Chương 287: 287：Diverging Paths in the Blizzard

"Duran!" Soren called softly into the gloom of the crypt corridor. Hurried, heavy footsteps immediately echoed from the depths. The towering, massively built Duran emerged. Strapped tightly to his broad back with shredded bedsheets was a frail, white-haired old woman. When Duran saw Soren stepping out of the darkness right on time, this iron-willed brawler—a man capable of tearing Orcs apart with his bare hands—instantly had his eyes turn red.

"Lord Soren... you actually came! It's absolute chaos up there. I thought... I thought you wouldn't have the time to care about us!" Duran's voice choked with profound, trembling emotion. In this meat-grinder of an era where human life was worth less than dirt, let alone a supreme commander of his status, even blood relatives would ruthlessly abandon each other under the crushing pressure of an Orc sweep.

Yet Soren had actually braved the apocalyptic risk of a multi-thousand Orc encirclement just to descend into this hellscape and extract him!

"Wipe your tears. From this day forward, you are a soldier of Greywater Village, and your mother is family to Greywater Village. Since I promised she would live out her twilight years in peace, I am not leaving her behind in Orc territory." Soren stepped forward, personally removing his own cloak and draping it gently over the frail woman's thin shoulders. Then, he firmly patted Duran's rock-solid shoulder:"Stick close to me. We're going home!"

Guided flawlessly by the dual overlapping radars of [Eagle Eye Perception] and [Danger Perception], Soren led the way through the pitch-black ruins without making a single sound. He navigated the squad perfectly, flawlessly evading the frantic Orc patrols swarming the city streets. Using grappling hooks provided by Alaric's personal guards, the squad smoothly reached a long-neglected blind spot on the western outer wall.

Even with his mother strapped to his back, Duran's terrifying physical stats allowed him to grip the crevices of the stone wall and scale it as effortlessly as walking on flat ground. Soren and the others followed closely behind. The exact moment their boots touched the freezing, biting muck on the outer fringes of the Misty Swamp, deafening war drums finally erupted from the direction of Abysswater Keep.

The sluggish Orc army, forcefully suppressed by senior Overlords rushing in from the outer camps, finally regained its chain of command and initiated a massive, torch-lit, city-wide sweep. However, looking back at the flames illuminating half the night sky, Soren and his squad had already vanished entirely into the dense, toxic miasma of the swamp, leaving absolutely no trace behind....... Deep into the night, the swamp was exceptionally quiet.

The bright moonlight pierced the thick fog, illuminating a safe, withered grove on the outer edge of the swamp. Far from the chaotic uproar of the fortress, it was so quiet they could only hear the occasional, distant growl of a Demonic Crocodile. Duran carefully settled his mother into a wind-sheltered hollow of a tree, terrified of waking the exhausted elderly woman. In the clearing, Alaric removed his enchanted helmet, taking massive gulps of the freezing, yet liberating air.

He turned his head, looking at Soren who was casually inspecting the elasticity of his bowstring under the moonlight.

"Soren..." Alaric's voice was saturated with profound, unadulterated awe.

"Tonight's operation was an absolute miracle in the history of covert warfare! Not only did you decapitate the Orc Overlord in front of a hall full of witnesses, but you flawlessly extracted from the dead center of a stronghold swarming with thousands of troops without suffering a single scratch!"

The traditionally proud Imperial Knight actually placed a hand over his chest, executing a solemn, highly respectful noble salute:"This strike didn't just paralyze the logistical lifeline of Warchief Blackstone's thirty-thousand-strong army; it struck an unprecedented, glorious blow for the commanders of the human faction! I, Alaric, am completely and utterly in awe!" Soren paused his work, standing up to look at the young general. Covered in blood, yet still radiating the impeccable grace of a true noble.

"You flatter me, Commander Alaric. If not for you and your guards risking your lives to seal the flank, and your intelligence gathering deep behind enemy lines, I could never have extracted so cleanly." Soren looked at him with equal admiration. In a human high command overflowing with corrupt, cowardly aristocrats, it was exceptionally rare to find a man willing to cast aside his status as a Grand Duke's son to draw his blade and slaughter the enemy deep in the mud.

"The Empire is truly fortunate to have a knight like you holding the line." The moonlight was serene. The bloodbath inside Abysswater Keep had forged an invisible, ironclad bond between the two men. In a perfectly synchronized dance of life and death, they hadn't just eliminated a massive swath of the enemy's high command; they had sparked a profound, heroic resonance between two exceptionally brilliant, apex commanders. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent.

Report any appearances on Amazon. The freezing wind swept past, billowing Alaric's radiant silver cloak. His previously hearty expression shifted into one of absolute gravity. He took a deep breath, as if making a monumental decision.

"Soren, my friend." Alaric took a step forward.

"The Prince Regent of the Silvermoon Kingdom is a rotting, incompetent fool, and Duke Fernando is short-sighted and petty."

"Not only do they refuse to grant you tangible rewards, but they have deliberately chained you to this death trap, hoping to use the Orcs' blades to eliminate you! Such a nation is not worth spilling your blood for!" Alaric extended his hand, unable to mask his fierce excitement: "Leave that decaying kingdom! Join our Holy Halycon Empire!"

"My father, Grand Duke Valentine, and His Imperial Majesty have already seen your transcendent brilliance. As long as you nod, the accompanying Greywater Village forces will be immediately integrated as a frontline Royal Imperial Legion!"

"With your tactical genius and supreme command abilities, under the Empire's merit-based system, I will swear upon my very life: You will rise straight to the exalted rank of Grand Duke! You will become a sovereign lord governing your own territory within the Empire!" Grand Duke! Standing nearby, Duran sucked in a sharp breath of cold air. That was the absolute apex of power, second only to the Emperor himself! It was a promise alluring enough to make any grassroots general lose their absolute mind!

Yet, faced with a temptation capable of altering destiny itself, Soren's expression remained as placid as still water. He didn't even look at Alaric's extended hand. Instead, he tilted his head up slightly, gazing at the cold crescent moon hanging in the night sky.

"Alaric, I am profoundly grateful to you, and for Grand Duke Valentine's goodwill." Soren's voice was soft, yet it carried an insurmountable weight.

"The Holy Halycon Empire is indeed vastly superior to the Silvermoon Kingdom. But at its core, it remains an empire ruled by the monopoly of noble houses. There, commoners are still treated as bottom-tier expendables, and the chasm of class remains uncrossable." Soren turned his head, looking Alaric dead in the eyes:"I didn't forge Greywater Village, implement the pension system, and shatter the chains of class just to trade it all for a Grand Duke's coronet."

"I am going to build a true paradigm of survival upon this worthless, blood-soaked wasteland—a set of laws that belongs to all soldiers, and all commoners!" Soren smiled faintly, politely but with absolute finality rejecting the recruitment: "Therefore, please forgive me, but I must decline. The banner of Greywater Village will only ever be planted upon its own sovereign territory." Alaric's extended hand froze in mid-air.

Staring at Soren, his father Grand Duke Valentine's heavy sigh violently echoed in his mind:"This man possesses overwhelming martial prowess, a mastery of war, a terrifying grasp on human nature, and a flawless command of psychological manipulation... But his ambition is so apocalyptic that not even the absolute apex of the Empire can satisfy him." In this moment, absolute clarity washed over Alaric. He slowly withdrew his hand.

His heart was overwhelmed with profound regret, boundless reverence, and an indescribable, chilling vigilance.

"I understand." Alaric's voice dropped an octave. He was a pure-blooded Imperial soldier; his absolute loyalty belonged to the imperial crown and the noble order of Halycon. But Soren? Soren was a revolutionary aiming to entirely capsize the class-oppression of the entire era. Alaric knew full well that today, they were ride-or-die comrades fighting shoulder-to-shoulder for the survival of humanity against the Orc Alliance. But tomorrow, when the Orc threat was eradicated...

"Soren," Alaric stared intensely into his eyes.

"If, in the future, Greywater Village's laws of equality inevitably clash with the class interests of the Holy Halycon Empire..."

"We might just become enemies."

"And if that day truly comes!" Alaric radiated a tragic, yet fiercely honorable battle-lust: "On the battlefield, I will fight for the glory of the Empire, and we will each serve our respective factions in a fight to the absolute death!" Faced with this brutally honest, uncompromising declaration, Soren felt absolutely no anger. Instead, he let out a bold, hearty laugh. This was exactly why he admired Alaric—no hypocrisy, no political pretension.

"If that day comes, Alaric." Soren took a half-step back. He slammed his right fist against the armor over his left breast, the resounding CLANG of metal echoing loudly in the night—the highest, most honorable salute between warriors.

"I expect you to lead the absolute finest heavy cavalry the Empire has to offer to charge my defensive lines! Because I, Soren, will honor my friend by fighting you with every ounce of my strength!"

"Then it's a promise!" Alaric returned the solemn Knight's salute, his fist over his heart.