Chapter 190: Attitude, and the Intensifying War

“A report, Lord Rudolf! The first batch of evacuees from the Church of Nightfall has successfully left the capital. The mercenaries hired by the noble investigation team failed to eliminate them.”

The Flame Marshal Black Benn’s subordinate was reporting to Rudolf in the office specially designated for investigating the Prayer Network and the Lady of the Night’s faith.

The person responsible for observing the Church of Nightfall’s evacuation convoy, whom Gilbert had deliberately allowed to escape, delivered his report to Rudolf, who was still focused on the documents spread out on the desk.

“Let me guess—you’re here to excuse yourself for your failure, not just to report it, right?”

Rudolf’s calm tone made a drop of cold sweat slide down the observer’s cheek. He felt as if Rudolf had completely seen through him.

“Y-Yessir! There were many reasons for the failure.” He stammered slightly, clearly lacking confidence.

“Stick to the key points. Just tell me about any involvement from the Nightblades and the like. I don’t need your excuses.”

Rudolf’s words only made the observer more nervous. He had intended to cite the unexpected involvement of the Nightblades as the main reason for the failure, but Rudolf had already anticipated this, rendering his excuse meaningless.

Forcing himself to continue, he said, “Our response to the Church of Nightfall’s convoy was one step too slow. The intel we received came later than the convoy’s departure. Also, the city guards we had bribed ahead of time to set up the checkpoint didn’t act—because when that convoy passed through the city gates, it presented itself as a Nightblades’ investigative unit. By standard protocol, the city guards let them through without issue.”

Despite his nervousness, the observer carefully recounted the sequence of events, managing his tone and speed to deliver the report quickly and clearly, just the way Rudolf preferred it.

“A clever trick, but effective. Without advance knowledge of Nightblade involvement, this would’ve been difficult to prevent. Continue.”

“Though delayed, the intel eventually reached the mercenaries tasked with intercepting them—but they failed. The Church of Nightfall’s evacuation convoy had clearly anticipated an ambush and was prepared to counterattack. They exploited the intelligence gap to swiftly and thoroughly wipe out the mercenaries.

“The only members of the Church who fought were the two former bodyguards from that gnome merchant guild in the capital: the orc Emmon and the elven ranger Vena.

“There was a full Nightblade ops team mixed into the convoy. They acted as the main combat force in the counterattack. I couldn’t identify them all, but the leader appeared to be Gilbert, the captain of one of their squads.

“That’s the gist of it. The biggest reason for the failure was the Nightblades’ intervention, which gave the Church of Nightfall advance warning.”

The observer looked uneasy as he finished and waited for Rudolf’s reaction.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Afraid of punishment for failure? This won’t fall on you. Honestly, you handled it well enough. Don’t mistake me for one of those useless fools who enjoy punishing subordinates. That’s pointless. It’s better to use the time doing actual work.”

Rudolf glanced at the man and spoke casually. He then pulled out a slip of paper from a special drawer in his desk, scribbled a secure cipher that represented his authority, and handed it over.

“Take this to receive your next task and reward. Do your job, and don’t waste time trying to guess our intentions. Making life hard for someone small like you doesn’t benefit me.”

The observer froze for a second. He’d heard that Rudolf was strange; now, he was realizing it for himself firsthand. The way Rudolf had read his every thought made his initial fear turn into awkward embarrassment.

“Understood!”

He quickly accepted the slip of paper and hurried out of the room.

Now alone, Rudolf folded his hands beneath his chin, deep in thought.

“Black Benn might be impulsive and sloppy with details, but when it comes to gut instinct, he’s the sharpest man I know. Just as I thought, the Nightblades, free from the shackles of Heaven’s Gloom and now equipped with the Prayer Network, are ready to make their move.”

After a brief moment, Rudolf resumed pulling documents and intelligence reports from the desk.

“The Nightblades could’ve handled that operation without showing themselves at all, but they chose to intervene openly. It’s a message to the royal family. While some compromises in the past were necessary, there are things they will no longer concede,” he murmured to himself with a faint smile, as if amused by the implications.

“Aleisterre… things aren’t looking good, are they? An organization older than the kingdom itself is openly expressing dissatisfaction with the royal family.”

He pulled out a document and began scanning for a specific name mentioned in the earlier report.

“Gilbert… wasn’t he the squad leader who was supposedly killed due to severe mental corruption during that test the royal family conducted in the capital’s shadow? So the Prayer Network existed even back then?

“Tsk. That means some royal operations might’ve already been exposed. That’s bad. There’s nothing more I can do as the intelligence chief. I’ll just report everything and let the royals decide.

“I almost want to turn away. For the Nightblades to take such a stance… maybe you no longer deserve the throne. How you deal with them now will make your stance clear.

“Ugh, forget it. I’m just the intel guy. No point dwelling on this. Internal politics can wait. Right now, stabilizing the frontlines is the priority.”

He gathered the new intel and his analysis, carefully removed any emotional or personal remarks, and compiled it all for submission to the royal intelligence agency.

Then, shifting his focus, Rudolf pushed thoughts of the Nightblades and the royal family aside, pulled out the latest battlefield updates, and began analyzing them.

At this point, the Sighing Canyon no longer represented a strict boundary between Aleisterre and Selwyn. The battle lines had become a tug-of-war. Selwyn’s forces had crossed the canyon and seized a significant area of Aleisterre’s territory, which was now being used as a forward base.

Aleisterre had chosen to abandon that defensible ground and retreated, redeploying most of their forces further from the canyon.

Since that night raid, Selwyn had been like a beast on a rampage, advancing relentlessly and pressing its forces forward without pause. Its soldiers’ individual combat prowess was significantly more impressive than Aleisterre’s. In direct clashes, Aleisterre suffered heavier losses.

The two kingdoms had long been neighbors and rivals, and they understood each other well. Selwyn’s aggressive push was fueled by confidence, while Aleisterre’s steady retreat was also calculated.

The regions Selwyn had taken were previously occupied by Aleisterre’s forces.

However, Aleisterre’s army, especially its elite magicians and alchemists, had laid numerous traps and obstacles in those areas to impede Selwyn’s advance…

Even now, Selwyn maintained their aggressive forward momentum. For days, they had relied on their soldiers to relentlessly pressure Aleisterre while maintaining a fierce and oppressive pace.

In earlier phases of the war, Aleisterre had used their nimble magicians to great effect, conducting guerrilla warfare that kept Selwyn from gaining the upper hand.

But now, Selwyn wasn’t playing along. No matter how Aleisterre’s flying magician squads harassed their flanks, Selwyn’s army simply kept pushing forward, planting anti-magic stone monuments to fortify captured ground.

Aleisterre’s main weakness began to show: its frontline forces were inferior. Unlike Aleisterre’s resource-rich lands, Selwyn’s bitter northern terrain bred a martial spirit that gave their soldiers a clear edge.

Selwyn’s ranks were filled with stronger warriors in terms of both knights and infantry, leading to a significant gap in strength between the two armies’ core forces.

In head-on clashes, Aleisterre could only keep retreating and surrendering more ground.

But there was a limit to how far it could retreat. Aleisterre’s army was drawing ever closer to actual towns and cities within the kingdom.

The lands they had previously ceded were a buffer zone, which had remained undeveloped and uninhabited.

Any further, and actual cities would be at risk. Losing even a small piece of settled land could deal a heavy blow to the kingdom and its morale.

Selwyn’s unchecked aggression also stemmed from another advantage.

Though their icy homeland was poor in resources and relatively isolated, the towering St. Anna mountain range to their back formed a natural fortress.

Mountains encircled the kingdom on three sides, leaving only one open path to the outside world—making them effectively immune to attacks from other kingdoms.

Aleisterre, however, wasn’t so lucky. Its prosperity and central location meant it bordered more than just Selwyn.

Other kingdoms had long been eyeing it, ready to strike and tear off a piece when the time was right.

The kingdom’s stability depended on four Grand Dukes guarding the borders, each controlling nearly half the nation’s forces.

These dukes, unconditionally trusted, had defended the realm for generations.

Their loyalty was beyond question. Even the royal family would never think to interfere with their command.

This meant that Aleisterre’s army was partially tied up defending its borders, leaving the frontlines somewhat weaker—and allowing Selwyn to keep pushing them back.

But now, they could retreat no further. Behind the front lines lay the heart of Aleisterre. Any more losses would outweigh the cost of facing Selwyn directly.

“Advance! The imperial banner shall never fall!” Selwyn’s field commander shouted from within the ranks, his hoarse cry brimming with fervor.

Selwyn’s vanguard was composed of heavily armored soldiers with formidable mobility on the battlefield. They were all at least intermediate knights-in-training, with specially hardened armor that was infused with anti-magic metals, allowing them to shrug off ordinary spells.

Though their advance was slow, it was steady and suffocating. They swung their greatswords methodically forward, without much finesse, as they hacked their way through.

A deep breath, followed by a forward sweep—a heavy greatsword carved a wide arc through the air and smashed into the shield of an approaching Aleisterre infantryman. The clash between the two forces erupted with a deafening metallic roar.

The Aleisterre infantry let out muffled grunts as the impact sent them staggering several steps back, but the heavily armored soldiers of Selwyn didn’t budge an inch.

The armor worn by Selwyn’s heavy infantry was both a burden that slowed them and a bulwark that allowed them to press forward without yielding.

To conserve stamina, the soldiers rested their greatswords against the ground as they paused briefly, allowing their fatigued muscles a moment’s reprieve before they swung the massive weapons again. They steadily advanced and relentlessly forced the Aleisterre infantry back.

A fierce roar echoed from the skies. The sky, darkening with the onset of dusk, was tinged red by the glow of fire. Massive meteors were hurtling toward them from the Aleisterre army.

The magical energy radiating from them was overwhelming. Earth formed the dense cores of these blazing meteors, and fire coated their outer shells. They plummeted from high above and targeted Selwyn’s position.

It was difficult to tell exactly what tier of spell these meteors were. Judging by their sheer oppressive force, they had to be at least at a coordinated fourth-tier spell or higher.

“Formation: Obsidian Shields!” a commander embedded within the Selwyn forces shouted over the din.

Selwyn’s troops had always struggled with spellcasting. When facing an army like Aleisterre’s, which was equipped with large-scale magical capabilities, they often suffered heavy losses under area-of-effect magic.

In response, over the course of prolonged warfare, they developed a method to counter magic: anti-magic infantry.

Thick obsidian shields, far less effective at resisting magic than precious mithril, but vastly cheaper, were brought forth by the heavy infantry and raised at an angle to intercept the descending meteors.

Selwyn’s response was swift and precise. Rows of large, spiked obsidian shields formed an impenetrable wall, locking together to form a grim and oppressive bulwark.

One after another, the blazing meteors, each over three meters in diameter,slammed into the wall of shields.

Fire burst outward the instant the meteors struck the ground, unleashing a violent conflagration in the middle of the Selwynian forces. Their dense earthen cores became unstoppable battering rams.

Meteors that struck the shields directly instantly mangled armor and flesh alike.

That single moment of impact instantly reduced numerous heavy infantry to blackened, charred flesh. And yet, for once, Selwyn’s losses remained within acceptable limits despite Aleisterre’s devastating bombardment.

The obsidian wall had absorbed most of the explosive damage. Apart from the unfortunate soldiers who took the meteors head-on, the rest of the heavy infantry sustained minimal damage from the blast.

Compared to its usual chaotic retreat under large-scale spells, Selwyn’s army now stood strong, its momentum undeterred.

With a resounding stomp, the soldiers stowed their shields. As they trampled over scorched earth and the remains of fallen comrades, Selwyn’s heavy infantry resumed their unstoppable advance.

The flaming meteors had been indiscriminate—they didn’t differentiate between friend and foe. Though Aleisterre’s infantry had known to retreat in advance, they too were shaken by the impact. Their formation wavered briefly, at the worst possible moment.

From behind Selwyn’s heavy infantry surged their assault troops. Dual-wielding hand axes and clad in light armor, these savage warriors roared as they charged forward. They preyed on the momentary instability in the enemy’s frontlines, breaking through with brutal force and catching Aleisterre’s troops completely off-guard.

Axes sank into flesh, ripping through muscle and bone. Blood splattered and steamed across the blazing ground. The air was thick with the stench of burning gore. Frenzied howls, despairing screams, weapons clashing, iron boots pounding the earth—the intensity of the battle surged to fever pitch.

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