Chapter 213: Mobilization

Though Elrond's lineage possessed the rare grace to suppress that aberrant energy, caution dictated a more deliberate course; Romany would bide his time, waiting for Ridal's wounds to mend and for the fateful twenty-first day of the month to arrive.

Defenses had been thoroughly set along the northern reaches of Blackwood Town and Ashwood Village, yet the shadow-dwellers within the valley showed no inclination to stir, leaving the domain in a fragile state of peace.

In the long days of waiting, Romany walked the length of Blackwood Town, inspecting the rising timber of new hearths and the turning of fresh earth, while devoting his remaining hours to the rigorous discipline of the blade and spirited duels.

He stood now at the absolute pinnacle of the Bronze rank; across from him, though Macken had ascended to Silver, the man's progress had slowed to a crawl, his cultivation stalling at a mere eighteen points out of fifteen hundred.

Truth be told, though Macken held no great advantage over Romany in sheer sinew or vitality, his defensive swordplay in close quarters was an iron wall, seamless and unyielding.

Even under Ridal's seasoned tutelage, Romany could scarcely hold his own for thirty exchanges before the tide turned; any rushed attempt to force a breach in that armor only served to unmoor his own footing.

Yet such was the measure of their clash without the spark of battle arts; the moment Macken invoked his martial gifts, Romany was instantly pressed into a desperate defense.

As a knight attuned to the heavy element of earth, Macken commanded the Earth-Shaker and the Rock-Serpent, twin arts that severely disrupted Romany's rhythm.

The Rock-Serpent was a particularly monstrous creation—a great python woven from the very soil, striking with blinding speed and shattering force, capable of leaving a man broken and cast aside, or crushed to dust beneath its stone brow.

Romany survived only by cloaking himself in the swift winds of Haste magic, for even his greatest Blazing Explosions could not unravel the earthen viper in a single strike.

If his contests with Macken were a matter of narrow survival, his bouts against a fully recovered Ridal left him utterly undone.

The veteran surpassed Macken in raw might, and his battlecraft and fluid techniques were leagues ahead; once ensnared in Ridal's torrential tempest of blows, Romany would swiftly find himself disarmed.

Though victory eluded him against either master, Romany's showing was nothing short of remarkable.

He had youth on his side, and scarce half a year of true devotion to the blade; to stand where he did was a testament to a rare, innate genius.

The seasons turned their slow wheel, and almost unbidden, the dawn of the twenty-first of April arrived.

As the familiar, ethereal script manifested before his eyes, Romany's pool of attribute points and primordial essence surged, swelling to one hundred and eighty-four and seven hundred and fifty-three.

Without a moment's hesitation, he poured the entirety of that power into his own vessel.

In an instant, lines of brilliant silver etched themselves across his skin—the unmistakable mantle of a Silver Knight, marking his seamless ascension as a fifth-tier transcendent.

[Level]: 5-Silver Knight (12/1500); 5-Archmage (0/2000)

A Silver Knight was a force of true consequence, a power to be reckoned with across the continent.

A man bearing such strength, though born to the dirt, need only pledge his sword to a lord to secure a place of honor, and within a decade, a title of knighthood would surely be his.

As for a fifth-tier Archmage, they were rarer still; such individuals walked among sovereigns as equals, assured of a grand welcome by the high nobility wherever their wandering steps took them.

For unlike the straightforward might of knights, mages commanded the esoteric arts—the weaving of spell scrolls and the brewing of phantasmal elixirs.

Behind those crafts lay immense wealth, influence, and the terrifying promise of absolute deterrence.

Having attained the Silver rank, Romany found himself with a wealth of new battle arts and incantations to master, chief among them the devastating Blazing Slash of the fire discipline and the Crimson Fire-Serpent spell.

The Blazing Slash was Ridal's own signature—a technique of notorious complexity, yet possessed of ruinous power.

The Crimson Fire-Serpent, a fifth-tier invocation of flame, though humbled by the sixth-tier dragon that swallowed the heavens, was still a terror to behold.

Regrettably, the hourglass was running dry.

By his own decree, Romany was to lead his host toward that accursed valley the very moment the sun breached the horizon.

With the moments slipping away, he could only learn upon the march, turning his mind first to those lesser arts and spells gifted by Rulance, those easier for a supple mind to grasp.

Skills such as Flash-Ignition, the Whirlwind Cross-Slash, and the Howling Gale.

The following dawn broke cold over the rudimentary fortress of Blackwood Town.

Aside from the assembled knights and mages called to the vanguard, Wilson stood to the flank with his scribes, flanked by Chahar and Galen, while behind them formed rows of town guards and common folk who stole fearful, curious glances at the gathering host.

Romany stood high upon the stone steps, looking down at his subordinates clad in iron and hardened leather, a sudden, fierce tide of pride rising within his breast.

Almost imperceptibly, he had gathered a host that could shake the foundations of the land.

His vanguard comprised three summoned entities of legend: Ridal, Macken, and Elrond.

His second line held five high-tier transcendents: Joffrey, Clamy, Horn, Jannie, and Babulin—a count that would have been six, had Rogner not been away on distant errands.

The third tier was formed of four promising seeds, youths of vast potential: David, Tom, Tomas, and Grado.

"To the north of our fields dwells a host of twisted, perilous abominations, a shadow that threatens at any hour to sweep south and consume every living soul in the North Wu Domain!"

Romany's voice rang clear across the courtyard, a clarion call to the hearts of his men.

"To restore peace to the earth we till, to ensure we may lay our heads down without fear, and to shield our kin, our friends, and the children yet unborn from this creeping terror, I, as Lord of the North Wu Domain, am bound by honor to wage this war!"

His gaze swept over the ranks, arresting every eye. "You are the iron shield and the sharp edge of this realm. The foe we face is steeped in ancient malice, but though they be a flood of monsters, we shall raise our steel and break them pieces!"

"For the hearth!"

Elrond, timing his move perfectly, raised a gauntleted fist to the sky and bellowed, "For the North Wu Domain!"

With that single cry, the dam broke, and the collective voice of the host erupted.

"For the North Wu Domain!"

"For the North Wu Domain!"

The roar cascaded through the valley, instantly kindling the dormant fires of martial fervor within every breast.

Green youths like David and Tom, unversed in the grand theater of war, felt their blood turn to fire, their faces flushing crimson as they screamed into the morning air.

Romany's words were not meant solely for Ridal and the captains; they were a sermon for the guards, the ministers, the stewards, and the common laborers who remained behind.

They must know their lord did not ride out for personal glory or vanity, but as a shield for their lives and their soil.

Only thus could the bonds of loyalty and unity be forged unyielding in the crucible of his domain.

Though their numbers were few and their training uneven, the foundations of an empire were best laid when the house was small.

When the shouting died to a hum, Romany began the roll-call, offering a steady clap of his hands for each name spoken, investing the moment with such solemn gravity that each man felt the supreme honor of marching beneath his banner.

Once the company was chosen, he spoke words of quiet encouragement to the vanguard.

Turning to Wilson and the counselors, he gave strict injunctions for the governance of the territory in his absence.

This venture, even at a hard gallop, would consume ten days in travel alone; with the added necessities of encampment, scouting, and battle, they would be gone from the castle for a considerable span.

The clearing of the northern fields, the keeping of the peace, and the integration of the refugees brought back by Rogner—all these burdens now fell upon the shoulders of the garrison knights, Wilson, and Chahar.

As the first rays of the sun climbed the crest of the mountain, spilling golden light across the fortress walls, Romany looked up into the dawn, feeling the vibrant pulse of a new age.

"March!"