Standing atop the fortress walls, Jaemar gazed into the distance at the swiftly approaching army of the Yharnis Principality.
With a subtle wave of his hand, he signaled the soldiers behind him to ready themselves for battle.
A cloud of dust rose as the vanguard arrived—over ten thousand knights charging forward on horseback. Hot on their heels came rows of metal-plated war chariots, followed by dense infantry formations pressing forward in perfect sync.
Unlike on Earth, where medieval warfare often relied on hastily conscripted peasant fodder, the armies in this world—empowered by supernatural forces—were far more professional and elite.
Even if the energy here seemed weak and insignificant in Orsaga's eyes, for ordinary people it was enough to alter the very trajectory of their civilization. From the outset, the two sides hadn't stood on the same level—neither in worldview nor in needs.
In this world, countless enlistment incentives existed. Simply joining the army guaranteed a host of privileges.
In return, every soldier was required to rigorously train within the knight system, dedicating most of their time to strengthening themselves. In terms of power and endurance, they far surpassed the average person. Each one could easily take on over a dozen ordinary adults barehanded. Even while clad in armor weighing dozens of pounds, they moved with ease.
Compared to these living war machines, armies made up of common folk were completely meaningless. The vast gap in physical prowess meant that no matter how many foot soldiers you had, they would crumble under just one charge from these elites.
It was the difference between cats and mice.
On Earth, they might be described as walking Rambo units.
Under such conditions, one rule had naturally formed:
'Ordinary people never set foot on the battlefield—unless the nation is on the brink of ruin. '
'Let the commoners farm, trade, and bear children. Their role is to nourish the warrior class. Sending them to the front lines is nothing but a death sentence!'
This belief had been deeply ingrained in the populace over thousands of years.
---
Once the Yharnis army finished arranging their formation, a middle-aged man with a handsome face rode a powerful warhorse to the front lines, moving a few paces ahead of his soldiers.
Looking up at Jaemar atop the fortress, he laughed heartily.
"Surrender, dear Crown Prince Jaemar! I'd rather not see you hurt—it would be such a shame!"
His troops burst into raucous laughter behind him, clearly mocking Jaemar, hoping to humiliate him publicly.
Watching the soldiers jeer without restraint, Jaemar's facial muscles twitched slightly. Gritting his teeth, he muttered,
"Harrey, I hope you're still laughing when this is over."
Harrey sneered, unbothered. "Of course I will. You think you can win with so few men? Sure, there are stories of the few defeating the many, but if you were that capable, would I even have made it this far?"
He shook his head and added with a hint of pity, "Jaemar, I'll admit—you're not without talent. But your father? He was a fool. In just over a decade, he squandered most of the Mardain Principality's wealth and strength. If it weren't for that, Yharnis would never have considered an invasion."
"Surrender now. Sign the accord, and we'll withdraw immediately. You've lost the upper hand. Any further resistance is meaningless. At least surrendering will preserve a shred of dignity."
Truthfully, he didn't want to fight if he didn't have to. A battle meant casualties, even in a one-sided conflict. Though they held overwhelming superiority, Mardain's defenses weren't made of paper. Winning would still come at a cost.
Victory was victory—but returning home without losses was always better than dragging back a blood-soaked, broken army.
These were elite troops, after all. Harrey had no desire to lose them needlessly.
But Jaemar only scoffed in reply.
"Surrender? So you can string me up as a national disgrace and make yourself a hero?"
He was a knight. A prince. A symbol of his nation's pride.
If he surrendered voluntarily, how would his subordinates view him? What would his people think?
Just the thought made Jaemar seethe with fury. The Mardain royal family had stood tall for over a thousand years—was he really about to be the one to ruin it all?
He continued coldly, "And don't think I don't know. Two of the men who deceived my father into ruin… were from Yharnis."
Harrey didn't even bother denying it. He just smiled dismissively and waved a hand.
"So what? Didn't you send your own spies into our lands to stir up trouble? The only difference is that we succeeded—and you didn't. Blame your father for being arrogant and stupid."
Jaemar didn't argue. It was true. Mardain had its own share of underhanded tactics. And yes—his father had been a damn fool.
If not for his royal status, Jaemar would've liked nothing more than to slap that old man a few times. What had once been a prosperous nation had been dragged into decline by sheer incompetence.
He straightened his chestplate, brushing his fingers over the royal crest, and declared solemnly:
"Harrey, there's no point in more words. You and I both know this is the deciding moment between Mardain and Yharnis. Neither of us is backing down."
Then, in his heart, he added: 'Even if I have to cheat... '
Harrey seemed to sense there was more beneath the surface—but didn't care. He let out a hearty laugh.
"So be it! I'll crush your army head-on and make you admit defeat!"
Drawing his longsword from its sheath, he bellowed his commands:
"Siege engines forward! Infantry in formation! Cavalry—prepare to break the gates!"
At his command, the entire Yharnis army surged forward, closing in on Grindbone fortress
On the wall, Jaemar remained expressionless. He raised a hand slightly and instructed the general beside him, "Have the archers and artillery units wait for my signal. Let them fire once the enemy is within a hundred paces."
"Understood."
Once the general had departed, Jaemar reached into his pocket and took out a ruby the size of a dove's egg. Rubbing its smooth surface, he turned to the only man still beside him—Baron Duren.
"What do you think this thing can actually do?"
Duren, the only other person who knew about Orsaga's existence, understood exactly what the gemstone represented. It was Jaemar's trump card—acquired through a deal with that terrifying entity.
"I cannot say, Your Highness," Duren replied honestly. "To my eyes, it's just a ruby…"
Jaemar smiled faintly.
"Yes, a ruby. To the naked eye, it's nothing more."
"But the moment I held it, I instinctively understood something—its purpose. It's hard to explain, but it was like something was added to my mind… a new way of seeing. I could feel what would happen once it was activated…"
He tilted his head slightly, dodging a stray arrow, and continued.
"Through this gem, I can faintly sense that demon's power. It's not something mortals can comprehend."
"You know, he's been so calm… He hardly ever leaves his quarters. He doesn't match any of the historical accounts of demons who bring chaos and ruin. But even so—I can't shake the sense of danger he gives off."
"His eyes... From the very first day, they've never changed. Still so cold. So cruel. In his gaze, we are dust. He never once considered our thoughts. Never imposed any real constraints. Aside from a few harmless commands and placing some minor curses as a warning, he's completely ignored us. As if he wouldn't care even if we betrayed him outright."
"I don't know what he's planning. But I do know he's becoming more dangerous by the day. He craves blood and souls, yet he never makes a move. It's unnatural."
"It's like a starving wolf has wandered into the sheepfold—yet refuses to eat. That doesn't make sense. He must be wary of something… because no wolf would peacefully coexist with sheep unless something was stopping it."
Duren lowered his head and said solemnly, "Your Highness, I believe only the Church might have the answers we seek."
Jaemar shook his head slowly and sighed.
"Yes… They know demons better than anyone. But the Church is a beast of its own. Just as capable of devouring us."
"They've long tried to elevate divine power above royal authority. The moment they get an opportunity, the Mardain Principality will be in even deeper trouble…"
From his elevated position, Jaemar could see farther. What seemed like a simple situation to Duren was, to him, an intricate web. Every step had to be carefully considered.
He walked to the edge of the wall and looked down at the enemy soldiers flooding toward the gates. He could see the madness and excitement in their eyes—the euphoria of impending victory.
They'd probably already imagined how they'd plunder and parade home in glory.
Jaemar shook his head and whispered:
"I hope some of you survive. It's hard to perform a proper ritual without enough sacrifices…"
Then, without hesitation, he crushed the gemstone in his palm.
A wave of crimson light exploded over the skies above the fortress.
The soldiers on both sides briefly paused, casting confused glances at the strange glow in the sky.
But they weren't given time to think.
The moment Jaemar mentally marked the target area, the entire Yharnis army—anyone below the rank of captain Knight—suddenly showed an uncontrollable bloodlust in their eyes.
And the slaughter began anew.
Only now, their targets were not just Mardain soldiers.
They attacked everyone nearby.
Friend or foe, it didn't matter.
As long as it lived—it was the enemy.
The battlefield descended into utter madness.
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