Instantly, an uproar broke out across the army's ranks. Disbelief filled the men's eyes, and clamorous murmurs swelled all around.
"That's the red dragon? The Lord of Cinders?"
"How is that possible?"
"Th-this... how could this be an evil dragon? He looks like an elegant nobleman."
"Could Grand Duke Leo have lied to us?"
Cassius's supernatural charisma was powerful enough to warp reality; even true dragons were unconsciously swayed by it. Thus, even appearing merely as a projection, captivating these sheltered mortals was child's play.
Beneath the gaze of tens of thousands of soldiers, Cassius began his performance:
"I suspect there may be a few misunderstandings between us. After all, according to the propaganda of the northern lords, I am an evil dragon that devours men whole, a demon who ravages wives and daughters, and an aggressor who shattered peace and order.
"Yet the truth is that every single time, it was the northern nobles who provoked the war. Whether it was the tripartite coalition at the Battle of Trier or this so-called Anti-Red Dragon Alliance, it all boils down to one thing: they cannot tolerate a realm that shakes the very foundation of their rule. They cannot stomach a Kingdom of Cinders that abolished serfdom and hereditary nobility."
Cassius paused. A hint of bewilderment crept into his tone, and his expression turned remarkably earnest.
"Soldiers, I truly wish to know—what are you fighting for?
"Do you truly believe that laughable rhetoric about Scanians sharing honor and shame together? The Northlands are not your homeland—they are a paradise for the nobility. To them, you are nothing more than 'gray cattle,' vile and expendable.
"Think back upon your fleeting, miserable lives in the north: when have the nobles ever looked you in the eye?
"Scholars of my kingdom say that class is the sole metric by which society is divided. In the eyes of the northern nobility, lowborn commoners like you were never the same species as them to begin with. How could you ever be their so-called countrymen?
"When they whipped serfs, molested young children, killed slaves for sport, and tormented your people across generations, not once did they remember you were their countrymen."
Cassius was not impassioned or theatrical; he merely stated facts in a calm, matter-of-fact tone.
Yet that alone drove countless soldiers to rare contemplation. Their resolve wavered, and some even came to believe the red dragon's words without a shred of doubt.
"Is it... really true?"
"What he's saying kind of makes sense."
"Yeah, those noble lords aren't about to share their coin with us."
"My daughter was taken by one of those lords..."
Cassius continued in a low, resonant voice:
"In truth, you have no reason to fight for them, much less lay down your lives. In fact, refraining from turning your blades on these nobles is already an act of immense mercy and forbearance.
"And I, as a king, in the name of Cassius, the Lord of Cinders, make this promise—when the Kingdom of Cinders rules this land, you shall reclaim your basic dignity.
"Hereditary serfdom will be no more. Freedom and equality shall become the cornerstone of our society. Anyone will be able to attain wealth through hard work, and even rise to the nobility through their own efforts. These are the very things that have truly taken place in Northwind Keep over these past few years."
Under the sway of his supernatural charisma, Cassius's words sounded profoundly sincere to the soldiers' ears. Still, wary of the officers nearby, they could only whisper among themselves, voicing their simple, unvarnished thoughts.
"Can people like us really have a shot at becoming nobles?"
"Sounds pretty good..."
"Then why the hell are we fighting?"
"That's way more generous than those stingy lords."
As the noisy muttering grew, Count Loren Bosque finally realized the dragon's aim—he was trying to shatter the army's morale!
What chilled Loren to the bone even more was that even he had unwittingly been drawn in by the speech, subconsciously nodding along.
Yet even Cassius's words could not alter a person's identity. As a noble himself, Loren naturally sensed the venom lurking behind those words.
"This is nothing short of a devil's whisper!"
"How dare they listen to this filth?!"
"If not for our ancestors' leadership, would these beasts even be alive today?!"
Loren looked around at the hesitant, wavering soldiers, grinding his teeth in fury, his eyes dripping with venomous hatred.
"This cannot go on!"
With that thought, Loren charged wildly into the ranks on horseback. His face twisted with rage, he swung his longsword and cleaved off the head of an ordinary soldier who was eagerly speaking of his hopes for the future. He hoisted the severed head high, its dead eyes still staring open in shock.
"Soldiers! You have been bewitched by an evil dragon!
"And this is the fate of a traitor!
"Have you—all seen it?!"
Holding aloft the dripping head, Loren rode along the battle lines.
The soldiers who had been whispering fell instantly silent. They instinctively drew in their necks, their faces filled with terror, yet they still stared fixedly at Loren, harboring a suppressed, strange emotion deep within their eyes.
That was right. They had not yet reached that "utopia."
They were still under the thumb of the northern lords.
Loren seemed on the verge of losing his sanity. He tossed the head aside, pointed his blood-smeared blade toward the phantasm hovering in the air, and shouted in a hoarse, grating voice:
"Evil dragon! Do you see this?!
"We Scanians are invincible! We will never bend the knee!
"The glory of Rosell Bosque shall illuminate the Northlands forever! We shall rule here for a thousand years—ten thousand years!"
Yet the Lord of Cinders in the projection showed not the slightest change in expression. He remained as calm and composed as ever, as though he had never once deigned to look at Loren, completely disregarding his existence.
Looking down upon the tens of thousands of soldiers, Cassius spoke plainly:
"It is merely a pity that you stand in the way of my kingdom's unification. Even so, I have always been a peaceful dragon, disinclined toward slaughter.
"I give you three hours. Those who do not wish to die, leave this place.
"Time is running short..."
At once, the ranks erupted into tumult once more.
Tens of thousands stood here, the vast majority serfs and commoners; fewer than ten thousand were the nobles' retinues. Once the awe and authority of the northern lords were shattered, a rout became all but inevitable.
Lowborn and unschooled, they could not grasp much of what Cassius said, but they understood the lashes and exploitation of the nobility, for those were horrors they had endured firsthand. More importantly—they wanted to live.
"I want to live."
"Let's go. Get out of here."
"I've had enough of those noble bastards!"
"How could we ever beat an enemy like that...?"
The soldiers began scattering in every direction, and the officers were powerless to stop them.
Remarkably, the army of the Kingdom of Cinders kept their word. Even when deserters fled in their direction, the royal forces suppressed their urge to kill and held back their weapons; after all, this was a personal command from the red dragon, and none dared disobey.
Loren roared hoarsely, spurring his horse in pursuit of the fleeing soldiers:
"Come back! You filthy beasts!
"You could never repay what our ancestors did for you in this lifetime!"
His eyes bloodshot, he cut down deserter after deserter, but he was powerless to stem the tide of the general rout. After all, this was an army of tens of thousands.
"Am I... am I really going to lose like this?
"Over before the battle even began?!
"Damn these beasts, these swine—they all belong in hell! I was too merciful to them!"
Loren sat astride his mount, panting heavily. Blood spattered his contorted face—though none of it was his own, nor was it the enemy's.
"My lord, my lord... please stop. We must gather what remains of our forces."
His adjutant hurried over, grasping his reins and speaking in a low, urgent voice.
Chapter 308