I’ll Be the Boss Myself

Vol-3

Chapter 76: The Gears of War Will Be Turned by Us

Nolan’s gaze swept across the map, his finger lightly tapping the northern bank of the Somme River. After a moment of thought, he had already reached a conclusion regarding Vivi’s report. The information itself might have been brief, but the implications behind it were immense.

In this era, warfare was decided by information gaps. Because communication was so difficult, judgments regarding enemy strength, tactical deployment, and even the commanding officer’s personal habits could dramatically alter the course of a battle. Certain key details—fortifications, marching routes, supply lines, the timing and locations of logistical movements—could directly determine life or death.

Using a red charcoal pencil, Nolan marked a small cross on the map at the location where Vivi’s squad had encountered the enemy.

“You all did well. Especially you, Vivi. Disrupting the enemy’s thought process was extremely important. You’ve all worked hard.”

Nolan raised his head and looked toward the members of Vivi’s squad.

Beside him, Anna spoke at the perfect moment. “According to Coldsteel City’s wartime regulations, for making first contact with the enemy, successfully obtaining intelligence, and returning safely, every squad member will receive a reward of two gold coins.”

The moment the words fell, Peter, Reed, and the others instantly lit up. Being praised personally by the lord had already made them ecstatic, but there was a reward too?

Two gold coins!

Although it was less than the amount the enemy had offered for surrender, that only proved Lord Nolan was a ruler who rewarded and punished fairly and respected established rules.

The men immediately became even more excited, each one standing straighter and puffing out his chest.

Watching them struggle to maintain solemn expressions despite their obvious excitement, Nolan smiled and waved his hand. “Alright. You’re all tired. Go rest and recover first.”

“Yes, my lord!”

The four squad members saluted so sharply it was almost excessive, stamping their right feet down in perfect unison.

Bang! The sound rang loudly enough to shake the floor of the conference hall.

The sudden display nearly startled Nolan. He stared at the soldiers, whose entire demeanor had transformed completely, then glanced toward Hank standing nearby with his arms crossed and a stern expression.

Had Hank really trained them that brutally?

Seeing Nolan momentarily caught off guard, Vivi could not help covering her mouth and laughing softly.

Only after the scout squad left the lord’s manor did the tension finally leave their bodies.

Unable to hold himself back, Peter nudged Reed with his elbow and lowered his voice excitedly. “Hey, Brother Reed, can you believe Lord Nolan praised us personally? That was incredible! Oh, and did you notice the way Captain Vivi was looking at him just now? She looked completely smitten. Do you think she and Lord Nolan…” He trailed off midway and merely raised two thumbs, tapping them together meaningfully.

The implication could not have been clearer. A little something going on.

No matter the era, people loved gossip involving heroes and beautiful women.

Reed jumped in fright and quickly glanced around guiltily. Only after confirming no one was nearby did he smack Peter on the back of the head. “You brat, are you insane? We’ve barely stepped outside the lord’s manor and you’re already gossiping about our superiors!”

Unexpectedly, Conrad—the taciturn former Fire Fox mercenary—suddenly let out a low chuckle. “Heh. That’s nothing.” A trace of inexplicable superiority appeared on his face. “If you stay around Lord Nolan long enough, it’s obvious Captain Vivi has been in love with him for ages. The only one still clueless is our lord himself. Watching him stumble around obliviously is enough to make me anxious for him!”

“Seriously? Tell us more!” Even Locke, who had remained relatively calm until now, immediately became interested and leaned in eagerly.

And so the four grown men walked back toward camp shoulder to shoulder, gossiping enthusiastically about their leaders’ love lives while happily clutching their gold coins.

From a second-floor window of the conference hall, Anna watched the entire scene unfold. Those four fools who thought they were whispering quietly had been perfectly audible to her.

She turned her head, looked at Nolan—still bent over the sand-table map in deep concentration—then glanced at Vivi, who stood silently nearby watching him.

With a faint shake of her head, Anna sighed inwardly.

There truly was no such thing as a perfect person. If only this blockhead could occasionally stop moving forward long enough to notice the feelings of the girls around him.

Unfortunately, Nolan the blockhead noticed none of it. After what seemed like reaching a decision, he braced one fist against the table and looked up at Vivi. “I know Sir Pascal. He’s an experienced soldier. His style is methodical and rigid, and he never takes unnecessary risks. His scout units generally advance no farther than seventy li ahead. Judging by his preferred strategy of gradual positional advancement, that’s roughly equivalent to four days of marching.”

Nolan’s finger slowly traced the flow of the Somme River northward.

“So with his cautious personality, the earliest he’ll arrive at the Somme River should be the fifth day.”

The fact that Nolan could deduce so much from a simple scouting encounter stunned everyone present, especially Hank.

He and Pascal were old comrades who had once fought side by side during the Mandala War. Every single sentence Nolan spoke struck directly at Pascal’s core habits and character flaws. It almost felt as though Nolan understood the old man even better than Hank himself did.

Ignoring their astonishment, Nolan continued, “So what we need to do now… is turn him blind. Vivi.”

“Yes!”

“How many personnel does the Black Armored Legion Scout Division currently have?”

“One hundred and eighty in total, ready for deployment at any time!” Vivi answered immediately.

“Good.” Nolan nodded. “Then the next few days will be hard on you.”

“Split the Scout Division into ten squads. Launch continuous rotating operations without interruption. I want you to execute ‘Wave Tactics.’ Use relentless harassment and counter-reconnaissance operations to lock their scouting range firmly within twenty li north of the Somme River.”

“Yes, my lord!”

Excitement flashed through Vivi’s eyes.

This battle would determine the survival of Coldsteel City itself. Being entrusted with such an important role at such a critical moment filled her with joy.

Nolan shifted his attention away from Vivi and turned toward Hank. “I estimate Sir Pascal will attempt to cross the Somme River sometime between the sixth and eighth day. As hosts, we should offer our guests a proper welcome. Hank.”

“Here.”

“Select three hundred men from the Black Armored Legion. Starting tonight, after dark every evening, have them begin preparing the Somme River.”

Hank frowned. “You want to move the defensive line forward to the Somme River? But how exactly are you planning to fortify it? Even though the river is in its dry season, the current in the center is still strong. Ordinary wooden chevaux-de-frise won’t survive the flow. They’d probably be swept away overnight.”

Nolan smiled confidently. “Who said anything about using wooden barricades? I’ve been thinking about this for a while and realized this is actually a perfect opportunity. Originally, my plan was to rely on the city walls and fight a defensive siege battle, but that would leave us with no strategic depth at all and force the entire war to be decided in a single engagement. Although I’m confident we can win, I’d rather leave myself room for contingencies.”

He extended his hand and drew a sharp line across the blue curve representing the Somme River on the sand table.

“I’m going to turn the Somme River into a complete meat grinder. And right there, we’ll crush the core of their army.”

“A meat grinder…” Hank repeated, brows furrowing deeper.

“That’s right.” Nolan smiled. “But we’re the grinder. And they’re the meat.”

—

“Meat grinder…” Hank repeated Nolan’s words, his brows knitting together.

Seeing his reaction, Nolan suddenly asked an unrelated question, “Hank, do you remember the trouble Leus used to cause back in Rosenberg?”

Leus?

Hank frowned as a flood of unpleasant memories surfaced in his mind.

Back then, Leus had been nowhere near as dependable as he was now. One day he would fill the neighborhood with clouds of multicolored smoke and earn collective complaints from the residents; the next, he would nearly blow his own alchemy shop sky-high with some failed “reverse tuning” experiment.

Then, all at once, Hank understood what Nolan meant. “You mean those ‘energy condensation crystals’ we saw before?”

“Exactly.” Nolan snapped his fingers. “Master Leus is a true alchemical genius. He’s improved and upgraded them. The current version is stronger and far more stable. It even has a new name now: Thunderclap.” He raised two fingers. “There are about two hundred prototypes stored in the city warehouses. We’ll take half of them and bury one every fifteen meters along the riverbed. These things are far more effective than wooden stakes, and they’re heavy enough that the current won’t wash them away.”

Yet unlike usual, Hank did not immediately answer with his customary firm acknowledgment. He fell silent. In those sharp, hawk-like eyes of his appeared a rare trace of hesitation.

Noticing something off about him, Nolan assumed he was recalling the instability accidents involving the old crystals.

“Don’t worry.” Nolan patted his shoulder reassuringly. “The current Thunderclaps are very safe. They won’t explode at the slightest disturbance anymore. As long as we don’t deliberately trigger them, they’re nothing more than stones.”

Standing nearby, Anna looked at her father’s tense profile and sighed softly. “Father… isn’t worried about that.” Her words drew everyone’s attention. “I know this may not be the right time to say it…”

There was pain in Anna’s eyes, but she did not avoid the subject.

“But… the soldiers across the river are still Elfinians.”

That single sentence shattered the reality everyone had been deliberately avoiding. No matter their allegiance, they were still citizens of the same kingdom, compatriots who spoke the same language.

Nolan closed his eyes. Only the crackling of candle flames remained in the council chamber.

When he opened them again, all hesitation had vanished from those emerald-green eyes.

“I know.”

His voice was calm.

“But the moment they chose to follow Archduke Demont and tolerate his atrocities, they became our enemies. On the battlefield, it’s kill or be killed. Even if we show mercy, they won’t hesitate when they swing their swords. Whether we use Thunderclaps or blades, one side must fall before the other can continue forward. There is no second path.”

Hank drew in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. He was a veteran who had survived bloody wars. No one understood this truth better than he did. Once the tide of war was set in motion, the fighting would continue until one side finally yielded.

In truth, if Nolan still carried traces of idealism in his words and actions, then Hank was the most pragmatic person in the entire group. He had never entertained the naïve fantasy of saving everyone. That fleeting hesitation had come from a single name.

Pascal.

The name had instantly stirred one of the few warm memories left from the hellscape of the Mandala War. It was the bond between comrades. Though the two had long since gone their separate ways, that figure he had once trusted enough to leave his back exposed to had undeniably existed.

Hank pulled a cigar from his coat and took a fierce drag. The ember flared bright red, illuminating the resolve that had returned to his weathered face.

“Nolan’s right.”

Smoke poured from his mouth, obscuring his expression.

“I let myself grow weak for a moment. For the glory of the kingdom, for the ideals we share, I’ll keep moving forward without wavering. Even if it means crossing blades with former comrades.”

Anna looked at her father, then at Nolan, and sighed once more. How could she not understand?

“The scales of fate were never fair,” she said softly. “But I believe in my lord. I believe a miracle will happen.”

Hank burst into hearty laughter instead, the sound dispelling the oppressive atmosphere. “So the younger generation’s gotten a good laugh at this old man, huh?” He deliberately put on a stern face. “None of you are allowed to tell outsiders about this. I’d still like to keep a bit of my dignity.”

Nolan laughed as well and walked over to clap him heavily on the shoulder. “Remember what I told you before? I’m not some heroic savior. It’s not that I don’t want to be one—I’m simply not worthy of it. A true hero should be flawless and pure, but I can’t do that. I can’t save this kingdom I love while keeping my hands completely clean. The path I’ve chosen was always destined to be stained with the sins of every life lost along the way.”

Everyone present could feel the crushing weight of that conviction.

“But I don’t regret it. Not for your sake, nor for Elfin’s future.” And… for Princess Flina, and that ideal, he added silently in his heart.

Some truths were not yet ready to be revealed.

Vivi stood to the side, staring at Nolan in a daze.

That was the kind of person he was. Naïve, yet terrifyingly clear-headed.

He never indulged in empty talk about ideals. No one understood reality’s cruelty better than he did. Yet somehow, this man who seemed to have already seen through the essence of the world still carried the fiercest flame of idealism in his heart.

Without anyone noticing, that flame had become a beacon lighting the road ahead for them all.

To Vivi, this lord who walked alone beneath invisible burdens shone more brilliantly than any legendary hero.

Nolan did not continue the heavy topic. Turning around, he looked toward Rehanna. “By the way, Rehanna, the latest batch of black armor from Leus is finished, right?”

Rehanna nodded excitedly. “It’s done! Four hundred and fifty sets in total!” The moment the subject came up, her energy surged. “The Hurricane Enchantments nearly worked Master Leus and his apprentices to death. Lady Ailindel also took time to help inscribe the cloak runes. Four hundred and fifty sets are already the absolute production limit of the alchemy workshop and the forge.”

“That’s already far beyond my expectations.” Excitement flashed in Nolan’s eyes as well. “Excellent!” He lightly struck the sand table with his fist. “Rehanna, Hank!”

“Yes!” the two answered in unison.

“Starting today, immediately select the best four hundred soldiers from the Black Armored Legion and have them familiarize themselves with the new equipment first. The entire city is to enter its final state of total mobilization. All logistical supplies are to be centralized and prepared for deployment at any moment.”

Nolan’s gaze swept across everyone present—Vivi, Hank, Anna, Rehanna…

He drew a deep breath, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. “This battle will decide the fate of Coldsteel City and the fate of every one of us! It will also be the battle through which we prove our worth to all of Demont Province—and to the entire kingdom! We will show everyone that we are a force capable of reshaping the kingdom’s future! From this moment onward, the gears of war will be turned by us!”

Inside the Coldsteel City council chamber, beneath the chill of late autumn, everyone’s blood ignited at once. Together, they answered their lord with the slogan once belonging to the legendary Black Armor Army.

“To the death, and never surrender!”

Chapter 77: Warfare

At noon the next day, on the withered yellow grasslands along the northern bank of the Somme River, pounding hooves continuously kicked clouds of dust into the air. The late autumn sun hung overhead without warmth, adding only dryness to the land.

Vivi led her scout squad—eighteen riders in total—across the wasteland at full gallop. Her furry tiger ears twitched subtly in the wind, catching even the faintest sound drifting through the air.

“Stop.” She suddenly raised a hand, and the entire squad instantly pulled their reins tight. The warhorses let out uneasy whinnies before quickly settling under their riders’ control.

Peter and the others followed Vivi’s gaze. Several miles ahead, on a distant rise, a few vague figures could be seen.

“Are they ours, Captain?” Peter asked quietly.

Vivi drew one of Leus’ specially made signal arrows from the quiver beside her saddle, loaded it into her crossbow, and fired it into the sky.

A shrill whistle tore through the air.

Moments later, a similar signal echoed back from the distant high ground.

“It’s the Fourth Squad.” Vivi lowered her crossbow and lightly pressed her heels against her horse’s sides. “Move.”

As they drew closer, Vivi’s nose twitched faintly. The smell of blood in the air had grown stronger. The squad atop the hill turned toward them, and the man leading them rode forward to meet them.

Behind him fluttered a black banner emblazoned with a crimson sword.

Black symbolized the deep, solemn land of the kingdom beneath their feet, while the striking red blade represented “unyielding resistance” in the culture of the Elfin Kingdom.

Vivi loved that flag. She didn’t understand the complicated language of heraldry, nor did she care about its official symbolism. She simply thought the combination of black and red resembled Lord Nolan himself—deep and burning at the same time. It looked incredibly good.

“Captain!” The rider who approached them was Conrad, formerly of the Firefox Mercenary Corps. His face still carried traces of killing intent, but the moment he saw Vivi, he immediately snapped into a standard military salute.

“How’s the situation?” Vivi asked.

Conrad grinned, baring white teeth as he pointed toward several corpses lying uncollected behind them. “Pretty much exactly what the lord predicted. Those bastards seem to send another batch to die every four or five hours. We just clashed with them and dropped six. The rest were scared witless and ran for their lives.” He slapped his arm, where a shallow cut still seeped blood. “We’ve got two wounded on our side. Just scratches. Nothing serious.”

“Well done.” Vivi nodded. “Your mission is complete. First Squad is taking over this sector now. Fall back five miles and maintain perimeter watch. In one hour, return to Coldsteel City for rest and rotation.”

“Understood, Captain!” Conrad answered crisply, saluted once more, then wheeled his horse around and led his squad back toward the Somme River.

The entire handover was smooth and effortless, without a single unnecessary word.

Watching them depart, Peter could not help sighing in admiration. “Brother Conrad’s team is seriously fierce. Aside from us, they’re probably the squad with the highest battle record.”

Vivi merely smiled without replying. For the past two days, scenes like this had played out every few hours across the vast plains along the riverbank.

Nolan had named this tactic “Wave.”

The Scout Division’s one hundred and eighty men had been divided into ten squads, rotating in cycles of two to three hours. Each “wave” remained on the battlefield only briefly, ensuring every scout could fight at peak physical condition and maximum concentration at all times. The strategy maintained relentless twenty-four-hour pressure against enemy scouts without exhausting their own forces.

The true brilliance, however, lay in the overlapping duty period before and after each rotation.

For roughly an hour, incoming and outgoing squads operated simultaneously, providing immediate fire support and extraction for units completing high-intensity operations. Afterward, the previous squad would retreat outward to recover while maintaining perimeter vigilance. If anything unexpected occurred, the reserve squad could reinforce immediately and create a numerical advantage, minimizing casualties and ensuring safe withdrawal.

To Pascal’s allied army, which still relied on traditional reconnaissance methods, the endless offensive was a complete nightmare.

Vivi had truly proven herself worthy of being an elite Nightingale, displaying astonishing talent as a scout commander. Under her coordination and leadership, the black tide formed by the Black Armored Legion scouts had compressed the reconnaissance range of Pascal’s army to within twenty miles north of the Somme River.

“Alright, boys, enough chatting.” Vivi withdrew her gaze. “Time to work. Stay sharp. Maybe the next big catch will be ours.”

Meanwhile, on Sir Pascal’s side, they continued rigidly following the kingdom infantry manual’s standard tactics. Every four hours, they dispatched a light cavalry squad of around ten men to conduct wide fan-shaped reconnaissance sweeps.

And every time, they slammed headfirst into the Black Armored Legion scouts’ carefully woven killing net.

Thwip!

A crossbow bolt shot out from the grass with deadly precision, knocking a Demont scout from his saddle just as he cautiously poked his head forward.

“Ambush!!” a shrill scream ripped across the plains.

But what greeted them was an even denser rain of arrows pouring in from all directions.

“Help! There are too many of them!”

Scenes like this became the defining image of the allied scouts’ encounters. Pascal’s reconnaissance forces had been completely beaten senseless.

Inside Sir Pascal’s command tent, the atmosphere was as oppressive as a religious tribunal.

“Another… another squad lost?” one officer demanded in disbelief, staring at the messenger who had just rushed in.

The messenger knelt on one knee, drenched in sweat.

“R-reporting to the lords… the Seventh Scout Squad lost all contact one hour after deployment. The rescue party only found several corpses along the designated route…”

“Useless! A bunch of complete idiots!” a hot-tempered noble officer roared, slamming the table hard enough to make the parchment map jump. “That’s the third scout squad lost today alone! Just how many men does the enemy have? Do they have infinite arrows? Do they never need rest?”

No one could answer.

The officers inside the tent exchanged bewildered glances, every face filled with suspicion and confusion.

Once could be called bad luck—an accidental collision with the enemy’s main force. But over the course of an entire day, every scout squad they had dispatched without exception had been violently repelled.

The soldiers who managed to escape returned stripped of equipment and half out of their minds, repeating the same broken phrases over and over.

“Too fast… their arrows are too fast…”

“They’re everywhere! The second we showed ourselves, arrows came from every direction!”

“It’s like they never get tired! We ran for over ten miles and they were still chasing us!”

These chaotic and contradictory reports left Pascal’s strategists with splitting headaches.

They simply could not piece together the true scale or tactics of the enemy scout forces.

In their understanding, scout warfare was supposed to consist of small-scale, highly mobile harassment and counter-reconnaissance. But these rebel forces fought with methods that completely defied conventional logic.

It was as though they possessed endless manpower and inexhaustible stamina, like wolves that had caught the scent of blood, relentlessly crashing against the allied army’s fragile reconnaissance network without pause.

Sir Pascal stood silently before the massive sand table, his face dark. In truth, ever since the army had assembled, his mood had never improved. As a seasoned veteran, he understood perfectly well what this meant.

His army had become blind.

—

Sir Pascal felt his temples throbbing.

Something was wrong.

The allied force under his command might have been a patchwork army assembled from the private troops of several northern knight territories, but they should not have been this fragile. Scouts—the eyes and ears of an army—had somehow become its greatest expendable resource.

“My lord, we can’t keep going like this!” The bearded commander finally broke the silence when Pascal remained quiet for too long. “At this rate, the scout corps will mutiny before we even catch sight of Coldsteel City’s walls! The camp is already in panic. The men are saying the rebels are demons from the Sulfur Abyss, monsters that can’t be killed!”

“What are you panicking for?” Pascal suddenly turned, his sharp gaze sweeping across everyone inside the tent. “A bunch of rabble has frightened you into this state? Where is your pride as soldiers of the kingdom?”

His authority instantly silenced the room, but the fear and unease hanging in the air did not lessen in the slightest.

He recalled the report from the camp guards several hours earlier. Far off on a hillside, they had spotted a mounted squad observing the camp from a distance. The riders had been too far away to make out clearly, but one thing stood out vividly: a black-and-red banner snapping violently in the wind.

Black as its base, blood-red as its sword.

It was a flag he had never seen before, yet the emblem filled him with an inexplicable sense of dread.

At that moment, the tent flap was suddenly thrown open and a tall figure strode inside. It was Frost Wolf Fenrir.

He glanced around at the gloomy crowd and let out a disdainful sneer. “What, scared by a bunch of peasants? Pascal, this is the army you’re so proud of?”

“Lord Fenrir!” one of the officers tried to explain.

But Fenrir gave him no chance. He walked directly to the sand table and looked down at Pascal from above. “Old man, I don’t care what methods you use or how many men die. The march schedule can only move forward, never backward. The Archduke’s patience is limited, and we’re running out of time.”

Reconnaissance was essential, yet they had gone a full two days without receiving a single firsthand report from the southern bank of the Somme River. That entire region had become a pitch-black unknown.

The enemy commander was certainly no mindless brute. Judging from the airtight scout suppression campaign over the past few days, he was meticulous, ruthless, and always one step ahead.

An information blockade.

This was part of his plan. He was hiding something, and through these methods he was sowing fear while disrupting Pascal’s judgment.

Pascal drew a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

He could not afford to lose control. If he did, this army of nearly ten thousand men would truly be finished.

“Pass down my orders!” His voice was hoarse. “From this moment onward, suspend all scout missions!”

“What?” Everyone froze.

“Recall all light cavalry back to camp. Strengthen perimeter patrols and defensive watch.” He paused briefly, as though making up his mind about something difficult. “And one more thing. Draw men from every infantry regiment. Increase the size of each reconnaissance unit to twenty-five men, and equip them with shields.”

Assign infantry to reconnaissance teams? And in groups of twenty-five? With shields?

This completely violated the most basic principles of scouting: speed and mobility. Such units would be sluggish, conspicuous, and drastically less efficient.

But Pascal no longer cared.

His scouts had already become terrified birds startled by the mere twang of a bowstring. Sending them out again would be no different from ordering them to die. The only thing he could do now was exchange manpower for a pitiful sense of security.

“Just endure for two more days,” he told himself silently. “We still have the advantage in numbers. No matter how strong their scouts are, they can’t assault the camp itself. The advantage is still mine.”

Yet no matter what they tried, they could not break through Coldsteel City’s scouting blockade.

The next two days became pure torment for Pascal’s allied army.

The twenty-five-man reconnaissance teams looked intimidating on paper, but in practice they achieved almost nothing. These hastily assembled units moved slowly, and the coordination between infantry and cavalry was riddled with problems. They were like targets carrying torches through the darkness. Before they could even approach the Somme River, the elusive rebel scouts would already have detected them.

Then came battle after battle.

The scouts of Coldsteel City were like veteran hunters. They never engaged the allied reconnaissance teams head-on. Instead, they exploited their superior mobility, constantly circling the perimeter, harassing them, and firing cold arrows from afar. They always attacked from the most impossible angles with lethal precision, then vanished immediately after striking without lingering for even a second.

The allied reconnaissance teams were battered into confusion, exhausted and disoriented. Most of the time, they could not even catch sight of the enemy before men on their own side had already begun falling in droves.

The casualty numbers kept climbing.

In just two days, the losses suffered by the allied scout forces had reached a horrifying seventy percent.

Inside the camp, priests and alchemists treating the wounded worked without rest. Every tent was filled with agonized groans and despairing screams.

By the dawn of the fourth day, when Pascal once again ordered the scouts to deploy, an unprecedented silence settled over the scouting camp.

Not a single soldier was willing to leave his tent.

Their morale had completely collapsed.

Pascal stood before the scout camp, staring at the tightly shut tents while muffled sobbing drifted from within. His old face was ashen.

“My lord, you can’t force them anymore.” A scout officer knelt before him, pleading desperately. “If this continues, they’ll truly go mad!”

Pascal clenched his fists tightly.

What else could he do?

There was nothing he could do.

At that moment, he felt like a beast trapped inside a cage, possessing immense strength yet unable to unleash it anywhere.

In the end, he could only wave his hand wearily and silently permit the scout corps’ “strike.”

And so the army continued advancing toward the Somme River beneath a strange, oppressive atmosphere.

Without scouts to clear the path ahead, the marching speed of the entire force slowed to less than half its previous pace. The soldiers moved like frightened birds, every step cautious, terrified that deadly arrows might suddenly fly from the roadside grass or that demons of the Somme River might drop from the trees overhead.

Yet strangely enough, they encountered no ambushes along the way.

The terrifying rebel scouts seemed to have vanished overnight. There were no guerrilla attacks, no harassment, no traps.

But that very silence only deepened Pascal’s unease.

He felt like a traveler walking through a pitch-black night without a torch. Every step landed on the unknown, praying that no venomous snakes, savage beasts, or hidden swamps waited ahead. Though it caused no immediate physical harm, the fear of the unknown was far more torturous than open battle.

He was clearly the side with overwhelming numbers and superior equipment, yet somehow he felt trapped in passivity everywhere he turned, frustrated to the extreme.

“My lord, we’ve reached the designated position. We’re now less than twenty-five miles from the northern bank of the Somme River,” a guard reported.

“I understand.” Pascal nodded expressionlessly.

He lifted his gaze southward, as though trying to pierce the mist and see Coldsteel City beyond it.

Once they crossed the Somme River, endless plains awaited them. On open ground, every scheme and trick the enemy possessed would be stripped bare. Against absolute superiority in numbers, he was confident he could crush those arrogant rebels in a decisive conventional battle.

“As long as we cross the Somme River the morning after tomorrow, everything ahead will be open plains. Once we reach there, our numerical advantage can fully unfold. Everything will get better.”

Pascal silently comforted himself with those thoughts.

Suppressing the unease in his heart by force, he began mentally planning the battle that would come after the crossing.

What he did not know was that on the unseen southern bank of the Somme River, a massive “engineering project” was proceeding methodically under Nolan’s command.

And step by step, he was leading his army of nearly ten thousand men directly toward the carefully prepared slaughterhouse known as the Somme River.

Chapter 78: Beyond Legend

In stark contrast to the oppressive fear spreading through Pascal’s allied army, Coldsteel City was overflowing with energy and activity.

Under Nolan’s orders, the final preparations before the war were being carried out at full speed. One of those tasks was the evacuation of the villagers living in the two settlements between Coldsteel City and the Somme River.

“Evacuate the villages?”

When Anna received the order, she looked slightly surprised.

Between Coldsteel City and the Somme River stood two moderately sized villages inhabited by several hundred farmers and hunters. Since Coldsteel City’s surrounding towns mainly consisted of miners and their families due to its iron and silver production, these villages were an important part of the region’s food supply.

“That’s right.” Nolan pointed at the map. “The war is about to begin, and I don’t want a single innocent person caught in it. Move them temporarily to the area near the Black Armored Legion’s camp outside the city. That’s the safest place.”

Not to secure grain supplies, but to protect innocent lives. It was exactly the kind of thing Nolan would do.

Anna nodded and accepted the assignment.

But inwardly, she was uneasy.

People naturally hated leaving their homeland. Asking villagers who had lived here for generations to abandon their homes and farmland within a day or two and relocate to an unfamiliar place would almost certainly meet enormous resistance.

Human hearts were complicated.

Even if Nolan’s intentions were purely protective, rumors and suspicions could easily spread. Some might believe the lord intended to use the war as an excuse to drive them away and seize their land.

Nolan had even warned her beforehand that if the villagers refused to cooperate, she was authorized to employ limited force if necessary.

War was approaching, and any hesitation or misplaced softness could lead to irreversible tragedy.

Anna had already prepared herself for endless persuasion, pleading, and perhaps even riots from angry villagers.

On the road there, she rehearsed her words over and over, trying to find a tone that would not sound too forceful and provoke resentment. At the same time, she reminded herself to harden her heart. If things turned bad, then even if she had to drag them away by force, she would still fulfill her lord’s orders.

Yet when Anna arrived at the first village with a squad of guards, the sight before her left her frozen in place.

At the village entrance, the village chief and several elders had already been waiting.

The moment they saw Anna, the old chief hurried forward on trembling legs before she could even speak.

“People from Coldsteel City are here!”

With that shout, more villagers gathered from every direction. Some still held farming tools in their hands, straw clinging to their clothes.

The guards immediately grew tense and stepped forward with hands on their sword hilts, instinctively moving to shield Anna.

But Anna shook her head, signaling them to stand down.

The guards hesitated. If anything happened to the chief administrator, Lord Nolan would undoubtedly explode in fury. Everyone knew how important she was to him. Still, under Anna’s insistence, they obeyed and quietly stepped back, though vigilance remained in their eyes.

Anna walked forward, and the old village chief immediately spoke with excitement.

“Ah, Lady Anna, the chief administrator! You’ve come to deliver Lord Nolan’s orders, haven’t you?”

“Ah… yes.”

“We’ve all heard already! Lord Nolan is going to war against that old bastard Demont for our sake!” The old man’s beard trembled with emotion. “Just give the order, milady! Do you need manpower? Grain? Say the word, and our whole village will obey without complaint!”

Faced with such a scene, all the explanations Anna had prepared during the journey lodged uselessly in her throat. She could not utter a single word, and even the guards behind her exchanged bewildered looks.

Looking at the villagers’ sincere and eager faces, Anna suddenly realized she had not even made any demands yet. “Um… Village Chief, Lord Nolan hopes everyone can temporarily relocate to a settlement area outside the city…”

She had barely explained her purpose and had not even gotten to the reason for the evacuation when the entire village erupted into excitement.

“I told you! Lord Nolan would never abandon us!”

“Relocate? No problem!” The old village chief slammed his cane heavily against the ground. “We should’ve left long ago! Staying here would only cause trouble for Lord Nolan!” He turned and shouted at the villagers pouring in behind him, “Hurry up! Stop standing around and get home to pack!”

The entire village instantly sprang into motion.

Not a trace of reluctance appeared on anyone’s face. Instead, the villagers radiated genuine joy and excitement. The men shouted as they prepared ox carts, the women efficiently packed belongings, and the children ran excitedly through the village spreading the news. It looked less like an evacuation and more like a festival.

Their enthusiasm left Anna and the guards completely at a loss.

What… exactly was happening?

The villagers were accustomed to farm labor, and they moved with astonishing speed. Before long, a long caravan had gathered at the village entrance.

Ox carts, horse carts, handcarts—each piled high with supplies and belongings. Some people drove livestock forward while others loudly counted their children. Though noisy, the entire scene remained remarkably orderly.

On the journey back toward the city, Anna finally could not suppress her curiosity any longer. She turned to a middle-aged farm woman traveling alongside them. “Ma’am, may I ask something? Why does everyone trust Lord Nolan’s arrangements so completely? None of you seem suspicious at all.”

The dark-skinned woman, her hands rough with calluses, burst into hearty laughter. “Miss, you’re not from around here, are you?” she said, looking at Anna with the understanding of someone who had seen too much. “You don’t know what life was like before Lord Nolan came.” She sighed before continuing, “That old Baron Haus was a devil who devoured people whole. Taxes grew heavier every year, and the thugs under him constantly came to the villages to rob us. If they fancied a girl from a family, they’d just take her away. If her father or brothers tried to stop them, getting their legs broken was considered getting off lightly. In those days, we weren’t really living at all. We just existed. Nobody smiled anymore. Every morning we woke up wondering how to survive another day. After handing over most of our harvest, there was barely enough left to feed our own families.”

She pointed toward the bulging grain sacks on her cart.

“But ever since Lord Nolan arrived, everything changed.” Light returned to her face. “He killed that bastard Haus, abolished the taxes, and even bought our grain and supplies at high prices. I’ve lived more than half my life and never once seen a lord this generous. Miss, we villagers may not know how to read, and plenty of us can’t even recognize a single word, but you don’t need an education to tell good people from bad ones. Everyone understands clearly in their hearts that Lord Nolan genuinely treats us like human beings. Whatever decision he makes must be for our own good. Forget moving house. If he ordered us to hand over everything we own for the war effort, we’d do it willingly. Because we know he’s a good man.”

Anna listened in silence, overwhelmed by complicated emotions.

Then another thought surfaced in her mind.

“Actually, the evacuation is because the war is coming soon. Lord Nolan is worried everyone will get caught up in it. But don’t worry. The resettlement area has already been prepared, and once the war is over, everyone will be able to return home quickly.”

“War?” A half-grown boy driving an ox cart nearby overheard her and immediately leaned over excitedly. “Big sister, I heard about it too! Everyone in the city says Lord Nolan is going to fight the archduke for our sake!” He puffed out his thin chest proudly. “I want to enlist too! But the officers at the recruitment station said I’m too young!”

“Haha, my older brother already got selected for the Black Armored Legion!” another child shouted proudly. “Once I’m older, I’m joining too! I’ll protect Lord Nolan and our home!”

Hearing those childish yet determined voices, Anna felt her eyes grow moist. One of the guards beside her could not help ruffling the boy’s hair with a laugh. “You want to join the Black Armored Legion? Then you’d better train hard. Competition’s fierce.”

“Just watch me! It’s my biggest dream!”

Anna turned back to look at the villagers behind her, at all those faces glowing with hope.

It had only been two short weeks. The numbness and emptiness once carved into their expressions had completely vanished, replaced by burning passion for life itself.

At that moment, Anna finally understood. Everything Nolan had done was not merely about winning wars.He was breathing a soul back into a fallen nation. And those awakened souls would one day gather into a wildfire that could sweep across the land.

Nolan truly was like a ray of light, illuminating a land buried beneath darkness for far too long, and illuminating the hearts of people who had struggled in despair for far too long as well.

For the first time, Anna thought her father might truly have been right. Perhaps by following a lord like this, they really could witness the birth of a miracle.

—

Two days later, inside the lord’s manor of Coldsteel City, the entire city had already entered full wartime mobilization. With battle looming on the horizon, everyone in Nolan’s circle was so busy they barely had time to breathe.

Outside the alchemy workshop, dozens of wooden crates of varying sizes were piled high. One of Leus’ female apprentices was frantically directing several guards as they carried them away, sweat dripping down her face. “Careful! Handle them gently! These are all Master Leus’ treasures. If even one bottle breaks, none of us could ever afford to pay for it!”

At that moment, a tall figure walked over. Without a word, he pulled off his coat and casually tossed it aside, revealing the solid lines of his muscular frame underneath.

“My lord!” The apprentice nearly jumped in fright and hurried over in panic. “Wh-what are you doing?”

Nolan rolled his shoulders as though the answer were obvious. “What does it look like? Helping move supplies. At your current pace, you’ll still be here after dark.”

“But… but you’re the lord!” The apprentice looked ready to cry. What kind of lord personally did manual labor like this? If anyone saw it, she would be blamed for gross negligence.

Nolan laughed. “What, lords aren’t allowed to carry things? Looking down on me?” He clapped his hands and walked toward the crates. “The whole city’s preparing for war right now, yet somehow I’m the only one with free time. Might as well stretch a little.”

As for why he had removed his shirt, it was not because he was trying to show off. His legendary armor, the Immovable Bulwark, possessed terrifying defensive power, but it was an unbearable burden when doing physical work. As for the lord’s coat, if it got dirty or torn, his chief steward would undoubtedly lecture him for half the day.

“Enough standing around.” Nolan glanced at the apprentice. “Instead of wasting time arguing with me, go move a few more crates. I’ll see you at the guard camp.”

Taking a deep breath, he bent down and lifted three massive crates stacked together in one motion.

Each crate normally required two adult guards working together just to barely lift it. Yet in Nolan’s hands, they seemed no heavier than empty boxes as he casually carried them away with relaxed steps.

The apprentice stood frozen in place, staring blankly at his retreating figure, completely forgetting what she had been about to say.

She knew the lord was powerful, but this was absurd. Even the Silver-rank warriors among the guards could only manage two crates at most.

With Nolan joining as a “super porter,” efficiency skyrocketed. In less than half an hour, the mountain of crates outside the workshop had completely vanished. Dozens of boxes of potions were swiftly loaded onto carts and transported to the Black Armored Legion camp outside the city.

When Nolan finally set down the last crates and straightened up to rub his sore back, a coat carrying a familiar warmth was gently draped over his shoulders.

Turning around, he was greeted by a familiar blaze of crimson hair and a pair of smiling eyes.

“Oh, Rehanna. Thanks.”

The newcomer was none other than Rehanna Sylvain, former leader of the Fire Fox Mercenary Company and now one of the captains of the Black Armored Legion.

Today she wore a perfectly tailored dark blue military uniform. The fitted jacket accentuated her striking figure, while the polished h