Chương 362: 362:The Suicidal March and the Miraculous Victory

That scout had pushed three separate warhorses to the point of death, barely managing to deliver the intelligence back to the main camp by the absolute skin of his teeth. From that exact moment, Leona knew the horrifying truth. Soren, and the two-thousand-odd soldiers of Greywater Village, were currently facing an apocalyptic siege forged by thirty thousand Orc elites! However, the Misty Swamp was simply too treacherous.

The blinding blizzard choked off the trails, making the speed of delivering intel on foot agonizingly slow. Because of this frustrating delay, Leona had absolutely no idea that the battle—a battle she believed Greywater Village had zero chance of surviving—had actually concluded late last night.

In her cognitive reality and timeline, Greywater Village at this very moment was undoubtedly locked in a desperate, blood-soaked meat grinder, buried under mountains of corpses and on the absolute brink of being trampled to dust!

"No... this route won't work either! It's all a damn death trap!" Leona ground her teeth violently. Her finger aggressively traced the route from their base camp to Greywater Village on the map, her nail digging in so hard it carved a deep tear right through the parchment. She was consumed by an unbearable, suffocating anxiety.

"Leona, drink some hot tea. You haven't closed your eyes in two days and two nights," a soft voice gently reminded her from the side. The military cleric of the Crimson Moon Knights, and a priestess of the Silvermoon Kingdom's state religion, the Church of the Bright Moon—Elena—walked over, holding a steaming cup of soothing tea. Her long silver hair radiated a pure, holy luster.

"I can't stomach it! Elena, Soren is still trapped in the encirclement! He's still waiting for us!" Leona violently shoved the teacup aside, pacing frantically back and forth across the hall.

"We must remain calm, Leona. Impulsiveness won't save anyone." Elena walked up to the sandbox, pointing calmly at the dozens of miles stretching between them. As a cleric possessing sharp strategic vision, she ruthlessly dissected the current dead end:"You and I both know how agonizingly powerless this situation is."

"The Crimson Moon's main camp is dozens of miles away from Greywater Village. And those dozens of miles aren't the smooth, paved roads outside the Capital. They are the absolute core of the Misty Swamp—a hellscape choked with highly acidic muck, venomous insects, and Two-Headed Demon Crocodiles!"

"What's even more terrifying is that, according to the intel our scout died to bring back, not only is the terrain lethal, but Warchief Blackstone has already established heavy checkpoints and roving patrols along the entire route."

"If we attempt a rescue..." Elena took a deep breath, laying the brutal reality bare before Leona:"Our fiercely proud heavy knights won't even be able to build up charge momentum in that muck. Our infantry phalanxes will be relentlessly bled dry by the Centaurs' sniper fire."

"We would be ordering our soldiers to march across an open death zone with zero cover, directly into a head-on clash against tens of thousands of highly motivated Orc main forces!" But in Leona's heart, Soren was the God of War who had, relying entirely on himself at Stormrift Keep, violently reversed a collapsing, apocalyptic dead end, allowing the Crimson Moon Knights to miraculously survive a ten-to-one death trap.

He was the Lord who, when their base camp was starving and freezing to death, had unconditionally sent them entire wagons of [Swamp Tubers] and black-iron armor. He was the hero who had violently shattered the rotting rules of the monarchy, a man who truly treated the lives of bottom-tier soldiers as actual lives. Soren had long since become Leona's inseparable brother-in-arms; he was the fiercely proud Vice-Commander of the entire Crimson Moon Knights!

Facing the heavy encirclement of the Orc Alliance, Leona knew with absolute certainty that every passing second was violently stripping away their hope of survival. For every single minute she delayed by having tactical discussions inside this safe wooden cabin, Soren and the two thousand soldiers and civilians of Greywater Village dozens of miles away were one step closer to being chopped into meat paste by Orc battleaxes!

"Fuck the terrain! Fuck the Orc checkpoints!" Leona abruptly spun around! She aggressively strode past the wooden table, her violent movement knocking the tea set to the floor, where it shattered into a million pieces. This untamed, fiery, crimson-haired Commander made a decision that, according to any military doctrine, was tantamount to burning her own bridges:"Pass down my orders! We do not leave a single soldier behind to guard the camp!" Leona roared her command across the hall: "Muster the entire Order!

Every single heavy knight, every single infantryman, every single ranger! All two thousand six hundred of us—suit up in full armor and grab your weapons!" Biting down on every single syllable, she swore a tragic, blood-soaked oath:"I do not care about the cost! Even if the Crimson Moon Knights must bleed out entirely in the Misty Swamp today... even if all two thousand six hundred of us are buried in that mudhole! We will march to the death to Greywater Village and rescue Vice-Commander Soren!"

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"We will use our very bodies to violently tear open a path of survival through that thirty-thousand-strong Orc encirclement for Soren!" Facing her old comrade's decision to lead the entire army to their deaths, Elena looked quietly at Leona. As a cleric, she should have vehemently protested this suicidal tactic; this was sentencing the entire Knight Order to serve as a burial sacrifice.

But after a brief moment of locked eyes, Elena slowly crossed her arms over her chest, firmly grasping the holy emblem of the Church of the Bright Moon.

"You are right, Leona. If we cannot even bring ourselves to save the hero who has saved us time and time again—the hero who has brought hope to humanity—then even if the Crimson Moon Knights survive, we will be nothing but an empty, soulless husk." Elena gave a heavy nod, radiating an iron-blooded resolve completely unbefitting her clerical status.

"I agree to the muster. I will pack every single healing potion and scroll we possess, and I will march with you." In that exact moment, the two leaders of the Knight Order reached an absolute consensus to trade the lives of the entire Order to save Soren. Leona violently snatched her crimson cape from the wall, swiftly tying it around her neck. She drew the broadsword from her hip in one fluid motion, hoisting it high into the air. Just as Leona opened her mouth to roar at the door: "Herald!

Sound the muster horn immediately! The entire Order pushes forward for the final stand!"

"REPORT!" A shrill, voice-cracking scream violently tore through the blizzard outside! A young communications officer wearing the scout leathers of the Crimson Moon Knights stumbled blindly through the door, crashing violently onto the wooden floor. His entire body was caked in icicles and foul-smelling mud, his breathing ragged and hoarse. Yet, relying purely on sheer willpower, he forcefully pushed himself halfway up from the floor. Leona and Elena's hearts violently seized.

In that split second, both women braced for the absolute worst: this had to be a desperate, final plea for help smuggled out of Greywater Village, or the tragic obituary of Soren's death in battle!

"Speak! Is it a distress call from Greywater Village?! Is Soren still alive?!" Leona lunged forward, violently grabbing the communications officer by the breastplate and roaring into his face.

"No! It's not a distress call!" The officer trembled violently as he reached deep into his tunic, pulling out a sealed missive.

"Commander! Lady Cleric! This isn't a plea for help! This... this is the official battle report sent back safely by Vice-Commander Soren, escorted by a squad of Wolf Riders under the cover of night!" At this very moment, Leona and Elena were still riding the tragic, adrenaline-fueled high of preparing to throw their lives away on the front lines. Their minds were entirely consumed by the apocalyptic image of a suicidal charge.

The communications officer tremblingly unrolled the parchment scroll and loudly reported the contents:"Official Military Dispatch from the front lines!"

"First! The Greywater Village defensive line did not yield a single inch! The crisis of the thirty-thousand-strong Orc encirclement has been completely neutralized!" Hearing that first sentence, the broadsword in Leona's grip slipped, clattering loudly against the floor. Her aggressive momentum toward the door came to a violent, screeching halt, her entire body going rigidly stiff.

"Neutralized...? How the hell was it neutralized?" she muttered subconsciously. But the communications officer didn't give her a single second to process it:"Second! During this campaign, Lord Soren led the forces of Greywater Village to completely annihilate the Orc Alliance vanguard—exactly three thousand elite Centaur sharpshooters!"

"An additional six thousand Centaur elders and youths completely collapsed and unconditionally surrendered to Greywater Village!"

"Lord Soren personally led a three-hundred-man strike force to execute a high-mobility night raid! He violently forced an army of ten thousand Minotaur heavy infantry into an apocalyptic camp collapse! The enemy main force is currently in total, panicked rout across the swamp!" If the first two points had merely sent massive shockwaves through the two commanders, the final point roared by the officer violently plunged their minds into an absolute, blank void.

"Third!" The officer abruptly snapped his head up: "Lord Soren initiated a decapitation strike!"

"He pierced Warchief Blackstone's heart on the spot! With the enemy Supreme Commander executed, the horde has entirely collapsed!" Dead silence. The blizzard continued to rage mercilessly outside the door, but inside the Crimson Moon command post, time seemed to violently freeze in place. The only sound left in the universe was the occasional sharp pop of the burning torches.

Upon hearing this earth-shattering report, Leona and Elena were rendered completely statuesque, their bodies trembling ever so slightly from pure, unadulterated shock.