By mid-August, the armies of the two viscounts in Zero Crossing County finally faced off on a broad open plain.
Viscount Dragon brought 3,500 soldiers, of whom over 1,000 were slave conscripts hastily trained for ten days.
Viscount Miles and Castor commanded 5,000 soldiers, about half of whom—roughly 2,000—were also slave troops.
As was tradition before any major battle, it was time for the exchange of insults. Viscount Dragon personally came forth—but Viscount Miles could now only sit within his carriage.
"Miles, what's this? Are you already dead?"
"I thought you'd last until winter, but it seems you won't even make it to the Blessing of the Gods Festival this year!"
Standing beside the carriage, Lager Miles shouted in reply on behalf of the Viscount:
"Dragon, my father sends his regards. He asked me to tell you that you'll die just as young as your father did. My father has lived thirty years longer than yours—and there's no comparison between you and him, boy."
Dragon's expression darkened. He had inherited his title young precisely because his father died early. Indeed, Viscount Miles belonged to a prior generation.
"And what are you supposed to be, to speak to me like that?"
"Even if Miles is old and finished—what about that Kristan? Is he guarding my Zero Crossing City for me now?"
Lager looked smug as he replied:
"My brother is, of course, looking after the Miles family's territory. And Viscount Dragon, as a noble, you should respect the laws of the Empire. The Miles family was appointed by the Empire as governors of Zero Crossing City—not you."
"Even if you go south to the Empire's heartlands, or west to the prosperous coast, all you'll ever be is Viscount Dragon—not the governor of Zero Crossing County."
"Hmph."
Dragon snorted coldly. On this point, he could say nothing. But really—who in the Empire's south even knew what went on in Northwind Province?
What he cared about was real power: rights, land, and wealth.
"I will take what's mine."
Dragon's final words were sharp.
"You'll grow old and die in your little fortress," Lager retorted, voice booming.
"Kill them!"
On the muddy battlefield, armies clashed in brutal combat. Unlike the earlier skirmishes where most were slave conscripts, the majority of the troops here were trained regulars. Armored, disciplined, they drove their spears into enemy flesh. The smell of blood ignited a fevered frenzy—they roared as they plunged deeper into the enemy lines.
Knights on horseback carved through the battlefield like gods of war. Their iron hooves crushed flesh and bone, their sharp blades sliced through leather armor as if it were paper.
"Victory belongs to Dragon!"
Baron Enzo bellowed. He was the only fifth-rank noble personally participating in this war. As a silver knight, his presence instilled fear—but fear alone could not halt him.
Eventually, however, two silver knights intercepted him. Seeing this, Baron Enzo had no choice but to withdraw.
The battle lasted an hour. When the horn blew, both sides pulled back, leaving behind only the corpses of the fallen.
With over ten thousand soldiers engaged, the war could not be decided in a single clash. And this conflict would determine the fate of all Zero Crossing County.
"Tomorrow, we must kill their knights."
That evening, Castor met with Viscount Miles. His gaze was cold and ruthless.
He looked at the aging noble lying in bed, then at Lager standing nearby.
"Viscount, what is your true condition?"
From the bed, Miles replied in a faint voice:
"Don't worry, Castor. I won't die before this war is over."
"As for killing the knights around Dragon—that's not a simple task. How do you plan to do it?"
Hearing his weakening voice, Castor began to wonder if it was time to start speaking more with Kristan. But aloud, he replied:
"Viscount, I plan to have our soldiers take Fury Elixirs."
The mere mention of the potion made Miles's breathing quicken. He struggled to sit up and stared hard at Castor.
"That stuff… the price is too high. We can't afford it—not unless you've brought Church priests with you."
Of course, there were no priests. The strained relations between the Empire and the Church meant clergy rarely appeared in Imperial territories.
"Viscount."
Castor's expression turned serious.
"You understand—we must win. The Miles family cannot lose Zero Crossing County and its capital. Whether for my father or for your own house, we must bring this war to an end—our way."
Viscount Miles fell silent. He carried far too many burdens. And indeed, this war—deciding the fate of the entire county—was one he absolutely could not lose.
If they did, they would lose everything.
"The Fury Elixir only grants enhanced knight strength for half an hour," Miles said slowly.
"After that, the body is wrecked beyond recovery. We have just thirty minutes to end the war."
"Dragon must not suspect a thing. And I have one condition."
He fixed his gaze on Castor.
"Dragon must die. And so must Ellis Dragon."
Ellis Dragon—the eldest son of Viscount Dragon, heir to the Dragon family's title.
"You know we've already sent assassins after him," Castor replied.
"The odds of Ellis surviving are slim."
"No. He must die."
Viscount Miles's bloodshot eyes locked onto Castor. The younger man fell silent… then nodded.
"I'll send word to the assassins immediately. But Viscount, as for Dragon himself—we can't kill him. Even if our soldiers capture him alive, we can't execute him. He's a noble. A viscount. Nobles aren't supposed to die in battles like this."
Castor was very firm. He felt the old man was growing unhinged. No viscount had died in battle for decades in the Empire.
"True," said Miles coldly.
"You can't kill him. But I can."
His murky eyes burned with murderous resolve.
"I'm already dying. And before I go, Dragon must die. If he lives—even if we win—the Vise family won't gain full control of Zero Crossing County."
"You can't kill him. But I can."
"Who would blame a dying man? For the sake of the Miles family… for the Earl's greater plan… even if I'm condemned, I'll kill him."