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With roll call completed, Michael scanned the surroundings, his gaze sharp and calculating.

"Marcus, take care of it," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Marcus nodded, stepping forward to unleash a torrent of flames upon the Pamir Empire's camp. The fire roared to life, devouring everything in its path. The bodies of the fallen were consumed, reduced to ashes in the inferno.

The early morning mist thickened, blending seamlessly with the concealment magic Miaomiao had cast earlier. This ensured that their operation remained unnoticed.

"Search the area thoroughly. There may still be survivors," Michael ordered.

His squad, accompanied by beasts with keen senses of smell, dispersed to comb the area. The once-chaotic battlefield now lay in eerie silence, with only the faint heat of the dissipating flames lingering in the air.

Before long, a scout returned with a report.

"We found no signs of life. All enemies appear to have perished."

Michael narrowed his eyes, his expression contemplative. Miaomiao, perched on his shoulder, whispered softly.

[The scout's right. There are no survivors.]

Satisfied with the confirmation, Michael mounted Marcus once more.

"Good. Reform the ranks. We'll head straight for the next Imperial unit and continue disrupting their supply lines."

The soldiers nodded, their movements precise as they regrouped. Michael was determined to make the most of their position, targeting as many enemy forces as possible before returning.

Meanwhile, at Orlando Fortress, good news arrived, spreading relief among the ranks. A direct message to the high command detailed the success of Michael's special task force. They had accomplished their mission without any casualties.

Count Charles and the other senior officers of the Lania forces breathed a collective sigh of relief. Many of them had sent their sons to join the special task force, hoping to temper their skills and experience. Despite their confidence in their children's abilities, worry had lingered in their hearts.

To hear of such a decisive victory brought immense joy.

"Their performance has exceeded expectations," Count Charles remarked, his voice tinged with pride.

General Louis nodded in agreement.

"With so many inexperienced recruits, I was concerned, but the results speak for themselves."

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The room buzzed with admiration for Michael's leadership.

"It seems Sir Michael truly led them splendidly," one officer said.

"He's exceeded every expectation," added another.

"I should have sent my son along as well," joked a third, eliciting laughter from the group.

Not everyone shared the same enthusiasm. Prince Randolph, who had arrived late to the military meeting after oversleeping, frowned as he listened to the praise being heaped upon Michael.

Before he could voice his displeasure, Duke Capone approached and informed him of the details.

"Sir Michael and his special task force successfully eliminated a group of approximately 2,000 enemy soldiers. They achieved this without a single casualty."

Randolph's expression darkened. He had been irked since the decision to form the task force was made in his absence. It wasn't the creation of the unit that bothered him but rather the fact that it had been decided without his input.

And now, to hear of their success only added salt to the wound.

"Hmm, so they attacked a scattered rear unit, killing every last one without suffering any losses?" His tone was laced with skepticism.

The room grew tense. Despite the positive news, the prince's reaction cast a shadow over the atmosphere.

General Louis, perplexed by the prince's response, wondered if his concern stemmed from fears of exaggeration or false claims of glory.

"Rest assured, Your Highness," Louis said cautiously. "The achievements of Sir Michael and his task force are above reproach. The unit includes many nobles' children from both Lania and Elonia."

Randolph's eyes narrowed as he listened.

"Achievements?" he scoffed. "Ambushing a slow-moving rear unit and wiping them out—does that really count as a significant achievement?"

His words carried a hint of derision, prompting Duke Capone to step in diplomatically.

"Your Highness, while it's possible the accomplishment has been somewhat exaggerated, dismissing it entirely would be unwise. The task force comprises distinguished knights and noble scions. Casting doubt on their success could create unnecessary friction among the aristocracy."

Though he had spoken candidly earlier, Randolph knew better than to push further. He composed himself and adopted a more amicable tone.

"My concern isn't with their current accomplishments," he explained. "I simply wish for them to aim higher. This is only the beginning of their potential, don't you agree?"

The tension in the room eased as the nobles laughed, perceiving his words as a sign of encouragement. Randolph smiled faintly, satisfied that he had deflected any suspicion.

Michael, unaware of the prince's veiled scrutiny, remained focused on the battlefield. His only priority was to ensure swift and decisive victories.

Unlike the previous night's ambush, the daytime operation posed new challenges. Under the bright sun, the effects of concealment magic were diminished, and the enemy would likely maintain a higher state of vigilance.

The target this time was a larger force—1,000 cavalry and 4,000 infantry, escorting a convoy of supply wagons.

"What do we know about the tribe ahead?" asked Louis, riding alongside an Elonian knight atop his borrowed chimera.

Though exhilarated by the previous night's success, the daylight engagement filled Louis with unease.

The knight squinted, studying the enemy from a distance.

"It's difficult to identify the tribe from this range," he admitted. "But judging by the convoy and their numbers, they're undoubtedly stronger than the group we faced last night."@@novelbin@@

The unease was palpable among the task force, prompting Michael to address them directly.

"Stay calm," he said firmly.

His voice carried authority and reassurance.

"The force ahead is larger, but their banners tell the story. Look closely. Those aren't the markings of a single tribe—it's a patchwork of different groups. They lack cohesion and unity."

The knights looked closer, noticing the varied banners fluttering in the wind. Michael was right.

"Our primary concern is their cavalry," he continued. "The infantry is disorganized and uncoordinated. For now, wait here. I'll initiate the attack and signal when it's time for the rest of you to advance. Understood?"