Reborn As Noble Chapter 1455: A Calm Hand and a Measured Voice ( 1455 )

Just as Kurashan was about to retort, a streak of compressed mana tore through the iron carriage roof in a blink, the energy sizzling as it left a glowing hole. Kurashan’s eyes widened in shock before he ducked behind the seat, glaring hard at Guranjar.

"What the hell is wrong with your skill, Guranjar!? I thought you already cast the barrier!?"

Guranjar followed him, ducking behind the other seat and shouting back, his voice strained with disbelief. "I did! I cast the strongest barrier I have!"

Another high-speed mana bullet tore through another part of the carriage, the impact sending sparks flying. Kurashan flinched before shouting, "If the barrier is already cast, then how the hell is the enemy able to shoot us from this distance!?" He glared at Guranjar, his voice dripping with mockery. "Your barrier is about as useful as a newbie’s first spell! I’ll make sure Lord Zurakan hears about your failure today!"

Guranjar was about to shout back when a bullet tore through his right hand, ripping it apart in a spray of blood. He screamed in agony before gritting his teeth and raising his left hand, channeling his strongest smoke and illusion skill, shrouding the carriage in a thick, obscuring mist.

Kurashan scrambled for a shield inside the carriage, pulling it over himself as best he could. He poured all of his remaining mana into it, his face pale with panic, his entire body trembling. He muttered to himself, his voice shaky and desperate.

"How... how are they able to shoot from this distance? On a moving target? This doesn’t make sense! What kind of monsters are these Armand bastards!?"

Kurashan’s eyes darted through the gaps in the carriage, watching in horror as his soldiers fell one by one. Some lost their heads in a spray of crimson, others had their arms torn clean off, and a few were simply blown apart, their bodies scattering across the road like discarded dolls.

His breath quickened, his hands trembling as he clutched the shield tighter. His mind raced.

This is impossible...

Our weapons were supposed to be the best. The enchanted flintlock muskets, the reinforced armor, the tower shields, the explosive cannonballs... Lord Zurakan spent a fortune equipping us with the finest weapons and armor our region could produce.

And this carriage... it was built to withstand cannon fire, enchanted to repel magic attacks, reinforced with the strongest materials we had. Combined with Guranjar’s barrier, it should have been impenetrable.

And yet...

Another bullet tore through the carriage, narrowly missing his head. He flinched, his face pale with terror.

They’re cutting through us like we’re nothing. Like we’re children playing at war. Every advantage we thought we had, every weapon we believed would close the gap... it’s all useless.

Shit! Let’s hope we can make it out of this alive...

Kurashan’s eyes darted toward Guranjar, who was leaning back, channeling a healing spell over the stump of his right hand. His face was pale, sweat beading on his forehead, but his focus remained on his wound.

And this Guranjar is useless!

His thoughts spiraled into bitter resentment.

His mage unit gets the highest pay, the largest budget allocation, the most luxurious supplies. Lord Zurakan always favored them, poured gold into their training, their spells, their enchanted robes, and their mana crystals, believed their magic would be the key to our victories.

And yet, look at them now. Their "ultimate" spells did nothing. Their barriers couldn’t hold. Their Grand Mage is sitting here, missing a hand, unable to protect even himself.

Kurashan gritted his teeth, his frustration boiling over.

We could have used that budget to equip more soldiers, to buy better weapons, to reinforce our cavalry. But no, Lord Zurakan insisted on pouring everything into those robe-wearing frauds.

Another bullet tore through the carriage, narrowly missing his shoulder. Kurashan’s eyes widened, and he pressed himself lower behind the shield.

Crap...

No use thinking about that now.

Better to get out of here alive. The hell with everything. Once I get out of this place, I’ll quit my job and run away from Lord Zurakan’s land. Head toward another region, or better yet, run toward the Dwarven Nation. Somewhere far away from all this madness.

Meanwhile.

Buddy squawked softly, lowering his massive head to preen his feathers, his beak carefully smoothing the glossy plumes of his chest. Gracelle stood beside him, a gentle smile on her face as she watched the battlement, surrounded by Armand Elite Special Forces who stood guard around her, their postures alert and protective.

On top of the battlement.

Javier raised his palm, signaling the Armand Elite Sniper to stop firing.

"Your Highness?" One of the Armand snipers lowered his rifle.

Javier lowered his hand, his voice calm and measured.

"Cease fire. Do not shoot the fleeing enemy. Any enemy that is in full retreat is to be left alone."

"But, Your Highness... the Sovereign’s orders were to leave no enemy alive."

Javier’s gaze remained fixed on the distant carriage shrinking into the horizon. "I know. But we follow the Armand Doctrine of War. An enemy that has broken formation, abandoned their weapons, and is fleeing the battlefield is no longer a combatant. We do not hunt down the fleeing enemy. My father’s command to leave no enemy alive applies to those who stand and fight, those who resist, and those who would regroup to threaten us again. It does not apply to broken men running for their lives. There is a difference between a soldier and a routed coward, and Armand does not waste ammunition on the latter."

He paused, his tone firm but thoughtful.

"Our objective was to secure this town and break their assault. That objective is complete. Chasing a handful of survivors across open ground serves no tactical purpose and wastes ammunition, resources, and energy we may need later."

He glanced at the Armand sniper and said in a calm tone.

"Let them run. They will spread the word of what happened here today, and that will serve us better than a few more corpses on the road. Fear travels faster than any bullet. When those men reach their lords, they will tell them everything. How their magic was useless. How their armor was worthless. How their army was shattered in a single day. That fear will spread through their ranks like a plague, and the next enemy we face will already be half-defeated before the first shot is fired."

( End Of Chapter )