Chapter 435: Fire Moon, Day 57 — Time to Bombard the Fortress

As Philip’s legion drew near the Rockhold Fortress, they were repeatedly harassed—night raids, daytime skirmishes—just as Byron had remarked: those nobles were finally learning how to fight a real war. But, alas, their lessons came too late.

The fortress commanders’ attack plans were all based on outdated military thinking. They imagined the Cecil Combat Legion as just another noble private army equipped with powerful magic gear, then tried to predict the Cecilians’ discipline, marching style, camp setup, and command responsiveness accordingly. The result? Predictably disastrous.

Sir Philip admitted the Rockhold commanders were fighting actively, but in the end, they failed.

On the 57th day of the Fire Moon, the hottest day of summer, the banner of the Cecil Combat Legion appeared on the small southern plains before Rockhold Fortress—one day earlier than expected.

The enemy inside the fortress seemed to have given up on taking the initiative. As the Cecilians drew closer, they withdrew entirely within the fortress walls, abandoning all outposts, garrisons, and watchtowers around the fortress. Before the Cecilians arrived, these positions were set ablaze. When Sir Philip rode onto the plain, his camp was established in a forest scorched clean by the enemy’s own fires.

At the new base camp, Philip left the barracks and rode out to inspect the freshly established encampment. Looking north, through the rolling mountain ranges, he could clearly see the towering, imposing walls of Rockhold Fortress. The walls were dark and somber, yet under the sunlight shimmered with a faint, dreamlike magical glow. Atop the fortress stood several massive mage towers, their floating giant runes casting a radiant interplay of light with the walls below—a rare sight in the barren, desolate south.

Philip turned his gaze toward a nearby hill behind the camp—that was the artillery position.

The engineers were hauling the main components of the giant cannons up the hill to assemble fixed siege batteries. Thanks to temporary magic effects like weight reduction, the heavy “Justice-I” rail-accelerated cannons were installed swiftly. These weapons posed a deadly threat to the fortress’s outer walls. Meanwhile, the remaining heavy and light cannons would be set up by the Second Legion, advancing northwest to establish a second high ground position, creating a more complete and concentrated fire coverage.

Advancing the front line by covering it with artillery fire, pushing forward position by position—this was exactly what the lord’s “Artillery Fundamentals” manual described. It was the most basic and effective application of firepower. Though this was Philip’s first time putting it into practice, he was confident it would work.

Rockhold Fortress was now fully in the Cecilians’ sights. In other words, the Cecilians were right under the fortress’s nose.

The distance was a bit too close—at least for the “Justice-I” rail cannons’ range. Philip knew his artillery well; under the right conditions, these cannons could strike enemies beyond visual range. With proper ballistic calculations, he could have attacked Rockhold Fortress from the edge of the hills without even stepping onto the plains.

But in this battle, there was no need to keep such a distance. Nor could he afford to.

Back in his tent, Philip studied the military map hanging inside—the lord’s own hand-drawn map, surprisingly accurate. It clearly showed Rockhold Fortress, his own position, and the surrounding terrain. He noted the Dorgon River flowing south from the Holy Spirit Plains, passing through a mountain pass west of the fortress, where it split into two branches. One branch, called the Whitewater River, flowed southwest. The best place to dock warships and launch attacks was an open area in the western plains.

That area had to be fully within the Cecil Legion’s support range. So Philip needed to push his positions onto the plains and establish a second high ground closer to the Whitewater River. He didn’t see any problem with that distance—how far could catapults really shoot? How far could mages throw a fireball?

Frankly, if he pushed his lines halfway forward, the fortress defenders would still be helpless spectators.

The tent’s flap was lifted, and a young female knight clad in silver-white magi-armor, her waist hung with a molten-cutting sword, entered. She snapped to attention before Philip and saluted crisply. “Sir! The scouts have returned. The perimeter is secure!”

Philip sighed. “They’re just watching us set up camp right under their noses…”

Margareta, the young knight from the Kant region, couldn’t help but comment, “Their reaction is actually quite normal.”

Philip glanced at her. He had a good impression of Margareta. The veteran Kant knight Walder Perich spoke highly of her. She was a gifted knight like Philip, though still somewhat influenced by traditional noble thinking, having served the Cecils for a relatively short time. Philip didn’t mind.

“Why is their reaction normal?” he asked casually.

“Relying on a strong fortress and magical barriers for protection, waiting behind the walls to counterattack or for the situation to change—that’s the standard mindset for many nobles, especially when offensive efforts fail,” Margareta straightened up, eager to impress this commander from the lord’s inner circle. “They’ve already overperformed by launching a few attacks. After those failed attempts, they can’t risk sending soldiers out anymore. So hiding behind the walls is a reasonable choice.”

She paused, then added, “In most cases, sieges last a long time. I’m sure the commanders inside Rockhold think the same way. As long as their magical barriers hold, they don’t care what we do outside. Like the siege of Sustfort forty years ago—the enemy besieged it for three years, but the lord inside remained unharmed. Most of the besieging soldiers fled, and when reinforcements arrived, the attackers had to retreat. I imagine the Rockhold defenders are hoping for the same.”

Philip nodded thoughtfully. “I see…”

Margareta looked at him curiously. “Sir… Commander, you didn’t know this?”

Her question made sense. Philip was a noble knight from a proper lineage. The Cecil family, though fallen, once had their own castle. Growing up in such a traditional environment, how could Philip not understand these basic noble warfare rules?

Philip didn’t hide anything. “I understand the theory. But the Cecils have never fought that way—not since the lord returned to the world.”

“Oh?” Margareta’s eyes widened. “How do the Cecils fight then?”

Philip answered calmly, “Head-on attacks. Avoid being besieged or forced into passive defense unless absolutely necessary. Because as long as you kill all the enemies on the battlefield, the castle will naturally be safe.”

The young knight was stunned. “Such a bold, martial spirit…”

“It’s not bravery,” Philip spread his hands, “It’s necessity. If the Cecils get besieged, no one will come to help. Being trapped inside the castle means the end.”

The atmosphere grew awkward for a moment, but Philip quickly changed the subject. “According to plan, the first test fire will be before dusk—to liven up the fortress’s evening.”

The female knight saluted immediately. “Yes, sir!”

…

The blazing sun slowly moved across the sky, finally nearing the western mountains.

On the first high ground, the engineers finished assembling and calibrating the last “Justice-I” rail cannon.

These “engineer soldiers” had emerged alongside the rise of magical weaponry. Also called “Gunsmith Scholars” or “Field Mechanists,” they were trained soldiers with advanced mechanical and magical engineering knowledge. Equipped with specialized magi-terminals, they could cast simple spells like weight reduction or telekinesis, and use engineering modules to assemble, weld, and maintain weapons. Their presence marked the growing professionalism of Cecil’s magi-armed forces.

With the last cannon ready, fifteen minutes remained until firing.

The sun dipped toward the western mountains, the bright daylight dimming to a warm orange-red. The steel giants crouched in their emplacements gradually took on a golden-red glow.

Walder Perich, a middle-aged to elderly knight, stood on a rocky platform beside the artillery position. He pressed a monocular telescope to his eye, watching the distant Rockhold Fortress.

Though a mid-ranking knight had excellent eyesight, it couldn’t compare to a mage’s magical sight. But with the telescope’s aid, he could see just as far.

He observed several knights pacing atop the fortress walls, many soldiers manning the battlements. The knights occasionally stopped, pointing and talking among themselves—clearly catching glimpses of the activity on this side.

Though far away, through the telescope, it felt as if they were right in front of him—a sensation no “supernatural sight” could replicate.

Walder Perich didn’t know what those distant knights were discussing, nor did he care.

The appointed time had come.

The old knight lowered the telescope and personally gave the order to fire the powerful magi-weapons.

As he had told Margareta before, the knights of Kant had finally proven their worth.

The rune triggers were pulled hard. Enormous energy surged into the cannon mounts. Magical energy, transmitted through arcane relay obelisks and drawn from the Carolan realm’s magic network, powered the terrifying weapons to roar. Accompanied by sharp, piercing whistles, heavy magic-crystal shells, wrapped in pale cyan energy spheres, shot out along the acceleration rails, hurtling toward the distant Rockhold Fortress.

For the southern nobles inside, the long-missed familiar sound had finally returned.

(End of chapter)