393 - Regressor of the Fallen Family

Chapter 393 - King Logan McLine of MacLine challenges Tris Hornsby, the Empire's top swordsman, to a duel! The voice that echoed across the field felt as though it pierced the ears of soldiers from both armies, sinking deep into their consciousness. Inside the Empire's command tent, laughter erupted in disbelief. "What a madman." "This will end the war easily, it seems." "Sir, you should accept." A murmur spread through the room. Such a breach of military decorum was unusual for the Empire's disciplined forces, especially within the central command. Yet, it was understandable. Just as the conquest was commencing, their opponent seemed to be offering his head on a platter. A moth darting into the flames, ignorant of its imminent demise. This was the image they had of Logan at that moment. However. There was one young superhuman who couldn’t dismiss the moth that had once cost him an eye. "Master, you must think this through. Logan McLine is no fool. He must have some strategy to face you." Of course, Jerome didn’t truly believe Logan could defeat his master. It was precisely because of this belief that his warning was vague, yet unexpectedly, the Sword Phantom nodded easily. "You might be right." "…Pardon?" Jerome's eyes widened, not expecting such an answer to his own suggestion. "We cannot be ensnared by the enemy's tricks. We will proceed as originally planned, following the direct strategy." "Sir!?" "Why...!?" "What reason could you have for this?" The other commanders were equally shocked. But the Sword Phantom’s expression was stern and unyielding, and the silent mage, Galen Decade, standing beside him, merely stared across the field without uttering a word. The icy demeanor of the two highest authorities in the room brought the other commanders back to their senses. – There is something we are unaware of. As this realization spread, the command tent grew silent. Surveying the room, Tris calmly issued orders. “Set up camp and order rest. Once the soldiers have recovered, we will begin the war." A clear indication that they would ignore the opponent’s proposal. With that final word, no further objections emerged. * * * "…The leadership of the Ghost Army was completely taken down by him." In the deepening darkness. The atmosphere in the tent grew cold at the calm voice emerging under the dim light. "By leadership, you mean…" "Assuming they didn’t make any grave mistakes, the top leader’s abilities in ambush attacks are unmatched across the continent. Even I wouldn't avoid injury if caught off guard." “If he wished to escape, he could flee even from a Grand Mage’s grasp. Such a man perished within the halls of MacLine's palace." As Galen added his insights, the air in the tent seemed to chill further. "Are you suggesting that the prowess of MacLine's so-called Sun is that exceptional?" After a brief silence, the first to speak was Greg Marvin, a middle-aged mage notable for his flaming red hair, reminiscent of a blazing fire. Due to his school’s specialization, even his hairstyle was transformed, and unlike a typical mage, he was known for his volatile and impatient temperament. While he couldn’t fully express this disposition in the presence of the Sword Phantom and Galen the Mage of the Cold Wind, the silence had become unbearable. Yet, the answer he received didn’t satisfy him. "I cannot say." "Pardon?" "To claim that Logan McLine possesses the skills to defeat the Shadow Sword would be unrealistic given his young age. No matter how talented, it defies reason. It seems he employed another means to deal with them. However…" Tris halted his words and scanned the superhumans in the tent. Including Galen, there were five mages, along with Jerome and himself. A formidable force of seven superhuman warriors, plus three elite Imperial central army legions—a formidable war contingent. Yet, should they manage to eliminate the enemy leader at the outset of the war, it would be ideal. While he regretted not accepting the challenge of a young upstart who couldn’t distinguish heaven from earth… "His Majesty instructed us to proceed with the war treating Logan McLine as if he were my equal." "Ah…" – What an unfathomable command… A shared thought crossed everyone's mind but was expressed only through sighs. The emperor’s orders were absolute. Disobedience, even leading to victory, would only result in a stain upon their achievements. Considering potential unseen risks, there was only one choice. Reading the expressions on the others’ faces, Tris smirked as he continued speaking. "When the war commences, I will take the lead. Given his spirit today, wouldn't King Logan of MacLine step forth immediately as well? The manner of engagement merely shifts slightly, so do not be too disappointed." Attempting to inject some flexibility into the emperor’s overbearing orders, an unexpected voice chimed in. "In that case, I will assist you, Sir." A woman, entirely contrasting Greg Marvin, with silver hair, porcelain skin, and dazzling emerald eyes. The Mage Tower Master of Frost, Nelly Korda, had long been rumored to stop her own time with her ageless beauty, despite being over sixty. Known for her exceedingly traditional nature, her reputation was the polar opposite of Greg's. Before Tris could respond to her, a click of the tongue echoed. "There you go again, trying to take on unnecessary burdens alone." A middle-aged woman, disagreeing, shook her head. The owner of the robust figure, unusual for a superhuman, was the Mage Tower Master of Earthquake, Celine Bouter. But as often, Celine was met with a cold shoulder from Nelly, with whom she perpetually clashed. "You’re ignoring me again!" "Celine." "Hah! Yes, Sir." "Nelly is fulfilling His Majesty’s orders. Even I cannot deter her. Would you dare to question this?" At the biting reprimand, Celine’s round face turned pale instantly. “I-I apologize. I acted impulsively without realizing…” "Refrain from creating discord among comrades before such a significant endeavor. Just this once, I’ll overlook it.” Despite the calm tone, the sharp aura that surrounded her like a blade caused Celine’s complexion to pale. Even among superhumans, a presence that could overwhelm purely with its aura. 'Who started the rumor that he was gravely injured by the divine sword? Damn.' She meant to test the waters but found herself duly reprimanded. She swallowed the words she dared not utter aloud and bowed her head once more. "I will bear it in mind, sir." Only after she remained bowed in silence for some time did the Sword Phantom finally shift his gaze away from her. "I will take on Logan McLine. Nelly will support me by taking care of his subordinates, and the rest of you will follow the original plan. Understood?" "Yes, sir!" All responded in a booming voice, save for the one-eyed knight standing behind Tris. 'I can't completely rule out the possibility that Master might be challenged.' Jerome recalled the time when Logan, not yet a superhuman, had taken his eye. In less than two years, Logan's prodigious talent had overwhelmed Jerome, even as he had advanced to an intermediate aura user. Now, more time had passed since then. It wouldn’t be surprising if Logan had reached a level comparable to his master. Jerome wanted to voice this concern. "Master…" But his intention was blocked from the start. "Sir Jerome, you haven't forgotten that you lack the authority to speak on wartime strategy, have you?" The stern, sharp-faced middle-aged woman with blue hair pinned up high reminded him of his position. The cold tone made Jerome grit his teeth involuntarily, but his response was predetermined. "…Of course, Lady Rexy." Even as the Lady of the Tower of Tides openly rebuked Jerome, Tris remained indifferent. This scene was a clear indication that Jerome had lost trust within the Empire, or more specifically, lost his master's confidence. Even if Jerome conveyed a message later, it was unlikely Tris would heed it. '…It’ll be fine. Lady Nelly is accompanying.' Jerome’s presence was there as a bodyguard to his master, ensuring he was not too far and ready to act in an emergency. In the end, he swallowed his words and stepped back. * * * The outbreak of war was swifter than McLine had anticipated. The very day after formations were set, with the crack of dawn, the Empire's army stirred, creating a commotion within the walls of Kyle Castle. "The Empire's forces are moving!" "Raise the alert for all troops!" As expected, the sentries, who had been preparing, promptly relayed signals, causing the nearly 50,000 troops of McLine’s First Legion and around 200,000 militia to burst into action. "Everyone to your designated positions!" The ramparts of the castle walls. As one militia soldier crouched with a crossbow behind the rough parapet, another stood over him in a staircase formation, spaced at head-length intervals, also brandishing a crossbow. Their setup appeared somewhat comical, but their expressions were nothing but earnest. Those at the bottom, larger in stature, seemed more driven by tension than the weight pressing down on them, their flushed faces fixed on the frontline. While Kyle Castle was one of the largest cities in the kingdom, it couldn't accommodate hundreds of thousands on one side of the wall, leading to this desperate measure. The remaining militia awaited with spare quivers and crossbows, while regular soldiers and knights, armed with spears and 'red stones,' prepared just below the wall. "Ready to fire the moment they enter range! Prepare to shoot!" "Ready!" Clatter, clatter. "Move quickly!" "What are you standing around for?!" The wall was a buzz with commotion. At its center, Logan gazed at the distant Imperial troops approaching. – Glory to the Empire! – Hooorrraaaah! Thud, thud, thud, thud. With earth-shaking roars, the formidable enemy forces charged forward. The sight of many soldiers bearing rapid-fire crossbows was anticipated, lessening the shock. In a siege rather than a skirmish, such weapons, incapable of firing in an arc, posed no major threat. However, facing what seemed like at least ten thousand knights still cast a considerable psychological burden. Logan, too, had modified the criteria for selecting soldiers, producing many knight troops. But, like the Empire, only McLine’s Second Legion, rooted in his realm, boasted such a high ratio. A few additional years might have changed things, but not at present. 'This can’t be helped.' Thankfully, the change in the Empire’s criteria had not been long enough for them to sport numerous highly skilled knights. Hence, they could be managed with their current arsenal. The primary concern now was pinpointing the superhumans' positions, notably the Sword Phantom, the army’s head. 'The Sword Phantom and the Cold Wind are separated. And the one with white hair…ah, Ice Witch Nelly Korda. And the knight behind, that's Jerome.' Tsk. The unease that settled in after the Sword Phantom refused the one-on-one duel yesterday had manifested became reality. The war wouldn’t unfold as easily as imagined. And this anxiety wasn’t Logan’s alone. "My dear." Eyes of a familiar, comforting blue, wearing a worried expression. "We already considered this as a possibility. I'll handle those three. Leave the rest to you." Logan's eyes also carried signs of concern. Aileen, Clayton, and Victoria would face the Empire's four mages, including the Mage of the Cold Wind. Naturally, the greatest burden would fall on Aileen, tasked with being the shield. His queen, his woman, would be the primary shield in danger's path. Fortunately, Aileen met his regret with a gentle smile. "Yes. Leave it to me." The Imperial army had already mobilized swiftly. Their conversation couldn’t extend further. Aileen swiftly moved toward her intended targets with agility. And shortly. "For the glory of the Empire!" As the cries of the knights at the forefront of the Imperial army began to sound clear, Logan's thundering command echoed across the battlefield. "Fire!" "Uwaaahhh!" Gaining the upper hand, or breaking the enemy's morale, wasn't solely dependent on defeating the Sword Phantom. ‘If the initial attack succeeds.’ He could shatter their momentum in one blow. With Logan’s hopes riding on it, a rain of quarrels darkened the sky, descending upon the Imperial forces. The volley exceeded the Empire's imagination in sheer volume, a torrent of arrows that dwarfed their expectations. It achieved more than he could have hoped for. "Ahhhh!" "Screeeam!" "What is this…! Aaugh!" The knights in the forefront found themselves overwhelmed by the dense barrage, the quarrels obscuring their vision. And interspersed among these, crimson stones hurled by the defenders on the walls fell incessantly. Boom! Bang! Ka-boom! "Ahhh!" "Magic! It’s magic!" "Mages!" Even the intermediate knights, capable of shrouding their armor in force, found themselves dismounted. Ordinary knights were swept away like leaves in a storm. The combination of massed crossbows and Liberatio stones effectively halted the advance of the 10,000-strong knightly assault. In the distance, the Empire's command center buzzed as countless banners shifted frantically. Clearly, they were rattled by this unexpected turn. 'Excellent!' Logan clenched his fist in triumph, but then, a chilling gust swept over the battlements. – Advance! We’ll handle the ranged attacks! Riding on magically amplified voices, a fierce cold wind swept through the center of the walls where Logan stood. "Aaagh!" "M-Magic!" "Please, spare us!" All around, friendly soldiers froze and were torn apart by the sudden onslaught. A familiar magic, though never experienced firsthand. 'The Gale of the Windstorm!' Gritting his teeth, Logan’s sword flickered with a golden hue, soon surrounding him in a blazing wall of gold extending several meters. The technique, Fire Splitter, from the Divine Sword's arsenal, dispersed the well-known magical assault from the continent. "Uwaaaah!" "Your Majesty!" "The Sun of McLine!" The morale of the surrounding soldiers and knights soared visibly. However, Logan’s expression remained grim. ‘Still not enough.’ The fundamental difference between magic and swordsmanship. The area he could protect was inherently limited. His gaze, full of frustration, landed on the mage floating in mid-air at the heart of the enemy lines.