Chapter 286: It Must Be Ancestor Valentine’s Manifestation

Chapter 286: Chapter 286: It Must Be Ancestor Valentine’s Manifestation

The chronicles of the Iris Kingdom record that Clovis was not born a blazing sun in the heavens, nor a Red Dragon one dared not gaze upon.

In the year 612 of the Divine Calendar, Pendragon was still just a remote territory situated between two great Kingdoms.

And Emperor Clovis’s father was but a border Baron.

The seventeen-year-old Clovis could only be described as "frivolous" and "dissolute."

However, this was how the script of fate turned to a new page.

In early spring, all-out war erupted between the two great Kingdoms. As a buffer territory, Pendragon was instantly swept up in the torrent.

The Baron fell in battle, the land was turned to scorched earth, and blood stained the moat red.

That frivolous youth, who had once only known how to hide behind a woman’s skirts, managed a narrow Escape from Death with the help of loyal subjects.

He fled to a neighboring state, cast aside his dignity, and married the daughter of the local Lord in exchange for a thousand soldiers.

With these thousand men, he embarked on the war to reclaim his homeland.

And it was in this battle...

...that Clovis, through an incredibly brutal siege, retook Pendragon Castle and reclaimed his territory.

The very moment he plunged his broken sword into the last enemy commander’s throat, the twilight faded completely, and night fell.

This scene was also described in the chronicles with twelve words.

The stars shone bright, the Star Realm responded, the gods cast down their gaze.

As he stood upon a mountain of corpses, his gaze sweeping past, the generals of the neighboring states couldn’t help but fall to their knees.

This was the first awakening of Emperor Clovis’s King’s Way.

For decades after, this transformation never ceased.

With every major war he won, his charisma and oppressive presence underwent a qualitative change.

After establishing his Kingdom and crowning himself king, he no longer even needed to draw his sword. Merely sitting quietly upon his throne was enough to make the legs of enemy envoys tremble during an audience.

...

As he recalled this story and looked again at the young man on the field...

’It’s too perfect a match...’

Felix muttered to himself.

Last night, he had been stunned that the boy could command Dragon Breath just like the Emperor.

But he had still been uncertain about choosing him. After all, it was backing the wrong side that had led to the Valentine Clan’s decline.

To now stake his family’s fate on a wandering, rootless youth seemed utterly insane, no matter how he looked at it.

Even one who showed the potential of Dragon Breath.

But after witnessing the boy’s overnight transformation, the last wisp of hesitation in his heart vanished completely.

’One similarity is a coincidence. Two similarities... Dammit, this must be a sign from my Valentine ancestors!’

’A young emperor stands before me. I, Felix, shall be the one to raise the Red Dragon Banner!’

Unconsciously...

As he strode onto the Silver Hand’s training grounds, the noble air he usually carried had vanished completely.

Instead, his spine straightened involuntarily.

’The selection process is never one-sided; it’s a mutual choice.’

Following behind Felix was the captain of the Iron Throne, the team currently holding the number one spot on the leaderboards.

The captain had already removed his heavy steel armor, now wearing a set of coarse Linen Clothing.

With his Helmet off, one could clearly see he was a burly man with short green hair.

His name was Viters, a genuine Level 5 rare defensive Professional.

Viters keenly noticed the subtle change in the posture of Felix, who walked ahead of him.

The feeling was completely different from the Felix, the Golden Lion Cross Captain, that he knew. If he had to use one word to describe it, it would be...

Renewed?

Viters shot Felix a strange glance.

However, the burly man clearly didn’t dwell on Felix’s change, instead striding forward with purpose.

"Julius!"

Viters’s voice was resonant, yet somewhat stern.

It was a perfect match for the Iron Throne’s grim and somber style from the day before.

After the greeting...

...Viters immediately turned, his gaze locking onto Lance, who was standing off to the side.

He extended a massive hand without hesitation.

"Hello. I’m Viters, captain of the Iron Throne!"

Viters’s eyes held the appreciation one has for a powerful expert.

"That fight of yours in the square last night—I saw the whole thing. Clean, efficient, and every move was lethal!"

"If Julius hadn’t publicly announced that you’d joined the Silver Hand yesterday, then..."

Viters firmly gripped Lance’s outstretched hand, his tone tinged with regret.

"Otherwise, I would’ve had to find a way to poach you for the Iron Throne today."

He was speaking from the heart.

Ever since the "Battle for the Star Cup" that erupted in the Star Realm the previous year...

...the core forces of the Royal Capital Military Department had suffered a devastating blow.

The new generation of geniuses from common backgrounds, in whom the military had placed such high hopes, had been all but wiped out in that battle.

The military was now in a critical transitional period, desperately short on new blood.

A commoner genius with terrifying strength like Lance was exactly the sort of rare resource they dreamed of recruiting.

’What a pity!’

Viters sighed inwardly as he thought about it.

At that moment, seeing that the other man seemed lost in memory and had no intention of letting go of his hand...

...a thought suddenly flashed through Lance’s mind.

He recalled the uncontrollable changes that had occurred after he integrated the [Thousand Descendants’ Blessing] trait, and his back immediately tensed up.

’Wait... this hulking man couldn’t possibly have some hidden Sub-human bloodline, could he?’

Lance quickly and discreetly withdrew his hand, silently praying that his [Alien Race Command] trait wouldn’t decide to do something strange right now.

「Once everyone had arrived.」

Julius wasted no more time on pleasantries.

Lance had assumed this would have nothing to do with him for the moment. Although he held the coordinates of five Iron Guards, the three captains would surely reach a consensus on a joint strategy before coming to talk to him.

He was just about to leave with Nieve...

...when Julius unexpectedly called him over.

"You should join us. After all, you’re a core part of the strategy to conquer the Summer Crown."

Seeing that the other two didn’t object...

’They probably figured it would be a hassle to track me down after they finished their discussion, so it was easier to just bring me along now.’

Since that was the case...

...Lance didn’t refuse. He told Nieve he would find her later, then quietly followed the three leaders.

He was well aware that the decisions these men were about to make would directly determine whether tens of thousands of people would leave this place alive.

...

The meeting room was simple, containing only a rectangular wooden table and a few chairs.

After the four took their seats.

The meeting officially began.

The meeting that would decide the fate of tens of thousands had barely begun before the three captains quickly established their overarching strategy:

The three major teams would temporarily set aside their differences. Each would be responsible for leading their respective Adventurers in a coordinated assault on the three designated zones of the Underground City.

Simultaneously, an emergency conscription order would be issued throughout the safe zone, forcibly incorporating all unaffiliated Adventurers who were still on the sidelines.

Furthermore...

...all existing resources in the camp, including weapons, Potions, and intelligence, would be centrally managed and allocated with the sole focus on conquering the Underground City.

This all aligned with what Lance had been thinking yesterday.

But as the three captains immediately launched into a heated discussion centered on this core objective...

...as Lance listened on, his brow furrowed, a giant, invisible question mark forming over his head.

He had spotted a major problem.

Although the three captains were aware of the current crises, such as food and supply shortages...

...the entire focus of their discussion was on "how to fight."

"The Low Level Demons in the easiest zone aren’t strong individually, but they might mutate and swarm. We need to figure out how many Casters to assign for fire support..."

"The Heavy Armor Professionals will advance too slowly; we need to add more..."

They spoke with great authority on tactical deployments and Profession synergies, even sketching out specific formations for their advance.

But...

’But what about the factors that will actually decide if this campaign is even sustainable?’

’Where’s the specific plan for managing all the camp’s remaining resources?’

’How are they going to pacify and effectively organize the tens of thousands of idle, panicked Adventurers?’

’What methods will they use to suppress the troublemakers who refuse to cooperate, or worse, decide to take advantage of the chaos?’

’Logistics, care for the wounded, maintaining order—who’s responsible for any of that?’

’These are the cornerstones that determine if the entire camp can function, and these three haven’t mentioned a single one! Their focus isn’t on it at all!’

’When the camp collapses into chaos, how do they expect the frontline assault to continue?’

’You’ve got to be kidding me...’

Lance griped silently.

’This is the logistics and survival of ten thousand people! Do you really think a war is won just by waving your hand and yelling ’charge’?’

At this thought...

...Lance couldn’t hold back any longer.

"Ahem..."

He coughed twice, deliberately and loudly, rudely interrupting their heated discussion about "regionalized Demon Tide response tactics."

The meeting room fell silent in an instant.

Three pairs of eyes snapped toward Lance, who was sitting in the corner.

Viters’s thick green eyebrows knitted together, a flash of displeasure in his eyes. ℯℯ𝘭.

As a military man, he hated being interrupted more than anything.