Chương 221: 221： The Heavy Infantry Paradigm

Just as the situation hovered on the absolute brink of losing control. On the other end of the communication array, the military cleric Elena—who had remained entirely silent until now—stepped gracefully to Leona's side. Bathed in the soft, ethereal moonlight filtering into the drafty room, she crossed her hands over the silver crescent pendant upon her chest. Even facing the absolute apex of the Kingdom's political authority, her demeanor remained remarkably poised, neither haughty nor subservient.

"Your Highness. My Lords," Elena spoke, her voice gentle yet carrying a resonant clarity that instantly silenced the chaotic, bickering hall.

"I, Elena, hereby stake my lifelong faith and my standing as a High Cleric of the Church of the Bright Moon as my absolute guarantee."

"With my own two eyes, I witnessed Greywater Village and Vice Commander Soren administering impossibly rare magical elixirs to severely crippled, ordinary soldiers. I saw them exhaust their resources to shelter and provide for over a thousand displaced, starving refugees."

"That army exists solely to fight for the dignity and absolute survival of humanity! Their blades are forever pointed toward the Orcs! They are absolutely not the treacherous rebels harboring dark ambitions that certain individuals claim them to be!" On this continent, the solemn endorsement of high-ranking clergy carried an unshakable, absolute weight.

"Enough! All of you, shut your mouths!" Seated upon the central throne, The Prince Regent of the Silvermoon Kingdom had finally reached the absolute limit of his patience. He violently struck the solid gold armrest of his throne. A suffocating wave of royal authority swept across the grand hall, instantly forcing the bickering nobles into a terrified, dead silence. The Prince Regent aggressively massaged his throbbing temples, feeling a sharp, pulsing migraine coming on.

He was completely consumed by profound irritation, his mind violently torn between deeply conflicting interests. On one hand, as the supreme ruler of the nation, he knew perfectly well that old General Rodman was entirely correct. The terrifying military acumen and tactical command Soren had displayed were the exact caliber of general the Silvermoon Kingdom was currently starving for!

The Kingdom was suffocating under the relentless pressure of the Orc Alliance; they desperately needed a lethally efficient, heavily armed vanguard like Soren's to plunge like a dagger straight into the enemy's heart. But on the other hand... The Prince Regent shot a dark, calculating glance at Duke Fernando. He had to admit, the bloated conservative had surgically struck the ultimate weak point of his royal paranoia. Soren's military expansion was far too rapid! And completely unbound!

He was operating entirely outside the jurisdiction and control of Supreme Command. If an army no longer needed to beg the royal treasury for their pay and provisions to survive and thrive... did they still truly belong to the "Silvermoon" Kingdom?

"I want to eradicate the Orc menace and completely absorb Soren's formidable army under direct royal control... yet I am terrified that if this force continues to gorge itself in the swamp, they will crown themselves kings and eventually turn around to devour my rule!" The Prince Regent rapidly weighed the scales of power in his mind. For two full minutes, an absolute, dead silence hung over the grand hall. Finally, the Prince Regent took a deep breath, delivering a shrewd, deeply Machiavellian political ruling.

"Duke Fernando, your concerns are not without merit. However, executing a victorious general on the eve of battle is an absolute military taboo." The Prince Regent first addressed the conservative faction, ruthlessly squashing the proposal to execute military law:"I hereby declare: in light of the monumental achievements rendered by the Crimson Moon Knights, Commander Leona shall retain her position, and the unit shall maintain its official, recognized designation."

On the other side of the array, Leona and Elena had barely exhaled a breath of relief before the Prince Regent's next words caused their hearts to violently plummet.

"However!" The Prince Regent's gaze pierced through the hologram, locking directly onto Leona. His tone brokered absolutely no argument.

"The laws of the Kingdom cannot be trampled upon! The suicide mandate swearing to 'Reclaim the entirety of the Misty Swamp within one year' will not be annulled, nor will the deadline be extended by a single day!"

"Let Soren continue to prove his absolute loyalty to the Kingdom from within the depths of that swamp." Having delivered his verdict, the Prince Regent completely denied Leona any opportunity to protest, waving his hand to issue the order to sever the connection. VMM! The silver light violently collapsed; the projection crystals dimmed to black. Leona stood frozen in her drafty, leaking command post. She viciously slammed her fist into the wooden wall, grinding her teeth in pure, unadulterated fury.

"These greedy, backstabbing politicians! They want us to bleed and die for them while deliberately withholding our resources, and they still have the sheer audacity to shackle our operations with these impossible constraints!" If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Back in the capital, even after the communication array was severed, the atmosphere within Supreme Command remained incredibly volatile.

Having temporarily suppressed Leona's crisis, the true, agonizing dilemma facing the Kingdom's rulers finally surfaced.

"Your Highness, how exactly are we to reward Soren?" Old General Rodman, having regained his cold composure, straightened his spine and demanded loudly.

"Merit must be rewarded! That is the absolute baseline for maintaining the morale of the entire military!" The Prince Regent leaned heavily back into his throne, his eyelids drooping as he descended into a long, profound silence. The problem was a completely entangled nightmare. According to the intelligence transmitted by the military clerics, Soren currently lacked absolutely nothing when it came to wealth. Greywater Village's geothermal forge was spewing out Black Steel day and night!

Their material reserves and grain silos easily eclipsed those of most regular legions directly under Supreme Command's jurisdiction! Casually tossing him a few chests of standard gold coins and ordinary winter coats would be seen as a condescending, pathetic dismissal. It would be a blatant insult, carrying zero political leverage. But what if they offered a monumental reward? The Prince Regent sucked in a sharp breath of cold air.

If, based on the earth-shattering merit of decapitating a Provincial Oracle, he directly bestowed upon Soren the title of High Earl or Marquis, legally decreeing the Misty Swamp as his personal sovereign territory... Then, legally speaking, it would be the Silvermoon Kingdom officially and completely recognizing Soren's absolute, independent rule over the South! At that point, Soren's massive conscription and military expansion would be fully protected under the legal rights of a Lord.

His faction would entirely shatter the Kingdom's restraints. He would genuinely become the apocalyptic warlord Fernando feared!

"But if I don't issue a massive reward, pragmatic frontline commanders like Rodman will be utterly disillusioned. The hundreds of thousands of troops bleeding on the frontlines will view the Crown as treacherous and ungrateful. If pushed too far, this might literally drive Soren to defect to the Holy Halycon Empire..." The Prince Regent swept his gaze over the assembled, equally troubled nobles.

He knew with absolute certainty that this wasn't just a matter of dispensing a reward; it was a completely bloodless, high-stakes political war. He had to calculate Soren's commendation with absolute, flawless precision.

"I must bestow upon him an overwhelming, glorious status in name to shackle this once-in-a-century military prodigy and preserve the Kingdom's absolute dignity. Yet, simultaneously, I cannot grant him a single ounce of actual expansionist authority. I must meticulously prevent him from rising too fast and breaking his chains..."

The Prince Regent's mind raced, frantically digging through the Kingdom's archives, searching for a hollow, completely ceremonial title—something that sounded unimaginably prestigious but inherently possessed zero actual political power. He needed a beautiful, gilded collar to slip around Soren's neck. Meanwhile. Deep within the dormant volcanic crater, the geothermal Black Steel forge roared with deafening, world-shaking intensity.

Billowing waves of searing heat interwoven with the sharp, pungent stench of sulfur baked the area into a suffocating oven. Soren stood in the open clearing before the blast furnace, beads of sweat trailing down his sharp, chiseled jawline. Arrayed in immaculate, rigid formation before him stood seventy elite Black Iron vanguard soldiers of Greywater Village. These grizzled veterans—men who had followed Soren through countless blood-soaked slaughter-zones—had all been administered the [Basic Troll Blood Serum].

Their physiques were visibly, terrifyingly larger than an ordinary human's. Their densely packed, bulging muscles rippled beneath their skin, and their breathing was deep and unnervingly steady. Typically, these men were the absolute, lethally efficient tip of Soren's spear. But at this moment, every single one of their eyes was locked onto a row of towering wooden racks positioned at the front, their gazes burning with intense curiosity and ravenous desire.

"My Lord! We've done it! We absolutely nailed it!" The Hobgoblin, Luger, aggressively wiped a thick layer of soot, sweat, and black mud from his face, striding proudly away from the roaring blast furnace. He waved his massive hand. Instantly, several burly goblin apprentices scrambled forward, violently yanking the heavy, coarse tarps off the wooden racks. SWISH! The heavy cloth dropped to the dirt.

Revealed before everyone's eyes was the very first batch of mass-produced, heavily modified defensive gear meticulously forged and tailored entirely for the human physique: The [Black Steel Full-Plate Armor]. It was a breathtaking, terrifying piece of military hardware. Compared to the salvaged, overly bulky, and highly rigid armor violently stripped from the Orc guards, these were a completely different beast. Luger had entirely melted down the scrap and reforged it into top-tier, heavy-class Black Steel plate.

The exterior of the armor possessed a non-reflective, matte-black finish, granting it phenomenal stealth capabilities in low-light environments. The forging lines were aggressively streamlined, molded perfectly to accommodate and amplify human biomechanics. From the heavy helm equipped with a wide, reinforced visor, to the meticulously layered, articulated pauldrons, the thickened, heavy-duty breastplate, and entirely down to the fully-enclosed steel greaves and war-boots...

every single microscopic detail radiated an aura of absolute, impenetrable defense.

"Brothers," Soren stepped forward. He slapped his palm hard against one of the breastplates. CLANG! CLANG! A heavy, dense metallic resonance echoed through the clearing, the sheer weight of the sound alone making hearts palpitate. Soren's gaze swept over his seventy absolute most loyal, lethal vanguard elites. His tone grew deadly serious and ruthlessly pragmatic:"I know that every single one of you is a battle-hardened warrior who has clawed his way out of hell a dozen times over.

But today, I need to lay out an incredibly brutal reality for you." Soren's eyes locked onto several veterans in the front row still sporting fresh, heavily bandaged wounds. He mercilessly tore apart the limitations of their previous tactical engagements:"Look back at our clashes in Reed Cove, or when we engaged those Black Steel Orc guards outside Bloodhorn Keep... I want you to ask yourselves honestly: in a straight, head-on, pure melee meat-grinder, have we ever actually overpowered them?"

Those words struck the absolute deepest, most vulnerable nerve of every veteran present. The elites, who had been radiating sky-high morale mere moments ago, instantly fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Muscles twitched slightly on their scarred faces. As the tip of the spear, they knew the bloody truth better than anyone. Yes. In a 'fair', head-on clash of pure steel and muscle, they had never once achieved absolute dominance.

"No! We haven't!" Soren aggressively raised his voice, ruthlessly ripping the band-aid off this brutal reality.

"Every single time we encountered a heavily armored Black Steel Orc, exactly what did we rely on to survive?! We relied on the treacherous, hidden traps laid by Meyer! We relied on dumping massive, exorbitant amounts of alchemical fire-oil to burn them alive! Or we relied on Chief Mage Victor entirely draining his mana reserves to cast wide-scale, high-temperature flame spells just to weaken their armor's structural integrity!"