliminate one front before reinforcements arrived, the war would turn in their favor.
Rumble-rumble-rumble!
At last, they reached the allied forces’ critical stronghold.
This location was crucial. It sat at the center of all routes, making it the most efficient point for receiving supplies and reinforcements.
Most importantly, it provided a direct connection to Sardina Kingdom, the heart of the allied forces’ supply chain.
Losing this stronghold would sever the allied forces’ logistics and allow the Atrode army to dominate the surrounding area.
“This is it! Once we take this stronghold, victory is ours!” Vipenvelt roared.
Securing this position would make everything easier. They could starve out the remaining allied forces or trap them entirely. Taking the stronghold was imperative.
The Ruthanian army would undoubtedly defend it with everything they had—it was too important to lose.
Or so Vipenvelt thought.
“...Why?”
The army stationed at the stronghold wasn’t the Ruthanian forces. Instead, it was the troops of Marquis Gideon of Turian.
“...What? How?”
Vipenvelt was baffled.
Marquis Gideon’s forces were incapable of holding this position. At best, they could delay the inevitable.
Why would they make such a reckless decision?
Unless their enemies had a plan.
Vipenvelt’s eyes twitched. If the Ruthanian forces weren’t here, the entire situation had to be reevaluated.
“The 5th and 6th divisions... the 7th and 8th divisions... the 9th and 10th divisions...”
The Atrode forces had split into three regions for their assault.
One region had been handled by half the Ruthanian army, another by the Turian prince, and the last by Duke Fenris.
The allied forces had already lost two divisions, while one was led by the spy. The only division left now stood before him—Marquis Gideon’s.
So where was the remaining Ruthanian army?
A chilling thought crossed Vipenvelt’s mind.
“What if... the entire Ruthanian army moved from the start...”
If so, there would only be one battlefield left. Whichever of the two—the Turian prince or Duke Fenris—was free would now be unencumbered.
That freed force could easily ambush Atrode’s main army while they were vulnerable.
Realizing the potential danger, Vipenvelt bellowed, “Attack now! Take this stronghold as quickly as possible! Send word to all divisions to stop their current operations and regroup here immediately!”
The 3rd division was acting alone, while the 2nd and 4th divisions would need time to converge.
Though Vipenvelt hoped otherwise, it was likely that at least one division had already been ambushed.