Lance Charge on the Arkship, but No Mount

Claude lowered his body and leveled his lance. He began driving his Originium Arts with all his strength. Violent lightning burst from his body, ravaging the surrounding bulkheads and leaving black scorch marks behind. Before long, his figure was completely obscured; only a blurred silhouette remained, and that stretch of bulkhead had become a prison of lightning.

Hearing the thunderous roar ahead, the Ursus soldiers halted with trained precision. The shields at the front formed a wall, while the crossbowmen behind them extended their weapons through the gaps and mercilessly unleashed a ceaseless rain of bolts. The casters also raised their staffs, hurling all manner of spells at Claude's position.

A piercing explosion rang out. They saw a golden flash before their eyes, and then their enemy was gone. Even their spells and bolts struck empty air. Only when they heard their comrades scream did they realize the enemy had already charged into their formation. That instant had been too fast—so fast that they had not even understood what had happened.

Letting go of the lance that had skewered six soldiers at once, its shaft completely buried in their bodies, Claude drew the sword at his waist. Then a streak of silver flashed past. Armor and clothing were sliced apart alike, leaving only severed bodies spraying torrents of blood. Claude wielded his blade with elegance and brutality. The broad, savage executioner's sword moved as lightly in his hands as a rapier, yet every strike inflicted wounds more horrific than an axe.

The executioner's greatsword nimbly parried attacks from every direction before delivering even fiercer, more brutal counters. Claude plowed straight through the formation of over a hundred men, turning every soldier who dared face him into a corpse. Attacks he could not parry were blocked by his heavy armor, while the soldiers who fell behind him, even if they did not die instantly, were soon drained of every drop of blood.

With a heavy downward slash, he cut down the last soldier along with his weapon. Claude flicked his sword, yet not a single drop of blood flew from it. Even the floor of the compartment looked clean. Every enemy had been granted the cleanest, most decisive death.

Amid a teeth-grating screech of friction, he pulled the lance deeply lodged in the bodies of those six soldiers free. Seeing the slightly bent shaft, he could not help feeling distressed. The spearhead was completely undamaged, but the shaft was merely a polymer-wrapped ordinary steel core. Under such tremendous impact, deformation had been unavoidable.

Having resolved to make a better shaft for his weapon afterward, Claude walked over the mountain of corpses as naturally as if he were strolling through a flower garden.

The Iron Guard formed tight formations, fighting brutal close-quarters battles against the enemy in groups of thirty throughout the warship's compartments. The casters and heavy weapons equipped by the Ursus army had already inflicted considerable casualties on the Reunion Movement. Along the way, many more bodies clad in white lay on the ground. The entire warship had now become a meat grinder, and its defenders had fallen into their final frenzy. Yet the Iron Guard personally trained by Claude, though somewhat inexperienced, remained the best choice for breaking through the defenders' formations.

The massive battle axe in his hands began to glow crimson, carving a deep gash through the enemy's heavy shield. Every Iron Guard could skillfully use Originium Arts to imbue their weapons with magical damage.

Then came two more powerful chops. At last, the shield and the guard behind it shattered together. A demolition hammer wielded by a comrade nearby, after charging for a long time, sent three guards flying at once. The formation finally revealed a breach.

Arrows protruded all over his armor, one buried deep in the hollow of his shoulder. Aisen still swung his battle axe without hesitation, viciously hacking into the enemy's bodies. The moment the breach appeared, he charged in without the slightest hesitation, facing blades, spears, swords, and halberds head-on. In an instant, he was struck more than a dozen times, but thanks to his heavy armor, none of the wounds were serious.

He swept his battle axe in a horizontal arc, cutting three Ursus crossbowmen in half at the waist. This widened the breach further and prevented the Ursus soldiers from trying to seal it, while his comrades swiftly poured through the opening to stand at his side. Like a chisel, they slowly yet irresistibly punched straight through the formation, reducing the enemy's tight military ranks to a scattered mess that was soon swallowed by Reunion Movement fighters.

A bloody taste rose in his throat. Aisen looked at the dagger lodged in a gap in his armor, watching blood stream endlessly from the wound. As the adrenaline faded, he felt a long-forgotten weakness wash over him. His body swayed, but the comrades around him immediately caught him.

His legs grew weaker and weaker. Finally, he could no longer hold himself up and collapsed to the ground. In that instant, every sound around him seemed to fade. He saw his companions anxiously calling his name, but he could not hear them clearly. Only when a medic with insignia on his arm rushed over did darkness completely take him.

Her heart raced as though it would tear through her chest, yet her teeth remained clenched around her lip. Ignoring every warning from her body, its owner continued driving it with all her strength.

Talulah swung her sword with all her might. Surging flames reduced a squad of Ursus soldiers to ash. She could clearly feel searing pain throughout her body. Her Oripathy was worsening from her reckless use of Originium Arts. With another swing, the pain forced her to one knee, and she had to use her sword to prop herself back up.

Yet Talulah had no intention of stopping. This opportunity was too rare. After so many sacrifices had already been made, she could not bear to let even more fighters die because of her.

But the Ursus army would not let such a rare opening pass. They immediately gathered crossbowmen and blanketed the monster in their eyes with a rain of bolts.

In this narrow space, the weakened Talulah watched the unavoidable barrage, her pupils contracting slightly.

The Rise of the Reunion Movement: A Hard-Won Victory

Valig gently swirled the wine in his glass, completely ignoring the various noises from outside. He was waiting—waiting for a guest. Across from him on the table sat a filled glass of wine. It was for the victor of this war, but not for him. He took a small sip of his favorite drink. The once-rich, fiery liquor slid down his throat, yet now it somehow carried a trace of bitterness.

He knew he had lost, utterly and completely, with no hope of resistance left. From the very beginning, he had been outmaneuvered at every turn, allowing a man who possessed a landship to lose to a rabble that did not even have vehicles. The crime of losing a landship was enough to send even a general to the gallows.

But he had no intention of taking his own life. A commander who ended his life the moment he failed was irresponsible and incompetent. Even if he was to die, he would die fighting before the enemy. And now, he had become curious about the enemy commander. He wanted to meet him once before the end.

Even knowing how he had lost, he could not help but wonder: how had the other side done it? He had been aboard the fastest landship, yet the enemy had known every detail of his situation. He did not believe there was a traitor aboard this ship. He knew every soldier here intimately; he had personally recruited them all. They could never have become informants for those rebels.

There were no guards around him. He had sent all of his attendants out to hold back the enemy. Now the fighting was nearly over, and the sounds of slaughter below were growing quieter. He simply sat here and waited for the enemy commander. Of course, if fortune was unkind and he did not encounter him, he would draw his weapon and make one final stand.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, neither hurried nor slow, calm and unhurried. The sound of iron boots stepping across solid wooden flooring was easy to recognize. He knew the visitor wore full armor.

Setting down his wineglass, he bent down and picked up his long blade. There had never been a place for the weak in the Ursus army, not even for generals. The land of Ursus had never pitied the weak. He understood that deeply.

The ornate carved doors slowly opened, revealing the figure of a black knight. The upward-swept wings on the other's helmet tilted slightly as he looked toward him.

Chelig spoke.

"Welcome, welcome. You are the first enemy to set foot in here in ten years. As a man about to die, may I have the honor of learning your identity?"

"I am the commander of the Reunion Movement. I deserve no small share of the credit for your current plight."

The knight sat in the chair opposite him without removing his helmet. A faintly mocking voice emerged from within it.

"My defeat means nothing. The Empire's army has suffered defeats before. But your foolish attempt to challenge the Empire will bury you all completely." General Chelig did not become angry in the slightest. He simply continued staring coldly at the other man.

"You speak as though we would be allowed to live if we did not resist." The voice from the knight's helmet held no emotion at all.

"We are irreconcilable enemies of this Empire. We are destined to destroy it. Even if the Empire did not come for us, one day we would go to Saint Petersburg ourselves."

The general shook his head. He believed the other man had gone mad. These rabble actually thought they could capture Saint Petersburg—the capital of the great Empire.

"This wine is one of my treasured reserves. Even if you are a madman, I would still like to offer you a drink, because you fought well this time."

General Chelig drew his long blade, and Claude rose to his feet as well.

"After I kill you, I'll give it a taste."

The sword in his hand flowed like mercury, streaked with threads of blood and gold. At last, it returned to its original form. The demon head set into the center of the guard looked as smooth as jade beneath the warm hanging lights.

Claude leaned his sword against the table, unusually not returning it to its sheath. Sitting in the heavy chair, he lifted the wineglass and looked at the amber liquid inside. After hesitating briefly, he did not pour it out. Instead, he took a light sip, savoring its intense, rich flavor as he gently swirled the glass.

"Ursus wine is a little too strong..."

A sigh echoed through the room.

The complex longbow in his hands was drawn to its fullest. A slender arrow was wrapped in immense black energy. As his fingers released, the black arrow shot out like a streak of light, piercing through a shield and the three soldiers behind it. Arrows flew from his quiver at astonishing speed, killing the Ursus soldiers still resisting one after another.

One soldier had his head pierced through. Before another could react, an arrow struck him in the chest. The remaining crossbowmen and soldiers no longer dared expose themselves, all scrambling to hide behind cover.

But this was only a desperate struggle. With the arrival of the main force, they were swiftly routed, and only a very small number were captured.

Centaurea looked at Talulah, who was clutching her shoulder, now wrapped in bandages. The towering Patriot and Faust, hidden in his shadow, also appeared before them. Patriot swept his halberd, knocking away the bolts embedded in the shield. In the warship's corridors, his enormous frame made his head press directly against the ceiling.

All the Reunion Movement's officers had gathered outside the enemy command room, followed by countless soldiers. Many of them were wounded, but as long as their injuries were not too severe, they still insisted on fighting. Now they could find no more enemies, so they looked to their commanders, ready to follow them.

The soldiers were still immersed in the battle they had just fought. They had yet to receive a clear signal—a signal telling them the fighting was over and they had won. So everyone waited. Even Patriot, Talulah, and the other Reunion Movement officers waited patiently for someone to bring them news of victory.

The sound of a wooden door opening reached them. The workmanship of this door was exquisite; it made almost no noise as it opened. Claude looked at his ruined shoulder armor, a gift left to him by that general. The man had been a formidable opponent, one who might have been able to kill Claude—but only might have.

He turned to look at the soldiers before him, then at his companions. Claude raised an arm and clenched his fist tightly.

The silence lasted for several seconds before it was shattered by overwhelming cheers, spreading like a virus outward from the command room.

"Long live!!!..."

Countless arms shot toward the sky before clenching into fists. They cheered for this hard-won victory, bought at such terrible cost.

"Long live!!!...!"

The Rise of the Reunion Movement: Difficult Postwar Arrangements

Claude sat on the edge of the landship's deck, leaning against the railing behind him. His posture looked dangerously precarious. The ground was hundreds of meters below, and anyone who fell from here, no matter how skilled they were, would be smashed to pieces. Yet he sat there with such ease, such composure.

At last, the sharp sound of footsteps rang out. Without turning around, Claude already knew who had come.

"Have the casualties been fully counted?"

"They have... We lost 342 people, and another 215 were seriously wounded. We don't have enough medicine. Seventy percent of them won't make it..."

Talulah leaned against the railing as the high-altitude wind stirred her ash-white short hair.

Claude said nothing. Though they had wiped out twice that number of enemies, this was still a costly victory. But originally, they would not even have had the chance for such a victory. Without any heavy war machines, they would have been slaughtered under the landship's powerful artillery and unmatched mobility, completely destroyed by the Ursus Empire.

Now, not only had they annihilated the enemy, but they had also obtained a powerful landship. Though the warship was badly damaged, and it was uncertain whether it could operate again. He had already contacted actual specialists. If it worked out, they would gain an incomparable source of aid.

Apart from the artillery destroyed at the beginning to open a breach, most of the landship's cannons remained intact. But they did not have enough gunners to operate them, which would also become a problem later. They still lacked everything, but at least they were no longer in such a precarious situation.

Claude slowly pushed himself up with one leg. Standing on one foot along the smooth outer edge of the deck, he looked as though the cold wind might blow him off at any moment. Yet with extraordinary balance, he strolled atop it as if taking a leisurely walk. Talulah walked beside him.

"We've suffered terrible losses, Talulah. We should consider leaving these northwestern frozen plains."

"Where should we go? Once we leave, we'll encounter Ursus's true legions."

"After the Empire loses a landship, we are bound to face their legions anyway. Our only way to survive is to go out, scatter our flames, and set the entire Empire ablaze. Only when fires burn everywhere across the Empire will we have a real chance to live."

"And we aren't completely alone. Plenty of people want to see Ursus make a fool of itself. They should come into contact with us soon enough."

"This is an enormous crisis, but also an opportunity. If we seize it, every road ahead will open up."

Talulah quietly listened to Claude without voicing an opinion. Her head was slightly lowered, her hands clasped behind her back as she stared at her toes.

They soon reached the end. Claude grabbed the railing and flipped over it, stepping onto the actual deck. He watched the soldiers bustling around it, collecting bodies and sending the wounded for treatment. Injured enemies were given a quick death; they had no spare medicine to waste on them.

All the Ursus soldiers' bodies were piled into a pit and covered with earth. Their equipment was stripped away, leaving only their underclothes. Their futures had been completely severed here. They would only freeze into the soil in the coldest place in Ursus.

"Get ready, Talulah. Get ready quickly. We have to move forward now."

"We must send out more people—send them to every corner of Ursus, to every town and every city. We must ignite the flames of resistance there. Only when fires are lit everywhere can we burn down Ursus, this rotten old tree."

"This will get many people killed. Nine out of ten of those we send out will die. Should we really do this?" Talulah still did not lift her head, only looking at her feet. It was as if she did not dare look at Claude.

"Talulah, what do you think we're doing?"

Claude was not surprised by her question in the slightest. He answered calmly.

"We are resisting. Resisting the injustice of this land." The ash-haired Draco girl spoke firmly, fire burning in her eyes.

"Then do you think resistance can happen without bloodshed? Whether it is our blood or the enemy's, from this day forward it will flow like rivers. That is a future bound to come, one that cannot be avoided through momentary compassion. The only thing we can do is make sure that blood is not spilled in vain. Nothing more."

Claude turned to look at the girl, who still seemed immature in his eyes.

"Our ideals are vast. To uphold them, countless lives are destined to bleed. You should have made peace with that from the beginning."

"Every one of us should make that resolve. We must understand what we are doing, so that even if we die, our deaths will have value. There is no turning back from this road, and it cannot tolerate any hesitation or weakness."

"So, knowing that, press forward with all your strength. We are doing something great and right. Hesitation and confusion do not belong to us."

"I understand." Talulah could not help feeling ashamed. She clearly recognized her own naivety and shortcomings. At the same time, she felt fortunate that she had invited Claude to stay. Without him, she did not know what she or the Reunion Movement would be like now.

"Mr. Claude, if I make mistakes again in the future, please tell me. It is very important to me." Talulah looked straight at Claude. Blazing flames burned within her silver-gray eyes. This girl was always so full of passion.

"Of course. I can barely count as your teacher. If you have doubts, you can come ask me. Though I can't promise I'll always have the answer."

The cold wind stirred Claude's smoke-stained hair, making his eyes gleam like gold. The image was deeply etched into Talulah's eyes.

The entire crew needed to operate the landship had survived, thanks to Centaurea. But they still could not get the landship moving normally, because one side of its tracks had been seriously damaged. It could now only crawl forward at a tortoise's pace. Still, at least they had gotten it moving.

Many soldiers were unwilling to leave the landship. Their faces were full of excitement as they stood atop it and looked around in every direction, even though this giant was currently slower than they were on foot. For a time, even the grief of losing their comrades seemed less intense.

Claude was standing in the landship's infirmary. It had complete medical equipment, and lying on one of its beds was his old subordinate, Aisen. Their few doctors were busy here. The battle had produced a great number of wounded, but fortunately, with the medical equipment aboard this landship, they could save many of them.

"Is there no way to save him?"

There was not the slightest trace of sorrow on Claude's face as he looked at Aisen, who was breathing rapidly and with difficulty, and asked the doctor beside him.

"There is no way, General... His liver has been cut open, and he has lost too much blood. We don't have the means to save him now."

The doctor stood before Claude with a sorrowful expression, his gloves covered in blood. Consumables such as medicine were far too scarce here, especially crucial hemostatic drugs.

Aisen began gasping violently, turning his head from side to side as if searching for something. Claude stepped forward, took his hand, and gripped it tightly.

"I'm here, Aisen. I'm here."

His unfocused pupils finally found their focus. This man, stronger even than most Lupos, stared directly at Claude. His resolute face was now paler than paper. His lips trembled as he struggled to say something.

"My lord... it was an honor... My lord, it was such an... honor..."

"How fortunate we were... to meet a general like you... No longer stones in the mud!..."

His grip grew tighter and his breathing more rushed. He wanted to say more, but in an instant, Claude felt the strength vanish from his hand. His pupils completely dilated, and life left that powerful body for good.

"...Wuh!... Wuh..."

Suppressed sobs sounded beside him, but Claude did not shed a tear. He only silently held his subordinate's hand. A lord of the legion never wept. His figure alone stood lonely and silent like a statue.

Gently waving her staff, Kal'tsit used Originium Arts, and the patient's wound began visibly slowing its bleeding. After some simple bandaging, a wound that might have caused severe hemorrhaging was easily brought under control.

Kal'tsit watched the white-haired boy's work and nodded slightly. He was not yet a truly outstanding doctor, but he could already serve as a qualified medic.

Ino gave the patient several instructions. Only after the man nodded in agreement did he relax and turn toward Doctor Kal'tsit, his eyes holding traces of unease and anxiety.

"You did very well. You are now a qualified medical operator."

Seeing the faint upturn of Kal'tsit's lips, the white-haired boy could not contain the joy rising in his heart, and a brilliant smile appeared on his face.

"You must really want to go back, don't you?"