The royalist faction was systematically targeting the Salvation Order’s hideouts, as revealed by Ghislain, while steadily moving the kingdom’s forces toward the southern regions. Despite the chaos engulfing the kingdom, the Ducal House had yet to issue any statement and maintained a cryptic silence. Since they had already been branded as heretics by the Four Great Churches, they clearly intended to resolve the matter through force. Thus, the kingdom’s army was being mobilized in preparation for war. In the midst of these developments, news of Marquis Rodrick’s march left everyone stunned. “100,000? Are you saying he has 100,000 troops?” Maurice, hearing the report during a royal meeting, asked in disbelief, his expression betraying his shock. The messenger nodded firmly. “Yes, my lord! He issued a full mobilization order, rallying every last soldier from his remaining vassals. Sixty thousand troops are currently marching toward Fenris, and another forty thousand are moving closer to the capital. He claims he’s acting to aid in the fight against the Ducal House.” “Tsk, so the entire western army is moving just to catch one man?” It was already known that Rodrick had lost twenty thousand troops in a recent battle, yet he had managed to gather a staggering one hundred thousand soldiers in a short time. Truly, he was worthy of his reputation as the West’s most powerful noble. Maurice scratched his beard, his frown deepening. “Hmph... It’s good that he’s helping against the Ducal House, but what about the ‘duckling’?” At Maurice’s pointed question, Marquis Branford replied with a nonchalant shrug. “Leave it be for now. It’s a fight between the two of them.” “What? How can you say that? How is he supposed to fend off sixty thousand troops? Fenris has what, ten thousand soldiers? Maybe twenty thousand at most? That’s all they have! Aren’t we supposed to be allies?” The other nobles exchanged bewildered glances at Maurice’s outburst. His sudden concern for the Count of Fenris left them baffled. “What? What’s with those looks? That boy is like a nephew to me!” “...” Not long ago, Fenris had sent a second shipment of supplies to the kingdom’s army, and as commander-in-chief, Maurice had been grinning from ear to ear ever since. “We can’t just abandon him! Shouldn’t we try mediation again? How are we supposed to fight among ourselves when the Ducal House is still a threat?” The royalist faction had already attempted mediation, but Marquis Rodrick had stubbornly refused, insisting the matter would only be settled after the civil war. Since Rodrick’s claims were backed by solid justifications, the royalists could not push him further. Maurice suddenly turned to Marquis Branford, his expression lighting up as if he had just realized something. “That bastard—he’s doing this because he thinks we’ll win against the Salvation Order with the Four Great Churches on our side. He’s trying to weaken us.” “I know,” Branford replied calmly. “And yet you’re letting him do it?” Rodrick had long been a thorn in the royal family’s side. While they had to accept his help against the Ducal House for now, it was clear that he would become a serious threat once the war was over. Especially if he managed to seize resource-rich Fenris—he would essentially establish himself as the new Ducal House. Branford’s expression remained indifferent as he nodded. “Trust the Count of Fenris. He won’t go down easily, will he? Has he ever?” “Well, that’s true, but... the gap in forces this time is just too much.” “And he’s always found a way to overcome it.” “Hmph...” Maurice grumbled, unable to refute Branford’s statement. Whether by luck or sheer ingenuity, Ghislain had always emerged victorious. “Fine, whatever. Let’s see how things play out before we make any decisions.” Even so, Maurice and the other nobles couldn’t entirely hide their concerns. But given the current situation, there was no way to restrain Marquis Rodrick by force. The fact that Rodrick had severed ties with the Ducal House was already a significant victory for the royalists. If Rodrick’s forces had joined the Ducal House’s march on the capital, it would have been a nightmare scenario. In the end, the conflict between Fenris and Rodrick would have to resolve itself. As Rodrick’s army marched toward Fenris, their confidence was palpable. Riding a massive steed that matched his own towering figure, Marquis Rodrick let out a wicked sneer. “Finally, I’ll crush that brat and finish this.” Everyone knew by now that Ghislain was a Master, but Rodrick remained unconcerned. No Master could stand against such an overwhelming force on their own. “Increase the pace! I can’t wait to see the despair on that bastard’s face!” At Rodrick’s command, the soldiers quickened their march. While the long journey north would undoubtedly tire them out, Rodrick wasn’t bothered. He was convinced that sheer numbers would guarantee victory. To reach Fenris, Rodrick’s army needed to pass through several noble territories, including that of Earl Albans, one of the royalist lords. Typically, lords didn’t easily allow armies to march through their lands, as there was always the risk that the soldiers might turn on them. It was also a matter of pride and honor. Unsurprisingly, Earl Albans reacted much like any other noble in his position. “What? They want to march through my lands? Who gave them permission to demand such a thing?” Though not a major noble, Earl Albans wielded considerable influence, bolstered further by his alignment with the royalist faction. Even against the West’s strongest noble, he wasn’t inclined to concede—more out of personal pride than loyalty to Fenris. “Tell them to go around! Or at least bring proper justification and compensation!” Earl Albans had been preparing his forces for the inevitable clash with the Ducal House, and his troops were well-trained and ready. Though he knew he would lose in a direct confrontation, he didn’t think Rodrick would risk provoking another fight with the royalists. But his assumptions were quickly shattered when another messenger arrived, shouting breathlessly. “Marquis Rodrick has already entered your territory! He says to let him pass and not interfere!” “What? Who gave him the right to enter my lands without permission?” Earl Albans roared as he shot to his feet. Even if Rodrick didn’t intend to harm his lands, entering without consent was an insult to his authority. Ignoring such an affront would invite mockery from other nobles. “Bring my armor and gather the troops! If we must, we’ll stop him by force! How many soldiers does he have?” “Well, my lord... that is...” “Speak up!” “He has... 100,000 troops!” “...Ten thousand?” “No, my lord—100,000!” At this, Earl Albans slumped back into his chair, stunned. Letting out a long sigh, he finally muttered in resignation. “Guide them through the fastest route. Ensure they face no inconvenience during their passage...” “...Understood.” This was not the time to cling to pride. The other nobles would understand. No one dared to stand in the way of Marquis Rodrick’s advancing army. Every territory along their path held its breath. Even those lords who had initially considered refusing, like Earl Albans, quickly relented. Whether they were royalist, Ducal supporters, or neutral parties, none of them had the courage to confront Rodrick’s forces head-on. As he passed through each territory, Marquis Rodrick chuckled, a gleeful grin spreading across his face. “Pathetic fools. Who among them would dare to stand in my way?” The situation couldn’t have been more satisfying. Once again, he could feel the sheer power he wielded. After crushing the Ducal House, no one in the kingdom would dare to challenge him. “It’s time to split our forces. Tenant, have the second corps trailing behind us begin their march toward the capital.” “Yes, my lord.” Currently, the first corps of 60,000, led directly by Marquis Rodrick, was at the forefront, while the second corps of 40,000 followed at a slower pace. Though they had yet to receive official permission from the royal court to station near the capital, Rodrick judged it a necessary move to consolidate their power. As orders were relayed to the second corps, Marquis Rodrick turned his gaze toward the northern sky. “We’re almost at Fenris.” The sheer size of his forces slowed their advance, which frustrated him. He was eager to crush Fenris underfoot. Still, the weather was delightful, and it elevated his mood. While basking in this satisfaction, a messenger came running toward him, disheveled and panting heavily as if he had ridden nonstop. Rodrick frowned in curiosity. “What is it? Where are you coming from?” “F-Fenris, my lord!” “What about Fenris? Are they surrendering? I’m not inclined to accept it.” “N-no, that’s not it!” “Then what is it?” The messenger took a deep breath and shouted. “The Count of Fenris has invaded the western territories with 10,000 cavalry!” “What?” Marquis Rodrick tilted his head in confusion. Fenris was clearly aware of his army’s advance, so why would they invade the western territories? Had they left Fenris undefended? It made no sense. Tenant, standing nearby, scowled and demanded, “Explain yourself properly! What do you mean the Count of Fenris has appeared in the West?” “Exactly what I said, sir! The Count of Fenris is attacking the West! All the vassal lords who tried to block him have been captured or killed. The fortresses are falling one by one! He’s heading straight for the Rodrick Marquisate!” A heavy silence fell over the camp. Rodrick’s vassal territories were nearly defenseless. Most of their forces had been conscripted into his army for the campaign. The same was true for the fortresses. While some troops had been left behind to suppress bandits, their numbers were minimal. The Fenris army was infamous for their skill at scaling walls. A small garrison would stand no chance against 10,000 cavalry. In fact, with Count Fenris being a Master, he might not even need his troops to take these strongholds. Tenant’s face grew tense as he spoke urgently. “My lord, we must send part of our forces back to defend!” Letting the other territories fall to ruin was acceptable—after all, capturing Fenris would force Ghislain to relinquish everything. However, there was one critical problem. “If the Marquisate falls, our supply lines will be severed!” The distance between Rodrick’s army and Fenris was vast, and the supply lines were already stretched thin. If they collapsed, the 100,000-strong army would be left to starve. Marquis Rodrick clenched his teeth, his anger boiling over. “Then don’t send a part of the army—turn the whole force around! If we capture the Count of Fenris, this war will be over!” Tenant quickly interjected, “That would be a mistake, my lord. This is the Count’s strategy.” “What did you say?” “If the Count avoids direct battle and simply retreats, we’ll never catch him. His entire force is cavalry.” “Hmph... Could it be...?” “Yes, my lord. If we pursue him, we’ll be dragged into a chase. Right now, he’s using our supply lines as leverage to force us to retreat. He knew the western territories were left undefended.” “That lunatic abandoned his own lands just to do this...” “He likely concluded that defending Fenris against our massive army was impossible. He’ll keep targeting our supply lines.” Marquis Rodrick ground his teeth in frustration. “They say he’s a skilled tactician, and it seems the rumors are true.” “But there is a way to deal with the Count and take Fenris.” “What is it?” “Send the second corps to secure the Marquisate and defend the supply lines. The first corps will continue advancing on Fenris and capture it.” “And what if my fortress falls?” “It won’t, my lord. It’s impossible for him to take it easily.” “Why? He’s a Master, isn’t he?” Tenant smiled. “The Fenris army consists entirely of cavalry. That’s how they’ve been able to move so quickly through the West.” “Oh? Then...” Marquis Rodrick seemed to realize something, striking his knee with his hand. Tenant’s smile widened. “They have no siege weapons. The only thing they can do is disrupt the supply lines.” It was well known that a Master could face thousands of soldiers alone. While it might be possible for a Master to overrun a poorly defended small fortress, capturing a large, heavily fortified stronghold was another matter entirely. And there was one such fortress in the West: Linderstein, the heart of the Rodrick Marquisate. It was a place that could never be taken without siege equipment.