The Sovereign System.

Everything had happened so quickly that no one had time to react. One moment, Master Gale was speaking, and the next, he lay dead on the ramparts, a spear jutting from his chest—slaughtered like a wild boar.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" Kayson bellowed, ripping a spear from a nearby soldier's hands and hurling it toward the enemy General in a fit of rage.

The spear tore through the air like a missile. Luke barely had time to process what was happening, let alone stop him. Kayson was too fast. He could only watch as the projectile hurtled toward the enemy ranks.

The General shuffled to his left, narrowly dodging the attack. The soldiers behind him, however, weren't so lucky.

The first man was impaled clean through the torso, his body flung backward with brutal force. The spear didn't stop there—it skewered two more soldiers behind him, piercing them like meat on a spit. The surrounding troops recoiled in shock, the formation parting in disarray.

Luke felt his blood run cold. Kayson had just exposed himself. His divine blessing, something that could have been a crucial hidden weapon, was now laid bare for all to see. Some among the enemy might have suspected it after he skewered a Holy Knight earlier, but this left no room for doubt.

A deep, grating laugh echoed over the battlefield, thick with malice. The largest Holy Knight tilted his head back, his laughter booming across the war-torn field, casting a bleak pall over the scene.

Luke caught sight of Kayson reaching for another spear. This time, he reacted in time.

"Calm down, Kayson. You won't hit him from this distance." He gripped the man's arm, voice firm but measured.

Kayson trembled with fury, but he listened. His fingers loosened around the shaft of the weapon.

The three men stood atop the ramparts, gazing down at the enemy. The laughter dragged on, hollow and mocking, until the Holy Knight finally tired of it. He turned to his subordinates and barked out orders, though Luke couldn't make out the words.

Moments later, the army began spreading out, moving to encircle the city once more. Luke tensed, half-expecting another charge, but the Holy Knights in their blood-red tunics and scale armor remained by the General's side.

"They're setting up camp," Luke observed. "I doubt they'll launch another reckless assault now that they know Kayson's strength matches theirs."

"Agreed. They won't risk another charge," Master Boyd replied.

Kayson exhaled sharply, lowering his head. "S-Sorry…"

Luke placed a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder, patting it lightly. He didn't blame him for reacting. Anyone would have. But this would undoubtedly make things more difficult moving forward.

"We should inform your father about Master Gale," he said, turning his gaze to the fallen general, sorrow creeping into his voice. "He deserves a proper burial."

At first, Luke had thought of Master Gale as a cold and elitist man, especially with how he had looked down on him for being a commoner. Yet, little by little, the man had subverted his expectations. He had even defended him on multiple occasions—standing up to Minister Chao on his behalf.

And now, he was gone.

Losing such a capable general was a devastating blow to the Marxx Empire, even if he had been retired. For this alone, Lhair deserved to burn.

"I will take him," Kayson said, his voice quieter now. He knelt beside Master Gale, carefully gripping the spear lodged in the man's chest. With a firm pull, he extracted it, then lifted the lifeless body into his arms. Without another word, he carried him down the stairs and out of sight.

Luke turned to Master Boyd. The man's face was unreadable—stone-cold, betraying no emotion—but Luke could sense the anger and sorrow simmering beneath his massive frame. He didn't know the full extent of the two masters' relationship, but they had seemed close.

"Luke." Boyd's deep voice cut through the silence. "I am appointing you as Deputy General. I want you to find a way to make these bastards pay."

Luke's body stiffened at the sudden responsibility, but he quickly cupped his fist and bowed.

"Yes, General."

Master Gale's death was a tragedy, but now Luke had something else—authority. With the title of Deputy General, he could influence the army's actions in ways he hadn't before.

Sixteen days remained until the main quest deadline. Three Holy Knights still had to die. The objective said nothing about destroying the Lhair army entirely, but Luke couldn't think of a reason why it wouldn't be allowed.

'If we wipe them out, the quest should be cleared either way…'

The problem was, they were at a disadvantage. The city had no siege weapons left, and their numbers and strength weren't enough for an open-field battle. If the enemy had launched another all-out assault, they might have whittled them down further, but now that Kayson had revealed his strength, the enemy general would undoubtedly be more cautious.

"I'd say the immediate danger has passed, General. I will take my leave for now," Luke said, bowing once more.

Master Boyd gave a slight nod, his eyes never leaving the army below.

Without another word, Luke turned on his heel and descended the stone stairs, making his way toward the city center. Most of the soldiers remained stationed along the walls, while a handful patrolled the streets as usual.

As he passed two men, he gave them a direct order. "We need to repair or barricade the eastern gate as soon as possible. Find some tradesmen and organize it."

"Yes, Commander!" they responded in unison.

"It's Deputy General now," Luke corrected, waving them off. "Now go."

He continued toward the City Lord's estate, lost in thought. Every step sent a dull throb of pain through his wound, but he ignored it.

The Lhair army would likely camp outside the city walls, waiting for a surrender while launching probing attacks to keep them on edge. That's what Luke would do if he were in their position.

Theoretically, there was nothing he could do to stop them—not with the technology of this world. If they could somehow sabotage the enemy's supply lines, they might force another reckless charge.

But that was the problem. This world only had cold weapons. No firearms. No explosives. No real means of reshaping the battlefield on a large scale.

And that was exactly what Luke needed.

'How does one even make gunpowder?' Luke frowned, frustration gnawing at him. He suddenly regretted never paying attention in chemistry class. Like many of his classmates, he had passed through rote memorization—never truly understanding the processes.

'I know sulfur is one ingredient… the other is charcoal…' His mind squirmed, struggling to grasp the last component. It felt like it was right there, just out of reach.

Letting out a sigh, he pushed the thought aside for now. The constant throbbing in his leg made it difficult to concentrate. He needed to sit down and clear his head.

No one stopped him as he passed through the gates of the City Lord's estate. Entering the main building, he requested food and drink to be brought to the guest room.

Feeling nature's call, he walked through the halls and stepped outside toward the latrines. The moment he approached, an overwhelming stench assaulted his nose.

'Forget gunpowder… I'd be happy with a damn toilet.' He grimaced, pinching his nose as he relieved himself.

As he finished, he turned and noticed a man wearing a cloth over his face, carrying a wooden bucket and a hoe. Luke paused, watching as the man bowed slightly before walking past him.

His curiosity piqued, Luke observed as the man approached the latrines and began scraping off a white substance that had built up in the channels. Luke raised an eyebrow. At first, he had assumed the man was there to clean the waste, but it seemed he was collecting something instead.

"You there. What exactly are you doing?" Luke asked.

The man froze, stiffening at the sound of his voice. He turned slowly, revealing wide, frightened eyes above the cloth covering his face.

"M-My Lord, I am extracting saltpeter from the latrines," he replied nervously.

Luke frowned. Saltpeter… The name sounded familiar.

"What is it used for?" he asked, trying to piece together why it rang a bell.

"I have many buyers, but most of it goes to the alchemy and textile shops," the man explained. "As for how they use it… I'm not entirely sure, sir."

The man's entire posture screamed fear, as if he expected punishment just for speaking. Luke nodded, offering a simple "Thank you." Then, turning on his heel, he left.

'It seems there's an industry for everything…' he mused.

By the time he arrived back in the guest room, food had already been placed on the table. Ever since he had spoken with the City Lord about rationing supplies, the man had done as instructed. Unfortunately, this meant Luke also had to endure the same restricted portions as everyone else.

Still, the meal before him was leagues better than the dry legumes and stale bread he had eaten on the battlefield.

After finishing, he carefully massaged the area around his wound. The pain had dulled slightly, but he could still feel the discomfort lingering beneath his skin. He hoped it would heal soon. If his theory about the system accelerating his recovery was correct, it should take no more than a week.

"Maybe I should visit the alchemy shop and look into eastern medicine," he muttered.

Traditional medicine had been so effective that some of its tonics were still widely used in modern Earth.

Of course, this wasn't Earth.

But in many ways, it felt like a carbon copy of Ancient China.

After a brief rest, Luke rose and left the City Lord's estate, making his way back into town. The bars and taverns had closed, but essential stores remained open, their doors still welcoming those in need.

The streets were eerily silent. Just a month ago, they had been bustling with life—merchants haggling, children running through alleyways, townsfolk tending to their daily routines. Now, with the enemy encircling the city, fear had driven everyone indoors.

The city's architecture had been built with war in mind, offering strongholds and secure shelters for its residents. Of course, against the Holy Knights—who were little more than walking siege weapons—it would do little good. But at the very least, the thick stone walls provided a sense of security, however false it might be.

Luke stepped into one of the buildings lining the deserted street. It was a small shop, barely ten feet wide, yet the interior was crammed with clay pots of all sizes, each labeled in meticulous script. The earthy scent of dried herbs and crushed minerals filled the air.

Behind a wooden counter stood an older man, his blue-gray eyes the only visible feature of his face. The rest was concealed by fabric, whether out of habit, caution, or the dust-heavy air of his trade, Luke wasn't sure. His gaze was sharp—intelligent, yet laced with wariness.

"You are the alchemist?" Luke asked, assessing him.

"And you are the Deputy General." The man's tone was flat, devoid of the usual deference expected from commoners.

Luke blinked. News traveled fast—too fast. He had only informed two soldiers of his appointment. How had the word already spread?

"Yes… I need something for headaches. Do you have anything?" He kept his tone polite.

"We have many remedies for headaches, Deputy General." The man turned, selecting a small clay pot from the shelves. "Brew this powder into tea, or mix it with wine. Use it sparingly. This should last you at least two weeks."

Luke accepted the container with a nod. "Charge the expense to the City Lord."

The alchemist bowed slightly. "Anything else I can assist you with?"

Luke was about to decline, but a thought struck him.

"Do you know of gunpowder?"

The man's brow furrowed. "Gunpowder?" He tilted his head. "I've never heard the term before. What does it do?"

Luke sighed, half-expecting this response. "It's a combustible substance. I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it." He turned to leave. "Thank you for your help, alchemist. Good day."

"Wait a moment…"

Luke halted.

"Last winter, one of my clay pots exploded after being left too close to a fire. Could that be what you're looking for?"

Luke's eyes narrowed. "What was in it?"

The alchemist turned and sifted through his shelves before producing a similar pot, pressing it into Luke's hands.

Luke glanced at the label.

"Saltpeter…"

His breath caught.

"Ah!" The pieces clicked into place in his mind.