Lance Charge on the Arkship, but No Mount

He was drawn by the sound and looked to the side. Only then did he realize that the guy was leaning against the wall, seemingly asleep. He frowned. After looking around and confirming that there were only the two of them, he walked over to wake him up.

"Chaff, you idiot, wake up. You're going to get both of us whipped today."

Seeing that the guy did not move at all, anger rose in his chest. He lifted his boot and viciously kicked him. The body hit the ground with a dull thud, yet still did not move. He grew even angrier. Even that did not work? Just how much had this guy drunk today?

He slung the crossbow onto his back, preparing to slap him hard a few times. Reaching out, he grabbed the man by the collar and lifted him up. Only then did he realize something was wrong. Warm liquid had soaked through the clothes, and a squeeze of his palm forced it out, bringing a thick smell of blood. A long arrow had pierced Chaff's neck from the side.

In an instant, his blood boiled and his head buzzed. He hurriedly opened his mouth, intending to sound the alarm. Then his entire body toppled sideways to the ground, a long black arrow protruding from his neck as well.

Casters generally held high status in the army, because they possessed terrifying destructive power on the battlefield. Thus, while other soldiers could only live in tents, they could stay indoors. It was already deep into the night, and most of them had fallen asleep when a blurry shadow suddenly climbed in through the window.

Then came the second, the third... The light fell upon them, leaving their forms indistinct. From afar, they looked like drifting smoke.

Sasha approached the lead caster captain without alerting him in the slightest and drew the dagger at his waist. His subordinates made the same move.

He suddenly covered the man's mouth, while the dagger in his other hand viciously slit his throat. At nearly the same moment, the other casters were slaughtered like livestock by the crossbowmen.

After wiping the blood off on the man's clothes, Sasha sheathed his dagger and made a slight hand signal. Everyone climbed back out through the windows, and the shadows covering their bodies prevented anyone from noticing anything unusual. They continued silently toward the artillerymen's position.

A tremendous explosion jolted the commander awake from his sleep. He hurriedly reached for the saber beside him and threw back the blanket, sitting upright.

The window was dyed red by the massive blaze. Judging from the direction of the explosion, it had come from where their Originium artillery and ammunition were stored. Without hesitation, he kicked the door open and roared at the stunned sentry outside.

"Wake everyone up! We're under attack! Stop standing around like idiots!!"

In truth, they did not need his orders. The well-trained soldiers had already begun gathering on their own, but the attack had come too suddenly. They had not even put on their armor properly, and they looked somewhat lost.

Only when the commander's orders came from the command center, surrounded tightly by soldiers, did they instinctively form up. Yet the surprise attack had left their movements somewhat frantic. The commander went among the shield-bearing soldiers and loudly ordered them to launch drones to scout the surrounding area.

Five or six drones were hurriedly launched. The operators were about to send them higher when one mishap followed another. The airborne drones began falling in succession. No matter how frantically the operators pressed the controls, it had no effect. Only after they hit the ground did they see the black arrows that had struck their cores with perfect accuracy. They could not even tell where the attack had come from.

Orderly, imposing footsteps sounded from across from them. A group of warriors clad in black heavy armor, wrapped tightly from head to toe, raised towering shields and advanced toward them. At their head stood a figure far taller than the rest, leading from the front as he raised his weapon.

The next moment, the halberd became a red streak of light and blasted into the center of their formation. Several towering shield-bearing soldiers at the front were reduced to severed limbs, and a sizable crater was blasted into the ground. The well-trained crossbowmen and soldiers organized a counterattack, but their bolts did nothing to the enemy, easily bouncing off the thick heavy armor and shields. Their opponents continued advancing slowly, utterly unaffected.

"Where are the casters?! Where did the casters go? Where are they? And the artillerymen! This is exactly when we need them!" The commander shouted himself hoarse, but no one answered him. He searched carefully through the crowd, only to find that not a single caster or artilleryman was in sight. A chill surged into his heart. How was he supposed to deal with such heavily armored warriors without casters?

But he quickly regained his composure. He was the commander. If he showed despair, then they truly would be beyond saving.

"Everyone with a shield, get to the front! Everyone in armor, get to the front too! Hold them back! Crossbowmen, focus your fire on the one in front!!"

Two black tides crashed violently together, but one side was steadily forced backward. Especially that tall figure with long, withered-branch-like horns—every swing of his weapon sent several soldiers' severed limbs flying into the air. Like the sharpest point of a spear, he drove deep into the Ursus soldiers' formation.

Just as the situation briefly reached a stalemate, mist rising from nowhere enveloped the battlefield. This bone-chilling fog had no effect on the Shieldguards across from them, but it stiffened the limbs of the Ursus soldiers and slowed their movements. In that instant alone, more than a dozen Ursus soldiers were killed.

White shadows began flashing through the freezing mist at incredible speed. Powerful Arts, sharp blades, and ever-spreading ice easily killed Ursus soldiers one after another, tearing a massive gap in their formation. Before the commander could gather soldiers to fill the breach, heavy footsteps and desperate cries suddenly came from the flank. Several tall soldiers clad in heavy armor, wielding warhammers and battleaxes, charged into their side. The foremost soldier swung the terrifyingly huge axe in his hand, and with a casual sweep, sent two shield-bearing soldiers flying. The soldiers behind him did the same. Their weak flank was breached with ease, and before them stood the utterly defenseless crossbowmen.

"It's over. Completely over." Watching the formation begin to collapse, the commander knew there was no turning this around. He could not escape blame for the current situation, and even if he fled back alive, death would still await him. He took a deep breath and looked at the adjutant beside him.

"Run. Run quickly! Warn... warn the general. Tell him that these are absolutely not guerrillas! They are enemies of the Empire!!"

Without waiting for the adjutant's response, he cleanly slit his own throat.

Claude stood on high ground, watching the army in the village get effortlessly divided and annihilated, exactly as he had expected. This had been a battle they were certain to win. A prepared force against an unprepared one, the many against the few—they had been doomed from the start. But Claude wanted a complete victory at the smallest possible cost.

For now, it seemed he had succeeded... Claude nodded, satisfied with his performance, like a skilled old craftsman admiring his finished work.

"What an unbearably arrogant bastard."

Unfortunately, his opponent would never hear that assessment. Only the howling frigid wind lifted his thick fur cloak, bringing him a faint, negligible chill.

A New Beginning: Future Plans

Under the ominous dark-red glow, sturdy armor and shields, along with fragile flesh, crumbled apart like sand sculptures. They became wreckage strewn across the ground. Only when the last Ursus soldier was beheaded by a halberd did the battle truly end. Not one of these soldiers surrendered. Every one of them fought to the end.

Nor did any Reunion Movement fighter show mercy. Hundreds of corpses were piled in the center of the village. The powerful stench of blood, the foul reek of internal organs, the smell of excrement and urine, and the smoke left behind by Originium artillery blended into a distinct "battlefield smell." A few newly arrived soldiers, after calming down from the slaughter, caught that scent and immediately dropped to the ground to vomit violently. Most soldiers fell into a daze after the battle ended. Looking at the corpses around them, some could hardly believe they had done this themselves. For a moment, they did not know what to do.

But soon, no one knew who let out the first cheer. Then it spread at astonishing speed. Deafening cheers echoed through the entire village, shaking snow from the treetops. Every soldier excitedly raised their weapon high and cheered themselves hoarse, celebrating this sweeping victory.

"The general is here!!" The cry immediately drew everyone's attention.

"Where is the general?!!"

"General!!"

"Let me see him!! Let me see!"

All the soldiers converged in one direction, then voluntarily opened a path down the middle. Their clothing was ragged and mismatched, but every pair of eyes burned with fervor as they cheered for their general.

Claude held the adjutant in his hand and looked upon the magnificent scene. Unable to stop himself from smiling, he handed the captured prisoner to a soldier beside him. After watching him get bound tightly and taken away, Claude adjusted his armor and walked toward the center.

The soldiers crowded around Claude, loudly cheering his name. They all reached out, wanting to touch his armor. The tide of people moved forward with him. Claude looked at those eager faces. At this moment, their eyes held nothing but complete trust and admiration for him.

Claude looked at these people. They were his soldiers. They believed he could bring them victory. They believed that following him would give them better lives, and he would prove that their trust would not be betrayed. He arrived at the well in the center of the village, where corpses were piled high as well. The blood on the ground had accumulated to a depth of two centimeters. The vast majority were Ursus soldiers, but there were a few Reunion Movement fighters among them.

He stepped onto the well wall and pushed off, standing atop it. All the Reunion Movement officers gathered around the well, waiting for him to speak. As though someone had flipped a switch, the once-noisy square fell utterly silent in an instant. Even the rescued villagers stopped speaking. Everyone's gaze gathered upon that small well.

"I am very pleased."

His clear, magnetic voice reached everyone's ears without any amplification. Claude smiled at each and every one of them. Beneath his feet lay a blood pool heaped with corpses, yet he seemed to be standing on a bright red carpet, naturally drawing every gaze.

"I am pleased for every one of us here. Because just now, we defeated the Ursus army head-on. We proved that they are not invincible."

"Everyone here knows how powerful Ursus's army is. They have waged campaigns across this world, suffering few defeats. But I tell you now, in my eyes, they are not powerful at all. They are exceedingly weak."

A slight stir passed through the crowd, but it quickly settled.

"Why do I call them exceedingly weak? Because they are trees without roots, Scalybeasts cut off from water."

"They look well-equipped, well-trained, and numerous. Compared to them, we are merely a speck of dust, as though a breath could blow us away. But we are not dust. We are a flame, and they are merely rotten firewood. No matter how much dry wood there is, how can it extinguish a flame?"

"In this Empire, there are many people like you. Some handle Originium products without any protective equipment just to survive. Some merely farm in their villages, only to be thrown into the mines. Again and again, the patrol squads strip every coin from your pockets in the name of searching for the Infected. Some people believe it was the Infected who ruined them. They would rather blame Infected they have never met than dare resent the patrol squads who truly harmed them."

"But now! Everyone standing here knows that the Infected bear no guilt whatsoever. The only thing that brought you to this state is this Empire. Do they only target the Infected? They are simply sucking everyone's blood and eating everyone's flesh, making themselves ever stronger."

"And as this Empire grew ever stronger, what did the people supplying it with blood receive? Nothing but exploitation, oppression, and meaningless death. No one would willingly accept such a fate, so we gathered together. And what we seek is absolutely not merely this, not merely these petty skirmishes."

"There are as many oppressed people in this country as there is seawater. We are not alone. We are absolutely not the weaker side. On the contrary, they are—the Empire is. Therefore, victory is only natural for us! It is inevitable!"

"We are destined for victory. No one will ever starve to death again. No one will ever die a meaningless death again. This is what I, Claude Ait, your general, promise you."

"Now, enjoy the victory we have earned!"

Claude lightly jumped down from the well platform, as though trying to evade the earthshaking wave of sound that suddenly erupted.

"Strip all the equipment off them. It's all decent-quality stuff. Find somewhere farther away to bury the bodies."

Listening to a captain beside him instruct his team, Claude reached down and picked up a saber. From the weapon of an ordinary soldier alone, he could see the strength of this nation. Standard weapons manufactured through mass industrial production—every single one identical, with any factory capable of producing them by the thousands in a single day.

Yet this blade showed no sign of shoddy workmanship. It remained tough and sharp. Even when used to hack hard armor with force, it was difficult to chip its edge. Claude looked at the soldier on the ground who had been cut in half at the waist. His organs had long frozen together with his blood in the cold air. Yet the thick, warm standard-issue uniform he wore was still visible, tightly stitched and of excellent quality, enough to keep him alive through an Ursus winter.

Claude's mind raced. Though he had spoken that way, he would never underestimate any opponent, especially not now, when they were so weak.

Their equipment was far inferior to that of Ursus soldiers. They had no factories capable of producing weapons; all their weapons and armor had been seized from enemies. This was manageable while their numbers were small, but once their numbers grew, relying on captured equipment alone would be utterly impossible.

Moreover, battlefield spoils were more or less damaged. The few people in camp with a slight understanding of mechanical engineering could never meet the demand for equipment repairs. They needed a factory capable of manufacturing equipment, as well as the necessary technical personnel.

Claude made up his mind. They could no longer delay sending people to study at Rhodes Island. They could not afford to wait. A regular Ursus force had just been wiped out here, and they did not have much time left to prepare.

A frail soldier was dragging away a corpse. It was not easy, because the dead man was quite large. Besides, a person became harder to carry after death than when alive, because a corpse would not cooperate. The soldier focused only on pulling, failing to notice the layer of ice formed from congealed blood beneath his heel.

The shoe pushing hard against the ground stepped onto the ice and slipped at once. The soldier cried out in alarm and was about to fall, but Claude reached out and supported her. What surprised him was how light she was. So light that he felt as though he were holding not a person, but a cat or dog.

The soldier quickly regained her footing. Turning around and seeing Claude, she looked extremely surprised.

"General!!"

Claude hesitated slightly, but did not correct the title. Instead, he patted the soldier on the shoulder.

"There's plenty of food in camp. Eat more. Look at how thin you are—you look like the wind could blow you away."

"Yes, General."

Claude looked at the soldier's gaunt cheeks and dark-red hair, only then realizing that she was a girl.

"What is your name? Which unit are you from?"

"My name is Ludmila. I'm from the Second Squad of the Second Company." The thin child straightened her chest with force and met Claude's gaze head-on.

"Why are you here? I remember leaving every member of the Second Squad behind to guard the camp."

"It's because of my special Originium Arts. The officer thought I could be useful, so she let me come."

"What exactly are your Originium Arts?" Claude was somewhat curious. Their officer was Talulah, a woman with strong principles. If she had made an exception for this child, then she must possess something exceptional.

"I can release smoke to conceal my body and my teammates' bodies. Even the most elite casters cannot find our position."

"That is indeed an extremely useful ability. Go find Alina later and tell her I sent you. Your ability deserves better training." The moment Claude heard Ludmila's words, countless possibilities came to mind. This method of completely concealing one's form was highly suited to covering assassinations. This child's ability might be able to help them.

"Understood. I'll go right away." With that, she was about to leave immediately.

"Wait."

Claude stopped her, then said,

"Go have a proper meal first. You're practically shivering from the cold."

"Uh... understood, General."

P.S.: There's another chapter coming later.

A New Beginning: The Exchange Students

He folded the clothes in his hands and placed them into the pack. They were clothes for the changing season, three sets each. There were also various toiletries. There was no need to prepare food or drinking water; someone would provide those. He only had two pairs of shoes in total, so he would bring both this time. And his staff—his friend always forgot to maintain it, so he needed to remind him properly this time.

They had no money, but Lord Claude had said they would not need to worry about expenses there.

After checking all the bags again, the blue-black-haired Feline boy turned to look at his friend. The white-haired boy had been excitedly talking to him, but suddenly seemed to realize something, and a disappointed expression appeared on his face.

"Sasha, aren't you coming with us?"

A faint smile appeared on the lips of the usually silent boy. He gently shook his head.

"I still have an important mission here. I can't go with you." He continued explaining.

"Besides, I don't have your talent, Ino. This is where I can be of the most use. I heard the doctors there are all very skilled. If you can become as skilled as them, Ino, then fewer people will die. You have to do your best."

Looking at his best friend's gentle expression, the white-haired boy pressed his lips together and nodded firmly.

"I'll definitely become the best doctor and help all of you. Until then, you have to wait for me, Sasha."

"Of course. With Lord Claude here, we will definitely win." Steadfast light shone in the boy's eyes.

"My lord, I'm just someone who knows a little about fixing cars. Such a good opportunity should go to smarter people. How can it be wasted on someone like me?"

Though Skov held a pack in his hands, he still protested unwillingly to Claude. In his eyes, the opportunity Claude had secured must be exceedingly rare. How could it be wasted on someone like him?

"The candidates were all carefully selected, so there's no need to be so insecure. Besides, you used to work in a machinery factory. No matter what, you understand this better than the rest of us. Go there and study properly. Maybe one day all our equipment will depend on you. Stop thinking such nonsense."

Claude heavily patted his shoulder twice, nearly knocking him off balance. Then he laughed heartily at Skov's embarrassed state.

The vehicle soon arrived. It was one of the few vehicles they had. Sitting in the front passenger seat was a white-haired Cautus girl. Her white hair covered one eye, and a striking scar ran across the bridge of her nose. At that moment, she was staring fixedly at Claude.

Claude grabbed Skov by the shoulder and shoved him into the back seat, then walked over to the girl.

"I'm leaving these people to you. They don't have much combat ability, so if trouble comes up on the road, we'll have to rely on you."

"Do you think I'm useless?"

The Cautus girl's eyes held a hint of resentment as she stared unblinkingly at Claude.

"Why would you think that?" Claude looked at her in extreme surprise. He truly was startled.

"Then why am I the only combat officer being sent away?" She seemed deeply dissatisfied about having to leave.

"You really like splitting hairs. It's because your Oripathy is the most severe." Claude shook his head helplessly, then continued explaining, "In your current condition, if you do not receive proper treatment soon, you will die within a year as your illness rapidly worsens."