The Golden Lord has a perverted SSS-rank summoning system!

The first and second legions of Goldenveil’s army—10,000 men in all—left the city in a glorious march.

The streets teemed with people—men, women, and children—crowding the sidewalks and windows to watch.

Their imposing, noble armor gleamed in the sunlight, the golden details catching every ray and scattering it into dazzling sparks.

Cloaks billowed gloriously in the wind, cutting through the air like living banners, while the weight of their boots echoed for blocks on end—a steady, disciplined rhythm that made the very stone pavement tremble beneath the spectators’ feet.

The people watched the march with concern, excitement, and pride.

Children dreamed of one day wearing that armor, while mothers, sisters, and wives prayed for the safe return of their sons, brothers, husbands, and fathers.

Each legion, consisting of five thousand men, was divided into ten cohorts and fifty centuries.

The strongest centurion of each cohort, clad in heavy armor and crowned with a mane of black bear fur cascading over their shoulders, marched alongside a standard-bearer.

Long poles soared toward the sky, hoisting banners with three symbols embroidered on fine fabric.

One belonged to the Goldenveil family, another to the state of Goldenveil, and the last to the legion itself.

Thus, a mighty armored lineage took shape, the banners rising gloriously above the ranks of soldiers.

It was a sight that stirred pride in the hearts of Goldenveil’s people and would strike terror into their enemies—especially thanks to the army’s doctrine of silent marching.

When they advanced toward a foe, only the sound of their boots could be heard—boots forged specifically to produce thunder-like sounds when struck in unison.

Of course, the runes responsible for such thunder were not active at all times. During a normal march, the Goldenveil army remained relatively silent.

All it took, however, was for the soldiers to channel a thread of aura toward their feet, and the runes would awaken, sending terrifying peals of thunder rolling through entire valleys and forests.

As a form of psychological warfare against non-experts, it was extremely powerful.

With the Divine Forge, any third-stage dwarf could engrave such runes in a matter of minutes, and the production cost wasn’t particularly high compared to that of the armor itself.

Ethan led the army mounted on a beautiful white steed, carefully prepared for him, its harness adorned with subtle golden details.

His original horse was too busy breeding and had flatly refused to leave the stable. Fortunately, Ethan had managed to acquire a few mounts through the system.

There were ten in all—not very high-level and not even classified as magical beasts—but they would serve well while the thousand spirit horses from those Rank A eggs were still being trained.

The horses, honestly, served solely as a status symbol, at least above the third stage.

Any human at that level already possessed vitality and speed far superior to those of any ordinary horse, and such animals would, in reality, only slow them down.

Accompanying Ethan, Evelyn shared the same steed, seated on his lap.

A beautiful golden suit of armor sheathed her voluptuous body, its plates forged to embrace every generous curve—molding itself to the ripe fullness of her breasts, dipping to cinch her narrow waist, and flaring over the sumptuous swell of her hips.

Thalion and Doran rode beside them, flanking the pair in a protective formation.

Mireya, for her part, rested inside a crimson pendant that lay upon Evelyn’s chest.

Ethan turned his face for a moment, sensing a message reaching him through a communication artifact he held in his left hand.

"The greenskins already know we’re on the march. Fallenwinter won’t be long in finding out either," Ethan said, his voice low but firm.

The scouts he had positioned around the orc and Fallenwinter armies delivered updated reports every hour, ensuring no movement went unnoticed.

"We need to hasten our march, my Lord. Fallenwinter will try to follow the greenskins and strike them from behind after we finished most of them," Doran said, glancing up at the sun’s position in the sky, calculating the remaining hours of daylight.

If it were just against humans, the battle would be far more complicated.

But fortunately, they were facing greenskins.

The orcs would attack the very moment they got close enough to the Goldenveil army, without hesitating in the face of an obvious trap, charging headlong toward it.

The allied army, marching behind the orcs, would give Goldenveil no time to rest—attacking as soon as the orcs were defeated.

Because of this, Goldenveil held a clear advantage: choosing where the battle would take place.

Several third-stage officers had already cleared an area to set up camp, and the soldiers were prepared for a war of attrition, in which they would face countless low-level enemies in a long and exhausting battle.

Ethan had also considered building a fort there, but honestly, the location wasn’t very good compared to other spots he had in mind.

Furthermore, while the orcs wouldn’t care about a fort, the allied forces would likely hesitate to lay siege to a fortified position.

Ethan wanted them to attack. Erecting a large, powerful fort to house ten thousand men in a defensive position would only deter the allied forces from their intentions.

He preferred to set up a makeshift camp and wait. In an open-field battle—and with Goldenveil’s forces having already dealt with more than thirty thousand orcs—Fallenwinter would not hesitate to launch an attack.

"Let’s pick up the pace. The designated location is more than twenty kilometers away, and the orcs are coming fast. It won’t be long before they arrive," Ethan said, adjusting the reins between his fingers. "We need to get a good night’s sleep before the attack."

Doran acknowledged this with a firm nod and ordered the soldiers to quicken their pace.

Ten thousand men pressed on through the dense forest of Goldenveil, the tall branches filtering the sunlight into sparse beams that danced across their armor.

Some were anxious, others excited.

War was coming, and it was time to claim eternal glory!

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