High in the sky, Rudolf tightened his grip on the Dragonhawk's reins.
He had seen everything clearly.
The Shatterrock Knights had charged, been lured into a trap, and then been worn down again and again by that bizarre "tactic."
Finally, vines had erupted from the ground and captured the Baron alive.
The entire process had been breathtakingly fast.
The elite knight of Dawn Territory was overwhelmed with shock.
Yet beneath that shock, his professional soldier's instincts picked up on something that did not quite fit.
Those beetle troops.
As they carried out that "strangulation tactic," they appeared flexible and adaptable, advancing and retreating with purpose.
But on closer inspection, every movement and every turn carried a subtle awkwardness and stiffness.
They did not resemble battle-hardened elites so much as puppets on strings, desperately imitating sophisticated maneuvers without being able to conceal their underlying sluggishness.
A theory formed in Rudolf's mind: this Magical Beast Legion could not possibly have been trained overnight.
Rather, Sir Veylin must have spent years, perhaps even longer, painstakingly raising and repeatedly training them with some secret method to "carve" out this trump card.
At that thought, respect entered his gaze as he looked down at the young man below.
What astonishing patience and perseverance it must have taken to train a group of low-ranking magical beasts to this level.
Only when he saw the sailors below reach Veylin's side did Rudolf suddenly remember his mission.
He urged the Dragonhawk lower.
Its enormous wings whipped up a gale that nearly knocked the people on the ground off their feet.
The Dragonhawk landed steadily a short distance in front of Veylin, and Rudolf dismounted with crisp, efficient movements.
He strode up to Veylin's horse and bowed, performing a textbook knight's salute with one hand.
"Sir Weilin Klein, I