Ch.165Strategic Weapon.

“Huh!”

Both Fahrenheit and Amurtat could only gasp at the losses that evoked nothing but sighs.

Fahrenheit had lost 540,000 men in three days of battle, while Amurtat had lost 250,000 men in the same period.

Combined, a staggering 790,000 people—nearly 800,000—had crossed the river of no return.

Literally, enough people to populate five or six countries had vanished in a single battle.

Although the high casualty count wasn’t unusual given the special nature of siege warfare and battles occurring simultaneously across ten locations.

The problem was the timeframe.

“Three days… just three days…? We couldn’t even hold out for a month?!”

“Then what about all those supplies? Are you saying they’ve all fallen into Amurtat’s hands?”

In this world’s common sense, a siege was essentially a black hole created by humans that consumed time and resources without limit.

Of course, since fortress structures themselves weren’t particularly suited for self-sufficiency, if it came down to a “fight to the death,” victory was possible. However, the troops and resources needed to create such a desperate situation weren’t delivered by angels.

Moreover… if a structure was designated as a castle or fortress, it meant space for at least several thousand soldiers, and attacking such a place required tens of thousands of troops. With so many people pressed against each other, disease outbreaks were inevitable.

Therefore… despite deliberately allocating ample personnel, the fact that they had suffered 540,000 casualties in just three days—not due to supply shortages or epidemics from lack of medicine, but purely from being overwhelmed by enemy firepower—jolted Fahrenheit’s politicians out of their outdated worldview in the worst possible way.

“The mages…? Are you saying all the mages died too?”

“We invested every penny we had for decades to train those mages… our city’s foundation is gone…”

Thud!

Representatives from several cities that placed great emphasis on magic even fainted from shock.

The reason was simple: while a mage required 20 years of training to become effective, cannons could simply be mass-produced, and gunpowder just needed to be manufactured.

Production capacity.

Turnover rate.

Above all, firepower.

And finally, convenience.

Mages were inferior to gunpowder weapons in every aspect, so regardless of whether they won or lost this war, magic would undoubtedly decline significantly.

Until now, mages had mocked knights whenever weapons evolved, saying, “Haha, look at those sword-wielding mercenary bastards!” But in the face of strategic weapons that could render not only mages but the entire knight class unemployed in one stroke, it was actually the tactically useful knights who could survive until the end.

“…!”

“Why… why do you look like that?”

And at that moment, Fahrenheit recalled one crucial fact.

Amurtat’s Sword Master.

Ignatz von Jäger had not yet made his move…

*

Clang! Clang!

“Aaaagh!!! Surrender! We surrender!!!”

The fortress walls were sliced through like soft tofu, even softer than silken tofu.

Amid the soldiers being crushed by falling debris, the desperate word “surrender” could faintly be heard.

“Haaah….”

As the white aura clinging to the sword dispersed, a slight afterimage remained, and when even that faded, only a chilling silence remained.

Amurtat’s military had determined that considering Fahrenheit’s losses, further attacks on bottleneck points would be impossible. Accordingly, they made fortress recovery and defense a secondary priority, while supporting the hastily dispatched Sword Master in conquering nations near the fortresses became the primary objective.

Sword Master.

Master of the Blade.

Inversely proportional to that cheesy title was their strength—they were essentially incarnations of destruction who had transcended humanity, and stopping them without accepting tremendous losses was impossible.

“Surrender! Surrender! Our Laftesia unconditionally declares surrender! Please withdraw your sword!”

And soon after, a nation lost its sovereignty, and Amurtat’s soldiers marched down the main streets as victors, crossing through walls that had been sliced apart in chunks.

Of course, minus the Sword Master.

“Lord Ignatz! Thank you so—huh? Where did he go?”

“Lord Ignatz has gone to join the army in another city.”

“He moves so quickly… he should at least wet his throat…”

The commander awkwardly looked at the fine grape wine in his hand before passing it to his adjutant.

*

‘Our losses are more severe than expected. I must fill that gap as much as possible.’

With that thought, Ignatz conquered 23 nations in a week.

Considering that Fahrenheit had 154 vassal states, this was truly a whirlwind campaign, befitting his reputation as the most feared warrior.

Had Fahrenheit’s Sword Master not been killed by the suicide squad led by Ignatz, such dominance would have been impossible. Ignatz freshly realized just how overwhelming his existence was.

“There he is! Amurtat’s Sword Master!”

“Form an encirclement! Today we will take the Master’s head!”

“In the name of Fahrenheit, we will kill you!”

As he was heading toward the next city, Ignatz found himself ambushed by over 100 knights.

‘Damn! I was in such a hurry that I neglected to use my ki detection…!’

Although more than 100 mounted knights were charging at him, Ignatz was only momentarily surprised and not particularly concerned.

The reason was simple.

They had no ballistas, catapults, cannons, guns, or bows.

Considering that half the reason Fahrenheit’s Sword Master had died was due to timely support from siege weapons like ballistas and the absence of other knights and regular soldiers to assist him, the idea of Ignatz dying to these knights lacked not just plausibility but basic credibility.

“Fools…!”

He drew his sword with a sneer, infusing it with aura, and soon the white aura symbolic of a Master began to swirl around him.

In an instant, five knights who charged at him were horizontally split in half, and before their blood could even flow, Ignatz kicked off the ground and pierced the heart of the next knight.

Knights who had shed much blood wrapped their swords in red aura, as if compensated for the blood they had spilled.

More experienced knights, who had swung their swords until their hands turned blue, enveloped their blades in blue aura as proof.

And Masters, as evidence of accepting and erasing everything, imbued their swords with white aura.

Unity of sword and spirit, oneness of self and object, transcendence of technique…

Sword Masters had many opponents but no equals.

The supreme honor granted only to knights.

That was what it meant to be a Sword Master, and foolish mortals who dared challenge their divine status would pay the price.

“Arrrgh!!!”

“Impossible! How can he be so strong…!”

“Run! We’re no match for him!”

“He’s coming!! He’s!! He’s…!!”

With each horrifying slicing sound of a neck being severed, shouts rang out; as the shouts died, the thud of severed heads hitting the ground was accompanied by screams; and as the screams faded, the sound of air being cut was followed by arterial blood burning in the white aura.

Death incarnate enveloped 108 knights, and they could not escape this trap of death.

They had been the ones to strike first, but in this world, the prey was the hunter, and the hunter was the prey.

Like sleet wrapping around flesh, the moment the white aura reflected in their retinas, the knights gave up on living—and it was the right choice.

They never had a chance of survival to begin with, and fleeing would only mean dying while exhausted.

“Lord Tiberius of Amurtat sends his regards.”

“Please… please have mercy…!”

“If you wanted mercy, you should have become a soldier, not a knight.”

Squelch!

“Guhk…”

With those cold words, Ignatz wiped the blood from his sword and gazed at the bloodstained snow and corpses scattered across the field.

Only the masterless horses wandered aimlessly, and their fate with empty saddles resembled the future of Fahrenheit.

“Long live Amurtat.”

Ignatz hastened his steps to destroy yet another city and another nation, hoping the corpses and blood would be buried by snow.

He didn’t use a horse because he could run faster than one.

And a few days later.

Upon receiving reports that Amurtat’s strategic weapon was on the move, Grand Duke Marcus of Fahrenheit foamed at the mouth on his throne in rage.