CHAPTER 48

Marquess Thor rode at the front of his one-million-strong army, mounted on his horse. His armor, like that of other noblemen, was highly ornate, yet he was no war-mad fanatic. In fact, he despised wearing armor and going to battle in this decade of his middle age. There was a time when he had longed to join the war and become a knight, having spent years in his foster family after his mother's death. However, due to financial hardship, he had been a shepherd until his true family discovered that he carried their blood—his father had lain with a servant, his mother. The true heirs of the family, recognizing him as their blood, could not allow him to continue living as a mere shepherd. Since they did not see him as a threat to their status due to his half-noble lineage, they granted him rank and power. It was Lamorak who made him his loyal bannerman.

Nevertheless, Thor was disinterested. Accompanied by only four counts out of ten—two of whom had died, while the other four refused to acknowledge him and outright scorned him for being only half-noble—he led reluctantly. Thor had no interest in politics. He would have preferred to remain by his peasant wife, now titled Marquess, and focus on raising his children. But the relentless attacks on his noble territory by skeletal monsters and demonic creatures—attacks that had already cost two counts their lives, wiped out an entire commercial city, and devastated a great army—forced him to muster his forces under the pressure of his four remaining counts.

Thor gazed around, bored. But his eyes were unlike those of others—golden eyes that could see ten seconds into the future. His knightly instructor had recognized his talent as extremely rare, yet even with such an ability, his failure to break into the rank of Warlord made him useless as a Marquess. This had long since drained his enthusiasm for knighthood, even though attaining the rank of Lord was a dream for 99.99% of his people.

"Such an accursed land at the border of my domain… why couldn't my brother have assigned me a more peaceful place?"

The four counts behind him frowned. Every land had been established by the noble ancestors of their houses, and before uniting into a single empire, each had ruled independently—like King Pellinore, Thor's own father. But luck had not been on the side of their former lord. Despite being one of Pellinore's great commanders—a man whom Duke Gavin deeply loathed—he had been ensnared in a web of conspiracies after Pellinore's death, leading to his demise. With Thor's unexpected rise and no heir left from their former lord, the throne that once belonged to a powerful military commander and defender of humanity's borders against the darkness fell into the hands of a man who feared war.

"Your Excellency, I hope this campaign ends soon, as supplying an army of this size has placed an enormous burden upon us. Without Count Franz to handle logistics, I suggest we avoid setting up camp tonight."

An elderly count with a face marked by hardship and hands calloused from endless swordplay approached Thor on his armored warhorse. His long white hair contrasted sharply against his black armor.

"I hope so too, Count Antonio, for I have no great desire to linger in these cursed lands. However, our men will grow weary, and exhaustion is a greater threat than hunger."

Count Antonio smirked, for most of the army had been trained under his military academy's methods.

"Your Excellency, our soldiers are all trained professionals. That concern only applies to peasant and shepherd conscripts."

Thor sighed. Yet another jab at his past, one met with smirks from the other three counts.

"Then I would be delighted if Count Antonio took command, for this shepherd intends to set up camp tonight and grant his weary, noble body—one that once carried royal blood—a well-deserved rest."

The four counts scowled. This was not the response they had expected. But Thor had little interest in noble politics or their schemes. Still, he always made sure to respond to their mockery with sharp words of his own.

The one-million-strong army continued its march, guided by their mages, even through the night. Many soldiers were displeased by this, yet none dared voice their concerns, for according to military law, even the slightest attempt to incite disorder or disrupt the army's morale was punishable by death.

As the moon reached its peak, the sound of metal boots and warhorses still filled the Forbidden Mountain like it was daylight. Meanwhile, Hazard, observing his enemy's forces through his many Eyes of Death, was uncertain whether his troops could withstand such an overwhelming wave of foes. He scanned the darkness with his spectral vision, noting that the shadowy forces remained unresponsive to the massive army before them, entirely preoccupied with the Death King and other undead rulers.

"Summoning will reset in one more minute… perhaps I should—"

A wild idea formed in his mind, making his body tremble. He glanced back at the ten thousand liches behind him and checked his connection to approximately five thousand structured undead, who would serve as bait.

"If luck is on my side..."

Then, sending forth his bait troops, a force of giants and various other undead creatures, he clashed against the empire's ten-thousand-strong vanguard.

Count Antonio, stationed at the front of the main army, laughed at his lord, who was camped ten kilometers behind him.

"When the glory of this battle is mine, you will regret your choice and blame yourself for it."

With that, he dispatched more troops to eliminate the undead blocking their path, deeming them no real threat.

Meanwhile, Hazard stood atop the mountains, rubbing his hands together as his liches took flight, forming a net-like formation over the enemy army with himself at the center. Spreading his arms wide, he activated the second state of his demonic Arc Lich King transformation.

Then, as his clones entered their second states, sharing their mana with him, he invoked Twin Death Summoning and Abyssal Summoning—unaware of the chaos his summons would unleash upon him and, ultimately, his world.