Chapter 401: Pursuit and Flight

The war was far from over.

By the standards of most noble conflicts in this era, the moment the Cecilians scored a decisive victory on the northern and western fronts—sending the southern noble coalition into full retreat—the war should have been over. The next step ought to have been negotiations, using captured prisoners as bargaining chips, dividing spoils through ransoms and land grants. But those were merely the wishful fantasies of the nobles who had started this war.

Wars might begin over absurd, laughable justifications, but they never end with a single battle or a single surrender.

The main force that broke and fled was the Hosman contingent in the north. Out of fifty thousand noble coalition troops, fewer than ten thousand were actually killed or wounded in that battle. Their long, chaotic formations, the treacherous mountain paths, and their scattered, disorganized retreat routes caused them to collapse instantly under artillery bombardment—but ironically, these same factors also saved the majority of them. The first wave of cannon fire only wiped out the vanguard, including the entire corps led by Count Hosman. In the following half-day, as the army fled, just as many died from trampling, executions by pursuing knights, or falling off cliffs as had been killed by the artillery.

The remaining forty thousand survivors then began a desperate, relentless flight.

Except for a necessary garrison left behind to secure the Kant region, the first and second corps—over three thousand knights led by Sir Philip and Sir Walder Perich—doggedly pursued the fleeing enemy.

Three thousand chasing forty thousand—it sounded like a joke, but it was real.

In the rolling hills of the Carol territory, Sir Philip, clutching his lord’s orders, quickly gnawed on a few bites of hardtack before moving to the middle of the column to inspect the artillery positions.

Specially designed horse-drawn war wagons were parked in the center of the camp. Soldiers scurried around them, securing the chassis and checking the small rail-accelerated cannons mounted on each.

The wheels were reinforced with steel, and sturdy steel frames were welded onto the axle sleeves. Miniaturized “Persuader” railguns were fixed onto these frames.

These were the lord’s “artillery wagons,” designed for mobile warfare. The compact Persuader railguns could be easily mounted on the wagons. When ready for battle, the harnesses would be removed, and the wagons would be anchored to the ground with thick steel stakes. The recoil from firing was absorbed and transferred to the earth through the steel frames and specially designed recoil mechanisms. Thanks to these ingenious designs, these powerful weapons could finally break free from fixed emplacements and become terrifying mobile artillery.

To keep these wagons operational, each artillery wagon was accompanied by two support wagons—one fully loaded with ammunition, the other equipped with large magical capacitors and a mana network device. The first supplied shells, the second provided energy. Together, the three formed a “mobile artillery unit.” Among the pursuing forces, there were twenty such units.

These cannons were the nightmare that haunted the fleeing noble coalition day and night.

To the young knights, these advanced weapons were already incredible, but Philip knew that to their lord, they were merely “transitional tools.” The legendary hero seemed to have even more powerful, more unimaginable designs in mind. But for the task at hand, those conceptual weapons didn’t matter. These mana-crystal railguns were the real, tangible strength of the Cecilian fighting corps.

The well-trained soldiers quickly completed the artillery setup and awaited orders. Philip looked up as the veteran Sir Walder Perich approached.

“The sentries report smoke and dust—enemy at the designated position,” the old knight reported meticulously, then glanced with a hint of awe at the ready artillery units. Philip looked up at the sun, silently calculating the time.

Minutes later, the young knight whispered, “They should be eating now.”

He then turned to a nearby messenger and shouted, “Open fire! Three volleys!”

The gunners pulled their levers. A series of sharp booms and piercing whistles filled the air as twenty glowing, pale blue mana-crystal shells thundered from the barrels, tracing faint arcs against the clear sky.

Distant explosions erupted continuously. Though the shells landed far from the dust clouds, everyone knew the fleeing nobles were terrified. Even hearing the blasts miles away sent them into a panic.

After the triple volley, the artillery ceased fire. The messenger dashed through the camp, shouting new orders: “Rearm the wagons!” “Light infantry battalion one and two, move out!” “Grenadiers, follow the wagons!”

The disciplined Cecilian First Corps sprang into action. The Second Corps from Kant, caught up in the momentum, also mobilized. Walder Perich looked at Philip with admiration. “I didn’t expect someone so young to command with such skill. Are all Cecilians this adept at warfare?”

Philip forced a nervous smile. The praise felt awkward. “I’m just following the lord’s orders and suggestions. I never imagined these tactics would be so effective.”

As he spoke, Philip’s mind involuntarily recalled the instructions given by Gawain—

After the battle, relentlessly pursue the fleeing noble coalition. Use continuous long-range light artillery and harassment to wear them down. Follow their every stop, attacking each encampment to drive them out before they can resupply. Seize enemy granaries along the way, distributing all but the troops’ rations to local civilians under Cecilian authority. The well-equipped, well-trained First Corps would lead the assault, with the Kant Second Corps in support, capturing stragglers and sending prisoners to the rear under strict military control.

This would be a test of endurance and psychological limits. The first to break would be those nobles, terrified and shattered by the constant cannon fire.

Since that decisive victory, the grueling pursuit had lasted three days. Though brief, Philip felt more and more the terrifying effectiveness of the lord’s orders.

It seemed the lord had foreseen the course of the war, even predicting the enemy’s retreat and most of their reactions. The Cecilian army was like a pack hunting a flock of weak sheep. The war had ceased to be a game of honor, replaced by a growing tide of blood and cruelty.

As a knight who upheld chivalry, Philip still chose to carry out these orders—not just out of loyalty, but reason. Reason told him that these harsh measures were the only way to bring peace to the southern lands sooner. Only by utterly crushing those foolish nobles could he avoid another siege like the one at Shattered Stone Ridge years from now.

The army moved out again. The endless chase and flight resumed across the vast southern lands. Armed with thermal ray guns and brimming with energy and morale, the Cecilian fighting troops pressed on, hunting the noble remnants like frightened birds.

Since the cataclysmic artillery bombardment three days ago, the noble coalition had been thoroughly broken. The constant roar of shells and explosions shattered their courage. They had no time or strength to devise countermeasures. Even the few who retained their wits were swept along by tens of thousands of panicked fugitives. Under such conditions, Cecilian soldiers met almost no organized resistance.

In the early stages of pursuit, a few remaining noble units still fought back, but these rear-guard attacks quickly became fodder for the thermal ray guns. The few survivors were the first prisoners captured by the pursuers. As the chase continued, such resistance grew rarer and weaker.

Like their fear, hunger was steadily devouring the nobles’ strength and will.

To flee, they had abandoned vast amounts of supplies, including most of their food, left scattered along the roads. No one had expected the Cecilians to conduct such merciless, no-quarter pursuit. With no respite, the fugitives soon exhausted their carried rations. The relentless cannon fire and harassment left them no time to stop and eat properly.

The nobles tried retreating behind the high walls of Carol territory for shelter, but the Cecilians shattered those walls with artillery. The coalition was then driven westward like a flock of sheep. Attempts to resupply at garrisons and farms were always met with shelling. The nobles barely had time to take a bite before being forced onward by the bombardment—and their food became Cecilian provisions.

Gradually, the fleeing nobles realized the truth: the Cecilians had no intention of ending the war. They would not stop to negotiate or settle. The ancient legendary lord, who never followed noble rules, was not about to start now. This war was no noble game—it was a fight to the death.

But the awakened nobles were powerless. They could only keep running, running until exhaustion claimed them, never daring to stop.

Day after day, their strength and spirit plummeted to rock bottom.

(Damn it!!)

(End of chapter)