Translator: CinderTL
As Roland was lost in thought about the "dragon's attention" and the sorcerer class, a clear and familiar set of footsteps approached his tent.
"Mr. Roland, are you inside?"
Hearing the voice, Roland immediately composed himself, temporarily suppressing all his doubts.
"Is that Theresa? Please come in."
The tent flap parted, revealing the Silver-Haired Woman standing in the doorway, her expression unusually urgent.
"King Monen has arrived and is summoning you to the main tent."
"Monen?" Roland's heart skipped a beat.
Had the Northern Border War ended so quickly? The King's return was far earlier than he had anticipated.
But he immediately realized that this sudden development might also represent an opportunity.
His mind raced, and he dared not delay.
Duke Arno and the abyssal demon within him were likely hiding in Golden Grain City. Reaching that heavily guarded royal capital without King Monen's authority and strength would be a fool's errand.
Currently, the allied forces of Gloria and Duke were struggling to breach even Cracked Rock Pass, forcing them into a stalemate. An expedition to the royal capital remained a distant dream.
"Understood," Roland replied.
He swiftly rose, straightened his clothes, and masked his emotions behind a calm expression. Following Theresa, he strode toward the tallest tent at the center of the barracks.
The elite guards stationed outside, clearly having received instructions, silently saluted and lifted the heavy door curtain for them.
A warm, mixed scent of leather, ink, and a faint herbal aroma wafted out.
The tent's interior was spacious, furnished with simple yet practical items. At its center stood a massive wooden table, spread with military maps and scrolls.
Several figures sat around the table—the core decision-makers of the allied forces.
Gloria maintained a composed demeanor, while Duke stroked his chin, his gaze fixed on the map as if deep in thought.
A burly man stood slightly behind the group. Though this was their first meeting, Roland recognized him instantly from his known information: Duke Enrique of the Northern Territory.
The most striking figure was undoubtedly the one seated in the main seat:
King Monen.
He wasn't wearing the ornate robes of a monarch, but rather practical military attire, casually draped with a thick fur cloak.
His graying hair was slightly disheveled, and a thick bandage wrapped his left arm, with faint dark stains seeping through—evidence of an unhealed wound.
Yet even in this state, his presence exuded a mountain-like steadiness and the sharp, piercing gaze of a seasoned battlefield commander.
Footsteps interrupted the discussion within the tent.
The group looked up in unison, their gazes snapping to Roland and Theresa as they entered.
Gloria leaned forward slightly when she saw Roland and began to speak.
"Father, this is Roland, whom I mentioned in my letter. He..."
Before she could finish, King Monen, seated regally in the main seat, let out a booming laugh.
The laughter was full-bodied and resonant, shaking the tent as if it were vibrating.
His piercing gaze swept across half the table, landing squarely on Roland. The look was one of undisguised scrutiny, and...
A hint of unexpected familiarity.
"Hahaha!"
King Monen interrupted his daughter with a dismissive wave of his large hand, his voice ringing with unmistakable certainty.
"No need for introductions, Gloria. I know this young man."
The moment these words left his lips, a palpable wave of surprise swept through the tent.
All eyes involuntarily shifted between the young Roland and the powerful King, brimming with unspoken questions.
King Monen rose with a hearty laugh, his imposing figure radiating an almost oppressive presence as he strode toward Roland.
His sharp gaze swept over Roland like he was scrutinizing a legendary weapon unexpectedly acquired, his eyes brimming with undisguised amusement and scrutiny.
"That martial demonstration at Far Ocean Port..." King Monen began, his voice booming with a hint of nostalgia.
"You were like a wolf cub just learning to bare its teeth, boy. That fierce, never-give-up spirit of yours left quite an impression on me."
He paused, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
"To think that after such a short time, we'd meet again here, under these circumstances... Truly, fate works in mysterious ways."
Roland suppressed the turmoil in his heart, bowing slightly with humble and proper demeanor.
"Your Majesty flatters me. I never imagined you would remember such an insignificant attendant after all this time."
"Insignificant?" Monen chuckled, shaking his head, his gaze deepening. "To distinguish yourself in such a setting already proves your innate talent. But I must admit, I never anticipated such astonishing growth."
His tone grew more solemn as his eyes swept over Gloria and the Duke before returning to Roland, his words dropping like a giant stone into the tent.
"Leonard is a renowned swordsman. Arno... hmph, though he strayed down a dark path, his strength was undeniable. You defeated them both..."
King Monen paused, as if reassessing the young man before him. The amusement in his eyes gradually gave way to genuine, strategic appreciation.
"It seems your experiences in the River Domain Nations have led you to extraordinary opportunities. Not only have you mastered the orthodox Knight's Breathing Technique and successfully ascended to knighthood, but you've also achieved such remarkable strength in such a short time... Boy, you're far more interesting than I imagined."
These words, spoken by King Monen himself, carried immense weight.
The tent fell into complete silence.
Gloria's gaze toward Roland shifted, her initial surprise deepening into intense scrutiny.
Though she knew Roland possessed considerable strength, she had never imagined her royal father would offer such high praise.
Duke's fingers, which had been stroking his chin, froze mid-motion as he studied Roland anew.
Previously, he had dismissed Roland as merely a promising young knight under Gloria's command. Now, he was forced to reassess Roland's true value and strategic position on the chessboard.
For His Majesty Monen to describe him as "interesting" and having experienced "extraordinary circumstances" carried profound implications.
Roland could clearly sense the shift in the gazes of those in the tent—a complex mix of shock, appraisal, and reevaluation.
King Monen's casual remarks had acted like a blinding spotlight, thrusting Roland into the center stage.
They laid bare the astonishing truth of his rapid growth before the kingdom's highest echelons of power.
Just as the atmosphere grew tense with Monen's praise, a series of sharp, hurried footsteps echoed outside the tent.
Approaching swiftly, they shattered the silence within.
The tent flap was violently thrown open, and a messenger knelt on one knee, panting as he reported.
"Your Majesty! The garrison at Cracked Rock Pass... they refuse to surrender!"
The smile on Monen's face remained gentle, but Roland, standing nearby, keenly sensed the surrounding air temperature plummet several degrees.
The King's voice remained steady, betraying no emotion.
"Didn't you tell them I was coming?"
"Y-yes, Your Majesty!" the messenger stammered, fear evident in his voice. "Earl Clinton, the commander of the pass, said... said he only obeys direct orders from Regent Prince Lucius in the royal capital. Without written authorization, he cannot comply..."
Monen let out a soft "Oh" and nodded.
The faint smile still lingered on his face, yet everyone in the tent felt an invisible pressure descend, making it difficult to breathe.
"It seems," Monen said, his tone still even but carrying the chilling undercurrent of a river flowing beneath ice, "these fools truly need to be taught a lesson. They've completely forgotten the basic hierarchy of authority."
Without another word, he turned and strode out of the tent, Enrique immediately following.
Roland exchanged glances with the others in the tent, and they all hurried after him.
The group arrived at the front lines of the barracks, where the majestic Cracked Rock Pass stood like a cold giant between the narrow mountain valley.
Flags fluttered atop the pass walls, and cold glints flashed from behind the arrow slits, the defenses heavily fortified.
Monen strode alone to the edge of the pass's effective archery range and stopped.
He looked up, his gaze calm, at the slightly plump figure clad in ornate armor standing at the highest point of the pass wall.
"Clinton!"
Monen's voice wasn't particularly loud, yet it carried clearly across the battlefield, imbued with undeniable authority.
"I've come. Open the gate."
Viscount Clinton visibly trembled on the pass wall, his face draining of color.
But remembering the death orders from his family's superiors, he swallowed hard, gripped the wall's crenellations, and shouted in a shaky voice, "Y-Your Majesty! It's not that I defy your command! It's just... Prince Lucius has issued strict orders that no one may open the gate without his written authorization! I-I'm merely following orders! Could... could Your Majesty allow me to send a messenger to the royal capital for instructions?"
His words stumbled, his eyes darting nervously. Anyone could see through this flimsy excuse, recognizing the fear and desperation hidden beneath.
Monen listened quietly, his face expressionless.
As Clinton's words trailed off, Monen let out a soft, mocking snort.
"Trying to stall for time?"
Before the words had fully left his lips, Monen's feet paused momentarily on the ground.
There was no earth-shattering roar, no dust cloud, not even a visible crack in the ground beneath him.
Yet in the next instant, his massive frame seemed to defy gravity, effortlessly soaring skyward until he hovered at a height from which he could survey the entire Cracked Rock Pass.
Sunlight outlined his airborne figure, making him appear like a deity descending to the mortal realm.
Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Monen slowly drew the longsword from his waist—a weapon that appeared unremarkable, even somewhat crudely made.
But the moment the blade cleared its sheath...
Weng!
An indescribable, terrifying pressure suddenly descended upon the world.
Visible, tangible silver Battle Qi, like a flood bursting through a dam, surged forth from Monen's body, pouring frantically into the seemingly ordinary longsword.
The longsword emitted a joyous, resonant hum, its blade instantly transforming into a dazzling, silvery radiance, as if forged from pure moonlight.
Below, both the garrison defending the fortified gate and the allied forces besieging it were frozen in awe by this miraculous spectacle.
Gloria covered her mouth in astonishment, Duke's pupils contracted sharply, while Enrique's eyes blazed with fanatical fervor.
Roland gazed upward, even his seasoned senses and discerning eye felt a tremor of awe.
The power emanating from the sword was as vast as the sea, its depths unfathomable.
Monen remained serene in the air, as if performing a trivial task.
Gripping the sword with both hands, he faced the majestic fortress below—the stronghold of those fools who dared defy his will—and with a simple, direct motion, he swung the blade downward.
No elaborate techniques, no complex trajectories—only the purest, unadulterated release of power!
Boom!
A colossal silver sword aura, spanning the heavens and earth, erupted like a celestial whip or a light blade cleaving the firmament.
Carrying a destructive will capable of shattering all existence, it roared forth from the sword's edge.
Where the sword qi passed, the air was violently displaced, creating a deafening sonic boom. Below, the ground was gouged into a deep trench by the invisible pressure.
The sword qi moved faster than the human eye could track.
In the instant before Viscount Clinton could even utter a final cry, his eyes wide with terror, the silver torrent of destruction had already engulfed him and the gate tower he stood upon.
Then, unimpeded and with overwhelming force, it cleaved through the massive gate of Cracked Rock Pass, built from the hardest bluestone.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment.
The next instant, only one sound remained in the world:
A cataclysmic roar that shook heaven and earth.
The majestic Cracked Rock Pass was split cleanly in two by the silver sword qi, the massive fissure, several meters wide, bisecting the gate with a mirror-smooth edge.
Towers collapsed, city walls crumbled, and shattered stone rained down like a torrential storm.
Behind the pass, the sword qi's momentum remained undiminished, carving a terrifying gash even through the mountain ridge beyond.
Dust billowed skyward, shrouding the entire valley in a choking haze.
(End of the Chapter)
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