Chapter 175: 175 Launching the Offensives

Chapter 175: Launch the Attack

Geoffrey’s injuries were severe; even after consuming five healing spell scrolls, he remained far from fully recovered.

Fortunately, Ronin had rescued him from prison, and with the nourishing food and medicinal aids of Castle Wushan, coupled with his high-rank knightly resilience, he should be able to walk again within three or five days.

“Grandfather, you called for me?”

Ronin arrived at the rear courtyard of Castle Wushan under Most’s guidance.

There, Rulans sat conversing with his close friend Miloslav. Upon seeing Ronin enter, both men paused their talk with faint smiles.

“Your Excellency, Master Dean!” Ronin bowed deeply. “Thank you for your generous gift last night.”

The old man had bestowed a staggering 450 gold coins in yesterday’s reward.

“A trifle,” Miloslav said, his eyes warm as they swept over Ronin. “You needn’t thank me. Your performance has been exceptional—Rulans no longer has to complain to me about lacking worthy descendants.”

“Your praise is too kind,” Ronin replied humbly.

“According to Kishu’s report from Pasture City, one of your subordinates is a light-attribute mage. How strong and gifted is he?”

Kishu Hel was the manager of the Silva Magic Consortium’s branch in Pasture City;

Miloslav, meanwhile, was the consortium’s regional overseer for the Wushan territory and one of its vice presidents—by rank, Kishu was his subordinate, obligated to report upward.

“Elron only recently ascended to the rank of high mage. His cultivation talent must be quite decent.”

Elron appeared no more than twenty-something, yet possessed the potential to become a Seventh-Rank Grand Sorcerer—his talent was undeniably strong.

Miloslav nodded slowly, sighed, his expression shadowed with concern. “Still… not enough.”

Rulans chuckled lightly. “Light-attribute mages are rare to begin with. That he’s reached high mage status is already remarkable. Don’t expect miracles.”

Ronin frowned slightly—there was something unspoken between them.

But Rulans offered no explanation. Instead, he tossed Ronin a spell scroll. “This was just purchased from the Dean. For your protection.”

Ronin’s eyes lit up. He unrolled it eagerly—it was another scroll of Fire Dragon Swallows Heaven.

The previous one had been expended in his battle against the Gold-Rank assassin. He hadn’t expected Rulans to procure a second so swiftly.

“Thank you, Grandfather! Thank you, Dean!”

“Thank me alone. Why thank him?”

Rulans scolded playfully. “This scroll cost me over a thousand gold coins.”

“You old miser,” Miloslav retorted. “Others pay at least two thousand for this. I charged you only twelve hundred—granted you a massive discount—and yet you dare deny your grandson the right to thank me?”

Clearly, their bond ran deep—and Rulans’ spirits seemed brighter than usual.

They bantered a few more moments before Rulans grew solemn and turned to Ronin.

“Toru has gathered all the evidence provided by Raisen’s men. This afternoon, I will convene a council within Wushan Fortress to formally pronounce judgment on Raisen—and to bestow your title.”

Ronin’s heart thrummed with quiet exhilaration. At last, the long-awaited moment was drawing near, inching steadily toward its climax.

His status as a baron would soon be history. In mere hours, he would become Viscount of Northern Wushan.

“Thank you, Grandfather!” Ronin rose and bowed.

Rulans waved a hand. “Go inform the other nobles of the meeting.”

“Yes!”

Ronin exited Rulans’ study and delivered the news to every noble still residing in Castle Wushan. By afternoon, the fortress would host another grand gathering.

Meanwhile, in Ashen Village.

Ridall had mustered his forces. According to plan, today he would lead the assault against the Blackland Tribe.

His gaze swept over Elron, Horn, Jenny, Bablin, and the other knights, then settled on the twenty-odd cavalrymen and dozens of guards and archers behind them.

After weeks of training and the seasoning of the year-end tournament, their bearing now radiated vigor and discipline.

“Brothers,” Ridall began his pre-battle speech, “these past days, we’ve witnessed Lord Ronin’s strength, wisdom, generosity, and mercy. Under his leadership, our lives grow ever better.”

“But the weak, foolish, stingy, and cruel Baron Raisen seeks to crush Lord Ronin—to seize this land, to enslave us!”

For days, Ridall and Elron had been shaping the Blackland Tribe’s image as the enemy—painting them as monstrous, avaricious, and cruel.

“Do you wish to see this peace shattered?” he cried.

“No!”

All responded in unison. Some even shouted, “Down with Raisen!”

The common folk might not have noticed a marked rise in living standards—but these guards had felt Ronin’s kindness firsthand. Their lives had improved.

For the first time in years, they drank meat broth daily—and often ate meat itself.

They would not let this end.

“Good!”

Ridall raised his voice. “While Lord Ronin confronts Baron Raisen within Wushan Fortress, we shall strike at the Blackland Tribe!”

The war spirit kindled. Fear of battle receded.

Led by the knights and senior guards, every man now radiated fearless, unstoppable momentum.

Yet Ridall knew: morale was one thing. True combat prowess lay in execution.

To minimize casualties, he had devised a plan.

“Bablin—you, with George, Tomasch, Gisli, and ten cavalrymen—charge the Blackland border. When they emerge, wheel around and retreat immediately. Understood?”

“Understood!”

Bablin replied loudly. They’d practiced this ruse countless times.

Each time Philiton sent men to drive them off, they fled.

At first, the enemy had been furious. Now, perhaps they’d grown bored—no longer even eager to chase.

“Horn—you, with Wotton, Juwit, Sim, and ten cavalrymen—wait until they cross the boundary. Then charge out, but slowly. Let them have time to turn back.”

“When they retreat, merge with Bablin’s force and provoke again. Insult them, taunt them—do whatever it takes to ignite their rage. But do not linger. Retreat at the first sign of danger.”

“Everyone else—follow me. Take cover on the hill.”

Ridall’s goal: lure Philiton into sending more knights and cavalry beyond the tribe’s fortifications.

In open wilderness, their odds improved.

Win there, and the Blackland Tribe—deprived of its elite riders—would fall far easier.

Once the orders were given, Bablin’s first unit departed first. Horn’s second followed close behind. Ridall brought up the rear with Elron, the mage Jenny, the guards, and archers.

When Bablin’s men drew the sentries’ attention, they would slip into the woods and take hidden positions on the nearer hill.

“Ridall,” Elron asked, “do you think this plan will work?”

“Over these past days, I’ve learned Philiton lacks patience—and caution. If we provoke him enough today, he’ll bite.”

Riedal’s gaze was resolute, “But whether it works or not, the Black Collar Tribe must be taken—that is the lord’s trust in us!”

“Of course!”

Elron nodded solemnly: “We will not betray the lord’s trust.”

(End of Chapter)