460 - Regressor of the Fallen Family

Chapter 460: The Gloom Over the Imperial Command Marching Toward Rusfelheim A somber atmosphere pervaded the imperial command as it advanced toward Rusfelheim. With the Sanctuary's holy war declaration bolstered by the Cassel Magic Tower's alliance and the enemy king's elevation to an Honorary Saint, even becoming a Holy Hero—things had decidedly taken a turn for the worse. "Eliminating the Cassel Magic Tower from this war hardly changes the inevitable clash with the Sanctuary in the future," said Galen Decade, the Mage of the North Wind, his words blanketing the crowd in silence. Despite the assembly including every transcendent of the Empire, most seats around the central roundtable remained empty. The Eastern corps' commanders were annihilated, and of the seven masters of Aserian's towers, only Galen survived. Among the Imperial Guard's transcendent ranks, only Jerome Decade, the previously ousted one-eyed prodigy, was present. The Western corps' commanders, considered central to the Empire's power, had lost two leaders, reducing the once 30-strong transcendent force to a mere seven survivors. Most of these casualties occurred on the battlefield of Mclain, their current destination, a testament to the war's peril. With such dire circumstances dragging morale to rock-bottom, those gathered for the strategy meeting found words elusive. "Have there been any updates from His Majesty?" the youngest, Jerome, tentatively broke the silence, only to be met with sharp, accusatory glances. "How dare you speak His Majesty's name! If not for your betrayal, we'd have already subdued the Sanctuary! Our Empire wouldn't be cornered like this..." "Grek!" Galen's rebuke cut through, forcing the grey-haired Western 1st Corps Commander Grek Pedderson to swallow his anger and apologize begrudgingly. Though he couldn't resist muttering, "You're only defending him because he's your grandnephew..." His murmurs were heard by all present, Galen included. "Do you intend to sow discord now? If you wish, I can offer you a duel." "...No. My apologies. I let my frustration get the better of me." "Hmph, let it be." Aware that this wasn't the time for infighting, Galen chose to overlook Grek's insubordination and refocused the discussion. "His Majesty will arrive before the war begins. Now, does anyone have a plan to improve our situation?" Galen's gaze swept across the remaining six, finally resting on a sharp-faced, gaunt man seated at the edge—Terry Godwin, the Western 2nd Corps Commander, spoke. "Hasn't the General Staff come up with a plan?" Shaking his head, Galen grimaced. "Most are paralyzed by the announcement of the holy war, unable to devise a viable strategy. Useless bastards." Loyalty to the Emperor defined many of the Empire’s devout high-ranking officials, who sought prosperity in both life and afterlife, hoping for both divine favor and imperial prestige. Among them, civil officials usually fixated on such dual rewards, which led to unforeseen complications. "Surely there must be at least one competent planner among them." "Even those suggest that strategic moves would be ineffective, merely dispersing our forces." "What?" "The real crux, they claim, is which side's transcendent forces are wiped out first. Specifically, they point to the outcome between His Majesty and the King of Mclain as pivotal, offering no other tactics. Blinded by trivialities, the General Staff has failed us." Silence returned to the roundtable following Galen’s verdict. Finally, the burly Western 3rd Corps Commander, Dakota Allen, cautiously ventured, "But we have more than twice their forces, don't we? With remnants of the Eastern corps gathered by Northern and Southern Kings' forces, our numbers would actually be even greater..." "The issue is the dwindling morale among those troops. Our assembly here was convened to address this exact concern. As I mentioned, the General Staff proposes no measures against the sanctuary's declaration." While the disparity in transcendent strength could be balanced by troop superiority, their numerical advantage over Mclain extended well beyond twofold, potentially threefold. With half of the Western corps depleted to 250,000 men and reinforcements from three out of four Kings, the tally could well reach 400,000, while the enemy numbered around 100,000 at best. With such numerical supremacy, a master or even a grandmaster on the enemy’s side would still be overwhelmed—assuming the troops were well-trained and motivated. But the fundamental issue lay in the severe dip in troop morale. "Are none of you aware of the spreading rumors? They claim opposing a Holy Hero, as yet unrecorded in history, will bring divine retribution! With talk of what's happening at Kyle Castle interpreted as divine punishment already enacted!" Despite Galen’s thunderous outburst, silence continued to dominate the command tent. Finally, amid the oppressive atmosphere, Phyllis Delfione, the Western 4th Corps Commander and the only female aura user, whispered, "When His Majesty arrives, things will naturally..." Bang! Attempting to maintain his demeanor, Galen slammed the table in frustration. "We need to have a plan before His Majesty arrives!" His fierce shout reverberated throughout the tent. Galen's typically cold, arrogant demeanor crumbled into visible frustration, underscoring the gravity of their situation and exacerbating the encroaching despair. "Hah, and these are supposed to be the commanders of the Empire's corps..." he muttered. His statement hardened the expressions of the five corps commanders, barring Jerome. Unspoken thoughts converged in their minds, uncannily resonant in the tent's stifling silence. "We are the victors; you, the losers. So, what of it?" In that tense moment inside the tent where hostility lingered heavily in the air, a sudden unexpected voice emerged. "Heh heh heh, it seems like you all have much to ponder..." Along with the voice, an elderly man clad in a black robe appeared abruptly, as if he had materialized out of thin air. "What the...!" "Who are you!" "Do you know where you are?!" Clang! The latent pressure that hung over the commanders, poised to erupt at any moment, quickly redirected toward this uninvited guest. A cold gust of wind suddenly swept between the commanders and the old man. "He's an ally. Everyone, calm down." "Heh heh." Galen, though acknowledging the old man as an ally, clicked his tongue in displeasure. The old man, revealing a few remaining crooked teeth, returned a strange smile. Their contrasting expressions, combined with recent events and rumors, made it easy to deduce the old man's identity. "The Cassel Magic Tower..." "The Black Snake?" "Are they the magicians?" "Heh heh, indeed we are. Imperial generals, leave your swords sheathed for now, as we stand on the same side." His laughter and laid-back voice were grating, especially for one who had just been reprimanded. "Don't be ridiculous! It's because of you that we've found ourselves in this situation..." "Phyllis!" Phyllis, the only female commander in the Empire, known as the Blood Flower, unleashed a crimson blossom of aura from her fingertips that rapidly extended towards the old man. But then— Boom! A loud explosion followed, and the crimson floral illusion disrupting everyone's sight disappeared. Phyllis Delfione's body was hurled across the tent, crashing hard into a corner. Everyone knew the old man's simple gesture had caused it all. "Tch! How dare you..." "Attacking an ally bringing a way to turn the tide... executing you might not even anger His Majesty, heh heh." Phyllis, recovering and ready to launch another strike, hesitated at his chilling remark. This prompted Galen, visibly frowning, to step in. "You went too far, Tower Master." "I merely defended myself." "Phyllis wasn't aiming for any vital points." "Heh heh, was that so? My old eyes must be failing me." With words that couldn't fool even a dog, the Tower Master leisurely took an empty seat. Galen, unable to straighten his scrunched expression, slumped back into his seat, prompting other commanders to reluctantly follow suit. "It better be a foolproof plan, old man," Phyllis growled, still dust-covered but resolute. The leader of the Black Snake returned a sly smile. "Of course, General." As their faces twisted with incredulity, the Tower Master continued, "It's simple. If morale is low, simply boost it—by force if necessary." "What do you mean...?" "We at the Cassel Magic Tower propose casting a spell over the imperial army. Turning this grand force into fearless warriors, death won't be a deterrent. How could we lose the war then?" All present froze at the suggestion. "...Brainwash the soldiers? All of them?" "Heh, with your cooperation, it’s doable." "That's absurd! Don't you realize why we're in this predicament? Using your methods so openly confirms the Sanctuary's allegations!" "And do you think the Sanctuary will just retract threats? Especially after bestowing the title of Holy Hero on your adversary?" Silence engulfed the tent, as the transcendent commanders lost their words and the old man's cold eyes surveyed them. "I assure you, accepting my proposal not only ensures victory over Mclain but will also see the Sanctuary fall with minimal effort. What say you, Mage of the North Wind? Will you convey my plan to His Majesty?" "...His Majesty isn’t here." "Oh, really? No wonder my communications with him have been one-sided. Hence my personal visit..." Galen, meeting the gauzy-eyed man's gaze, perceptibly shifted as a sudden realization seemed to dawn on him, and he raised his magical defenses. Crunch. A white-blue wind mingled with dull greys before dispersing. "What trickery is this!" As a fierce shout erupted from Galen, a biting wind enveloped his surroundings. The old man, momentarily caught off guard, recomposed himself, clasping his hands and delivering his characteristic sly smile. "Ah, I merely intended to verify the truth. If I have offended, please accept my sincere apologies, heh heh." His demeanor unexpectedly conciliatory, as if no confrontation had occurred. Yet Galen's expression remained icily stern. "This is your first and final warning, Tower Master. Not even a grand mage like you can withstand the seven of us simultaneously. Attempt more trickery, and..." "Ah, I’ve already apologized. I'll assist without charge as a gesture of goodwill. Would that suffice, North Wind?" The audacious statement made Galen chuckle incredulously, momentarily distracted from his anger. "Were you seriously expecting compensation?" "You thought brainwashing this massive army in a day was pocket change?" "Save the nonsense and leave. Answers to your proposition will come once His Majesty returns." Faced with the fierce aura, the Tower Master narrowed his eyes again, but only briefly. "Heh heh, very well. Though perhaps no better solution awaits." He opted to retreat with a peculiar grin. "Do not underestimate the Empire or His Majesty." The old man had also heard—there was no viable plan. His opponents knew it too. Yet Galen stood unwavering and so did the commanders, nodding confidently in accord to his words. The ordinary imperial soldiers might waver, but these men retained their faith in their Emperor. "Madmen intoxicated with faith from the Sanctuary aren't the only ones. Even these are equally deranged," the old man clicked his tongue in his mind as he left his parting words. "...Prepare at the small town of Regal, situated south of Penna. It's en route to Rusfelheim, so should you reach a decision, meet me there. Should you desire additional assistance, that is also within possibility. After all, we’re in a position requiring cooperation, aren't we?" "...As I said, this will be for the Emperor to decide..." "Yes, yes. His esteemed Majesty will make a decision. I'm truly curious about what our so-called illustrious Emperor is doing while the imperial army descends into chaos." With those final words, the old man vanished without a trace. The transcendent beings, left staring blankly at the spot where the old man had stood, continued their uncertain meeting, their expressions weighed down with concern. Three days later, just a day away from arriving at Regal, as the old man had mentioned: "The Emperor has arrived!" The Emperor, awaited by all within the imperial army, joined the main camp of the imperial forces.