Two days later, along a thirty-mile-wide front, the five hundred and thirty thousand men of the Xili Province's army—an undisciplined and scarcely battle-worthy rabble—ambled toward the Iron-Blood Fortress. Even the shrewdest commander on the continent would have found it impossible to launch an organized offensive with such a formation. The troops were scattered in disarray—clusters to the east, knots to the west—moving not by rank or order, but by personal friendship. In the crowded stretches, more than two hundred men crammed into a space of barely a dozen yards; elsewhere, one might wander for hundreds of paces before meeting a single, sluggish squad.
The entire column stretched fifty miles from front to rear—a journey of nearly half a day. Any cavalry charge against such a formation could only end in ruin; by the time the horses reached the last ranks, they would be collapsing from exhaustion.
On a small rise overlooking the plain, Kylo and his mounted knights surveyed the pitiful procession. Every man bore the look of a beaten dog. There was no trace of readiness for battle—only idle boasting, as they bragged about how many enemy soldiers each could supposedly slay with ease.
Kylo snorted. "The Empire's propaganda has truly gone mad. True, one of our trained regulars can match three of the Smart Empire's soldiers, and a knight may best two of their own—but those are soldiers. Look at this lot! They think this rabble can stand against the Smart Empire's legions? Absurd."
His adjutant, the deputy captain of Duke Green's personal guard, muttered, "My lord, can we really trust this Karlin? If we advance as planned, what if…"
Kylo chuckled. "What if? What's there to fear? We'll not go near the fortress walls. We won't assault the city; without that, their defenses are useless. What could they possibly do to us? Half a million men—just killing them would take two days. And every one of ours carries a weapon; they'll at least give the enemy a proper fight before they fall."
He patted the jeweled hilt at his waist and grinned. "Besides, Karlin swore on his honor—and upon the gods of the Smart Empire. That makes it at least half-trustworthy. We'll stay cautious. And if they do have tricks…" Kylo glanced back along the road with a sly smile. The knights around him exchanged knowing looks.
Two miles from the fortress, the vanguard under Claus—five thousand men, those who had witnessed Kylo's secret meeting with Karlin—halted. What they found astonished them: Karlin himself sat beneath a cluster of trees, feasting on roast chicken with six lovely young women spread out beside him on carpets.
Seeing Claus approach, Karlin waved his chicken leg and shouted through a mouthful, "Heavens, you took two whole days! Don't you know speed wins wars? My private supplies are nearly gone. Luckily, I won a copper coin off the quartermaster and bought these drumsticks to roast. You've truly disappointed me!"
The soldiers stood speechless, watching him wipe greasy fingers on his robes before gesturing grandly. "All right, one team to the west gate, one to the north, another to the east. The firewood's ready—just light it up when you're inside. Once the flames rise, my share of military merit will be secured, and I can finally go home a hero. Hurry up! My army's been camped out here for three days waiting for you."
Claus frowned, ignoring him, and sent Lei to scout ahead. Moments later, Lei returned breathless. "Sir, the city's empty. There's firewood piled near the gates. About fifty thousand troops are camped outside the southern wall—no tents, no armor, horses unsaddled, and no sign of others nearby."
Karlin spread his hands. "See? I keep my word. To save on rations, I sent a hundred thousand men home yesterday. Shalin's just about to withdraw. It's all yours now—just a mock battle for show."
The new recruits beamed. To reclaim the continent's second greatest fortress without shedding blood—and earn rewards for it—was a dream come true.
Karlin waved cheerfully. "Tell General Kylo not to shoot his arrows when he attacks, in case he hits me. If that happens, the Smart legions will be back in no time!" Then, laughing, he led his six beauties away.
Moments later, a high-ranking silver knight arrived, overhearing Karlin's words. "Nonsense!" he barked. "You destroyed the Greenfield Regiment by luck alone. Do you think your Smart Empire is truly that mighty? Our best legions and three dukes' private armies are already on the march. In a real battle, you'll be crushed!"
Karlin turned, smiling faintly. "Ah, I don't deny it—Vant Empire's legions are the finest in the land. But I am retreating, am I not? Tell your General Kylo and your Emperor Shagrue this: this war began because my father wished me to earn a little glory. I do hope your noble empire won't misunderstand our… friendly intentions."
The soldiers could only gape. An invader kills your guards, then insists you're still friends—what can one say to that?
When Karlin finally departed, Claus murmured, "What a shameless rake—carousing even in the army."
The silver knight scoffed. "Didn't you see? Those girls are magicians—powerful ones—and virgins at that. Hardly his lovers. He's a coward, surrounding himself with bodyguards."
Karlin heard and shouted back angrily, "Coward, am I? These girls are magicians, and virgins—but if I wanted them as lovers, who would refuse me? If you're the coward, go hide in the western river; perhaps you'll find a water-nymph willing to keep you company!"
Laughter rippled among his retinue as they vanished into the distance.
Soon, the Vant troops marched into the fortress. Kylo stood upon the southern wall, gazing proudly over fifty thousand Smart soldiers encamped below. "Excellent," he said. "With these walls, we can hold against half a million men. The Iron-Blood Fortress—no force in the world can breach it."
Orders spread swiftly. The gates closed; drawbridges lifted. New recruits in gleaming armor scrambled to the battlements, giddy with excitement.
Outside, only the poorly armed remained, while the better-equipped took posts inside as reserves. Then, with great ceremony, fires blazed at the four gates—five hundred pounds of straw and wood creating an illusion of fierce battle.
Karlin watched from afar, shrugging. "Such naïve fools. They actually believe the fortress is theirs."
A sixth-tier mage beside him sneered. "The Vant Empire's faith in its might blinds it. They think the fortress impregnable."
Karlin smiled. "Indeed. If not for General Shalin's betrayal, we'd never take it. From the outside, attacking this place would be sheer madness."
He sighed. "Ah, it's growing dark… Hand me a sword."
The mages blinked in disbelief. "A… sword, my lord?"
"Of course. My childhood dream was to be a great knight. Sadly, the only things I've learned to ride are women—and horses, on occasion. But slaying a few worthless soldiers sounds delightful."
When they refused, he glared. "If my safety cannot be guaranteed with you here, what good are you? Bring me a sword, or return to the academy as apprentices."
They hesitated; at last, a beautifully forged, spell-blessed blade was brought to him.
Inside the fortress, Kylo's nerves tightened. "Why haven't they withdrawn? The play's over. What are they plotting?"
He sent a messenger, who soon returned pale-faced. "My lord… they say their supplies are gone. Unless we give them food for three days—three hundred thousand pounds—they will not leave."
Kylo cursed furiously. "Extortion! If not for my knight's oath, I'd slaughter them all." But he knew he dared not attack seasoned veterans with raw recruits.
"Tell them," he said coldly, "our wagons arrive by midnight. If they do not leave by dawn, the Silver Wolf Legion from the capital will be here—and I'll not be caught conspiring with the enemy."
Yet gossip spread like wildfire among the bored recruits. Within an hour, three hundred thousand men believed the war already won.
That night, wagons slipped quietly from the gates, delivering food to the Smart army—and returned laden with death.
Lei lay awake, staring at the stars, dreaming of home, of gold, of healing herbs for his ailing mother. Then one star flared brighter… larger… until the heavens themselves exploded.
The first blast hurled him into darkness.
Fireballs rained from the sky. Magic missiles burst among the tents, turning the camp into a sea of flame. The wagons, now manned by Smart elite troops, tore down the stockades and fell upon the panicked recruits.
The slaughter began.
Within moments, the plains ran red. Screams echoed like the wailing of ghosts. Thirty-five thousand recruits perished before dawn; the rest fled or burned where they stood.
From the fortress, Kylo watched in horror. "Karlin! You vile, treacherous cur!"
A silken voice drifted from above. "My, my, General Kylo—is that how a nobleman speaks? How crude. Then again, what else can one expect from a fool who led three hundred thousand men to their deaths? Oh—and as for my oath, did you forget the other name of your so-called god of wisdom?"
Kylo's face turned ashen. "The God of Deceit—the one who honors no vow."
Karlin's laughter rolled through the night. His dark hair whipped in the wind; his robe billowed like a king of shadows. "Why not save them, General?" he mocked.
"To open the gates so you may strike? Let them die! So long as I hold the fortress, I remain a hero!" Kylo's aura flared white and gold around him.
Karlin's eyes gleamed. "Oh yes—the Iron-Blood Fortress, nearly impossible to breach from without. But from within… tell me, do you truly think we occupied it for a month without making improvements?"
With an elegant sweep of his hand, crimson light flared—then the world exploded.
The fortress disintegrated in a storm of fire and shattered stone.
Karlin sighed softly. "A month's work, thousands of charges, a fortune in magic crystals. Ten years to build—one night to destroy. How fitting. The Duchess of Winston did say she adored my little touch of cruelty…"
And as the ruins burned behind him, he smiled.