Chapter 362 - 348: Surrendering on Sight

Chapter 362: Chapter 348: Surrendering on Sight

When the smoke and dust began to clear, what appeared before everyone’s eyes was Rift Rock Pass, split down the middle and utterly destroyed.

And behind the pass, a shocking sword scar that looked like a wound upon the very earth.

Morne’s figure slowly descended from the sky, landing lightly on the ground.

His Longsword was already sheathed, and the surging silver Fighting Spirit around him had vanished without a trace.

He stood there as if he had never moved, merely brushing non-existent dust from his shoulder.

His calm gaze swept over the ruins before him. He spoke softly, yet his voice carried clearly to every soldier of the garrison and the allied forces, all of whom were shocked to their very souls.

"Now, who else wishes to consult Lucius?" 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ

The entire battlefield fell deathly silent.

Only the wailing of the wind through the canyon and the breach in the pass could be heard, like a reverent dirge sung for the King’s unrivaled Power.

In that moment, Morne, the old King, had announced his return to the entire Kingdom in the most direct and domineering way possible. And with it... the fate of those who defied him.

The roar of Rift Rock Pass’s collapse still echoed through the valley. The settling dust fell like a heavy curtain, shrouding the ruins in dead silence.

Atop the fortress walls, the surviving defenders were stunned speechless. Many couldn’t even remain standing, slumping to the ground. Their gazes, fixed on the figure who had slowly descended, were filled with the most primal Fear and awe.

This Fear was also deeply seared into the hearts of every soldier in the allied army below the pass, but for them, it was mixed with fervent adoration and a thrilling shiver.

Roland stood frozen, feeling as if his breath had caught in his chest.

Even though he had long heard of Morne’s renown and knew he was the Kingdom’s strongest Guardian, the difference between rumor and witnessing it firsthand was as vast as heaven and earth.

The sliver of pride and complacency that had quietly grown within him due to his own rapid increase in strength—even his initial grasp of Dragonification—melted away in an instant before this single strike, like ice under the sun.

He clearly recognized that even if he were to use every trump card he had and unleash his full Dragonification, the destructive force he could muster wouldn’t even come close to King Morne’s attack.

What was more terrifying was that, judging by Morne’s relaxed and effortless posture, this was far from his full strength.

The old King’s Power was as deep as the Abyss, simply unfathomable.

’Is this... the Power at the apex of the Kingdom?’ Roland asked himself.

He suddenly understood why Gloria and the others had been so surprised when he formulated the plan to ambush Anno, and why their understanding of tactics and strategy had seemed so shallow.

After all...

With a being like King Morne, who was a walking natural disaster, a "human-shaped nuclear bomb"...

...for the true enemies of the Golden Valley Kingdom, what room was there for so-called plots and schemes in the face of legitimate royal authority and the crushing weight of absolute Power?

Much of the time, perhaps all one really needed...

...was to simply brute-force it.

After the almost suffocating shock, what surged in the depths of Roland’s soul wasn’t discouragement, but an irrepressible, fiery tide.

The Fear gradually faded, replaced by an unprecedentedly clear understanding and a powerful desire.

’So, an individual’s Power can truly reach such a world-shaking level.’

’This is the Realm a true Transcendent should pursue, a might that surpasses all mortal imagination.’

’If...’

’If I myself possessed such Power, wouldn’t all my lingering worries, the need to tread so carefully, and even my apprehension toward beings from the Abyss all just vanish into thin air?’

He would be able to truly control his own destiny, to face any challenge, to explore the deepest mysteries of this vast and enigmatic world.

King Morne’s sword strike had not only cleaved Rift Rock Pass in two, but it had also shattered some form of invisible shackles around Roland’s heart.

Before, his motivation to increase his strength was mostly for survival, to deal with imminent threats.

But now, a grander, purer goal was Burning fiercely within him.

He had to become stronger—strong enough to look down upon all living beings, strong enough to understand and even surpass the level represented by the world-destroying strike he had just witnessed.

As Roland was lost in thought, the dust finally began to settle.

The terrifying sight of Rift Rock Pass being split by a single sword strike was branded deep into the soul of every witness, like the most shocking of paintings.

For the remaining defenders on the walls, what little fighting spirit they had maintained—bound by family orders and vested interests—completely shattered under the might of that one blow.

Fear overrode all calculation; the instinct for survival dictated their actions.

Before King Morne could speak again, the CLANG of weapons hitting the ground echoed from within the ruined pass.

The surviving soldiers, their faces pale, emerged from the Shadow of the fortress walls in a daze and gathered in the open space before the pass.

A middle-aged noble in exquisite Armor, his helmet now gone and his hair in disarray, scrambled to the front.

His face, a mixture of bloodstains and dirt, was a mask of terror.

He led the remaining defenders, among whom were several Extraordinary Professionals whose auras had previously been quite profound.

These individuals, normally considered masters in their respective fields, now stood with their heads bowed.

Their stout bodies trembled slightly. Under Morne’s calm yet mountainously heavy gaze, they were as docile as frightened quails, not even daring to breathe loudly.

A few steps away from Morne, the middle-aged noble fell to his knees with a THUD. His voice, laced with tears and an uncontrollable tremor, cried out.

"Your... Your Majesty! This sinner, Fred Harlington, leads... leads all the defenders of Rift Rock Pass to plead for judgment! We surrender! We implore Your Majesty’s forgiveness!"

Morne’s gaze fell upon the middle-aged noble. He seemed to study him for a moment before speaking in a flat tone.

"The Harrington family... Old Earl of Harington. I remember him. An old fox, shrewder than any other, a master of sizing up situations and trimming his sails to the wind."

A hint of barely perceptible mockery laced his words.

"What, did he lose his mind this time? Insisting on following Lucius down this dark path to the very end? That doesn’t sound like him."

Fred shot his head up, his face a picture of confusion and grievance.

"Your Majesty, please see the truth! I... I don’t know what my grandfather was thinking either!"

"The family’s orders were exceptionally firm, permitting no questions! We were to support Prince Lucius at all costs, even... even if it meant making an enemy of Your Majesty! I... I hold a lowly position in the family, I didn’t dare disobey!"

His words were jumbled, but they revealed one thing.

This unusual behavior stemmed from an iron-clad command from the highest echelons of the Harrington family, not from the initiative of subordinates.

Hearing this, Morne’s graying eyebrows furrowed slightly as he fell into a brief contemplation.

Old Harington was a classic opportunist who put profit above all else. For him to make such a seemingly irrational gamble, there had to be a reason or pressure that Morne was unaware of.

A moment later, his brow smoothed out as he seemed to set aside his doubts for the time being.

Now was not the time to delve into it.

He looked at Fred, who was trembling on the ground, then glanced at the ashen-faced soldiers who had surrendered. He did not, as everyone expected, hand down a severe punishment.

Instead, he spoke in a deep voice.

"Fred Harlington."

"I am here!"

Fred shuddered, burying his head even lower.

"Since you have admitted your guilt and led the surrender, preventing further pointless casualties, I will give you a chance to atone for your crimes."

Morne’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an undeniable Power.

"You will take your men and immediately begin repairing the pass."

"Rift Rock Pass is the gateway to the Kingdom’s East. It needs someone to Guard it. During the repairs, and even after they are complete, you will remain in charge here for the time being."

When these words were spoken, not only was Fred stunned, but even Gloria, Duke, and the others nearby were slightly surprised.

This was tantamount to no substantive punishment at all. On the contrary, it was a continuation of trust and responsibility.

Fred jerked his head up and stared at Morne in disbelief, his eyes instantly turning red.

In his family, he was just an insignificant member of a side branch, sent to carry out this dangerous mission—essentially, a sacrificial pawn.

He had thought that even if he surrendered, the best outcome would be to be stripped of his title and thrown in prison, or perhaps not even keep his life.

He never imagined that His Majesty the King would not only forgive his transgressions but also entrust him with such an important duty once more.

The stark contrast, the sudden pardon and trust, moved him so much he couldn’t control himself. Tears and snot streamed down his face as he kowtowed heavily, his voice choked but incredibly loud.

"Thank you, Your Majesty! Thank you for sparing my life! This sinner... no, I, Fred Harlington, swear to the heavens that I will do everything in my power to repair the pass and will defend this place to the death! I will not betray Your Majesty’s trust!"

Morne simply gave a faint nod, not looking at him again, and turned to walk toward the main camp of the allied army.

The subsequent military campaign advanced with unexpected smoothness.

Although King Morne ordered Enrique to immediately lead the Northern Domain’s elite troops back to reinforce the defensive lines against a possible Beastman counterattack—which suddenly reduced the allied army’s size by more than half—with a King who could cleave a great pass in two with a single sword strike personally overseeing the campaign, all obstacles seemed utterly insignificant.

On the road to the Kingdom’s heartland, there was still sporadic resistance and private armies of nobles attempting to delay them, but before Morne’s absolute Power, any attempt to block their path melted away as quickly as ice in the sun.

The allied army’s advance was almost completely unimpeded, with towns and fortresses along the way surrendering at the mere sight of them.

In less than a month, the magnificent capital city that symbolized the core of the Golden Valley Kingdom’s power, Golden Ears City, had its familiar and splendid silhouette appear clearly on the distant horizon.

And during the lulls in this rapid march, Roland did not waste his time.

After witnessing Morne’s power, which could be described as that of a mortal Deity, he converted his shock into boundless motivation.

Every day after making camp, he would diligently hone his own skills and abilities, using the mighty King as a distant, unattainable benchmark to solidify the foundations of his own Power.

Now, during a rest stop near Golden Ears City, Roland sat alone in his tent, but he did not begin his training as he usually did.

His consciousness sank inward, his gaze fixed gravely on the prompt that remained unresolved.

The requirements for the Extraordinary Profession: [Warlock].