Anbaixiu had agreed without hesitation. The intelligence had indeed been accurate: as long as the price was right, this lich was willing to do anything—even cooperate with the Ryan Empire.
No wonder the Empire treated this lich differently. Used properly, he might genuinely be turned into an inside informant among the undead.
However, that was not something the Silvermoon Knight needed to concern himself with. He was merely a general, a frontline warrior who had little aptitude for political maneuvering.
All the Silvermoon Knight hoped was for the Ryan Empire's new generation to mature as quickly as possible to face the crises to come.
Yet these young paladins were far too disappointing. To be so overjoyed after winning a half-hearted, mediocre victory had left the entire Ryan force in Sandshadow City permeated with an inescapable restlessness.
This was evident from the smallest details of their daily training: their grips on their swords were no longer as steady as before; frivolous smirks often played on their lips; they cared more about their personal appearances, fussing over useless yet flashy ornaments.
The Silvermoon Knight had wanted to rectify these issues, but he had yet to find an opportune moment.
A victory had been won; what followed was supposed to be the handing out of merits and rewards, not reprimands. Rebuke right now would only backfire.
The fortuitous arrival of Anbaixiu presented the Silvermoon Knight with his chance.
What method the lich would use to assault the city, the Silvermoon Knight had no idea, nor would he offer anyone inside the city the slightest hint. He wanted this younger generation to understand the cruelty of war. Without the protection of a legend, when faced with an insurmountable foe, would they still possess the courage to look death in the face? Would they still adhere to the teachings of the Lord of the Dawn?
Soldiers unbaptized by fire would forever remain recruits.
The casualty threshold of one thousand men had not been pulled out of thin air by the Silvermoon Knight; it was the standard of the Ryan Empire. One thousand men accounted for half of Sandshadow City's garrison.
Back when Alan Watson had led the petty lords against Anbaixiu's castle, he had been astonished that a mere ten to twenty percent casualty rate shattered the allied army's morale. That was because the Ryan Empire's doctrine required regular troops to maintain combat effectiveness even after suffering over fifty percent casualties. Anyone unable to meet this benchmark would forever remain an auxiliary force unworthy of the main battle lines, fit at most for logistics.
If the Sandshadow City garrison before him failed to meet this standard, the Silvermoon Knight would send every last one of them back for retraining and ensure their previous drill instructors faced punishment.
Living by the doctrines of the Light was an arduous path. If they couldn't even meet this basic requirement, they would be better off spending their lives as commoners rather than throwing themselves onto the battlefield to die.
Thinking of this, the Silvermoon Knight sighed to himself once more: "Those dwarves were simply far too weak."
The planned grand troop drill had lost all meaning because the enemy was so fragile, forcing him to turn to this lich Anbaixiu and pay extra gold on top of it—a truly rotten deal.
Still, the Silvermoon Knight had run the numbers: between the paladins, regulars, and militia combined, even if Anbaixiu captured every single one alive, it would come to three million gold coins at most. That sum fell well within his authority, so there would be no issue.
Dragging heavy steps, he returned to the military camp. Entering his command tent, a blond-haired paladin was already waiting inside.
Seeing the Silvermoon Knight return, the paladin hurried forward to support him.
"General, you're finally back! Please, rest."
The Empire's mightiest paladin now resembled a frail old man languishing under a chronic illness, allowing the youth to support him and guide him to a chair.
The Silvermoon Knight coughed twice and said to the young paladin, "Alan, don't mind me."
Had Anbaixiu been here, he would surely have recognized this young paladin as his very first paladin captive—Alan Watson.
The Supreme Arbiter's son had once been one of the Empire's most watched second-generation scions. Alan had lived up to expectations, becoming a paladin at a young age and earning widespread praise from many high-ranking imperial officials.
But that was all in the past.
Ever since Alan had been captured by Anbaixiu, a shadow had loomed over his life.
This disgrace would haunt him for the rest of his days—unless he could personally strike down Anbaixiu and wash the stain away.
After finally returning to the Empire, Alan had volunteered to join the Desert Expeditionary Force—partly to escape, partly as another form of trial.
Outwardly, the Supreme Arbiter acted indifferent toward Alan, but in private he had asked the Silvermoon Knight to look after him a little. The Silvermoon Knight quite liked this pious, exceptionally talented youth as well, so he took him under his wing as a personal aide.
To serve a legendary figure like the Silvermoon Knight filled Alan with immense excitement, and he had attended to him with utmost dedication.
Then, Alan discovered the Silvermoon Knight's secret—a secret that perhaps was barely a secret anymore.
The Silvermoon Knight was nearing his end.
Ryan did not permit its top echelon to use magic to prolong life; even the Emperor was forbidden from doing so. Naturally, the Silvermoon Knight strictly abided by this rule. He was already over a hundred and fifty years old, and despite wielding the mightiest Holy Light, that was the absolute limit for a mortal human.
His life was burning down to its embers. The Silvermoon Knight could collapse without warning on any given day; he was holding on almost entirely through sheer willpower.
He was the Empire's strongest paladin, an imperial general, and the spiritual pillar of the army.
He needed to groom a suitable successor so that command of the Empire's military could transition smoothly. Yet the disciples he had once taken in... had almost all perished.
The disciples favored and painstakingly trained by the Silvermoon Knight had naturally been exceptional paladins. They possessed pious devotion and the courage to sacrifice themselves for the Empire. Yet across campaign after campaign, these brilliant young men and women had fallen on the battlefield; the youngest had been only seventeen when he died in the Underdark.
Now, with his lamp running dry and his wick burning low, the Silvermoon Knight looked back only to find that every worthy successor was gone.
Meanwhile, the other youths had yet to mature. They were reckless, flighty lads incapable of shouldering heavy burdens.
Alan was also a youth he regarded highly. If the knight were twenty years younger, he could have trained him properly; but now, he no longer had the time or strength to take on a disciple.
Alan did not know the Silvermoon Knight's inner thoughts. He simply recited prayers with earnest dedication, channeling Holy Light to infuse vitality into the knight and wash away his accumulated fatigue.
This allowed the Silvermoon Knight to breathe a slight sigh of relief. Having recovered somewhat, he said to Alan, "The war is nearing its end. What are your plans? Do you intend to return to the imperial capital and join the Knights of Condemnation?" Unlike regular armies, the Knights of Condemnation were the elite of the elite, formed specifically to counter legends. Though they had suffered substantial losses, they remained the premier destination for paladins.
Alan pondered for a moment, then replied, "I'd like to continue training in the army for a while longer. I had originally hoped to wash away my shame on this battlefield, but the dwarves collapsed too quickly, putting up virtually no resistance. I came here to hone myself, yet ended up merely skimming merit off the surface. I truly feel ashamed."
"It is rare for you to hold such a mindset. The other lads are already itching to head back and receive flowers and praise."
Neither arrogant nor impetuous, with a clear grasp of the reality before him—such qualities were indeed rare.
The Silvermoon Knight couldn't help but offer a word of advice: "It's commendable that you can see that much. However, Sandshadow City is not as safe as people think. Danger may very well be lurking nearby. Be prepared at all times."
Hearing this, Alan promptly snapped to attention and saluted, responding loudly, "Yes, sir!"
That was as far as the hint could go; revealing more would be unfair to the others.
The Silvermoon Knight sighed inwardly, then instructed, "I will be returning to the imperial capital shortly to report on duty. For now, command of Sandshadow City's troops is in your hands."
"Ah? General, I'm not qualified to take command, am I? I'm afraid the others will object."
Alan was currently just an atoning paladin; being favored by the Silvermoon Knight was already a great stroke of fortune, and rank-wise he had no standing to take charge of the army.
"Don't worry. Every last one of them can't wait to return to the capital and bask in a hero's welcome. None of them wants to stay here eating sand. Alan, do your duty well. It is Ryan's territory you are defending."
Alan nodded in excitement. He would put forth every ounce of effort to shoulder this responsibility.
The Silvermoon Knight nodded. After resting briefly, he stepped into the continental teleportation circle, formally handing over command of Sandshadow City to Alan in front of the garrison personnel staying behind.
Just as the Silvermoon Knight had said, none of the paladins qualified to take over the city had any objections. In fact, many wore expressions that suggested this was only fitting: Alan's previous disgrace was common knowledge, making this appointment look more like a punishment.
Paying no heed to the looks of others, Alan threw himself into his duties with diligence and care.
He began a meticulous inspection of all Sandshadow City, visiting every defensive post and conversing earnestly with the soldiers, eager to commit every man under his command to memory as quickly as possible.
Yet before he could finish this task, a piercing horn blared from the city walls.
The alarm of approaching enemies!
Startled, Alan hurried up to the ramparts immediately.
Lifting a spyglass to gaze beyond the city, he saw a pack of gnolls drooling as they rapidly advanced toward Sandshadow City. Gnolls were a savage, bloodthirsty race with no pastimes other than killing and destruction. They relished butchering weaker creatures and adorning themselves with ornaments and armor crafted from their victims' remains.
They were pure chaotic evil, utterly devoid of morality and conscience.
A soldier on the ramparts said to Alan, "Sir, it's just a bunch of gnolls. We can just head out and deal with them."
Alan lowered the spyglass, his brow furrowed tightly.
Gnolls typically only attacked targets visibly weaker than themselves. How could a massive, heavily fortified city like Sandshadow City ever become their target? Something wasn't right.
Alan asked the dark-skinned soldier beside him, "What's your name? Are you a local?"
"Reporting, sir! I'm Omos, a local."
"Do desert gnolls attack cities on this scale as well?" Alan asked.
Alan was no expert on monsters and wasn't sure if desert creatures differed from those elsewhere. Perhaps desert gnolls simply had defective brains and were reckless enough to attack even a city.
Yet hearing Alan's question, Omos also fell into thought. After a moment, he said, "Gnolls have never actively attacked Sandshadow City—at least, not in my memory."
Hearing that, Alan became even more certain of his judgment and commanded, "Something's wrong. Close the city gates tight. We observe first."
"Sir... they're just gnolls, and there aren't even that many."
Though Omos felt something seemed off as well, he wasn't particularly worried. He had witnessed the fighting prowess of the Ryan Empire's forces; sending out a handful of paladins would be enough to chop these gnolls up like dates.
For this newly appointed commander to order the gates locked tight—wasn't he being overly cautious?
Alan, however, said firmly, "That is an order. Execute it immediately!"
Though Omos did not disobey again, he still felt Alan was making a mountain out of a molehill.
And Omos was hardly the only one who thought so. Just as the city gates were rumbling shut and nearly closed, a squad of paladins charged straight out of the city.
Seeing this, Alan shouted anxiously, "What's going on?! Who gave them permission to leave the city?!"
Yet no one could answer him.
For the squad of paladins riding out was not part of Sandshadow City's garrison at all. They were the "heroes" waiting for transit back to the imperial capital to receive their decorations.
The heroes cared nothing for Alan's orders; they had ridden out on their own to face the gnolls, and there was no one who could stop them.
Chapter 159