https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-318-The-Beginning-of-the-Campaign/13676648/
Chapter 319: Battle of Okgaral (I)
Yet the Kingdom’s army was no less fierce in response.
Wyverns shrieked from the sky, Great Goblins and Ogre Tribesmen bellowed their war cries in chaotic frenzy—so loud, the entire snowfield seemed to tremble and boil with sound.
“For the Kingdom of Ashen!”
“For the King of the Burnt!”
“I’ll tear you all to shreds!”
“Conquer the Northern Regions! For the Great Red Dragon’s grand design!”
War cries echoed endlessly across the Wasteland, a thunderous tide of fury.
The Alliance had gone all in. Nine thousand elite Human troops from the Northern Kingdoms, more than five thousand Stellarfallen, and over a thousand extraordinary beings from across Ailezegai had converged here.
Publicly, they claimed to have summoned half a million soldiers—determined to annihilate the Kingdom of Ashen, that evil force of destruction.
They had seized the southern bank of the river, building formidable fortifications and deep trench lines, their defensive line stretching for over ten li.
In return, the Kingdom gave them full respect. At last, they raised their value, funneling nearly all of their core military strength to this front. With over fifty thousand soldiers—Dragon-blooded warriors, elite Stellarfallen, and Kingdom’s supernatural fighters combined—they now held the northern bank, like a mottled current of war.
Though outnumbered, their aura was far more potent. After all, those Steel Siege Cannons and Long Spears were no mere decorations.
Two massive armies now faced each other across the river—over a hundred thousand troops occupying the frozen expanse, like two titanic rivers about to collide, unleashing a storm of unimaginable devastation.
Even the mighty Olyul and Inaki Rivers—known as the “River of Origin” and “Giant’s River,” spanning dozens of meters in width—seemed like mere irrigation channels between two colossal entities in this impending war.
Never before in the thousand-year history of the Northern Regions had such a war taken place.
Scholars estimated that even the peasant laborers, barely more than “gray livestock” in value, numbered only 4 to 6 million across the entire Northern Union Kingdom—this included the now-destroyed Duchy of Lakanman.
Remove the Duchy of Lakanman, add in the massive population drain toward Northwind Keep in recent times, and the number dropped even further.
The feudal home of the Northern Regions simply couldn’t match the Kingdom’s strength. To field these nine thousand soldiers, the Northern Nobles had already gone all in, exhausting every last reserve of war potential.
To maintain their noble rule, they’d gambled everything on the battlefield—driving tens of thousands of humans to starvation, even death, during troop mobilization and grain requisition.
Social tensions across the Northern Regions had reached an unprecedented peak. The oppression of peasants by nobles had reached its absolute limit. No wonder the “Starfire” movement had spread so swiftly across the land.
In contrast, the Kingdom of Ashen remained untouched by the war’s disruption. Production continued uninterrupted. Life carried on under order, and people only felt the war brought more contracts—more gold coins. Work would be harder, yes, but that was a small price.
Even the famed “Seven Kingdoms War,” which had formally unified the Northern Regions in legend, claimed a hundred thousand combatants—but in truth, it barely reached ten thousand. Most home clans sent no more than a thousand men.
This was Anzeta’s greatest battle yet. The war that would decide the fate of this land.
On the northern bank, the majestic and grand music continued. Semi-Goatfolk played with fervor, their melodies laced with magic, driving monsters into a euphoric frenzy, their war cries even more passionate.
Above the southern Alliance army, Chanting Angels from Heaven’s Mountain plucked their harps, singing radiant, holy hymns that soothed the tense hearts of the allied troops.
With a piercing horn blast, the Alliance’s bowmen and crossbowmen drew their weapons, loosing a storm of arrows toward the opposite shore.
But the Ogre Great Shields and armored Ground-Dwelling Beasts stood firm at the front, absorbing most of the volleys. Arrows embedded thickly into their shields and armor, like a forest of steel.
“Haa! Haa!”
Under relentless arrowfire, Ogre Tribesmen heaved the massive wooden bridge from the wyvern’s back onto their shoulders, straining to raise it upright.
They shoved the log forward—toppling it across the river, forming a crude but functional bridge connecting both banks.
Boom!
A deafening crash echoed. The ground trembled.
Then, a Bearman Druid raised his staff. A faint green aura flared. The ends of the log sprouted roots, burrowing deep into the riverbanks, anchoring the bridge firmly. The trunk thickened, flattening into a solid, stable passage.
A real bridge, forged from living wood.
Throughout the process, the Alliance continued firing arrows—but made no attempt to charge or interfere.
They didn’t yet understand the Kingdom’s tactics. They would wait. The moment the Kingdom’s forces charged across the river, that would be the perfect moment to strike.
Duke Leo stared at the enemy army with a solemn expression, unmoved by the drama. He gave a quiet command:
“Send the Undead to the front lines. Let’s test their resolve.”
After the mass defection of peasant laborers, the players absorbed by the Bosk Duchy had become the new cannon fodder. Duke Leo, unusually open-minded, had accepted these status-unknown individuals without hesitation.
“They’re stronger than ever,” Trelshka murmured, uneasy.
“We can’t judge the Kingdom of Ashen by ordinary logic.”
“Yes, Lord Duke,” Trelshka added. “That’s precisely what makes the Kingdom of Ashen so terrifying.”
“For millennia, our Northern Regions have remained unchanged—stable, ordered, unshaken. But the Kingdom… it’s different. It feeds on life, growing stronger with every passing year. In just a few short years, it’s become a Colossal Entity. As the scholars from the South say… it’s constantly evolving.”
Duke Leo’s voice was low, resolute.
“They won’t get another chance to grow. Because we will win this war.”
“Order the Undead to the front lines. Draw their fire.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The messenger swiftly mounted his horse, raised the war banner, and relayed the command across the entire army.
Yet even Duke Leo, seasoned as he was, had never commanded an army of this scale.
…
“This… is exactly what I wanted,” the Player known as Teutonic Knight whispered, eyes gleaming. “This is the Sword and Magic world I’ve dreamed of.”
“This… is the romance of the battlefield.”
Dressed in gleaming Plate Armor, he polished his Silver Sword with quiet reverence.
Facing the terrifying army of the Kingdom of Ashen, he felt no fear—only exhilaration.
A true experiential Player, he’d entered Ailezegai not for power or convenience, but to live the fantasy of war. So he’d rejected the guidebook-recommended Northwind Keep, choosing instead Stratford Keep—far more fitting to his vision of a medieval world.
Now, he stood as a Player Chieftain of the Alliance, personally knighted by Duke Leo himself, granted the noble status of Honorary Knight.
“Perfect! The Lord Duke sends us to the front!”
“Brothers! Let’s give the Kingdom bastards a taste of our steel!”
“Cut off that Red Dragon’s head—follow me!”
Teutonic Knight vaulted onto his Stallion, raising his Silver Sword high. His eyes blazed with Euphoria, pointing defiantly toward the enemy host.
Yes—this was it.
To fight against enemy Players, to clash in blood and fire on the battlefield… this was the war he had always wanted.
Pure, unbridled, glorious.
Led by him, five thousand Alliance Players surged forward—into the maw of war, becoming the first tools of mutual probing between the two sides.
(End of Chapter)
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