Chapter 70: To the Battlefield of the Final Battle

“Fire!”

Zenon’s ruthless command echoed across the night sky of the Silva Plains.

In the next moment, hundreds of flashes erupted simultaneously from the hills surrounding the basin.
With deafening booms, lead bullets rained down like a deadly storm upon the Black Thirteen Saints in the center of the basin.

“Gah… ahhhhh!”
“Impossible! Our barriers…!”

Stripped of their magic, they were now mere humans.
Muskets tore effortlessly through their flimsy robes, mercilessly shredding their bodies.
The once-absolute masters of the battlefield fell one by one, blood blooming across the ground, unable to resist.

This was no longer a battle.
It was a one-sided execution—cold, methodical, like exterminating pests.
The soldiers of the kingdom army atop the hills watched in stunned silence.
The Empire’s strongest mages, whom they had so feared, were being crushed like infants.
The reality of their commander’s monstrous skill was etched deeply into their minds.

Minutes later, the gunfire ceased.
Only the silence of death remained in the basin.
No one survived. The Empire’s strongest trump card had been annihilated in an instant by Zenon’s trap, crafted with science and rationality.

“…Remarkable.”

Aldous, watching the entire scene from the temporary command post, muttered in a trembling voice.

“Not magic against magic… but logic that nullifies magic itself. Zenon-sama, you have far surpassed the very concepts of magic that we mages once believed in.”

Zenon, however, did not react to the praise.
His gaze had already moved to the next target.
The annihilation of the Black Thirteen Saints was only a prelude.
The real prize was the main force of the Empire, led by Marshal Gaius.

“…What of the enemy’s main camp?”

Zenon asked the observer in the reconnaissance balloon.

“Sir! The enemy is in complete chaos! Having lost their strongest trump card unexpectedly, their morale is shattered!”

“…I see.”

A cold smile crossed Zenon’s lips.

All the pieces were in place.
The enemy had lost their strongest means of attack.
Their morale had hit rock bottom.
And Zenon fully understood their weaknesses.
The outcome was decided.

He took up the magic communication device.
And he issued the final command that would determine the fate of this war.

“To all units.”

His voice resonated inside the heads of every soldier across the Silva Plains.

“We begin the full-scale assault on the main Imperial Army. The operation is divided into three phases. Phase One: The magic cannon units concentrate fire on the enemy’s east and west wings, where defensive magical formations are weakest. Further disrupt their formations. Phase Two: Hector’s Arkwright Army musketeers and light cavalry advance through the broken wings. Break through the flanks and isolate the central units. And Phase Three—”

Zenon paused, then named the units that would play the most crucial role in the battle.

“Marshal Gerhardt and General Gustav, leading the main body of the kingdom knights. Once you confirm the enemy’s central units are completely isolated… advance and charge head-on at full strength.”

At that command, Marshal Gerhardt and the others in the kingdom camp held their breath.
The role assigned to them was the most honorable: to deliver the finishing blow at the enemy’s most vulnerable moment.
After being repeatedly humiliated and tested by Zenon, this was an unexpected opportunity to reclaim their pride.

“…Are you certain, Zenon-dono?”

Marshal Gerhardt asked, his voice trembling.

“You entrust us with such a role…”

“Yes.”

Zenon’s voice remained flat.

“This is your final opportunity to demonstrate your ‘knightly pride.’ Revel in it.…However,”

His tone lowered slightly.

“Do not move a single step until I give the order to charge. Any unit moving ahead of time will be considered the enemy. Understood?”

Though these words sounded gentle, they were in fact a cold calculation to control them completely as his pieces on the board.
Yet for the marshals, the true meaning was irrelevant.
They had been given the final battlefield to reclaim their pride. That alone was enough.

“…Understood!”

The flame of a warrior rekindled in Marshal Gerhardt’s aged eyes.

“Tell all knights! From this moment, we stake the glory of the kingdom and execute the final charge! Are you ready?”

“““Ooooooooh!!”””

For the first time in this war, the kingdom knights raised a genuine battle cry.
Their morale, reignited by Zenon’s masterful psychological manipulation, blazed anew.

The stage for the decisive battle was set.
The Imperial Army’s camp had now become a massive execution ground, crafted by Zenon.
Information warfare, technological warfare, psychological warfare.
All mastered by the cold hand of a rationalist, now poised to strike.

The true curtain of the Silva Plains’ final battle was rising.