Chapter 891

Chapter 891

Lua Gharne’s mind was racing as she processed the magnitude of the nearing host and the tactical shifts of her own forces. She carefully weighed the intelligence she had gathered.

‘Is this sheer insanity, or a display of extreme courage?’

Alternatively, could they simply be testing the waters?

‘It’s a probe.’

If her side failed to react to the maneuvers of the Rihinstetten military, the conflict would be decided before it truly started.

The Rihinstetten forces pressed forward, deploying a labor detachment ahead of them. Their lead unit showed no signs of slowing, continuing its relentless advance. At the head of this charge were massive biological engines of war: elephants. Their thick, slate-colored hides, devoid of any demonic corruption, looked sturdy enough to support even a giant rider.

They marched with an absolute refusal to halt. That cold certainty felt like a needle against the skin. Lua’s skin felt slick and oily, more so than usual—a physiological response of a Frokk to the overwhelming pressure exhaled by a massive, unified army.

A soldier staring down that line of trunk-swinging beasts would feel their senses reel. It was a defeat born of pure intimidation. If one remained passive, that outcome was guaranteed. However, the moment Lua Gharne detected the shift, she formulated a precise countermeasure.

“The knightly order will move to the front if the situation demands it.”

A man with silver hair standing at her side spoke up. Lua Gharne didn’t immediately reply to Cypress; instead, she shut her eyes. She had been scanning the horizon so intensely that her eyes felt rigid.

‘If the situation demands it.’

That specific phrasing carried a heavy weight. Cypress realized what Lua Gharne had put into motion amidst the chaos of the shifting battlefield.

“You’re quick to understand,” the Frokk remarked, opening her eyes.

“I’ve survived seven decades by being perceptive,” he replied.

“Indeed, for such a youth, your instincts are quite sharp.”

Lua Gharne offered the compliment once more, and Cypress met the Frokk’s humor with a grin.

“Seventy years is quite a stretch for a mortal, Frokk. You seem remarkably confident in the man who has stepped out there.”

At his comment, the Frokk’s cheeks expanded. The pale flesh rounded out so tightly it looked as though it might burst at a mere touch.

“If he begins to falter, then you intervene. If he is shattered by a single, casual strike, then even the intervention of the knights won’t save us from defeat.”

Lua Gharne looked toward the horizon, utilizing both the innate intuition of the Frokk and the vast experience she had garnered over time. She saw a future that balanced on a knife’s edge.

If the front line began to give way, they would be forced to engage the enemy’s elite knights while surrounded. Under those conditions, the opposition could rotate fresh knights into the fray or simply grind down their stamina and resolve through attrition.

‘How many knights do they have?’

Three? Five? Perhaps ten? It was impossible to be certain, but she knew the number wouldn’t be small. The safest assumption was that they matched her own forces in quality, if not quantity.

The nightmare scenario was that they were vastly outmatched. If the formation buckled now, the game was over, especially considering the enemy hadn’t even committed their full strength yet.

This was merely a preliminary jab. If they fell apart under this pressure, there was no point in continuing. The war would be over before it truly began. She could almost hear the unspoken challenge of the Great Emperor or his lead strategist.

*“If you cannot even withstand this, then there is nothing left to discuss.”*

The words were never spoken, but the intent was undeniable. They weren’t looking for a long, drawn-out struggle.

‘It’s like watching a child face off against a grown man.’

That was her genuine assessment. The only difference was that the child on her side was a gifted prodigy favored by the heavens. Meanwhile, the ‘adult’ across the field was merely testing their strength with a lazy punch.

“It’s always a fascinating thing to witness—that level of absolute confidence in another person,” Cypress said, crossing his arms.

Lua Gharne shifted her focus from the carnage for a moment to look at the man. Despite his steady voice, there was a glint of intensity in his eyes. It was the look of a man at a high-stakes betting table, chasing the rush of a gamble.

“Interesting,” he whispered. In his tone, she caught a glimpse of the spirit of Enkrid.

‘I suppose it’s only natural.’

Even in a protector who had defended Naurillia for half a century, a streak of madness was visible. One had to wonder if “normalcy” even applied to knights, but Lua Gharne sensed this was a different breed of madness than the common sort. It was the specific insanity shared by Enkrid and his circle of lunatics.

She looked back at the front lines, focusing on the three positions taking shape.

First, there was the swordsman who had defied logic by charging into the heart of the enemy’s territory.

Then, there were the barbarian and the beastkin. Both were smarter than they looked—particularly the barbarian. He would guide the beastkin with a primal sense for weakness, finding the softest spots in the enemy’s formation to tear them apart.

‘You are the anchor.’

Finally, her eyes rested on the young man in the center, leading his portion of the troops forward. To someone like Cypress, he was still just a boy.

His name was Rophod. Aside from Enkrid, he had spent the most time under Lua Gharne’s tutelage, proving to be a natural at absorbing her strategic wisdom.

‘There is no one better at managing a company and sensing the flow of a fight.’

Lua’s confidence was built on his past performances. In a direct duel, Pell held the advantage over Rophod. Rophod could barely survive those encounters.

But the dynamic changed when a hundred men stood behind them. In their drills, Pell had never managed to best Rophod. That was why Rophod was the favorite among the rank and file—it wasn’t just his appearance or his methods, but his uncanny ability to make the right call in the heat of battle.

Whether leading from the front or guarding the flanks, Rophod was reliable. Entrusting him with the labor unit was a move designed specifically to keep the war from ending prematurely.

—

The Rihinstetten army surged forward, split into four distinct blocks: the front, the rear, and the two wings. The lead unit advanced with a terrifying, continuous momentum.

‘A force that would fill a ravine with their own bodies just to cross it.’

That was the Rihinstetten reputation Rophod grew up with.

‘What does that kind of reputation actually mean?’

The first takeaway was a love for violence. The second was a staggering amount of experience. Watching them now, those thoughts felt confirmed. Rophod centered his mind. His greatest strengths were his perspective and his awareness of the field.

Understanding a battlefield wasn’t just about what you could see; it was about the power of deduction. It was like watching a man walk and knowing exactly where his feet would land in three paces.

He combined this with the sensory skills he’d picked up from Jaxon and the high-level tactics taught by Lua Gharne. He could feel the mental strain heating his brain. The enemy’s killing intent was so thick it felt like physical stings.

‘The lead unit is going to try to bowl us over.’

The mental simulations began. He took everything he knew, layering fact upon theory, over and over. His eyes darted back and forth as he processed the data.

Pell stood nearby, the Idol-Slayer resting across his shoulder. He found it annoying to take orders from the “gentleman,” but he couldn’t deny the man’s skill. When it came to unit tactics, Rophod was a different beast entirely.

While Pell waited, Rophod opened his eyes, having identified two factors the enemy hadn’t accounted for.

‘Ragna and Rem.’

The pair were already in motion. Knowing their temperaments, he could forecast their trajectory. They wouldn’t follow a script, but they were predictable in their own way.

‘Rem will stay mobile, being a constant nuisance to their formation.’

He knew what the result would be.

‘Ragna is the hammer. He’ll try to destroy anything in his path.’

Despite their outward appearances, Rophod knew the truth: Rem was the calculating one, while Ragna was much more impulsive. They were the opposite of what people assumed.

‘My objective is clear—’

He had to absorb the impact of the vanguard and deny them the ground they wanted. He understood why they had sent this lead unit. He saw the play, and with Rem and Ragna as wild cards, he knew how to counter it.

“Pell.”

“I’m listening, gentleman.”

Pell watched the massive beasts approaching. They were far larger than any creature he’d seen in the wastes. His job was to bring them down.

“As of now, you are the guardian of this unit.”

“Understood. I’ll go carve up that big—”

“No. While the lines clash, I need you everywhere. Move until you’re exhausted, and save any soldier who’s about to be overwhelmed.”

Rophod knew Pell better than anyone in the order. His physical gifts—his stamina and his reaction time—were peerless. In a vacuum, his combat instincts were flawless. However, those skills didn’t translate to large-scale command.

‘A specialist talent,’ Rophod thought. He knew that in a real fight to the death, he probably couldn’t beat Pell. But he wasn’t about to say that out loud.

“We’ve got work to do. Move it, you hillbilly.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” Pell grumbled, yet he positioned himself exactly as instructed. He understood the goal. He would weave through their own lines, acting as a safety net, intercepting any blow that would have killed a regular soldier.

“All units, form a wide line!” Rophod commanded.

Officers relayed the orders. These weren’t fresh recruits; they were veterans who had crawled through hell to get here. Even so, as they faced down elephants and giants with massive maces, they looked like insects trying to stop a landslide.

In a collision like that, it was obvious who should be afraid.

‘If their courage breaks, the battle is lost,’ Rophod realized. Having Pell in the ranks was the perfect solution. A man who could stop a charging wagon with his bare hands was exactly what the soldiers needed to see.

“What’s with the long faces? We’re in this together. My only regret is that I’m not allowed to go chop that big bastard into pieces right now.”

Pell’s casual arrogance was infectious. Seeing a legendary knight standing shoulder-to-shoulder with them sent a wave of confidence through the men. Pell had already performed several impossible feats in their view. The image of him standing firm against a barrage of projectiles had left a lasting mark. Plus, the King himself treated Pell with respect.

While they might not view him with the same reverence as the Red Cloak Order yet, his presence provided a similar sense of security.

Rophod stood tall and unsheathed his blade. The metal sang as it left the scabbard. He moved slowly but deliberately, ensuring every eye was on him. Once he had their attention, he tapped his sword against the spear of the soldier next to him.

A soft *thump* echoed. The startled man looked over.

“Relax,” Rophod said.

He then tapped the sword of a junior officer on his right. The officer blinked in surprise.

“Worried about that oversized beast?” Rophod asked, his voice light and entirely devoid of fear.

“You’d have to be crazy not to be,” the officer admitted.

The fact that these men were at the front meant they were brave, but bravery didn’t mean they weren’t terrified.

‘Good men,’ Rophod thought. For a moment, he missed his regulars from the Border Guard, looking forward to the day he’d fight alongside his own students again.

He shook off the nostalgia and looked ahead. He spotted a familiar shape moving near a massive elephant draped in ritualistic cloths and heavy saddles. Because this figure was moving perpendicular to the enemy’s charge, they stood out clearly.

It wasn’t Rem. Even at this distance, Rophod knew who it was.

“They call me the Prophet of the Border Guard. So, here is a vision: that massive beast is about to fall over dead.”

Rophod pointed. The spearman next to him looked skeptical, his face twisted in disbelief. It sounded like nonsense, but some soldiers during training had joked that Rophod could hear the voice of fate itself.

In reality, it was just his superior insight. He also applied a trick he’d learned from Enkrid: the art of saying exactly what people need to hear at the right moment.

Suddenly, the soldier’s eyes widened. The elephant—the pride of the southern war machine—began to tilt.

*CRASH.*

The earth shook as the creature hit the ground. A massive geyser of blood sprayed into the air, visible to everyone on the line. Standing before the fallen titan was a warrior wielding the greatsword Sunrise.

“The prophecy came true, so I suppose I am a prophet,” Rophod whispered. Then, he filled his lungs and let out a roar.

“STAND YOUR GROUND! HOLD THE LINE!”

Charging would be a mistake. Rophod knew this unit had to emulate Enkrid’s resolve. If Pell had blocked arrows with an invisible wall, the army would now become a physical one.

“WE ARE THE WALL!” Rophod bellowed.

The energy of his shout, backed by the “prophecy” they had just witnessed, surged through the troops. At that exact moment, the greatest hunter of the west began his move.