Chapter 81: The Butterfly Effect at Broken Wind Ravine

The ear-splitting roar of more than ten thousand Abyssal Beasts echoed through Broken Wind Ravine. Blizzard winds lashed against the sheer, three-thousand-meter cliff walls in freezing gusts.

At the bottom of the valley, mired in mud and blood-soaked snow, the hundred thousand soldiers of the 4th Frontline Legion had drawn into a desperate defensive arc.

Every one of them wore a black Cloak of Shadow, embroidered with the [⭕] emblem. But the black wool fabric was now shredded, caked in mud and the highly corrosive purple slime of the beasts.

At the front line, thousands of steel shields trembled under wave after wave of frenzied clawing from six-legged monsters encased in jet-black chitin armor. The thin magical barrier shielding the defense line was as fragile as cracked glass, ready to shatter with the next burst of acid.

Whoosh.

Atop the ice-covered, three-thousand-meter cliff, Lucian's silhouette appeared in absolute silence, thanks to Silent Blink.

Storm winds howled around him, but Hidden Step and Sound Dampening locked down his entire presence completely. He pulled the brim of his ash-grey hood low and looked down at the full scope of the ravine below.

The Unified System v2.0 notification appeared before him, streaks of dark red light flashing without pause.

['READ THE FINE PRINT' SKILL SCANNING THE ENTIRE BATTLEFIELD:]

• Friendly forces: 98,420 soldiers (Casualties: 1,580).
• Abyssal Beast count: 12,000 (Continuing to pour in through the ravine mouth).
• Projected survival likelihood: critically low under the current battlefield model; barrier failure is imminent.

[LOGISTICS & TACTICAL BOTTLENECKS:]

1. Food and water reserves: 100% depleted.
2. Mana-ore sustaining the defensive barrier: 4.2% remaining (Sufficient for 40 more minutes).
3. Tactical error: Left flank exposed by a 15-degree gap, caused by the army deliberately retreating toward the base of a dead-end cliff.

At the center of the field command tent below, the amplified voice of Commanding General — Earl Morid — kept booming across the battlefield.

"All forces hold the line! Per chapter forty-five of the Nameless Knight's account, the secret escape route, 'the Silent Wind Path,' will automatically open in the rear cliff face when the moon reaches its zenith! The Savior has never once deceived us!"

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A hundred thousand trembling soldiers gripped their spears tighter, staring up at the sheer, empty three-thousand-meter cliff face with eyes full of blind hope.

Standing atop the icy peak, Lucian pressed a hand to his forehead and swore a sharp curse into the storm.

"Moon at its zenith, my ass! Wait for that and a hundred thousand people become fertilizer for those monsters!"

The ten-year-old's face had none of its usual sarcasm or laziness left.

His dark, fathomless eyes shifted into the cold focus of a crisis-optimization expert. He drew his silver dagger from his hip and brought his Spell Control to a ninety-five-billion-point level of precision, locking onto the exact coordinates of the central command tent at the bottom of the ravine.

At a makeshift wooden watchtower on the edge of the battlefield, two guards, faces drained of color, looked up at the icy peak through the swirling fog and storm.

They saw a small figure in an ash-grey, black-trimmed cloak standing tall on the highest outcrop, the hem of his coat whipping in the storm wind, like a divine statue looming over heaven and earth.

One of the guards dropped his spear, trembling, and let out a choked cry.

"The Knight in Black... he's... he's really come to save us!"

Whoosh.

The figure atop the mountain vanished.

Inside the command tent of the 4th Legion.

Earl Morid and ten of his deputy commanders and staff colonels stood around the war table, arguing furiously, faces flushed red, over how to ration what remained of their mana-ore.

CLANG!

A sharp sound tore through the air.

A silver dagger buried itself through the leather map on the wooden table, its tip driving three inches deep into the exact position marked "Broken Wind Ravine."

All ten officers drew their swords at once, shouting in unison.

"Who's there?!"

Lucian stood right in the middle of the meeting table, both feet planted on the wooden surface, his traveling cloak still carrying flecks of unmelted snow.

He calmly reached up and pulled down his hood, revealing a ten-year-old's face as cold and still as ice, dark eyes fixed straight on General Morid.

"I'm the heir to Vance Commerce, and I hold every equipment debt contract for the hundred thousand soldiers under your command."

Lucian pulled the dagger out of the table and pointed it straight at Morid's chest.

"Drop the whole waiting-for-the-moon act. Behind you is a dead-end cliff, three thousand meters straight up. There is no goddamn secret path. As of this moment, all logistics, defensive strategy, and retreat planning for this legion is under my command."

Morid stared at the boy in front of him, stunned, the sword in his hand trembling.

"You... you're the Sword Emperor's son... how did you even get in here?!"

Behind the three-thousand-meter cliff, Sylvia was using spatial communication magic to guide Evelyn's ten-ton armored carriage and Astra to the site. A ton of compressed arcane explosives had just been delivered to the base of the rear cliff, ready for the largest artificial breach in recorded history.

Lucian didn't answer Morid's question. He pulled out his leather notebook, flipped to a blank page, and looked up at the old general.

"How many pounds of rations do you have left? How many mana-restoration crystals? Give me exact numbers in the next thirty seconds."

He tapped the hilt of his dagger against the ebony table.

"Every word you're short, I dock a thousand gold from your pension fund."