Chương 113: 113：A Report to Shake the Grand Duke

Deep within the borders of the Holy Halycon Empire, inside the colossal, stone-masoned command center of the Valentine Family stronghold. The air hung heavy with the rich scent of premium mead, the musty odor of aged parchment, and the faint, metallic tang of rusted weaponry. BANG! The heavy oak doors of the command center were violently shoved open. Alaric, draped in the pristine tabard of the Royal Griffon Knights, strode into the great hall. He had ridden relentlessly through the night.

Acidic, putrid black mud still caked his fine deerskin boots. In the dead center of the hall, standing before a massive strategic sandbox, was a middle-aged man dressed in dark gold military fatigues. His temples were dusted with grey, and a deep, bone-exposing scar ran across his left cheekbone—a brutal souvenir left by an orcish battleaxe years ago. He simply stood there. Yet, his aura was like a towering, insurmountable mountain.

The oppressive pressure he naturally radiated made even the high-ranking Imperial generals in the room breathe carefully. This was the Supreme Commander whose status rivaled the King of the Silvermoon Kingdom itself. The man who had forged his illustrious reputation atop the corpses of tens of thousands of orcs: Grand Duke Valentine.

"Father." Alaric dropped to one knee, delivering a flawless military salute. Grand Duke Valentine turned. His sharp gaze swept over his son's exhausted yet feverishly excited face. Pausing for a fraction of a second on Alaric's mud-caked boots, the Grand Duke's cold, granite-like features softened just a fraction.

"To return alive from the Misty Swamp—a hellscape crawling with Twin-Headed Swamp Crocs and lethal miasma... you did not shame my name." The Grand Duke personally stepped forward, handing his son a cup of hot mulled wine from the table.

"Wet your throat first."

"You ventured deep into the belly of death. What troop distributions of the Orc Alliance did you bring back? Is the Blackstone Tribe making a move? Or is the entire Orc Alliance massing for a major offensive in the mudflats?" It was only logical to assume that his notoriously proud son would only risk his life and pay such a heavy price to investigate major, war-altering military intelligence. However, Alaric simply tilted his head back and downed the scalding wine in a single gulp. He shook his head.

"You guessed wrong, Father." Alaric roughly wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I didn't go to scout orc movements. I went to find a human."

"A human?" The Grand Duke's thick brows twitched, a flash of genuine confusion crossing his eyes. The surrounding high-ranking generals exchanged bewildered glances. Traversing a death zone... not for orc movements, but for a single man? Alaric took a deep breath. He spoke the title and name, spacing out every single syllable:"Crimson Moon Knights. Vanguard Battalion Commander. Soren."

"Soren..." Grand Duke Valentine clasped his hands behind his back and paced two steps. He stopped, his gaze suddenly turning impossibly sharp.

"This is the third time I have heard that name." The Grand Duke walked to a secure filing cabinet, undid the hidden lock, and pulled out a parchment scroll stamped with the Silvermoon Kingdom's cipher.

"A few weeks ago, the old General Rodman of the Silvermoon Kingdom used this highly classified battle report to trade for supply quotas on our Imperial border."

"The protagonist of the major events in this intel is named Soren." The Grand Duke unrolled the parchment, his finger stabbing heavily onto two locations marked with red crosses.

"The first time. Stormrift Fortress."

"Warchief Blackstone personally took the front lines with a hundred-thousand-strong orc army bearing down. This Captain named Soren actually fired an arrow across an impossible distance of two thousand meters and nearly assassinated Warchief Blackstone! He single-handedly shattered the momentum of an entire orcish general offensive!" Saying this, the old Duke's breathing grew visibly heavier.

"The second time. Sunken Bone Shallows. The Shadow Shaman, Zagar, led ten four-meter-tall Sons of Titan—buffed with [Rock Shield] and [Permanent Bloodlust]—on a flanking night raid!"

"Those are monsters with virtually invincible physical defense! And the result?!" The Grand Duke looked around at his generals, who were already sucking in cold breaths.

"This Soren somehow managed to lay an ambush in a mudflat where ambushes are supposedly impossible! He slaughtered two entire Sons of Titan and pulverized the Shadow Shaman's physical body into meat paste!"

"A single unit, in passing, casually resolved a catastrophic crisis that threatened the entirety of Ironwood Fortress!" These battle records had left even the battle-hardened Grand Duke staring in stunned silence for a long time when he first read them.

"My old friend Rodman praised him in the letter as a peerless commander." The Grand Duke snapped his head toward his son, his eyes burning like torches.

"But I didn't dare fully believe this intel. Those Silvermoon politicians are notorious for exaggerating facts to pad their resumes."

"But today... for you, the notoriously arrogant Commander of the Royal Griffon Knights, to personally make this trip and specifically report back to me..." The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. The Grand Duke was thoroughly intrigued. He pushed aside the flags on the sandbox and leaned his upper body forward.

"Tell me in detail. This Soren, who planted his banner in the Misty Swamp... what level has he developed to? Exactly how many stragglers and routed troops has he gathered under his command?" Alaric's mind flashed back to the goblin artisans sweating profusely in front of the geothermal blast furnaces. He remembered the weapon racks overflowing with Blackiron heavy armor. He paused to organize his thoughts, then delivered the exact number he had calculated.

"Father. Generals. Soren's current military strength has reached a total population of exactly seven hundred and thirty-six." BOOM! The instant that number dropped, the command center plunged into dead silence, immediately followed by a chorus of horrified gasps.

"Seven hundred and thirty-six?!" An old veteran, General Marr, whose face was scarred and who managed the Imperial Expeditionary Force's logistics, stared in absolute disbelief.

"Commander Alaric, that is impossible! That defies every common law of warfare!"

"I verified this personally with General Rodman's confidant! When the Crimson Moon Knights entered that rotting mud, Soren had a pathetic twenty-five infantrymen! For him to even eat a hardtack biscuit that didn't break his teeth would have been a luxury!" General Marr was so agitated he was practically spitting:"In little over a month! In a place with no solid ground, only toxic mud and Twin-Headed Crocs! Where did he get the weapons and armor for over seven hundred people without an iron mine?!"

"Where is he getting fresh water?! The Misty Swamp's food yield is abysmal—how the hell is he feeding seven hundred mouths?!" Facing this barrage of skepticism, Alaric wasn't angry. He merely offered a bitter, self-deprecating smirk. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, who would actually believe it?

"General Marr, everything you said is absolutely correct. But you know absolutely nothing about Soren's methods." Alaric stood perfectly straight, solemnly recounting the absolute miracle of Greywater Village.

"He subjugated a Hobgoblin! He built water purifiers capable of filtering the toxic swamp water, providing more than enough clean water for the entire settlement."

"He strapped harnesses onto captured Wargs and used them to plow the acidic mud! He possesses a high-yield crop capable of thriving in the swamp!"

"As for his troops and iron armor? That madman Soren sustains his war through war! He breached Broken Bone Pass! He utterly annihilated the outlaw orcs of Bone Ridge!"

"He took the rusted, shattered armor of the dead orcs, threw it into a blacksmith's forge built directly over a geothermal volcanic vent, and has his people hammering and recasting it into Blackiron armor day and night!" Old General Marr's jaw dropped. His mind was buzzing as if he'd been struck by a hammer. After hearing this, the Grand Duke remained silent for a long time. Finally, he let out a long, heavy exhale:"This man's internal administration and leadership methods... he is an absolute monster!"

"With him in command, a path of guaranteed death is forcefully carved into a path of survival!"

"You're shocked by just that? Gentlemen, I am not finished." Alaric suddenly let out a cold chuckle.

"He isn't leading a mob of armed refugees. Soren has forged those seven hundred people into an elite, multi-branch, combined-arms army." Under the blank, paralyzed stares of the high-ranking generals, Alaric listed off the inventory like a merchant displaying priceless gems:"He has armed a ninety-three-man [Light Warg Cavalry Battalion] in the swamp! They wear Blackiron half-plate and ride Wargs! Not only are they perfectly adapted to the acidic mud and puddles, but their charges are completely silent."

"Not only that, Soren has an impenetrable Phalanx of over fifty heavy infantrymen! They are equipped with tower shields and three-meter-long Blackiron pikes. They defend like a mechanized porcupine; not a drop of water could leak through."

"And behind his defensive line..." The hearts of the generals in the hall leaped into their throats.

"Two entire [Heavy Siege Trebuchets] capable of shattering fortress gates! A massive array of compact [Torsion Catapults] deployed on the flanks!"

"And rows upon rows of [Geared Heavy Repeating Ballistas], crafted with a level of mechanical precision that rivals the Empire's own Royal Ministry of Works!"

"But the most terrifying thing of all... Standing by Soren's side is a Silver-tier magical prodigy! A mage who requires zero chanting time, capable of instant-casting [Burst Fireballs] with the snap of his fingers! And this man serves as his Chief Magical Advisor and Detection Ward Master!" Old General Marr looked at Alaric as if looking at a lunatic. He strained his neck, screaming in absolute disbelief:"Commander Alaric, did you lose your damn mind out in the fog?!"

"Warg Cavalry?! Heavy Siege Trebuchets?! Batteries of Heavy Ballistas paired with an instant-cast Mage?!"

"Gods of War above! That level of ranged firepower and magical artillery... That isn't a border militia! That's practically matching the loadout of a frontline Imperial Vanguard Regiment, funded by oceans of the Empire's gold!"