Worlds Conquest

As night fell, blazing fires lit up the camp. Viscount Miles and the nobles who had pledged loyalty to him gathered in a lavish command tent. It was obvious that many of them were uncomfortable with their surroundings—if they had a choice, they would have much preferred the warmth of their own beds back in their territories.

Unfortunately, in order to secure victory, Viscount Miles had demanded that all of them accompany him to the battlefield.

"It's only July, and already this cold,"

one of the nobles muttered, shaking his head before retreating into the tent and tightening his bearskin cloak around him.

"Viscount, the troops under Viscount Dragon far exceeded our expectations—he actually has three thousand trained soldiers. Even with your control over Lingdu City, you haven't managed to train that many,"

remarked Baron Evra, drawing several unfriendly glances from those near Viscount Miles.

To several of Viscount Miles's sons, this sounded like a complaint—was he criticizing the Miles family for not having enough soldiers?

"This was within expectations. The Dragon family's territory contains the richest mineral resources in all of Lingdu County. They've been selling their finished iron goods to the iron-starved southern regions and earning a fortune in gold."

Baron Kendra said regretfully.

"But now, how are we supposed to win?"

Baron Evra's question silenced the room. Though many of the nobles didn't fully understand military matters, their knights had already told them: if tomorrow plays out the same as today, they're likely to lose.

Everyone had now seen for themselves that Viscount Dragon had a stronger army—and as for Baron Enzo, they now understood why Viscount Miles's second son had suffered such a devastating defeat.

As for themselves… of course none of these nobles would ever admit they'd have fared any better.

"Don't worry. We will win."

Viscount Miles spoke calmly, causing all eyes to turn toward him in surprise.

"Do you still have magic scrolls, my lord?"

Baron Evra asked hopefully.

"You'll find out tomorrow."

Viscount Miles didn't elaborate further, leaving the rest to speculate among themselves.

The next day, tension returned to the Icepeak Forest. This time, Viscount Dragon was brimming with confidence—he had resolved to settle the ownership of this forest once and for all today.

"Today, we're sending that old fool Miles packing. After that, we'll move in and take over his city. Lingdu County is long overdue for a new governor."

Draped in his noble robes, Viscount Dragon looked toward his son.

"Enzo, you're a nobleman now. You shouldn't go onto the battlefield today."

But Baron Enzo shook his head and replied:

"No, Father. I want to earn my honor on the battlefield."

Hearing this, Viscount Dragon said no more. As Enzo himself had said, he was no longer just a son—he was a nobleman, a baron, just like his father.

…Just a bit too fond of battle, perhaps.

"Charge!"

"Glory to Dragon!"

"Slay our enemies! We'll earn warm homes and fresh milk!"

On the battlefield, both sides once again charged fearlessly. The soil of the valley ran red with blood. Reserve troops from both viscounts were being fed into the grinder of war.

"My lord, we can't hold much longer!"

A bloodstained knight rushed back to Viscount Miles's side, panting as he addressed the aging noble.

"Soon,"

Miles muttered, looking up at the sun high overhead.

"Send the signal."

He turned to his youngest son, Lager.

"At once, Father."

A magic scroll was torn apart, and an illusory eagle took flight into the distance. Before long, the far edge of the world began to darken—tall figures blocked out the light.

As the brilliant banner crackling with thunder appeared, many nobles' eyes widened.

"That's… Count Weiss's army!"

Baron Evra and the others turned to Viscount Miles, utterly shocked.

"You actually contacted Count Weiss?"

Viscount Miles smiled at their disbelief.

"Why are you so surprised?"

"Count Weiss is one of the great nobles of the Northwind Province. And now, the count is our ally. He brings us victory—and wealth."

Upon hearing this, the other nobles brightened considerably.

Indeed, if this reinforcement could turn the tide of what was becoming a losing battle… sharing a bit of the spoils with Count Weiss didn't sound so bad.

Boom!

At the front of the arriving army, massive "tin cans" (golems or heavily armored troops) brought down their axes, toppling trees and clearing a path through the forest.

Two thousand soldiers surged into the battlefield. Overhead, the voice of silver-armored knight Artel Weiss thundered:

"Viscount Dragon! You have betrayed the bonds of nobility by waging war against fellow lords of the Empire. In the name of Count Weiss, I order you to withdraw!"

"Count Weiss's army?!"

Viscount Dragon stared in disbelief at the sudden new force on the battlefield—and then his expression twisted into fury.

"That old fool Miles has handed over Lingdu's wealth to outsiders!"

Clenching his fists, he drew his knight's longsword.

"Even a count has no right to take what's ours. Soldiers—charge!!!"

His cavalry surged onto the battlefield. Viscount Dragon's bloodshot eyes locked onto the distant enemy lines, clearly trying to catch sight of that "old fool" Miles. Meanwhile, momentum began shifting heavily in favor of Miles's forces.

Enzo dismounted and swung his knight's sword—but a massive battleaxe came crashing down, forcing him to raise his blade in defense. His expression changed drastically in the next instant.

Before him stood a "giant" nearly two heads taller than he was. Enzo was stunned.

"How is he so strong?!"

He could clearly sense that the opponent had no battle aura—this man wasn't even a Bronze Knight—and yet, he was stronger than Enzo.

Pressed back by five of the towering "tin cans," Enzo's arms went numb and began to tremble.

"My lord, we must retreat! These 'monsters' are too strong!"

His knightly guards fought desperately to reach him, trying to protect their liege—but they, too, were up against more of the towering warriors.

Their giant axes could fell trees. Even if a knight's armor could withstand the blow, the sheer impact would render them useless in combat.

"We can't retreat!"

Baron Enzo growled through clenched teeth. Only he knew how much he had staked on this war—he had already gone all in.

"Keep fighting!"

He roared. But in the next instant, a giant axe knocked his sword aside.

The blade came crashing down toward him—and terror seized him. But just then, a thumb-thick "short spear" came flying from nowhere, striking the "giant" in the throat.

Blood sprayed onto Enzo's face. He turned in the direction the projectile had come from and saw, up on the slope at the side of the valley, a group of riders pulling their reins. The "short spear" was, in fact, an arrow loosed from the longbow of the noble at the front.

That man stood silhouetted against the sun slanting down from the west—his face obscured by shadow.