Chapter 572: Act 319 – The Battle of Saintly White III
Here originally stood the largest of the wool trade markets east of Ampere Seale harbor, but the previous battle reduced it to ruins. A number of routed soldiers gathered among the remnants, with the harbor guard and noble private soldiers squabbling, while the White Lion army looked on coldly.
“Your Grace, the Temple will not interfere in the internal affairs of your country, not out of arrogance, but precisely because the Temple does not wish to be influenced by secular power; this principle is clearly stated in both the sacred texts and the holy covenant. I believe you should understand this,” the Earl Victorkin said.
He adjusted his helmet and donned his armor with the help of a servant, but singed hair and beard diminished his imposing appearance, making him seem somewhat ridiculous. He had escaped from the Great Temple of Andefleur along with Duke Siphai, and the injuries he bore were sustained while crossing a battlefield, a sharp pain shooting through his arm when he moved.
“But esteemed clergy, isn’t punishing evil one of your duties as well? Moreover, the opponent is an evil heretic, an enemy of humanity who preaches chaos,” he persisted.
“That is indeed the case, the Temple will not stand by and allow our country to suffer without intervening,” the voice replied with a hint of amusement.
Yet the pain in his body could not compare to the torment in his heart; the power emanating from the ‘Extreme Realm’ was terrifying. The Gray Saint Mephistopheles had drawn Merros into the gray-white wilderness to suppress the flames of sin, but that final glance sent chills into the hearts of everyone present.
What kingship or titles meant nothing against true power. The Temple was high above the mortals, yet it too had to bow before ultimate laws. Victorkin looked at his pale hands, still trembling slightly.
He lifted his gaze to see the well-known swordsman Nicolas, with flaming hair, negotiating with the Temple at the Duke Siphai’s signal.
“Then I would like to ask on behalf of His Grace, what do you gentlemen intend to do?”
“To put it simply, we are here at the invitation of the new royal family of Erluin to capture the Gray Saint Mephistopheles. This person has killed high-ranking members of the Temple and is a notorious criminal. Additionally, we are here to retrieve a holy relic long lost by the Temple, the fragment of the sacred sword Odrefice, once belonging to His Majesty King Gilt…”
The priest in ceremonial robes droned on, the gist being: we will help you deal with the Gray Saint Mephistopheles and combat ‘heretics’, but the internal matters of your country are for you to solve.
The priest was a typical Crusian, holding his head high as if the rural folk ought to be grateful. Duke Siphai remained silent, his expression dark but unwilling to lash out.
Since the reign of Obergh VI, the nobility of Erluin had gradually declined, even to the point where it was forgotten that Erluin once had experts in the Extreme Realm; the former king Eke was a sage in his own right. During the Second Restoration Era, it is said Erluin had two swordsmen at the Extreme Realm and the chief court wizard was the renowned Turiman, but since then the glory had vanished.
Nicolas’s expression was also grim, “What’s it to do with the princess if those heretics are mingling with her?”
The priest pondered for a moment, “Lord Wood mentioned that we could establish a temporary teleportation array for you to deploy the Black Blade Legion to the battlefield… this is already the limit. Building a teleportation array here reduces our capacity for future holy wars; such arrays are typically reserved for elite legions, even in Cruz… honestly, deploying such an inferior legion is somewhat wasteful, but for the sake of our allies, we can make sacrifices…”
Nicolas’s face darkened with rage, interrupting, “I understand, thank you for the Temple’s support. But when does the Temple plan to act?”
“Soon, very soon. The methods of the Temple are beyond the imagination of ordinary people,” the priest replied, arms wide with admiration. “You can just wait for the show, oh, it has arrived—”
Suddenly, the clamoring voices above the ruins fell silent. Those clad in ruby red robes of the Temple of Fire raised their heads in unison. Above them, the space tore open, creating pure white ripples.
In the center of the ripples, complex lines of mystical laws opened multiple portals.
The wind above the ruins stilled in an instant.
Twelve portals hung in the air, and then a three-tiered magic array extended from them; accompanied by white characters flying around, twenty individuals clad in gold-red robes and wearing silver masks stepped forth.
Each held a sword shaped like flames.
If Brendel were present, he would certainly recognize these Temple knights of the Arbitration Hall; this was one of the most unique formations of the Temple of Fire, with each knight personally trained by true Fire-affiliated knights. Their true combat power often surpassed that of most peers.
Crucially, their task was singular—heretic judgment.
Earl Victorkin gazed up at the Temple knights—
Spatial magic… this was the highest forbidden art claimed by the Temple of Fire, birthed in the War of Saints, now a top secret among the great temples, and one of the rare types of spatial magic remaining in the land of Vaunte today.
This was the first time he had witnessed such a miracle, realizing the Temple of Crus had teleported twenty knights to a battlefield thousands of miles away left his mind blank.
As a soldier, he understood exactly what this meant—this was true, unmatched power.
But he had forgotten that the people of Erluin had once faced such power and achieved glorious victories. At that time, the Temple was even stronger, and Erluin was barely a fledgling nation, like a baby in swaddling clothes.
Victorkin felt a shiver run through him as a trace of regret emerged; those Temple knights could easily seize power from Erluin. Could they, the nobles, really retain their influence?
Until the sound of footsteps crunching on stones and debris behind him startled him back to reality.
Victorkin turned to see an elderly knight with white hair, one hand on the hilt of his sword, approaching him. Two other knights accompanied him, dressed in faded deep blue old-style cavalry uniforms—none other than the old general Reld of the White Lion army.
The elder was also looking up at the sky. The earl hurriedly stood to greet him, but the old man walked past him without even a glance.
Victorkin’s face flushed with indignation; such disdain from that old coot. He secretly gritted his teeth in curse; even though the White Lion army was the kingdom’s elite, what did that matter? They couldn’t protect the Lionheart Sword either.
Hypocrites! Hmph! What is so special about that! Discontent was evident on the earl’s face as he glanced away with a sneer.
But Reld seemed oblivious.
The elder appeared deep in thought, lightly tracing the ivy pattern on the hilt of his thirty-two-year cavalry sword; a blade that had accompanied him for half a century since that war. Every time he carried this sword, it reminded him of the era when the wind blew across the plateaus, all memories fading with the breeze.
The younger members of the White Lion were still arguing, even Karlen, the child, pleading in tears for him to take the White Lion away from this place, far from this land of sorrow. A soldier must face death and grief with courage, and those children had offered their best answers in the face of choice, embodying the value of the White Lion.
Yet, should the White Lion army abandon their faith? The elder no longer had the energy to ponder that; a deep, determined flame burned in his eyes, seemingly the last vestige of strength supporting his aging body.
He stared ahead for a long time—
The kingdom, or the Lionheart Sword.
O beloved king, the time for the people of Erluin to choose is running short. The holy war is near, and Madara is glaring mercilessly from the sidelines; Erluin cannot afford to fall into prolonged internal strife, impending doom is at hand…
And this land, this homeland soaked in the blood of ancestors, is the land that carries the dreams of the people of Erluin; as long as this land exists, there will be a day when Erluin sees the light again.
He was too old, and the White Lion army was aging with him, day by day. He had grown too frail to bear the banner, yet still wished to strive one last time.
Hope, let it be left to future generations.
Someone must bear the responsibility.
Your Highness, Marshal, it seems that I can only do this much…
…
The non-commissioned officers of the Royal Knight Academy and the White Lion Guard finally cut a bloody path out of the encirclement of the northern nobles, but this did not mean the crisis had passed; everyone understood that the harbor guard’s heavy forces had gathered ahead, and life or death was yet to be determined. At this moment, Brendel ordered everyone to dismount and advance slowly along the street, conserving their strength.
They were crossing Tofus Square, which aligned perfectly with the Great Temple of Andefleur and the Grand Auction House, forming the central line of the western region of Ampere Seale.
Nemeses was somewhat worried about the army’s pace, anxious that the White Lion army might catch up from behind. But when she coldly approached Brendel with this concern, he shook his head.
“No, do you know how many troops the White Lion army gathered to hunt us down?” he asked quietly.
The Lady Knight was taken aback for a moment, lowering her head slightly to estimate. In the initial battle, they had encountered and defeated nearly four divisions of enemies, each about two to three hundred men. But as they had cut through the White Lion army’s defenses in their advance, more troops would definitely be present in deeper flanks behind them, and that was what she was worried about.
Brendel noticed the hesitation on the Lady Knight’s face and explained, “The White Lion army has the Jude, Sharp Claw, and Lion Mane guards, one White Lion Blade Knight order, and used to have a royal guard which was later disbanded.” He glanced at his own White Lion Guard and continued, “Considering the White Lion army is unlikely to actually gather an entire army to leave the borders, it is very likely that the forces participating in the battle will be elite troops drawn from certain legions.”
“In previous battles, the two divisions we faced were infantry and light infantry from the First Swordsman Division of the Jude Guard of the Royal White Lion army. The light cavalry that was routed later when coming to support probably belonged to the Temple’s knight squad and the scouting cavalry of the Third Swordsman Division of the Royal White Lion army; you killed their commander, Cohen…”
Seeing the Lady Knight visibly surprised, but she did not display much outward reaction, Brendel could not help but shake his head. In fact, Cohen was somewhat well-known in history, and it felt regrettable for him to fall just like that, but in wars, there are always casualties.
“Moreover, the heavy guard unit we broke through earlier clearly belonged to another formation. Given that the Jude Guard consists of four swordsman divisions and two heavy infantry regiments, it is very likely that what we faced front-on was half a complete formation of the Jude Guard—specifically, two swordsman divisions and one heavy infantry regiment.”
“Am I correct, Sir Overwell?” Brendel turned to ask.
The kingdom’s lone wolf nodded, somewhat surprised at Brendel. Before the revival of Grifian, the military system in Erluin had a major flaw—there was no unified organization; often nobles and lords dictated their own rules, and each legion had its own systems different from those in the north and south.
Thus, even soldiers may not understand the organization of other legions. Let alone someone like Brendel, who could accurately determine the origins, affiliations, and commanders of the enemies they had faced—it was practically impossible.
In fact, this was a common phenomenon in the present era of the Vaunte continent. In a battle, commanders could only roughly judge the opposing army via banners or by taking prisoners. The number of blunders caused by this was innumerable, and throughout history, a few famous generals had indeed made classic battle cases due to this factor.
However, history is like a torrent; military reforms in Cruz and Madara had already begun, and soon it would turn over a new chapter, the era of war rising after the great demon tide. Erluin had managed to catch the last train but ultimately perished in the dust of history due to insufficient reforms.
Brendel looked at those present, most of whom were soldiers. The cadets were also being trained as junior officers and were the seeds of Erluin’s reforms. They, like Overwell, understood just how astonishing his earlier assessments were.
Everyone had a mix of skepticism—how could they randomly guess the enemy’s lineup on the battlefield? There had been commanders in history who were that arrogant, but many had fallen into traps because of it, including some whose failure was famous throughout time.
But upon seeing Overwell nodding in agreement with Brendel’s assessment, their feelings became complicated. ‘Your Excellency Commander’ displayed such confidence that it clearly couldn’t be mere luck, leaving only one possibility.
“How do you know?” Nemeses asked, breaking her silence, voicing the question everyone was thinking.
Brendel smiled, “Because I am familiar with every army in Erluin; I know precisely what they will do and how they will do it.”
His response was not a desire to sound like a prophet. Rather, he needed to exude confidence, as only he could lead them out of this predicament. He understood he had to show enough assurance to instill courage in the others.
“You claim to be familiar with every army in Erluin?” a soft yet calm voice inquired.
Brendel looked up to see Princess Grifian, clad in military attire, slightly startled. He suddenly remembered that Grifian was never one of those sheltered blossoms in the royal court; her swordsmanship had always placed her among the elite of her peers, implying she had also participated in the earlier charge.
He could even see the dagger hanging at her waist, with not yet fully dried blood on her cheeks.
She turned to him, her silver gaze piercing, her silver curls resting on the deep blue fabric of her military uniform. Each tailored line of her outfit seemed to accentuate her youthful curves impressively. Brendel recalled that she had worn the ensemble beneath her skirt from the start, explaining why she had draped a heavy cloak over herself to disguise it, thus appearing somewhat bulky.
However, there was something peculiar in her tone when she questioned him.
Brendel hesitated for a moment, thinking that perhaps it wasn’t unreasonable to comment on every army. He had ‘lived’ in Erluin for nearly a century, had fought alongside many armies, including noble private troops. But such an answer also seemed somewhat incredulous, almost omniscient.
“Well, I can’t say it’s entirely like that,” Brendel considered, weighing his words. “At least I’m very familiar with the formal military formations.”
He noticed an unusual expression on Princess Grifian’s face as she exchanged a glance with Overwell.
Uh-oh, it seemed he had overshot. But Brendel could only continue, gathering himself for a moment, stating: “Thus the conclusion is very clear…”
“According to the organization of the Royal White Lion army, a swordsman division typically has three light infantry regiments and one archer regiment, along with an additional mage squad and a scout regiment, totaling one thousand one hundred men. The heavy infantry regiment makes up half of that, so I estimate that the White Lion army on this battlefield may number fewer than three thousand.”
At that point, Nemeses had already understood. The White Lion army total was under three thousand, and they had already severely weakened nearly a third of those in previous battles. It was remarkable for a force to sustain over thirty percent casualties in one battle without collapsing; to claim they could still pursue was preposterous.
Not to mention Brendel’s aggregate of over ten gold-tier experts; even if the White Lion army disregarded their regimentation, it would not fare well against them.
“But they would hardly just sit there watching us leave, would they?” Nemeses raised her long lashes and shot a glance at Brendel.
“Exactly; thus we must devise a new plan.”
“A new plan?”
Brendel nodded.
The battlefield evidently could not only be composed of this amount of strength; the key was the Crusian presence. The princess seemed to have caught on as she raised her head and asked, “Is it because of the Crusian presence?”
“Due to the intimidation of the sacred texts and the holy covenant, the Crusians and the Temple of Fire should not personally intervene, but they can find ways to assist our enemies,” Brendel recalled the methods of the Temple of Fire while replying. “Since the Crusians have appeared here, it’s certainly not for tea and hospitality—”
“Moreover, we are the hosts here; if anyone is to extend invitations, it should be our prerogative.” He even joked lightly, eliciting low laughs among the cadets. Brendel’s nonchalant attitude won him favor with most; no one liked a coward, especially these young men of military caliber.
“So how can they assist, Your Excellency Commander?” the moment Brendel finished speaking, someone called out loudly.
Hearing that the Crusians would not act directly, most in the room could hardly suppress their sighs of relief. There was only one Brendel, who came from another timeline and viewed the power of the Crusian Empire as insignificant. After all, the Empire had amassed its might for centuries, and their strength was deeply ingrained in people’s minds.
“At the very least, they can ensure our enemies take the initiative on the battlefield. We have heavy forces in front, and reinforcements behind us. Please do not think that defeating the White Lion army means a clear path ahead,” Brendel warned, looking at the others. “We have only defeated a small portion of the forces from one of the elite guard armies; the true elite remains behind.”
“The Flames Gate!” Princess Grifian’s silver eyes glimmered lightly, “Are you suggesting that the Temple may construct a temporary teleportation array here in Ampere Seale, just like they did during the last holy war with the Flames Gate?”
Brendel nodded.
“But such a teleportation array is costly; it wouldn’t be a trifling matter for the Temple. I’ve heard they’ve only built a few throughout the entire war; would they truly invest so heavily for the northern nobles?” Nemeses inquired.
Brendel could not help shaking his head, pure soldiers! Princess Grifian, however, calmly nodded, “With the holy war approaching, a stable Erluin holds far more significance for the Temple than a single teleportation array. Furthermore, as the frontline of the war, having a temporary teleportation array in Erluin will also be necessary…”
“In that case, the Black Blade Legion and the White Lion army could appear on the battlefield in Ampere Seale at any moment,” Locka acknowledged.
“But our troops are still in Vlada-Pace.” Enroch’s expression shifted; the fallen fellow finally awoke, “This just got interesting; doesn’t that mean we’re going to be trapped like dumplings?”
“No need to worry, this is only a conjecture, the Temple’s trump card; after all, a teleportation array has its usage time limit. We must have a suitable counterplan,” Brendel replied. “I prefer to plan ahead before doing anything; I hope you all feel the same, thus we need a new plan to respond to the possible changes ahead.”
“So what do you intend to do?” Nemeses asked.
“I haven’t thought it through yet, but we can eliminate unrealistic choices one by one,” Brendel responded. “The most straightforward method is probably to turn back and head for the harbor district. We face the main forces of the patrol cavalry and harbor guards, but we may still receive support from allies.”
“However, it has cleared up now. Though storms still linger offshore, now that the Temple knows we might take the sea route, taking that option again doesn’t seem very wise. Furthermore, considering the battles at sea, high-tier individuals can easily destroy our sailing ships; even if we avoid capture, we may still drown—”
“So we can only break through overland,” Nemeses calmly replied, as if this matter had no bearing on her; this cold demeanor from the Lady Knight made Brendel feel a hint of strangeness, quite unlike his impression of her. In Brendel’s memories, the senior who dared to love and hate, confident and serene, always wore an infectious smile but never lacked in authority or decisiveness, as if a natural leader.
But the Lady Knight seemed to be enveloped by something; Nemeses frowned as she appeared lost in thought when glancing at someone, as if she was always contemplating something.
Each time Brendel thought this way, he found it curious; clearly two different people, yet he instinctively made comparisons.
Nemeses noticed the gaze turned toward her and could not help but frown again.
“Ah, sorry,” Brendel snapped out of his reverie.
“It’s nothing, but leaving Ampere Seale via land requires passing through the Vlada forest and crossing the Anlek mountains, and this isn’t an easy path; on the contrary, it is fraught with thorns. We might face the Duke Anlek’s forces, and the northern nobles won’t let us break through so easily.”
“No, you’re wrong. This may not merely be a breakthrough; it’s more like a fleeing—a dangerous and arduous flight that offers slim chances,” Brendel shook his head, smiling bitterly. “But we have no choice.”
“We must break through south from Ampere Seale, passing through Vlada forest and the Anlek mountains, to meet with our forces in the south. Your Highness and Lord Overwell’s original plan was to break south and leave Ampere Seale overland, right? With the intelligence of the lone wolf, I believe you must have plans in place.”
Saying this, he lifted his gaze to Princess Grifian.
“Yes,” the half-elf maiden nodded steadily, answering for Overwell, “but we still have few choices. The forces in my territory will move north along the Anlek province, but it will take at least three to four days to reach the southern edge of Vlada forest.”
“And if they face resistance from the local forces in Anlek province, it could take even longer,” she added.
Brendel nodded inwardly; he had known Princess and Overwell indeed had a fallback plan. Hearing her tone, this army seemed to be of use, and the forces within Anlek province did not appear capable of completely defeating the opposition; they could only provide temporary delays.
To his knowledge, Princess Grifian’s own troops within the Vlada-Pace province certainly did not have that capability; the cadets of the Royal Knight Academy had not typically been trained for it either. In fact, at this season, the only capable students in the academy were the first graduating class, with only standout newcomers like Freya and Brensen adding to that number.
This fact indicated that Princess Grifian had to have supportive nobles backing her; the royal house had deep roots after all. And this was merely the support of nobles loyal to the royal house, without even counting the factions of the royal party which had Duke of Lantonrand behind them. If they do not fully turn against each other, combined they certainly possess power equal to the northern separation of north and south.
But that was clearly not what Princess Grifian was seeking.
Brendel understood better than anyone that this seemingly calm and rational princess was fiercely unyielding by nature; she would not compromise with anyone.
However, it was evident that there was more at play.
He showed curiosity in his eyes, knowing the princess must possess more tactical options. With such a setup, she should have been cornered long ago. What else had he overlooked?
Seeing the look in Brendel’s eyes, Princess Grifian sighed, “But it’s not without opportunity, Mr. Brendel. As long as we can escape Ampere Seale toward Saintly White Bay, I can arrange reliable allies to support us…”
Saintly White Bay?
A light bulb flickered in Brendel’s mind—he knew of that place, located south of Ampere Seale, across Vlada forest, a cliff-surrounded bay where no port or dock could be built due to geographical constraints, typically serving only as a temporary anchorage.
But all he could remember was that it was a habitat for Storm Crabs, a type of aquatic monster known for causing level 12 storms, which previously only related to a few fishermen’s tasks inside the port of Ampere Seale.
Where could there be any allies?
Wait!
“Anchor point,” Brendel suddenly realized and could not help but blurt out, “The anchor point of Erluin’s First Royal Fleet!”
“Ah!” Princess Grifian gasped softly.
As soon as he spoke, Brendel realized something was off and looked up at Princess Grifian, only to see her staring at him with an expression difficult to describe. “Mr. Brendel… how did you…?”
Ha, he accidentally overspoke again. He suddenly felt awkward; having advanced knowledge wasn’t necessarily a good thing, it made it too easy for people to regard him as a sorcerer.
The secret anchor point of Erluin’s royal fleet in Saintly White Bay—such knowledge was an insider secret known to none outside the royal family…
He intended to defend himself, but before he could, he noticed the half-elf princess looking at him with a complex expression, as if she understood something. After a while, she said, “Mr. Brendel, it seems Captain Bud was indeed telling the truth… So Charles really is alive, and you and Charles are truly…”
“Ah?” Brendel stared blankly, “Wait, what does my relationship with that guy have to do with it? Isn’t it just a knight and servant relationship?”
He turned back with confusion.
Seeing Charles’s bitter smile.
…
