Chapter 890

Chapter 890

## Reinforcements and Resolution

“What is your reason?”
Esther shifted her gaze slightly, addressing Kraiss. Her blunt inquiry carried a single, heavy meaning: why had he appeared at this specific location?

“I didn’t come here to cross blades with you,” Kraiss replied swiftly, signaling behind him. Nurat stepped forward to join his flank, accompanied by Seiki, Finn, and the ten warriors Ragna had personally trained. They were not alone; every soldier of notable talent had followed, forming a group of over thirty elite fighters.

“The name is Marco,” one of them announced. “Listen up, you lot—stop acting like you’re untouchable. Being junior knights doesn’t mean your skin is made of steel.”

With a sudden *Bang!*, Marco kicked the base of his spear, leveling the point directly at the enemy. Though the shaft vibrated for a heartbeat, it quickly went still. His stance was unwavering, projecting a resolve that would remain rooted even against a surging flood.

Marco wasn’t the only one fueled by such conviction.

“Our city holds two points of pride,” declared a short-haired woman. “One is the Golden Witch, and the other is the Black Flower. At this moment, blood is staining that flower. For that crime alone, you deserve nothing but death.”

This was Clemens, the lone squire of the Mad Order of Knights. Her devotion to the city was absolute, surpassed only by her reverence for the guardians who protected it. Enkrid and the others were her idols; being their squire was her greatest honor. Seeing the Black Flower bleeding from the mouth felt as though someone had desecrated a holy monument.

Fury surged within her, yet strangely, her internal state remained as tranquil as a still lake and as grounded as riverbed silt.

“I am Clemens, squire of the Mad Order. I intend to break all six of you,” she stated.

Heat and cold warred in her chest. For a moment, her past flashed before her eyes—the memory of ‘Fallen Clemens.’ It was a history both cringeworthy and precious. In that intersection of contradictory emotions, Clemens stepped into a new realm of power.

*Will.*

The coexistence of her rage and her calm stemmed from a singular, crystal-clear purpose. A squire who had endured “mad” training was now ascending beyond the level of a junior knight. She had been molded by every member of the order; while those days hadn’t always been pleasant, the memory of that time now stoked a fire in her heart.

“Step forward, you fools,” Clemens said, her head held high. She gathered her newfound clarity and finalized her combat stance.

On the flank, another contingent arrived and took their positions. From the vantage of the hill, their movements were clear.

“The Martai Garrison has arrived!” shouted the commander, a man raised by the Lord of Martai and the former leader of the Border Guard. His men were armed with crossbows and short swords.

“The Pen-hanil Rangers are in position as well,” a messenger reported to Kraiss. The ranger unit had flanked the junior knights; their relentless bolt fire would soon become a lethal distraction.

Even Nurat chipped in, “Did we really look that easy to handle?”

Esther looked Kraiss in the eye.

“Did you honestly think we’d just sit back and watch you do all the work?” Kraiss asked.

Esther let out a sharp, amused huff. He was right; they weren’t the type to stay on the sidelines. Not Enkrid, and certainly not any of them.

—

## The Tide of Battle

Simultaneously, Abnaier led a battalion of the Border Guard to strike the enemy unit attempting to flee the marshes. He avoided a direct melee, opting instead to have his archers rain down a continuous barrage of arrows. The result was near-total annihilation.

The enemy was already crippled by the psychological toll of the fog and the swamp. Their ranks had shattered, and hallucinations had driven some to turn on their own comrades. Recognizing the chaos, Abnaier moved his archers to point-blank range. Against a healthy army, such a move would be suicide—a simple infantry charge would have overrun them—but Abnaier knew his prey was broken. His tactical instincts were flawless; he had identified the perfect moment to apply maximum pressure.

At such close range, only those with the reflexes of a squire or a junior knight could hope to deflect the incoming arrows. There were far too few such men left in the enemy’s yellow-earth flag unit.

“Argh! Damn it!”
“Arrows! Watch the sky!”
“Defend yourselves!”

The enemy fell in heaps, their blood soaking the mud. Though the Border Guard had little prior combat experience, this slaughter proved their lethal potential. Abnaier watched with grim satisfaction as the unit moved like an extension of his own body.

Even if the enemy had attempted a charge, it would have been futile. Anyone who managed to dodge the arrows was immediately met by a wall of spears or felled by precision throwing knives. These were the professional soldiers of the Border Guard, hardened by the brutal standards of the Mad Order.

—

## The Clash of Steel

“Wipe them out. Make sure the mages are finished,” came the order.

Despite the chaos in their rear, the six enemy junior knights fought with terrifying ferocity. They did not break. True to the spirit of the south, they fought with a “do or die” desperation that persisted even in the face of certain doom.

However, the local forces were equally formidable. Even without counting Graham, Nurat, or Clemens, the defenders held their ground. One enemy knight, unable to withstand the rangers’ bolts, tried to retreat, only to be intercepted by Seiki. Though she lacked innate martial genius, her rigorous training and inherent holiness—often compared to that of a saint—made her more than a match for a junior knight. Her divine aura filled the gaps in her technique.

Elsewhere, Marco’s spearwork was a masterclass in discipline. Clemens held her own against two junior knights simultaneously, while Graham secured a victory against his opponent, despite taking a spear wound to his shoulder.

The “snipers”—the archer unit Kraiss had personally cultivated—were relentless. Having suffered previously at the hands of a marksman known as Hawk Talon, Kraiss had built this unit to ensure such a disadvantage never happened again. They proved that a well-placed arrow was the most dangerous weapon on the field.

“If the situation turned, they would have intervened,” a voice rumbled.

It was the tree giant, exhaling a cloud of tobacco smoke. He and the Kirhaise fairies had several members at the junior knight level. Jaxon hadn’t been overly worried, knowing Kraiss’s capabilities, but he had sent Enkrid anyway to eliminate any lingering variables.

As Enkrid descended from the back of Odd-Eye, only one enemy junior knight remained standing. This warrior, wielding a double-bladed spear, managed to react to the overhead strike—a feat worthy of respect.

Unfortunately for him, that respect would have to be paid in the afterlife.

Enkrid parried the spearhead with a subtle, calculated flick of his blade, redirecting the weapon’s momentum so perfectly that the knight was left wide open. Before the man could recover, Enkrid’s knee smashed into his temple.

The impact was devastating. The knight’s spine snapped, and his head twisted into a gruesome, unnatural angle. Blood sprayed from his nose, mouth, and the jagged bone piercing his skin. Enkrid landed softly as the body slumped.

“Esther?” he asked, remaining in a low crouch.

“You took your time,” she replied. “You ‘pretty, beautiful, and demure’ man.”

“…That is a ridiculous title.” Enkrid sighed. He must have been spending too much time with Sinar. Regardless, Esther was safe, and he took note of the allies standing with her.

“Wait, how did you get here so fast?” Kraiss asked, looking up. He didn’t need an answer; Odd-Eye was circling above, its massive wings casting a shadow over the battlefield.

—

## The Emperor’s Shadow

“The enemy is here.”

The report caught Crang off guard. The speed of the opposition was staggering.

*Already?* his mind raced. *They were moving into position before I even announced our presence.*

“It’s the Great Emperor’s standard,” an observer noted. “The main force of Rihinstetten has arrived.”

While Enkrid was preoccupied elsewhere, the primary imperial army revealed itself. They were not rushing; instead, they spread across the horizon like water flowing down a hill—slow, inevitable, and leaving no gaps. Two massive wings of the army navigated the cliffs to converge on the center.

The earth groaned under the weight of thousands of boots and the trumpeting of war elephants. Their numbers were overwhelming, far exceeding anything the defenders could muster. The sheer scale of the force drained the color from the faces of the commanders.

The reality defied all of Crang’s projections. He had hoped to consolidate his forces before the Emperor arrived, but they were being forced into an engagement before their lines were even set. It was a nightmare scenario: outnumbered, out-geared, and caught out of formation.

“Well, it’s time for us to earn our pay. Let’s move,” Cypress said, his voice as calm as ever. He showed no signs of the dread felt by the others.

“Master, there are far too many of them,” Aurelia whispered.

Nearby, Ingis was already cinching his armor, while Rien and Ferdinand calculated the enemy’s speed.

“Then we’ll just have to be efficient in how we kill them,” Cypress replied with a small smile. He was a veteran of hundreds of battles, a man whose exploits could fill libraries. He intended to lead from the front, or guard the rear if a retreat became necessary.

“Your Highness,” Cypress addressed Crang, “it’s time to inspire the troops.” He knew the value of a king on the front lines; Crang’s presence would be the anchor for the soldiers’ morale.

Crang composed himself, his resolve hardening. “I know my duty,” he said, moving to join his men.

“What? The small fry arrived before the boss?” a gray-haired barbarian joked as Crang passed.

The Mad Order had changed. In the past, they might have slacked off in Enkrid’s absence, but now they moved with purpose. Their instincts told them that laziness today would result in a swift death.

“Rophod, take a squad. Fight as if there is no retreat. Pell, support Rophod’s gaps,” Lua Gharne commanded. She was a whirlwind of activity, fueled perhaps by her Frokk blood or her own natural affinity for large-scale carnage. She knew she had to hold the line until Enkrid returned.

Themares, having already fulfilled his obligations, chose to withdraw, showing his usual detached attitude. Sinar, meanwhile, was busy composing a mocking song about the “empty seat of the fiancé,” her voice melodic but her lyrics biting. Audin and Teresa, still recovering, focused their efforts on maintaining the sanctuary.

“Hey, Stinky. Follow me. Let’s go find some trouble,” Rem said, looking toward Dunbakel. With Lua Gharne taking command, Rem was free to focus on combat.

“My scent is a fragrance,” Dunbakel grumbled, though he followed without hesitation.

As the units began to move, Rem paused. “Wait, where’s that idiot who can’t tell left from right?”

Dunbakel shrugged, and Pell shook his head. Rophod scanned the camp but saw no sign of the missing warrior.

“He’s not in the camp,” Rophod confirmed.

“He probably got lost again,” Rem sighed. “Whatever. We’ll manage without him.”

—

## The Wanderer’s Encounter

Ragna, meanwhile, had stumbled upon the enemy while wandering. He was met by a three-person reconnaissance team—two men and a woman.

“Fancy meeting you here,” the woman said, her hand already moving.

A concealed blade lashed out toward Ragna’s throat. Simultaneously, one man circled to his rear while the other notched an arrow. They were a coordinated team known as the “Children of the Great Emperor,” specialized in hunting down enemy scouts.

They were all elite, performing at a level above most squires. However, they failed to recognize Ragna’s true strength. Their eyes weren’t sharp enough to see the threat, and they assumed no high-level knight would be wandering the outskirts alone while their army was at a disadvantage.

Ragna didn’t care for their tactical assumptions.

His sword, Sunrise, flashed in the air, drawing three precise lines. Three heads fell as blood sprayed the grass. Ragna paused to gather his thoughts.

*Enemy.*

Their intent and uniforms left no room for doubt. Ragna continued his trek. Realizing he needed a vantage point, he climbed a nearby ridge. Below him, the massive imperial army stretched out across the plain.

From the distance came the strange, monstrous cry of a long-nosed beast he had never seen before.