Chapter 152 - Waiting for Winter (6)

"Hah... Hah..."

Oscar stood with the halberd caught against his weapons, head bowed as he panted. More than half his shield and sword had been hacked away, leaving them scarcely recognizable.

Beside him, a bleeding Isabelle stood with her sword planted point-first in the ground, drawing deep, ragged breaths. The spear blade that had glanced off her helmet had left a long gash across her forehead, drenching her face in blood.

"Is everyone all right...? H-healing..."

"Save your strength. Not yet."

Eugene raised a violently trembling arm, then lowered it again. Elpihera was pushing his arm down as she drew up her mana.

In front of them, Esidisi stood with a mace in each hand and asked,

"I'm too stupid to know, so does anyone have a plan?"

"... I don't."

"Neither do I."

They had killed the Red Baron. Getting this far was the fruit of their best efforts. Lamonde had been a knight initiate of the Eastern Order, after all.

The initiates were a select few drawn from the finest members of what was called the strongest knightly order in the country. Defeating such a man while still mere university students was an extraordinary achievement.

But his life alone could not resolve this situation.

"What do we do now...?"

"Change of plans. I'm sorry, everyone."

"What's the new plan?"

"Fight as hard as we can, then die."

Oscar stepped forward, gripping his broken sword tightly. The soldiers and knights watched him in silence.

The duel had ended with their commander's death, but they could afford to take their time. The siege of the Palais de Royal was already proceeding as planned. This was merely a little diversion.

They had their utterly exhausted enemies cornered amid hundreds, thousands of soldiers. Better still, one of those enemies was said to be the commander of the inner city.

Taking him prisoner alone would give them tremendous leverage when the rewards for service were distributed after the war. Greed glinted in the knights' eyes. Why risk seizing such a fragile treasure by force?

Bringing him back alive would earn them a magnificent reward from Count Etouan—no, King Grandmartel.

"I stake my name, my house, my country, and the name of my liege."

Oscar glared at the knights through weary eyes, sweeping back his hair and tying it firmly.

"Though I give my life here today... I swear upon the honor I have left."

The knights fell silent. It was an exceedingly famous tale. He was reenacting the story of a hero: the words Gilles Vert was said to have spoken when he faced thousands of tauruses alone.

"Beyond this line, at least a hundred will die."

There was no show of resolve. Only a quiet statement. Legend held that Gilles Vert had made a bold declaration that day, but there was no such bravado here.

Only the quiet last words of a man prepared to die.

SKRRRREECH!!

The broken blade scraped the ground, scoring a long diagonal line across Saint Matilene's well-paved highway.

Standing straight behind it, Oscar took his stance with his broken sword.

"Then I'll take a hundred and fifty."

"Two hundred for me."

"I'll be modest and settle for seventy."

"Come on, you have to outbid the last person to look impressive. What was that?"

"Honesty."

His companions stood beside him. Weariness on every face, they raised their weapons together. In their midst, Oscar glanced around in momentary bewilderment, then gave a small laugh.

"Let's round it off and take a thousand with us."

"Sounds good. A joint funeral. Very grand."

"If it's going to be a joint funeral, I'd rather share mine with Uncle."

"I'm shocked. Do they still bury people alive with the dead in Droan? Poor Sir Yeremov."

"Don't you know 'Till death do us part'? That's what we call common knowledge."

"Where I come from, common knowledge says death can wait a thousand years or so. I suppose humans don't live long enough to know that."

Oscar chuckled and shook his head at their chatter. So much for the mood he had worked so hard to set.

But it wasn't bad. Hope and laughter suited these people far better than grim solemnity in the face of despair.

A hero must never despair, whatever the circumstances.

* * *

Sixty became thirty after the first charge.

When they pierced the infantry in the rear, fewer than ten remained.

By the time they collided with the next cavalry force sent against them, only one man was still charging.

"He's been unhorsed!!"

When his horse finally buckled at the knees and collapsed, the man broke his fall, sprang back to his feet, and cut off two men's heads.

He was a fiend in human form. Bloodshed was all he left in his wake. He advanced toward Etouan, paving his road with corpses.

But that, too, was over. By the time he had crossed half the army, his charge had lost all momentum.

"Half. Half..."

Etouan almost wanted to laugh. Thirty thousand men. Even excluding those who had entered the city, twenty thousand remained.

Count their follow-on forces, supply units, support units, and other noncombatants, and the staggering total came to somewhere between forty-five and seventy thousand.

If he had crossed half of that, it meant stopping the man's breakthrough had required a barrier of at least twenty thousand infantry alone.

He had not killed them all. His sole purpose had been to break through into their depths, so perhaps he had directly faced a few hundred.

But numbers did not work that way. Just because he was not facing them head-on did not mean the men surrounding him ceased to exist.

"He faced a corps alone."

Every noble in the command staff who had watched his advance gave a quiet groan. Even knowing he would never reach them, they could hardly ignore the chilling fear.

Two spear shafts jutted from his abdomen, and the armor on both arms was shattered.

Beneath the broken armor, his broken left arm hung limp. He braced himself against the ground with the sword in his right hand.

Five arrows protruded from his back. There was no chance he lacked Line of Fire Detection, so he must have sensed them but lacked the strength to dodge.

A long gash in his thigh spilled blood over his armor. Even walking was now a struggle for him.

Yet beneath his helmet, his eyes still blazed blue, holding nothing but the will to kill Etouan.

"How can a man be like that?"

"..."

No one answered Etouan. Without waiting for a reply, he urged his horse toward the man.

The knights and nobles all followed him toward the utterly incapacitated man kneeling at spear- and swordpoint.

Even as they approached, they could not shake the fear that kept washing over them. The man was a wild beast.

Even in a zoo, with sturdy bars keeping it safely confined, the gleam in a predator's eyes alone could chill a human heart.

"Remove your helmet."

"..."

The man did not answer Etouan. He merely continued looking up at him, breathing harshly.

"Your valor has impressed me. Kiss my hand, even now. Not only will I spare your life, I will welcome your family, your retainers, your entire household among this country's highest nobility."

"... Your..."

A faint voice emerged from beneath the helmet. Etouan frowned and waved a hand.

One of the soldiers holding him at spearpoint approached cautiously and removed his helmet.

Blood had pooled inside it, spat up by its wearer. A man with a long, bloodstained beard was revealed.

He spoke quietly, his voice fading.

"Your loyalty is a convenient thing."

"You would die for a dead royal house?"

"I always have."

Etouan smiled bitterly at Ivan's words.

"Bring me a sword. I shall personally behead this country's last loyal servant and plant my banner over him."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

A knight approached and handed him a sword. The blade slid from its scabbard with a bleak metallic hiss.

Such a meager sound to be the last he heard in life. Through his daze, Ivan watched the blade glitter in the sunlight.

What awaited him after death? Would there be a heaven of eternal happiness, as the Bible taught? Would the late king be there?

Even if nothing but hell awaited, it would not be so bad. Heaven or hell, he would know no shortage of people there.

At last.

Kim Seonwoo murmured softly. Ivan nodded. What did it matter if he never returned home? His home was—

WHEEEEE!

Then a familiar sound reached his ears.

"... A Reaper battery?"

Ivan murmured without realizing it.

* * *

WHEEEEE!

WHIRRRRR... WHEEEEE!

A sound like a whistling arrow shooting skyward, but far more powerful, filled the sky. Etouan, sword in hand, and the nobles of the command staff—no, even the lowliest soldiers—suddenly looked up.

Black trails arced in from one side of the sky. What had first appeared to be tiny dots grew steadily larger.

Partway along their trajectory, the black dots suddenly burst into flames. Etouan shouted involuntarily.

"Artillery!!"

"Artillery...? F-from where... Who...?"

"Kallion...? Has an aerial battleship arrived?"

"No, you imbeciles! This is—!!"

BWOOOOOO!!

Far to the north, the faint call of a horn sounded.

At the same instant, the first rounds struck the soldiers.

BOOM! BOOM!

Screams erupted on every side as cannonballs slammed into the earth.

BWOOOOOO!!

The horn continued to sound.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The ground shook. The terrified soldiers turned their eyes toward the slope of the northern hill.

A small scrap of cloth rose above its crest.

The emblem of a brown bear and a lily, snapping in the fierce wind.

More and more appeared, filling the entire hill, becoming a vast wall.

The wind blows.

"Even in the winter wind, we raise our banners."

"My comrades."

"Our homeland, our homes, even our songs have stood firm."

"My comrades."

"If winter should come once more."

"My comrades."

"Raise the banners again. The Motherland shall be with us."

Ivan murmured softly.

"My comrades."

For he could hear a familiar marching song.

"Krasilof...!!"

Count Etouan let out a low cry. At the highest point of the hill, a woman on a white horse looked down upon them.

It was noon now, and she held a sword, her whole body bathed in the midday sun.

Perhaps she had cast an amplification spell. Her voice shot across the distance and into every ear.

"My finest men!!"

From the distant north, winter comes.

"Show them why the United Kingdoms are called united!!"

Krasilof had come.