Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 363 Charging
All hesitation, weighing of options, and delusions about the future were utterly crushed by the gatekeeper's piercing sarcasm.

What filled Reibarton's chest at this moment was a venomous clarity and a reckless obsession born of being driven to the absolute brink of despair!

He walked to the adamantine desk, his gaze sweeping over the seal, a symbol of royalty, engraved with patterns of thorns and flames. His eyes lost their imperial majesty, replaced by a cruel, almost fanatical light burning deep within his pupils. He knew what to do!

The first step is to drive them away!

He picked up a black quill pen, soaked in a secret potion and exuding a chilling aura. It ensured that information was received only by designated bloodlines, while also leaving an undeniable imprint of the royal will.

"Duke Paris, Earl of Blackrock, Lord Hawkeye, Viscount Ironfoot..."

He coldly wrote the names of nobles and powerful figures on specially made mithril stationery that constantly emitted a thin black mist.

The fingertips were steady, without the slightest tremor, displaying only the precision required to execute a destructive blueprint.

"The main force of the rebels has assembled in Bloodhoof Valley." This was a carefully crafted intelligence report, combining scattered information intercepted from the Shadow Channel with his ruthless predictions of the movements of certain ambitious individuals, enough to drive the Blood Sharks, who had sensed a crack in the power structure, into a frenzy.

"The royal secret treasure has been unsealed; its location coordinates..."

The mystery is intertwined with reality, pointing to a truly hidden ancient tomb belonging to the royal family, containing a wealth of rare resources, enough to make any greedy person drool. Only members of the royal bloodline can break the final layer of restrictions.

His orders would not concern him with the secret treasure in the slightest, but rather spread the news of it throughout the kingdom's nobility.

"You all must exert your utmost efforts to clear away the obstacles... After this battle, the merits... will rebuild order!" He wrote those last four words as if they were carved with a bloodstained knife, each word piercing the heart!
For Rebaton, this "rebuilding of order" is no longer about restoring glory, but about heading towards the final battlefield of extermination!

He knew that once these letters were sent out, the words "royal treasures" and "rebuilding order" would surely drive those cunning wolves, even if they had doubts, to be driven by immense greed!

The second step: lockdown!

“Chief Messenger of Ezreal!” Rebaton’s voice was hoarse and deep, like polished sand.

A figure dressed in a black robe with secret patterns, blending into the air like a shadow, silently emerged from the corner and knelt on one knee.

"Take my Thorn Dragon Ring!" Rebaton removed a dark, seemingly light-absorbing ring from his little finger, on which coiled a lifelike miniature thorn dragon with bloodshot eyes.

"Proceed to the border fortress immediately and deliver my supreme command!" His voice carried an unquestionable, iron-blooded tone. "Immediately impose a maximum-level blockade on all Ironwall Legions heading towards 'Bloodhoof Valley'!"
Whether it's a person, a caravan, or a carrier pigeon! Anyone attempting to pass through—regardless of their identity—will be killed on the spot! We will not tolerate any unrelated party stepping into the 'hunting circle'! When Rebaton used the term 'hunting circle,' his teeth seemed to gleam with cold light.

He needs to ensure that when the goalkeeper appears, not a single target is missed in the "harvesting"!
Any one of them who slips through the net could ruin the perfect ending where "everyone dies together"!

The third step, which is also the last and most dangerous step, is the bait!
Rebaton walked to a huge astrolabe deep inside the palace.

This is not a simple decoration; it is a device that can activate his bloodline at a specific frequency and subtly induce the resonance of the royal scepter.

This secret is known only to a few noble families with long histories in the kingdom. The scepter is a forbidden weapon; as long as a member of the royal family sacrifices the power of its bloodline, it can unleash a large-scale destructive spell.

In the early days of the nation's founding, the royal family relied on this scepter to destroy the strongest alien orc race that had stood in their way. He took a deep breath, his eyes resolute as if gazing into an abyss.

With his hands pressed on the cold crystal ball at the core of the planetarium, he slowly poured in his imperial blood, which had been "marked" by the gatekeeper, following some instinctive, almost suicidal incantation deep within his bloodline!

hum!
A faint but extremely obscure ripple of energy silently penetrated the many restrictions of the palace, like a deadly poison seed thrown into the lake of fate, and made a directional anchor to the magic energy well in the depths of the distant stone hall that was already on the verge of going berserk!
This isn't a summoning, it's a location tracking!

It is to charge the scepter with his own existence as Rebadon and the place he is ultimately going to—that false battlefield!

When the battlefield unfolds and death gathers, the moment he appears there is the signal that the gatekeeper senses!
He was the one who sounded the horn of that ruthless, all-encompassing harvest!
After doing all this, Rebaton seemed to have all his strength drained away, and fine beads of cold sweat appeared on his forehead.

He looked out into the boundless darkness through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows of his bedchamber, but a twisted smile slowly spread across his lips, a smile that was a mixture of utter despair and the mad pleasure of revenge.

"The time is ripe..."

The goalkeeper will naturally take the stage.

This was no longer a war of victory; it was a grand funeral that foretold death. And Rebaton Augustus, the last emperor, was tasked with digging his own grave and those of all his enemies, and then—jumping in!

The air was as cold as iron, and only his suppressed, slightly manic, low laughter, like a sob, echoed in the palace.

The night outside the window grew increasingly heavy.

Cold sweat soaked through his silk robe. Robin sat up abruptly on the bed, his heart clenching as if gripped by an invisible giant hand. Each beat was accompanied by a tearing, agonizing pain and an icy chill that seemed to pierce his very bones, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.

He was breathing heavily, his hands pressed tightly against his chest, the muscles under his fingertips hard as iron from excessive tension.

Something's wrong! Something's totally wrong!
As beings standing at the pinnacle of the Order Knights, their bodies have long been tempered to the point where their blood and marrow are as fine as mercury and as pure as frost, and their spirits are an ironclad fortress forged through countless trials.

A mere nightmare, or even the murderous aura of an infiltrator, should not trigger such a strong, almost uncontrollable physiological warning!

This palpitation doesn't stem from muscle fatigue or mental turmoil; it's more like... a fundamental warning?

A cold and deadly threat alarm emanating from the very nature of his being!

He went into battle almost immediately.

Without any deliberate effort, the abundant life force within his body, like a dragon awakening from its slumber, surged and roared, instantly coursing through his limbs and bones!

A faint silver light flowed beneath the skin, a sign that the power was being restrained at a critical point.

The senses are magnified to the extreme: the subtle friction of the armor of patrolling soldiers in the far distance outside the window, the sound of the wind rustling through the veins of leaves, the heartbeat of hibernating insects deep in the soil, and even the almost negligible traces of energy dust in the air... are all as clear as the lines on the palm of your hand.

(End of this chapter)