Chapter 21: Reclaiming the East

The camp was silent but tense, a vast sea of armor-clad men preparing for battle. Over 50,000 soldiers stood ready, gripping their weapons tightly as the orange glow of the setting sun bathed the eastern skies. They were all on edge, nervously awaiting what was to come, but none more so than Leonis. He stood near his father, Emperor Valerian Perdium, who, despite his stoic demeanor, emanated an undeniable air of confidence.

His father caught his gaze and gave a firm nod. It was a signal, one that told Leonis it was time.

Still dressed in the elegant coat, his dark teal cloak fluttered behind him as he made his way through the rows of soldiers. His uncle, Lord Alistair Perdium, stood off to the side, inspecting the formations, while the men, once merely curious about him, now looked up at Leonis with expectation and hope.

"Men!" Leonis's voice boomed across the camp, instantly drawing all eyes to him. "Today, we reclaim the east, the lands stolen by the vile hordes of orcs and goblins!"

The soldiers shifted, their gazes fixed on their prince as he strode forward, his presence commanding attention. He was still healing, his left arm weakened and aching from the last battle, but the fire in his eyes was unmistakable.

"The east has bled! Families have been torn apart, and our people have suffered!" Leonis continued, his voice rising. "But today, we will make them pay! We are not merely soldiers; we are the Perdium Empire! And under the banner of our empire, we shall show these beasts what true strength is!"

The crowd stirred, murmurs of approval spreading among them. Leonis clenched his sword, his left arm still unusable. It would have to be one-handed swordsmanship from here. In the novel he had read, there had been a swordsman—legendary, the son of the fifth swordmaster, a master of the one-handed blade. The techniques he had studied in the book flooded Leonis's mind, every motion, every strike, absorbed into his muscle memory as if he had trained for years.

"This is not the time to be afraid," Leonis urged, pacing in front of the men. "Fear is the weapon of the weak, and we... are not weak. We fight not just for the empire, but for our brothers, our families, for the future we will create together!"

He saw the fear melting away from their eyes, replaced with something more powerful: determination.

A loud horn echoed through the valley.

The men stiffened. Leonis turned, his heart pounding in his chest. The signal had come.

Horses were brought to the front, and the army quickly mounted up. Leonis's own steed, a massive black stallion, was brought to him. He mounted it smoothly, despite the pain shooting through his arm. His father, already on horseback, looked at him with pride.

Together, they rode eastward, their formation tight, the thundering of hooves like a drumbeat of war. The sun was sinking fast, casting long shadows across the landscape. They rode in silence, save for the rhythmic pounding of the horses' hooves and the occasional clink of armor.

By the time they reached the edge of the eastern plains, the sky was a deep, burning orange, the final light of the day casting an eerie glow over the land. They waited.

And then, a horn blew again.

The ground began to tremble.

From the distance, the orcs and goblins appeared, over 70,000 strong, their snarling faces twisted with rage, their crude weapons clashing against each other as they charged toward the Imperial army. This wasn't their full number, this was just the ones occupying the east. Leonis knew they had much more waiting in reserve, but even now, this was a force to be reckoned with.

Leonis's grip tightened around his sword. His mind raced, his body alive with the mana flowing through him. He couldn't fight like before. His arm was still too weak, too stiff. This battle would be fought with one hand, relying on technique more than brute strength.

He closed his eyes for a brief second, remembering the one-handed swordsman from the novel, the son of the fifth swordmaster. He had been graceful, precise, devastating. Leonis imagined the movements, the flow of the battle, as if the swordsman himself was whispering the techniques into his ear. He could almost feel the grip of the sword differently now, as though it were an extension of his own will.

His father rode up beside him, his presence a towering force. "You'll be fine, Leonis," Valerian said, his voice calm, though laced with the underlying tension of a father who had watched his son suffer. "Lead them well."

Leonis nodded, his eyes hardening. He was ready.

With a loud, war-like cry, the armies of the Perdium Empire charged into the battlefield, clashing with the savage force of the orc and goblin hordes. The cacophony of metal striking metal, the screams of battle, and the raw smell of blood filled the air. Leonis gritted his teeth, his heart pounding in sync with the clash of swords.

He guided his horse into the thick of the fight, striking down enemies with swift, one-handed blows. The technique from the novel surged through him, each swing was measured, each strike a testament to his growing skill. He was no longer just the 'shameful prince.' He was a warrior, and today, he would prove it.

Leonis guided his horse into the thick of the fight, striking down orcs and goblins with swift, precise blows, his sword singing with each lethal swing. His movements were fluid, instinctive, honed by training and now tested in the heat of battle. His grip tightened around his blade, his eyes fierce with determination as he scanned the battlefield.

Suddenly, he jumped off his horse with a smooth dismount, gripping his sword with his dominant hand. He felt a surge of power within him, drawing upon the mysterious blue fire magic he had barely tapped into. With a grunt, he channeled the flame into his new, crystalline sword, causing it to blaze with an intense blue aura. The heat was overwhelming, but he had learned to control it, keeping it steady within the blade.

A massive orc—easily twice the size of the others—charged at him, its axe raised high. Leonis clenched his jaw, his body aching from the exertion, but he wasn't going to falter now. With a powerful thrust, he drove his sword straight into the orc's skull. His muscles tensed, and he screamed in defiance, his eyes glowing with raw mana as he forced the blade down. The orc let out a guttural roar before its body was split clean in half from head to groin, collapsing in a heap of blood and viscera.

Leonis stood there for a moment, chest heaving. Blood spattered his face and armor, but he wiped his jaw clean with the back of his hand, his mind already focusing on the next threat. With a swift flick of his wrist, he swung his sword in the air, removing the blood from its edge. He glanced around the battlefield.

His father, Emperor Valerian, and his uncle, Lord Alistair, fought with ease, as if the creatures they faced were nothing more than insects. Orcs and goblins crumbled beneath their attacks like fragile clay dolls. Leonis marveled at their strength—mere filthy creatures were no match for them. They were titans of the battlefield, unstoppable forces of nature.

But Leonis... he was breathing heavily. His muscles ached, his chest burned. Stamina. He cursed himself under his breath. He should have worked on his endurance more. His mana reserves were already starting to dwindle, the blue fire taking more out of him than he had anticipated.

And then—there was a sound like a tidal wave of feet, a rumbling that sent vibrations through the earth. He looked up. Over 600 orcs and goblins rushed toward him, a seething mass of savage faces and sharp weapons.

He was tired, yes. But there was no time to stop. He squared his shoulders, gripping his sword tightly. The weight of it felt heavier now, but he welcomed it. He got into a stance, closing his eyes to steady his breath, locking into the moment. Everything around him seemed to slow down. It was as if time itself had paused, leaving him in this brief, serene moment. The sounds of the battlefield faded away, leaving only the thudding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

He felt something... something powerful. It was as if every one of his ancestors, the progenitor, the former emperors, the great swordsmen of his lineage were standing behind him, pushing him forward, urging him on. His sword, still blazing with blue fire, felt lighter now, as if it had become an extension of himself.

He opened his eyes, and everything snapped back into motion. The horde of enemies closed in, but Leonis was ready. His body surged with newfound energy, his mana spiking in intensity. With a deep breath, he flash-stepped forward, his speed almost too fast to follow. His blade cut through the air with deadly precision, each strike landing with perfect accuracy.

The first orc fell with a clean slice through its torso. Then another. And another. Leonis was a whirlwind of blue flame and steel, his sword burning through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. Each step, each swing, was fluid and efficient, the blood and bodies piling up around him as he carved his way through the enemies.

Time seemed to blur as he cut down one goblin after another, their screams of rage and pain barely registering in his mind. It was just him and the fight. His sword became a blur, and before he knew it, the ground around him was littered with the corpses of his enemies.

He stood there, amidst the carnage, his chest heaving as he wiped sweat and blood from his brow. The world around him slowly returned to normal speed. He glanced back at the battlefield, seeing the remainder of the goblin horde retreat in panic.

But it wasn't over. Not yet.