The Immortal Genius Spearman

Chapter 155

The order had been issued.

"Form up!"

"Quickly finish your preparations and assemble in front of the barracks!"

As the squad leaders shouted their commands, the soldiers of the Caion Unit sprang into action, grabbing their spears and shields and lining up in formation.

Damian walked slowly to the front, his gaze sweeping over the assembled troops.

"This is the command we’ve both long awaited and perhaps dreaded," he began.

Though they were a unit created for war, who would ever truly want to step onto a battlefield?

War meant someone had to die.

Yet for Damian, this was the moment he had been waiting for more than anything else.

Some might call him a warmonger, or even mad.

But how many had truly endured the horrors of the past wars and emerged unscathed?

"We were the ones crushed under the Empire's monstrous advance, powerless to resist."

Now, however, things were different.

"This era of chaos is not the same as before."

Unlike the dark days when men were forcibly conscripted and even criminals were sent to fight, the current war was not driven by sheer desperation.

The Empire hadn’t set foot on Baroque soil yet; instead, they were the ones now preparing to march into the Empire.

The Spanian Kingdom had nearly been sacrificed to get here, but they had survived.

Damian’s thoughts turned to the collective resilience of the allied forces.

"They endured and united under the banner of the alliance."

He looked at his soldiers and spoke.

"Imagine it."

The soldiers’ attention focused sharply on him.

"If the Empire had swallowed the Spanian Kingdom and marched straight into the Baroque Kingdom, what would have happened?"

He knew many of his men hailed from the northern regions of Baroque.

"The north would have been engulfed in flames in a matter of days, trampled by the Empire’s forces, and left soaked in the blood of countless innocents."

The soldiers’ expressions hardened.

Many of them had seen firsthand the atrocities committed by the Empire in Sragan, where innocent lives were discarded like trash.

The memory fueled their smoldering anger.

"But thanks to our intervention, the Spanian Kingdom still stands, and our kingdom has been spared a direct invasion."

Damian spoke calmly but resolutely, acknowledging their efforts.

The Caion Unit had played a critical role in the decisive battles, achieving feats that earned them respect and recognition.

However—

"That doesn’t mean our kingdom—or our families—will remain safe in the future."

The atmosphere shifted as Damian’s words resonated.

"The reason we march to war is for that future. To protect our families and secure the safety of our kingdom, we must face the enemy head-on."

His voice grew louder, laced with mana as he shouted.

"Is there anyone here who fears this march?"

"NO, SIR!"

The resounding response echoed powerfully, boosting the unit’s morale.

With a grin, Damian declared, "Then, as of this moment, the Caion Unit will march to the battlefield. Whoever dares to stand in our way—no matter who they are—we will crush them! Is that clear?"

"YES, SIR!"

"Caion Unit, move out!"

At Damian’s command, the revitalized Caion Unit began their march toward the battlefield.

***

Benoit Yulianos, chancellor of the Cartelia Empire, had been closely monitoring the movements of the Artian envoy to the Baroque Kingdom.

"They’ve forged an alliance, haven’t they?"

"Not only that," his aide replied. "The Baroque Kingdom has already allied with the Spanian Kingdom, while the Artian Kingdom has formed alliances with the Iren and Tirkan Kingdoms. An allied force is now taking shape."

This left the Sailonian Kingdom as the only minor kingdom not aligned with the alliance.

"Still, the Sailonian Kingdom isn’t our main concern," Benoit remarked.

The real threat was the union of two major powers: the Baroque and Artian Kingdoms.

Together, they could rival the Empire’s strength—assuming they could fully mobilize their forces.

"And if all their forces converge," Benoit added, "the sheer scale of their territory makes them a significant threat."

He contemplated their likely approach.

"If they move through the Baroque Kingdom, it will take them at least a month to reach us. If they choose to travel by sea, they’ll face enormous risks."

The Empire’s naval superiority meant that any sea route would be a gamble for the allied forces.

Even so, Benoit acknowledged the Artian Kingdom’s swift decision-making.

"I expected it would take at least three to four months for them to form an alliance," he said, his tone grudgingly admiring.

"But they’ve moved faster than anticipated."

"What will you do now?" asked his aide. "With the ongoing battles, we don’t have many troops left to spare."

Benoit smiled coldly.

"We still have cards to play. It’s too early to worry about such matters. For now…"

He paused, his gaze calculating.

"Before their alliance solidifies, we must cut off one of their arms."

Benoit issued his next command.

"Send General Galveron to the Tirkan Kingdom. If we can sever their alliance with Artian before their forces arrive, it will deal them a significant blow."

The alliance with the Tirkan and Iren Kingdoms was crucial for the Artian Kingdom’s plans.

If the Empire could destroy one of those ties, it would destabilize the entire coalition.

The secretary, Taloud Beikun, nodded and left the room swiftly.

The coming days would be a race against time—a battle of speed and strategy.

Soon, the war between the allied forces and the Empire would begin in earnest.

Benoit chuckled softly to himself.

"Let the real game begin."

Benoit Yulianos couldn’t contain his laughter, even though the situation wasn’t unfolding exactly as planned.

The continent now seemed more alive than ever, its long-dormant energy ignited by the prospect of war.

“His Majesty will no doubt enjoy these eventful days,” Benoit muttered to himself as he walked toward the Emperor’s chambers.

Benoit, much like the Emperor, was a man enthralled by war.

***

The 70,000-strong Artian army had been marching relentlessly through the Baroque Kingdom toward the north.

But no matter how efficient their movements, the sheer size of the force imposed natural limitations on speed.

“How long has it been since we left the kingdom?” asked Celestine Favela, halting the march to allow the soldiers a brief rest.

“Fifteen days, General,” her adjutant Richel replied.

“Even with all this haste, we haven’t yet crossed the Baroque Kingdom’s borders,” Celestine remarked.

It was unrealistic to expect a 15-day march to traverse the entire Baroque Kingdom.

It would take at least another week before they reached their assembly point in the Spanian Kingdom.

Richel added cautiously, “By now, the Empire has likely noticed our movements.”

“They must have,” Celestine replied. “And I expect their next move will be to attack the nearest vulnerable target.”

The most obvious choice would be...

“The Tirkan Kingdom.”

The Artian army couldn’t prevent an attack on Tirkan due to the physical distance.

“Do you think they’ll really target Tirkan?” Richel asked.

“They have no reason not to,” Celestine said firmly. “From their perspective, it’s a necessary move.”

The possibility had already been anticipated by Henry Saint-André, the mastermind behind Artian’s strategy.

Tirkan was always meant to serve as a strategic buffer zone, which was why a treaty had been forged with them.

Despite Celestine’s confidence, Richel’s unease was evident.

“Shouldn’t we prepare for that eventuality?”

“I’ve heard that Henry has already taken measures. I don’t know what they are, but I trust him.”

For now, their focus was on reaching the Spanian Kingdom as quickly as possible.

Celestine waved Richel away.

“Go and rest. We’ll resume soon.”

“Understood. Please rest as well, General.”

As Richel left, Celestine entered her temporary quarters and lay down, planning to rest briefly before continuing the march.

Yet, her mind lingered on Henry’s mysterious preparations.

At the same time, Galveron, a general of the Empire, had begun his advance into the Tirkan Kingdom.

Unlike his previous invasion, this time he marched straight for the capital.

He knew the route well—it wasn’t a challenge.

However, when Galveron arrived at the Tirkan capital, he was greeted with an unexpected sight.

“...What?”

The entire city was empty.

Not a single soul remained in the capital. The citizens had packed their belongings and evacuated elsewhere.

“No one is here!”

“The palace is completely abandoned!”

Imperial soldiers scoured the city, reporting back to Galveron, whose expression twisted in frustration.

“...They actually abandoned the entire capital?” he muttered through gritted teeth.

The capital of the Tirkan Kingdom was devoid of life, not even a single insect left behind.

Galveron’s lips curled into a grimace as he barked orders at his subordinates.

“Even if they’ve moved, they can’t have gone far. Dispatch search parties to the surrounding territories. Find where they’ve relocated!”

“Yes, sir!”

The officers quickly organized search teams. Each group consisted of about 50 soldiers, chosen for their speed, to efficiently scour the nearby cities.

Galveron addressed his troops with cold calculation.

“We have ten days at most. Find them within that time. And...”

His eyes swept across the desolate capital.

“Burn this city to the ground when we leave. Leave nothing for them to return to.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Imperial soldiers began preparations, spreading straw and oil throughout the city and palace to ensure it could be set ablaze in moments.

As his soldiers worked efficiently, Galveron waited patiently. Soon, news would come, and it would be the report he was waiting for.

But the news that reached Galveron the next day was far from what he expected.

“G-General Galveron!”

“What is it?”

“Urgent report! The search party sent to the nearby city has been ambushed!”

It had been an enemy ambush—prepared, calculated, and executed with deadly precision.