52: Chapter 52 The Strongest Recruitment Fair in History, Held in Front of the Enemy's Battlefield

Ella Radiance's fingers were ice-cold, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the rough stone bricks of the battlement tightly.

She forced herself to remain calm, using the poise expected of an Imperial Princess to scrutinize everything before her, which had become absurd to the extreme.

Ever since that man left, this castle had been like a precision machine following a set program, operating in an orderly fashion, yet exuding an eeriness that made her skin crawl.

There was no emergency mobilization, no distribution of weapons, and they hadn't even bothered to hold a pre-war motivational speech.

The musketeers were simply conducting their daily shooting practice at the range, while the newly arrived dwarven craftsmen were clanging away in the workshop district, as if the army outside—large enough to grind the Blackstone Territory into powder—simply didn't exist.

Beside her, Sir Julius's face was ashen. His hand never left the hilt of his sword, and his muscles were taut, like a lion about to spring upon its prey.

But the person he owed his loyalty to—Ella herself—had been placed under house arrest in this tower by Levi under the guise of being a "distinguished guest," turning her into a mere bystander to this bizarre "acquisition case."

Finally, at the end of the horizon, dust rose to blot out the sun.

A black flood surged from the mouth of the Red River Valley. At the very front were hundreds upon thousands of spears and blades flashing with a cold light, converging into a suffocating forest of steel.

The heraldic banners of various nobles flapped loudly in the din of the dust. The most conspicuous among them was undoubtedly the one embroidered with a black armored warhammer—the house crest of Count Roland, the Ironclad Count, the most stubborn stone in the North.

Five thousand men, perhaps even more.

Ella's heart sank.

This force was sufficient to capture any border fortress that wasn't fully prepared.

And the Blackstone Territory was exactly the one that was "unprepared."

However, just as the vanguard of the allied forces was less than two miles from the castle and about to enter charging distance, Blackstone Castle's heavy drawbridge was slowly lowered amidst the tooth-grinding sound of the winch.

Ella's pupils constricted suddenly.

Opening the gates? At a time like this? Had the garrison commander Levi Byron left behind gone mad?

She saw that emerging from the wide-open gates were not soldiers lining up to meet the enemy, but a team that she completely failed to understand.

Leading them was none other than the succubus steward, Evelyn.

She was still wearing that well-tailored black steward's dress, her expression composed, as if she weren't walking onto a battlefield but rather heading to host an afternoon garden tea party.

Behind her, dozens of robust servants carried long tables, chairs, and several wooden barrels filled with white powder.

Right there on the open ground outside the city gates, they leisurely set up a simple wooden platform.

Then, amidst the rumbling hoofbeats of the approaching allied forces, two servants unfurled a massive white banner with the Common Tongue written in red dye, hanging it high behind the wooden platform.

The morning sunlight spilled over that line of words, every letter stinging Ella's eyes.

"A Warm Welcome to Count Roland and the Warriors under the Command of Various Lords to Attend the Blackstone Territory 2024 Autumn Special Job Fair."

A job fair?

Ella felt her brain stop functioning for a moment.

Beside her, Sir Julius looked as if he had seen a ghost, his mouth hanging open wide enough to fit a fist as he muttered, "Sacrilege... this is an open desecration of the God of War..."

The allied forces in the distance were clearly also baffled by this bizarre scene, and their advancing speed slowed down unconsciously.

A small commotion broke out in the vanguard ranks; evidently, the commanders were engaged in a heated debate.

A moment later, the warhammer banner of Count Roland, the Ironclad Count, moved forward, and a messenger spurred his horse out, seemingly delivering an order.

Immediately following, a vanguard cavalry unit of about fifty riders detached from the main formation. Spurs kicked hard into horse bellies, and the warhorses let out painful neighs as their hooves flew, turning into a torrent of steel that charged straight for that ridiculous "recruitment desk" in front of the city gates.

Their intention was more than clear—to use iron hooves and sabers to crush this insult that knew no bounds.

Ella's heart leaped into her throat.

She instinctively wanted to shout for the archers on the walls to provide covering fire, but those soldiers remained as motionless as wooden carvings.

The cavalry unit grew faster and faster, the dust kicked up by the hooves resembling a yellow dragon. The leading knight had already raised his lance, the tip flashing with the cold, lethal glint of death under the sun.

At that moment, a sharp crack that nearly tore the air rang out from the top of an inconspicuous watchtower on the castle's flank.

The sound was entirely different from the hum of a bowstring; it was more like the most violent strike of a hammer in a blacksmith's shop.

Ella's gaze was drawn by the sound, instantly locking onto the watchtower.

She saw a petite figure crouched at the firing port, holding an exaggeratedly long and oddly shaped metal tube.

A faint, almost invisible wisp of blue smoke was slowly drifting from the muzzle.

Almost at the same instant the sound erupted, the head of the cavalry captain charging at the very front—his iron-clad helmet—seemed to be struck by an invisible giant hand, and a mist of red and white blood exploded backward.

The knight's body, like a puppet with its strings cut, fell limply from the speeding horse, tumbling and being trampled beyond recognition by the following hooves.

Warhorses neighed, and the cavalry unit's charging formation instantly fell into chaos.

The sudden death of their leader brought the most visceral fear. The knights pulled their reins in terror, their horses rearing up and colliding with each other, and their previously unstoppable momentum vanished in the blink of an eye.

What kind of weapon is that?

Ella's mind was a complete blank.

From such a distance—at least eight hundred feet—even the Empire's most elite marksmen couldn't achieve such precise and terrifying lethality with a heavy military crossbow!

She looked toward the watchtower, but the petite figure had already withdrawn the weapon, leaving only a blurry silhouette.

She suddenly remembered that in Levi's ridiculous "Budget and Risk Assessment," there seemed to be an entry titled "Long-Range Precision Strike Point Construction," with a stranger's name noted as the person in charge—Vivian.

Amidst the chaos below the walls, Evelyn's cold, emotionless voice, amplified by some magical device, spread clearly across the entire battlefield.

"This is a warning. The next shot will not be aimed at the helmet. Now, the recruitment process formally begins."

She picked up a document and began to read in a monotone voice, as if reciting a perfectly normal business announcement.

"Blackstone Territory is now offering the following positions to all warriors of the allied forces: Front-line Combat, Logistics Support, and Engineering Construction. Anyone who proactively lays down their weapons and crosses the white line to apply will immediately receive three Imperial Gold Coins as a relocation allowance upon identity verification."

Three gold coins!

This number was like a massive boulder thrown into a pond, causing a huge uproar in the rear of the allied forces.

Count Roland's army was primarily composed of peasants who had been temporarily conscripted and wouldn't see more than a few copper coins in a year, along with some mercenaries who worked for money.

To them, three gold coins were enough for a family to live comfortably for over half a year.

Evelyn's voice continued, each word like a heavy hammer striking the most fragile nerves of the low-ranking soldiers.

"For all successful applicants, Blackstone Territory promises: five meals a day, with meat in every meal. We will provide a full set of standard plate armor, a longsword, and a 'Thunder Type I' musket. Upon signing a formal labor contract, in the event of death in battle, a one-time pension of fifty gold coins will be paid to the family, and Blackstone Territory will be responsible for raising their children until adulthood."

Five meals a day... meat in every meal...

A fifty-gold-coin pension!

The commotion had escalated from whispers into an uncontrollable clamor.

The gazes of many soldiers began to waver, and the hands holding their weapons were no longer steady.

What were they fighting for?

For the lord's honor?

No, they were only there for that meager pittance of military pay, and many had even been forcibly conscripted without even receiving full pay.

Now, a better choice was right before their eyes.

They didn't even have to risk their lives; just lay down their weapons and walk over to get three gold coins.

Not to mention those unbelievably enticing benefits.

"Steady! Hold the line! Anyone who retreats will be executed!"

In the army formation, Count Roland's roar was like rolling thunder.

Several knights of the enforcement squad swung their whips and the backs of their blades, fiercely striking the restless soldiers, temporarily suppressing the chaos.

This Ironclad Count, renowned for his bravery, could finally no longer tolerate this absurd "war."

He spurred his heavy-armored warhorse forward, emerging from the crowd flanked by a squad of his most elite personal knights.

He intended to use the most traditional and direct method to crush the enemy's command core and use that succubus's blood to wash away this humiliation.

The personal guard began to assemble, their horses' hooves pawing the ground and gathering strength, waiting only for their lord's command to launch a thunderous strike.

At that moment, Evelyn's recruitment speech happened to reach its final sentence.

"Finally, a friendly reminder," her voice remained calm, "the recruitment process for all positions requires passing the first round: the 'pressure interview.' The interview site is right beneath your feet. Good luck to everyone."

The words had just fallen.

Boom—Boom boom boom—!!

A series of dull yet violent explosions erupted without warning on the ground beneath Count Roland and his personal guard!

The earth shook violently, and soil and gravel were hurled high into the air, forming waves of earth.

The power of the explosions seemed to have been precisely calculated; it wasn't enough to shred the knights' heavy armor, but it produced ear-splitting roars and blinding flashes of light.

Under the stimulation of the immense sound and light, the warhorses lost control completely. They neighed in terror, rearing and bucking wildly, throwing the knights from their backs.

The entire formation of the personal guard was instantly torn apart. Knights were tumbled every which way, thrown into extreme confusion and fear by the ground's vibration and the out-of-control horses.

Ella instinctively grabbed Sir Julius beside her to steady herself.

She looked in horror at the chaotic area below the walls, remembering another name on the budget sheet: the Goblin Demolitionist, Saco.

Levi, that man—he had turned the battlefield into a massive, trap-filled interview site!

Taking advantage of this moment of chaos, a small group of ragged, most-starved-looking mercenaries in the rear of the allied forces could no longer suppress their inner greed and longing.

They glanced at each other, suddenly threw their crude weapons onto the ground, raised their hands high, and ran like madmen toward the white line drawn with lime in front of the city gates, as if fleeing a plague.

"We surrender! We're here for the interview!"

"Don't shoot! We're here to collect the gold coins!"

Evelyn seemed to have long anticipated this scene.

With an elegant wave of her hand, a squad of Blackstone Territory guards armed with shields and short batons immediately stepped forward. They skillfully surrounded and received these dozens of defectors, then processed them like an assembly line—searching them, registering them, and finally leading them in an orderly fashion into the wide-open city gates.

The gates had never once been closed.

It was like a massive, man-eating mouth, tempting everyone whose heart was wavering.

Witnessing this, Count Roland finally recovered from the dizziness of the explosion.

His helmet was askew, his face was covered in dirt, and his eyes burned with an unprecedented fury.

He realized that he was not facing a traditional enemy at all.

Every step the opponent took exceeded his entire understanding of warfare.

Public opinion, profit, psychology... these ethereal things were manifesting a power more terrifying than swords at this moment.

Conventional military command had completely failed here.

In that case, he would use absolute power to break this ridiculous game!

"Aaaaaahhhhh—!!"

Count Roland let out a heaven-shaking roar as he suddenly stood straight amidst the chaotic horses.

A visible, substantial crimson flame of energy surged wildly from his body, instantly enveloping him.

That was not the ordinary light of Battle Qi, but a highly condensed manifestation of energy.

The crimson energy flowed and solidified rapidly over his body, and in an instant, it formed a set of hideous armor with lava-like patterns flowing across its surface, making his burly frame look like a demon god emerged from hell.

The air distorted because of this power, letting out a strained hum.