Chapter 77 - Not One, But Many (2)

Time flows slowly.

The shattered, fragmented pieces of the red sea scatter dizzyingly before my eyes. Some of them touched my arms, my chest, and my shoulders. With a terrible pain that felt like my skin was burning, my distant mind sharply snapped awake.

The blurry world became clear.

The Warlord's figure is visible.

The Fighting Spirit that had been surrounding his body like armor has already disappeared.

It is the first defenseless appearance I have seen since the battle began; this is the final opportunity given to me.

Enduring the pain, I tightly grip Twilight.

I desperately hope, and hope again, that this slash will reach where I want it to.

But was that too excessive of a greed? Was it an impossible task from the beginning for my sword, which had barely reached the Extraordinary Grade, to reach the Warlord?

The price of unreasonably using a power that did not fit my grade appeared faster than I thought.

The thrust sword had only drawn half a line, but my mana abruptly snapped and was severed.

The Will to Slay Dragons disappeared like a lie. The usurper's frost that had clung to Twilight rapidly melted away.

Ah...

The [Poem of Slaying Dragons] gave me the power to tear apart the Warlord's Fighting Spirit, but at the same time, it robbed me of the strength to cleave the Warlord's flesh.

Now, all that remains is the faint ember of the requiem. In contrast, the Warlord's spear is still full of momentum.

It is truly a damned thing.

Both of us lost our power equally, but that side is a monster born with heaven-shaking colossal strength, while this side is just a weak child.

I knew that the phrase 'striking a rock with an egg' was used for times like this.

However, I did not withdraw my sword.

Even if only with this meager body trained over the past year,

relying even on the faint ember clinging to the edge of Twilight,

I will see the end of this slash through.

The Warlord glares at me.

Seeing the hasty winner's look that surfaced in his red eyes, I grit my teeth.

The iron pillar-like spear has already approached right before my nose.

I twist my body and step forward. Turning my waist, I lower my stance, but leave the advancing sword exactly as it is...

His spear brushes past my chest. My body staggered from the colossal strength loaded in the spear.

But my hand, my sword, was still moving forward.

CRUNCH!

The heavy sensation of tearing flesh reached my fingertips.

An uncomfortable resistance, a feeling as if parting the water's current with a wide-open palm.

And at some point, that resistance suddenly disappeared.

I looked at his face.

What surfaced on that ferocious face was not a winner's petty emotion, but bewilderment.

Following his gaze, I turned my head.

I saw a red line engraved diagonally across his massive shoulder.

The line, which was tightly interlocking at first, began to slip out of alignment. And following the line, his shoulder slid down.

THUD.

His shoulder fell to the ground. The hand tightly gripping the spear violently twitched.

He opened his mouth wide.

ROOOOAR!

Through that gaping maw, a roar smeared with pain and anger burst out.

And in that moment, the time that had slowed down began to flow rapidly again.

"For Ballorhard!"

A black shadow brushed past in front of me. And right after the black shadow passed, a long rod that hadn't existed until just a moment ago was jutting out of his face.

It was a throwing javelin commonly used by the Black Lancers.

ROOOOAR!

The Warlord, with a spear shoved into his eyeball, let out a scream full of pain.

"For the Silver Lion of Winter Castle!"

At that moment, a bold lancer rammed into his body.

NEIGH!

Along with the sorrowful cry of a horse, the Warlord, who seemed like he would never fall, collapsed.

"For the fortress of winter!"

"For the men who perished before the freezing wind!"

The Black Lancers trampled over the fallen monster.

GROOOAN!

He howled. It sounded like the noise a terrified beast would let out, or the sound of a bawling child.

The Black Lancers leaped down from their horses.

Gathering flashes of light into their spears, they thrust their spears into the Warlord's body all at once.

The Warlord thrashed around.

But for the monster who had lost his Fighting Spirit and both arms, his resistance was merely an unsightly convulsion.

"You damned monster!"

"Die!"

The Black Lancers wildly stabbed down with their spears like madmen.

The Warlord's body turned into a tattered rag in an instant.

URK.

Nevertheless, he was still alive. Because of that, he became even more miserable.

He was pierced by spears hundreds of times, and his legs were cut off.

And in that state, he was impaled on a spear and hoisted up like a flag.

There was no solemn majesty of a king anywhere in that sight.

The one who was born a king and wished to remain a king until his final moment died just like that.

The boss of the monsters that had conquered Winter Castle,

and the monster who took the lives of countless soldiers and knights.

My uncle's mortal enemy died a miserable death like that.

"Ah..."

The strength left my legs.

I sank to my knees into a squelching puddle of blood, crumbling down.

My vision blurred.

Something kept trying to push its way out through my teeth.

I could not hold it back, and so I let it out.

A mouthful of dark red blood,

joy over finally slaying the cruel warlord,

a handful of mourning for the fallen who could never return,

and a piece of lamentation for the longing for my uncle and the foolishness of my past days.

All sorts of things poured out from within me.

『A remarkable achievement...』

『A grade that was merely Extraordinary...』

『The first verse of the [Poem of the Overlord] has been completed...』

『The Grade of the Poem of Martial Deeds...』

Listening to the messages pouring into my ears, I,

wept bitterly.

* * *

The moment the Warlord fell, the Orcs began to flee. In their retreating figures as they turned and ran, there was not a trace of the violent invaders who had ravaged the North.

They were merely terrified, hunted beasts.

And the hunters did not let the beasts just run away.

"All knighthoods! Along with the cavalry, dispose of the surviving Orcs!"

At the Commander's orders, the cavalry and knights scattered in all directions.

Those who remained tended to the wounded, recovered the fallen, and cleared the battlefield.

"Mm."

The gazes of those clearing the battlefield like that kept turning back toward one spot.

In the middle of the battlefield where the hacked body of the monster was hoisted like a flag, five hundred soldiers and knights were gathered there.

It was the forces of Ballorhard.

Even when the survivors cheered that they had finally won, that they had ultimately repelled the Orcs, they maintained their silence.

They just gathered in one place and stood still with their backs turned.

"Shouldn't we go check on them? From what I saw earlier, His Highness the First Prince was also heavily injured."

Someone among the lords spoke, and the others nodded.

But no one could easily approach the place where the forces of Ballorhard were gathered.

Maximilian was the same.

"Brother..."

When he drove the Orcs across the bridge and returned, he saw his brother sprawled on the ground next to the Warlord's hoisted corpse, howling in tears. He hadn't even been able to imagine it.

This was the brother who had remained steadfast even when countless people died in Winter Castle. This was the brother who, when he woke up in the North miserably loaded on a cart after leaving the fallen castle behind, formulated a plan to annihilate the enemy instead of mourning.

He had shown anger, but never sadness.

Such a brother was crying sorrowfully.

He couldn't even approach to offer a word of comfort.

Not only him, but everyone else felt the same.

Excluding just one single female knight.

Arwen Kirgayen, returning from clearing the battlefield, headed toward where the men of Ballorhard were. With a large flag gripped in her hand.

Passing unhesitatingly through the gaps between the men, she went down on one knee before the blankly sitting Prince.

"Arwen Kirgayen. I have completed Your Highness's orders and returned."

The female knight, who had flawlessly fulfilled her master's command to lure the Orcs and remain at the defensive line to assist the Second Prince, repeatedly reported on what had transpired. "Of the 29 Ballorhard cavalrymen who set out on the lure operation, all 29 were killed in action. The only survivors are myself and Young Lord Eli."

Why she had to make a casualty report at a time like this of all times, he could not understand.

If he could, he wanted to drag the female knight away right then.

Maximilian looked at the men of Ballorhard, hoping someone would stop her.

But they neither stopped the female knight, nor did they forcefully drag her away.

"Of the 19 from the Black Lancers, 7 were killed in action."

"From the 2nd Company of the Ballorhard Rangers, 43 of the 124 were killed in action."

"Of the 198 from the 4th Ballorhard Infantry Company, 72 were killed in action."

Instead, they followed the female knight's lead, kneeling and reporting their casualty statuses.

Maximilian thought this was not the right time. He thought that insisting on reporting the casualties right now was excessively cruel. He thought his brother might wail aloud all over again.

But that wasn't the case.

The First Prince, who had been sitting slumped with a devastated face, stood up.

"Everyone... you've worked hard."

He commended the efforts of the survivors, if only with a completely cracked and hoarse voice.

"Your Highness. It is the Warlord's military standard."

The female knight respectfully offered the massive standard.

The First Prince accepted the standard. However, he did not unfurl it.

"Let us return."

Gripping the flagpole, the First Prince spoke.

"To our fortress."

* * *

Even before the clearing of the battlefield was completely finished, the forces of the North left the defensive line.

They needed to distribute the merits of war and plan for future matters, but because the ones who had made the greatest contribution suddenly disappeared, the lords had no choice but to be flustered.

The Commander stepped forward and advised them to stay for a while and observe the situation, but the First Prince did not listen.

"I have things to do."

He simply hurried on his way, stating that there was important work to be done in the North.

"Brother, I will follow you as well."

"No. Return to The Capital. There are things you must do."

Placing his hand on Maximilian's shoulder, the First Prince sent him a profound look.

He didn't explicitly say what that work was. But Maximilian felt like he knew what it entailed.

"We will see each other again soon."

Finishing his farewells with his younger brother, the First Prince departed for the North.

Once they had left like that, those left behind had to suffer headaches.

"What are we to do with the treatment of those who know nothing of honor."

"In my heart, I wish to punish them with death right away, but their forces are not small."

"We were evenly matched before, but now we are at a disadvantage."

"To think this is the price for risking our lives to fight, it's truly a lamentable situation."

How should they handle the nobles who fled during the battle, and how should they report it? And how were they supposed to recover the troop losses sustained from this battle?

Their minds were complicated, and the work piled up like a mountain.

"Still, we survived and protected it, so isn't that a relief?"

Count Branbrut said to the Commander and the nobles, who were clutching their heads. The survivors burst into hollow laughter, agreeing that he was right.

* * *

The Northern forces, having left the Central region like that, headed for Ballorhard. And they finally arrived at Winter Castle.

In front of Winter Castle's south gate, where the marks of their miserable retreat still hadn't faded, Vincent Ballorhard and the men of Winter Castle were out waiting.

"Your Highness. Have you returned."

At Vincent's words, the First Prince gave a look to the knight beside him.

The knight opened the lid of the large chest right behind him.

The gruesomely hacked corpse of the Warlord, the King of Orcs who had died howling in pain and fear, was inside it.

"He was completely hacked to pieces. The body is useless. And where did one of his arms go?"

Vincent's pupils, despite his attempts to speak calmly, were trembling wildly.

"My uncle cut off one of his arms, so I couldn't find where it went."

At the First Prince's words, Vincent squeezed his eyes shut. However, he quickly opened them again and spoke, pretending nothing was wrong.

"As expected of my father, he didn't go down in vain."

Saying that, Vincent ordered the Warlord's head to be severed and stuffed separately. The soldiers grunted as they lifted the chest and headed into the castle. "You've worked hard. Please, let us go inside."

Despite Vincent's words, the First Prince did not move. Instead, wordlessly, he took out and held forward the pole with rolled-up fabric that he had been carrying on his back.

"What is..."

"It is the Warlord's military standard."

The wind blew. Filled to the brim with wind, the Warlord's standard unfurled.

The remnant of the kingdom the Orcs had established fluttered in the wind, torn and faded.

"It seems the day I beat Your Highness in a flag-raising bet will never come now."

The First Prince shook his head and looked atop the castle walls.

"Plant it at the highest point, so that everyone can see this flag."

He looked around at his surroundings once again.

"The owner of this standard is Ballorhard."

And he declared it in front of the soldiers.

That they had fought and won, and finally achieved victory.

At that declaration of victory that he had firmly suppressed and held back ever since the Central region's defensive line,

the survivors of Winter Castle cheered.

* * *

"Say it again."

The King frowned.

"His Highness the First Prince has refused to return."

At the messenger's words, the King frowned.

"Say it again."

There was deep anger contained in those words that didn't differ by a single syllable.

The messenger trembled, stealing glances at the King. However, unable to shirk his duty, he squeezed his eyes shut and delivered the First Prince's message.

"His Highness the First Prince said he will return on his own when the time comes."