Lord of Caldera - Chapter 316

Chapter 316: Chapter 316 The New Count’s Strength
Conrad’s knights mocked the coalition forces openly. The coalition knights gritted their teeth but couldn’t respond—nor could they push forward.

“Damn it, our morale is plummeting.”

“What do we do? Should we retreat?”

“Even after breaking the gate, we’re losing? This is humiliating!”

For the first time, the coalition knights began to understand. Their small-scale militia experience didn’t prepare them for fighting a trained, disciplined army in a fortified stronghold.

The key difference lay in discipline. The defenders maintained formation and fought with grim determination, while the coalition forces wavered at the slightest setback.

Even now, the coalition knights hesitated, considering retreat.

As this struggle played out, a commotion erupted.

“Sir! Lord Malphas, sir!”

“What is it?”

A squire stammered, pointing toward the battlefield.

“T-that man… the one from before… he’s coming!”

“What are you talking about? Who’s coming?”

Following the squire’s trembling finger, the knight looked toward the ruins of the gate. His face drained of color.

The monster who had shattered the gate—Sylas—was striding toward them. His sword burned with blue flames, illuminating his calm expression.

Seeing the cursed blade, the knight’s voice rose in panic.

“Form up! Everyone, hold the line!”

The order to adopt a defensive formation—typically used against cavalry—rang out across the field.

But it was a mistake.

Such formations might stop a charge, but they were no match for a natural disaster.

As the soldiers scrambled into formation, the disaster reached them.

In an instant, a storm of blood painted the battlefield red.

“An ancient bloodline does not equate to invincibility.”

Sylas never allowed himself to forget this truth. Though the power of an ancient bloodline was formidable—able to rival dragons with a mere human form—it still had limits. Wounds could be inflicted by blades, and fire could leave burns, just like any other mortal.

Especially in large-scale battles or siege defenses, he reflected.

When faced with an unrelenting rain of arrows, spears aimed at one’s sides and back, and boiling oil cascading down—it was a challenge even for someone of his lineage. Against a well-prepared army skilled in cornering its prey, even Sylas’s survival could not be guaranteed.

However, the current battle was far from a well-coordinated effort. It was chaos—an unrestrained melee where the rules of strategy and discipline fell apart.

Slash! Thud! Splatter!

Screams and sounds of combat filled the air.

“Help me! Somebody, please!”

“Where is he now?!”

“Archers, shoot him!”

“Are you insane? Our men are in the way!”

Sylas tore through the enemy ranks like a living storm. Every swing of his sword sent a fountain of blood spraying into the air, and another body fell lifeless.

His blade showed no mercy. Most of his targets were knights—key figures in command—but any soldier who blocked his path met the same fate.

A blue flame flickered around his cursed sword as Sylas roared:

“If you value your lives, stand aside! Surrender, and you will be spared. Resist, and you will all perish!”

“Don’t listen to him! He’s just one man! He can’t last for—urk!”

A knight, attempting to rally the troops, clutched his throat as Sylas’s blade passed through him. The soldiers’ eyes filled with fear as their leader fell.

“Hold the line! Don’t break formation—argh!”

“Sir Vars! This demon—urgh!”

Each time a knight tried to issue commands, Sylas was upon them, cutting through anyone in his path. Soldiers fell like leaves under his relentless advance, their formations crumbling with every step he took.

“Do not retreat! If you retreat, you’ll—”

“Oh? Another voice,” Sylas said, turning his attention to the latest source of commands.

The soldiers instinctively parted, clearing a path for Sylas toward the knight who had spoken. They had witnessed too many of their comrades fall, shredded like paper, whenever Sylas moved forward.

“You fools! Hold your formation, or—gah!”

The commanding knight fell, his voice silenced. Without anyone to rally them, the remaining troops faltered. Sylas repeated his earlier demand, his voice booming across the battlefield:

“I’ll say it once more! Lay down your weapons and surrender! Those who surrender will be spared!”

This time, no defiant voices rose to counter him. Every soldier knew the price of speaking out—Sylas’s blade would silence them before the words fully left their lips.

“What… what should we do?”

“…We surrender.”

The quiet but decisive words of a senior knight sealed the fate of the remaining defenders.

Clang. Clatter. Thud.

Weapons fell to the ground in unison. First, the soldiers discarded their arms, followed by the knights who reluctantly placed their swords down.

Sylas observed their surrender with satisfaction before raising his voice to announce:

“This battle is ours!”

But there was no celebratory cheer from the coalition forces. Though technically victorious, they knew this was not their triumph. This was Sylas’s victory—and his alone.

The coalition soldiers stood silently, their gazes fixed on the man who had single handedly won the day.

“…So that’s what happened. The new Count’s strength far exceeded expectations.”

Conrad slumped to the floor as he listened to Ervin’s report. Even after hearing the full account, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

“What did you say? He cleaved the gates with his sword? He killed dozens of knights by himself? He cut through ranks of soldiers like they were nothing?”

“Yes, my lord,” Ervin confirmed, his head bowed.

Conrad stared blankly at the ground before letting out a despairing cry:

“Please tell me this is some kind of joke!”

But Ervin said nothing, his silence more damning than words.

“Tell me it was some hidden siege weapon! Some secret trump card! How can a single man destroy an entire castle? This is a nightmare!”

His voice cracked as he raged, his fists trembling with helplessness. After a long pause, Conrad abruptly stood, his eyes burning with renewed determination.

“I’ll send a message,” he declared.

“To the Count?” Ervin asked hesitantly.

“No,” Conrad replied sharply.

There was no point in seeking forgiveness. After declaring him a traitor, Sylas had no incentive to rescind the label.

“Our ties with the Count are beyond repair. Either he dies, or I do—there’s no middle ground.”

“Then… to whom will you send the message?”