Chapter 230: Black Wings Troops (1)

"Lord Rovert, it’s dangerous!"

A soldier burst into Rovert’s study, gasping for breath.

Rovert, who had been leisurely admiring his pink nails, jolted in surprise and shot the soldier a displeased look.

"Couldn’t you enter more quietly? You startled me, you know?" He complained irritably.

The soldier quickly realized his mistake and bowed in haste.

"I’m sorry, my lord. I was too panicked and forgot proper etiquette in your presence. Once again, I apologize," he said anxiously.

If he could turn back time just a few seconds, he would never have done something so foolish.

Those who had served in the Castellan family mansion long enough knew how terrifying Rovert Castellan, the family head, truly was.

On the surface, he appeared friendly and approachable. In reality, he was cruel—anyone who dared oppose him was punished without mercy.

Adding to his ominous reputation, Rovert was full of mystery. No one ever knew what he was thinking, and that alone kept most people from provoking him.

What made it even more unsettling was his preference—not for women, but for men.

Yes, men. It might sound strange, even revolting, but it was the truth. Many young soldiers had fallen victim to him, and none had ever returned unscathed.

That was why the soldier now trembled in fear, worried that Rovert might come after him for his rash behavior.

Damn it! How could I be so stupid?

He muttered under his breath.

Meanwhile, Rovert, unaware of the soldier’s thoughts, turned his attention back to his fingernails before saying, "Tell me, what exactly happened?"

The soldier breathed a sigh of relief when he realized Rovert hadn’t mentioned the punishment he feared most.

After taking a deep breath, he answered carefully, "My lord, the soldiers and mages of the Valmire family are marching toward Gardian City. They are expected to arrive within the next half hour! What should we do? Should I order the troops to prepare?"

Although just a common soldier, he understood the meaning behind the Valmire army’s advance—revenge.

A few days earlier, Rovert had ordered Castellan troops to attack one of the Valmire family’s factories, killing many of their people.

So, their arrival this time was clearly tied to that incident.

Yet, to the soldier’s surprise, Rovert showed no panic, no trace of fear.

He simply leaned back, propped both feet on the desk, and brushed his fingernails lightly, as if none of it concerned him.

"Thank you for the news. You may go now," he said nonchalantly, waving his left hand.

The soldier froze. He stared at Rovert in disbelief and finally dared to ask, "My lord, what do you mean? How are we supposed to handle their attack? You must give us a solution—or at least an order."

His voice trembled with panic and agitation. He was, after all, one of the soldiers who had attacked the Valmire family’s factory.

In fact, several enemy soldiers had died at his hands. It wasn’t entirely his fault—the situation had been pure chaos. In the heat of the moment, he lost control and killed more than a few.

If the Valmire family ever learned the truth, he would surely be the first target of their vengeance.

Rovert’s expression darkened, a deep frown twisting his face. His gaze sharpened as he said coldly, "You’re just a lowly soldier. How dare you try to order me around?"

The soldier’s body stiffened. In a panic, he threw himself to the ground in desperate prostration.

"Forgive me, my lord! I didn’t mean to! I... I..."

He tried to explain, but Rovert’s expression only grew darker.

"Noisy."

With a light wave of his hand, a thin red line appeared across the soldier’s neck.

The man gasped, clutching at the sudden, searing pain. "It... hurts! What’s happening?!"

Panic surged through him, but before he could react further, his vision spun.

In an instant, his head rolled to the floor. Blood spurted from the severed neck, pooling rapidly across the ground.

His body collapsed, motionless.

The scene was horrific, yet Rovert remained completely unfazed.

He merely frowned and covered his nose with a look of disgust.

"What a piece of trash," he sneered coldly.

His gaze drifted from the corpse on the floor to the window. A thin, sinister smile curved on his lips as he whispered,

So, Valmire’s army is really coming, huh? It seems Belfor wasn’t lying. Good... I’ve already made preparations. They’ll never reach Gardian City. After all, the troops from the Red Obsidian Trading House have arrived ahead of them. Hehehe...

...

Ten kilometers from Gardian City stretched a vast grassland, nearly five kilometers across.

The wind howled almost without pause, sending waves through the tall grass that swayed endlessly.

At that moment, hundreds of horses thundered across the grassland. Leading the charge were Aston and his troops, advancing to strike at the Castellans.

Aston’s face was resolute, his eyes burning with determination.

But suddenly, a black shadow appeared on the horizon, startling Aston and his men.

They pulled at their reins, slowing their mounts as their eyes fixed on the dark figures ahead. What emerged was a group of soldiers.

There were many—two to three hundred at least. Their bodies were encased in black armor, and each bore a sword strapped to the right side of the waist.

Aston’s eyes narrowed as he drew his horse to a halt about fifty meters from them, every sense on high alert.

"Who are you?" he called out loudly, without a trace of fear.

"Heh..." A mocking voice came from the line of soldiers. "So you’re Aston Valmire, huh? You look nothing like I imagined."

The soldiers stepped aside, and a horse rode forward, carrying a man with a sinister expression.

His hair was gray-black and cropped short, and an eye patch covered his left eye. Broad-shouldered and muscular, he exuded a dangerous presence.

Aston narrowed his eyes, his voice cold and menacing. "Are you the leader of this troop? Step aside, or you’ll bring upon yourselves misfortunes beyond imagining."

Clap! Clap!

"Hahaha! That’s rich. You dare threaten me? I haven’t been treated like this in ages. Have people really forgotten who I am?"

Aston’s eyebrows lifted slightly at the words, but he gave them little thought. In a stern tone, he warned again, "Get out of my way. Right now!"

The man grinned faintly, then shook his head side to side until the crunch of his bones echoed.

"Aston Valmire, I’ll admit your courage is impressive. But you should learn to behave in the presence of others. Don’t know who I am? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Galian, leader of the Black Wings troops from the north. Our sole purpose here is to stop your attack—and defeat you."