Worlds Conquest

"Soldiers, we shall return with the glory of victory!"

With a furious roar, Enzo swung his knight's longsword. The steed beneath him accelerated from a gallop into a full-blown charge. By the time he was thirty meters away, it was already a thunderous sprint.

"Kill!!!"

In the valley, both armies charged forward with fearless resolve. They had no other choice—behind them stood the personal guards of the nobles, watching for any soldier who dared to retreat. Forward was their only chance at survival.

But as the ground trembled and rocks leapt into the air from the vibrations, many seasoned soldiers turned pale. They swung their weapons wildly to the sides, trying desperately to press their bodies against the stone walls flanking the valley.

This was how most wars in this world unfolded—thousands of soldiers clashing in a narrow valley, to the point where even the commanders of both sides could no longer tell who held the upper hand.

Of course, there was still one way to judge: observe the cavalry.

By the time the sounds of screaming and slaughter in the valley had drowned out all thought, leaving only bloodlust in the hearts of the soldiers, the cavalry on both sides had already arrived.

Their warhorses stormed into the fray. It didn't matter whether those in front were friend or foe—the lines had long blurred. With weapons raised high, the cavalrymen struck at anyone within reach, treating all as enemies.

"Aaah!"

As horses trampled flesh and blood into the earth, screams rang out nonstop. The cavalry tore through the chaotic battlefield with ease, and the moment the two sides' cavalry met, the battle reached its climax.

"Kill!"

Enzo's longsword was no ordinary weapon—it bore magical engravings that made it sharper and heavier than common steel. Empowered by the momentum of his steed's charge, he shattered the armor of an enemy cavalryman in a single blow.

A large head rolled to the ground, helmet and all. It tumbled a few times before being crushed into pulp beneath countless iron hooves.

Boom boom boom boom boom boom!!!!!!

Compared to Enzo's keen perception and immense strength, most cavalry clashes in such a narrow space were just gruesome, close-contact collisions of flesh and steel.

Armor clashed against armor. Horses that couldn't evade in time had their heads burst open. To fall in such a melee was to die—skewered by blades, crushed beneath iron hooves in the chaos.

Perhaps not many knights were slain directly by enemy weapons, but many certainly lost their lives after one fatal misstep left them unable to rise again.

"Glory to House Dragon!"

Enzo, appearing as a young man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight, roared and hoisted a severed head, flinging it toward where Viscount Miles stood.

Watching Enzo slaughter his way through the battlefield, the nobles on Miles' side all wore grim expressions.

"The son of Viscount Dragon… he's a Silver Knight? How could he father a child with such talent?!"

This remark caused Viscount Miles, who had remained silent, to clench his fists tightly. His bluish knuckles fixed their gaze on Enzo at the heart of the battlefield—clearly the protagonist of this war. He nearly hurled his spell crystal at him in frustration.

They weren't wrong—he was old now, no longer possessing the fire of his youth. With age came the inevitable comparisons between one's children and others', and now it was clear: Dragon's son far surpassed the offspring of House Miles.

Yet in this moment, Miles dared not make a move against Enzo. If Enzo were killed by his hand, the consequences would be enormous.

"Perhaps… Rager was right,"

Viscount Miles murmured as he looked at Enzo in the distance, his entire demeanor seeming to age even more in that instant.

"My lord, what should we do? Our soldiers seem no match for them."

The nobles could discern no clear outcome from the chaos among the infantry, but they could judge the direction of the war by watching the knights and cavalry.

And it was clear now—Enzo Dragon, who had already slain five Bronze Knights in a row and could only be checked by three Silver Knights together, had tipped the scales of this war.

"Kendra, where are your knight retainers?"

Miles turned to the strongest baron on his side—Baron Kendra.

"My lord, they are ready."

Baron Kendra replied somewhat reluctantly. Under Miles' intense gaze, he had no choice but to summon the fifty cavalrymen hidden in the forest.

This was the strongest force in his domain. Though he only commanded fifty cavalrymen, they were strong enough to rival the famed Skywolf Cavalry of Count Winter, even in equal numbers.

If this force was spent here, even gaining control of the magic crystal mine wouldn't guarantee their recovery.

"Forty full knights, nine Bronze Knights, and one Silver Knight—that's quite the hidden trump card, Kendra."

The surrounding nobles looked on in deep envy at the elite force of fifty retainers.

"Ernst, bring me that Baron Enzo Dragon."

Confidently, Kendra waved his hand, and the fifty elite knights charged straight toward Enzo's position.

Meanwhile, a messenger approached Viscount Dragon.

"My lord, Viscount Miles' forces have deployed another fifty cavalrymen."

Upon hearing this, Viscount Dragon turned to the side. In the next moment, the last few dozen knights guarding him also galloped onto the battlefield.

"Kunlan, take five hundred more soldiers and attack!"

His heavy voice reduced his nearby troops by more than half once again. He had brought nearly five thousand troops to the Icepeak Forest, publicly claiming a force of fifty thousand. Now, only about 1,500 infantry remained by his side.

Unlike the earlier troops composed of slaves, these were real soldiers, not cannon fodder. If they were slaughtered by his own cavalry's charge, Viscount Dragon would be genuinely heartbroken.

The same was true for Viscount Miles. Troops composed of slaves were mere expendables—cannon fodder.

Once one side committed more infantry, the other naturally had to respond in kind. This was the usual mode of war between nobles.

You send men, I send men. You send elites, I send elites. All are thrown into the battlefield, and whoever can shatter the other's lines wins.

Of course, the ancient method of dueling had also evolved. When Baron Enzo Dragon was finally kicked from his horse by several Silver Knights, Viscount Dragon's side immediately sent a swarm of soldiers to surround him and pull back.

That retreat marked the end of today's battle. After a symbolic pursuit, Viscount Miles' forces also chose to withdraw.

At sunset, the valley fell silent. Both armies had retreated, leaving only a field of corpses behind—no fewer than five hundred. Perhaps... even a thousand.