Chương 376: 376：Keep Your Hypocritical Commendation

Greywater Town, the Lord's Command Post. Inside the room, Soren stood before a sprawling map of the Misty Swamp. A charcoal pencil in hand, he carefully sketched out the defensive nodes for the territory's upcoming outward expansion. Just then, the heavy wooden door of the command post creaked open. Lyra, his personal guard, glided into the room without making a single sound. The silver-haired young woman approached his desk.

"My Lord," Lyra said crisply, dropping to one knee.

"A rather special guest is requesting an audience outside." Soren didn't pause his sketching.

"Who?" he asked casually.

"From the Holy Halycon Empire: The Commander of the Royal Griffon Knights, son of the Grand Duke—Alaric." At that name, the charcoal pencil in Soren's hand halted abruptly. He slowly straightened his back. Alaric? He actually came in person? When Greywater Village was besieged by the 30, 000-strong Orc army and pushed to the absolute brink of annihilation, the Holy Halycon Empire's border garrison of hundreds of thousands—including Alaric's Griffon Knights—had remained eerily, deafeningly quiet.

Now that Soren had completely annihilated those 30, 000 Orcs and blown Warchief Blackstone's head off with a single arrow, the news of this monumental victory had only just spread across the realm via the Imperial Gazette. Yet here was this high-ranking Imperial general, eagerly crossing the defensive lines to pay a visit.

"They refuse to lift a finger when you're on death's door, but the moment you prove yourself invincible, they come running to chat. The political upper crust of Halycon certainly has a sharp sense of smell," Soren sneered coldly. Still, since they had dispatched a core figure like Alaric, Soren was mildly interested in seeing what actual intentions the Empire's higher-ups were hiding behind their hypocritical masks.

"Go. Bring him in," Soren said, tossing the stub of his charcoal pencil onto the desk.

"Receive him according to Greywater Town's rules."

"Understood," Lyra replied, rising and taking her leave. A short while later, Alaric stepped into the inner sanctum of Greywater Town under Lyra's escort. The renowned, genius Imperial general maintained an immaculate posture. His back was ramrod straight, and his astronomically expensive royal armor remained pristine, untainted by the raging blizzard outside. However, there was one glaringly awkward detail: the scabbard at his waist was completely empty.

Just moments prior, upon reaching the outer anti-cavalry barricades of Greywater Town, the frontline elite guards had ruthlessly barred his path. They didn't care if he was the son of a Grand Duke or the commander of the Empire's ace legion. They only offered one ironclad sentence: "Without the Lord's permission, no outsider is permitted to carry weapons inside!"

And just like that, Alaric's knightly longsword—forged by a Royal Enchantment Master and having accompanied him in slaying countless foes—was unceremoniously tossed into an iron basket meant for confiscated scrap metal. But any lingering humiliation over surrendering his weapon rapidly evaporated the moment Alaric actually stepped into Greywater Town and witnessed the sights along the way! As a career military man, Alaric possessed piercingly sharp eyes.

The last time he had visited, this place was nothing more than a squalid refugee camp cobbled together from rotting wood. But now? He looked to his left and right. On what used to be highly acidic, toxic mudlands, countless neatly dressed, healthy-looking civilians were chanting work songs, mortaring massive stone blocks together with acid-resistant adhesives. A stone wall—so formidable it inspired genuine awe—was already rising tall from this land of death, its massive silhouette dominating the horizon!

On the compacted hard earth, he noticed countless entrances leading underground. These entryways were heavily reinforced with thick [Black Steel Alloy] pillars and massive timber. As a general, he recognized them at a single glance: they were anti-air bunkers designed specifically to defend against aerial Wyvern bombardments! Yet, even that wasn't what truly terrified him. When a patrol of pikemen marching in a strict Macedonian Phalanx strode past him in perfect unison, Alaric actually forgot to breathe.

What kind of metal is that? Just what tier of defensive equipment is this?! Accustomed to the very pinnacle of Imperial military gear, Alaric's eyes were glued to the armor worn by these seemingly ordinary soldiers. It was a composite metal that gleamed with a cold, dark luster! The sheer hardness radiating from it made his scalp tingle just looking at it.

In an era where the bottom-tier soldiers of the human factions fought over tattered leather armor, and even "elite" troops only had access to standard iron mail... the soldiers of Greywater Town were fully outfitted with this terrifying battle armor! This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Even though they differentiated between the full-plate of the frontline elites and the half-plate of the second-line troops, the oppressive aura of their defenses was enough to strike fear into any commander's heart! Alaric subconsciously touched the Imperial Royal Armor he wore with such pride. His Royal Griffon Knights were the absolute elite trump card under his father, Grand Duke Valentine.

Even while draining a massive chunk of the Empire's annual tax revenue, they could only afford to maintain five thousand swordsmen equipped with steel plate armor. Yet Alaric horrifyingly realized that the incredibly expensive plate armor his men wore paled in comparison to the perfectly crafted [Dark Silver Armor] worn by the grunts of Greywater Town! A monster!

Not only did he use sheer tactics to completely annihilate the enemy, but his logistics and military industry have also evolved to such a terrifying level! Carrying this profound sense of shock, Alaric finally stepped into the command post. The moment he entered, his eyes locked onto Soren, who was seated behind a wooden desk. Foregoing any useless pleasantries, Alaric forced down his internal awe and stepped forward with a solemn expression.

He reached into his breast pocket and produced a gold-threaded scroll sealed with royal wax. Acting as the representative of the Holy Halycon Empire, he offered the scroll with both hands.

"Lord Soren, this is an official letter of commendation and congratulation, personally signed by His Imperial Majesty of the Holy Halycon Empire." Alaric raised his voice, adopting the formal cadence of a court herald as he delivered the high praise:"His Majesty greatly commends you in this letter. Faced with the unstoppable might of the Orc Alliance's 30, 000 elites and aerial Wyverns, you commanded the battlefield with absolute composure, achieving a flawless counter-slaughter with zero casualties!

Furthermore, you slew their supreme commander, Warchief Blackstone, with a single arrow!"

"His Majesty names you the peerless paragon of the entire human faction in our war against the Orcs!" However, faced with such towering praise—praise that would have brought any other general to tears of gratitude—Soren merely sat in his leather chair. He didn't even bat an eyelid. He stared calmly at the luxurious scroll presented to him, making absolutely no move to accept it. Verbal praise? A commendation letter completely devoid of practical value? A paragon?

Listening to this flowery rhetoric, Soren felt nothing but a wave of nausea. He remembered it clearly. When the raging blizzard had struck, when Greywater Village had been besieged by the trampling hooves of ten thousand Centaurs and rained upon by Wyverns... when the battle was so dire that everyone believed they were destined to die! The massive Imperial army stationed at the border of the Misty Swamp and the Halycon Empire—a mere day's march away—had completely ignored the crisis. What were they doing?

They were watching with cold, ruthless indifference! They were waiting for Greywater Village to be slaughtered! They didn't mobilize a single reinforcement; they didn't fire a single supporting arrow! And all of this callous spectating occurred despite the fact that Soren had personally crippled the Shadow Priest Zagar, forcibly dragging Grand Duke Valentine back from the jaws of death just prior to the siege!

"Watching you get besieged by heavy forces and refusing to offer aid to protect your own interests... then, the moment you pull off a zero-casualty miracle and annihilate the enemy commander, you immediately show up at my door bearing letters of congratulations..." Soren looked at Alaric and scoffed openly. The Holy Halycon Empire's self-serving, cold-blooded, and hypocritical political posturing filled him with profound disdain and disgust. Alaric was a smart, perceptive man.

Seeing Soren's calm yet utterly mocking expression, his outstretched hands froze in mid-air. He acutely realized that a costless, official letter of congratulation was utterly laughable to a man who saw right through human nature. It wouldn't move him in the slightest. Swish. Decisively, Alaric withdrew the gold-threaded scroll, casually placing it on the corner of the desk. The knight, known for his straightforwardness, immediately pivoted his approach. He looked Soren in the eye with complete candor.

"Lord Soren, you don't need to look at me like that. I admit it—this official letter is indeed just a hollow gesture from His Majesty, meant for the eyes of the public." Alaric's voice dropped to a serious timbre.

"I didn't personally cross the defensive lines and brave a blizzard to come to Greywater Town just to deliver a useless piece of paper."

"I have come bearing the true, substantial sincerity and intentions of the Emperor of the Holy Halycon Empire."