Chapter 236: She Suddenly Knew

On the morning of August 23, as the first light of dawn appeared, Isolde, Doug, and Kolton led 2,000 soldiers of the Eryndral Empire North Campth Army to Kamari’s residence. They arrived silently, without a battle horn, and followed Isolde’s orders to storm both the front and back gates. Fifty soldiers were stationed at each gate to kill anyone attempting to escape or summon reinforcements.

Meanwhile, Kamari was discussing grain procurement with his advisors when a panicked guard rushed in, shouting, “King Kamari, Isolde has led her troops in an attack!” Kamari’s face changed drastically. “What?” He quickly stepped outside and heard the clash of weapons beyond the walls. His expression twisted with rage. “Theodore, you really have made your move against me.”

An advisor stepped forward, saying grimly, “King Kamari, should we send someone to request reinforcements?”

Kamari’s voice was cold. “Deal with the enemy first. She only has 3,000 men, while we have 5,000 guards. Since she dares to attack, we’ll make sure none of them leave alive.”

“We should call for reinforcements!” the advisor urged, wanting to play it safe.

Kamari listened as the sounds of battle outside intensified. He suddenly turned to the advisor, his voice sharp. “She attacked now because I dismissed my troops, clearly aiming for a swift assault. By the time reinforcements arrive, the entire estate will have fallen. Fight back now! Kill them!”

He believed that, no matter how fierce, an army led by a woman would have its limits. But when he stepped out, clad in armor and gripping his spear, he saw Isolde’s whip pierce straight through a soldier’s throat. Blood sprayed into the storm, scattering like crimson petals in the rain. At that moment, he realized he had underestimated her. A marshal was the soul of an army. He had been to war twice before, during his younger years of training. He had seen soldiers in battle—some with hatred in their eyes, some reveling in the thrill of combat, and others burning with a desperate, all-consuming fire. But he had never seen eyes like hers. When this woman killed, her gaze held nothing but steadiness, cold logic, and precise calculation. She wasn’t driven by rage or impulse; she was methodically determining the fastest way to end a life. Every strike was backed by unwavering conviction. And when a person fought with absolute belief, nothing could stand in their way.

Kamari felt a sudden chill as he watched the scene unfold. He vaguely regretted not listening to Ashley’s words. He quickly turned his head to dodge and thrust his spear toward Isolde’s chest.

Isolde’s whip snapped upward, moving like a serpent in midair—graceful yet lethal. As it brushed past Kamari, he could almost smell the blood and death clinging to it. It was a whip stained with blood, one that had already claimed countless lives. Kamari didn’t dare underestimate his opponent, but from just a few exchanges, he could already tell he was no match for her. Fortunately, before the fight could continue, a surge of soldiers forced them apart.

The North Campth Army had been battling in the disaster zone for two days, utterly exhausted. Yet, they had been holding back their strength for this very moment. Their fighting spirit, smoldering for days, now burned with a rare and ferocious intensity. Seeing this, Kamari realized he had miscalculated badly. He had been confident in his 5,000 well-rested guards, believing that Isolde’s forces would be too drained to fight after traveling a great distance, enduring storms, and spending two days on rescue efforts. He had assumed that once they breached his estate, they would be nothing more than lambs to the slaughter.

He quickly ran back and shouted sharply, “Summon the East Wing!” The East Wing housed a group of elite martial artists. For years, he had kept these warriors under his command, waiting for the day they would prove useful.

The North Campth Army had been steadily pushing the palace guards back until, suddenly, more than twenty men in dark blue combat attire descended from above. Each wielded a longsword, their movements swift and deadly, striking with precision at their enemies’ throats. In mere moments, over a hundred North Campth soldiers lay in pools of blood, their necks spilling crimson. Isolde had miscalculated. The North Campth Army was forced back into the front courtyard; Isolde, Doug, Kolton, and Lucas were also driven into the same space. It was nearly a fight to the death. At that moment, even the relentless storm seemed to come to a halt.

Kamari strode forward in full armor, exuding an imposing presence. Fixing his gaze on Isolde, he shouted sternly, “I am the brother of the King, and yet you dare lead traitors to attack my estate! Are you plotting rebellion? Today, I’ll eliminate you rebels on His Majesty’s behalf!”

Isolde was drenched, her face stained with the blood of her enemies. Though the rain had washed most of it away, faint traces remained. Her sharp gaze swept over the battlefield before she spoke in a steady, commanding voice. “North Campth Army, hear my command! By decree of the King, Kamari has amassed troops for his own gain with ambitions of rebellion. The King has ordered his capture and trial in the capital. If he resists, execute him on the spot!”

Kolton raised his broadsword and shouted, “Traitors must be eradicated! Kill!”

He charged forward without hesitation, leading the assault. He and Doug Becker, both formidable fighters, engaged the martial artists head-on. Isolde also plunged into the fray. Harlan, Anthony, and the Duke of Blackmoor (disguised as Billy) rushed forward as well, joining the battle.

This was a truly chaotic battle. Blood splattered; bodies lay scattered across the ground; the grand estate had become a living nightmare. Isolde had been injured frequently in recent days. Though Consumption Pills had restored her energy, last night’s mobilization left little time for proper rest or nourishment. Earlier, she had fought with sheer determination, but now exhaustion crept in. The martial artists, seasoned and ruthless, toyed with their outnumbered opponents like cats playing with mice.

Her shoulder and arm were wounded, yet three men still hounded her relentlessly. She swung her whip, but her strikes were losing strength. As she was forced to retreat, a sharp sword thrust toward her throat. Isolde’s body tensed instinctively, her arm shooting up to block. The blade sliced into her forearm, and blood instantly spilled. But her attacker wasn’t finished. He raised his sword again, forcing her to dodge backward in a desperate, clumsy retreat. Just as another slash aimed for her face, she twisted her body and kicked out, her boot striking his wrist with force. The sword clattered to the ground.

The man, in his thirties, was stocky yet with a gaunt face that didn’t match his frame. His eyes widened in shock; he hadn’t expected her to be this strong. Then his surprise turned into amusement. He let out a cruel laugh. “Good! Let’s have some real fun.” With a flick of his foot, he sent the fallen sword flying into the air, caught it mid-leap, and charged at her once more.

Suddenly, a sword blocked the attack with a series of loud clangs, making the heavyset man step back. Isolde was out of danger. She regained her balance and looked up, seeing that it was Billy, the guard Harlan had assigned to protect her. While wielding his sword, Billy turned his head and shouted at Isolde, “Hide quickly!” His voice was loud and unrestrained, causing Isolde to freeze completely. She looked at Billy in disbelief. He had always hunched his back. But now, as he fought, his posture was upright, his sword strikes powerful, and his presence as commanding as a seasoned marshal. In that instant, she suddenly realized who he truly was.