The advantage in morale often determines the outcome of a war. With their signature cavalry unable to deploy, Lynchester fell in an instant. After the Duke of Cornwall dispatched reinforcements to take over the defense of Lihe City and Lynchester, Menachel immediately led his force of over three thousand troops magnificently toward the next city.
By this time, the intelligence that the "Invincible City" Lihe had fallen—news that should have been made public earlier—had only just begun to spread, which was not good news for the Stark region.
At once, morale in Stark territory plummeted. Those small frontier towns, garrisoned by only a few hundred men, lost their will to resist. Often, as soon as Menachel's three thousand troops arrived at the city gates, someone would already be offering surrender. Within five days, Menachel had conquered seven cities.
Ahead lay Torrenfort, the capital of the Stark rebels. Aside from the Despicable King, the other three rebel kings were likely in the city.
Barely suppressing the urge to press forward with his army, Menachel knew well that Torrenfort was incomparable to the small cities they had passed. Although his troops were currently high in morale due to their consecutive victories, the fatigue in their eyes could not be hidden.
He ordered his troops to rest on the plains about a kilometer from Torrenfort. Menachel gazed at the brightly lit Torrenfort in the distance, contemplating his next strategy.
By conservative estimates, Torrenfort still had at least a thousand knights and two thousand troops. In terms of numbers alone, Camelot's side had no advantage.
Although many cities along the way had surrendered, there were also some stubborn defenders who fought to the end. They were all defeated by Menachel's standard siege procedure: having the main army draw fire while he broke through the city gates himself, then killing all who resisted.
But with each use of this simple strategy, the enemy had gradually learned to guard against Menachel. In the previous siege, they had witnessed the spectacular sight of an entire battle where not a single person rode a horse.
This situation set off alarm bells in Menachel's mind, but his advance could not stop. If he missed this opportunity and allowed the enemy to recover, this rebellion in the Northern Territory would be difficult to eradicate.
The flames danced In the night, adding a hint of heat to the night breeze. Menachel quietly reached for the hilt of his sword. The breeze from behind was blocked by something, but Menachel continued to pretend to be unaware, gazing into the distance.
As the person drew closer, Menachel swung his arm, his waist turning with his legs. He pulled his greatsword from the ground and swung it directly at the figure approaching stealthily from behind.
In the dim firelight, Menachel saw the face of the newcomer. With a slight exertion of force, he let the blade slide past the person's cheek.
"Kay, don't sneak around in the future," Menachel said, withdrawing his hand and resting the greatsword on his shoulder. "Otherwise, one day when it's too dark, I might accidentally kill you."
"Y-yes, indeed." Kay's eyes darted around, still apparently immersed in the terror of having just brushed shoulders with death. "I came to tell you to rest. You haven't had a good sleep in a long time, have you?"
Menachel shook his head and thrust his sword back into the ground. "I'm not tired yet."
Although he hadn't slept for two days, Menachel didn't need sleep to restore his bodily functions as long as his magical power remained sufficient.
"I apologize if I'm disturbing you, but for the sake of your health, it would be better to sleep for a while."
Menachel's eyes narrowed. He nodded in agreement quite straightforwardly. "Very well, I'll go sleep for a bit. Have Lanmaroc take over the watch for me. The enemy might try to raid our camp while we've just arrived."
"I'll go call him right away. You—"
Before "Kay" could finish speaking, his head was already driven into the mud by a sword strike. His body arched forward at an exaggerated angle. Without giving his opponent time to react, Menachel delivered a kick infused with crimson magical power directly to "Kay's" abdomen.
Accompanied by the sound of tearing muscle, "Kay" was sent flying by Menachel's kick.
Withdrawing his foot, he turned his head slightly, looking with some confusion at "Kay," who was struggling to get up after being knocked down. Under normal circumstances, this person should not have been able to rise again, and the sensation from the kick had felt off.
Like a jester's puppet, "Kay" sat up from the ground with extremely stiff movements.
"How did you discover me?"
Nonsense—the real Kay would never apologize in private.
Inwardly cursing, Menachel ignored his opponent's time-wasting words and stepped forward, swinging his greatsword.
"Kay's" previously stiff body flowed like liquid, demonstrating inhuman flexibility as he dodged Menachel's side slash. His hand joints bent in reverse, and the dagger in his hand thrust directly toward Menachel's heart.
Prepared for this, Menachel thrust out his chest while simultaneously bringing his sword around to strike at the enemy from behind.
The dagger pierced straight through the armor. Sensing danger, Menachel quickly shifted his body to avoid a fatal blow, but the pain from his abdomen still forced him to take several steps back. His loss of balance caused his third strike to merely graze the back of the enemy's head.
He looked down at his abdomen, which was seeping blood, with some surprise—this seemed to be the first time his armor had failed.
"A magician?"
Menachel spoke for the first time during the battle. His voice was surprised but not flustered, which made "Kay's" face contort with anger.
"So what if you know, Ghost-Faced Knight? This dagger has been coated with the venom of a Phantasmal Species. Your self-healing ability will have no effect."
Menachel took advantage of his opponent's speech to remove his dragon-scale armor. At the site of the wound on his abdomen, a layer of black gas lingered, inhibiting the wound's healing.
Red magical power emerged from around Menachel, dyeing the surroundings with a faint blood color. He extended his hand like a claw toward his wounded abdomen and, under "Kay's" incredulous gaze, tore off the entire blackish-purple piece of flesh.
The fresh blood was immediately cauterized by the high temperature of the lightning, and under the stimulation of magical power, flesh buds emerged, slowly closing the wound.
Menachel clenched his fist forcefully, crushing the flesh in his palm to dust.
"Amateur," Menachel said, once again pulling his sword from the earth, revealing a mocking smile. Before his opponent could react, Menachel detonated the magical power gathered beneath his feet. The reactive force from the explosion propelled Menachel forward. In the rapidly changing field of vision, Menachel's pupils became elongated. At this moment, every movement of his opponent appeared extremely slow in his eyes.
As he landed, Menachel grabbed the opponent's neck with one hand. He thrust the sword hilt into the enemy's abdomen, leaving the neck completely exposed to Menachel's gaze.
Flipping the blade, he decapitated his enemy with a single stroke, giving no chance for respite with his efficient movements.
Shaking the blood from his blade, the headless body fell to the ground simultaneously. Without looking at the corpse, Menachel picked up the head by its hair. The face, which had been identical to Kay's, had now completely transformed into that of another person.
Discarding the debris carelessly, Menachel finally realized what he should do as a commander.
"Enemy attack!"
His voice, enhanced by magical power, resounded throughout the camp of three thousand.
But the rustling sounds at his ear were already growing distant.
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