The mist still lingered, clinging to the air like a damp shroud.
Ophelia drew a sharp breath of the frigid autumn morning air, her brow furrowing as she gazed toward the dark, indistinct mass of troops looming in the distance. She cast a glance at the fortress walls beside her; not far away, at the heart of Crimson Fortress, soldiers had already nocked their bows, their eyes fixed vigilantly on the other side of the fog. She took another deep breath, feeling an invisible weight pressing down on her chest. The cold air seeped into her lungs, making her throat itch with the urge to cough—but she clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling the sound before it could escape.
At this moment, the entire fortress was enveloped in a deathly silence. Not a single person dared to speak. It was as if a boulder weighing ten thousand jin hung over their heads, and the slightest sound would send it crashing down to crush them all to powder.
Is this what war is? Is this what a real battle feels like?
In an instant, Ophelia felt absurdly naive. She had read countless descriptions of war in books, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of standing on the front lines. In that moment, the former princess could only think that the tens of thousands of soldiers arrayed on both sides were like two towering towers, teetering on the brink of collapse. A single nudge, a single misstep, could send them crashing down—and then there would be no escape from the inevitable destruction that followed.
Ophelia's breath came in short, ragged gasps. But when she turned to glance at Blake beside her, she was astonished to find her commander looking as relaxed and unconcerned as ever. He stood atop the watchtower, his eyes fixed calmly on the vast army gathering in the distance.
"Charlotte, how many are there?"
"Approximately thirty thousand," Charlotte replied, standing silently beside Ophelia. Her gaze never left the fog-shrouded horizon. Ophelia noticed that a monocle had appeared over Charlotte's right eye at some point, glimmering faintly with magical light.
"I see no banners of the Gifted Knights."
"I see," Blake nodded, his expression unchanged. After a moment's thought, he added, "So these are just toys for us to play with."
He paused, then asked, "Is everything ready?"
"Yes, my lord."
Not far from the two of them, Viscount Byrd and Della had led their soldiers to the edge of the defensive line. One of them had never seen real combat, but years of rigorous training had steeled him against the tension of the battlefield. The other was a seasoned assassin, no stranger to the dance of life and death—so he took the scene before him in stride, far more composed than Ophelia. Of course, both men knew their place now: they were little more than messengers, tasked with relaying orders rather than commanding troops. They had no need to make decisions themselves, and that knowledge allowed them to relax somewhat.
"Good," Blake nodded. "Then tell them to stand by for the original plan. You will follow my orders to the letter—no deviations. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Lord Blake," Viscount Byrd replied quickly. He hesitated for a moment, then glanced at Blake. "My lord… do you not intend to deploy Miss Judy and the others?"
"The enemy consists of nothing but ordinary soldiers," Blake said dismissively. "Without the Gifted Knights leading the charge, there is no need for us to dirty our hands. These dogs are not worth the effort. The private army will be more than sufficient."
"…"
Viscount Byrd and Della exchanged uneasy glances. They knew their troops better than anyone—these private soldiers were competent enough, but they were no match for the kingdom's regular army. What was more, the noble coalition was a ragtag bunch, composed of soldiers from a dozen different factions with wildly varying levels of skill and discipline. Some units could hold their own in battle, while others were little more than cannon fodder. Even units with the same nominal strength performed vastly differently in combat. And only a fraction of the coalition troops hailed from their two families—the loyalty of the rest was highly questionable at best.
What was worse, Blake had never bothered to familiarize himself with the coalition's composition until three days prior, when the Sith army had appeared on the horizon. Only then had he ordered them to reorganize and restructure their forces. Whether the hasty reorganization would hold up in battle was anyone's guess.
Just then, the mist began to lift.
As the fog dissipated, the full might of the Sith army was revealed on the other side of the river valley: thirty thousand heavy cavalry, arrayed in perfect formation on the hillside, their eyes fixed on Crimson Fortress in the distance.
Thirty thousand heavy cavalry—enough to turn the tide of any battle.
For a long moment, the two sides stared at each other in silence, neither willing to break the fragile equilibrium. The Sith cavalry sat astride their massive warhorses, their backs ramrod straight beneath their jet-black armor. Each soldier held a tower shield in one hand and a massive lance in the other, with a sharp longsword hanging at their waist. Their faces were hidden behind steel helmets, masking their expressions completely.
On the fortress walls, the defenders nocked their bows again and again, drawing the strings taut before releasing them slowly, gauging the distance to the enemy with meticulous care. Below the watchtower where Blake stood, the noble coalition had assembled in full force: rows of spearmen and shieldbearers stood at the front, followed by sword-wielding infantry, archers, and cavalry, arrayed in the standard formation of the Wester army. For all their flaws, they cut an imposing figure.
It was a curious paradox: despite the high level of magical technology on the continent, battles fought beyond the reach of mana springs were still waged in the style of the Middle Ages. Of course, if both sides had deployed mages, the battlefield would have been lit up with clashing spells—but this was only a skirmish. Neither Wester nor the Sith Empire had any intention of committing their mages to the fight. Thus, the battle would be decided by the most basic rules of warfare.
"Lord Blake," Ophelia said, unable to contain her curiosity any longer. But before she could finish her question, Blake raised his right hand, cutting her off with a sharp gesture.
"—!!"
At that moment, a deep, resonant horn blast echoed across the valley.
In response, the Sith cavalry, which had stood motionless until now, surged forward like a flood bursting through a dam. They split into two columns, charging toward the left and right flanks of Crimson Fortress in triangular wedge formations, carefully avoiding a direct assault on the fortress walls. After all, this was only a skirmish—charging headlong into fortified walls without support would be suicide. The flanks, unprotected by ramparts, were far more vulnerable targets.
"Fire the arrows!!" an officer on the fortress wall shouted as the Sith army thundered down the hillside.
A dense cloud of arrows rose into the sky, arcing high before raining down on the oncoming black tide.
But the Sith had clearly calculated the range of the fortress archers in advance. After splitting their ranks, they veered sharply to the sides, circling around the trajectory of the arrow volleys. The rain of arrows, though fierce, fell harmlessly on empty ground. A few unlucky soldiers were struck, but the arrows bounced harmlessly off their heavy steel armor, leaving them unharmed.
Just then, Blake lowered his raised hand.
"Form ranks."
"Form ranks!!"
Upon hearing Blake's order, Viscount Byrd immediately lifted his communication crystal—a rare magical artifact that could function without a mana spring—and shouted the command at the top of his lungs. The crystal transmitted the order directly to the unit commanders, allowing them to react with lightning speed. It was far more efficient than using signal flags, though the communication crystals were strictly graded: the one Viscount Byrd held was a one-way device, capable only of sending messages. Two-way crystals were reserved for high-ranking officers in the royal army, while the most advanced models—capable of transmitting magical images—were only issued to legion commanders and members of the royal family.
At the command, the noble coalition troops sprang into action. Soldiers wielding massive tower shields stepped forward, dropping to one knee and bracing the shields against their shoulders. Behind them, a second line of spearmen slid their weapons through the gaps in the shields, gripping the shafts tightly as they bent low, planting their feet firmly on the ground. The spear tips angled upward, pointing directly at the oncoming cavalry.
"Fire the arrows," Blake ordered again.
The archers in the rear ranks, who had been waiting for the command, drew their bows to the full and loosed a volley of arrows at the charging Sith cavalry.
"——!!"
This time, the arrows were fired from directly behind the coalition's formation, catching the Sith cavalry off guard. Unlike the previous volley, these arrows found their mark. Dozens of cavalrymen fell from their horses, screaming as they were struck down. The sound of horses neighing in pain and men groaning filled the air.
But dozens of casualties out of ten thousand were little more than a drop in the bucket. The true power of cavalry lay in their speed—and the Sith cavalry were elite troops, trained to fight as one with their horses. In the time it took for a single volley of arrows to fly, the black tide had already crashed into the coalition's defensive line with a deafening roar!
"BOOM!!"
Ophelia watched the collision unfold, her face turning as pale as a sheet. The sheer force of the impact left her momentarily stunned. She had never imagined that war could be so visceral, so terrifying. The charging cavalry seemed completely oblivious to the forest of spears and shields before them, lowering their lances and driving forward with reckless abandon.
Under the immense impact, the front lines of both sides wavered. Many Sith cavalrymen and their horses were impaled on the coalition spears, collapsing to the ground in a tangled mess of flesh and steel. But many coalition soldiers were unable to withstand the ferocity of the charge—they were either sent flying by the impact or crushed beneath the hooves of the warhorses, reduced to bloody pulp in an instant.
Casualties mounted on both sides, but in the end, the Sith cavalry proved superior. They tore a gaping hole in the coalition's left flank, and the black tide poured through the breach like water finding a crack in a dam. As the Sith poured into the coalition's defenses, the once-solid line began to crumble. The situation quickly deteriorated, and a full-scale rout seemed imminent.
Ophelia watched in horror, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. She bit her lip until she tasted blood. Though she had no battlefield experience, even she could see that the coalition was taking a terrible beating. If the Sith cavalry broke through the line completely, the rear guard would be defenseless—and all would be lost.
But Blake remained as calm as ever. He watched the unfolding battle, then made another gesture without turning his head.
"Disperse and retreat."
"Huh?" Viscount Byrd and Della stared at him in disbelief. Ordering a retreat in the middle of a frontal assault was the gravest of military taboos!
But despite their confusion, they did not dare to question Blake's decision. After all, the man standing before them was the leader of the Knights of the Apocalypse. No matter how dire the situation seemed, they trusted that he would find a way to turn the tide. Thus, they relayed the order without hesitation.
As soon as Blake's command was issued, the already faltering coalition line collapsed completely. The soldiers scattered in all directions, fleeing for their lives. The sword-wielding infantry in the rear ranks also dispersed, spreading out across the battlefield as ordered.
From a distance, it looked as if the entire right flank of the coalition's defense had been nothing more than a sandcastle, crumbling into a heap of dust at the first touch of the Sith tide. It was the worst possible outcome of a battle.
Under normal circumstances, Ophelia would have despaired, begging Blake to deploy Judy and the others to save the day. But instead, she heard him issuing a series of crisp, decisive orders.
"Fall back! Fall back further! Stop! If any of you dare to retreat another step, I'll feed you to the dragon riders when I deploy them! Third battalion, halt! Circle to the left—no advance!"
Under Blake's direction, the coalition's formation disintegrated faster than anyone could have imagined. The soldiers clustered in the center looked utterly helpless, as if they were being routed without putting up a fight.
In contrast, the Sith cavalry sliced through the coalition's defenses like a sharp sword cutting through cloth. They were on the verge of breaking through to the rear lines when Ophelia's eyes widened in astonishment.
The Sith cavalry had suddenly slowed down—and then stopped completely?!
What in the world was happening?
"Now!" Blake said, a triumphant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Everyone, execute the original plan!"
At that moment, Ophelia watched in amazement as the scattered coalition soldiers transformed.
They were still spread out across the battlefield, but now they moved with a clear purpose. They wove through the ranks of the Sith cavalry, encircling and blocking their escape routes. The Sith soldiers, realizing that something was wrong, began to wheel their horses around, preparing to charge again.
But they soon discovered that they could no longer gather momentum for a charge.
It was true—the coalition's right flank had crumbled like a piece of tofu under the Sith's initial assault. But the Sith cavalry had failed to notice a crucial detail: even as the coalition soldiers scattered in all directions, they never strayed far from the enemy lines.
The Sith cavalry had been too focused on their charge to pay attention to such trivial details. After all, the essence of cavalry warfare was speed, precision, and ferocity. Their mission was to break the enemy's lines, not to annihilate them—that was the job of the infantry following behind. Thus, their only goal was to charge, charge, and charge again, until the enemy's defenses were reduced to rubble.
And at first, everything had gone according to plan. But now, the Sith cavalry realized that they had fallen into a trap!
The moment the Sith cavalry ground to a halt, the coalition soldiers who had been hovering around them received their orders. They rallied instantly, launching a counterattack against the stunned cavalrymen. They gripped their spears tightly, charging at the heavy cavalry and thrusting their weapons at the soldiers and their horses. Panic spread through the Sith ranks.
It was a well-known axiom of warfare: the power of cavalry lay in their charge, which relied entirely on the speed of their horses. After breaking through the coalition's defenses, the Sith cavalry had lost their momentum, their charge grinding to a halt as they exhausted their energy. And in that brief window of opportunity, the coalition soldiers had pounced, clinging to the enemy like clay to a blade, robbing them of their speed and strength.
Fifteen thousand Sith cavalry was a formidable force—but Blake commanded twenty thousand soldiers of the noble coalition. What was more, apart from the casualties suffered by the first line of defense, the rest of the coalition troops had retreated as soon as the cavalry charged, suffering almost no losses. Now, with the Sith cavalry deprived of their most potent weapon—speed—the scattered coalition soldiers coalesced into a cohesive fighting force, trapping the enemy in a vice grip.
"This is…" Ophelia stared at the battlefield in disbelief, unable to find the words to describe what she was seeing. She turned to Blake, knowing that only he held the answer. "Lord Blake, what is happening?"
"It's simple," Blake shrugged, tearing his eyes away from the battle. "The enemy's only goal was to charge. So I let them charge to their hearts' content—and then we struck when they were at their weakest. It's like the dance between a man and a woman, Miss Ophelia. After a man has spent his passion, no matter how strong he is, he inevitably falls into a state of exhaustion. Whether he can rise again is another matter entirely. All we had to do was seize that window of opportunity."
"But…" Ophelia said, her cheeks flushing crimson at Blake's blunt analogy. Viscount Byrd and Della also looked distinctly uncomfortable, staring at the ground as if they had not heard a word. Only Charlotte stood beside Blake, smiling cheerfully as if nothing out of the ordinary had been said.
"But what if this loose formation had been completely overrun?"
"He would never have dared," Blake waved a hand dismissively, cutting her off. "This was clearly a skirmish. The enemy would not commit more troops than necessary, nor would they risk a full-scale battle. So even if I had let them break through our lines completely, they would not have dared to press their advantage. That is why they hesitated just now. My defenses were far weaker than they could have imagined, so they charged deeper than they had planned. And without reinforcements, even if they had captured the entire right flank, it would have been meaningless—they would have been trapped and annihilated. This is a specialized tactic that only works under specific circumstances, of course. In a full-scale battle, such tricks would be useless. But since this is just a test of strength, there is no harm in letting them have their fun for a while."
"I see…" Ophelia nodded thoughtfully. It made perfect sense, when Blake put it that way. This was only a skirmish—neither side was fighting to win. Even if Blake had allowed the Sith to capture the right flank, the Sith Empire would have had no interest in holding it, since their main army was not in position to support the advance. It would have been a foolish move.
The Sith cavalry had walked right into Blake's trap. Skirmishes were usually limited affairs, with both sides probing each other's defenses before pulling back. But Blake had deliberately made his defenses as thin as paper, catching the Sith completely off guard. It was like striking a wooden board with eight parts of your strength, only to discover that it could be broken with just one part. The miscalculation left the Sith charging forward with too much momentum, unable to stop in time—and by the time they finally ground to a halt, it was already too late.
But even as Ophelia understood the strategy behind Blake's tactics, she could not help but glance back at the battlefield, where the noble coalition soldiers were fighting with unexpected ferocity against the Sith cavalry. It was a far cry from their earlier disorganized retreat.
"Lord Blake," Ophelia said, her curiosity piqued once more. "But… why are the noble coalition soldiers following your orders so obediently? And… they seem far braver than before."
"Oh, that's nothing special," Blake said, a lazy smile playing on his lips.
"I merely told them before the battle that if they failed to follow my orders, and the situation deteriorated to the point where I had to deploy Judy and the dragon riders, they would end up as snacks for the dragons—along with the Sith cavalry. That is all."