Lord of Caldera - Chapter 331

Chapter 331: Chapter 331 Monstrous Destructive Power
The intruder was none other than Ragnar, the Grand Chieftain now titled Marquis Ragnar.

“Have you started the meeting without me again? I said I’d be here soon,” Ragnar grumbled as he strode into the room.

“Your ‘soon’ is always unpredictable,” Bjorn replied with a faint smile. “But it’s good timing.”

Bjorn’s smile deepened as he addressed Ragnar.

“I need you to go to the South.”

“The South?” Ragnar’s expression soured immediately. “Why would I go to a land full of scheming cowards?”

“Lord Sylas is in the South. You’re to assist him,” Bjorn said.

Ragnar’s face contorted with visible reluctance. Every fiber of his being screamed that he didn’t want to go, but Bjorn’s smile only grew wider.

“It’s a royal command,” Bjorn declared.

“Dammit!” Ragnar groaned, clutching his head in defeat.

Sylas’s letter had stirred not only the North but also the East and West. However, the West’s actions were the only ones visible to the public.

The Corleone family knights traveled individually, and Ragnar moved under a concealed identity in the North. In contrast, the West’s shipment of massive cargo made it impossible to hide.

“What? The West is moving a massive amount of supplies?”

“Magical equipment? Delivered by those pointy-eared elves themselves?”

“Damn it all! Who would’ve thought the Elven Archduke would get involved!”

The news of the West’s actions alone was enough to unsettle the Drakenfels Alliance. The issue wasn’t the supplies themselves but what they represented.

The fact that Arathion had acted directly indicated the strong bond between Sylas and the elves. While it was known that Sylas had married into the elven lineage, no one had expected the elves to intervene in a conflict within the Empire.

“Sure, it’s just a few sets of magical armor now, but more support is bound to follow!”

“Is this war going to drag on longer than we thought? This is becoming a problem.”

The alliance frowned at this unexpected development. Wars were a financial black hole. Even with a clear advantage, prolonging the conflict was undesirable. Yet none of them dared to initiate an attack.

“Hurry up and attack already! I’ll support you once you do!”

“Rejected! You attack first, and then I’ll join!”

Even as the Western supplies inched closer by the day, the infighting among the alliance persisted. Finally, the commander-in-chief of the rear forces stepped in, unable to bear it any longer.

“What is this disgraceful behavior? Regardless of past rivalries, we’re supposed to be working together!”

Gert Müller, a descendant of the previous Count Brahim and the only surviving heir of his generation, held the nominal position of commander-in-chief of the alliance. His rebuke made the three lords scowl.

“Then what do you suggest we do? Cooperation requires mutual effort, doesn’t it?”

“Coming from you, that’s rich. Who’s the one shirking responsibility?”

“Look who’s talking! You’re no better!”

“What did you say? How dare you!”

“Enough! Enough, all of you!” Gert’s booming voice silenced their squabble. As the lords averted their gazes, Gert sighed deeply.

‘I didn’t expect harmony, but this is worse than I imagined. Being stronger than the enemy is actually working against us.’

If Sylas were stronger than the alliance, they might have banded together out of sheer survival instinct. But their clear superiority over him bred overconfidence, leading to infighting about post-war dominance instead of focusing on the war itself.

‘Idiotic whelps. The alliance’s strength lies in unity, not in your individual capabilities,’ Gert thought bitterly.

Suppressing his irritation, Gert raised his voice again.

“How about this: the three of you contribute troops and launch a simultaneous assault on the Dragonslayer’s castle.”

“That would be a waste of resources. One of us should attack directly while the others target neighboring castles,” suggested Jerome, Lord of Stolman.

“Oh? Then why don’t you attack the Dragonslayer yourself?” Gert countered, his voice sharp.

Jerome averted his gaze, remaining silent.

Gert resisted the urge to lash out. Everyone knew the inefficiency of his plan, but no one wanted to be the one to attract Sylas’s wrath. Hence, his suggestion for a united front.

“If there are no further objections, we’ll proceed with my plan. Let me remind you that all the war supplies come from the rear forces. If you drag this out any longer—”

“Fine, fine! We’ll follow your plan for this one attack,” Jerome muttered begrudgingly, echoed by the other lords.

As Gert began outlining the strategy, a messenger burst into the room, kneeling before the gathered leaders.

“Disaster has struck! The Dragonslayer has attacked, and a castle has fallen!”

“What!?”

The lords’ eyes widened in shock. The Dragonslayer, who they believed was entrenched in his stronghold, had struck another castle?

“Which castle has been taken?” Gert demanded.

“N-none of them have been taken!”

“What nonsense is this? You just said a castle fell!”

“Exactly as I said!” the messenger stammered, bowing his head. “The Dragonslayer breached the gates and walls of Gotland, Stolman, and Tibro Castles—then left! None of the castles have been occupied!”

“…What!?”

“They really destroyed everything and left,” Gert muttered, standing before the shattered gates and crumbled walls of Ebilene Castle, located at Gotland’s front line.

Though the walls still retained their general shape, they were so damaged that they were no longer functional as defenses.

“With just a sword, they reduced the walls to this?” Gert asked incredulously.

“Yes! However, the sword seemed to emit a blue flame—”

“A relic, then. A normal sword would’ve snapped long before inflicting this kind of damage,” Gert said, clicking his tongue as he listened to the commander’s report. Though he had heard descriptions of the Dragonslayer’s destructive power, seeing the aftermath firsthand was another matter entirely.

The scene looked less like the work of a person and more like the aftermath of a natural disaster.

“What a monster. Even if someone said a dragon transformed into a human, I might believe it.”

“Is now really the time to be impressed?” Franz, Lord of Gotland, snapped, his face contorted with anger. Watching his own castle lie in ruins was clearly agonizing.