The Lord: In Another World, I Have a Summoning Card !-Chapter 52: Chaptre : The Battle for the Northern

The office room was spacious, with a high ceiling and walls paneled in dark wood, carrying the scent of old books and military tomes.

At the center of the room stood a massive desk, covered with open maps displaying army positions and neatly arranged official documents.

The Supreme Commander sat behind the desk, while Duke Kriman sat opposite him on a heavy leather chair.

On the table between them rested a silver tray holding a pitcher filled with a noble’s drink—such as tea—and two small glasses, both untouched.

Duke Kriman was the first to speak, his voice calm:

"General Ronald... allow me to begin by offering my personal thanks. Your support during the meeting was a great help in calming the chaos that Earl Bestov sought to ignite."

General Ronald gave a slight, courteous nod and replied in a measured tone:

"I merely fulfilled my duty to the king and the kingdom."

The Supreme Commander observed the duke silently for a few moments before continuing, moving one of the maps with a finger:

"We do not wish to see the North divided, Duke Kriman. We want it to remain strong—especially during these times. That is why the North needs wise leaders, like yourself, who know when to wield the sword and when to raise the banner of peace."

Duke Kriman remained alert but did not respond immediately. He watched the commander carefully choosing his words, reading beyond the surface-level courtesies.

General Ronald continued, his voice gaining a layer of seriousness:

"However, I must point out that matters in the North... sometimes change unexpectedly. The local nobles have welcomed the arrival of the reinforcement troops, yes, but there is also a growing sense of unease. Your recent movements, and some of your interactions with the visiting nobles—even if carried out with the best of intentions—may sow the seeds of unforeseen troubles."

He paused for a moment, as if gauging the weight of his words, then added:

"Your recommendation for Gerard Glovas to be granted the title of Viscount has stirred resentment among several local nobles. They believe his contributions do not compare to their sacrifices over the years."

Kriman’s features tightened for a brief instant, a flicker of tension flashing through his eyes. Yet he quickly concealed his irritation behind a mask of calm, answering in a controlled voice:

"My strength has always been wielded in coordination with the interests of the northern territories, never at their expense. Gerard Glovas has contributed greatly through the forces he brought—forces consisting of several nobles from his own region. While it is true that his efforts may not equal the sacrifices of others who have fought for years, sometimes exceptions must be made... to encourage other foreign nobles to offer similar support."

General Ronald continued to observe him without any discernible expression, as if weighing the truth of his words with his eyes alone.

A heavy silence fell between them before he finally responded, his tone cold and measured:

"I hope your good intentions are as clear to everyone else as they are to me, Duke Kriman."

Though his expression remained unchanged, a slight nod of his head eased the tension in the room.

Then he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice, as if wishing to make his next words more private:"His Majesty the King has asked me to deliver you a personal message."

He paused briefly, deliberately allowing the weight of his words to sink slowly into the Duke’s mind before continuing, his voice steady and deliberate:

"His Majesty wishes that after this war, you would visit him soon... as you used to when you were both boys. As his cousin—and now, one of the kingdom’s most vital pillars."

Duke Kriman rose slowly from his seat, carefully adjusting his dark cloak with a measured motion.

He offered a slight, formal bow to the Supreme Commander, then said in a firm, unwavering tone:"I shall convey my personal regards to His Majesty... and I will accept his invitation in the near future."

General Ronald responded with a silent nod, without rising from his chair.

He watched as Kriman strode calmly toward the office door, his steps measured and steady, until his figure disappeared behind the heavy, solid wooden doors.

A tall mirror silently slid aside, revealing a man stepping forth.He carried himself with noble bearing, his features rigid, and his eyes filled with a visible, unmasked suspicion.He stood before the General, his hands clasped formally behind his back.

At last, he spoke, his voice low but charged with barely suppressed tension:

"General... may I speak?"

The General lifted his head slightly and gave a brief nod of permission.

The man stepped closer and, despite his intentions, his voice came out sharper than he had meant:"Why did you offer such overt support to Duke Kriman? You placed the full weight of the royal army behind him for all to see.Previously, his connection to the royal family was distant enough that it carried little influence; the King had granted him no special privileges, allowing most nobles to ignore it.Now, however, your actions have reignited attention on that blood tie and have disrupted the careful balance of our previous strategies.This... is not the kind of support you promised me !"

The General remained silent for a moment before turning his chair to gaze out through the large window overlooking the camp’s courtyard.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, yet carried an unmistakable clarity that brooked no argument:"The promise we made still stands. But the operation must be delayed—or slowed—because now is not the time to shatter the foundations of the North."

He turned back slowly, his eyes cutting across the distance between him and the man with a deadly chill, then continued:

"And I want you to understand this well, Earl... Our support for the Bestov family—to counterbalance the Kriman family’s dominance over the northern territories in past years—was never support for any one individual.We support the balance of the kingdom and the stability of the throne."

The Commander raised his hand, signaling the end of the conversation, and said without looking at him:

"You would be wise to focus on the current battle against the orc army... for it may very well hold the key to future shifts in power."

A cold prickling sensation ran through Bestov’s chest, but he forced himself to remain composed, offering a light bow as he said:

"Understood, sir."

...

A few days later, across the vast plains and rocky plateaus, armies stretched along the horizon, painting a majestic scene so heavy it seemed to suffocate the very air.

To the west, the orc army stood in tight formations under their black banners and dark sigils, their ranks lined up like fortified walls, their weapons glinting beneath the dying light of the afternoon sun.

Facing them to the east, the kingdom’s human army blanketed the plains in a sea of crimson standards—endless lines of infantry, cavalry, and mighty archers ready for battle.

If had Arthur been present at that moment, he would have been astonished by the vast difference between this orc army and the one he had fought in the past.

The orc forces facing the kingdom today were far more organized, their ranks disciplined, and their weaponry significantly more advanced.

Their armor was uniform, their banners unified, and their lines moved with a precision that had been unheard of in earlier confrontations.

Yet the kingdom’s army was not lacking in strength.

Not only were their military supplies slightly superior in quality—crafted with better metals and finer craftsmanship—but they also possessed unusual weapons placed strategically across the battlefield.

Enormous cannons, far grander than anything Arthur had seen during the early industrial revolution of his previous life, stood ready.

These cannons were adorned with shimmering crystal stones, each pulsing with a faint, mysterious glow that suggested they were infused with magical energy.

The number of combatants on both sides had surpassed half a million, creating a scene of overwhelming scale.

The constant clanking of armor, the rhythmic clash of weapons being tested, and the fierce

fluttering of hundreds of banners overhead filled the air with a heavy, thunderous noise that made it difficult for even the strongest voices to carry far.

At the forefront of the kingdom’s forces stood Duke Kriman, surrounded by his top commanders.

Their gazes were locked onto the distant enemy lines, and their exchanged words were brief, focused only on last-minute confirmations and silent resolve.

Before long, General rode his horse forward, his presence calm yet commanding.

With a firm motion, he raised his hand high, signaling the first movements of the army.

In perfect synchronization, the kingdom’s archer units advanced, forming layered ranks. Behind

them, heavily armored cavalry units began to move forward, their steps slow, steady, and deliberate, maintaining formation as they approached their designated positions.

Then the horns sounded, their deep, resonant notes rolling across the battlefield like the onset of a storm.

In an instant, the ground trembled under the march of tens of thousands of soldiers, each step a beat of the coming clash.

From the western side, the orc archers loosed the first volley.

A blackened cloud of arrows rose into the sky, dense enough that it blotted out the setting sun for a moment.

The kingdom’s archers responded with swift discipline, unleashing a counter-volley. Their arrows shimmered with enchantments, burning through the sky with trails of fiery light.

The two waves met in midair, clashing violently.

The collision shattered countless shafts and arrowheads, raining broken fragments of wood and steel down onto the battlefield like a deadly rain.

Then came the first great clash.

The knights of the kingdom surged across the open plains, their swords gleaming under the fading sunlight, their formation tight and unwavering despite the uneven terrain.

Facing them, the orc infantry responded with disciplined efficiency. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

Spears were lowered in unison, forming a solid wall of sharpened steel. Shields locked together, creating a barrier that looked almost immovable from a distance.

At the point of contact, the collision was brutal.

The force of galloping warhorses slammed into the orc spear wall, the impact sending shockwaves across the battlefield.

Screams tore through the air—of men, orcs, and horses alike—mingling with the sharp clash of metal upon metal and the hollow clang of breaking shields.

The chaotic symphony of war raged on: swords flashing, spears thrusting, blood spraying across trampled soil.

Every single meter of ground was fought over with savage determination, paid for with the blood and lives of those who dared step forward.Neither side showed mercy; neither side faltered.

Recognizing the growing deadlock, General swiftly issued an order.

The ninth battalion, an elite unit of assault fighters trained specifically for breakthrough operations, began to move.

Their armor was heavier, their weapons brutal and direct. They advanced with mechanical precision, targeting weak points along the orc lines, hacking and smashing through where the knights had begun to lose momentum.

Meanwhile, from the kingdom’s left flank, Duke gave his signal.

Hidden behind the low hills, teams of magical bombardiers revealed themselves.With a series of sudden flashes, a barrage of magical projectiles was launched, soaring over friendly lines and crashing into the dense orc formations.

Bright explosions blossomed across the battlefield.

Columns of dirt, rock, and blood erupted into the air, momentarily tearing gaps in the orc ranks.The ground itself trembled with each impact, fissures opening under the feet of soldiers who struggled to maintain their footing amidst the chaos.

In this inferno, there was no room for hesitation or mercy.The orders for both armies were brutally simple and absolute:

"Advance. Do not retreat. Break the enemy lines."