388 - Regressor of the Fallen Family

Chapter 388 "Hmm..." An old man, his eyebrows as white as his hair, filled with wrinkles, let out a groan, startling the attendants standing by his bedside. "He's awake!" "Hurry, inform them!" The surroundings erupted into chaos in an instant. The old man, who seemed to have just returned to consciousness, attempted to sit up with a startling swiftness. Or at least, he tried to. "Ugh!" He groaned in pain as his upper body rose halfway before he halted, and a one-eyed knight hurriedly supported him. "Master, you shouldn't strain yourself just yet." "...Where am I?" "You're at a camp on the way back to the capital. You've been unconscious for three weeks. Please rest a bit more, Your Excellency." "...The capital? Three weeks?" The old man, Tris, winced at the pain spreading throughout his body, yet he couldn’t help but react to those alarming words. "Due to the situation, we couldn't solicit the help of the priests. It's truly a relief that you're finally awake. Sir Gallen and the magic corps' mages went through great efforts..." Jerome, who was nearby, tried to explain something, but Tris raised a hand to stop the lengthy explanation. "The current state of the war? If we're returning to the capital, does that mean..." "Yes. The war with the Holy Nation has ended. His Majesty the Emperor has personally declared it." "Haa..." Jerome had no words for the sigh that Tris let out with a complex expression. While silence enveloped the tent, A commotion could be heard outside, and soon, a well-mannered mage entered the tent. "You've awakened, Your Excellency." "...Gallen." "We were very worried. Especially with how complex matters have become, fearing we might lose you..." "Matters have become complicated? Explain." "Yes. It's..." In a calm voice, Gallen briefly explained the geopolitical shifts on the continent post-war. "...Thus, the grand strategy has commenced. So any lingering attachments to the Holy Nation should be postponed." Once Gallen finished his explanation, the wavering gaze of Tris returned to its focused state. "...Is that so. Perhaps it's for the best." "Pardon?" "Gallen, everyone else may leave. I have something important to discuss with you." Jerome's eyes wavered slightly at those words. But as someone who felt indebted, "Understood, Master." He gathered the attendants and quickly exited the tent with a sigh he only allowed inwardly while evading his master's indifferent gaze. Once everyone had stepped outside, Tris drew a circle in the air with his finger, signaling to Gallen. With that, Gallen's expression hardened briefly as he promptly conjured a barrier of wind around them to control the sound. "It seems my time is running short." The moment Tris spoke, Gallen's face turned rigid. "What do you mean...?" "The damage I sustained this time is too severe, I presume. At most, perhaps just one more year." "Such...!" The news was a shock to Gallen as well. Of course, being critically injured and unconscious for three weeks, one could imagine the extent of his injuries. But this was a swordsman they were talking about. As Gallen was stunned into silence, Tris gave a bitter smile. "Yes. It is unfortunate. Especially since I was unable to seize Noviance, I've lost face with His Majesty." Unfortunate? 'You too...' Do you consider your own life merely a tool for His Majesty? Gallen couldn't conceal his disbelief, his expression frozen, as Tris observed him with a soft smile. "Keep this information to yourself for now. I'll personally report this to His Majesty." "Your Excellency. Why...!" Why push yourself so far? The magician, famed for his arrogance, couldn’t comprehend Tris. Out of the two people in the world he recognized as superiors, he wondered why one treated himself so harshly. Yet the words never left his lips. "Enough! Even if I hadn’t pushed myself, I wouldn’t have lasted another decade. It's just happening a bit sooner. Fortunately, I can burn my last flame." "..." That wasn't my intention... Reluctantly, Gallen suppressed his frustration and let out a sigh. Seeing this, Tris nonchalantly shifted the topic. "What about our first target? As per the original plan?" With a composed voice, Gallen nodded, though with some difficulty. "...Yes. That is correct." "I see. That was... Grandi—or no, Maclaine now, isn't it? The country where that young one became king..." "Yes. The kingdom that presumptuously opposes our empire. Although their efforts seem futile." Gallen's words echoed the disdainful view the empire’s nobles had toward Maclaine. Tris also nodded unconsciously. The Emperor had a high regard only for Logan Maclaine, known as the Sun of Maclaine—because of his potential future, not his present capabilities. "Indeed. There's a limit to what a small kingdom can accomplish... Wait a moment." Suddenly, memories of a scene from the recent battle came rushing back. This memory, combined with some information he had learned previously, suggested something that should not be overlooked. "...Didn't they say there’s a peculiar school of magic in that kingdom? One that specializes in using golems? It was a unique detail I remembered." "Ah, yes. Indeed. It's a variation of earth magic. Just a branch of applied magic but is a primary school in Maclaine—so the kingdom's magic capability is..." Without realizing the weight of his words, Gallen chuckled. In contrast, Tris's demeanor grew even more serious. "Could it be that there’s a magician there with blue hair and different colored eyes, a young girl perhaps?" "What do you mean?" Puzzled by the unexpected question, Gallen tilted his head in confusion. "In the last battle, some transcendents suddenly appeared; one used golem magic—not the kind that creates magical puppets with enchantments, but rather, molds the stone underfoot to create golems infused with combat power. Moreover, it was a girl who seemed not even of age." At this, Gallen’s eyes widened momentarily. Quickly, though, he let out a nervous laugh. It was just that unimaginable. "A young girl? Not even of age? What a preposterous statement. You must have misseen..." "When have I ever spoken lightly of a battle?" Tris’s eyes sharpened with intent. Faced with the choice between conventional wisdom and the words of a renowned swordmaster, Gallen gravitated toward the latter, his expression growing stern. "...I suppose not. It seems even in this era, reaching the level of a true magician before coming of age is possible. What a monster indeed..." Gallen murmured to himself, pondering a matter far removed from Tris’s point. He continued for some time, muttering words hard to follow, yet Tris waited patiently without scolding him. Eventually, Gallen, true to his magician nature, quickly gathered his scattered thoughts. "...Based on the distinctiveness of the magic, it aligns with the magical schools of that kingdom. However, we’ll need to conduct a thorough investigation. People might find it hard to believe anyone but your words." "His Majesty will believe it, and that is sufficient." "Yes. Still, confirmation is necessary. Underestimating an enemy is dangerous, but overestimating them can also lead to a waste of national resources." "Indeed, please proceed. But make sure the investigation is thorough. All of those newfound transcendents at Noviance seemed to be a group." "By that, you mean...?" "If that girl belongs to Maclaine, it implies there could be at least five more unknown transcendents aligned with Maclaine." "My word... How could such a small kingdom..." "If that truly is the case, we must completely reassess Maclaine's forces. We can't afford to stumble at the very first step of our grand undertaking." "I will report this immediately." "Good. And what of the black snake His Majesty mentioned? He’s not one to let loose ends remain unaddressed after using them for justification." "It's being handled by the Special Inquisition." Having risen from his bed after three weeks following the intense battle at the Cathedral City, the swordmaster now driven with renewed fervor, began fervently planning his final endeavors after having condemned himself with a terminal diagnosis. * * * Fortress Shield, a key point on the 'Hunter's Path' in Maclaine's northwestern region. Originally constructed under the guise of stabilizing northern thoroughfares and protecting merchants, the fortress was, in reality, a gigantic military stronghold dominated by storages for food and weapons, and barracks for soldiers. Its walls were far thicker than those of ordinary forts, and roads inside led directly to and from the gates and fortifications. Anyone entering would immediately recognize it as a fortress built purely for war purposes. To this war fortress, the elite troops of Maclaine’s 2nd Corps were converging. "Attention!" Upon stepping into the office of the Commander at the fortress's center, Louis saluted. The Swordmaster merely nodded while gazing out the window. From there, he watched the orderly movement of troops, the deployment of weapons across the sprawling walls, and the bustling activities unfolding below. "How are the soldiers?" "Given the current tense circumstances, we can't avoid the pressure, but the situation isn't as bad as anticipated." "Is that so?" "Yes. Since entering the fortress, morale has improved, except for a few overly energetic soldiers causing minor incidents. It's actually uplifted the overall atmosphere." "Ah, is that so. Haha." A smile spread across the Swordmaster's face. The enchanting formations installed within the fortress were a secret kept tight. Around a 30% increase in vitality and restoration rates was ambiguous enough to be dismissed as a 'condition issue’ by those not familiar with precise body control, like the knights. "The fact that this secret weapon boosts morale is an unexpected result." "Good for us, indeed." "Yes, absolutely. How are other aspects?" "No significant issues. For now..." Louis answered without hesitation. They had anticipated war for years, and preparations were progressing smoothly. The 2nd and 3rd Corps were tasked with holding the northern Shield Fortress and the southern Armor Fortress, while the 1st Corps would center itself at Castle Kyle, the primary battlefield, supported by the 4th and 5th Corps with flexible reinforcement opportunities both north and south. At the war's inevitability, the more than 500,000 militia members stationed at key locations were set to gather, wielding rapid-fire crossbows. Although the militia couldn't match formal soldiers, their sheer numbers alone equaled the firepower of one or two corps. The crossbows' utility was maximized, proving an even greater asset in defensive battles, providing a robust strength. "Very good." "Indeed." "Keep training minimal, but ensure discipline is firm. We're on the brink of a war that carries the nation's fate." "I'll keep that in mind." "And here is some information from His Majesty. Keep this to yourself for now." "Yes? What is it about?" "His Majesty mentioned something unexpected." "??" "Once war begins, the temple's priests will treat soldiers at the fortresses. They will disguise themselves under the guise of a healer's guild initially." "Yes!?" It was truly remarkable news. Temples, upholding their policy of non-involvement in worldly conflicts, traditionally refrained from aiding any nation or territory during wartime. Yet, here they were, breaking centuries-old precedent in support of Maclaine. Even if they operated under the guise of a healer's guild, it would be inevitably revealed if they healed more than a select few. It would drastically shake the temple's steadfast political neutrality. "...Why?" While good news, Louis found it bewildering without understanding the reasoning. "They reportedly owed a debt from earlier." "Pardon?" "Such things happen. Anyway, we'll proceed as such, making space at the camp’s center for their operations and ensure guards are appointed." Actions taken for deriding the empire were turning into substantial assets. The Swordmaster couldn’t help but smile. Then, suddenly: – Urgent report, Your Excellency! A frantic voice outside announced the onset of war.