Jacor gazed at a gleaming stone resting in his palm. Under the morning sunlight, it shone brilliantly, and within it flickered a small white flame. This was the Stone of Life, a magical stone used to determine whether the life of its linked bearer was in danger. If the linked individual were to die, the flame within would extinguish, and the stone would shatter into pieces. Three days had passed since Couer set out to sea, and the life stone still burned meaning the fat man was still alive and well. That proved the plan had succeeded, and before long, Couer’s army would attack Allblack. If they managed to seize Allblack, the troops stationed at Fogger Fortress would gain a strategic position for military transfer.

  Couer’s forces could then coordinate with Mullack to strike at the BloodClaw Territory with ease, without worrying about interference from the VenomSerpent tribe. Moreover, Allblack would become a new gathering point for troops, from which they could launch attacks across the entire Golden region. Jacor needed only a signal. Mullack’s army was always ready for battle. In large-scale wars, the Battle King was the highest rank permitted by the Alliance to act freely in combat. The Emperor-level individuals were heavily restricted, for the destructive power they possessed could bring about annihilation. An Emperor was only allowed to act when a nation faced extinction, or when they were involved in a racial-level war. Hesmor and Golden were small kingdoms; naturally, they possessed no one of Emperor rank. Only great empires such as Greaton had the resources to create individuals of such magnitude. That was precisely why Jacor sought out Mulock. In the absence of any Emperor, Mulock was the undefeated existence among the Battle Kings. He was the trump card Jacor had prepared to confront Nash, the chieftain of Blood Claw.

  Three fortresses of war were built along a straight line following the Emeral River. If Loket Fortress was constructed within Hesmir, and Fugger stood on the border plain, then Medit Fortress lay precisely at the midpoint between the two, serving as a middle-ground stronghold that distributed food supplies and weapons from the logistical region of Melor. This place was managed by Este, a beautiful merchant woman of the Medit family.

  Este remained as beautiful and charming as ever. Compared to Couer, she was less greedy; compared to Jacor, she was less ambitious. Yet Este was steady and deliberate, a merchant who favored safety in business and acted as the representative of the Medit family, reflecting their philosophy.

  Inside her office, Melor sat across from Este in a cheerful, excited mood. He had just received some very good news. Soon, Couer’s forces would capture Allblack, gaining control over the entire Infernic Range. When that happened, the troops of Hesmor could move directly across the mountains without being attacked by the GoldenFang forces.

  “That is truly good news, Lady Este. I suppose you have something in mind for calling me here to deliver such an important message, don’t you?”

  Melor smiled with narrowed eyes. He was an intelligent man and could partly guess Este’s intentions.

  It was always pleasant to talk with smart people. Este felt relieved; at least she wouldn’t have to waste time explaining things to Melor

  “Our family is one that cherishes peace and art. Of course, warfare and bloodshed are not our specialty.”

  “Please, go straight to your request, Lady Este,” Melor replied, clearly uninterested in such talk. “Peace-loving,” he thought, nonsense. They simply lacked decisiveness and dared not take risks. But Melor was different. He did not believe himself inferior to Jacor in any way. He could not stand idle while the three great merchant families continued to seize the power once held by the nobles. He had to act and this was a fine opportunity.

  “I wonder if you would be interested in taking over this fortress,” Este said. “Of course, the fortress will be renamed. It will no longer be called Medit.”

  Melor frowned. To rename a fortress was not something one could simply decide. It required the approval of the True King. He suddenly sensed something, his expression turning urgent.“What is the price, Lady Este?”

  Este took a sip of Meli Wine; her face turned a soft shade of red, making her look irresistibly alluring. But it was at this very moment that Este was at her most dangerous, a true calculating merchant.

  “We want the magic stone mine in the Seawall Range.”

  “What? Impossible! That is the economic lifeline of all Melor. Please, choose another demand, Lady Este!”

  Melor appeared “furious.” The Medit family had gone mad, pulling a lion’s bite trick on him. Yet he knew this was just part of the negotiation, the opening move. The real terms would follow.

  As expected, Este soon proposed a second condition, far more reasonable. She could tell Melor was “acting,” but she chose not to expose him. Instead, she played along with the performance.

  “In that case, we want one-third of the mining area. Of course, the location will be of our choosing. This is our final and lowest offer. If you refuse, there will be no further negotiation.” Este looked straight into Melor’s eyes and smiled confidently.

  Melor pondered deeply. One-third of the mining area was very different from one-third of the production. At the very least, he would not need to pay for labor, tools, or equipment in the transferred zone. Though he would lose control over that area, it was nothing compared to the territory they would soon seize from Golden. Gritting his teeth, Melor realized that time would not wait. If he let this chance slip away, after the war with Golden, the voice of the nobles might lose all value in Hesmor or worse, be erased entirely.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Very well, Lady Este. But I do not want an empty fortress,” Melor said, laying out his final condition. He already knew Este would agree.

  Este remained silent for a moment, then nodded slightly and extended her smooth, pale hands as a gesture of acceptance.

  “A pleasant cooperation, Count Melor.”

  Outside the fortress, Melor and his attendant quickly departed, returning to their territory to prepare for the takeover of Medit Fortress or rather, what would soon be called Melor Fortress.

  Voga’s legion was encamped deep within DarkWood, sending out elite scout soldiers to probe the situation. The enemy’s forces were not large, the garrison guarding Allblack numbered only about two thousand, and among them were plenty of conscripted troops. Terax and over ten thousand elite BloodClaw soldiers had been dispatched to intercept Hesmor’s forces at the Blackmist area… That place was currently commanded by a young leader of the GoldenFang clan.

  Allblack was a system of fortresses linked together by three major strongholds, arranged in a triangle to defend key positions. Beneath the ground lay a kennel-style dungeon system with a single entrance and no exit. The entrances that were guarded were merely traps leading to the Cerberus inside. The real entrances were the well mouths, guarded within the fortresses themselves. That was also where the Golden forces resupplied food and took in newly captured prisoners. Beneath Allblack lay a great formation (spell array) capable of blocking mana from entering; warlords or even Battle Kings if imprisoned for too long would gradually have their mana eroded from their bodies, leaving them weakened. Of course, a Battle King also possesses an Ability, so imprisoning a Battle King was not feasible.

  The position where Voga stood was an important fortress responsible for guarding the entire Infernic region; underneath it was also where Exitus had once been imprisoned. Voga took the strategic map in his hands and quickly laid out the plan.

  “According to the map, if we capture this stronghold, we can control the entire Infernic mountain area. Our forces from Hesmor can cross the Emerald River directly and invade the enemy’s territory without fear of detection. Of course, with our numerical advantage, we will attack them immediately. Besiege this entire fortress; I want every one of them wiped out, leave no fish to slip through the net.”

  Night fell in silence. Voga’s army split into squads and rapidly gathered around the fortress. They were extremely cautious. The elite troops had been sent to intercept at Blackmist; here stood only ragged, complacent men.

  On the sturdy wall, Ret and Not, two guards were sharing cups of exquisite Meli wine. Miraculously, by some stroke of luck they were still alive; one would have thought they had been crushed by escaping slaves long ago. Perhaps Enesur truly watched over them.

  “Hey Ret! See? This is a fat job! Instead of standing guard in the blazing sun of the Vayle valley, we can lie here, enjoy the breeze from DarkWood, and drink this wonderful wine,” said one.

  “I’m still worried, Not. What if something bad happens like last time?” Ret said. Of course, as before, though he said it, Ret poured himself another full cup.

  “What the hell is there to happen at Allblack? In front is the sheer Infenic range, to the edge the Valley of Death, and offshore the Black Sea. Do you know what lurks atop the Infernic mountains? None other than a pack of Cerberus. The alpha is an Emperor-level beast, intelligent as a man, and it won’t let anyone enter its domain easily.”

  “Cerberus again, damn it! The last time I heard that word from you was when we were trampled under countless slave feet. If the world kept a record for who got stepped on the most, it would definitely be me, Not.”

  “You’re wrong! It would be me,” the other shot back.

  The two shouted and cursed into the black night. Suddenly, Not heard something, a sound like thousands of footsteps, with shouts and screams.

  “Do you hear that, Ret? The pounding steps!”

  “You’re not imagining it, right? You really hear it?” Ret startled, now truly believing his friend.

  “Cheng cheng cheng!” The alarm sounded in a rapid clatter.

  “Enemy forces! Enemy forces. They’re numerous; they’ve surrounded us. Quickly organize the defense!” the cry from a watch post rang out.

  Not and Ret looked at each other in panic. The enemy’s numbers were overwhelmingly superior; this fortress could not be defended.

  “Hey! Maybe we should play dead one more time.”

  By the time the enemy realized what was happening, it was already too late. Hesmor’s forces had drawn too close to the fortress. Elite soldiers threw grappling hooks onto the stone wall and quickly climbed up. Above, the Golden troops fought desperately but in vain. The sounds of slaughter rang through the night. Men fell one by one; bodies tumbled from the ramparts and piled up.

  “Boom.”

  Voga charged the front line like an unstoppable beast. The black wooden gate, hewn from Darkwood, splintered under the impact. From behind, Hesmor’s troops poured in like a flood. Wherever they went, Golden men died; the young commander couldn’t withstand Voga’s onslaught, and was quickly struck down and captured.

  That same night, the watchtowers along the Infernic Range were swiftly struck by Voga’s forces. Signals were sent to Loket Fortress, and from there relayed to the two remaining major fortresses.

  On the Emerald plain, Hesmor’s army stood ready to attack. Mullack sat with Ceasar, calmly awaiting a signal. Before long a small bird arrived, bearing a sealed message tied to its leg. Ceasar snatched the bird, untied the note and read it intently.

  “Ha ha ha! Good! Very good!”

  Mullack asked nothing. In a moment like this, good news meant attack. From Ceasar’s expression, he knew Jacor’s plan had succeeded; this was the signal. Mullack rose from his command seat; his joints cracked as he turned, glancing at Ceasar with a small nod.

  “Attack?”

  Ceasar smiled, an old face bright with excitement.

  “Attack.”

  Mullack stepped out onto the wide wall. Below him stood 100,000 main troops of Hesmor, each armed with sharp steel weapons and solid armor, the largest army in Hesmor’s history. They brimmed with killing intent, a mix of disciplined soldiers and mercenaries from Noland. Mullack scanned his forces, drew a long breath, and spoke in a commanding, powerful voice that reached every soldier clearly.

  “Brothers, today is a special day. A day that will enter Hesmor’s annals and endure in the future. The day we strike at Golden. I would like to say something noble, something lofty to inspire you before battle, but it seems there is nothing to say.” Pause a moment, he continued, his voice gloomy and cold.

  “What do you think we are at war for? For righteousness? For justice? For the people of Hesmor who once fell here? No! Rid your heads of those ridiculous reasons at once. This is an invasion, a war to seize territory and resources.”

  “We are the villains, and nothing is more disgraceful than a villain’s failure, the stain will remain forever. That is why we must win; only victory will let history be rewritten to suit us. If we fail, we are foolish invaders. If we win, we are heroes expanding the realm.”

  “The time has come, brothers, strike with everything we’ve got!”

  Below, the soldiers shouted with fervor, their fighting spirit rising fiercely. The warhorses neighed valiantly. The Hesmor banner, bearing the two-headed lion, fluttered in the wind. The roars rolled like thunder, echoing across the battlefield.