Chapter 222: Cowardice |
Was this when Hoffmann had lost his arm?
Ambrose reviewed his memories, only to realize that he couldn't be sure.
He wasn't particularly familiar with Hoffmann to begin with. They had only met a few times with the vampire Heki Stone acting as an intermediary, after which Hoffmann had been killed.
Ambrose could hardly consult Heki through the Necromantic Codex at present, either. If he did, two Megaman Tiga entries might appear simultaneously… and that could lead to irreversible consequences.
Forget it. Hoffmann Ironfist's identity wasn't important.
Ambrose simply wanted to help the Dwarven Kingdom resolve its crisis at Sweetdew City. Once that was done, he could withdraw with his mission accomplished.
After returning to Sweetdew City with the surviving dwarf legends, Ambrose was given the warmest possible reception. Lavish food, fine drink, and even several beautiful women of every race imaginable were offered to him.
Naturally, Ambrose put on the act of a man utterly indifferent to such pleasures, declaring himself an ascetic who indulged neither in food nor in flesh.
"If you truly wish to thank me, then give me gold instead," Ambrose said solemnly. "I will use it to build temples for my god and spread His teachings."
"The God of Alchemy!" Ambrose declared, his voice firm and filled with devotion.
Hoffmann gave him a dubious look. A dragon knight who worshiped the God of Alchemy… how did that even make sense?
Ambrose's next sentence nearly stunned him senseless.
"I know it sounds strange, but in truth, I am a magically animated construct who became self-aware. Praise the God of Alchemy! My very existence is proof of His miracle."
Ambrose lifted the mithril mask from his face, revealing a complex mechanical structure beneath.
Hoffmann stared in shock. A self-aware construct?
He couldn't believe that such a thing really existed. He suspected that someone nearby was secretly controlling the construct, but if that person refused to show themselves, Hoffmann didn't dare try to force them out. After all, this construct had just helped repel the Lyon Empire's forces… and the dragon it rode was clearly no ordinary creature.
Hoffmann didn't know about time dragons.
Such creatures were exceedingly rare to begin with. Dragons had withdrawn from the continent over a thousand years ago, and most people could barely identify even the five standard colors of dragons, let alone a time dragon. All Hoffmann knew was that Ambrose's dragon was terrifying. One breath alone had crippled a paladin.
With one side eager to please, and the other fully willing to cooperate, their conversation flowed smoothly.
From Hoffmann, Ambrose learned that the Dwarven Kingdom had suffered defeat after defeat and lost many cities in succession. Sweetdew City had not originally been part of the frontlines, but the Lyon Empire had realized its strategic importance and paid a heavy price to launch a flanking assault.
The original plan had been to seize Sweetdew City within a single day, forcing the Dwarven Kingdom into an even more passive position.
However, the plan was leaked. The dwarves immediately dispatched reinforcements, intending to gather elite forces and teach the Lyon Empire a harsh lesson.
More than a dozen legends had been recalled from the front lines for an ambush.
The ambush succeeded, but the strength of the Lyon Empire far exceeded their expectations.
The plan had been to prepare magical traps along the enemy's advance route. These traps would not only deal massive damage but also suppress the power of holy light.
The Lyon forces did fall into the traps, but no one had expected that, the moment the traps activated, the Silvermoon Knight would unleash a single strike to split the entire formation apart.
The ambush turned into a head-on clash, and the dwarven legends had been completely overwhelmed.
If not for Ambrose's timely intervention, Sweetdew City would already have fallen.
Hoffmann was the commander of this warzone. At present, he was merely one of the kingdom's legends, not yet the future King's Hand.
Ambrose said to him, "The Lyon Empire won't give up so easily. They'll launch a second siege by tonight at the latest."
"What? Then… what should we do?"
Hoffmann's face turned pale. Fear was plainly visible on his face.
Ambrose could clearly sense that this wasn't an act. The man was genuinely trembling.
Did the Silvermoon Knight's strike really shatter his courage? How had he ever become the King's Hand?
Though puzzled, Ambrose had no intention of wasting time. "I can help, but I alone won't be enough. How many usable troops remain in the city?"
Hoffmann calmed himself slightly before answering, "Fewer than twenty thousand defenders. Sweetdew City's defensive magic array has fallen into disrepair and can no longer function properly. Only a few magitech cannons on the walls are still operational."
"What? But the Dwarven Kingdom is so wealthy—how can these defenses fall into disrepair? Haven't you been at war with the Lyon Empire for years?" Ambrose asked in surprise.
The friction between the Lyon Empire and the Dwarven Kingdom dated back to the very year the Silvermoon Knight was born, though it hadn't always been this intense. How could a nation constantly at war neglect its own defenses?
Hoffmann sighed. "You should know that the Golden Kingdom follows a policy of racial autonomy. Each race governs itself to a large extent, and the lord of Sweetdew City… was a lizardman."
As Hoffmann explained, the city lord had embezzled vast sums of wealth years ago and fled, taking most of the city's resources with him.
No one knew where he had gone. Only after an audit did they discover that nearly all tax revenue over the years had gone straight into his personal pockets. Not only had the city's magic arrays gone unmaintained, even the soldiers' pay had been embezzled.
Perhaps he had lost hope in victory against Lyon.
After taking over the territory, Hoffmann had transferred fresh troops from other cities into Sweetdew City. But the financial losses had been so great that Sweetdew City's defenses were now the weakest among the nearby cities.
And yet its location was critically important: it was a transportation hub of immense strategic value.
That was precisely why the Lyon Empire had chosen to launch a costly assault here. Unfortunately for them, they had run into Ambrose.
"So relying on the city's defenses is out of the question," Ambrose muttered.
Hoffmann looked embarrassed. The magical trap earlier had been their final trump card, and it had been torn apart instantly. Now, he had no confidence left at all. That dazzling strike had not only severed his arm, but also shattered the will of a legendary pugilist.
"In that case, we can't just defend the city. We need to take the initiative," Ambrose said.
"Take the initiative? But…"
At the mere thought of facing the Silvermoon Knight again, Hoffmann's legs went weak. They had only just forced the enemy to retreat. How were they supposed to pursue them? That was suicide.
"But what?" Ambrose cut him off. "Do you want to wait until that old man recovers and launches another strike? Now is when he's at his weakest. Even if we don't launch a full counterattack, we must harass them constantly. We can't let him rest."
Ambrose knew clearly that the Silvermoon Knight was their greatest threat. If they didn't press the advantage now, the next time he struck, they would pay for it with their lives.
Sensing Hoffmann's fear, Ambrose lowered his voice. "As the commander of this warzone, you should remain in Sweetdew City and oversee the situation from the rear. There's no need for you to take risks personally. Just send troops. Assign one or two stealth-oriented legends to lead a squad. Spend some money to hire rogues and thieves from the city. Once they locate the Lyon camp, disrupt them however possible.
"Poison, ambushes, sabotage—set fires in their camp if you can. There's no need for direct confrontation. As long as they can't rest, we'll have a chance."
Ambrose didn't understand warfare in detail, but he was far calmer than Hoffmann. The plan itself might not be perfect, but the phrase "oversee from the rear" struck exactly the right chord.
Yes, that was where Ambrose belonged.
With that premise in mind, the rest was straightforward.
Hoffmann had been chosen as a warzone commander for a reason. His military ability far exceeded Ambrose's. Hoffmann could turn Ambrose's vague "harassment tactics" into detailed plans, assigning personnel, structuring teams, and refining their execution.
As Hoffmann busied himself, Ambrose, too, played an active role.
Sweetdew City's defensive magic arrays might not be fully repairable, but they weren't useless. Ambrose intended to study them. Perhaps it could still produce an unexpected effect at a critical moment.
About thirty kilometers outside Sweetdew City, in a stretch of barren wasteland, ten thousand Lyon soldiers had set up camp.
Simple tents were erected, and supplies of water and rations were pulled from magical storage. The soldiers gulped down cold water and chewed on dry provisions.
Because this was a surprise assault, the army had brought almost no logistical support. Eating like this was their only option.
The original plan had been to take Sweetdew City and dine comfortably within it. Instead, a dragon knight had appeared out of nowhere and thrown everything into disarray.
The Silvermoon Knight coughed as he walked through the camp on his customary inspection. The young and inexperienced Allen followed closely behind him like a squire. Allen had not been qualified to participate in the earlier legendary battle. In fact, he hadn't even taken part in most of the siege. Within the army, he was little more than a servant, left behind in camp to await the Silvermoon Knight's return.
And the moment the old knight returned, he had ordered the entire army to rest immediately. He was clearly preparing for a second assault.
But Allen couldn't understand why. The Silvermoon Knight was obviously exhausted, so why not return and rest? Why insist on personally inspecting the camp? This kind of task could easily be delegated. The old man could barely walk steadily as it was.
"General Light, why don't you return to your quarters and rest?" Allen suggested.
The Silvermoon Knight shook his head. "Not yet."
"But given your condition… surely patrols can be left to others," Allen insisted.
The Silvermoon Knight coughed twice before explaining, "We just lost a battle. A surprise attack turned into a direct assault. I need to confirm whether the soldiers are still willing to fight. If their morale is shaken and we force them to attack again, we'd only be sending them to their deaths. Commanding an army isn't just about charging forward yourself. You need to understand your soldiers as well."
Allen frowned. "General, how could there be soldiers who fear the battlefield? We are soldiers of the Lyon Empire. Bathed in holy light, we have nothing to fear."
Just as he finished speaking, a loud argument broke out nearby.
The Silvermoon Knight led Allen over quickly and found a wounded soldier, with one severed leg, furiously pointing at another soldier as he shouted.
"You coward! I'm the one who lost a leg. What are you afraid of?!"
The soldier being scolded looked no older than eighteen. He was little more than a youth. In a trembling voice, he responded, "But I'm scared, Brother. What if the next cannon hits me instead?"