"No, it shouldn't be like this."
"It shouldn't..."
"I am a knight chosen by His Grace the Duke himself..."
Mounted on his horse not far from the battlefield, Joseph stared fixedly at the rapid collapse of the "Honor Legion."
His so-called "soldiers" wailed and howled, scattering in every direction, pursued by short yet exceptionally vicious monsters.
In Joseph's countless daydreams, he was supposed to lead his army in sweeping charges, crushing the enemy, ultimately earning a special commendation from the Duke, receiving a fief, and becoming a true noble.
Even at worst, he would have slain foes valiantly before everyone's eyes and died fighting to his last breath, becoming a tragic hero sung of by bards for generations.
Yet now, he had led a mob of "grey cattle" to utter ruin, and he was about to die unwitnessed and in complete meaninglessness upon this wasteland.
"It shouldn't be like this!"
A vicious look hardened across Joseph's face as he resolved himself.
As the crowd surged in frantic flight, he spurred his horse into a high leap, charging against the human tide. He trampled several men underfoot and even severed the head of the foremost deserter with his sword.
Holding up the deserter's severed head, his face splattered with blood, Joseph bellowed with a hideous sneer:
"Do you see this? This is what happens to deserters!"
"You cowards! You cattle!"
"Turn and face them! Fight to the death!"
To the fleeing soldiers, he appeared no different from the monsters pursuing them from behind.
Joseph's bloody battlefield enforcement actually had some effect, slightly slowing the retreat. Faced with the choice between dying in battle and being cut down by their commander, quite a few soldiers mustered a shred of courage to make a final stand.
Yet before long, they were overwhelmed by the tidal wave of monsters, plunging into an even more total rout.
Hemmed in by kobolds and goblins, the men could only flee backward on sheer instinct.
"Die, you monsters!"
From horseback, Joseph lopped off a kobold's head with a single slash.
Yet swarms of goblins quickly converged on him from all directions, leaping onto Joseph, latching onto his arms, clawing at his eyes, and tearing into his face.
*Crash!*
He was knocked straight from the saddle.
Joseph slammed heavily onto the ground. Tearing away a goblin clinging to his arm, he ran it through, his expression rabid with fury.
"You filthy wretches! Die!"
His voice had already grown hoarse, spittle spraying from his roaring mouth. Channeling the last ounce of strength in his body, he surged to his feet, remarkably throwing off every goblin clinging to him.
Yet before he could swing his sword, several more goblins pounced onto him. Their combined weight overwhelmed his already exhausted legs, sending him crashing back down.
He thrashed again and again, but his struggles only drew more goblins and kobolds lunging with bared fangs and sharp claws. Dozens of monsters piled on like a small hill, pinning him down so tightly that he could not move.
"Die... die..."
"To hell..."
His voice grew fainter and fainter until it was completely swallowed by the roaring tide of monstrous shrieks.
"For Cinder Nest!"
"For the great Red Dragon master!"
The kobolds and goblins pressed on with the chase, slaughtering as they went.
When the cluster of monsters finally dispersed, nothing remained on the ground save for a pool of blood, scattered bones, and shredded garments. The emblem of an eagle and crossed swords on the chest of the tunic lay soaked in blood, forgotten and unheeded.
It was once the symbol of nobility that Joseph had fanatically idolized.
Yet on this bloody battlefield, it meant nothing at all—even the kobolds did not bother to pick it up.
***
Aiden, commander of the First Regiment of the Eagle Guard, landed atop his giant eagle and strode into the command tent, reporting in a heavy voice:
"Lord Count, the Honor Legion is collapsing."
"Roughly six thousand routed men are falling back toward our lines."
Robert nodded slightly and remarked calmly, "Did they hold out for less than an hour? Just about what I expected. The only purpose of that rabble was to scout the road for our army and spare us some needless losses."
His fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the tabletop. "What is the situation with the enemy force?"
"Mainly goblins and kobolds, around twenty thousand in total. Some are minions empowered by the evil dragon, but they are only fit to bully that so-called 'Honor Legion.' They shouldn't pose much of a threat to us."
"Very well. It is time to let these ignorant, foolish beasts see..."
"...what true war looks like."
Robert rose slowly and walked out of the tent.
Aiden and Schneider followed close behind.
Clad in grey surcoats and armed with spears and shields, the "Eagle's Claw" stood in neat ranks, arrayed in tight, impenetrable phalanxes. The shields in their hands were carved with the pattern of eagle feathers, and the tips of their five-meter-long pikes gleamed with cold light, resembling a forest of steel.
Warhorses neighed as plate-armored cavalry stood ready in formation, prepared to charge at a moment's notice.
In the sky, hundreds of Eagle Guards circled in orderly formations, maintaining constant vigil over the surroundings.
On the open ground behind the tents, soldiers worked together pushing heavy ballistas forward at a steady pace.
"Soldiers of mine—"
Robert's voice was not loud, but through the aid of magic, every person present heard it with ringing clarity.
"True war is upon us. The enemy we face today is unprecedented—savage monsters: goblins, kobolds, ogres, and even a dragon."
"They may be physically powerful, possessing monstrous strength, or capable of spewing terrifying flames. But remember: behind you lies the Principality of Lakeman. Behind you dwell your parents, your wives, your children, and your friends. The red dragon's expansion is boundless and relentless, and our only recourse is to strike back with all our might—to show these monsters what we are made of!"
"The Principality has sheltered us in peace for years, and you have grown up beneath His Grace the Duke's protection. Now, every man of spirit who knows gratitude must repay that debt: fight to the death for His Grace! Fight to the death for the Principality of Lakeman!"
"For the Duke! For the Principality of Lakeman!"
Robert raised his silver sword high and shouted, his arm thrusting skyward.
Most of these elite soldiers of House Lakeman hailed from cities—descendants of urban burghers or petty nobles who had received premier military training from childhood. This rhetoric of protecting those beside them and repaying the realm's grace resonated deeply with them.
At once, the soldiers brandished their weapons, slamming the shafts of their pikes rhythmically against the ground, unleashing wave upon wave of roaring cheers.
"For the Duke—!"
"For the Principality of Lakeman—!"
The stirring cheers echoed endlessly through the ranks.
Yet a shadow crept across Robert's face.
He turned to the side and asked under his breath, "Aiden, why hasn't the Sixth Regiment returned yet?"
Aiden's heart sank, and he hurried to answer, "It is unclear, but they may have... run into the dragon."
Chapter 108