Chapter 876

Chapter 876

As a commander, it was no small feat to forfeit the advantage of high ground that offered a clear vista during a march. Thus, when the leader of the Rihinstetten forces located a hilly stretch and elected to traverse it, his logic was sound.

“Move out.”

He maintained a tight perimeter, yet there was no sign of Naurillia’s scouts. Not a single trace. To his mind, this meant the opposition would be caught completely off guard.

‘By the time they knew, the Rihinstetten legion had already pierced the Demon-lands.’

The commander envisioned that sentence as the grand opening of his future memoirs. While the Demon-lands were jagged and hazardous, they weren’t impossible. The trails were labyrinthine and disorienting, but they were navigable.

‘I never imagined a path like this truly existed.’

The spirit of his troops was soaring. Murmurs of “the High Pontiff’s favor” rippled through the lines. Part of this was the commander’s own propaganda, while the rest was the superstitious chatter of the rank and file.

‘Even in the depths of hell, the High Pontiff shields us!’

To many, calling the Demon-lands “hell” was no poetic flourish; it was the literal truth. Yet as they trekked through that nightmare, the local horrors actually cleared a path for them. Satisfied with a tribute of dark blood, the creatures did not thirst for human life. Monsters and sub-humans stepped aside. If the men had not felt invincible after such a feat, they wouldn’t have been human.

“Uwooo!”

The Rihinstetten giant brigade let out a thunderous bellow. Even at that provocation, the dull, dark eyes of the local monsters showed no aggression. A few mindless ghoul packs made a frantic run at them, but no beast of true consequence dared to strike.

“In the heart of hell!”
“The High Pontiff!”

The chant took hold. With that momentum, they exited the Demon-lands and began their true advance. Even putting aside the monsters, the air there had been putrid and the earth swampy—hardly a place for rest. While the giants and the Frokk handled the conditions well enough, the humans and fairies had clearly suffered. It had been three days since they left that rot behind for solid earth, and the march was effortless. It felt less like a military campaign and more like a stroll.

‘This is exactly when one becomes careless.’

The commander remained vigilant. Despite having two knights in his company, he didn’t assume they were a catch-all solution. He was a pragmatic man who understood his duties perfectly. He pushed forward, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon. There was no rush; the High Pontiff wanted a swift war, but not at the cost of reckless attrition.

The commander surveyed the landscape.

‘On flat terrain, we are exposed.’

Conversely, ridges and hills were perfect for concealing an army or, from the top, securing a dominant view. He couldn’t treat the knights like common laborers, so he relied on a rotation of keen-eyed scouts to lead the way.

“Nothing to report,” stated the adjutant after gathering the latest intelligence.

“What about the terrain ahead?”

The geography deviated from their charts. It looked as though the earth had been ravaged by successive cataclysms.

‘Multiple hills have risen.’

It wasn’t treacherous, though. The slopes were manageable, and reaching the crests provided a tactical edge. In that regard, the geological shifts were a blessing.

“We should steer clear of the eastern woods.”

“Agreed. It’s a prime spot for an ambush, and even without enemies, it’s likely crawling with beasts.”

The commander relied on five adjutants to stress-test his decisions. Together, they mapped out the most logical route. They chose a path so ideal for a march that a man like Ragna, from a different knightly order, would have found it suspiciously perfect.

Logistics would eventually become a concern, but the commander knew a single city could solve that.

‘Looting.’

Their numbers were modest—a lean, elite strike force. Aside from the two knights, they had thirty giants, fifty chain-mailed cavalry, and two hundred Horseshoe Infantry—the finest small-unit brawlers in the south. Along with standard infantry, they were the core of the Purple Legion, one of the five-colored Banner Armies. In total, twelve hundred men were under his command, including two specialized siege units. With the knights present, it was a formidable force.

“No one is here to meet us, yet it feels as if the red carpet has been rolled out,” one adjutant remarked casually.

*Whack!*

The commander snapped his multi-tailed riding whip through the air, the leather biting the wind with a sharp crack.

“Invited?”

That wasn’t the kind of sentiment he wanted in his history books.

“My apologies, sir,” the adjutant muttered, bowing.

The ease of the march was breeding complacency. The commander was a stern man who lived by the philosophy of maximizing gains while minimizing blood. Despite his discipline, the mood of the legion was inevitably softening.

They skirted a forest and passed three distinct ponds nestled in natural basins. Eventually, a hill significantly taller than the previous ones loomed ahead.

“Go over it.”

The knights were impatient with delays, and the commander couldn’t simply disregard their wishes. Furthermore, circumnavigating the height would cost precious hours.

‘A war that shouldn’t be prolonged.’

Their goal wasn’t a long siege of the capital, but a decisive blow that would leave Naurillia in a state of chaotic ruin, like a spoiled broth stirred by a fool.

“Deploy the Horseshoe scouts.”

Caution remained his priority. The knights didn’t object.

“Clear.”

They crested the first hill and found nothing. The knights remained silent as they descended. Another hill rose up. Should they bypass it? No, there was no reason to. The commander caught the eye of one knight, whose brow was furrowed in annoyance. To appease him, the commander sent scouts again. It slowed them down, but the path remained empty.

“Advance.”

Beyond the hills, the ground was remarkably level and easy to traverse. There were no marshes or rocky patches. The dark soil looked almost manicured, as if it had been intentionally graded. But who would bother? In this desolate region, far from any city, such public works would be a waste of coins and labor. The commander dismissed the thought.

After four more minor hills and two significant rises, the landscape shifted.

“There is no alternative route.”

A narrow passage appeared, flanked by high walls. A ravine. To avoid it, they would have to scale two massive ridgelines—a grueling task that felt like an invitation for an ambush. The commander’s brow twitched.

“Send the Horseshoes.”

The scouts moved in. The walls were too sheer to climb. A hundred men moved through the gap. Nothing moved. Nothing happened.

“We shouldn’t linger here,” one knight pressured. The commander nodded.

They marched into the throat of the ravine. One knight scanned the rims.

“No ambush detected.”

A knight’s perception was legendary, nearly impossible to trick. “Hard to deceive,” however, implied it wasn’t impossible.

They had reached the center of the pass when the entire main body was committed.

*Rumble.*

There were no men on the cliffs, but there were enemies capable of masking their presence even from a knight’s senses.

“…Boulders!”

The commander’s heart skipped. With a deafening roar, rocks the size of houses shook off the dirt and began to plummet from the heights. It was a manufactured landslide. Earth and stone cascaded down. Simultaneously, from around a blind curve—a spot shielded from the knights’ sight and sound—large projectiles began to whistle through the air with heavy thuds.

“Hmph!” one knight grunted, unimpressed.

“Uwooh!”

The thirty giants, known as the Beasts of Red Blood, instantly locked into a defensive square.

“Form up! Prepare for impact!” the commander shrieked, his voice cracking. Falling rocks slammed down, severing the scouts from the main column.

*Rumble-crash!*

“Damn it!”

The cavalry had no room to maneuver. Some tried to outrun the debris, but the stones were faster than any horse.

*Crunch.*

Men caught under the primary rockfall didn’t have time to scream.

“Gyaaaah!”
“You bastards!”

Only those partially crushed found the breath to wail. Dust exploded upward, a thick yellow-brown shroud that choked the air and blinded the army. Even as the world turned into a fog of grit where he couldn’t see his own hand, the commander kept barking orders until he was doubled over coughing.

—

‘A good commander will always choose the path of least resistance.’

Once you’ve lured them that far, there is no turning back—especially if they have knights to protect their ego.

This trap was the culmination of years of labor. Marcus had envisioned this war long ago, preparing for an anonymous commander who would one day fall for his design. Even if it had all been a waste of resources, he had committed to it. He had drained swamps, paved false roads, and piled stone and sand near natural hills to funnel the enemy exactly where he wanted them. He had created “Serpent’s Whim.” It was a trap built so slowly that even a knight wouldn’t find it familiar.

It had been an expensive endeavor. He had drained the royal coffers and nearly bankrupted the Baisar marquisate.

‘If we weren’t invested in the western trade, the house would have fallen.’

But now, the investment was paying off. He felt a grim satisfaction. This operation required more than just stone, however; it required people willing to die. The bait.

“Sir Aisia, any second thoughts?”

“I’d rather do it myself than watch someone else fail, Marquis Baisar.”

That had been their final exchange. Aisia, clad in her red cloak, had vanished into the ravine alone. The trick was the rockfall hidden beneath the soil. A whole company on the cliff would be spotted, but one or two individuals could remain invisible to a knight. He needed someone with the power of fifty men who could move like a ghost. Aisia was that person. She had cut the primary supports and vanished into the chaos.

He had also positioned three catapults, camouflaged with earthen-colored cloth. They were now lobbing stones into the bottleneck.

‘Can even a knight deflect a mountain falling from the sky in this mess?’

He might not kill the knights, but he could bleed their army. And if he was lucky…

*Boom!*

A thunderous crack interrupted his thoughts. Through the dust, a shard of shattered rock whistled past. A projectile, wrapped in the yellow fog of the ravine, smashed directly into one of his catapults.

*Boom!*

“Aaagh!”

The soldier manning the machine was vaporized by the impact. Marcus spurred his horse to the exit of the ravine to witness the carnage.

“Pull back!”

He signaled the retreat. His men, honed by years of drills, moved with precision.

“Withdraw! Fall back!”

Through the haze, two more massive stones flew out, pinpointing the remaining catapults and reducing them to splinters.

‘Targeting what they can’t even see…’

This was why knights were regarded as living disasters. They performed the impossible with casual indifference, shattering falling boulders and redirecting the fragments to destroy the artillery.

“Release the oil.”

Marcus moved to the next phase. This was the reality of attrition.

*Gush.*

Oil flooded the ground at the ravine’s exit. Did they think a few rocks were the extent of the trap? Hardly. The boulders would only claim a fraction of their numbers.

“Archers.”

At his word, fire arrows took flight.

*Fwoosh!*

The ground ignited into a wall of roaring heat. A literal firestorm erupted, fueled by the oil and amplified by magical conduits buried in the earth. The scarlet glare reflected in Marcus’s eyes.

But it didn’t stop there.

“Roll them in!”

Next was the toxin.

*Rumble.*

Carts laden with oak barrels were pushed into the fray. Had they been filled with ale, a thousand men could have drowned in it.

“Break them.”

“Loose! Break the barrels!”

As the carts overturned and the wood splintered, a thick cloud of violet and emerald gas billowed out. Marcus had recruited a witch—a former court mage—to brew this cocktail.

“Even a knight will feel it if they breathe this in. It might not kill them, but they are still flesh and blood,” she had promised.

‘Come on then,’ Marcus thought, watching from a distance.

*Crash!*

An explosion like a collapsing fortress shook the earth. Something Marcus hadn’t planned for occurred. The ravine was narrow, easily blocked by fire and poison at its mouth. Yet the sound didn’t come from the entrance.

*Crunch!*

A new cloud of debris rose from the side.

‘What is he…?’ Marcus squinted.

The enemy knight hadn’t tried to force the exit. He was smashing through the ravine wall itself.

A wall only dictates where you go if you accept its presence. If you remove the wall, the “path” becomes irrelevant.

‘If the door is blocked, make a new one.’

A simple, brutal solution. The knight was literally reshaping the geography to bypass the fire and the fog. The sound of his “new door” opening was a roar that silenced everything else.