Chapter 500: Birdman

After a bustling counsel, the division of forces for the assault was arrayed.

The northern gate stood as the primary axis of attack, with fifteen knightly orders from Red Pine Fort and Twin Peaks Ridge serving as the vanguard.

Beyond the silver-moon knights—Garrett, Yug, Gushan, and Ibn—Rydal, a knight of the blazing sun, was redeployed to anchor the offensive.

The eastern approach fell to three orders from the Principality of Gistana, bolstered by three more cobbled together from minor nobility, all under the command of Earl George.

To the west, the forces of the Black Mountain Domain, Northern Black Mountain, and miscellaneous lesser lords formed another three orders, led by Melyonica.

Ronin, prized for his swift adaptability, was given leave to traverse the battlefield under the title of military advisor; save for the northern gate, the commanders of the other two flanks were bound to heed his dispositions if necessity arose.

By mid-day, the encampments took an early noon meal, and the troops began their maneuver to divide the army.

Upon a high slope, Ronin, Sophia, and their inner circle gathered.

"I scouted with the flying carpet this morning; there is no sign of large-scale reinforcements within the Mist City."

Sophia, a grand mage wielding the triumvirate of water, wind, and fire, could achieve a measure of intelligence-gathering by leveraging a magical carpet and cloaking spells.

Ronin felt a touch of astonishment.

From the accounts gathered by Gushan, Ibn, and the others, the defending garrison of Mist City numbered around ten knightly orders.

Against such numbers, even relying upon the formidable ramparts of Mist City, it would be nigh impossible to withstand the combined aristocratic host.

Without reinforcement, failure was absolute; it meant the Kingdom of Tricia had utterly forsaken its border.

Yet according to the latest intelligence sent back by Hamon, the Molten Principality and Tricia had reached an accord and suspended hostilities; under such circumstances, why hold back reinforcements?

"If that is truly the case, Ural’s decision to leave Placido and his forces isolated to be destroyed becomes even more incomprehensible."

Sophia sighed, a shade of melancholy stealing across her comely features.

"Alas, the Soul Power Detector is attuned solely to the Emissaries of Shadow; it bears no effect on the other two factions of the Sacred Tempest, making it impossible to discern if the Storm and Flame Emissaries have placed their people within the city."

The reason the City of Dawn had specifically engineered a targeted detector for the Witch-Soul race was primarily because the leaders of that kin were exceedingly elusive.

Skulking in the shadows without revealing their forms, they could never be truly vanquished unless the source was unearthed.

Yet the Storm Emissaries and Flame Emissaries possessed a similar capacity for conversion.

Their transformation required the willing compliance of the target; the more eager the cooperation, the more potent the result.

Furthermore, upon becoming pawns of the storm and flame, though they did not lose their original selves like the Witch-Souls, marks would manifest upon their persons.

For instance, those aligned with the Flame Lord would bear a faint golden solar flare upon their brow;

While those who joined the domain of the Storm Lord carried a wing-like pattern upon their backs.

Neither mark emitted any fiendish aura under ordinary circumstances, and even a grand mage's spiritual perception could detect nothing amiss.

Thus, Sophia could not judge whether alien forces resided within the walls.

Ronin pondered briefly; had time permitted, he might have investigated, but with the grand battle looming, the arrow was on the string and had to fly; even if he discovered something, Garrett could not possibly halt the assault.

"In the afternoon combat, Sophia, Melyonica, take heed; if the tide turns sour, prioritize preserving our own strength."

The two nodded in silent agreement.

The flanks were ever meant to be supporting thrusts, drawing away Ural's meager forces and easing the pressure on the main vanguard.

Tactically, it did not demand a reckless, suicidal charge; harassment would suffice.

At that very hour, within the Earl’s keep inside Mist City.

Grand General Aruba occupied the seat of honor, with his disciple, Earl Ural, seated to his left.

Sixteen figures flanked the long table, while behind them stood dozens of armored, imposing warlords.

Among them, no fewer than thirty bore a faint golden speck upon their brows, so subtle it would escape an unwatchful eye.

"Judging by their movements, the siege should commence in the afternoon."

Not a trace of anxiety showed on Aruba’s face; on the contrary, he was utterly composed and grimly calm.

"Our task this day is twofold, and the most critical part is to slay the dragon and kill its master, Ronin!"

The renown of Ronin and his colossus of a drake had long since rippled into the borders of the Kingdom of Tricia, and as a primary architect behind the destruction of the Shadow Emissary Mephisto, his name had been inscribed upon the ledger of the Sacred Tempest.

Whether it was Flame-Wing, Thranduil, or the newly instated King Tyro of Tricia, all harbored deep enmity toward this youth who, at a mere twenty winters, had already ascended to the rank of the Blazing Sun.

Particularly now, with Sophia and her companions from the New Moon Continent following at Ronin's flank, he was a thorn in the side, a splinter in the flesh of the Sacred Tempest.

For a man who posed such a catastrophic threat to them, they naturally desired to eradicate him as early as the stars allowed.

Hence, in this border conflict, even the loss of Mist City mattered little; so long as Ronin and his dragon were brought to earth, the Kingdom of Tricia and the Sacred Tempest would deem it a victory.

To this end, they had assembled a veritable chamber of backbone strength.

The reinforcement of these eighty-odd warriors, each possessing at least the might of the Silver tier, far outweighed ten knightly orders.

"Let them come!"

A woman with a sharp chin and hollow cheeks licked her lips, like a hound scenting prey.

"Slaying a dragon... a feat to set the blood afire. I simply cannot wait!"

Seated opposite her, a burly man with a golden speck upon his brow bore a look of slight regret. "Regrettably, I am not one of you feathered folk; I can only vent the misery of missing the dragon-hunt onto those wretches on the ground."

The woman’s eyes narrowed into slits. "Who are you calling feathered folk?"

Grand General Aruba frowned in displeasure. "Lord Vina, watch your tongue!"

Vina let out a booming laugh, throwing his hands wide. "We jest like this all the time, think nothing of it."

Aruba had no desire to exchange idle banter. "Then here is your task: capture Prince Garrett alive. Do not tell me it lies beyond your reach."

"Beyond my reach...?"

Vina radiated supreme confidence. "That is impossible, old friend. Leave it to me with an easy heart."

"Humph. If that is so, let us begin according to the plan we laid down!"

Time slipped away rapidly in the tense atmosphere as the aristocratic coalition of the Kingdom of Alduin split into three routes, the main host massing before the northern gate while two smaller detachments snaked along the flanking paths toward the east and west gates.

Though the souls upon the field exceeded one hundred thousand, the vast majority were baggage train and logistical personnel.

Given the general consensus that their martial numbers were more than sufficient, these laborers were not ordered to the front, remaining behind to await further commands.

Ronin stood now at the nexus of the main force; when the assault commenced, he would replicate yesterday’s stratagem, first allowing Karlos to unleash a barrage of flame breath, frost breath, and glacial bolts to shatter the first line of Mist City's ramparts.

Thereafter, the grand army would charge, and he would adapt his own entry or ride to survey the western and eastern gates.

"Ronin, when this business is concluded, you must come to my castle as a guest."

Willis was still pressing his conversation upon Ronin. "My granddaughter has long admired you from afar; if she could but steal a glance, she would be overjoyed. If you were willing..."

"Uh, Viscount Willis, I have only just wed Blanche."

Ronin cut the man off swiftly, dreading whatever foolish notion the elder might conjure.

Willis gave a hearty laugh. "I am aware, I am aware! But do you not have a younger brother? Breton, is it not? I hear his talent is quite extraordinary, and my granddaughter shows great promise in the magical arts as well!"

Ronin could not help but offer a wry smile.

The man, facing a climactic battle, was still plotting marriages.

He lifted his gaze, staring out toward the battlements to shift the topic. "Viscount Willis, look yonder; the defending garrison upon the walls seems rather sparse, does it not?"

Only then did Willis turn to look, his brow furrowed, the thought of alliance quietly abandoned.

"Indeed, not much here. What on earth does Count Ural intend?" (End of chapter)