Translator: CinderTL
As the dust settled, what remained before everyone's eyes was Cracked Rock Pass, cleaved in two and utterly destroyed.
Behind the pass, a terrifying sword scar stretched across the land like a gaping wound on the earth itself.
Monen slowly descended from the sky, landing lightly on the ground.
His longsword was sheathed, and the surging silver Battle Qi that had enveloped him had vanished without a trace.
He stood there as if he had never moved, casually brushing nonexistent dust from his shoulder.
His calm gaze swept across the ruins before him as he spoke in a clear voice that resonated in the ears of every terrified defender and allied soldier:
"Now, does anyone still wish to consult Lucius?"
The entire battlefield fell into deathly silence.
Only the mournful wail of the wind whistling through the canyon and the shattered pass echoed like a reverent dirge for the Old King's unmatched strength.
In that moment, Monen, the Old King, had declared his return to the kingdom in the most direct and domineering manner possible, and...
the fate of those who dared defy him.
The thunderous roar of Cracked Rock Pass's collapse still echoed through the valley. The billowing dust, like a heavy curtain, slowly settled, shrouding the ruins in deathly silence.
On the shattered ramparts, the surviving garrison stood frozen in shock. Many couldn't even remain upright, collapsing to the ground, their eyes fixed on the slowly descending figure with primal fear and awe.
This terror was equally etched into the hearts of every soldier in the allied forces below the pass, though it was mingled with fervent worship and trembling anticipation.
Roland stood rooted to the spot, his breath catching in his throat.
He had long heard of Monen's legendary reputation, knowing him to be the kingdom's most formidable guardian. But the shock of witnessing his power firsthand was immeasurable compared to mere hearsay.
The fleeting pride and complacency that had quietly blossomed within him after his rapid gains in strength and initial mastery of dragon transformation now melted away like snow under the sun, vanishing without a trace before this single sword strike.
He realized with stark clarity that even if he unleashed every trump card, fully activating his dragon transformation, the destructive force he could muster would likely pale in comparison to this single blow from King Monen.
What was even more terrifying was that, judging by Monen's relaxed and effortless demeanor, this was far from his full strength.
The Old King's power was as deep as an unfathomable abyss, impossible to measure.
Is this... the strength at the pinnacle of the kingdom? Roland wondered silently to himself.
He suddenly understood why Gloria and the others had been so astonished when he proposed the plan to ambush Arno, and why their understanding of tactics and strategy had seemed so rudimentary.
After all,
with King Monen—a walking natural disaster, a veritable "human nuclear bomb"—at their disposal,
what room could mere schemes and plots possibly have against the overwhelming force of royal authority and absolute power?
In many cases, perhaps all that was truly needed was...
to simply crush everything in their path.
After the suffocating shock subsided, deep within Roland's heart, what surged forth wasn't discouragement, but an uncontrollable, burning tide of ambition.
Fear gradually receded, replaced by an unprecedented clarity of understanding and an intense, fervent desire.
So, the strength of an individual could truly reach such earth-shattering heights.
This was the realm that true transcendents should strive for—a power beyond mortal imagination, a force that defied the mundane.
If...
If he himself possessed such power, would the lingering anxieties in his heart, the need for cautious, step-by-step progress, and even his dread of the abyss vanish like smoke?
He would truly control his own destiny, face any challenge, and explore the deepest mysteries of this vast and enigmatic world.
King Monen's sword strike had not only cleaved through Cracked Rock Pass but also shattered an invisible shackle in Roland's heart.
Previously, his motivation for increasing his strength had been primarily for survival, to confront immediate threats.
But now, a grander, purer ambition blazed within him.
He would become stronger—strong enough to look down upon all living beings, strong enough to comprehend, even surpass, the level represented by this world-shattering sword strike.
As Roland sank into thought, the dust slowly settled.
The terrifying sight of Cracked Rock Pass cleaved in two by a single sword strike was etched into the souls of every witness like the most awe-inspiring painting.
The remaining defenders on the pass walls, whose morale had been barely sustained by family orders and self-interest, completely crumbled under the sword's overwhelming power.
Fear overwhelmed all calculations, and the instinct for survival took over.
Before King Monen could speak again, a cacophony of clanging weapons echoed from within the shattered pass as they were dropped to the ground.
Pale-faced and disoriented, the surviving soldiers emerged from the shadows of the pass walls and gathered in the open ground before the gate.
Leading the way was a middle-aged noble in ornate armor, his helmet lost somewhere, his hair disheveled. Blood and dirt smeared across his face, his expression was a mask of terror.
He led the remnants of the garrison, including several transcendent professionals who had previously exuded formidable power.
These individuals, once considered masters in their respective domains, now stood with their heads bowed in defeat.
The burly figure trembled slightly under Monen's calm yet mountain-like gaze, as docile as a frightened quail, barely daring to breathe.
The middle-aged noble knelt heavily several steps away from Monen, his voice choked with tears and uncontrollable tremors.
"Your... Your Majesty! I, Fred Harrington, the guilty minister, lead... lead all the garrison forces of Cracked Rock Pass to beg for your forgiveness! We surrender! We implore Your Majesty's mercy!"
Monen's gaze settled on the middle-aged noble, as if scrutinizing him. He spoke in a flat tone.
"The Harrington Family... Old Earl Harrington. I remember him well—a cunning old fox who always knew how to read the times and shift with the wind."
A hint of barely perceptible mockery laced his words.
"What's this? Has he finally lost his senses, stubbornly following Lucius down this dark road? This hardly seems like his usual style."
Fred jerked his head up, his face a mask of confusion and grievance.
"Your Majesty sees clearly! I... I don't know what my grandfather was thinking!"
"The family's orders were absolute, brooking no dissent. We were to support Prince Lucius at all costs, even... even if it meant opposing Your Majesty! I... I have no influence within the family and dared not disobey!"
His words were muddled, yet they revealed a crucial truth:
This unprecedented act stemmed from an iron decree issued by the Harrington Family's highest decision-making body, not from the unauthorized actions of subordinates.
Upon hearing this, Monen's silver-white eyebrows furrowed slightly as he fell into a brief contemplation.
Old Harrington was a quintessential pragmatist, prioritizing profit above all else. For him to make such a seemingly irrational gamble, there must be hidden motives or pressures at play.
After a moment, he smoothed his brow, seemingly suppressing his doubts for the time being.
Now was not the time for deeper investigation.
He gazed at Fred Harrington, kneeling on the ground and trembling, then swept his gaze across the ashen-faced surrendered soldiers. Contrary to expectations, he did not impose harsh punishments.
Instead, he spoke in a deep, resonant voice:
"Fred Harrington."
"This guilty subject is present!" Fred shuddered, bowing his head even lower.
"Since you have confessed your crimes and led the surrender, preventing further senseless bloodshed, I will grant you an opportunity to redeem yourself through service."
Monen's voice carried undeniable authority, though it was not raised.
"You and your men will immediately begin repairing Cracked Rock Pass."
"Cracked Rock Pass is the kingdom's eastern gateway. It requires constant guarding. During the repairs, and even after they are completed, you will remain temporarily in charge of this place."
Fred froze, stunned by the king's words. Even Gloria, Duke, and the others nearby were visibly surprised.
This was practically no punishment at all. Instead, it was a continuation of trust and responsibility.
Fred jerked his head up, staring at Monen in disbelief, his eyes instantly reddening.
Within the Harrington Family, he was merely an insignificant branch member. Being sent on this perilous mission had essentially made him a disposable pawn.
He had assumed that even if he surrendered, the best outcome would be stripping of his title and imprisonment, with the possibility of losing his life altogether.
He never imagined that His Majesty the King would not only pardon his treason but also entrust him with such a vital duty.
The stark contrast between his expectations and this sudden pardon and trust overwhelmed him. Tears streamed down his face as he kowtowed deeply, his voice choked with emotion yet ringing with sincerity.
"Thank Your Majesty! Thank Your Majesty for sparing my life! This traitor... no, this subject, Fred Harrington, swears before the heavens to devote every ounce of his strength to repairing the pass and guarding it with my life. I will never betray Your Majesty's trust!"
Monen merely nodded faintly, glancing away as he turned toward the allied forces' main camp.
The subsequent military advance proceeded with unexpected smoothness.
Although King Monen had ordered Enrique to immediately return with the Northlands' elite troops to reinforce defenses against a potential orc counterattack, abruptly reducing the allied forces by more than half,
With a king capable of cleaving fortified gates with a single sword strike personally leading the charge, all obstacles seemed utterly insignificant.
Along the road to the kingdom's heartland, sporadic resistance from noble private armies attempting to delay the advance melted away like snow before the sun under Monen's overwhelming power.
The allied forces advanced virtually unopposed, with towns and fortresses surrendering at the mere sight of their banners.
In less than a month, the magnificent capital city symbolizing the Golden Valley Kingdom's power core—
Golden Grain City—
its familiar and majestic silhouette had already emerged clearly on the distant horizon.
During the brief intervals of this rapid march, Roland didn't waste a moment.
Having witnessed King Monen's godlike strength firsthand, he channeled that awe into boundless motivation.
Each day after setting up camp, he relentlessly honed his skills and abilities, using the formidable king as an unattainable benchmark to steadily solidify his own foundation of power.
Now, during a rest stop near Golden Grain City, Roland sat alone in his tent, yet he wasn't immersed in his usual training.
His consciousness delved inward, his gaze fixed intently on the still-unresolved notification:
Requirements for the extraordinary profession: Sorcerer.
(End of the Chapter)
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