Chapter 40 : Chapter 40
Chapter 40: The Proclamation of Iron and Blood
The western wind across the wasteland carried a stench that mixed rust and dust.
A force of two hundred men, like a silent black dragon, galloped across the cracked earth.
The pounding of hooves was muffled yet urgent, and the soldiers' armor plates clattered with each stride.
Beyond that, no one spoke—only suppressed breathing coalesced into a molten lava about to erupt.
This was the Black Dragon Guard's first campaign.
Their enemy was not magical beasts, but beasts more inhuman than any monster.
Caesar rode at the front, his gaze piercing through the rising dust, fixed on that patch of land at the horizon's end being stained with the color of blood.
That place was the necessary route for refugees fleeing to the City of Miracles.
It was also Baron Ralph of Blackrock Town's hunting ground.
For three months, the City of Miracles had risen from nothing, relying on the constant influx of refugees.
This was equivalent to snatching food from Ralph's mouth. That greedy noble who viewed refugees as cheap slaves and miners had finally lost patience and unleashed his mad dogs.
Behind him, Roland followed in silence, the veins on the back of his hand bulging as he gripped the reins.
His warhorse seemed to sense its master's killing intent, pawing uneasily at the ground and snorting hot breath.
Thomas ran at the front of First Squad, his face—which usually wore a roguish grin—now taut as stone.
He had escaped from that living hell called Blackrock Town. He knew all too well what kind of creatures Baron Ralph and his Bloody Hand scum were.
Those recaptured escaped slaves met fates worse than death.
Unbidden, the image of his neighbor's little girl with her pigtails flashed through his mind. She always loved following behind him, sweetly calling him “Brother Thomas.”
Was she… among this group of fleeing refugees?
That thought gouged at his heart like a red-hot knife.
His hand gripping the sword hilt pressed his nails deep into his palm, drawing threads of blood, yet he felt nothing.
He wasn't alone.
At least a third of this force came from Grayrock Town.
They were outcasts driven from their homeland by hunger and despair, who had found hope of living as “human beings” in the City of Miracles.
And now, Baron Ralph's running dogs were slaughtering their fellow refugees, trampling their past.
This suppressed towering fury spread silently through the ranks, fermenting.
Kill!
They had to slaughter them all!
The closer they got, the thicker the smell of blood became until it couldn't be diluted.
When the force crested the final hill, the hellish scene before them brought everyone to a halt.
Even though Caesar was prepared, the carnage still made his pupils contract sharply.
Across the wilderness, over a dozen corpses had been run through with spears and savagely pinned to the ground, arranged in a formation filled with mocking intent.
Most of the dead were elderly and children, their eyes wide with terror, now a feast for flies.
Blood stained the earth beneath their feet.
“Beasts!”
Thomas let out a beast-like growl. He recognized one of the corpses—the town's kindest old blacksmith, who had taught him how to forge daggers.
Eyes bloodshot, he raised his sword to charge down the hill.
A large hand clamped onto his shoulder like an iron vise.
“Stay calm.”
Roland's voice was ice-cold.
“Rage will only get you killed faster. Save that fire for your blade.”
Thomas's chest heaved violently, his teeth grinding audibly, but he finally forced himself to stop.
Caesar's gaze swept across the field of corpses before fixing on the depression in the distance.
Flames soared there.
Over a hundred refugees in tattered clothes were bound together with rope like livestock, kneeling on the ground.
Every face bore utter numbness and despair.
A gang of about fifty armed thugs surrounded them, cruel and mocking smiles on their faces, curved blades still dripping blood.
At the front of the crowd, a burly Knight with a bald, scarred head sat atop an armored warhorse.
He wore no helmet, and his left hand was a gleaming steel claw.
Bloody Hand Butcher, Cole.
Baron Ralph's most vicious dog, an official Knight who took pleasure in torturing escaped slaves.
He seemed to sense the movement on the hill and slowly turned his head toward Caesar's force.
When he clearly saw this well-equipped force, he froze momentarily, but then his mouth split into an even crueler grin. He raised that steel left hand and made a throat-slitting gesture toward Caesar.
Blatant provocation.
“Everyone, follow me.”
Caesar's voice broke the silence.
He didn't order a charge. Instead, he urged his warhorse forward, step by step, steadily advancing toward that earthly hell.
Two hundred Black Dragon Guards followed close behind, forming a silent black formation.
Their perfectly synchronized footsteps sounded like hammers striking every heart.
In the depression, the thugs' laughter stopped.
They looked at this suddenly appearing force with surprise.
Cole studied the leading Caesar with interest, his turbid eyes glinting with the greed of a jackal spotting fat prey.
“Well, well, look who we have here!”
He shouted in an exaggerated singsong.
“Where did these black-skinned little rats come from? Lost? Or do you want a piece of the action too?”
His subordinates burst into laughter.
Caesar stopped fifty paces away from them.
The Black Dragon Guards behind him spread out like a black wall in an instant.
Archers in front, swordsmen behind—their movements perfectly unified without the slightest hesitation, emanating an aura of iron-blooded killing intent.
That single formation change alone made Cole's smile fade somewhat.
These weren't the rabble he was used to slaughtering.
“I am Caesar Valerius, lord of the City of Miracles ahead.”
Caesar's voice wasn't loud, but every word reached every ear clearly.
“Release these people and get out of my territory. I can pretend you were never here.”
“Your territory?”
Cole laughed as if he'd heard the greatest joke in the world, his steel claw pointing at Caesar.
“Did you hear that? This barely-weaned pretty boy says this is his territory!”
Laughter rang out again, but this time it clearly lacked conviction.
When he finished laughing, Cole's face darkened, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent.
“Boy, I don't care who you are.”
“This land, and these escaped slaves, all belong to the great lord of Blackrock Town, the honorable Baron Ralph! We of Bloody Hand work for the Baron!”
He looked down at Caesar with disdain and arrogance.
“You—a pioneer who came out of nowhere, a country bumpkin without even a title—dare speak of territory in front of me?”
“According to Imperial law, harboring the Baron's property is a capital offense!”
“I suggest you take your men and get lost, or else when you anger the Baron, forget your broken city—you'll be hung on Blackrock Town's gates to dry!”
At the mention of the Baron's title, the thugs behind him instantly became arrogant again.
And the bound refugees, whose eyes had just kindled a spark of hope, saw it completely extinguished, replaced by even deeper despair.
Baron.
On this lawless land, that title was heaven itself.
However, Caesar's face showed no wavering whatsoever.
He simply looked at Cole with the gaze one gives a dead man.
“Imperial law?”
Caesar's voice carried a trace of cold mockery.
“Scum like you dare speak of Imperial law?”
He slowly drew from his chest a roll of sheepskin sealed with wax, untied the string, and unrolled it.
The Imperial family's golden iris seal glinted in the setting sun.
“Imperial Pioneering Act, Chapter Three, Article Seven: Any pioneer authorized by the Empire who establishes a permanent settlement in their pioneering territory shall enjoy all sovereign rights equivalent to a hereditary noble domain, sacred and inviolable.”
“Act Chapter Eleven, Article Two: No noble, regardless of rank, may lead troops into another's territory without the lord's permission. Violators shall be considered an act of war.”
Caesar's voice wasn't loud, but each word struck like a heavy hammer on every heart.
He raised his eyes, his deep purple gaze coldly fixed on Cole.
“Now, let me teach you what rules are.”
“This is my territory. You brought a gang of bandits onto my land and slaughtered free citizens who were about to become my subjects.”
“According to the law, I have the right to execute you all on the spot, without trial.”
“As for this Baron Ralph you keep mentioning—”
The corner of Caesar's mouth curved into a cruel arc.
“If he dares come, I'll likewise teach him how to obey Imperial law.”
The depression fell silent as death.
Cole's facial muscles twitched wildly.
He never dreamed a backwater pioneer could produce a pioneering decree of this caliber!
That seal couldn't be faked!
But he couldn't retreat! If he showed weakness before his men, how could he ever maintain his authority?
“Law? Hahaha!”
Cole burst into wild laughter again, his laugh full of desperate madness.
“On this wasteland, my fist is the law!”
He suddenly spurred his horse, roaring as he swung his iron claw toward the head of the nearest refugee!
He would use blood to show this pretty boy who truly ruled here!
But before his iron claw could fall—
A black shadow appeared like a phantom before his horse!
It was Roland!
He had dismounted at some point and didn't even draw his sword—he simply raised his left hand, clad in an armored gauntlet, in a seemingly casual upward motion.
CLANG!
An ear-piercing clash of metal!
Cole felt an irresistible, terrifying force surge through him. His supposedly invincible steel claw was forcibly crushed and deformed by his opponent!
The agony of shattering finger bones shot straight to his skull!
“You…”
For the first time, Cole's eyes showed utter horror.
He finally realized what kind of monster he'd provoked.
This wasn't a Knight! This was… a Grand Knight!
Without thinking, his other hand whipped out his longsword, channeling all his Battle Energy into it as he slashed viciously at Roland's head!
Roland didn't even glance at the descending blade.
His right hand finally gripped the hilt of the door-sized greatsword on his back.
Slowly, he drew it.
No magnificent Battle Energy, no earth-shattering display.
Only a flash of cold light that passed before Cole's eyes faster than thought.
Thud.
The sound of a blade cutting through flesh.
Cole's movements froze.
The expression on his face locked in that moment of shock and disbelief.
He saw the world before him begin to spin.
He saw his warhorse, saw his own body still holding the sword in striking position, but now without a head.
Then he saw the ground.
Roland slowly sheathed his sword, his movements as steady as mountains.
A head with eyes that wouldn't close rolled from the neck, hit the ground, and finally stopped at the feet of a captured little girl.
Roland frowned and, as if discarding garbage, flung the severed arm with its iron claw—still embedded in his gauntlet—to the ground.
The entire field fell silent.
Everyone was struck speechless by this bloody yet efficient spectacle.
Bloody Hand Butcher, the official Knight Cole, was just… dead?
Killed with one strike?
The arrogance on the thugs' faces froze instantly, replaced by boundless terror.
Caesar's face remained expressionless.
He simply raised his longsword and pointed it forward.
“Leave none alive.”
Four ice-cold words, like the Reaper's judgment.
“KILL!”
Thomas was the first to roar and charge forward, his Battle Energy exploding as he transformed into an enraged bull, his sword cleaving the nearest thug clean through armor and all!
“Avenge our families!”
“Slaughter these bastards!”
Two hundred Black Dragon Guards surged forward like black floodwaters released from a dam, instantly engulfing the thugs who were still in shock.
The battle was a one-sided massacre from the start.
These bandits faced an army whose souls had been ignited by rage and hatred.
An army with five Squire Knights and a Grand Knight who killed like a god of death!
They went completely berserk!
Peter and Sam fought back-to-back, their swords forming a barrier of death.
Matthew, that most slender youth, saw a thug raise his blade toward the little girl paralyzed by Cole's severed head.
The image of his mother's brutal death flashed through his mind again.
“No!”
He let out a piercing scream, his eyes instantly bloodshot as Battle Energy far exceeding his normal capacity exploded from him. He became a black lightning bolt, striking from behind yet arriving first, his sword precisely impaling the thug through the back!
After saving the girl, he stared blankly at his blood-soaked hands, then raised his head toward Caesar's direction.
Caesar didn't participate in the slaughter.
He sat mounted, like a cold-eyed monarch, watching his army complete their coming-of-age ceremony with enemy blood.
His gaze fell on several stragglers attempting to flee from the rear.
He raised his hand, and several black-gold Battle Energy projectiles shot out like arrows.
The fleeing thugs' bodies jerked violently as their chests exploded with bloody holes, and they toppled straight down.
In less than ten minutes, the battle ended.
Over fifty thugs—except for a few deliberately crippled captives left alive—were all slain on the spot.
The thick stench of blood permeated the entire depression, nauseating.
The Black Dragon Guard soldiers leaned on their swords, gasping for breath, their bodies splattered with blood.
Several new recruits who had killed for the first time couldn't help running aside to vomit violently.
But not a single one retreated.
Their eyes, after baptism by blood and fire, had become hard, cold, and even brighter.
Caesar dismounted and walked before the refugees who had been untied but still knelt on the ground, at a loss.
He offered no words of comfort.
He simply pointed his still-dripping sword toward the direction of the City of Miracles.
“Your homes are gone.”
“Those who want to survive, follow me.”
“I have food there, houses, and… weapons.”
“I can't promise you'll live in comfort.”
“But I can promise that once you take up weapons, no one will dare treat you like livestock again!”
With that, he turned toward the captives who had soiled themselves in terror.
Roland said quietly, “My lord, by killing Cole, we've declared war on Blackrock Town.”
“From the moment I decided to take in these refugees, the war had already begun.”
Caesar's tone was ice-cold.
“I merely chose when, where, and how to fight it.”
He walked before a captive and tapped the man's twisted face with his sword.
“Speak. What other orders did Baron Ralph give you?”
The captive trembled like chaff, too terrified to speak.
Caesar smiled slightly and slowly thrust his sword into the man's thigh.
“AAAAH!”
A piercing scream echoed through the dusk.
Caesar ignored him and turned to Barrett.
“Barrett, search Cole's corpse.”
“See if this butcher left us any interesting last words.”
Barrett grinned, showing teeth covered in gore.
“Yes, my lord!”
He strode to Cole's headless corpse and roughly began searching it.