Chapter 145: Crazy Declaration

The battlefield was a chaotic storm of blood, steel, and roars of war, but even amidst the carnage, the five elite warriors of Gideon moved like grim reapers, cutting through the Jorailian soldiers with ruthless precision.

However, no matter how strong they were, they were still just five men.

The Jorailian Kingdom’s army was vast, filled with disciplined warriors who had fought together for years. They weren’t mindless foot soldiers who would simply fall apart when their numbers dwindled. No, they were a military force, trained in battle formations, tactics, and—most dangerously—military techniques.

Eskil, still being carried by one of them like a sack of potatoes, twisted his body and growled. “Put me down! I can fight!”

“Shut up, kid,” the burly axe-wielder snapped. “You almost got turned into mincemeat back there.”

The scarred warrior scoffed as he deflected a spear thrust with his dagger. “Seriously, you should be thanking us. You were about to turn into a lovely corpse.”

Eskil gritted his teeth. He hated this. He wasn’t some weakling who needed to be carried away like a helpless noble brat.

But then—

A thunderous explosion erupted nearby as a group of Jorailian soldiers unleashed a coordinated military technique. A wave of golden energy, fueled by the battle aura of hundreds of warriors, crashed toward them like a raging tsunami.

The five warriors instantly tensed.

“Damn it! They’re using battle techniques now?”

“Move, move, move!”

They barely dodged the attack, but even as they evaded, more formations were being set up around them. The Jorailians weren’t just mindlessly charging anymore. They were closing ranks, forcing the five warriors into an ever-tighter encirclement.

The scarred man clicked his tongue. “Looks like we’ve pissed them off for real.”

Another one of them, a bald warrior with a massive greatsword, grunted. “This isn’t looking good. We’re not getting out of this if they keep tightening their formation.”

The five warriors could still fight, but if they got hit even once by one of those coordinated military techniques, they’d take serious damage.

Individually, they were all stronger than the Jorailian soldiers. But a technique that combined the battle aura of hundreds of seasoned warriors?

Not even high-ranking martialists could take those hits lightly.

“We need to get out of here. Now,” the silver-haired leader finally spoke, his tone ice-cold.

Without hesitation, they adjusted their movements, cutting through the encirclement with speed instead of brute force.

But the Jorailians were smart.

They had already anticipated this.

Instead of simply sending more troops at them, they positioned their strongest martialists in their path while deploying defensive formations to slow them down.

Even as they tried to break free, they were constantly forced into engagements with high-ranking warriors—each fight taking precious time.

Meanwhile—

A messenger sprinted through the battlefield, his armor stained with blood and sweat. His mission was simple.

Get to the Commander-in-Chief.

Tauron needed to know about these five mysterious warriors immediately.

Tauron sat inside his command tent, carefully studying the latest reports from his scouts. His trap had worked flawlessly so far. Eskil’s forces had been utterly annihilated, and the remaining forces of Eloriath were in complete disarray.

Everything had gone exactly as planned.

But then—

The messenger stumbled in, panting heavily. “General! A situation has developed!”

Tauron slowly looked up. His piercing eyes settled on the soldier, his expression unreadable. “Speak.”

The messenger swallowed hard. “Five unidentified martialists appeared on the battlefield and began cutting through our forces! They’re extremely powerful!”

Tauron frowned slightly. That wasn’t in his calculations.

“Five martialists?” he repeated.

“Yes, sir! They’re… they’re nothing like the others. Even the elites have struggled against them!”

Tauron leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger against the wooden table. ’So there were hidden forces protecting those young talented martialists after all.’

It made sense. The Eloriath Kingdom wouldn’t send a young prodigy like that Eskil or other martial talents into a war without some kind of hidden safeguard.

But still…

Five men?

To disrupt his battlefield?

Tauron exhaled.

“Where are they now?”

“They’re attempting to escape, sir. Our forces have slowed them down, but they’re still cutting through our encirclement. We fear they may actually escape unless—”

“I’ll handle it.”

The messenger blinked. “Sir?”

Tauron stood up, his massive frame looming over the soldier. “I designed this trap. I know exactly where they are.”

Then, without another word—

He moved.

No.

He exploded out of the tent like a missile.

Ten minutes later—

The five warriors had just managed to carve a small path through the Jorailian forces.

They could see an opening.

Just a little more, and they’d be out.

But then—

Boom!

A crater formed in front of them as a red blur descended from the sky, landing with a force that shook the earth itself.

The five warriors froze.

Eskil, still being carried, suddenly felt like his blood had turned to ice.

A single man stood before them.

His armor was dark, trimmed with red, his long cape billowing from the impact of his landing. His muscular arms were crossed, and his sharp eyes were locked onto them.

And his aura—

The sheer pressure radiating from him—

It was like a mountain of blood and war had taken human form.

Tauron.

The Great General of the Jorailian Kingdom.

The Butcher of a Thousand Battlefields.

Every single warrior present knew who he was.

Knew what he was.

A monster.

The five warriors instantly took a defensive stance, sweat dripping down their backs.

“Shit.”

“Damn it, this is bad.”

The bald warrior gritted his teeth. “If he is here, we’re done.”

Even the silver-haired leader, usually unreadable, had a grim expression. “Not even Gideon would fight him head-on.”

Tauron’s eyes swept over them, and his lips curled slightly.

“So this is what Eloriath sent to protect their young prodigy?” His voice was low, but it carried a terrifying weight.

A step.

Just a single step forward—

And the five warriors flinched.

The very ground cracked beneath Tauron’s feet as his battle aura surged outward in a reddish glow, the air itself distorting around him.

Eskil felt his heartbeat slam against his chest.

This is power… this is what a true monster looks like…

The five warriors knew.

They had no chance.

They could not fight this man and live.

With little to no hesitation, one of them immediately pulled out a small jade artifact from his robe and crushed it.

A sudden burst of light erupted, enveloping them all—

And in the blink of an eye—

They vanished.

Gone.

Tauron’s eyes narrowed slightly as he felt their presence disappear entirely.

Silence.

Then—

“…Hah.”

He let out a small chuckle.

“That’s quite the artifact.”

Even he hadn’t expected a teleportation device strong enough to escape his range.

For the first time in a long while—

Tauron was surprised.

Meanwhile, the battlefield, once a cacophony of war cries and desperate struggles, now lay silent save for the groans of the wounded and the crackling flames of smoldering wreckage. The soldiers of the Jorailian army stood in place, their breaths heavy, their bodies battered—but their spirits?

For the first time in weeks—no, months—their spirits were soaring.

Victory.

Not just any victory.

A crushing victory.

The Eloriath forces that had been tormenting them, defeating them at every turn, humiliating them with superior tactics and swift movements… they were gone. Wiped out.

Their great general had done it.

Tauron stood amidst his men, his crimson-tinged battle aura slowly receding, his arms crossed as he surveyed the battlefield with his usual unreadable expression. His presence alone was enough to keep his soldiers standing tall, their backs straighter than ever before.

Then, almost as if a wave had crashed over them, the soldiers erupted into thunderous cheers.

“VICTORY!”

“GENERAL TAURON HAS LED US TO GLORY!”

“FOR THE JORAILIAN KINGDOM!”

The cries of celebration echoed across the vast battlefield, men raising their weapons high, some collapsing onto their knees in exhausted triumph, others pounding their fists against their shields in rhythmic beats.

Tauron remained silent, letting them celebrate. This was their moment. He had simply ensured the result.

The commanders of the Jorailian army, men who had spent the last several weeks suffering humiliating losses, now looked at Tauron with eyes filled with awe and reverence.

Before, they had respected him.

Now?

Now, they worshipped him.

One of the captains, a grizzled veteran with scars crisscrossing his face, turned to his fellow commanders and let out a breathless laugh. “I swear on my ancestors, if the general told me to jump into a pit of fire, I’d do it without hesitation.”

Another commander, a younger but no less hardened man, nodded solemnly. “Hah… As long as General Tauron stands, the Jorailian Kingdom will never fall.”

A third commander grinned. “This victory will be sung in our taverns for years! Do you hear that? We crushed those damn Eloriath bastards! Crushed them!”

Their voices rose higher and higher, each commander adding to the growing fervor.

It wasn’t just a battle they had won—it was the battle that turned the tide.

For weeks, they had been losing ground, watching their forces get outmaneuvered and overwhelmed. Their morale had been slipping, their men growing desperate, their victories fleeting.

But now?

The tides had shifted.

And it was all because of him.

Tauron finally lifted a hand, and the deafening cheers slowly quieted. His eyes, sharp as a blade, swept over his men before he spoke.

“The battlefield is not a place for celebration.” His voice was calm, yet it carried across the field with the weight of authority. “Gather the wounded. Bury the dead. Secure our fallen comrades. We march at first light.”

There was no hesitation.

Every soldier, every commander, immediately straightened. “YES, GENERAL!”

Tauron turned to his highest-ranking officers. “Prepare scouting parties. I want a full report of enemy movements within the hour. We move to reclaim our lands.”

The officers nodded and rushed off without question.

Tauron exhaled slightly as he looked toward the remnants of the battlefield. This war wasn’t over. Not yet.

But the hardest part?

That was done.

Meanwhile, in the following days, under Tauron’s command, the Jorailian army surged forward like an unstoppable tide.

The Eloriath Kingdom’s forces, once so confident, so arrogant, had been shattered. Their leaders had been cut down, their chain of command completely broken, and the psychological toll of Tauron’s overwhelming presence had left them paralyzed.

City after city, outpost after outpost—the Jorailian forces reclaimed every inch of land that had been stolen from them over the past few months.

There were no grand battles—only surrenders and retreats.

Without Eskil and his commanders directing the enemy forces with their quick communications, the Eloriath forces were left disorganized.

Tauron had expected resistance.

He found none.

Every fort they arrived at had already been abandoned. Every unit they encountered was already retreating before they even engaged.

The enemy had lost their nerve.

By the end of the fourth day, the Jorailian Kingdom’s original borders were fully restored.

The commanders of Tauron’s army were ecstatic.

One of them, an older, bearded general, practically beamed as he spread out a newly drawn map on the war table. “General, the entire eastern border is back under our control. There is no sign of further enemy movements.”

Another commander laughed. “Hah! They’re probably licking their wounds right now! That’ll teach them not to mess with us!”

A third grinned, slamming his fist onto the table. “General, let’s not stop here! We have the momentum! We should push into their lands! Teach them a lesson they won’t forget!”

A few others nodded in agreement.

But Tauron merely shook his head.

“No.”

The commanders fell silent.

Tauron’s eyes, as sharp as ever, scanned the map before him. “Our orders were clear. We reclaim our lands. We do not invade Eloriath.”

One of the younger commanders frowned slightly. “But, General, if we strike now, we could—”

Tauron’s gaze snapped to him, and the young commander immediately shut his mouth.

Tauron leaned back, arms crossed. “An invasion would stretch our forces too thin. We would require a second battlefield, one that would demand my constant presence.” His voice was calm, but firm. “The Kingdom of Jorailia cannot afford such a move.”

The older general nodded in understanding. “The King’s orders, I assume?”

Tauron inclined his head. “Yes.”

The room fell into quiet murmurs. While some commanders still wished for revenge, none of them dared to question Tauron. His strategic mind was unmatched, and if he said an invasion was unwise, then it was unwise.

One of the commanders sighed. “Well, if nothing else, at least those Eloriath bastards will stay quiet for a while after this.”

Tauron nodded slightly.

That was the true reason he had no intention of pushing into Eloriath’s borders.

They were broken.

This defeat had shaken them. Their greatest advantage—Eskil and his fellow commanders—was gone. Their forces had been butchered, their strategies outplayed, their morale crushed.

They wouldn’t be attacking anyone for a long time.

Tauron stood, placing his hands on the table as he gazed at the map once more.

This war wasn’t over.

But for now—

For the first time in months—

The Jorailian Kingdom could breathe.

~~

The Jorailian army did not merely bask in their victory—they roared it to the heavens.

News of their triumph spread like wildfire. Messengers rode day and night, reaching every city, every noble estate, every stronghold within the Jorailian Kingdom. It was a victory worthy of song, a victory that had shattered the myth of Eloriath’s invincible forces.

But that was not the most shocking part.

Alongside their announcement of victory, the Jorailian Kingdom’s military made a declaration—one that sent tremors through every kingdom, every faction, every powerful force across the land.

They had not just defeated an ordinary Eloriath force.

No.

They had defeated an Eloriath force that had been equipped with an artifact unlike anything the world had ever seen.

A revolutionary device.

A tool that allowed real-time communication over vast distances.

And in proof, the Jorailian Kingdom presented one of these artifacts—one of the phones—recovered from the corpses of Eloriath’s fallen commanders.

The mere sight of it—this small, seemingly unassuming object—was enough to shake the halls of power.

The implications were terrifying.

The other kingdoms and factions immediately understood the true significance of this development. If Eloriath had already begun equipping their military with these artifacts, then future battles against them would be radically different.

No more slow messengers, no more signal fires, no more relying on runners to deliver commands across a chaotic battlefield.

Their army would move with unnatural speed, their coordination would be flawless, their ability to react to enemy movements instantaneous.

The war as they knew it was about to change forever.

And yet—

Despite wielding this unprecedented advantage—

The Eloriath military had still lost.

This revelation sent the various powers of the continent into a frenzy.

If the phones were truly as powerful as the rumors suggested, then how had the Jorailian army overcome them? What kind of monster was General Tauron Valtheris, to have outplayed an army that should have been untouchable?

Across the continent, war councils convened. Nobles and military strategists debated furiously. Merchant guilds, seeing the potential of these artifacts, sought desperately to acquire one for themselves.

And deep within the Kingdom of Eloriath—

In the hallowed halls of Verdant Dawn Academy—

A certain man sat in silence, digesting the news.

Alaric Steele.

The man who had invented the phone.

The man who had, unknowingly, altered the course of history.

He leaned back against the grassy field outside the academy, staring up at the sky. His mind was running a hundred miles an hour.

The military had used his invention? That much, he had expected. After all, he had heard that the shipment of a hundred phones meant for the Phantom Assembly had been intercepted. It made sense that the Eloriath commanders had taken them for themselves.

But what truly stunned him—

What left him sitting here, completely speechless—

Was the fact that they had lost.

’They lost… even with phones?’

Alaric wasn’t arrogant. He wasn’t some narcissistic genius who thought he had created the ultimate war-winning tool.

But even he knew the sheer power of instant communication.

This was a primitive world. No satellites, no radio waves, no internet. This wasn’t Earth. This was a land where battles were won and lost on the basis of how fast you could get information to the right people.

And yet—

And yet—

Even with this enormous advantage, the Eloriath military had collapsed.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his chin.

There was only one reason for this.

Tauron Valtheris.

That name.

That damn name.

Alaric had heard whispers of the Jorailian Kingdom’s Great General before. He knew the man was dangerous. A warrior and strategist of monstrous caliber.

But to defeat an enemy force that had real-time battlefield communication?

That meant—

He hadn’t just outfought them.

He had outthought them.

’This guy…’ Alaric’s lips curled. ’He’s terrifying.’

Before he could dwell on it further, he sensed a presence approaching.

A very distracting presence.

Brita Kuusk.

She walked toward him with a slow, deliberate sway in her hips, each step exuding confidence. Her long, dark hair shimmered under the sunlight, cascading down her back. Her crimson dress clung to her figure, accentuating everything—her generous chest, her toned midsection, the sinful curve of her hips. The slit in her dress rode high, offering glimpses of her firm, sculpted thighs with every step.

Alaric barely resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow.

’She really wakes up every morning and chooses violence, huh?’

Brita finally reached him, folding her arms under her ample chest, which only served to make them more prominent. Her full lips curved into a teasing smirk.

“Well, well, well,” she purred, her voice dripping with amusement. “How does it feel, oh great inventor, to hear that your masterpiece has already been beaten by an enemy general?”

Alaric blinked.

Then—

He laughed.

Loud.

Unrestrained.

Brita blinked. She had expected many reactions. Frustration. Disappointment. Maybe even some snarky retort.

But laughter?

She raised an eyebrow. “Uh… did you hit your head?”

Alaric wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “No, no… it’s just…” He shook his head, grinning. “This is amazing.”

Brita’s confusion only grew. “Amazing? Your invention just got dunked on in front of every major power in the continent. How is that amazing?”

Alaric leaned back, resting his weight on his arms, a glint in his eyes.

’Humans are crazy. Their adaptation is insane.’

Back in his previous world—Earth—Alaric had never considered himself a genius. He wasn’t some prodigy who had reshaped the world. And even here, compared to that world, he was just an average guy who had imitated a thing that had already been developed by the brilliant minds of Earth.

So, was he surprised that someone in this world had already figured out a way to counter his invention?

Not at all.

If anything—

’It makes this world even more exciting.’

It was proof that he wasn’t dealing with some stagnant, predictable world. The people here weren’t slow-witted fools who couldn’t keep up with new technology.

No—

They were adapting.

And fast.

Brita studied his expression, her teasing smirk faltering slightly. “You’re seriously enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Alaric leaned back on his elbows, eyes gleaming. “I’m not most people.”

And before Brita could respond, he snatched her hand.

“—Ah?!—”

With a swift pull, she tumbled forward—right onto his lap.

Her large, soft breasts pressed against his chest as she landed, her body practically molded against his. Her dark hair spilled over his shoulders, and she immediately felt the heat of his touch as he placed a firm hand on her waist.

She gasped, her face instantly turning a deep shade of red.

“W-Wait—!”

Alaric smirked, raising a hand to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her soft skin. His voice dropped to a husky murmur.

“Isn’t that why you keep approaching me, Brita?”

Brita’s entire body tensed.

Her lips parted slightly.

Her heart hammered.

And for the first time in a long time—

She was speechless.