Chapter 692: Turning Point
The sky was heavy with dark clouds, and a damp, earthy wind howled down from the northern mountains. Autumn’s withered leaves and tufts of dry grass swirled in the gusts, spinning and slapping against the pristine windows of the armored train. Inside the tactical command compartment of the Iron Throne, Philip stood silently, his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of wilderness and forest receding behind them.
Time matures a man, especially when that time is spent on the battlefield. Even the greenest youth is tempered into a steady, seasoned warrior. Once a young and fiery knight of Cecil, Philip had now risen to become the Empire’s highest army commander. The sharp edges of his youth had softened into a calm, reliable presence—his greatest achievement. Standing quietly there, he seemed far more restrained than he had four years ago.
Technicians bustled at the Iron Throne’s control panels, managing the colossal war machine’s operations while maintaining constant communication with both the front lines and the rear. A technical sergeant approached Philip, holding a data printout from one of the devices. “General, the lead engineering train reports the tracks are sealed and the temporary station is ready. The Iron Throne can proceed at full speed.”
Philip nodded. “Full speed ahead. Any updates from Longwind Fortress?”
“No unusual activity from the Typhon forces. General Mariland remains on high alert.”
Philip gave a brief grunt in acknowledgment, saying no more.
He hadn’t expected that the traditionally rigid and old-fashioned Mariland Knight—who had once charged headlong at the magical warship at Rockhold Fortress, embodying the chivalric code—would now be using a series of unexpected tactics to intimidate the Typhon along the border. That old-school knight, stubborn as a stone, had finally learned to wield cunning and strategy in these turbulent times. Though Philip hadn’t yet received detailed intelligence on the Longwind Fortress operations, the information so far made it easy to guess what Mariland had been up to.
Still, such tactics could only hold the border for so long. To truly stop the Typhon, they needed a “mobile fortress” like the Iron Throne.
As the Empire’s top army commander, Philip was personally leading a unit aboard the newly refurbished Iron Throne, now more than halfway to Longwind Fortress.
At this train’s speed, and with the tracks now fully operational, they wouldn’t take long to reach their destination.
The sky in the distance darkened further, the clouds thickening over the eastern border. A heavy rainstorm was brewing, and according to the Druids’ forecasts, the downpour would cover the entire Longwind defensive line.
But the Iron Throne was unfazed—this cutting-edge mobile fortress paid little heed to most weather on land.
A cold wind whipped against the high outer walls of Winterwolf Castle, sending black banners snapping in the gusts. The knights on duty stood their posts with unwavering discipline, though many couldn’t help but glance toward Longwind Fortress. Yet all eyes could do was watch and wait.
The order to contract the front lines had been issued days ago. Both the Empire’s knightly orders and the mage corps remained stationed east of Winterwolf Castle, abiding by the command. Though the standoff remained tense, the seasoned veterans had already read the situation: this battle was unlikely to break out.
On the outer wall’s watchtower, a sentinel mage ended his Eagle Eye spell, easing the mental fatigue from prolonged surveillance. Another sentinel mage took over, the runes of the spell shimmering once more in the air above the tower. The relieved mage rubbed his eyes and muttered with some frustration, “We even got the legion-grade crystal arrays delivered, and yet… no fight.”
“That’s the order. The commanders have their reasons,” a battle mage nearby said flatly, eyes still closed as he rested. “Besides, did you see those fortifications? The Cecilians have dug a ton of trenches. You really want to jump into those?”
“…Yeah… best not to question what the higher-ups are thinking,” the sentinel mage sighed, shivering as a cold gust made him hunch his shoulders. “Huh… autumn’s really here. It’s getting colder.”
“Yeah… autumn’s here,” the battle mage said, standing and snapping his fingers to summon a gentle wind shield over the tower’s top. He glanced toward the castle’s main keep. “If General Andersa orders a retreat before the end of the month, we might still make it home in time for the Day of Remembrance.”
A single leaf drifted across the sentinels’ view, swirling in the wind before settling inside the fortress walls, landing on the windowsill of the fortress commander’s chamber.
Andersa’s gray-white hair fluttered in the autumn breeze. The young wolf general raised a hand, brushing the strands from her face. Her eyes, visible through the silver hair, held a trace of reluctance and gloom.
Her adjutant stood before her, head bowed. “General, His Majesty’s order to contract the front lines was issued days ago. The Iron River Knights cannot remain on the Winterwolf front indefinitely—you should at least order them back to the eastern camp. Otherwise, the noble council at home will surely criticize you on this matter…”
“The council will never understand how tense the border really is,” Andersa snapped irritably, cutting him off as she stood. “And yet… something feels off. Everything seems too… convenient. One thing leads to another logically, but my instincts are warning me.”
As a legion commander, Andersa knew she shouldn’t rely on “instinct” to explain things. If she were an astrologer or a seer, that might be acceptable. But as a transcendent knight, she needed to remain rational and cautious. Yet ever since the Cecilians reinforced their lines and the border had fallen into this tense standoff, an increasing restlessness gnawed at her. Now, with the capital ordering a contraction and the Iron River Knights to withdraw, that instinctive warning grew impossible to ignore.
It was as if some unseen voice kept telling her she was missing a pivotal moment—one that could change history.
Her adjutant noticed the unusual tension in his commander. After a moment’s silence and careful thought, the usually steady knight spoke, “General, perhaps you should review the recent reinforcement records and fortification layouts at Longwind Fortress?”
Andersa was silent for a moment, then nodded sharply. “Bring me the records. Also, the recent procurement logs from the large Cecilian trade caravans at several market towns.”
“Yes, General…” The adjutant nodded, but before he could finish, hurried footsteps and raised voices echoed outside the door. A sharp voice called out urgently down the corridor: “I must see General Andersa! It’s extremely urgent! Extremely urgent!”
“Who is it?” Andersa raised her voice. “Let him in.”
The door was opened by a guard, and a middle-aged man in a scholar’s robe, clutching a bundle of papers and wearing the Empire’s insignia, stumbled inside. He looked disheveled, as if he’d struggled past soldiers to get here, but his voice was still strong as he waved the documents before Andersa. “General! There’s a problem with the Cecilian defenses! We may have been deceived!”
Andersa peered closely and recognized him as one of Winterwolf’s advisor scholars. After the army’s reorganization, Emperor Rosetta had established this special group—advisor scholars who combined battlefield experience with academic knowledge. These battle mages or priests were more thoughtful than ordinary soldiers and more familiar with combat than pure bureaucrats. They analyzed intelligence and offered strategic advice to the highest commanders, playing a vital role in the modern Typhon legions.
Some old-school knight commanders disliked these talkative advisors, but Andersa valued their input deeply. She had even proposed reforms to enhance their effectiveness, submitting them to the Emperor. Seeing one of them rush in like this, her expression turned grave. “Sir, what’s happened?”
“General, the Cecilian defenses are compromised. They… cough… they may be stalling,” the man said, spreading the papers on the table. They were lists—reinforcement logs, fortification updates, and supply records. “Look here—these are their troop reinforcements, these their fortification expansions, and these their supplies. We’ve gathered and inferred this data through intelligence channels. Look at these numbers!”
“They look normal,” Andersa frowned, scanning the documents. “But… something’s wrong.”
“Of course it’s wrong! The numbers themselves are fine, but their patterns are suspicious!” the scholar shouted. “Too steady, too regular. If you graph troop increases and supply flows, the lines are almost perfectly straight. Especially the supplies—that’s the hardest intelligence to get. If it’s accurate and shows such regularity, it’s fake. The enemy is deliberately feeding us false data!”
A flash of insight struck Andersa. She finally understood the source of her unease.
“So foolish… I’ve been so foolish…”
The young wolf general muttered under her breath, recalling a lesson her father once told her:
The craftiest enemy isn’t the one who hides all their secrets, but the one who shows you everything—yet you can’t tell what’s real and what’s false.
She sprang to her feet, voice sharp and rapid. “Winterwolf First Knight Order, light gear, advance to the Paramel Highlands—I’m leading the unit myself. Order the Iron River Knights to assemble in the Plain Triangle zone. Black Banner Mage Corps, stand by. Warm up all legion-grade power crystals and prepare for deployment!”
Her adjutant responded loudly, “Yes, General!”
He didn’t ask what they would do if the general’s judgment was wrong. As the Wolf General and heir of the Wendell family, she had already considered all consequences when issuing the order. If this turned out to be a mistake, she would fight to bring the First Knights back and take full responsibility.
Nor did he question the apparent “disobedience” of the Emperor’s order. Since the founding of the Winterwolf Legion, the Wolf General had been granted certain frontline decision-making powers. In emergencies where communication with the capital was impossible, she had the authority to act decisively.
Whether the Cecilians would be angered, whether they would claim moral high ground or pressure the Empire—these were not concerns for the adjutant.
The Empire was the backbone of every Typhon soldier, and soldiers were sent to the front to fight, not to idle away their days.
A well-equipped knightly order, nearly a third of its members gifted with extraordinary abilities, was swiftly assembled. Under the darkening sky and biting autumn wind, they departed from Winterwolf Fortress, racing along the southern plains’ winding corridors toward the Paramel Highlands. Meanwhile, one of the Typhon Empire’s elite units, the Iron River Knights, quickly gathered in the triangular plain before Winterwolf Fortress, their spearheads aimed at the distant Longwind Fortress. Thousands of specially trained battle mages also arrived at the rally point, ready to respond the moment the First Knightly Order sent word.
The cold wind swept across the plains, banners whipped by the gusts, and griffon knights circled high above, their piercing cries echoing through the chill. Amid the howling wind, Andersa donned her family’s winged helm, spurred her horse through the ranks, and drew her longsword at the front of the formation. “Forward! To the Paramel Highlands! Advance!”
…
An armored griffon sliced through the clouds, slipping past Typhon’s griffon scouts under the cover of dark storm clouds. On the back of this ironclad raptor, Knight Cecil leaned low, goggles shielding his eyes, swiftly relaying the message back to the fortress commander.
A fully staffed grand knightly order of the Typhon Empire was suddenly advancing on the Paramel Highlands.
Mariland stood in the command room, eyes fixed intently on the map before her, staring at the arrow marking the enemy’s direction.
The path that Typhon’s knights were heading toward… was a decoy position.
They had seen through it—before the Iron Throne even arrived.
(End of chapter)