Chương 365: The Invincible Continental Broadcast

Leona looked south toward the coordinates of Greywater Village.

"Sooner or later, forced by some overstepping probe from the Capital, he will abandon this facade of obedience."

"He will completely break away from the Silvermoon Kingdom's military structure. He might even directly overthrow the rule of those bureaucrats, establishing a center of absolute power right here in the Misty Swamp that belongs exclusively to him." On this cruel, blizzard-swept night, the two supreme decision-makers of the Crimson Moon Knights reached a stunning, unspoken consensus. In their hearts, they had already acknowledged the rise of a newborn Overlord.

"Phew." Leona shook her head, violently tossing aside the complex geopolitical web of the future. As the Commander of the Order, she had to focus immediately on current troop deployments. Since the apocalyptic crisis of thirty thousand Orcs besieging the Misty Swamp had been eradicated by Soren in such a mind-bending fashion, and the battle report clearly proved Greywater Village's true military might vastly exceeded her worst fears...

Leona spun around, decisively drawing the sword at her waist, and marched toward the communications officer waiting at the tent entrance.

"Cancel the order I just issued in my panic to force a rescue deployment!" Looking at the officer, she barked a new, resonant command: "Pass the order to all battalions: everyone strips off their heavy armor. Aside from the standard rotation of hidden sentries, all personnel are permitted to return to their insulated cabins!"

"The Crimson Moon Knights will remain here at the Withered Bone Forest highlands camp and solidify our current defensive lines. Tonight, give all the soldiers extra rations! Brew massive pots of piping hot meat stew to warm their bones!" The officer froze, instinctively asking, "Commander, what about Greywater Village? Are we not launching a full-scale rescue for Lord Soren?" Hearing this, Leona burst into loud, uninhibited laughter. She stepped forward, her posture relaxed and fiercely proud:"Rescue him?

What exactly gives you the right to rescue him? Are you going to take that iron sword in your hand and go bother an apex general who just finished executing the supreme commander of a massive horde?" Leona laughed, spinning around to project her voice across the entire camp:"All we need to do is sleep soundly in our trenches and patiently wait to tighten our defensive lines once the Orcs execute a full-scale retreat!"

"Remember this! Today's Soren, today's Greywater Village—they are long past the point of needing the Crimson Moon Knights for protection!"

"They have officially become a terrifying military superpower, capable of shattering absolutely any enemy in the North!" Meanwhile, in Silvermoon City. Even as the civilian districts outside were suffocated by a bleak, freezing winter rain, with starving commoners huddling for warmth in drafty slums... the interior of the towering Royal Palace at the heart of the Capital maintained a luxurious, balmy temperature.

Inside The Prince Regent's exclusive council chamber, eternal candles rendered from deep-sea whale blubber burned brightly along the walls, releasing a faint, nerve-soothing musk. The velvet carpets were so obscenely thick they completely swallowed the heavy thud of leather boots. At this moment, the absolute ruler of the Silvermoon Kingdom, The Prince Regent, leaned lazily back in his plush armchair.

Swirling a goblet of centuries-old, brilliantly hued violet wine, he listened to the soft crackle of priceless exotic woods burning in the hearth. Sitting directly across from him was the absolute leader of the Silvermoon Kingdom's corrupt, old-blood aristocracy: Duke Fernando. The sapphire crest resting on the Duke's chest—a symbol of his family's supreme glory—refracted a vulgar, luxurious luster in the flickering candlelight.

"If my calculations are correct, the heavy snows have completely sealed off every single route into the Misty Swamp." The Prince Regent gently swirled his goblet, watching the crimson wine streak down the glass as he let out a satisfied, icy sneer.

"Thirty thousand elites from the Orcs' Blood Province, backed by completely unblockable Wyverns... Fernando, tell me. Do you think our dear 'Hero of the Kingdom,' currently standing at the absolute pinnacle of his glory, has already been chopped into bloody chunks by Minotaur battleaxes?" Duke Fernando elegantly sliced into a piece of tender foie gras on his plate, slipping the meat into his mouth and chewing agonizingly slowly.

"Your Highness, is there even a need to guess?" The Duke wiped his mouth with a pristine white napkin, offering a low, mocking sneer.

"Two thousand starving refugees facing thirty thousand heavily equipped, regular Orc legions. And all of it while trapped in a death zone with absolutely zero grain supplies and completely stripped of all allied early-warning signals."

"Even if Soren were a literal god descended from the heavens, there is absolutely no physical way he survives an apocalyptic holocaust tailor-made specifically for him." The Duke's voice dripped with venom.

"His illustrious prestige will inevitably burn to ashes alongside Greywater Village." Hearing this ironclad judgment, The Prince Regent smiled with profound satisfaction. He raised his goblet, preparing to take a massive, celebratory gulp to toast the eradication of this political threat. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Just at that exact millisecond, the Silvermoon Kingdom's Minister of Military Affairs, completely consumed by sheer, unadulterated panic, stumbled wildly into the council chamber. This minister, notoriously obsessed with immaculate aristocratic poise, had literally run so frantically he was missing a shoe.

"Insolence! As the Minister of Military Affairs, what is the meaning of this pathetic display?!" Duke Fernando violently shot to his feet, roaring his reprimand.

"Y-Your Highness! Lord Duke!" The minister completely abandoned all sense of decorum. He violently collapsed onto his knees on the velvet carpet, his hoarse voice cracking into a shriek:"The Holy Halycon Empire has just broadcast a magical battle report to the entire continent! It's over... our master plan is completely, utterly ruined!"

"Greywater Village wasn't razed! Soren... Soren survived!" Hearing those words, The Prince Regent flinched so violently that the goblet of violet wine slipped from his fingers, crashing onto the floor with a loud clang.

"What the hell did you just say?!" The Prince Regent roared.

"He held the line against thirty thousand troops?! What in the name of the gods did he use to hold them off?!" The Minister of Military Affairs violently spat out a battle record that would freeze the blood of the entire Silvermoon Kingdom's ruling class:"He didn't just hold them off! It was total annihilation! An absolute slaughter!"

"Right outside the barricades, Soren met the enemy head-on and violently butchered three thousand elite Centaurs! He forced the surrender of six thousand elders and youths! Immediately following that, he personally led a strike force under the cover of a midnight blizzard! Through sheer guerrilla force, he drove over ten thousand Minotaur heavy infantry into an apocalyptic camp-collapse and a total rout!"

"And that is not all! Soren penetrated the supreme command pavilion of a hundred-thousand-strong army ENTIRELY ALONE! Staring down eight overlapping layers of magical shields and the absolute protection of over a hundred heavy-armor guards... WITH ONE ARROW, he blew a hole straight through Warchief Blackstone's heart!"

"The Orc main forces have completely, catastrophically collapsed! The combat fatality statistic reported by Greywater Village is ZERO!" Dead silence. In that exact moment, this luxurious, secretive council chamber plunged into a suffocating, marrow-freezing chill. Aside from the faint crackle of the hearth, there was absolutely zero sound.

"Pierced Warchief Blackstone's heart with a single arrow? Zero casualties while annihilating thirty thousand elites...?" Duke Fernando's legs violently gave out beneath him. He crashed heavily back into his chair, violently rattling the silver cutlery on the table. The Prince Regent stared dead at the kneeling minister, his brain completely, violently short-circuiting.

As the supreme rulers who controlled the Kingdom's armies, they knew better than anyone exactly what kind of apocalyptic nightmare Warchief Blackstone's thirty thousand troops represented. If the Silvermoon Kingdom's mainline armies engaged that force, they could throw a hundred thousand lives into the meat grinder and they still might not even scrape the outer perimeter of the Warchief's pavilion!

Yet, Soren—the border Vice-Commander they had maliciously starved of supplies, violently severed from all reinforcements, and ruthlessly abandoned to die—had used two thousand refugees to completely eradicate an elite Orc horde that would make the Capital's Royal Guard piss themselves in terror!

"A monster... what kind of apocalyptic monster army has he bred in that swamp...?" the Duke muttered to himself, a profound, visceral terror immediately violently seizing his mind. The Prince Regent subconsciously pressed a trembling hand against his own chest. His heart was undergoing a violent, uncontrollable tectonic shock! If Soren could casually ignore eight layers of magical defense to snipe a supreme commander through a howling blizzard from five hundred meters away...

if his two-thousand-man army could effortlessly butcher and rout over ten thousand Minotaurs... Then, what happens if, one day, Soren uncovers the absolute truth? What if he learns the Capital actively jammed the early-warning systems to use the Orcs as a blade to murder him? What happens if this human God of War pivots his offensive, marching that monstrous, unstoppable army directly toward the Silvermoon Capital?!

"Our fiercely proud Royal Mage Corps... can they block an arrow that effortlessly phased through eight layers of high-tier shields?!"

"Our Royal Knights, who only know how to parade around the city squares in their shiny plate armor... can they halt the apocalyptic blitz of Greywater Village?!" A dark, absolutely horrifying answer violently surfaced in The Prince Regent's mind: They couldn't! As long as Soren willed it, he possessed the catastrophic power to transform this very Royal Palace into a blood-soaked execution ground overnight!

A heavy, suffocating dread plunged The Prince Regent and Duke Fernando into an agonizing, horrified silence that lasted for a full ten minutes. It only broke when the Minister of Military Affairs finally retreated, and the heavy oak doors were pulled tightly shut once more.