My Way

A hundred-man company of Night Watchers appeared at the mouth of the valley. The light on their weapons flared, showing they had entered combat readiness. Their objective was to clear out the Orks here.

"You took long enough!"

Harlan shouted at the Night Watchers at the valley entrance and waved, signaling that the danger had passed and telling them to hurry over.

Blood had pooled into streams at the bottom of the valley, while heaps of mangled corpses lay everywhere, leaving the entire company of guards stunned.

"Champion Swordsman! Haran Ogilvy!"

Before the identifier could confirm his identity, someone recognized Harlan and shouted excitedly.

Haran Ogilvy. He was famous among the Night Watchers—a Duelist on the battlefield, representing the pinnacle of individual martial power.

Many warriors had his personal identification number memorized. They did not need a decoder to interpret it.

The company commander, a tattoo carved into his left shoulder, stepped forward and clapped Harlan on the shoulder. "Did you do this?"

These corpses were a mountain of glory and merit.

The commander instinctively assumed the two of them had done it. Such a record was simply astonishing.

Even for the powerful Night Watchers, achieving something like this was an incredible feat.

"Not me." Harlan hurriedly shook his head, not daring to claim credit. "He did it all by himself."

His words left over a hundred Night Watchers speechless. They all turned toward the tall figure washing blood from himself in the camp's pool, looking at him curiously.

Doom wiped the viscous blood from his face and revealed a polite smile.

"Doom! The Third Prince!"

When the commander clearly saw the rune mixed with blood and plasma on Doom's chest, he cried out and began to kneel on one knee.

"Don't bother with the formalities." Doom blurred past him and appeared in front of the commander under the stunned gazes of the Night Watchers, reaching out to support him.

"Finish your follow-up work. We'll go on ahead."

Doom was eager to reach the battlefield command center and could not wait for the lengthy cleanup afterward.

The most troublesome part of fighting the Orks was not the Orks that charged in howling. It was destroying their genetic material after the battle, which required burning them with Plasma Flame.

With that, he took Harlan onto a motorcycle and quickly left the valley.

This group of Orks was not far from their route, so clearing them out had merely been a side task. After precise calculations, Doom had ensured it would not delay their journey.

Watching the two disappear into the distance, the commander glanced at the temperature sensor in his helmet. The blood covering the mountains had yet to cool to the ambient temperature, and he could not help feeling his scalp go numb.

"Looks like that legendary prince really does have a few tricks up his sleeve!"

The war against the Orks was a hunt in which the front lines constantly shifted, so the command center had no fixed location.

The Night Watchers' trapezoidal War Fortress floated in the air using levitation technology, constantly moving as a mobile command center.

The command room was enormous. The holographic image on the central platform simulated everything within the scouting range, while several acting commanders each oversaw one area and continuously sent the Night Watchers into battle.

"Have the Night Watchers finish what they're doing, then stand by where they are."

In the extremely busy command room, a forceful voice suddenly rang out—so commanding that it brooked no objection, echoing in everyone's ears.

The noisy command room abruptly fell silent. The commanders looked toward the entrance—at the young man standing there with a helmet tucked under his arm, his body reeking of blood but his features heroic.

The mark on his chest was unmistakable. Everyone knew who he was.

Doom's deeds had long since spread across the front lines, becoming a topic of conversation among the guards during their rest.

"Your Highness, the Third Prince, you should understand..."

The guard serving as acting commander had not finished speaking when Doom raised a hand and cut him off, signaling for Harlan beside him to explain.

Harlan took out the Sword Seal from his robes and raised it high, dispelling all doubts with facts.

"We obey the Warlord!"

Everyone knelt. At that moment, Doom was no longer the Third Prince, but the Warlord who commanded countless armies.

The authority granted by King Norwick was beyond anyone's power to question.

"Carry out what I just said!" Doom stood before the central platform, expressionless as he watched the images displayed there.

"I don't care how many controlled areas we lose by ending the operation, or how many Orks escape. Have the guards finish their work, then rest and stand by where they are."

"I only want them to get enough rest, then advance in my way!" There was no room for negotiation in his voice. The heavy pressure made it difficult to breathe.

Soon, after the commanders finished issuing their final orders, they were all relieved of duty and placed on standby for later use.

The Night Watchers at the front lines all stopped. They either rested where they were or returned to camp for supplies and recuperation, waiting for the next order.

Under normal circumstances, Doom would have explained things to them and gradually won them over.

After figuring out the key point of the City of Truth, he was desperate—desperate to exterminate the Orks and then reinforce his elder brother.

Ennio was bearing the pressure of the "gods" alone. Doom could imagine just how immense that responsibility and pressure must be.

"Where's the Forge Technician?"

Doom called for the person in his plan, preparing to carry out every action he had devised.

"Warlord, what do you need me to do?"

A young man carrying several auxiliary mechanical arms and wearing special lenses over his eyes emerged from a corner, the unease on his face plain to see.

"Don't be nervous. Just adjust the battlefield projection to its simplest mode."

The outstanding Forge Technician from the Core Forge deep beneath the city of the Guardian Domain did not understand. The mechanical arms followed his thoughts and unconsciously scratched at his face.

"I... I don't understand what you mean." The Forge Technician stammered, unable to grasp Doom's meaning.

"I mean the virtual projection doesn't need to display detailed battlefield information. I need the greatest possible range. Discard everything unnecessary and maximize the coverage!"

Doom drew a deep breath and lowered the imposing aura that had made everyone tense. He explained gently, "The current battlefield projection is a detailed film. I want simple lines and the greatest possible range. Understand?"

"Understood!" With that terrifying aura gone, the technician quickly understood what the Warlord wanted and gave him an accurate time estimate. "Ten minutes. You'll see what you need!"

The War Fortress's scouting equipment had a huge gap between its minimum and maximum scanning ranges. At high quality and with fine details, it could cover an area of one hundred by one hundred kilometers.

That was the limit of the War Fortress's detectors after the loss of artificial satellites.

However, abandoning detail could increase the scanning range by at least five times, greatly expanding its coverage until the planet's curvature became too significant an obstacle.

The command room was extremely quiet as they waited. The only sound was Doom moving his pen across a sheet of paper, writing and sketching.

"Who issued the order? Why has everyone stopped?"

The person had not arrived, but her voice had.

Without a doubt, if this had been a banquet, the moment this woman's elegant, magnetic, and sensual voice rang out, she would have become the center of attention.

But her tone was extremely unfriendly. Her voice was cold as frost, with suppressed fury beneath it. "Have you been fighting the Greenskins for so long that you've caught their stupidity?"

Doom knew who had arrived. There was only one woman among the Night Watchers: Erica von Stern.

Her genetic ancestry could be traced back to the "Aryans" of Terra's origin era, giving her a stern and meticulous air that seemed innate.

She wore a specially made Stealth Shading Suit. Although its defenses were inferior to those of other standard power armor, its stealth function was extremely powerful, twisting light to achieve invisibility. It had been created specifically for covert assassination.

"Erica von Stern!" Harlan stepped forward, ignited his blade, and held it before her. His rough voice and stern tone rang out as he scolded her, "Watch your words. I don't mind teaching you manners with my sword!"

When Erica saw the Champion Swordsman, some of the sharpness left her imposing aura. Then, seeing the identical emblem, she immediately understood their relationship.

To offend the oathmaster of a sworn guard in his capacity as a member of the royal family, such a warning was already lenient.

She saw the Sword Seal, her expression changing as she dropped to one knee again. "Warlord! Please forgive my offense. I was being impulsive. I thought the acting commanders had disagreed and brought the front line to a halt."

Doom's expression remained unchanged. Without offering further explanation, he glanced at her and waved for her to wait to one side.

"All couriers, pass this information down. I want every guard to be proficient in using it within two hours."

The couriers respectfully accepted the handwritten document. It was filled with numerical symbols, along with the meanings represented by different combinations of numbers.

It was a new coded command system for rapidly directing troops. It even listed the detailed designations of the various units.

The numerical commands were moderately difficult. For the Night Watchers, two hours were enough to master them.

Ten minutes later, the central command platform successfully restarted, and under the Forge Technician's adjustments, the results were remarkable.

Its range had increased severalfold, but all the terrain displayed on it had become simple lines.

As the numerical commands were entered, the simplified map filled with numbers representing various combat units, as well as numbers representing the enemy.

"Show them what you can do!" Harlan Ogilvy murmured softly. He desperately wanted his comrades to know how extraordinary and talented Doom was.

Two hours passed in the blink of an eye.

After confirming that the Night Watchers were familiar with the numerical commands, the first order was transmitted.

"All units, pay attention. Command has been successfully transferred. You will now receive orders from the Warlord!"

(Heh heh heh! Three chapters are out! Where are your votes? Micro-management is about to begin—the advantage is ours!)

I'll read everyone's comments when I'm resting. There really have been many constructive suggestions. I'll take them to heart and improve! I want so badly to improve! I want so badly to write a good story!