"Alas, have you figured it out?"

Setting down the far-distance magical tool that looked like a hand mirror, the king helplessly scratched his head, "Why are you so clever at a time like this?"

Although to some extent, the fact that his daughter decided on her own to lure back the enemy's Holy Rank from Lapland was within his expectations, he indeed had the same intentions as what Tiran suspected.

The eldest son was rebellious, the king was dead, if this situation truly happened, even if Tiran did not want to inherit the throne, he would have to take it up. Knowing Tiran as a father, although this child's character was usually far from dependable, he was the type to take responsibility seriously in crucial moments.

Similar to himself who shouldered the great banner of quelling rebellions and fighting enemies eighteen years ago.

Therefore, he believed that if he were truly absent, Tiran would not stand idly by as the country fell apart.

"But forget it, since my daughter still doesn't want her old father to retire, I must take up the responsibility."

Granzon took a deep breath, raised his right hand slowly, and then swiftly clenched his fist as if swinging a sword.

"Attack!"

Accompanied by the loud shouts of the messengers and the flag signals of the banner bearers, the advantageous position held by the Milanía army in the Kent mountains erupted into a fierce onslaught like a hornet's nest being poked. The Italian Cannon 97+ modified version and the latest Wind God Ballista from military industry increased Milanía's firepower projection distance by nearly twenty percent—a full two percent more than Maston had anticipated.

During the many conflicts and standoffs between the two sides before, Granzon had not ordered the use of these two weapons, even if the casualties were severe. He reserved them for a counteroffensive to achieve a great victory.

Due to the lack of this intelligence, Maston had positioned their camps based on Milanía's firepower projection range from the war eighteen years ago. The additional twenty percent coverage included the defensive fortifications placed at the frontline.

The wails were drowned out by the explosions of the cannons, with the blasts igniting flammable materials such as grass and wood in the camp. Maston's front line fortifications were engulfed in flames.

Meanwhile, at several passages controlled by the Milanía army, infantry groups who had been waiting for a long time rapidly closed in on the enemy's camp under the cover of fire. The frontline heavy armor infantry raised their shields, while the backline crossbowmen had arrows at the ready to maintain pressure on the enemy fortress when the cannons and heavy crossbows ceased their roaring.

While the crossbowmen maintained their firepower, eight assault camps discarded all excess equipment and charged towards the burning camp to clear out the remaining enemy troops swiftly, opening up a path for the follow-up forces.

Since Tiran had carefully planned to lure back the enemy's Holy Rank by risking an attack on Lapland, Granzon would not easily miss this opportunity to recapture lost ground. The long-planned counterattack was launched at this moment.

His strategic goal was to quickly drive out Maston's invading forces from the northeast and, to achieve this, he had mobilized a significant amount of reserves originally stationed to defend against invasions on the western coast to flank the enemy's main forces from the neighboring western province.

If everything went according to plan, the counterattack on the other side should have been launched simultaneously.

The only issue was that after deploying troops from the western coast, the long coastal line was practically undefended, making it easy for Gradius to swiftly invade large swathes of territory once they realized Milanía's forces were thinly spread. Despite being a maritime nation overseas, the direct threat of Gradius to Milanía was naturally less than that of the neighboring Maston. However, considering their military strength and reserve system, once Gradius established a foothold, reclaiming the lost territory would come at a great cost.

Making this decision based on the premise of knowing all this, Granzon was essentially betting that he could defeat Maston before Gradius established a foothold on the western coast. For Milanía, the success of this counterattack was imperative.

Back on the battlefield, after initially being caught off guard by Milanía's tactics, Maston gradually regained composure and began to put up a resilient resistance while the assault troops were still clearing the front lines.

But due to not anticipating the additional range of the enemy's firepower, they had placed all troops ready for combat in the forward area to respond to Milanía's attacks at any time. Under rounds of cannon fire, they suffered significant losses, with the rear troops remaining on standby, their weapons not fully distributed, unable to resist Milanía's advance.

While the frontline battle was intensifying, Granzon had already led hundreds of cavalrymen to break away from the main force, using their mobility advantage to encircle the enemy.

This battle had nearly perfectly executed his plan, although it may not have seemed complicated, it had actually required a great deal of effort. But now that he had come this far, with a success rate of about eighty to ninety percent, even though the enemy's main camp had not yet been captured, in Granzon's eyes, the battle was already over.

The reinforcements led by Granzon were solely composed of infantry; there were no cavalrymen—only officers and scout riders who could ride horses. Therefore, he had to personally take charge of the flanking operation.

Under Granzon's leadership, three hundred light cavalrymen maneuvered through the scorched earth littered with arrows and shell craters, their formation cutting through the core of Maston's camp like a short dagger aimed for the jugular.

While the front line was in chaos, Maston's rear camp also fell into a certain degree of disarray. The lines of troops ordered to move forward were dispersed by retreating remnants, and the officers, trying to maintain order, were doing everything they could. But amidst the chaos, even killing more than a dozen fleeing soldiers was not enough to stop the panic.

At this critical moment, the three hundred riders led by Granzon were the last straw that broke the camel's back, their hoofbeats sounding like the footsteps of death.

"Attack!"

With the momentum of their charge, there was no need for more words. Granzon simply and bluntly shouted, the first rider leaping towards the ditch at the side of Maston's camp, his left hand holding the reins while his right hand, already empowered, swept his sword horizontally. Ice Chi condensed into visible frost in the air, and dark blue ice crystals formed a path through the ditch wide enough for the riders to pass through.

After his first strike, the second sword swung in a backhand move, cleaving a gap in the camp wall made of sharpened logs arranged in a row. Without hesitation, he led the charge into the breach.

"Send a squad to burn down their airships, the rest follow me!"

...

"Invincible, how lonely you are…"

Still standing amidst the ruins of Maston's palace, the princess hummed a song softly, using the toe of her foot to lift a broken halberd from the ground. With a kick, she sent the halberd flying, piercing through the last archer who attempted to ambush her from behind a half-missing palace pillar.

Tiran and Aya had already dealt with at least five waves of opponents here, ranging from the country's Magic Maester to royal bodyguards, court warriors, skilled soldiers, and even Temple Church knights, all of whom were easily defeated.

Aya shattered two battle-axes with her scales of Qi upon receiving a striking blow, exhibiting the principle of "vibration" she could use within her contract range by unleashing high-frequency shockwaves. Even this minimal application effortlessly shattered steel, rendering the two burly warriors completely defenseless as they crumpled to the ground like soft mud.

"Another group taken care of, the king really doesn't seem to learn. They keep sending people of similar strength one after another, tsk tsk, when did high-ranking warriors become so worthless?"

The princess lamented with some regret. Objectively speaking, each wave of incoming opponents had considerable strength, each being top-notch practitioners in their respective fields — but when faced with a Holy Rank, they were entirely inadequate.

"Well, the more we eliminate here, the lighter the pressure back home will be."

Shrugging, Aya added somewhat ruefully, "But their Holy Rank still hasn't shown up yet? I even suspect they're deliberately trying to wear us down and strike when we're tired. Could there be a conspiracy at play?"

Interestingly, this is a question that our dear King of Maston is also pondering.

"Where are the black and the mysterious person?!"

With the palace falling under an open assault, and the culprit behind it all still standing arrogantly in his own palace, even taunting him shamelessly? For someone with even a bit of temper, this was intolerable, let alone a monarch who had been raised to be proud and somewhat arrogant.

Holy Rank was indeed too capricious, so much so that it had reached a point where Maston's king could no longer tolerate it.

"Find out where Gradius is! And that other mysterious fellow!"

The tension was rising in the palace, and the king couldn't contain his anger. Were these Holy Ranks, who dared to openly defy his orders, really going to be let off?

Just as the King of Maston was beginning to think that "this person must not be allowed to live", the expression on Gradius's face remained unchanged: "Please trust me, Your Majesty. Since I have come here alone, I am confident I can defeat both of them singlehandedly."

From his pocket, Gradius produced a scroll and placed it gently in the air. "Your Majesty, rest assured and wait for my message."