Free Web NovelAs Louis's words fell, the air over the entire parade ground seemed to be instantly drawn taut.
All gazes, as if by prior agreement, slid from the towering review platform to the forefront of the square formation.
Major General Gray stood erect on the half-track command vehicle, his back as straight as a spear, like a crossbow already drawn and cocked.
In the next instant, battle aura exploded from his chest.
"Clang!"
The sound of a command saber being drawn tore through the air, its cold gleam tracing a sharp arc as it pointed straight towards the heavens.
"All forces, form ranks! Prepare for review!!"
His roar was like thunder, carrying the killing intent tempered repeatedly on real battlefields, and it smashed heavily into the crowd.
The previously restless spectator area was forcefully subdued by this single shout, even their breathing seemed to slow for half a beat.
In the VIP seats, Nico's eyes gleamed slightly: "A good voice... good killing intent."
Before his words faded, heavy and primitive war drums boomed, pounding the earth with each beat.
The first square formation advanced from the edge of the horizon.
Sako rode on a black horse, his Cold Iron armor gleaming coldly under the sun, with flickers of battle aura visible between the seams of his armor.
His gaze was direct and blazing, firmly locked onto Louis on the review platform.
He knew that Lord Louis, along with his own parents and brothers, were watching him at this moment.
In the crowd, Sako's father stood ramrod straight.
Seeing his son leading the formation, he understood that sending this child to the Red Tide Territory years ago was the most correct move of his life.
Sako's younger brothers clenched their fists tightly, their eyes filled with nothing but yearning.
And behind Sako, the true shock was just beginning.
The Red Tide emblem shone on the uniform plate armor, and every knight emitted a stable and condensed fluctuation of battle aura.
They were all Extraordinary Knights!
The Northern black horses trotted forward, the rhythm of their iron-shod hooves striking the ground so uniform it was unnerving, like the beat of a single enormous heart.
On the main platform, Louis merely gave a slight nod.
That small gesture of acknowledgment was enough to make Sako's back straighten even more.
In the VIP seats, Nico had completely straightened his posture.
Several Eastern nobles beside him subconsciously began to count in low voices: "One... twenty... thirty... fifty..."
Their voices grew softer, but the counting slowed.
By the time they realized they had lost count and didn't dare continue, cold sweat was already uncontrollably seeping down their backs.
"Over three hundred..." Nico calculated rapidly in his mind.
In the Southeast Province, if a Count could support twenty Extraordinary Knights, it would be enough to dominate the region.
Even at the peak of the Calvin Family's power, the knights permanently stationed at their headquarters numbered no more than two hundred.
"The Red Tide Territory... where did they get the resources to amass such numbers?"
What unsettled him even more was the youth of these knights. Their average age was under thirty-five, indicating they were one-in-ten-thousand geniuses, not merely products of time and resource accumulation.
"This isn't all of them." Nico was almost certain. "Given this young master's temperament, these three hundred... are just the ceremonial guard on display. How was this achieved?"
Of course, he didn't know that the Red Tide Territory's foundation was thicker than that of other dukes, because the Daily Intelligence System ensured resources were never wasted.
Where potion ingredients could be found, which potions could break through bottlenecks, which batch of people deserved an extra allocation of battle aura materials.
All matters of chance here had become precise investments.
Among the seats for the old Northern nobility, Count Eibert stroked his beard, his complexion ruddy.
"Look closely," he said quietly to the young lords beside him. "This is what the Guardian of the North should look like."
Watching that steel cavalry, he seemed to see the shadow of Count Edmund from years past. But the force before him was younger and more powerful.
"Guard the North?" Eibert narrowed his eyes. "No, this power is more than enough to conquer the world."
After the Extraordinary Knight square passed, the scene changed abruptly.
Icefield Wolf cavalry swept across the parade ground like a tide of grey silver.
The giant wolves ran silently, their riders clad in light armor with composite bows slung across their backs.
The wolf pack itself was the formation, wildness and discipline intertwined into a breathtaking beauty.
Screams erupted from the crowd.
Following closely, the ground trembled as the Polar Bear Regiment came into view.
Their massive bodies were clad in half-body heavy armor, each step leaving clear white marks on the stone slabs.
The combat power of these magical beast knights couldn't possibly be higher than that of the Extraordinary Knights, but their power was more visibly manifested. Even the most ordinary commoners could understand it, finding it more impressive.
Cheers surged like a tsunami.
As the last white bear passed the review platform, Nico slowly let out a breath.
Powerful, but within his understanding, this still fell within the scope he could comprehend.
On the command platform, a cold smile tugged at the corner of Gray's mouth.
His right hand, clad in a white glove, slowly rose and made a sharp, cutting gesture.
The war drums stopped abruptly.
The next second, that low and terrifying steam whistle once again tore through the sky.
"The warm-up is over. Now, witness the truth," Gray said with a laugh.
Three short, sharp commands echoed over the parade ground.
Major General Gray raised his right hand and slowly pressed it down.
The crowd, still immersed in the impact of the cavalry and magical beasts, soon realized that the real sense of oppression didn't come from roars and galloping, but from a kind of unsettling quiet.
At the edge of the horizon, the Red Tide Infantry Division began to advance.
Their pace wasn't fast, but it was as precise as interlocking gears.
Their grey-black uniforms were uniform, rifle butts against shoulders, muzzles slightly raised. All movements were without excess, like a moving iron wall.
What they held in their hands were not spears, lances, or any weapon familiar to the nobility.
It was a kind of long, cold, hard, and simply designed "iron tube."
A barely audible snort sounded from the spectator stands.
Count Harway instinctively frowned, his hand holding the teacup pausing in mid-air.
"These people..." he said in a low voice, "what are they doing here with firewood sticks?"
His tone wasn't mocking, but purely one of incomprehension.
He was a newly risen financial aristocrat from the southern empire, having amassed immense wealth through shipping, mining, and finance, and was currently in vogue in the imperial capital.
Before the Second Prince took control of the imperial capital, he had keenly sensed the danger and immediately transferred most of his family assets to the North, seeking refuge with his second son. He considered himself clever enough.
But at this moment, he couldn't understand the scene before him at all.
Sitting beside him, Yoen's eyes were frighteningly bright.
"Father," his voice was very low, but carried a near-religious certainty, "just watch. Lord Louis's weapons will astound you."
Count Harway was slightly taken aback and turned his head to look at his second son.
Yoen Harway, the second son of the southern Harway Family, now the Viscount of Silver Ridge Hill in the North.
He was also the one with the firmest stance in the entire Northern noble circle.
From the very beginning, he hadn't shied away from declaring his choice. While everyone else was still watching and hesitating, he had publicly announced his intention to "cling tightly to Louis's coattails." Of course, this declaration had also brought him great benefits.
In Count Harway's view, this almost reckless loyalty had once made him extremely uneasy.
But now, he somewhat believed in this mystique, so he didn't immediately refute it.
The soldiers on the field had already come to a halt.
At the far end of the parade ground, three hundred scarecrows clad in full sets of heavy plate armor were neatly arranged, complete with steel helmets, breastplates, and shoulder guards, crafted exactly to the specifications of heavy knights.
Gray's hand fell, and a sharp whistle tore through the air.
The first row of soldiers simultaneously knelt on one knee, rifle butts against shoulders, muzzles leveled.
"Boom—!!!"
A thunderous explosion erupted.
magma essence-driven blue flames spat simultaneously from the muzzles, connecting into a single, cold, and deadly curtain of light.
Time seemed to stretch for an instant.
The plate-armored scarecrows in the distance then disintegrated.
The thick steel tore and curled under the terrifying kinetic energy, iron fragments and straw mixed together and shot skyward, as if struck head-on by an invisible giant hammer.
Wind carrying debris swept towards the spectator area. The crowd was first struck silent, then erupted into deafening exclamations.
For most commoners, this was just spectacle, something novel. But those who understood had already changed expressions.
Count Harway's hand trembled violently.
Tea splashed onto his expensive outer robe, but he didn't notice at all.
"This..." his Adam's apple bobbed, "this kind of power... if that volley just now had been aimed at my knights..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but the answer was too clear.
On the other side of the VIP seats, Nico had completely straightened up.
His pupils contracted slightly, his gaze locked onto the shattered fragments of plate armor.
"No battle aura enhancement..." he murmured softly, "pure kinetic energy."
Nico rapidly calculated in his mind.
If it were an Extraordinary Knight, operating battle aura at full power, meeting this volley head-on... they could block it, but it wouldn't be easy.
Their protective shield would be shattered, their battle aura rapidly depleted.
And if it were a heavy knight below the Extraordinary level... Nico's gaze swept over the plate armor fragments torn into iron scraps. He had already reached a conclusion in his heart.
"Whether they die or not depends on luck, but if hit squarely, their combat power would be erased in an instant." Nico slowly let out a breath, his back already chilled.
Then, so-called knight charges, before this cold infantry line, would merely be a ceremony of suicide.
Bradley, the old butler who had been by his side all along, smiled slightly and refilled Nico's cup with fresh tea.
"Lord Nico," he said, as if making casual conversation, "are you perhaps wondering if this is some kind of one-time-use alchemical tool?"
Nico didn't answer, but his silence was an admission in itself. freeweɓnovel.cѳm
"No." Bradley gently shook his head, his gaze turning to the infantry line still smoking on the field. "This is called a rifle. Its principle isn't actually complicated. Purified magma essence dust ignites instantly, propelling a metal bullet to kill with kinetic energy."
He extended a finger and made a negligible gesture: 'And its truly terrifying aspect has never been its power, but its cost.'
Bradley's gaze swept over those young, silent soldiers, his tone calm to the point of cruelty.
'To train an Extraordinary Knight like you requires talent, potions, resources, and at least twenty years, costing no less than ten thousand gold.'
'But to train a qualified Musketeer only requires an Apprentice Knight for three months.'
He pointed again at the pile of shattered plate armor debris in the distance, a perfectly standard, Calvin Family smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
'If the value of nurturing [N O V E L I G H T] a Formal Knight is a thousand gold coins,'
'then the cost of the few bullets that shattered him is about fifty silver coins.'
'Using fifty silver coins to exchange for a thousand gold. This is the Economics of War that the young master taught me.'
Nico's hand, holding the teacup, halted mid-air, not bringing it to his lips for a long time.
'This is no longer a knight's war...' he murmured, his voice carrying the daze of one left behind by the times, 'This is the mass processing of life.'
Nico's mind raced, instinctively using his decades of war experience to patch his crumbling worldview.
He forced himself to calm down. The power was indeed terrifying, but as long as the Knight Regiment was fast enough, there was still a possibility to break through during that brief reloading gap.
As long as they could close in on these infantrymen holding iron tubes, they were ultimately just flesh and blood.
The weakness of the Red Tide Territory lay in sustained firepower.
Just as this thought formed in his mind, a sharp, piercing steam siren mercilessly shredded his self-consolation.
The ground began to tremble slightly.
Six heavy Steam Vehicles spewing white steam slowly drove into the parade ground.
They towed bizarre-looking metal devices; some resembled bundles of thick iron tubes placed side by side, others were square launchers arranged like honeycombs, cold and silent.
Major General Gray stood on the command vehicle, simply raising his hand to make a brief gesture.
'Clear the field.'
The next instant, the world lost its rhythm.
The Gatling Gun barrels began to spin at high speed, the 'zizzing' sound during warm-up making one's teeth ache, before being completely swallowed.
'Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat—!!!'
That could no longer be called gunfire, but a continuous roar.
Tongues of flame gushed out like substance, the barrage transforming into a sweeping metallic torrent across the battlefield, as if tearing a giant piece of tattered cloth.
Almost simultaneously, the Rocket Launchers at the rear emitted shrill shrieks.
Several Alchemical Rockets trailing white contrails sliced through the air, blanketing the rear area of the iron plate array.
Nico watched helplessly as that dense cluster of wooden boards simulating a human wave charge was completely leveled within mere seconds.
Iron shavings, fragments, and frozen debris were pulverized in turn by the rain of bullets and cold explosions, the ground plowed over repeatedly, even the traces of their existence wiped clean.
The fantasy he had just constructed of 'if we charge, we win' was crushed to dust at this moment.
This rate of fire... even if a mage began chanting, before the incantation was finished, the person would already be torn to shreds.
Human wave tactics before it served only one purpose: to fill the ground with corpses faster.
Nico's throat tightened, yet this was not the end.
The teacups on the viewing platform began to jump violently, porcelain clinking with a clear, ominous sound.
On the distant horizon, billowing black smoke rose, obscuring the already dim sunlight.
Twelve heavy Steam Tanks rumbled into the parade ground.
'So this is the legendary Mobile Fortress...' Nico muttered to himself, 'This thickness... Siege Crossbows couldn't pierce it. This thing on the battlefield... is invincible.'
The tank formation halted.
The turrets slowly rotated, the sound of gears meshing clearly audible across the field.
The target was dragged out a thousand meters away—a ten-ton obsidian boulder, placed in the center of the testing area.
This ore's hardness rivaled city walls, typically used only to withstand impacts of forbidden spell level.
Bradley stood beside Nico, his tone still gentle: 'Lord Nico, you were just thinking, as long as you hide behind the city walls, you're safe, right?'
Nico did not answer.
'Please watch. This is the answer the young master provides.'
The next instant, the world was forcibly torn open.
'Boom—!!!'
The Alchemical Main Cannon roared, the terrifying recoil causing the dozens-of-tons steel beast to lurch back, dust kicked up from the muzzle forming a visible shock ring.
That obsidian boulder, upon contact, seemed to be directly erased by an invisible giant hand.
A small mushroom cloud rose from the explosion's center, leaving only a deep pit with glassified, molten edges, thin smoke slowly rising.
The parade ground fell into dead silence.
Even the cheers of the commoners stopped.
Nico's fingers began to tremble uncontrollably.
He had always believed that with enough sacrifice, individual martial prowess could reverse any battle.
But now, looking at those twelve dark, gaping muzzles, he finally lowered his head.
Even if a Peak Knight burned his life... he couldn't withstand three shots.
And the Red Tide Territory had countless numbers of them.
He turned around, looking at that young figure on the high platform, his eyes filled with complex emotions.
On the other side, Count Harway grabbed his son Yoen's hand fiercely, a nearly mad light burning in his eyes.
'Yoen! You've done well!' He stared at the still-smoking pit, his voice trembling with excitement, 'Following Louis is correct. Our Harway Family is going to get rich!'
The tank formation did not draw the finale for this parade.
After the steel beasts slowly rumbled out of sight, the ground trembled again.
The Engineering Corps appeared on one side of the parade ground.
Massive Bridge-Laying Vehicles unfolded their telescoping steel girders, like steel insects stretching their limbs.
Steam Shovel buckets reflected a cold gleam; even idling forward, they carried a sense that terrain did not exist.
Knowledgeable nobles' expressions changed slightly. This meant the Red Tide army didn't need to wait, wouldn't be slowed by rivers or canyons; war before them was linear.
Next came the Logistics Column.
An endless line of Steam Trucks slowly drove past, their carriages loaded with Field Kitchens, crates of medical equipment.
Some smelled coffee and meat broth; someone explained it was to ensure soldiers could eat hot food even in the trenches... In the VIP seats, Bradley spoke softly, his tone calm: 'War is fought on logistics.'
He smiled slightly: 'Our soldiers can drink hot coffee on the front lines. And the enemy... can only gnaw on hardtack.'
The implication was clear: the Red Tide Territory could not only fight, but was rich enough to run war like an industrial project.
When the last formation returned to position, the entire parade ground fell into an almost reverent quiet.
Louis walked to the forefront of the high platform and began his speech.
The wind tousled his hair, sunlight falling on his slightly weary yet resolute face.
He surveyed the sea of people beneath him, then spoke:
'My father, Duke Calvin, a guardian who dedicated his life to the Empire, is dead.'
'He did not die of illness, but of betrayal, of a broken heart.'
Muffled gasps came from the crowd.
Louis's gaze sharpened: 'In the Southeast Province, what are those heretic cloaked in sanctity doing? In the name of faith, they levy heavy taxes on the common people.'
'They seize the farmers' last rations to build resplendent churches. They brand resisters as heretic, call starvation atonement.'
His voice gradually rose.
'My father tried to stop this, tried to protect the people there. As a result, he was placed under house arrest and ultimately died with regret!'
The truth didn't matter; what mattered was the people below were clenching their fists.
'The people of the Southeast are starving!' Louis suddenly looked up, pointing directly south, 'Our countrymen are bleeding!'
The Cold Iron longsword left its sheath, drawing a cold arc in the sunlight.
'Warriors of the Red Tide! We march south not just for revenge, but for liberation!'
'Go and smash the shackles of The Church! Bring bread, freedom, and justice to the people of the Southeast!'
Below, Nico stood in the shadows, listening to this impassioned speech, the corner of his mouth twitching uncontrollably.
He knew better than anyone that the Old Duke was never some benevolent protector.
And this so-called liberation was essentially a thorough armed annexation.
But when he looked at that young, calm figure on the high platform, an indescribable sense of respect rose in his heart.
And the crowd's fervor finally erupted.
'Down with The Church!'
'Liberate the Southeast!'
'Avenge the Old Duke!'
Hats were thrown into the air, roars merging into a tidal wave.
Having witnessed that steel and fire firsthand, no one doubted the outcome.
Merchants began rapidly calculating profits, knights craved military glory, northern nobles reveled, and commoners immersed themselves in a sense of glory from soon saving others.
In the VIP seats, Count Harway tightly gripped his son Yoen's hand, flames burning in his eyes.
'See?' he whispered, 'This is the tide of history.'
Without hesitation, he turned and instructed his attendant: 'Go tell Steward Bradley, the Harway Family will donate the first batch of military provisions free of charge.'
On the high platform, Louis swung his sword down: 'All forces, advance! Southward!'
