Chapter 1318

A horse galloped towards the crowd, dust billowing in its wake. Its rider, bathed in sunlight, was initially difficult to discern. It resembled their expected arrival, yet uncertainty lingered.

Louis and Timothy's eyes instantly reddened; a lump formed in their throats, silencing any shout. The rider wore plain, rough clothes, appearing unremarkable from a distance.

He reined in his horse before the soldiers, his gaze slowly sweeping across them. His face, gradually revealed, became crystal clear to those in the front row. A long, stunned silence followed, then erupted into jubilant cries.

“It’s Marshal Sanford! The marshal has returned!”

“Marshal Sanford isn’t dead!”

“With Marshal Sanford here, we’ll surely win!”

“Victory is ours!”

The cheers swelled, each louder than the last, releasing pent-up frustration, anger, and hatred for Oliver. Tears welled in the generals' eyes; morale hadn't been this high since Oliver's retreat.

Some individuals possess an innate ability to inspire hope and power. Rafael's presence immediately dispelled the rumors; one lie shattered, the others crumbled. He raised his sword, shouting, “A mere 200,000 enemy soldiers? We’ve defeated them before! We are the new Southern Frontier Army! Do we fear them now? Tell me, do you fear them?”

“No, sir!”

“We don’t!”

The shouts echoed. Rafael urged his horse forward, his voice booming, “Tell me, can you defeat the Sandorians?”

“Yes, sir!”

A deafening roar answered.

“Is anyone a coward? Step forward!”

“No, sir!”

The soldiers stood proud.

Sunlight illuminated Rafael, casting a heroic glow. He embodied the War God people envisioned. His voice, strong and unwavering, resonated with undeniable strength. “Now show me, with your actions, that you are all heroes!”

The vast sea of soldiers raised their arms, roaring, “Sir, yes, sir!” The new Southern Frontier Army—a unified force of the original Southern Frontier Army, the Sinclair Army, and the Hell Monarch Army—raised their banners high, chanting, “Victory is ours!” Their fervor remained undiminished despite raw throats.

The persistent rumors had shaken their confidence, threatening to erase their history as the undefeated Southern Frontier Army. But their marshal's return reignited their spirits, rekindling their determination. They yearned to march onto the battlefield, their resolve spreading like wildfire.

Rafael rode ahead, his voice ringing with fierce encouragement. “There are no deserters in the Southern Frontier! Those who fled are cowardly traitors, and they will be nailed to the pillar of shame! Southern Frontier is our home. Every inch of land has been stained with the blood of our comrades. We will defend it with our lives! If the Sandorians think they can take our land, they’ll have to step over our bodies to do it! No one will shake our resolve to defeat the enemy. We must fight a glorious battle, one that will make His Majesty and all his court see us in a new light!”

His words, infused with inner force, reached every soldier. Rallying cries and passionate cheers filled the air for nearly an hour. Sunlight bathed the scene in a golden glow, determination hardening their faces. The Southern Frontier Army, a pack of wolves, had returned to its full strength.

Timothy and the others, their voices hoarse, returned to Redstone Manor, barely able to speak. They drank cold well water, soothing their raw throats.

Rafael, exhausted but resolute, sat in the marshal’s chair. His two military advisors worked to relax his tense muscles, his body stiff from days of riding. He hadn't slept much since hearing of Oliver's escape, heading straight for Simonton City and immediately joining the troops. He had spent nearly two hours leading the cheers, shouting for at least half that time.

“Marshal Sanford, now that you’re here, we have hope,” Louis said, still slightly incredulous.

Even Zachary, known for his toughness, couldn't contain his emotion. Thankfully, the rumors were false.