Chương 143: 143：Rejecting a Dukedom, Rise of the Vice Commander!

Inside the command hall of Megalith Fortress, even the soft crackle and pop of premium firewood burning in the hearth seemed to carry a chilling, murderous edge. Grand Duke Valentine remained silent for a very long time. Prior to this, he had merely viewed Soren as a remarkably sharp sword. But now? He was absolutely certain he was looking at a Swordbearer—a mastermind fully capable of commanding the entire grand chessboard. Clack. The Grand Duke gently rested his pure gold silverware against his porcelain plate.

The supreme commander, whose very name struck terror across the Northern Borders, suddenly rose to his feet.

"Soren."

"It has been a very, very long time since the war banners of the Holy Halycon Empire have been lowered to bestow grace upon a young man." The Grand Duke took a heavy step forward, his eyes blazing like torches.

"What the Silvermoon Kingdom can offer you is simply too little."

"Come to the Empire." The Grand Duke cut straight to the chase, laying down an unimaginably generous promise:"Just give me a single nod, and I will stamp the Ducal Seal right here, right now."

"I promise you the rank of [Major General of the Imperial Northern Defense Line]! You will be given direct, absolute command over a fully-staffed main battle legion of twelve thousand men!"

"And that is not all. Within the Empire's incredibly wealthy [Golden Wheat Plains], I will carve out a massive town and grant it to you as your hereditary fief! You will have your own castle, your own serfs, and the absolute right to collect your own taxes." The moment those words left his mouth, the air inside the grand hall instantly froze solid. Even the Grand Duke's own biological son, Alaric, Commander of the Royal Griffon Knights, subconsciously dropped his jaw in sheer, unadulterated disbelief.

The Golden Wheat Plains? That was the literal money pouch of the Imperial Royal Family! And actual, unchained command over a twelve-thousand-strong main legion?! These terms were extravagant enough to drive any border general who licked blood from the edge of a blade into sheer madness. It was enough to make a fanatic betray his own faith. Off to the side, the Silvermoon Kingdom's veteran, General Rodman, went deathly pale. He shot out of his chair as if he had been physically struck.

His absolute worst nightmare had come to pass! He couldn't believe the Holy Halycon Empire would act so shamelessly, openly bleeding capital to poach a talent right in front of him! Yet, staring down the barrel of this heaven-defying wealth and absolute power, Soren remained seated, his expression a mask of perfect serenity. Go to the Holy Halycon Empire? Enjoy heavy troops? Hold his own fiefdom? It sounded like reaching the absolute pinnacle of a military career.

However, Soren deeply understood a single, brutal truth of the world: He who shelters under another man's roof must ultimately bow his head. The very moment he accepted that commission, he would no longer be the Lord of Greywater Village whose word was absolute law. He would be integrated into the Empire's colossal, grinding military machine. Imperial military inspectors would be permanently stationed within his army.

The world-shattering secrets hidden within Greywater Village—the blast furnaces capable of mass-producing premium steel armor, the Hobgoblin Luger's advanced siege engineering, Victor's arcane arrays... And worst of all, his [Warlord System]. Every single one of his trump cards would be mercilessly exposed to the highest echelons of the Empire. He would become nothing more than a sharp knife in the Grand Duke's hand, permanently stripped of the freedom to grow his own absolute power.

With those thoughts flashing through his mind, Soren gently set down his crystal goblet and slowly rose to his feet. He placed his fist over his chest, offering a respectful bow to Grand Duke Valentine.

"Your Grace's overwhelming generosity leaves me deeply humbled."

"The military might of the Holy Halycon Empire is as blinding and glorious as the sun itself. However... the blood of the brothers who fought and died beside me in the mud of the Misty Swamp has not yet dried."

"If I were to abandon them now for the comforts of a wealthy plain, I fear the wails of the fallen would keep me awake at night."

"Please forgive my stubbornness. I wear the uniform of the Silvermoon Kingdom. Where my sword points is exactly where I am meant to stand." It was a flawless, watertight rejection. He had elevated the prestige of the Empire while perfectly utilizing "brotherhood" and "military loyalty" as an impenetrable shield, completely blocking any further attempts at persuasion.

"Excellent! What a true lion, a man who will never turn his back on his brothers-in-arms!" Before the Grand Duke could even open his mouth, Old General Rodman—who had been sweating like a pig on a spit—erupted in a booming roar, physically forcing himself between the two men. The old general marched right up to Soren, acting like a mother hen aggressively shielding her favorite chick. He was drenched in sweat but practically vibrating with sheer joy.

"Your Grace, you heard him! Soren is a man of our Silvermoon Kingdom! Our nation may be temporarily weak, but we will absolutely never mistreat our heroes!" General Rodman whipped his head toward Soren, not hesitating for a second to drop the counter-offer he had been desperately calculating in his head.

"My boy, you have achieved a world-shattering victory. You truly have no business returning to a hellhole like the Misty Swamp." Rodman lowered his voice, his tone dripping with profound, heavy enticement.

"I will immediately use my absolute highest authority to bypass standard procedures. I will transfer you directly to the safety of the rear lines!"

"With merit of this magnitude, I can guarantee you will be handed direct command of the [Silver Hand] main battle legion! That is a fully-staffed, elite corps directly defending the Royal Capital!" The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. General Rodman's counter-offer was staggeringly generous in its own right.

To be pulled back to the safety of the rear, permanently escaping the toxic hellscape of the Misty Swamp, and handed command of the Capital's primary defensive force... it was a meteoric rise that countless frontline officers couldn't achieve in their wildest dreams. However. When Soren heard the words "Royal Capital" and "Main Battle Legion," he only let out a cold, mocking laugh in his heart. Return to the Royal Capital?

If he went back there, he'd be wading straight into a swamp of cutthroat political infighting. He'd have to spend every waking second guarding his back against the daggers of political rivals. The Misty Swamp might be crawling with venomous beasts and suffocating mud, but that absolute death zone—a place where fat, cowardly noble inspectors refused to step foot—was the single most perfect natural barrier for Greywater Village!

Out there, in that sprawling, treacherous wasteland, he was the sole architect of the rules!

"General Rodman, I will engrave your profound kindness in my heart," Soren said. Meeting the old general's anxious, pleading gaze, Soren firmly shook his head once again.

"But a wild beast does not belong in a gilded cage within the Royal Capital."

"The lands of the Misty Swamp are still being trampled beneath the boots of the orcs. The Crimson Moon Knights pledged a military oath to reclaim those lands within a year."

"As the bleeding edge of the Knights, as long as the enemy remains, I will absolutely not abandon the line."

"My roots are in Greywater Village. My soldiers are waiting for me there. Let me be perfectly clear: I must remain on the front lines." Two point-blank, unyielding rejections in a row! In the hall, Chief Tactician Marr's eyes widened in sheer, incredulous shock. Is this kid out of his fucking mind?! He rejects the Empire's wealthy fiefdoms, and he rejects the safety of his own nation's Royal Capital... just so he can drag his ass back to a godforsaken swamp filled with rotting mud and toxic miasma?!

Old General Rodman was also momentarily stunned, but he quickly registered the absolute, unshakeable finality in Soren's eyes. Rodman was, after all, an old fox. He instantly recognized Soren's deep-seated disgust for the Kingdom's bureaucratic rot. If he refuses to be transferred to the rear, I have no choice but to bind him with sheer status. No matter the cost, he could absolutely not allow a monster like this to slip out of the Silvermoon Kingdom's military hierarchy.

"Good! A true man should possess the ambition to swallow the heavens!" Rodman declared, swiftly pivoting to his backup plan. He abruptly drew his silver command sword from his waist.

"Soren, hear your mandate!" Rodman struck the iron while it was hot, leaving absolutely no room for anyone to interrupt.

"In recognition of your legendary enemy-slaying achievements at the Battle of Lone Cliff, I hereby represent the Kingdom's War Ministry in officially, exceptionally promoting you to the rank of [Vice Commander of the Crimson Moon Knights]!"

"In status, you shall stand completely equal to Vice Commander Sylvia, answering to absolutely no one save Commander Leona herself!" Soren's heart stirred slightly, but his face remained devoid of any wild ecstasy. He knew perfectly well that in this brutal world where human life was cheaper than grass, an empty "Vice Commander" title wasn't worth a rat's fart.

Seemingly seeing right through Soren's stoic facade, General Rodman sheathed his sword, leaned in close to Soren's ear, and solemnly delivered a concrete, hardcore promise:"I know the Misty Swamp is starved for resources. I promise you this: moving forward, I will personally operate through backchannels—just like how I secretly supply General Galahad at Ironwood Fortress—to guarantee regular, massive shipments of grain, salt, raw ore, and magical materials directly to Greywater Village."

"These supplies will be entirely under your independent jurisdiction. Nobody else will be allowed to touch a single coin of it!" Hearing that sentence... Deep within Soren's heart, a genuine ripple of satisfaction finally surfaced. He didn't give a damn about hollow fame. But a guaranteed, secret pipeline of military-grade logistics? That was the exact lifeblood Greywater Village desperately needed to fuel its war machine!

"In that case, Vice Commander Soren thanks the General for his patronage." Soren finally bowed in acceptance of the mandate. Not too far away, the hot-blooded young Commander of the Royal Griffon Knights, Alaric, watched the scene unfold with burning frustration. His gauntleted fingers dug into the hard plating of his armor, producing an agonizing screech of grinding metal. He desperately wanted to befriend a top-tier general like Soren and fight alongside him.

If a tactical monster like that became his second-in-command in the Griffon Knights, they would carve through the Northern Borders like a hot knife through butter! Several times, Alaric almost stepped forward to interrupt the old general and aggressively poach Soren himself. But looking at his father—who stood at the forefront, his expression as deep and unfathomable as the ocean—Alaric knew that with his own rank, he simply didn't have the qualifications to open his mouth in a meeting of this magnitude.

But what baffled Alaric even more was... His father, the Imperial Grand Duke—a man famously obsessed with talent, a man who wouldn't hesitate to deploy armies just to force a genius to join his ranks—was currently standing completely still. With his hands clasped behind his back, the Grand Duke quietly watched Rodman confer the title upon Soren. He didn't say a single word to interrupt. He didn't throw out a higher bid. In fact... a profoundly deep, knowing smile had slowly crept onto the Grand Duke's face.