Chapter 90

A hoarse voice echoed through one of the palace rooms. The voice carried no signs of anxiety or ease, but rather seemed to have lost all emotion, like a voice that had withered away.

"Elidis, you must surely scatter his life on the battlefield. I repeat, you must. No surrender, no plea for mercy will be allowed."

The messenger saluted to the voice that seemed to crawl through the depths of the land of Ragiath, and immediately rushed out of the room. Bony fingers stroked the beard on his chin.

Elidis, the elven princess, and the beloved child of the spirits.

Troublesome, a truly troublesome existence. Ragiath's eyes narrowed, deepening the wrinkles around them.

Was it an elven tradition, or had it become a custom? The beloved children of the spirits, blessed with great favor, were not to be executed in principle. It was said that if they were killed, a wind of calamity would blow, and poisonous rain would fall, as he had been told repeatedly in his childhood.

What a ridiculous tradition. Of course, with Fin's position, such customs could be easily suppressed.

However, even if that were the case, Ragiath could not choose that method.

His eyes focused on his own hands, etched with countless wrinkles. There was clear evidence of his great age. Even for elves, who were known for their longevity, death was already in sight for Ragiath. At most, he had only a few decades left.

Therefore, to transform Gazaris, which had become stagnant and rotten, he could not afford to provoke the people's emotions unnecessarily. After all, the task of rewriting this custom from scratch awaited him.

Ragiath, the old elf, well understood that the essence of politics was to balance emotions. On one hand, he would rewrite the custom, and on the other, he would show respect for it. By doing so, he should plant the seeds of change among the people.

Ah, that was why. His niece must be made to stop breathing on this battlefield today.

A death on the battlefield could be turned into a tragedy. He could act the part of Fin, mourning the loss of his beloved niece. He had never wanted to oppose her. But it was all inevitable, and he would create a place for the emotions to land.

"Fin, the attack from the side road is intense, and there is a danger of a breakthrough if it continues."

Without knocking, the advisor stepped into the office. Ragiath tolerated this disrespectful behavior without any issue.

"It doesn't matter. Just buy us time. More importantly, do not slack off in the assault at the main gate. Crush the enemy's main force without any hesitation. That will decide the battle."

The moment the enemy split into two groups, the strategy was set. The side road's defense force would be sacrificed, while the main force would advance to break the enemy. This was the most certain and least troublesome approach.

It would be a race against time, but that had been the case from the start. From the beginning, Ragiath had no time to spare in this civil war. He needed to quickly strike down the enemy's head and decide the outcome. A siege was an impossible strategy.

"We must decide the battle before the human kingdom's troops arrive. Do not allow any interruptions or delays."

Now, the country of Gazaris was just beginning to undergo a change in its system. They were on the verge of formally establishing relations with the human kingdom. It was unthinkable to show the country in chaos due to a civil war, let alone struggling against the rebels. Such a weakened country could not establish equal relations. Instead, they needed to decisively cut down the rebels and show the strength of the nation.

This was also true in governing Gazaris itself. Those in Fin's position needed to demonstrate that they were a powerful ruler capable of governing Gazaris. This battle would be a litmus test for Ragiath. He could not afford to make any mistakes.

Therefore, there was no slack in his hand. Without any hesitation or delay, he would seize the enemy's heart.

"What about the troops gathered in front of the city gate? Have you given the order to attack from behind?"

The advisor nodded slightly and spoke succinctly.

"The messenger has already gone, but there is no response or sign of movement. There may be some obstacle or enemy activity."

"Hmm," Ragiath placed his hand on his neck.

The soldiers concentrated in front of the city gate were intended to be the decisive blow or auxiliary force in the battlefield. If they were not moving, or even out of contact, it was hard to consider it just an accident or obstacle.

So, it seemed that the enemy also had someone who could think strategically, not just repeat assaults.

"Not good. If we can't finish them off, they will gain time. This is not good at all."

The number of troops was overwhelmingly in their favor. However, in the narrow street, a certain level of stalemate was expected. This battle was not just about winning in the end.

It had to be decisively and quickly resolved. The longer it took, the higher the possibility of the enemy on the side road advancing. A double-edged sword could not be wielded indefinitely.

A force was needed. A force that could cut down the enemy's momentum and overwhelm them.

After stroking his beard several times, Ragiath opened his mouth.

"Yes, bring him—bring Variann."

*

A flash of purple raced through the street in front of the palace, which had turned into a battlefield.

He deflected a thrusting spear downward and, with the momentum, extended his arm to slide the blade across the neck. Blood spattered, momentarily covering his vision and staining the world with fresh blood. It seemed that elves, like humans, had red blood.

His breathing was ragged, and his shoulders shook. Small cuts, scrapes, and bruises were scattered across his arms.

This was not good, not at all, and absolutely not favorable. He understood this well in his mind. While severing the enemy's head from their body, a part of his mind calmly assessed the situation.

His cold, calculating thoughts warned him that defeat was closing in on his back. A chilling coldness crept up from his heels, and a paralyzing despair dominated from his limbs to his brain.

The street battle, which appeared to be a stalemate despite the gruesome scene, would eventually break. Ultimately, the enemy's numbers were overwhelmingly superior. If they were overwhelmed by the enemy's momentum, it would be over.

They had no troops with the energy to push back the enemy. The only hope was to hold out here and rely on the advance of the troops on the side road.

There was another unfavorable factor. His stamina was running out.

He saw an elf with a round shield to his right. He leaped and charged, intending to surprise him. The shield deflected the sword, so he decided to take the upper hand. While tearing through the air, he smashed the hilt of his sword into the elf's skull from above.

Looking up, he noticed that the constant threat had ceased.

The enemy probably saw the heavy casualties from the melee and was reorganizing their troops for another assault. For the first time in a while, he felt his breathing return to normal.

Suddenly, his knees began to tremble, and his shoulders heaved. His throat was abnormally dry. He opened his mouth wide, gasping for air and water.

This was it. Was it because of the foolishly intense fighting, or was it due to his lack of willpower? He had already used up most of his physical strength. It was no longer possible, and he couldn't last. Whether he could land a blow against the next assault was uncertain. He couldn't maintain the same momentum as before.

Those who lose their momentum on the battlefield are given only the humiliation of defeat and the welcome of death.

He needed momentum. If he could create a momentum to cut through the enemy's forces, the situation would change. Fortunately, they had not yet reached a catastrophic state where they were being attacked from behind. If Variann's forces could arrive in time, it would make a significant difference.

Variann, who was infiltrating the enemy ranks under Ragiath, was a significant asset, though it was a shameful admission.

If she could betray the enemy at a critical moment and disrupt their momentum and strength, victory could roll into their hands. It was a bit too reliant on others, but his parched lips twisted, and his throat shook as if mocking him.

Suddenly, numerous shadows appeared again from the front. Despite not having caught their breath, the enemy still had plenty of troops. It seemed they had brought a new force to the front rather than reorganizing their existing troops.

He narrowed his eyes and focused his gaze. His eyelids blinked and wavered.

There, he saw a threatening group in silver armor. The fierce soldiers, walking with clear hostility and murderous intent, were definitely targeting him.

He had felt that hostility before. He had faced that murderous intent before.

Yes, when he first entered this country, Gazaris.

And the commander of that unit remained unchanged. The elf with a fierce gaze, brimming with confidence, was there. It was Variann.