Chapter 792

Chapter 792: The Year of Bloodred Blades

In the Third Age, 1699, the Year of Bloodred Blades,

The war on the Western Continent entered a new and even more brutal phase.

The Battle of Green Hill, the ambush at Tixilam, the Thirteenth Eagle Counties Campaign, and the Battle for Neibai Mountain—all these fierce battlegrounds were like meat grinders, mercilessly devouring lives.

Countless soldiers were blown apart by artillery fire, pierced by lances, and had their throats slit by sharp swords. News of thousands of casualties arrived daily, with countless names scratched out in red ink on sheets of paper before being sent to distant homes.

Those black-robed messengers carried sturdy military satchels, delivering ominous white envelopes to bewildered parents, only to be met with tears of grief.

Tears fell drop by drop onto the opened letters, wetting the printed words with ink. Only the column for names was hastily written by hand, perhaps in just a second, but this represented the passing of a young life.

Perhaps not long ago, this young man had smiled at those around him, speaking of his triumphant return. But what he received in the end was nothing but a letter and an irretrievable sacrifice medal.

“I know you are grieving, but please allow me to present my utmost respect for your child,” said the black-robed messenger as he removed his hat and placed it over his heart.

“He sacrificed for this nation and fought for all our futures. The nation and its people will never forget this,” he continued.

“Revenge for tyranny must be paid in blood.”

—

Sandthorn City, once a border city of the West Wind, now occupied by the Imperial Army.

In the barracks within the city, thousands of soldiers were resting here, many of them wounded. Painful moans often echoed through the camp.

A wide tent that housed the injured was lifted, and an Imperial soldier emerged. His face appeared to be around twenty years old.

Unlike the confident and enthusiastic faces during the early stages of the war, his expression now was numb and dull.

Arriving at a corner of the camp, he prepared to fetch water to wash his hands, which were stained with dirt and blood from tending to the patients. The stench was unbearable.

But when he reached the well, a wooden sign stood beside it.

‘The well has been poisoned!’

The fresh red words on the white board were alarming.

“Cursed!” he spat, then recalled recent events.

This was not the first well to be poisoned. The local residents always found ways to cause trouble for them.

Poisoning wells, setting fires, attacks—various incidents occurred.

The noble officers in the camp were furious and had killed many suspected locals. Outside the city, piles of corpses reached thousands.

“If they dare rebel again, we’ll keep killing until they fear us,” said the officer, recounting ancestral wisdom.

Conquering a nation or ethnicity was never easy, but slaughter was the simplest method.

Surely, someone would fear death, wouldn’t they?

After occupying Clancia, many noble officers resorted to such measures. In their minds, these enemy civilians were no different from livestock.

“Foolish, stagnant—why won’t they surrender properly!”

Above them struggled to understand this situation, as past conquests never faced such resistance. Defeating the main forces led to immediate surrenders in smaller towns and villages.

But now, the expedition seemed to have sunk into a quagmire, feeling resistance no matter what they did. This resistance came from the people of this land.

He once saw a local peasant woman in the fields, her skin darkened by the sun, dressed in coarse linen clothes, holding a child.

When she saw the Imperial soldiers pass, she whispered to her child.

“These are our enemies, the ones we must kill someday.”

Unlike other soldiers, he possessed exceptional hearing, which allowed him to hear her words.

But that day, he didn’t report the incident to his superiors nor did he pick up his halberd to stab the ignorant peasant woman.

‘I understand this is wrong; war only brings out the worst in us,’ he thought to himself, though he knew such thoughts were futile.

Now, the war had reached this point, with accumulated blood feuds making it impossible to stop.

Sometimes, he dreamed of the slain Clancians coming to his bedside, demanding his life, much like the Mercury Dynasty in history.

Such feelings were truly repulsive.

Sitting by the empty space in the camp, the Imperial soldier gazed at the gray sky and stood up.

“What’s wrong, Lig? Looking for water? Come over here.”

A tall, strong soldier approached. He wore scale armor covering his chest and back, with a tattered gray-black cloak behind him, and held a steel halberd in his hand.

“Um, it’s Tulong,” said Leg, a soldier by the name of Lig, looking up at his old acquaintance and fellow townsman, Tulong.

Following Tulong’s tall figure, Lig arrived at another part of the camp, where there was the only safe well. Many people were queuing up to fetch water, some for drinking, others to wash their belongings.

Seeing that there were still quite a few people ahead, they waited for a while and began chatting idly.

“It seems more bad news has come from the front. A whole legion led by a certain viscount was wiped out on the battlefield.”

“Huh, looks like more wounded soldiers will be sent back, and then many of us will have to return to the frontlines,” Tulong replied.

“Perhaps I won’t see you next time,” Lig said, lowering his head and brushing off the dust from his feet, sarcastically mocking the increasingly dire situation.

“What, thinking about escaping?”

Tulong joked. In the Crimson Empire, deserters were considered the most shameful among soldiers; even beggars on the street could mock and humiliate them. If someone tried to resist, they would face all sorts of attacks.

The empire was founded on military merit, and its cultural traditions particularly despised deserters and cowards. In various plays, these deserters often played the role of clowns or the final note of villains.

Songs praising bravery, glory, and justice were enduring themes within the empire. Boys dreamed of the heroic knights of legends, while girls fantasized about dashing knights riding white horses and greeting them.

This was why, even now, many continued to struggle. Admitting fear or dread of war would lead to ridicule and bullying.

And the nobility, who valued reputation and honor, were especially so. Through years of propaganda and generations of teachings, many nobles naturally believed that the battlefield was glorious, even if they did not win, they could not become despicable deserters.

With this firm tradition, the empire’s great army had been marching westward, continuously thrown into the brutal battlefields.

If it weren’t for Clancia, and if it were still the Snow Flower Seven Kingdoms, this expedition might have succeeded. They would have been celebrated as brave and glorious figures by posterity.

Unfortunately, now Clancia, leading the Starlight Alliance, was not the same as the Snow Flower Seven Kingdoms of the past.

If they couldn’t win, they would be nailed to the pillar of historical disgrace and mercilessly ridiculed.

By now, despite more and more people realizing the difficulty and hopelessness of victory, the empire internally still maintained a strong desire for war.

Even if they couldn’t win, they wanted to cripple the enemy.

With such thoughts, after the emperor and numerous high nobles discussed, they started a new round of conscription.

Perhaps they themselves didn’t realize that they were already panicking over the possibility of defeat.

Experiencing the bloody battles firsthand, many nobles and imperial soldiers gradually realized what kind of terrifying opponents they faced.

They seemed to have a fanatical faith, fearless, disciplined, and unyielding, standing firm like steel columns, encountering layer upon layer of obstacles with every step forward.

Recalling the countless fallen bodies, if they failed here, the outcome would be far more than just returning to the previous border lines.

The more fearful they became, the more united the empire became. More conscription teams toured through the provinces, and some conservative noble families were forced to bring out their hidden strength, starting to think about how to sustain through this long-lasting war.

Given Clancia’s organizational capability and combat will in the past two years, leading their army into the empire’s interior did not seem too difficult. And if such a thing happened, the lands, wealth, and resources of many nobles would vanish.

Some people with foresight began calling for a more cautious approach, suggesting they seize the opportunity to negotiate peace with Clancia. But such voices were quickly drowned out.

Although many died in the war, it was impossible for these nobles to give up their hard-earned benefits and land. Otherwise, wouldn’t they have worked in vain and become a joke?

Thus, both sides had no room left for retreat.

“When will this end? I’m starting to miss home. Now, it must be the season when dandelions bloom. Yuna from the neighboring village often comes to our village to pick wild vegetables with her mother around this time,” Lig said, shielding his eyes from the sun with his arm.

“Be quiet, saying things like this will get you reported,” Tulong placed his hand on Lig’s shoulder, preventing him from showing any intention of desertion.

“Huh, what’s there to be afraid of? I bet everyone feels the same,” Lig replied.

“Relax, buddy. Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem. Who knows, we might win someday,” Tulong comforted him.

“Did you hear? The Pure Iron Warrior, Darsi, led a large army to a victory on the flank. The emperor even sent an envoy to commend him.”

“You mean Darsi? Indeed, he is many people’s idol, but such a genius is too far away from someone like me. He can’t inspire me at all.”

Under the gloomy sky, the two chatted casually until they fetched water and finished their tasks, then slowly returned to their tent.

After the empire’s great army fought continuously within Clancia’s territory, many soldiers, like this one, gradually lost their initial fervor and became silent. Every day, seeing the bloodshed and the fallen comrades stimulated their anxious nerves.

Winning wealth and land was beautiful, but the cruelty of life and death on the battlefield was terrifying. They fought merely for gain.

Come, they did not have the firm fighting will of the Clancian soldiers.

After suffering major blows and torments one after another, the empire’s offensive became increasingly slow. More and more front-line nobles began to prioritize self-preservation, engaging in passive combat. They preferred to hold their ground rather than launch rapid attacks.

Over the course of this year, the situation on the battlefield began to change, and the empire gradually shifted from an offensive stance to a defensive one.

In the capital of the Crimson Empire, Titania.

A grand wedding was being held once again in the bustling city, but this time, the main characters were not just one couple, but nearly a hundred newlywed couples.

After advancing to the upper echelons of the empire through military achievements, many new nobles began to marry into old noble families. The younger nobles had real power and newly acquired lands, but lacked wealth and the means to manage these lands. The old nobles, though wealthy from generations of accumulation, lacked power and needed new resources to expand their family businesses.

Thus, exchanges and alliances were formed.

Realizing that such a combination of power was inevitable, the emperor did not forcefully intervene but instead joined in, selecting nobles who leaned towards him and combining them with the officers he promoted. This made his power even more secure.

Now, although he ostensibly controlled the entire empire, the four dukes still retained considerable strength within their own territories and were not entirely under his control.

“Congratulations, Darsi.”

At the wedding celebration, the emperor called over his most reliable general, patting his shoulder as a sign of commendation. On the other side, the Red Queen Lily, dressed in a luxurious rose gown, also received Darsi’s wife, Verin.

This was the prodigy from Emanas, the noble girl who had repeatedly won second place at the Winter Festival.

Compared to her somewhat flamboyant appearance in school, Verin now seemed much more dignified and virtuous. She wore a black and red noble dress, and her fingers covered in black lace gently took Lily’s hand, lightly kissing it in greeting.

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” Verin looked up, her black hair forming small curls beside her face, paired with the red rose at her ear, giving her a mature aura.

“There’s no need for such formalities, Senior Sister Verin,” Lily said, looking at the woman who bowed before her with deep emotion.

“You might not recognize me. I entered the Fortress Academy after you graduated. My grades weren’t great, so naturally, few people knew me there.”

“People always focus on those prodigies.”

“Your Majesty overstates it,” Verin stood up again, answering carefully.

When a big shot occasionally makes a self-deprecating remark, one must never readily agree. You might think you’re agreeing, but it could be misinterpreted as an insult. So generally, it’s best not to comment.

In the years since graduation, Verin had experienced much. Although she was the daughter of a high-ranking noble, she had no siblings, and distant relatives wanted to contest her inheritance, leading to numerous struggles. This hindered her development significantly.

Looking back, the boy who defeated her and left her with resentment had grown into a famous legion commander in the empire, surpassing her in position.

Upon learning about this, a complex mix of emotions arose in her heart, and internal family disputes continued to trouble her.

At this moment, the emperor’s envoy arrived.

The emperor intended to arrange a marriage between her and Darsi because she was the only daughter of the current Viscount of Flame Hawks. Marrying Darsi would immediately grant him the title of Viscount. Meanwhile, Verin could secure her position and pass on the title to her children, free from the interference of troublesome relatives.

After a difficult period of contemplation and decision-making, Verin agreed to this proposal. After many years, she met Darsi again.

“This is a trustworthy man.”

Perhaps in the past, the resilience of this opponent during their match had left her with resentment. But if this man became her husband, such qualities brought a sense of security.

With her heart at ease, Verin’s lingering doubts dissipated, and she began to genuinely consider the feasibility of this marriage and its future prospects.

She was no longer young. Although extraordinary beings aged slower than ordinary people, among the nobility, marrying at this age was already quite late. Delaying further would likely mean having to seek divorced individuals.

Under various influences, the two eventually came together, and today’s outcome might have been unimaginable back then.

Back then, they were like birds in the sky and fish in the water, living in completely different worlds—nobles and commoners.

Reality turned out to be so strange and unexpected, and finally, they ended up together.

“So, the wedding celebration officially begins~”

Inside Titania, amidst flowers and music, the emperor recalled a batch of officers with outstanding military achievements, arranging their marriages to strengthen his control over the front-line troops.

Such weddings greatly motivated young people who had not yet enlisted, encouraging more to join the glorious expedition and tip the scales once more.

The stagnation, pessimism, and apathy at the front, and the cheers, envy, and optimism at the rear, created two starkly different landscapes within the nation. And this nation, symbolized by roses, would head toward what fate?

Would it see the dawn of victory through repeated efforts, or would it collapse under the weight of too many burdens, breaking apart into pieces?

(End of Chapter)