The fierce battle raged on.
Ophirock moved with effortless grace amidst the thousands of enemy troops. His golden war lance danced at speeds barely visible to the eye, its afterimages like clusters of golden flames constantly drifting towards the surrounding Ice Silver Fox cavalry. It was a pity the Ice Silver Fox cavalry had no capacity to appreciate this beauty.
Behind the Golden Lion trailed a hundred golden knights, advancing like a golden wave rolling across a silver icy plain. Wherever the golden wave passed, the Ice Silver Fox formations were effortlessly split apart. The remaining golden knights operated in squads of ten, with three squads forming a group. The lead squad continued to divide the enemy, carving out a dozen or so cavalrymen from the already chaotic enemy ranks, then joined the two following squads to encircle and annihilate them completely within moments. Then they would split again, encircle again, methodically and systematically.
Amidst this golden wave, Rogue and his group stood out starkly, like a piece of multicolored trash floating in a clear spring. Not to mention the Dragon and Beauty mercenaries' mismatched attire, varied colors, and disorderly formation, their combat effectiveness alone was quite remarkable.
Setting aside the terrifying, near-Paladin strength of the Twelve Knights of the Round Table and the exceptional combat prowess of the Golden Lion Knights, even the Ice Silver Fox knights were quite capable themselves. Facing a powerful enemy, they remained calm in danger, their steadfast and tenacious knightly spirit commendable. If not for the presence of Rogue and his crew, this battle could have been considered a rather classic example of knightly warfare.
But the Dragon and Beauty were different. Several dozen timid ones formed a tight protective circle around the wounded, hiding far outside the battlefield.
Following Rogue were about fifty cavalrymen. They would watch for an opportunity, surround five or six Ice Silver Fox knights, and unleash a ferocious assault. Everyone swarmed forward, each seemingly incredibly brave. Those with spears charged ahead, those with swords followed behind, all manner of weapons raining down blows indiscriminately on both man and horse – it was a genuine melee. Some, originally swordsmen only playing cavalrymen for the day, would get carried away and leap from their horses onto an enemy knight. Tumbling to the ground, the Dragon and Beauty mercenary would immediately resort to his fists, pulling out the signature skills of a street ruffian from his pre-soldiering days.
Rogue directed the chaos with calm authority, possessing quite the demeanor of a great general, feeling not the slightest shame for his ruffian tactics. In the tumultuous battlefield, the fat man always managed to lead his team to find small, isolated groups of Snow Fox cavalry, fighting with numerical superiority while avoiding larger enemy units. It could truly be said he had a sharp eye, a mind full of stratagems, and the cool decisiveness of a military genius. This battle later became one of Rogue's favorite topics for boastful stories after drinking, and while listeners greatly disapproved, they found themselves unable to refute him.
Rogue grew bolder as he fought, leading his team in constant charges. The fat man had procured a crossbow from somewhere. When encountering Snow Fox cavalry, he would raise it and shoot, almost never missing within ten meters – though he always aimed for the horse. Even on the rare miss, Fengyue would follow up with a sweep of her scythe, cutting the horse's legs with the same effect. Once an Ice Silver Fox knight was unhorsed, the Dragon and Beauty mercenaries would swarm to attend to him, ten against one, succeeding every time.
The Wind Fox Mage Eri, though perhaps lacking in dignity for his age, was powerful. Unfortunately, he encountered the she-demon Elexis. Motivated by jealousy of this beautiful woman, Eri had fixated on the witch of ice and black flames from the start of the battle. With waves of his hand, he sent several tornadoes forth and summoned two storm giants, over five meters tall, formed from swirling cyan hurricanes. Elexis responded with a uniform volley of black fireballs, only there were rather a lot of them – over twenty in total, flying towards Eri along various trajectories. The leading fireballs collided with Eri's tornadoes, triggering violent explosions. Hurricane winds mixed with raging flames created terrifying shockwaves that rumbled outwards, overturning men and horses wherever they reached, filling the air with dust and smoke.
As the dust and smoke began to clear slightly, Eri was horrified to find a dozen black fireballs already before him. In his panic, he nimbly rolled off his horse, landing heavily on the ground face-first in the mud, narrowly avoiding disaster. But dodging the first strike didn't mean he escaped the next. The black flames exploded all around the Wind Fox Mage. A miniature mushroom cloud rose, and fire covered a area dozens of meters across. Where the flames passed, they left behind a field of charred corpses. The Wind Fox Mage was, surprisingly, not yet dead, only unconscious. In the center of the scorched and cracked earth, his staff stood alone. Originally, a piece of white cloth had been tied to the staff's tip, but now only scattered ashes remained.
With the Silver Fox knight's capture after being unhorsed, the battle quickly drew to a close. Mundane tasks like counting casualties, clearing the battlefield, and managing prisoners were left to subordinates. Ophirock rode with Elexis to the top of a hill, surveying the entire battlefield, waiting for reports. Large groups of disarmed Ice Silver Fox cavalry were dejectedly herded together under guard. One of the Round Table knights, watching the prisoners, said, "This time, the Ice Silver Fox's Four Divine Foxes have been completely wiped out, their cavalry forces caught in our net. They've been reduced to a second-rate mercenary corps, no longer a threat to the Duchy."
Ophirock smiled and shook his head: "Don't forget we only caught a few little foxes. There's still an old fox out there. Even if he had not a single soldier left, he still shouldn't be underestimated."
At that moment, a commotion arose at the foot of the hill. It was Rogue's motley crew returning from their work. Tied to a long rope behind the horses were thirty-odd Silver Fox cavalrymen, each bruised and battered. The Dragon and Beauty mercenaries also bore minor wounds, though few were from blades; most were bruises. The large patches of dried blood on their clothes were from the previous battle, unrelated to this one.
Rogue's left eye was swollen shut. Lance's lip was split. Only Franco was unharmed, looking immensely pleased with himself, pointing and mocking the other two all the way.
"Rogue, for a Mage, we never see you cast a spell. Always relying on brute strength, punching and axe-chopping, that just won't do. I've never seen a Mage so fond of close combat. Tsk tsk, are you really planning on mastering both magic and martial arts? If it weren't for that skeleton Fengyue, I reckon you'd have been sliced to pieces by now. Using a crossbow now, are you? 'To shoot the man, first shoot the horse,' indeed. But how did your eye get blackened? You didn't run into your own horse's head, did you? Ah, look at other Mages, like that incredibly fiery woman next to Ophirock, they even fly."
Rogue was extremely indignant: "Isn't summoning Fengyue using magic?"
Franco retorted mercilessly: "It is magic, true. But can you beat Fengyue in a fight now? Have you ever seen a Mage who can't beat his own Familiar? And that skeleton of yours is truly strange. Never heard of a skeleton using a scythe, let alone one that kicks someone after a swing. Only you could summon such a vicious skeleton."
Seeing Franco turn his gaze towards him, Lance preempted him: "I know, pummeling a man after he's down doesn't fit a knight's identity. But you, hiding in the back and specifically stabbing thighs, isn't exactly noble behavior either, is it?"
Franco showed no shame: "Should I aim for armored spots instead of exposed flesh? Do you think I've had too much brandy?" Lance was momentarily speechless.
As they approached the hilltop, the group finally stopped their mutual jabs, puffing out their chests and adopting the demeanor of gentlemen. For a moment, their modest, polite, and refined appearance was quite convincing. Lance looked solemn, radiating a sacred aura; Franco was handsome and debonair, his black hair loose, exuding an artist's temperament. Even Rogue's fat face seemed to gleam with a certain radiance.
It was a pity everyone on the hilltop possessed exceptional skill and profound power, having heard every word of their conversation clearly.
Ophirock wore a slight smile. The Twelve Knights of the Round Table all had peculiar expressions. Elexis remained expressionless, but the black flames around her flared up over ten feet high, countless distorted faces flickering in and out of the infernal fire within them.
After the storm, there is always a brief calm. The Ice Silver Fox made no response to their defeat. The Duchy of Bavaria issued no statement nor took any further action, as if the battle had never happened. Politics is always perplexing.
The battle between the Golden Lion and the Ice Silver Fox quickly spread throughout the continent's nations, dubbed the Lion-Fox War. In this battle, the Golden Lion Knights, with just five hundred men, defeated an enemy three times their size, suffering only fifty casualties. The Ice Silver Fox lost all four of their Divine Foxes in a single day, either dead or captured. The Ice, Wind, and Silver battalions suffered seven hundred dead and eight hundred captured, with only over three hundred survivors escaping back to the Ronen Duchy. After this battle, the Golden Lion Knights' reputation soared, seemingly poised to join the ranks of the continent's top ten knightly orders. Ophirock was recognized as the young person most likely to become a Paladin among the new generation.
Yet even the most turbulent waves produce various bubbles; where there is light, there is shadow. After this battle, the name of another mercenary group gradually entered public awareness.
The "Dragon and Beauty" mercenary group became formally known to the world, primarily for slaying the Snow Fox's "Butcher" Hart. They were also quite active in the Lion-Fox War, though their specific deeds and contributions remained largely unknown due to deliberate concealment by interested parties. Various versions of rumors circulated in the streets and alleys; the tellers didn't take them seriously, nor did the listeners care much. After all, compared to the main actors of the Lion-Fox War, the Dragon and Beauty mercenary group played only a supporting role, like greenery or clowns.
But even the smallest leaf needs sunlight and nourishment. A plant naturally directs its nutrients first to the most dazzling flowers. If the leaves want to grow lush, they must plunder from the roots, from the deep soil.
After the war, Rogue and the others had their wish granted and were enfeoffed with Cyrus Castle. Initially, this enfeoffment was merely an honorary gain, increasing the status of those like Rogue and Ete, who might not inherit lands. Lance, Franco, and Lance were rather indifferent.
The territory of Cyrus Castle encompassed two small towns and fourteen villages, with a population of just five thousand. It was originally the land of a declining noble family. Thirty years ago, the last descendant of this family died of illness here, and since then, according to Alliance law, the land reverted to the Duchy of Bavaria. Before being occupied by the Snow Fox, the annual tax revenue from this barren land was a mere few dozen gold coins, insufficient to cover a year's living expenses for an ordinary noble scion. Consequently, this small castle quickly became a forgotten corner, gradually falling into neglect.
But the discovery of the high-grade iron ore vein would change all that.
High-grade iron ore is essentially still iron ore, just with a much higher grade, allowing for the direct smelting of high-quality steel. Ordinary iron ore can only first produce iron, then be converted to steel, and the resulting steel quality is often not great, still requiring a blacksmith's repeated forging to remove impurities and create refined steel. After all these processes, even though high-grade iron ore often costs over ten times more than ordinary iron ore, the final price of high-quality weapons made from it can actually be cheaper.
These nobles might be scoundrels, but they were not wastrels. On the contrary, each had a natural sensitivity to wealth. This was hardly surprising – birds of a feather flock together. Among them, except for Franco, all had lacked pocket money since childhood but, being nobles, were accustomed to luxury. The vast gap between their greed and the coins in their pockets could only be bridged by their wits. As the saying goes, you can learn something everywhere. Over more than a decade, the noble scoundrels had picked up quite a few money-making methods through hearsay.
Now, several noble scoundrels were crowded into a low, damp, and dark mine shaft, observing the laborers mining.
Several laborers held iron drills, while others swung large hammers, striking the drills with heavy, resounding *clangs*. After a few blows, chunks of raw ore would clatter down. Waiting laborers behind them then loaded this raw ore into cloth bags and carried them out of the mine. Watching the chunks of ore, gleaming with a black luster, fall one after another, Rogue couldn't contain his joy. *Clatter!* A piece of raw ore fell from a laborer's bag and rolled to Rogue's feet. A burly overseer raised his whip high, shouting angrily, "Dammit, daring to be lazy! If I don't flay you alive today, may a necromancer turn me into a skeleton!"
This immediately touched upon Rogue's sore spot, and Fengyue, in the Otherworld, felt unexplained anger. The fat man shouted, "Stop!"
The overseer's arm, raised mid-air, froze immediately. He hurried over, bowing and scraping. "What are your orders, sir?" Rogue glanced at the laborer trembling on the ground. The laborer looked to be in his forties, emaciated, not looking much fuller than Fengyue. Wrinkles crisscrossed his face, each filled with black ore dust. His dull, murky eyes were brimming with fear. The laborer wore only a hemp shirt of indistinguishable color, and several deep whip marks were visible on his exposed skin. Rogue gave no specific order, just waved his hand dismissively. The laborer, endlessly grateful, shouldered his ore and trudged with great difficulty towards the mine entrance.
Rogue bent down, picked up the piece of raw ore, and gently rubbed it with his pale fingers. For a moment, his fat face was so gentle and serene that the overseer watching nearby was dumbfounded.
The hammer fell heavily on the drill. An old laborer's hands, steadying the drill, shook from the impact. As rock fragments flew, a trickle of blood flowed down from the web between his thumb and index finger. The old laborer glanced at the watchful overseer, gritted his teeth, and tightened his grip on the drill. The hammer fell again, the intense pain making his face contort. The old laborer squinted, waiting for the next hammer blow, but it didn't come. Puzzled, he opened his eyes and saw a piece of snow-white cotton cloth before him. The old laborer looked up and saw Rogue's gentle face. "Use this as a pad," the fat man said softly. The old laborer hesitated for a long moment before accepting the cloth with trembling hands. Blood quickly stained a few crimson plum blossoms on it.
Rogue turned around, the smile gone from his face. He said sharply to the stunned overseer beside him, "From now on, unless absolutely necessary, you are not to whip these laborers!" After a pause, Rogue looked the overseer up and down, making the man's hair stand on end. *He's... the Lord isn't... taken a fancy to me, is he? What do I do? What do I do?* The overseer gritted his teeth. *I'll risk it! My future is important. I just need to close my eyes...* Rogue stared somewhat strangely at the overseer, who was now clenching his teeth, and dropped an expert's comment: "Bones like yours are a bit too poor for a necromancer to make into a skeleton."
When the nobles emerged from the mine shaft, the sun was nearly setting behind the western hills. Unknowingly, they had spent most of the day inside the mine. This high-grade iron ore vein was so important that the nobles personally oversaw everything, carefully observing each step of the process. The darkness, dampness, noise, and foul smells were nothing compared to the lure of wealth. In the eyes of these noble scoundrels, the pitch-black raw ore gleamed with a golden light.
The noble scoundrels were all very curious about Rogue's behavior today. Franco went so far as to maliciously suspect Rogue had sustained a head injury during the fighting. The fat man merely smiled without answering, his mind turning over a voice, old and wise: "Be kind to everyone who creates wealth for you." *That old fellow, he did leave behind something useful after all,* the fat man thought maliciously.
In the continent's legends, there was a powerful warrior named Derklerk. From a young age, his aptitude was mediocre, but relying on extraordinary perseverance, he underwent arduous cultivation in the deep mountains for eighty years. Finally, at ninety-five, he became one of the handful of Sword Saints on the continent. Three years later, on his deathbed, Derklerk told his disciples, "In this life, I have had nothing but the sword."
The noble scoundrels' obsession with wealth, while worlds apart from Derklerk's level of mastery, was essentially the same in nature. Once they became involved with the high-grade iron ore, elegance, art, temperament, and taste all flew to the highest heavens. For days, the scoundrels rolled in the dirt with the laborers, closely observing every step. At sunset, they gathered in the small dining room – roasted meat, bread, and cheap red wine constituted a meal. When the moon reached its zenith, thunderous snores rose and fell in succession.
This was an era for the obsessive.