Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 395 - 394: Rumble

Cecil military district, Gawain sat in the office building of the Intelligence Agency, the place where all intelligence of the Cecil Clan gathered. It was now temporarily used as the command center for this military operation, with various messages from the front lines continuously delivered through fast horse couriers and carrier pigeons, allowing Gawain to grasp the latest front-line situation at any time.

Amber stood beside Gawain, reporting the intelligence she had just received: ”The Kant and White River defenses are ready. Just as you expected, Hosman indeed split his forces boldly — fifty thousand troops in the north are advancing south along the King’s Road - Broken Stone Ridge line, while the western forces follow the White River, attacking via Tanzan Town. At their pace, Sir Philip’s side should engage the enemy first.”

Gawain nodded without concern: ”Most of the heavy artillery is deployed north of Tanzan Town, where there are also hundreds of ’Persuader’ light rail cannons, plus minefields and shooting bunkers. Philip’s side shouldn’t have much of a problem.”

”Fifty thousand troops — are you really not worried?” Amber looked at Gawain in astonishment, ”Though I know you’re bold, that’s quite an exaggeration... If those fifty thousand really charge, even with the cannon positions, it might not be enough to stop them...”

”The problem is they can’t just charge all at once,” Gawain shook his head while adjusting the satellite imagery in his mind, ”The roads at the junction of Windward Hill and Broken Stone Ridge are terrible, not suitable for a charge or forming a battle array. And those fifty thousand troops Hosman gathered... Hmph...”

Gawain couldn’t help but snort, his expression filled with disdain: ”I almost don’t want to call them an army... The private armies of aristocrats in this era have almost no military discipline, entirely relying on supernatural knights to hold the line, storming forward by numbers, more like undisciplined bandits than soldiers. Moreover, according to the usual rules of noble warfare, they have no unified command system, with each small team fighting independently. They’ll pour out of Broken Stone Ridge in a confusing mess, and then they’ll be bombarded by the cannons... Once the giant cannon fires, do you really think those fifty thousand will still be able to group together and charge?”

”...Alright, I haven’t seen a real battlefield anyway, so you’re the expert here,” Amber pouted and then looked Gawain up and down, ”But honestly, I’m a bit surprised you’re not on the front lines... Isn’t the legendary Gawain Cecil often personally charging into battle and sweeping through the battlefield? Why are you sitting at the rear...”

Gawain casually tossed the charcoal pencil he was using to mark the map aside: ”You forget I died last time while charging into battle?”

Amber: ”...”

”Just kidding, I said that casually,” Gawain chuckled, standing up and leisurely walking to the window, ”There are two real reasons: First, in the new combat style of the Cecil Corps, individual strength, and generals charging in battle will become less important. I don’t need to charge at the front; I just need to ensure good commanders are on the front lines. Second, I stay here... to guard against potential ’visitors’.”

As Gawain spoke, he looked through the crystal windows of the Intelligence Agency building toward the distance, his gaze seemingly crossing the vast northern wastelands and forests, reaching the front lines at Windward Hill and Broken Stone Ridge...

On the difficult slope at Broken Stone Ridge, Ropeni Ge’lan looked up, gazing at the increasingly scattered and noisy troops ahead, with an indifferent expression on her face.

The knights she brought guarded by her side, along with three Mage advisors and several Priests from her territory. Beyond them were the knights’ followers, militia, and drafted young men. As a Viscount territory that had just recovered from the disaster ten years ago, Gran Territory couldn’t send many people, but at this moment, nearly a thousand people surrounded this Lady Viscount. They occupied a not inconsiderable segment in the entire ”army,” and the playing of bagpipes created a lively atmosphere, making the morale high.

Having rested not long ago, the entire ”army” now seemed energetic, with the chaotic soldiers all bearing a cheerful look. This was the excitement of imminent plunder and the chance to earn ”glory,” stirring them. Ropeni Ge’lan watched all this with detachment, like a bystander. After passing through another passage, she steered her horse closer to a bearded knight: ”Where are we now?”

”Mistress, just a few more miles and we’ll be out of Broken Stone Ridge,” the knight replied with a smile, ”Beyond the ridge, Windward Hill lies ahead.”

Ropeni looked at the bearded knight and suddenly asked, ”I remember ten years ago... you were the castle’s guard.”

The knight’s expression seemed to stiffen for a moment, but quickly turned respectful: ”It’s an honor to serve you.”

”Of course, it’s your honor,” Ropeni flashed a charming smile, her gaze sweeping across, familiar faces appearing in her view—guards from ten years ago, Gran’s Mage advisors, bridgekeepers, sentinels, archery captains... As these faces shifted in her vision, it was as if flames were engulfing them, bright and burning fiercely, enough to scorch the castle gates. Her smile grew increasingly radiant, a brilliance not seen on her face for ten years, bursting forth suddenly and nearly mesmerizing those around her, ”Today is a day full of glory.”

”A day full of glory!” The knights, squires, and militia were bewildered, but since their leader said so, they immediately waved their arms in high spirits, cheering loudly, ”A day full of glory!”

Ropeni took a deep breath, and in the distance of her vision, wisps of smoke rose from the dense forest, appearing to be the forest fires common in this season.

The Lady wobbled slightly, then held her forehead, ”I’m feeling a bit dizzy.”

The knight immediately stepped forward solicitously, ”My lady, do you need to stop? We can swap positions with Viscount Panila behind us.”

”No, you all continue forward, I will leave some guardians here to rest a bit,” Ropeni shook her head, then looked at the knight in front of her, smiling, ”Don’t fall behind the team—quickly move forward.”

The knight accepted the command—or rather, he himself did not want to lag behind in this battle destined for a grand victory and plunder, so he immediately turned his horse, leaving the lady behind, and led the team onward.

And Ropeni Ge’lan, with her selected group of less than a hundred guardians, left the team, arriving at a quiet spot by the roadside, silently watching them head forward.

In the distant forest, a second plume of smoke rose.

Count Hosman and the team he led emerged from the passage of Broken Stone Ridge; the narrow, hard-to-tread mountain path finally came to an end. Ahead lay an equally rough area, scattered with rubble and pits, but at least it was an open field.

Having had enough of the mountain path, he couldn’t help but smile, and around him, the knights had already begun urging the soldiers forward, tidying up formations slightly on the open ground and counting the number of stragglers — other aristocratic teams did about the same upon reaching the open field, and the desolate place suddenly bustled with activity.

Count Hosman rode forward leisurely; he didn’t wish to lower himself to do duties that required shouting and losing composure as an Earl. He had excellent military advisors, and much naturally fell to the advisors and knights to manage.

A low, ethereal rumble, seemingly from a very distant place, reached the Earl’s ears. Despite the noise around, the rumble caught his attention, and he curiously looked toward the direction of the sound—was this spring’s third rain coming? Thunder at this time of year was not a good omen.

Count Hosman’s thoughts wandered, then he heard another strange sound from high above—a sharp noise, like a whistle, and the tone grew higher and sharper, as if something was approaching from the sky.

Then the thunder struck—on the ground.

Beyond imagination, terrifying explosions suddenly tore through the plain; no one saw what landed beside them. Accompanied by the thunderous roar, countless rocks, soil flew up, mingling with freshly torn bodies and warhorse remnants. Count Hosman felt as though an invisible giant hammer had struck him, sending him flying; his luxurious earl’s cloak burst with magical lights of all colors, his carefully kept protective articles almost instantly shattered into powder, then he felt the dreadful impact directly acting on him, his organs quaked, his bones vibrated, and in his ever-rising sight, he saw more ”thunders” resounding across the open land, one after another.

Relentless explosions descended, like hundreds or thousands of angry archMages raining down destructive magic from the sky. The entire open field was almost instantly covered in flames, smoke, debris, and the wails of the dying; knights roared in terror and bewilderment, uncontrolled soldiers and warhorses dashed madly across a battlefield resembling hell. Mages feebly raised various protective spells, yet their sparse, frail magic shields on the battlefield seemed like a few sparks in the dark, tiny and fleeting—Magic Crystal Shells weighing dozens of kilograms could effortlessly tear apart the hastily conjured defenses, so much so that due to the mana explosion and chaotic turbulence, many mages who raised shields died even quicker: powerful magic power shocks disrupted their spellcasting environment, and the fragile human nervous system couldn’t possibly control such rampant energy in these conditions; one by one, mages bled from all orifices behind their barriers and perished, their magic shields yet to extinguish, but their brains already turned to ash by their own mana.

Amidst the explosions, Count Hosman finally hit the ground—more accurately, the part containing his head finally landed. He couldn’t feel where his limbs were, but he could feel his life rapidly slipping away. Before his vision went entirely dark, he saw a piece of charred, twisted metal suddenly fall before his eyes; on that metal fragment, a line of text was faintly visible:

...This is our argument.