https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-314-The-Calm-Before-the-Storm-4-/13676631/
Chapter 315: Full Advance and the Situation in the Northern Regions
“It was me… I killed him!” George clutched his rifle so tightly his hands trembled uncontrollably—the barrel still warm to the touch.
This battle had drawn the high regard of the Kingdom’s noble lords, even catching the eye of the King himself. Naturally, no one dared to seize the glory for themselves.
Around him, the Great Goblins and Tieflings stared at George with eyes burning with envy—red with longing, regret, and the bitter ache of missing their chance. They longed to devour the human alive, to erase the memory of his fate.
“Damn it…”
“Of all people… it had to be him.”
“Lucky bastard, just plain dog’s luck—wait and see.”
But that was all they could do—dreams, not deeds. One wrong word, one misstep, and the military overseers’ whips would remind them sharply of absolute military discipline.
This was no ordinary victory. The fallen commander was Baron Loren Bosk—of the Bosk Family, Allied Forces’ commander. Such a feat could earn a noble title. And yet, it had been snatched away by a mere human, right before their eyes.
“Hahahaha… I… I killed him.” George muttered to himself, his mind already painting the glorious future: rising swiftly through the ranks, becoming a Dragon-Blooded Noble. All the hardships and trials he’d endured—forgotten, erased by the sweet nectar of success.
Now, with Loren Bosk fallen beneath his rifle, the last traces of self-doubt—the lingering shame of being a Peasant Laborer—vanished like smoke.
So these so-called noble lords were just like everyone else, after all.
Even the most powerful noble in the Northern Regions, the mighty Duke Leo of Bosk, was still just a mortal meat body, no match for a bullet. Just like George himself—born a “Gray Livestock,” a commoner.
Loren’s death shattered the Bosk Heavy Cavalry. Around them, the air was thick with the relentless crackle of rifle fire. Everywhere, the Kingdom of Ashen’s forces surged forward like a wave, cutting down the enemy like lettuce in a field.
The Pike and Shield Infantry, the Bow and Crossbowmen—they crumbled under the pressure. Kingdom foot soldiers and Goblinoid legions attacked from both flanks, while elite skirmishers struck from the sides. The once-sturdy fortification had been infiltrated, riddled with holes. Multiple fronts broke out across the battlefield, and the Kingdom’s soldiers charged forward with wild, unrelenting fury.
And with their commander dead, the elite troops from the Northern Kingdoms were left leaderless, like headless flies. Even rebellion was powerless against such overwhelming odds.
Before long, the stubborn resistance was encircled and annihilated. The Battle of Afton ended without a single ripple. Most of the Kingdom of Ashen’s losses came from friendly fire.
Even the Kingdom’s soldiers barely took the war seriously—some even found it underwhelming. Only George felt a swell of pride, dancing with exhilaration at his stroke of fortune.
The war raged on, progressing at an astonishing pace.
Under the decision of the Kingdom’s High Command and Marshal Dolo’s orders, the army split into three divisions, launching fierce offensives west, east, and south simultaneously. They had full confidence in dividing their forces—knowing they could still crush their enemies, maximizing military efficiency.
This was yet another display of tactical disregard—but they had the power to back it up.
In recent years, thanks to the infiltration of the Nocturne units, the Kingdom had uncovered every secret of the Northern Kingdoms’ military. Their defenses were laid bare—no longer a mystery.
The High Command’s strategists had already compiled detailed reports, concluding that the so-called “Millennial Heritage” Northern Union Kingdom was nothing more than a frail, oversized infant—physically weak despite its imposing size. The only real threat worth noting was the fiercely martial Bosk Duchy in the south.
And so, the horn of advance sounded.
A mixed force—two Human Reserve Infantry Divisions, a Goblin Shock Troop Battalion, and dozens of Two-Headed Dragons—charged westward across the vast, open Balash Great Plain, east of the Duchy of Carter. Like a sharp blade piercing the heart, they tore through the Allied Forces’ four-thousand-strong line with unstoppable force.
The combined strength of infantry and air units executed a lightning-fast deep penetration, slicing open and encircling the outdated, massive enemy formation.
Meanwhile, another force—two Lizardman Infantry-Cavalry Mixed Divisions, a Goblin Artillery Battalion, nearly a hundred Two-Headed Dragons, and an Ogre Siege Battery—advanced eastward. With overwhelming firepower, they shattered the enemy’s defensive lines entrenched along the great river and mountain passes.
Then, following the plan, they abandoned their logistical supplies, embarked on a light-load, deep advance into enemy territory. In just days, they pushed sixty kilometers into the Duchy of Phano, reached the eastern border of Anzeta, and began systematically executing their “Surround and Destroy” operations against local garrisons.
Worse still, Kai Xiusu’s image projection—broadcast by Dragonborne—appeared across Anzeta, sending shockwaves through the Northern nobles. Their nerves frayed, their confidence shaken.
And just as the storm worsened, the Player-led Ember movement erupted in the Northern Kingdoms, spreading like wildfire.
These rebel forces were fanatically determined, led by brilliant, inventive Players, and backed by weapons supplied from the Kingdom of Ashen. The nobles were forced to divert their personal armies to suppress the uprisings, scattering their strength.
The fall of the Northern Kingdoms’ duchies seemed only a matter of time.
But they still had one last hope—Bosk Duchy.
There stood the fearless “Northland Lion,” Duke Leo. There marched the legendary Lionheart Knights, whose glory was etched into history. And from the Feiansuo Continent, the Prime Material Plane, even the Outer Planes, relief forces poured in.
All the hopes and strength of the Old Northern Order now converged here—this final stand. With a single, decisive blow, they might shatter the Kingdom of Ashen’s main force, slay the monstrous Red Dragon that had plagued the North.
The Kingdom’s strategists knew this too. And so, both sides reached the same conclusion.
Hundreds of Crimson Scale Conquerors. One hundred fifty-three Oath of the Dragon Holy Knights. A colossal artillery force of over a thousand Ogres. Over ten thousand elite Great Goblins and Tieflings. Dozens of Chimeras. Twenty armored terrain dragons. Six hundred Wyverns. Nearly thirty thousand Dragonline Goblins. And all of the Kingdom’s Stellarfall Corps—entirely unified.
All gathered into a massive main force, marching in full formation southward.
Their target? The largest city within Bosk Duchy—the oldest settlement from the Scandian Great Migration, the nominal capital of the Northern Union Kingdom for a thousand years: Stravburg, the City of the Lion.
The army advanced. The earth trembled beneath them. Birds fled in terror from the skies above.
The air filled with heavy breathing, the deep rumble of wheels rolling over snow, and the thunderous footsteps of terrain dragons.
In the midst of this mighty host, Meizhuolashi turned his head, glancing sideways at the golden-haired youth beside him.
“Andrea,” he said, voice quiet but deliberate, “we’re about to face your father. What are your thoughts?”
“None,” the youth replied, voice flat, expressionless.
Meizhuolashi smiled faintly, shaking his head.
“Honestly… I still don’t understand. After living in Northwind Keep, why did you choose to join the Kingdom? You’re a descendant of Bosk—Leo’s beloved son.”
Andrea remained silent for a long moment, then slowly lifted his gaze to the horizon.
“For the vow I made. There are things in this world that matter more than power.”
“Besides… I didn’t join the Kingdom of Ashen.”
“After all these years, I’ve seen clearly. Your kingdom isn’t perfect. But at least it’s better than the utter corruption, the rot running through the bones of the Northern Regions.”
“Hah.” Meizhuolashi chuckled again, then fell silent. The Tiefling chieftain seemed to be listening to some private, amusing truth.
After all—this was a world of worse alternatives.
And the Kingdom, without a doubt, had won.
(End of Chapter)
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