"None," Blake replied after a moment's thought, shaking his head. The gazes fixed on him, however, grew even more complicated.
These officers were seasoned veterans of countless battles, and they all knew exactly what this assignment entailed. On the battlefield, defenses were divided into two key components: **points** and **momentum**. Points referred to the strongest and weakest links in the line, while momentum represented the overall fighting spirit and cohesion of the army. Celt's earlier orders had only addressed the reinforcement of specific "points" in the defenses. But detaching an entire flank of the fortress and placing it under Blake's command was a matter of far greater significance.
Though all present were soldiers who prided themselves on obeying orders, they couldn't help but feel uneasy. Blake was not a soldier or an officer—he was a noble. Strictly speaking, the forces under his command, despite their unmatched strength, were nothing more than private retainers, not regular troops. This violated one of the most sacred rules of warfare: those who were not soldiers had no duty to obey military commands. Worse, their loyalties were tied to their liege lord, not the kingdom, meaning they might disregard orders from superior officers due to differences in status or allegiance. For a soldier, however, even the most irrational order had to be followed without question. War was not a fairy tale where everyone lived happily ever after; every victory was bought with the blood and lives of both allies and enemies. That was the harsh reality of it.
In truth, everyone present could see Celt's dual intentions in assigning Blake to the right flank. On one hand, it was a sign of trust—trust in Blake's military prowess. On the other hand, it was a testament to his distrust. Of all the defensive lines guarding Crimson Fortress, the right flank was the most vulnerable and difficult to hold. Across the border lay a vast, flat plain, ideal for enemy forces to deploy and advance. On Wester's side, however, the terrain was rugged and treacherous, offering little cover for defenders and making it nearly impossible to construct permanent fortifications. Aside from a handful of isolated outposts, the area was completely undefended. Against Gifted Knights, the regular garrison troops would be hard-pressed to hold the line.
But from another perspective, even if Blake and his men failed to hold the line at the critical moment, the harsh terrain meant that any breach in the right flank would not immediately threaten the entire fortress. It would buy Celt enough time to mobilize reinforcements and plug the gap. In the end, even the old general found it hard to fully trust a young noble who had shown such blatant disregard for authority just days prior. Handing him too much power would be reckless and irresponsible. While the power of dragon knights could turn the tide of battle, an unruly force that refused to follow orders was worse than useless.
Blake clearly understood the old general's subtle maneuvering, so he said nothing more. Ofaliel, however, looked utterly astonished. Her way of thinking was worlds apart from Blake and Celt's. In her eyes, their forces' overwhelming strength was obvious to everyone—so why were they being assigned to the most difficult flank of all? It made no sense. She had originally assumed that the old general would split their forces and deploy them to reinforce the fortress's front, left, and right flanks. She had never imagined such a bold, high-risk assignment.
This was the difference between military strategy and political intrigue. Military strategy emphasized discipline and rules; political intrigue thrived on subtlety and hidden agendas. These were lessons that Ofaliel would have to learn on her own in time.
With that, the military meeting came to a close. But before Blake could leave, Celt called out to him one last time.
"Lord Blake, I'm sure you're aware that we're severely short-staffed. To plug the gaps in our defenses, I've had to redeploy troops from all over the fortress. To avoid interfering with your operations, I'll withdraw all regular garrison troops from the right flank and leave the entire defense to you and your men. I have faith that your strength will not disappoint me."
Blake didn't react, but Ofaliel's face darkened instantly. Withdraw the troops? Are you joking? She had lived in the fortress long enough to gain a thorough understanding of its defenses. The right flank was an extremely long stretch of border, normally patrolled by thousands of soldiers. But now, the old general was planning to withdraw all of them and leave Blake to defend it alone? Their forces numbered barely a hundred—even if they split up, they could never hope to cover the entire flank. Were they supposed to have Judy and the others flying dragons back and forth across the sky all day? That was…
"Rest assured, General Celt," Blake interrupted before Ofaliel could voice her objections. He smiled and bowed slightly, then shrugged his shoulders. "I will do my utmost to fulfill your orders."
"Then I leave everything in your hands," Celt replied, his weathered face completely expressionless, as stern and unyielding as ever.
Ofaliel bit her tongue and said nothing more, shooting Blake a helpless glance before turning to follow him out of the room. As he watched their retreating figures, the old general's stern expression finally softened into a faint, bitter smile.
"I have no other choice… this is the only way."
"Lord Blake, are you really going along with this?" Ofaliel asked the moment they stepped out of the meeting room, her voice filled with disbelief. "The right flank is far too long—our forces can never hope to defend it alone!"
"You're absolutely right. Our forces alone can't hold the line. And as a commander who cares for his subordinates, I'd never make Judy and the others ride dragons back and forth in the autumn wind all day—even if it would look incredibly impressive," Blake replied with a chuckle.
"Then… what are you planning to do?" Ofaliel's eyes lit up, as if she had suddenly realized something. "This is a brilliant idea!"
"Of course. Though I'm only going to test the waters for now," Blake replied with a smile, shrugging his shoulders. His vague answer matched her own.
After leaving the fortress's main keep, the group did not return to their encampment immediately. Instead, they wandered leisurely through the streets of the fortress city.
Though it was a military fortress, it still possessed all the functions of a proper city. Of course, wartime had dulled its usual bustle and prosperity, but the group wasn't here to shop. Blake walked with his hands clasped behind his back, strolling at a casual pace. Ofaliel and Charlotte followed silently behind him. Charlotte wore her usual faint, serene smile, but Ofaliel's brow was furrowed as she pondered Blake's cryptic words.
Behind them walked the twin sisters, Messiah and Semia—the only ones in the group who seemed to be genuinely enjoying the stroll. Hand in hand, they hummed a cheerful tune, their eyes wide with curiosity as they looked around at everything. Their cute faces were lit up with excitement and wonder. Bringing up the rear was Judy, the red-haired dragon knight. She remained silent as always, following the group quietly without a word.
Needless to say, this unusual group attracted the attention of everyone around them. Whether it was patrolling soldiers or passersby, their eyes were drawn to Blake and his entourage. But no one was foolish enough to approach them voluntarily. Anyone who had been in Crimson Fortress longer than a few days knew about the brutal massacre that had taken place not long ago. While many didn't know the exact details or who was responsible, they had all heard the rumors—and they knew better than to provoke a group that looked so harmless on the surface but could unleash such terrifying violence.
But along with their curiosity, people couldn't help but feel confused. These people rarely left their encampment, and when they did, they usually vanished without a trace. Now, they were wandering the streets openly—what were they up to?
It didn't take long for someone to realize the truth: Blake and his group were heading straight for the noble coalition's encampment outside the city walls!
The discovery sent a wave of panic through the fortress. What was going on? Had the massacre not been enough? Were they planning to kill again? Without hesitation, everyone who noticed their destination rushed to report the news to their superiors. Even the soldiers patrolling the city walls vanished in an instant. After all, everyone only had one life to lose. Dying in battle against the Sith invaders was honorable; dying a senseless death at the hands of Blake and his dragon knights was not.
Blake, however, seemed completely oblivious to the chaos he was causing. He continued to stroll along as if he were taking a leisurely walk in the park, soon arriving at the noble coalition's encampment outside the city.
Though they were not allowed to reside within the fortress walls, these nobles were still nobles—and where there was money, there was a way. The encampment was laid out with rows upon rows of luxurious tents, arranged in neat circles of varying sizes. Outside the encampment, the nobles' private retainers patrolled the perimeter. But compared to the disciplined regular army soldiers, these private troops were clearly lacking in training and professionalism. At the sight of strangers approaching, several of the retainers rushed over to block their path.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Seeing Blake's noble attire, the retainers managed to keep their tone civil—though their eyes lingered on the beautiful women behind him, and a hint of jealousy crept into their voices. Human nature was inherently selfish and envious. Here was a young noble strolling around with a bevy of beautiful women at his side, while they were stuck patrolling an encampment in the middle of a war zone, unable even to afford a decent meal, let alone find a girlfriend. It was only natural that they felt a twinge of resentment.
"You're new faces around here, aren't you?" one of the retainers asked, his tone growing a little sharper.
At the sound of his voice, the twin sisters' cheerful humming came to an abrupt halt. Judy lifted her eyes and glanced casually at the retainers blocking their path. Ofaliel was still deep in thought, completely oblivious to what was happening around her. Charlotte, like Blake, maintained her graceful smile, her expression unchanged.
"That's right. We're new here. I was wondering—this is the Byrd family's encampment, isn't it?" Blake replied calmly.
"It certainly is!" the lead retainer said proudly, puffing out his chest. "What do you want with us?"
In his mind, the young noble standing before him was undoubtedly another minor lord seeking refuge with the powerful Byrd family. It made perfect sense—ever since the Mobius private army had been annihilated, countless small noble families had been thrown into chaos, scrambling to find new patrons. The Byrd family was one of the most powerful factions in the coalition, so it was only natural that they would attract supplicants. The retainers had seen plenty of desperate nobles like Blake in recent days, so they naturally assumed he was one of them.
"I have a small matter to discuss with Lord Viscount Wen of your family," Blake said, his expression remaining calm despite the retainer's condescending tone. "Would you be kind enough to inform him of my arrival?"
"The Viscount is a very busy man," the lead retainer scoffed, a dismissive smirk spreading across his face. "Whatever you have to say, you can tell us instead. We'll pass it along."
"I see…" Blake paused for a moment, as if considering his words. Then he nodded, the same faint smile returning to his lips. "In that case, please inform Lord Viscount Wen that I have business with him—and that I'd like him to come out here to meet me."
The same request, but delivered with a completely different tone.
The atmosphere turned icy in an instant.
The retainers stared at Blake in stunned silence. Let the Viscount come out to meet *him*? Who did this young man think he was? What right did he have to make such a demand? One of the younger retainers couldn't contain his anger any longer and stepped forward, his face turning red with rage.
"Hey, you arrogant little—"
But he never got to finish his sentence. An older, more experienced retainer quickly grabbed him by the arm, cutting him off mid-rant. The veteran stared at Blake intently for a long moment, his eyes narrowing in recognition. A look of shock and disbelief flashed across his face, and he quickly straightened up, bowing deeply to Blake with a look of profound respect.
"My deepest apologies, sir. We'll inform the Viscount at once."
With that, the veteran turned to his subordinates, his voice sharp with authority. "What are you waiting for? Go tell the Viscount *now*!"
"Y-yes, sir!"
Confused but intimidated, the younger retainers scrambled toward the largest tent in the center of the encampment to deliver the message to Viscount Wen.
"Someone wants to see me?" Viscount Wen asked in surprise, looking up from the map spread out on his desk. "Who is it?"
"Some arrogant young noble," the flustered retainer replied, still seething with anger. "He said he had business with you, so we told him you were busy and offered to pass along his message. But then he had the audacity to say he wanted you to go out there and meet *him*! The nerve of that guy!"
"Wants me to go out and meet him?" Viscount Wen froze, his eyes widening in shock. In the entire noble coalition at Crimson Fortress, he considered himself one of the most powerful and influential figures. Who on earth would dare to demand that he come out to greet them? Could it be that fat fool from the Mobius family? But then his retainer spoke again, and Viscount Wen's face turned ashen with terror.
"Though to be fair, the women with him are *incredibly* beautiful. I've never seen anything like them in my life…"
"Enough!" Viscount Wen roared, slamming his fist on the table and jumping to his feet. "What have you idiots done? You fools! Go invite the lord in at once—no, wait! I'll go out to greet him personally! You imbeciles! Look what you've done!"
With that, Viscount Wen stormed out of the tent, leaving his confused subordinates behind.
The retainers exchanged bewildered glances, but they knew something was terribly wrong. They quickly scrambled to follow their lord out of the tent.
When Viscount Wen caught sight of Blake's figure standing outside the encampment, his face turned even paler with fear. He rushed forward as fast as his legs could carry him, bowing deeply until his back was almost touching the ground.
"Lord Blake! I never dreamed I would have the honor of your visit! What brings you here? Please, this is no place to talk—let me escort you to my tent at once! My foolish subordinates had no idea who you were—please forgive their rudeness! If you're displeased, I'll—"
"I have no complaints," Blake interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "The autumn breeze is quite pleasant, actually. A little walk in the open air is rather refreshing. But I *do* have something important to discuss with you. I heard from your subordinates that you've been quite busy lately?"
"Busy? No, no, no! I have plenty of time! All the time in the world!" Viscount Wen replied, nearly in tears. How could he dare to say he was busy? How could he *ever* say he was busy when Lord Blake himself was standing before him?
With that, the Viscount personally escorted Blake and his entourage into his luxurious central tent. Della arrived shortly after hearing the news. The two of them had already emerged as the de facto leaders of their faction in the coalition, so their presence here was only natural.
"Lord Blake, what is this important matter you wish to discuss?" Viscount Wen asked, pouring Blake a cup of fine black tea with trembling hands.
"It's nothing too complicated," Blake replied, taking a sip of the tea and setting the cup down. He paused for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully, then smiled. "To be perfectly honest with you both, General Celt just issued an order assigning me to defend the fortress's right flank."
"I see…"
Though they had suspected as much, both Viscount Wen and Della still looked surprised. After all, Blake was a noble, not a military officer—and defending an entire flank of the fortress was a responsibility far beyond his official role.
"But as you can see, I'm afraid I'm a bit short-handed," Blake continued, his smile widening. "I'm sure you both know that my forces are rather small—and many of them are young ladies who aren't exactly suited to roughing it on the front lines. I'd hate to put them through such hardship… So I was wondering—would you be willing to lend me your troops? What do you think?"