Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 431 - 430: They’re Here

Rocky ridges Fortress, Inner City District, a team of knights and soldiers with bright armor are marching in formation through the wide town streets. Above the team, the flag of Count Pompeii of the Plains of the Holy Spirits flutters in mid-air, with golden-red embroidery shining conspicuously in the sunlight, lavish and grand.

Sir Maryland stood on the wall of the Inner City District, overlooking the advancing army formation. After a long while, he softly said, "This may be the last batch of reinforcements we can count on."

"Better than none," Viscount Carol, who stood beside Sir Maryland, said in a deep voice, "Count Pompeii understands what it means if this fortress is breached."

The incoming troop was not the knight division sent by the royal family, but rather Count Pompeii’s private army. The appearance of this army indicated that the Count had finally felt the urgency from the recent continuous messages and made a decision.

Rocky ridges Fortress is located at the edge of Count Pompeii’s territories. Technically, the land where the fortress stands belongs to the Pompeii family, but in reality, the fortress is directly controlled by the royal family. Even the soldiers within are all directly loyal to the King. Around the fortress, there are farms, mines, mills of its own, and Count Pompeii has no obligation to support or supply this fortress. But clearly, the Count knows that if the fortress is taken by the Cecil Clan, his land will be in grave danger.

The news of "the ancestors defying ancestral customs" had long been spread by those southern territories aristocrats taking refuge in the fortress. Count Pompeii cannot guarantee that the Cecil’s Army will stop after capturing Rocky ridges Fortress, nor can he be sure if the Cecil’s Army will not raid the surroundings to cover war losses once the fortress is taken—although initially, he seemed quite assured that the Cecil Clan had no means to take Rocky ridges Fortress, almost complacently resting easy, but after Sir Maryland’s efforts, he ultimately sent his army to support here, and that troop was the only reinforcements Sir Maryland could muster.

"It’s a complete unknown how much fighting power these pampered noble troops from the Plains of the Holy Spirits can exhibit," Sir Maryland sighed, "but as you said, better than none—at least these men can operate the catapults or hide behind the walls shooting arrows."

Viscount Carol hesitated for a moment, finally unable to hold back and asked, "Is there any new news from the south recently?"

"I sent three batches of scouts, disguised as merchants and hunters, only one group returned," Sir Maryland said with a face like water, "Now we can only confirm that the Cecil’s Army is sending troops this way, but further south, the situation is entirely inaccessible..."

"They haven’t given up..." Viscount Carol’s heart sank, "They’ll be here sooner or later."

Looking at Viscount Carol’s ashen face, with even hints of fear, Sir Maryland could only sigh inwardly in resignation.

He had great confidence in the fortress he was defending. Even though he heard many terrifying stories about the Cecil’s Army from those refugee southern aristocrats, he was still confident in his fortress—according to him, these southern aristocrats were utterly scared out of their wits, to the extent that the enemy’s fearsome impression was infinitely magnified in their minds. Sir Maryland was well aware of this type of scared witless person, having experienced many battlefields himself, so after filtering out the exaggerated elements from the aristocrats’ words, he wasn’t daunted by the Cecil’s Army.

But this didn’t mean he would underestimate the imminent threat.

The Cecil’s Army wouldn’t be like the southern aristocrats described as "like gods", but certainly not a force to be taken lightly. Facing the aggressive Cecil’s Army, Rocky ridges Fortress was bound to undergo a fierce battle. According to Sir Maryland’s calculation, the Cecil’s Army’s "Skyfire Explosion" shouldn’t be able to break the fortress’s magic barrier in a short time, but the fortress’s defenders had no means to repel those Cecil’s Army who could launch continuous magic attacks from a distance.

This battle should evolve into a prolonged confrontation, or to put it more dejectedly—a situation where the Cecil’s Army engages in long-term bombing of Rocky ridges Fortress unilaterally, with the fortress’s defenders unable to take offensive action.

Sir Maryland was not worried about a prolonged, arduous battle; his real concern was the isolated and unsupported situation of Rocky ridges Fortress, and the ever-deteriorating conditions of the country.

As long as this deteriorating situation doesn’t improve, no matter how long Rocky ridges Fortress can hold, eventually it won’t last.

He patted Viscount Carol’s shoulder: "Let’s go back, we need to relax, have a couple of drinks to ease our nerves."

They left the city wall and headed to the hall within the fortress castle area.

As soon as he pushed open the hall door, Sir Maryland saw Viscount Mari Oran, dressed in a loose robe, standing in the middle of the hall holding a cup of wine, chatting brightly with the maid in the hall. Not far away, Viscount Konsko was pacing, his face full of anxiety, and judging by his complexion, he had probably drunk a lot too.

"Oh! Sir! And my friend Viscount Carol," Mari Oran saw the people entering through the door, and immediately raised his glass loudly, "Salute to you—you should really try this."

"Oran, you’ve drunk too much," Carol slightly frowned, looking at this man who had been increasingly improper in behavior in recent days, with a somewhat helpless tone, "And why are you wearing a robe in the hall?"

"This is inside the castle, you can wear a robe anywhere inside the castle..." Mari Oran laughed, "Don’t worry, I’m quite sober..."

Viscount Konsko came over, directly bypassing the already somewhat hazy Mari Oran. His eyes were full of worry and bloodshot from days of excessive drinking: "Sir, there’s news from the south..."

Sir Maryland waved his hand before the other could finish: "No good news."

Viscount Carol looked at the two friends before him with disappointment—one was dissolute, the other was gloomy and depressed. The stability and dignity of nobility had almost completely vanished from them.

It was not just these two friends; nearly every aristocrat who had fled from the south to the fortress was in no better shape.

These viscounts and barons were gathered in the banquet hall or ensconced in the bars and brothels within the city, squandering the little money left to them, exhausting energy that held no value, indulging in feasting and revelry, showing almost no signs of hope.

Thinking of this, he couldn’t help but raise his head, searching for someone in the hall. Soon, he spotted the slightly lean figure of Lady Ropenny Gran in his line of sight.

The Viscountess just sat quietly in a corner, talking in whispers with one of her knights. Although there was a trace of anxiety on her face, her calm demeanor was truly different from the others.

For days, this same scene had unfolded in Sir Maryland’s eyes. This high-level knight looked at the state of the other aristocrats in the hall, and couldn’t help but shake his head, muttering under his breath, "Worse than a widow..."

Viscount Carol, nearby, heard the knight’s mutter but didn’t catch the words clearly. Just as he was about to inquire, he saw the door of the hall being pushed open once again.

A knight in armor ran into the hall hurriedly, the clash of steel boots against the floor echoing in the hall. Everyone nearby quieted down and looked with suspicious and uncertain eyes at the knight who had rushed in.

"General! General!" the knight called loudly as he ran up to Sir Maryland, "There’s a small group of refugees outside the city—they claim to be from the Gran Region!"

Gran Region?

The southern nobles in the hall instinctively glanced at Lady Ropenny Gran sitting in the corner, and under their gaze, the Viscountess also suddenly raised her head, looking at the knight standing before Sir Maryland with an astonished expression.

Sir Maryland saw this scene and then turned to the reporting knight: "Where are they?"

"In the barracks under the outer wall," the knight replied, "We haven’t let them into the city—and there’s a squad of soldiers watching them."

Sir Maryland nodded almost imperceptibly: this was necessary caution.

The Cecil Clan had evidently blocked the southern region; at least in the buffer zone between the rocky ridges fortress and the southern borders, there were Cecil Clan blockade lines everywhere. Experienced scouts sent out from the fortress couldn’t breach these lines, so anyone who could still escape from the south at such times... looked highly suspicious.

"Bring them to the main hall," Sir Maryland quickly decided and looked back at the southern aristocrats in the hall, who were gradually gathering, "Ladies and gentlemen, I invite everyone to go—perhaps we can finally get clear news from the south."

Soon, Sir Maryland and the southern nobles came to the main hall in the castle area, and not long after they settled onto the high platform, a small squad of soldiers brought in a few ragged and wounded people.

These people had evidently been through an ordeal; their clothes were tattered, they were filthy all over, and covered in wounds. Their miserable appearance reminded the southern nobles on scene of their own recent state. Sir Maryland also silently sighed, then asked aloud, "Who are you? You’re from the Gran Territory?"

Most of the ragged people carried a look of fear and anxiety, but one man in the center remained calm. He was a tall middle-aged man who seemed not to hear Sir Maryland’s words, turning his head as if looking for someone in the hall, finally his gaze landed on Lady Ropenny Gran, the middle-aged man immediately bowed deeply, his voice choked with emotion, "Mistress, I’ve finally found you!"

Ropenny Gran recognized the man before her; she stood from her seat, her tone full of disbelief, "This is my butler!"

"Lady, are you sure?" Sir Maryland looked somewhat skeptical as he glanced at the ragged, filthy middle-aged man, "Is he really your butler?"

"Of course, I can be sure," Ropenny Gran replied immediately, she scanned everyone present, "I haven’t had a drop of wine!"

"Alright, I understand," Sir Maryland nodded, looking at the middle-aged man standing below the steps, "Mr. Butler, do you have news from the south?!"

"They’ve come! Mistress, and my lords, the Cecil Clan has come!" The butler spoke with pain, his tone filled with fear, "They’ve already occupied Gran Castle, and also Konsko, Carol Region, they’re heading this way!"