Chapter 143: Forging a Legion (6)

Silence fell over the training grounds after Orren’s words.

No one had expected things to end this way.

The soldiers’ eyes widened as they stared at the massive knight standing before Malrik, while the shock was even more evident on the faces of the captains and knights of the "Ascendant" rank scattered among the crowd.

To them, Orren was a symbol of unyielding strength—the "Old Bull" who had previously rejected lucrative offers from Malrik’s older and more influential siblings, clearly declaring that he would serve only the Duke and the High Elders.

Seeing this human mountain kneel voluntarily, placing his loyalty and his sword in the hands of the Seventh Son, shattered everything they thought they knew about Orren.

Malrik looked down at the kneeling knight before him. No sign of elation crossed his face; instead, he maintained the calm of a commander who fully understood the value of the man who had chosen to stand by his side.

"Rise, Orren" Malrik said in a quiet voice. "I promise you... you will not regret your decision to follow me."

Orren pulled his greatsword from the shattered marble floor, then slowly rose to his feet.

He did not return to his previous spot as Malrik’s opponent. Instead, he strode past the young man with steady steps and stopped directly behind his right shoulder. He stood there in silence, leaning on his sword.

He said nothing, but his position alone was enough to tell everyone that from this moment on, he would be the right hand of the Seventh Banner Bearer.

"Well, I believe that’s quite enough drama for today."

A rough, stern voice cut through the silence as Instructor Kael stepped forward, stepping over the marble shards. He stopped beside Malrik and cast Orren a look of respect and silent congratulations before turning to Malrik with a sigh.

"You’ve smashed half my training ground, Baron," Kael said with a lighthearted tone. "Naturally, you’ll be paying the full cost of the damage you and your new subordinate caused."

Malrik’s calm, victorious expression suddenly froze.

Am I not supposed to be a Banner Bearer and a noble lord? Why does everyone suddenly demand money from me?

Damn it, if they keep this up, I’m going to declare bankruptcy.

"As you command... Instructor," Malrik muttered, exhaling helplessly as he struggled to regain his usual cool composure in front of the crowd.

Kael laughed roughly and gave Malrik a heavy pat on the shoulder.

"Splendid. Now take the other four and get out of here. As you know, we’re busy, and we have a training schedule to make up for what you ruined."

Malrik forced a strained smile, trying to bury the thought of the repair bill at the back of his mind.

Then he turned toward the crowd that still surrounded the arena in wide circles.

His smile vanished completely, replaced by a cold, stern expression.

He had to regain his prestige quickly... before everyone discovered that the Baron of Dreadmoor might soon be bankrupt.

He straightened his posture with a dignity befitting a Duke’s son, then infused his voice with mana to ensure that his words would carry across the arena and reach every fighter standing before him.

"I am Malrik Vesperion... the Seventh Banner Bearer and Baron of Dreadmoor."

His voice echoed between the stone walls, making thousands hold their breath.

"I did not come today to gather men seeking comfort. My legion will head to the far East, to Dreadmoor... where there is no place for the weak."

He paused for a moment, his eyes sweeping across the crowd with determination.

"I cannot promise you comfort there, nor glory that comes without blood... but I can promise you one thing."

His eyes locked onto the crowd before him.

"I will give my utmost, and I will always stand at the forefront of your ranks. Not one of you will regret the decision to stand by my side."

His voice rose slightly.

"We will tame this hell together, and we will turn Dreadmoor into a fortress no one dares to touch. And we will make our name echo throughout the entire Empire!"

His voice rose higher, carrying a clear challenge:

"My legion will consist of five Ascendant commanders."

Malrik calmly gestured toward the giant knight standing like a mountain of steel behind his shoulder.

"As you can see... the first seat is no longer vacant."

His gaze swept across the faces of the Ascendants scattered around the arena as he delivered his final challenge:

"Four seats remain. The four who possess the courage to face what awaits us in Dreadmoor... step forward now!"

His words were like a heavy stone thrown into a still lake, but the ripples they stirred in the minds of those present were immense.

The Seventh Son. The young man whom everyone had considered for years to be the weakest link in the Vesperion bloodline because of his lack of talent, quiet demeanor, and avoidance of the spotlight.

The son who had gone against his swordsman siblings and awakened a mage class instead of becoming a swordsman like them was now calling them to join him in one of the most perilous regions of the Duchy.

That image had been turned upside down.

Everyone remembered recent events.

His bizarre awakening phenomenon, his success in passing the Banner Bearer trial, the rumors surrounding his mysterious servant whom the people of Blackthorn called the "Goddess Lily"—who was said to have built walls for Blackthorn Castle that matched those of the Duchy itself—and finally, his slaying of a "Fallen"-rank Morvyth beast, even though only a few weeks had passed since his awakening.

Many had doubted the truth of those achievements, assuming the family might be fabricating these legends to cover up the Seventh Son’s failures.

But now, having seen with their own eyes how this young man had subdued a combat monster like Orren, there was no longer room for doubt.

The Seventh Son was a monster no less powerful or ferocious than his six older siblings, and many began reconsidering their view of him.

Amid this charged atmosphere, it took only a few seconds for someone to step out from the crowd.

The front ranks parted quietly, and a young man stepped forward wearing a tight black shirt that highlighted his muscular build, with a massive snake tattoo coiling around his left arm.

His features were completely calm, his dark eyes gleaming with coldness, while a thin, cross-shaped scar rested beneath his left eye.

It was Ren.

He approached with silent steps and stopped before Malrik, then bowed in a military salute.

"I greet the Seventh Banner Bearer," Ren said in a rough, cold voice. "I am Ren Veylor, the sixty-fifth commander in the Vesperion army. It will be an honor for me and my squad to join your legion, my lord."

Malrik looked at Ren for a second, then shifted his gaze toward Instructor Kael.

Kael did not speak, but a faint, satisfied smile appeared on his face as he slowly nodded. Malrik trusted the old instructor’s judgment blindly.

Malrik returned his gaze to the bowing young man and smiled calmly.

"Welcome to my legion, Ren. I look forward to working with you."

Ren straightened, nodded, and moved to stand behind Malrik.

Thus, the second seat in the legion was claimed... leaving only three seats.

In the distant corner where the remaining trio stood, Zane broke the silence with a mocking laugh, trying to mask his genuine shock at what had happened. He ran a hand through his messy green hair and leaned on his curved sword with disdain.

"Look at the Ice Prince," Zane said arrogantly. "He ran like an obedient dog the moment the Seventh Son gave that little speech. What’s even special about a border barony full of mud and Morveth beasts..."

Zane stopped talking and turned his head right and left, waiting for a sarcastic remark from Jax or a threat from Vexia, but found only empty air.

He blinked several times before his eyes widened in astonishment. Jax, carrying his massive weapon with a broad, enthusiastic grin, and Vexia, her glowing yellow eyes fixed ahead, had already pushed past the front ranks of the crowd and were heading toward Malrik with swift, confident steps.

"Damn it! Wait for me, you bastards!" Zane yelled, abandoning his pride in a fraction of a second as he rushed after them, afraid the remaining spots would be taken.

The three emerged from the crowd to advance toward Malrik... but they were not alone.

Dozens of Ascendants rushed after them, each eager to secure one of the three remaining seats. Within moments, almost no Ascendants remained in place, save for those already bound to a Banner Bearer or an Elder.

Malrik’s speech, the sight of old Orren kneeling, and Ren’s decisive action... all of it ignited a fierce spark in the fighters, whose blood was already boiling with excitement.

What seemed at first glance to be a crowd of ordinary soldiers was no such thing. Most of those standing in the arena were knights of the Vesperion Duchy, battle-hardened fighters who had tasted blood countless times.

To these men, Malrik’s words about the grim wasteland of Dreadmoor were not enough to drive them away. On the contrary... they only stoked a deep-seated craving within them.

In a world where strength was everything, war-torn lands were the perfect place for warriors to sharpen their skills and push beyond their limits. Courage was forged on the battlefield, and true strength could only be found through real combat.

Even more astonishing was that this massive crowd of Ascendant knights who answered Malrik’s call was merely a fraction of the Vesperion Duchy’s true strength.

The Duke’s army comprised thousands of Ascendant fighters scattered across the Duchy. Some were tasked with protecting lands belonging to Banner Bearers, others commanded special squads under the Saints, while still others served in the Duke’s own forces fighting in the ongoing war along the Empire’s borders.

There was one thing that united all the unaligned Ascendants who stepped forward to join the Seventh Son.

It was the thirst for battle.

A desire to plunge into real battles that would break the monotony of garrison life and give them a chance to test the limits of their power... and perhaps surpass them.

If this massive throng of Ascendant knights had hesitated for even a moment, it was not out of fear of the hell of Dreadmoor—for the knights of the Vesperion Duchy were no cowards.

Their true reason for hesitation was simpler... leadership.

In the fields of death, nothing is more perilous than an incompetent commander. Not one of them was prepared to place their life in the hands of a young man who for years had been viewed as the weakest link in the Vesperion family.

But all those doubts vanished in a fraction of a second.

And now... more than a hundred Ascendant commanders stood directly before Malrik, their eyes blazing with eagerness to join him.

***

Author’s Note

A long Chapter for you guys today! Hope you enjoy it, and don’t forget to support us!

If I suddenly stop updating, you’ll know the support team finally won... they’ve driven me completely insane.