Chương 77: 77： Elena's Disbelief

There stood sixty-four heavy-armored elites, fully encased in thick, pitch-black iron plate. Only their eyes were visible through the narrow slits of their visors! These sixty-four men radiated a sheer ferocity that rivaled even the orcs. In the chilling rain, the heat of their exhaled breaths plumed into thick white mist. When these sixty-four monsters formed an inverted V-shaped vanguard formation, bringing down their massive 2. 5-meter armor-piercing halberds in a synchronized, devastating arc... BOOM!

Falk watched, the calves of his legs twitching wildly in awe and terror.

"Monsters... this is an absolute unit of heavily armored monsters!"

"Even if the Crimson Moon Knights' most elite heavy cavalry charged into this halberd formation at a full gallop, the outcome would be impossible to predict!" What Falk didn't know was that these sixty-four warriors weren't even best suited for frontal assaults—their true expertise lay in devastating ambushes. Everything he had witnessed over the past few days left Falk with a profound sense of raw power. A thriving force with strong soldiers and sturdy mounts!

Under the rule of this man named Soren, a small village of just a few hundred people had somehow erupted with enough war potential to shake the entirety of the Misty Swamp! Dusk of the third day. The night wind churned the thick miasma of the swamp. Standing at the base of the command post's wooden steps, Falk carefully and solemnly strapped a beast-hide parcel tightly to his chest. Inside lay the [Misty Swamp Topographical Map] and the [Combat Report].

He gazed at the distant back of the black-haired young man, his eyes burning with deep reverence. Pierce through the Orc lines within a year... Commander, that bet you made... Because of this man, we're actually going to win! We will definitely win! Falk didn't want to rest for a single second longer. He was fueled by an overwhelming urgency, desperate to let the main forces of the Crimson Moon witness this mind-blowing revelation.

Turning toward Soren's retreating figure, he respectfully delivered the highest-standard veteran's military salute. Then, like a frenzied cheetah, he plunged into the perilous, fog-choked night. Retracing his steps, he pushed his body to its absolute limits, sprinting madly toward the Crimson Moon Knights' command post to deliver his report. The following morning. Monotonous drilling commands rang out early across the Crimson Moon Knights' camp.

Army Chaplain Elena, draped in her silver-white priestly robes, walked alone down the muddy pathways of the encampment. The embroidered edges of her boots were already caked in muck. Yet, unlike when she had first arrived, she didn't stop to cast a Purify spell. Instead, she let the grime coat her footwear. Stopping by a row of sharpened wooden chevaux-de-frise, she paused and quietly observed the scene ahead.

Vice-Commander Sylvia was holding her massive, heavy tower shield, directing several main-force battalions that were rotating off the frontlines. The soldiers' armor was scarred with blade marks and stained with dried blood. Some had blood-seeping linen bandages wrapped around their arms. But astonishingly, the troops maintained a strict, disciplined phalanx. Not a single person whispered; not a single person groaned in pain.

A few wooden wheelbarrows were pushed in, piled high with chipped battleaxes, spiked maces, and a few barely usable black iron chestplates scavenged from the corpses of Orcs. Sylvia's voice was laced with exhaustion, yet her orders remained exceptionally clear.

"Scrub that armor clean! Take any intact iron plates to the blacksmith for repairs, and fit them onto our brothers in the frontlines!" Elena took it all in. According to the Holy Church's texts and the general consensus of the capital's military officers, any army trapped in a dead zone like this—cut off from supplies, suffering harsh environments, and surrounded by an enemy force of a hundred thousand—would mutiny before a month had passed.

Yet the Crimson Moon Knights had not only held out until now, but under the leadership of their female Commander, their casualty rate had been kept astonishingly low. Like resilient weeds, they survived by snatching weapons from the hands of Orcs, maintaining an ironclad defense, and meticulously expanding their camp's living space, keeping their daily operations highly organized. This alone proved the immense tenacity of this commoner knight order.

Elena gave a subtle nod, a warm current of relief and approval welling up in her heart. Here lay the truest, most devout will to survive. A moment later, Elena pushed aside the heavy flap of the central command tent. Inside, hearing the footsteps, Leona looked up, her aggressive gaze sweeping over. Leona pulled over a wooden chair and sat down. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"Finished your inspection?"

"Now you should see that my soldiers aren't a bunch of useless trash just waiting to die." Elena pulled up a round stool and sat opposite her. Keeping her back perfectly straight, her expression held less of last night's hostility and more of genuine respect.

"I concede, Commander. The fact that you and Vice-Commander Sylvia have managed to maintain the army's structure and discipline in such a brutal environment, snatching food directly from the enemy's jaws—it far exceeds the Church's expectations."

"Your tenacity is worthy of the Moon Goddess's blessing." Hearing a dogmatic chaplain yield like this, Leona gave a cold snort, though the tense corners of her mouth softened slightly. Who wouldn't want their blood, sweat, and tears to be acknowledged? Just as the tension between the two women experienced a rare moment of ease...

"Report!" A voice cracked in a desperate roar from outside the tent. The tent flap was violently thrown open, and a rush of cold, blood-scented swamp air swept into the command post. The scout, Falk, practically threw himself inside. He slammed down onto one knee, his legs still shaking uncontrollably. His leather armor had been shredded into ribbons by thorns, and his face was covered in mud and red, swollen mosquito bites. Yet, his eyes burned with manic excitement.

"Falk?!" Leona shot to her feet, closing the distance in long strides, and grabbed the scout by the shoulders.

"You're alive? Did you find Soren?!"

"I found him, Commander, I found him!" With trembling hands, Falk frantically fumbled to unbind the beast-hide pouch.

"Captain Soren is alive and well! He's deep in the heart of the swamp, at Greywater Village!"

"This is the topographical map he ordered me to bring back, along with... along with his compiled military reports from the last two months!" Wild joy erupted in Leona's eyes as she snatched the beast-hide scroll. The first thing she unrolled was a section of a map of the Misty Swamp, meticulously drawn with charcoal. It detailed areas that the Crimson Moon's main forces had previously found completely impossible to scout.

It marked the locations of the Blackstone Orcs' watchtowers, acid mud pits, safe marching routes, and several Orc supply lines. Leona slammed her palm onto the map, panting heavily with excitement.

"That glorious bastard! I knew he would survive!"

"With this, we can finally do what he does and cut off the Orcs' supply routes!" Sitting opposite her, Elena was also drawn in by the detailed intelligence. Even as a chaplain, she well understood the life-or-death value of information in war. She reached out and slipped out the Compiled Combat Logs resting beneath the map.

"Let me see," Elena said softly, her eyes landing on the first line of the parchment.

"Let me see exactly how your foremost vanguard captain managed to survive these past few months." However, as her eyes rapidly scanned down the page... The faint trace of approval on Elena's cold, ethereally beautiful face instantly froze. Her brow knitted into a fierce scowl, and her breathing grew heavy.

"Preposterous..." She stood up abruptly, her tone uncontrollably sharp as her gaze pierced Leona like a dagger.

"Commander Leona, this is the brilliant leader you've been dreaming about? These are the military achievements he's reporting?" Leona paused, raising an eyebrow.

"What is it? Is he short on supplies and whining about it?"

"Whining?" Elena laughed out of sheer anger. She rattled the sheets of parchment violently in the air.

"He's not whining! He's trampling the intelligence of the entire Crimson Moon Knights under his boots! This garbage is an absolute blasphemy against actual warfare!"

"What the hell are you babbling about? Read the damn words!" Leona's gaze darkened. Taking a deep breath, Elena used her crisp, furious voice to read the report's contents out loud, line by line.

"Scout's Observational Report: Current Status of Greywater Village Territory..." Aside from Soren's combat summaries, the document included Falk's own observational logs—exactly as a scout's report should.

"Since garrisoning, Captain Soren's original unit of twenty-five poorly trained recruits has, in a mere two months, assimilated swamp goblins, human exiles, captured veterans from the Kingdom's regular army, and human slave soldiers who defected from the enemy camp."

"Currently, the total military force in Greywater Village has skyrocketed to nearly six hundred personnel." Reaching this point, Elena sneered.

"Two months? Six hundred personnel? In a miasma-filled wasteland where men starve to death on a daily basis, did he just conjure rations for six hundred people out of thin air? Does he think he's the Moon Goddess incarnate, wielding the very fount of life?"