Chapter 282: Warning of the Deity

On the night the meeting concluded, a secret magical order was delivered into the hands of Viscount Namisha, the supreme commander of the Kingdom of Rowe's border defense army.

The next day, the border defense troops, who had always maintained a defensive posture, launched a surprise attack on the barbarian tribes at the border.

The barbarians had always been the ones riding south to pillage; no one had ever invaded their barren lands. Caught completely off guard, the barbarian tribes suffered catastrophic losses.

Within a single day, the Kingdom of Rowe's army pushed ten kilometers into the Great Barbarian Steppe. The border tribes were slaughtered to the last man by soldiers venting their long-standing grievances.

However, the battle situation was not as optimistic as it appeared. Every member of the Barbarian Tribe was a warrior. Once the barbarians recovered from the initial shock of the surprise attack, a rallying call from the holy city of Sandonar would drown the invaders in a vast sea of over twenty million barbarians.

His long military career had given Viscount Namisha a keen tactical sense. After a brief pursuit, he abandoned any thoughts of expanding their victory and led the army back to the border city. He then dispatched rangers to notify the residents of the surrounding villages and towns to move behind the City Wall to guard against barbarian retaliation.

Clad in armor, Viscount Namisha stood upon the City Wall of the border stronghold, Midolan Fortress, gazing out at the Great Barbarian Steppe, which was now dotted with specks of tender green in the distance.

It was early spring, and the weather was beginning to warm. The snow on the Great Barbarian Steppe was melting, revealing the barren earth that had been buried all winter. Tenacious weeds drank in the snowmelt and sprouted fresh shoots.

A cold wind swept past, whipping up the white cape behind Viscount Namisha. The early spring breeze still carried winter's chill. The fifty-something Viscount instinctively pulled his cloak tighter and continued to gaze out at the distant Great Barbarian Steppe.

Deep worry clouded the veteran border commander's eyes. He could not understand why His Majesty the King had issued such an order.

Enraging the barbarians and inviting their retaliation was not a wise choice. The border between the Kingdom of Rowe and the Great Barbarian Steppe was simply too long. Even with a hundred thousand border troops, it was impossible to defend such an extensive frontline.

Suddenly, a lone rider appeared on the distant horizon, halting their horse to observe Midolan Fortress from afar.

Viscount Namisha frowned. It was a barbarian light cavalry scout.

The Viscount's personal guards nearby also spotted the barbarian vanguard, astonishing hatred blazing in their eyes.

"Lord Viscount, should we drive him off?"

Viscount Namisha waved his hand.

"No need."

The Great Barbarian Steppe possessed the finest warhorses on the Nordhill Continent, and the Barbarian Tribe was renowned as a people raised on horseback. The Kingdom of Rowe's mounts would never catch their light cavalry and might end up wounded by their arrows instead.

Viscount Namisha looked down at the lines of civilians filing into the city for shelter and breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately, the populace had evacuated in time.

Hailed as a people on horseback, the barbarians excelled at mounted combat. Their fighting style was swift as the wind. This ability to strike and vanish at will made the Barbarian Tribe nearly unstoppable whenever they rode south to pillage, causing the Kingdom of Rowe's northern territories to suffer immensely.

Whenever food ran short, the barbarian tribes would organize their able-bodied men to ride south. They would infiltrate the Kingdom of Rowe in small bands to raid border towns and villages—raping, killing, looting, and committing every imaginable atrocity. Almost every northerner in the Kingdom of Rowe harbored an irreconcilable blood feud with the barbarians.

Because of this, when they charged into the Great Barbarian Steppe yesterday, the soldiers had been euphoric, slaughtering every barbarian in sight.

But the consequences of that fleeting satisfaction were severe. The barbarian scouts had already arrived.

War was not far behind!

Viscount Namisha's brow furrowed tightly. He did not fear war itself; lacking heavy siege equipment, the barbarians could do nothing against towering City Walls. What worried him was the prospect of the barbarians bypassing the cities to raid the inland villages.

The Kingdom of Rowe was primarily an agrarian civilization with widely scattered villages. If the barbarians slipped into the interior to ravage villages and farmlands, they would inflict devastating losses upon the Kingdom of Rowe. Even if the four princes brought reinforcements, they might not be able to stop the fierce barbarians.

This was the primary reason Viscount Namisha could not comprehend the King's order.

...

Meanwhile, the four princes of the Kingdom of Rowe—Molosang, Percy, Milem, and Pondrea—were each leading ten thousand troops of the White Wolf Army, rushing toward the border.

The Kingdom of Rowe boasted three elite royal legions. One guarded the border between the Kingdom of Rowe and Pavlan, another defended against the Great Barbarian Steppe, and the remaining force was held firmly in the King's grasp. This final force was the White Wolf Army.

Now, forty thousand soldiers from the hundred-thousand-strong White Wolf Army had been divided and allocated to the four princes eligible to vie for the throne. The old King's intent was glaringly obvious: whoever performed the best in this impending war would be the next king.

Therefore, the entire Kingdom of Rowe had its eyes fixed on this campaign.

The third prince, Milem Baines, rode at the very front of his army on a large maroon horse. This third prince of the Kingdom of Rowe was a pure-blooded Nordhill northerner, possessing a high nose bridge, deep-set eyes as sharp as an eagle's, and a head full of curly chestnut hair.

Riding beside the prince were his two trusted aides: the captain of his royal guard, Hatim, and his chief adviser, Samisi.

Prince Milem spurred his horse onward while surveying his surroundings. They had just entered the northern reaches of the Kingdom of Rowe, where human settlements were growing sparse. Only the barren wilderness nearby and the towering snow-capped mountains in the distance remained.

However, Prince Milem was in no mood to admire the scenery. He spoke absentmindedly.

"Samisi, did you find out where Royal Father went yesterday and who he met?"

The third prince's chief adviser, the Level 13 Advanced Mage Samisi, shook his head.

"No, but I can confirm that His Majesty teleported out. He only took the Guardian Knight and Lord Bruce. I specifically paid a visit to Lord Bruce, but his lips were tightly sealed. I couldn't get a single hint out of him."

A flash of disappointment crossed Prince Milem's face, but he quickly relaxed. Since his father had only taken the Guardian Knight and Uncle Bruce, if he couldn't find anything out, neither could the other three princes. They were all standing at the same starting line.

Prince Milem feared no one in a fair competition. He glanced back at the massive army of over twenty thousand men trailing behind him; this was his capital to win this race for the throne.

"How long until the three thousand men Count Tiluan promised arrive?"

"I estimate it will take another two days."

Prince Milem nodded in satisfaction. Count Tiluan's territory was in the South; arriving in two days was already considered fast.

The prince and his adviser continued to discuss the current situation along the way until the captain of the royal guard, Hatim, suddenly interrupted their conversation.

"Your Highness, I apologize for interrupting, but if you keep talking, it might start raining on us."

Hatim pointed at the low-hanging clouds overhead. Prince Milem frowned. The sky was already growing dark, and with the clouds pressing down so heavily, he reckoned the first spring thunderstorm of the year was about to arrive.

"Find a suitable location to pitch camp!"

...

Sandonar, the holy city of the Northern Barbarians.

Inside the Chieftain's Hall, Siegfried, The Berserker, sat high upon the patriarch's throne. Two rows of chairs lined the hall symmetrically. Over a hundred chieftains from the major barbarian clans were either seated or standing, arguing so fiercely they were red in the face.

"How dare those damned two-legged sheep slaughter the citizens of Sandonar?!"

"We must teach them a bloody lesson!"

"Chop off their heads and build a corpse pyramid!"

"..."

The hall was boiling with outrage. Some were even screaming to march all the way to the royal capital of the Kingdom of Rowe.

Evidently, the Kingdom of Rowe's surprise attack had made these barbarian chieftains—men who were used to being the ones doing the pillaging—feel incredibly furious, or perhaps even panicked.

For the longest time, the Kingdom of Rowe had maintained a purely defensive strategy against the barbarians' southward raids. This was because the Barbarian Tribe had little wealth to plunder, possessed a ferocious culture where everyone was a warrior, and invading them simply wasn't worth the cost.

But in reality, the Kingdom of Rowe's overall national strength surpassed that of the barbarians. They only endured the raids because of the existence of their archenemy, the Kingdom of Pavlan. If they were to declare all-out war on the barbarians, it was inevitable that the Kingdom of Pavlan would exploit their vulnerability.

Now, the Kingdom of Rowe had provoked the Barbarian Tribe for absolutely no reason. While this infuriated the various barbarian patriarchs, it also left them feeling profoundly uneasy.

As the chieftains of the major clans bickered endlessly, the barbarian patriarch, Siegfried, remained completely silent. He rested his head on one hand, his eyes closed in repose, waiting for a piece of news.

It wasn't long before a priest clad in chainmail and wielding a one-handed warhammer pushed open the wooden doors and strode in.

A blast of cold wind rushed into the warm room through the suddenly opened doors. The various chieftains shivered and turned their heads to look at the newcomer.

Upon recognizing the man's identity, the chieftains hastily stood up to bow. This was Homlan, the Legendary Priest and the highest representative of the barbarian god Balinor in Nordhill.

Siegfried remained seated on his patriarch's throne. The barbarian patriarch and the helmsman of the Church of Balino held equal status; naturally, there was no need for him to rise and bow.

"Archbishop Homlan, are there any anomalies?"

Homlan shook his head.

"None. The border between the Kingdom of Rowe and the Kingdom of Pavlan is the same as always, and the Elance Kingdom's army hasn't made any moves either. However, the four princes of the Kingdom of Rowe are currently rushing toward the border, each leading ten thousand soldiers of the White Wolf Army."

Siegfried frowned. Even with the addition of forty thousand White Wolf Army troops, the Kingdom of Rowe was still no match for the barbarians.

Has the Kingdom of Rowe lost its mind?!

Why would they provoke the barbarians?!

Siegfried felt something was wrong. Unusual occurrences must harbor sinister causes, yet he was completely in the dark.

But no matter what, the current situation did not permit him to back down. His people had been slaughtered by outsiders. If he, the barbarian patriarch, chose to act like a coward and hide in his shell, he would drown in the spit of his own people.

Siegfried slapped his chair and stood up, sweeping his gaze over the major clan chieftains below.

The major clan chieftains didn't dare meet the eyes of this notoriously fierce Legendary Rank Warrior, bowing their heads one after another.

Satisfied in his heart, Siegfried declared loudly, "Everyone! A day ago, our brothers and sisters in the South were ruthlessly massacred by the scum of the Kingdom of Rowe! I, as the patriarch of the Barbarian Tribe, am deeply pained! We must avenge those fallen brothers and sisters! Who among you is willing to deploy your troops?!"

Bang!

A burly man as robust as a bull stood up, shattering the chair beneath him with a single slap.

"The Suoha Clan is willing to stand with the patriarch! We will dispatch three thousand strong sons!"

"The Muro Clan will dispatch two thousand five hundred sons!"

"..."

"The Harlow Clan will commit five thousand sons to the war."

As soon as the Harlow Clan chieftain spoke, the hall fell dead silent. At present, five thousand was the highest number offered.

"I will lead them myself!"

The Harlow Clan chieftain stood up and glared around the hall.

"Whoever refuses to go is a ball-less woman!"

The Suoha Clan chieftain chimed in.

"That's right! Whoever refuses to go is a bastard unfit to be a chieftain!"

In an instant, the various chieftains voiced their agreement one after another.

Finally, everyone's gazes fell upon the twenty-three chieftains sitting at the very end of the seating arrangement. These twenty-three chieftains sat at the back of the line, trying their best to minimize their presence, appearing completely out of place with the rest of the group.

These twenty-three chieftains truly were out of place with the group. While the vast majority of barbarians worshipped the barbarian god Balinor, the primary faith of these twenty-three tribes was Haridon, the God of War!

Due to their different faith, these twenty-three barbarian clans were ostracized by the rest of barbarian society.

Now, with everyone's eyes locked onto them, the twenty-three chieftains felt like they had thorns in their backs.

The leader of this small faction, Wolor, the chieftain of the Wolor Tribe, braced himself and stood up to speak.

"The Wolor Tribe will send two thousand five hundred sons, and I will lead them personally!"

"The Vani Clan will dispatch one thousand eight hundred sons."

"..."

Only after all twenty-three chieftains had stated their commitments did the crowd finally avert their gazes.

In the face of a formidable enemy, the crowd didn't make things overly difficult for the twenty-three chieftains, though a round of cold mockery and ridicule was unavoidable.

Fortunately, at that moment, Siegfried clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention.

"Good! As long as we stand united, a mere Kingdom of Rowe is nothing to us!"

Fueled by collective outrage, the total military force committed by the major clans had already reached over three hundred thousand men. Siegfried's joy was certainly not faked.

The society of the Barbarian Tribe was composed of individual tribes, each possessing completely independent autonomy. Even the patriarch, Siegfried, could not forcibly order a tribe to go to war. Therefore, mobilizing over three hundred thousand men was an exceptionally excellent result.

Siegfried's face was full of delight.

"To prevent a surprise attack by the legendary powerhouses of the Kingdom of Rowe, I have decided to personally oversee the grand army!"

"Excellent! With the patriarch taking command, victory in this war is guaranteed!"

"Victory!"

"..."

Countless voices echoed in agreement like roaring clouds.

Siegfried and Archbishop Homlan exchanged a tacit glance and gave a subtle nod.

The chieftains departed to make their preparations. Barbarians always brought their own rations when going to war, and preparing horses and dry rations for thousands of men was no small matter.

Soon, only Siegfried and Archbishop Homlan remained in the hall.

Siegfried's expression turned grim. He didn't share the same confidence as the crowd, but the circumstances forced his hand. He had no choice but to push forward!

"Lord Archbishop, have you tried seeking guidance from His Majesty Balinor?"

Homlan's face was solemn.

"I have tried. His Majesty guided me to see a great crisis on the path ahead. Unfortunately, my power is insufficient to glean any precise information."

Deities were not omnipotent. No one could completely see through the River of Fate. However, deities could deduce the direction of the future and divine fortune or disaster based on certain omens.

"A great crisis?!"

Siegfried asked in a deep voice, "How great?"

"The threat of our entire race's extermination!"

Siegfried's expression changed. If even Balinor had foretold the threat of their race's extermination, then the Barbarian Tribe was truly in grave danger.

But Siegfried was a man who had braved many storms. After a short moment, he calmed down.

"I will command the grand army at the front, while you, Lord Homlan, will oversee the rear. At this point, we can only do everything humanly possible and leave the rest to fate."