Chương 232: 11：Into the Mist Swamp

Leona closed her eyes, reciting the grim facts:"It felt good to vent, but we've backed ourselves into a corner."

"The Mist Swamp. Shrouded in fog year-round. You can't even see your own hand in front of your face, let alone tell north from south."

"If a horse steps into the muck, it'll drown in the mud within three minutes."

"The deadliest parts are the toxic miasma and the Twin-Headed Demon Crocs lurking beneath the sludge."

"And we have absolutely no supplies."

"If we march into that swamp and can't find food, the orcs won't even need to lift a finger. We'll starve to death all on our own."

"Did I really just lead everyone straight to their graves?" A heavy silence hung in the room. Leona wasn't overthinking it, the laws of survival in the wild really were that cruel. Yet, there wasn't a single trace of worry on Soren's face. He yanked the dagger embedded in the map and aggressively carved a deep circle around the area marked [Mist Swamp].

"It's a death trap, yes. But more importantly, it's a goldmine."

"You're worried the fog will blind us, but it'll blind the Blackstone Orcs just as much."

"In that dense fog, their massive, numerically superior formations become completely useless. They won't even be able to mount a proper charge."

"So, the mist isn't our enemy. It's our greatest shield." Leona blinked, her tightly knit brows relaxing just a fraction. Soren pointed at the circle, tracing his finger along a dotted blue line marking a hazardous river:"Besides, who told you it's a barren wasteland where people only starve?"

"The Mist Swamp stretches for at least a thousand miles in every direction."

"When I was a kid, I heard stories about refugees from the North. Desperate people who couldn't survive the winters fled into the swamp and were never heard from again."

"But silence doesn't mean death. Scouts have reported finding fish bones, discarded waste, and the remnants of campfires deep within the mist. That means there are traces of human survival." He looked Leona dead in the eye, his voice challenging:"If unarmed, starving refugees can survive in there..."

"... are you telling me that the Crimson Moon Knights—veterans clad in plate armor, wielding steel swords, who have waded through seas of blood—are going to starve?"

"Demon Crocs in the mud? We slaughter them and eat their meat. Just one of those beasts is enough to feed a centurion's company for a whole day."

"Poisonous swamp plants? We dry them out, grind them into powder, and use them to coat our hunting arrows."

"Tainted water? A few Purify spells from our combat mages will solve that instantly." The look in Leona's eyes completely shifted. Under Soren's pragmatic breakdown, the terrifying myths of a deadly wasteland transformed into a veritable buffet of ready-made meat, pelts, and fresh water. The Knights were armed to the teeth. They wouldn't be prey in this new land, they would be the apex predators.

"And here is the most important part." Soren slid the dagger back into his sleeve, leaving only the hilt exposed.

"If we stay here, the Blackstone main forces will regroup and crush us next month. How many waves can we honestly hold off?"

"Military Command will absolutely use us as cannon fodder. They want us to die here. Only then will those fat lords sleep soundly."

"We march into the swamp. We play the bandits. We fight the magical beasts for scraps. We can even rebuild our strength out of their sight. Our chances of surviving are a hundred times better out there." Indecision was never in Leona's nature. Now that the path was clear, nothing but a blazing inferno remained in her eyes.

"You're damn right."

"If a bunch of starving refugees can survive, my men will thrive."

"Let's do it!" Leona strode to the entrance and yanked open the heavy oak doors. A bitter, freezing wind surged into the room, whipping her blood-stained, burgundy-red hair around her face.

"Herald!" she roared.

"Sound the assembly!"

"Three long blasts!" Frost blanketed the fortress's central plaza. The stench of blood from the recent battle still clung heavily to the air. Over two thousand six hundred battered, surviving soldiers stood in perfect formation. No one spoke a word. The only sound was the biting wind snapping against their tattered banners. They stood at attention, their eyes fixed on the dais and the female Commander who had led them to forge a miracle just yesterday.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Every man and woman was waiting for the grand rewards owed to an army that had achieved total victory. They expected gold coins, or perhaps a triumphant return to the royal capital for fine wine and the embrace of beautiful women. But the Leona standing before them was different from usual. She was still wearing her dented plate armor, scarred with a hundred sword strikes.

Her helmet was tucked under her arm, and her hair was completely unkempt. Soren stood quietly to the side of the dais, hugging his sword to his chest as he watched the scene unfold. Leona spoke.

"Listen up!"

"The higher-ups have sent down our 'rewards'."

"No gold. No rations. No reinforcements."

"Those fat-bellied lords sitting comfortably in the Royal Capital are terrified we won't follow their every whim. They haven't even issued a single copper for the pensions of our fallen!" A restless murmur rippled through the ranks. Disappointment and fierce indignation flared in the soldiers' eyes. They had bled out there. They had slaughtered the enemy all through the night, only to be cast aside like trash?

"And it doesn't stop there!" Leona's powerful voice cut through the noise, silencing them:"They are terrified of our strength. They want to disband the Crimson Moon Knights! They want us to die out here, one by one, like a pack of stray dogs! They want us to become nothing more than bones for the Orcs to grind their teeth on!"

"Tell me! Do you want to die?!" A fiery rage ignited in thousands of pairs of eyes. They roared back in unison:"NO!"

"Good!" Leona drew her sword. The cold steel caught the gleam of the rising sun.

"Because I am done taking their absolute bullshit!" She pointed her blade straight toward the North—toward the miasma-choked lands where even birds dared not fly.

"I am officially defying orders. I'd rather rot in hell than go back to the capital and act as some glorified, boot-licking honor guard captain."

"From this moment on, the Crimson Moon are no longer the watchdogs of this fortress. We are the wolves of the North."

"We march into the Mist Swamp! We are going to carve out our own territory!" Sharp intakes of breath echoed across the plaza. That place was a forbidden zone for the living. But Leona didn't give them a single second to let the fear settle.

"Stow that cowardice!"

"We will no longer rely on the pity rations of lords! You want a full belly? We march into the swamp and take it ourselves."

"There is meat in the water and forage in the earth! Whatever the enemy has, we kill them, and it becomes ours!"

"We have only one mission from now on." Leona held her sword horizontally across her chest:"We are done defending pointless frontlines!"

"Our only goal is to survive in that swamp and plant our roots deep!"

"We will carve out a stronghold! We will build our own fortress right in the heart of the mist!" This wild, untamed declaration was exactly what these soldiers—warriors who had just crawled out from mountains of corpses and seas of blood—needed to hear. She was right. They were already defying orders. What was stopping them from claiming a piece of the world for themselves? Leona delivered her final, most inflammatory battle cry:"Mark my words."

"This winter will be brutally cold. I might not be able to fill your pockets with gold, but I swear to the God of War!"

"The banner of the Crimson Moon will never fall! If we must chew on tree roots, we chew on them together! If we must drink dew, we drink it together!"

"I, Leona, will make sure every last one of you survives this in one piece!" Clang! She slammed her sword back into its sheath, the sharp ring of metal echoing through the plaza. A deathly silence followed. Then, in the front rank, a grizzled, scar-faced veteran holding the standard violently smashed his fist against his shield and dropped to one knee.

"Crimson Moon!" Immediately after, rows of heavy swordsmen followed suit. Then the archers, the light infantry, the combat mages...... even the cooks who were packing up the final supply bags in the rear. Over two thousand men and women. Their movements were staggered, but in that single moment, their hearts beat in perfect unison. The thunderous, metallic crash of weapons striking the frozen earth was their only answer.