68 — 7 (8)

The horizon churned with hundreds of tangled soldiers. As if venting long-suppressed desire, Louis’s men rampaged.

Shing. Louis drew his sword on reflex. With the pleasant sound of a clean edge sliding from its scabbard, a message arrived: now that he had entered the battlefield, he would gain double experience.

A special bonus applied—an ideal chance to raise his Swordsmanship trait. The enemy’s morale had collapsed, so they could not muster even half their normal strength; for Louis, true danger was minimal.

‘Come at me.’

Amid blood bursting like fireworks on every side, a soldier—whether by luck in the chaos or with intent—let out a near-screamed kiai and shot a pike at Louis.

‘Dull.’

Louis twisted his body and slipped past the spear. The info window showed the man’s Spearmanship at 1; against Louis’s Swordsmanship at 4, he had no chance even on a fair field. With morale broken, the soldier’s overall stats were reduced; to Louis, his attack seemed laughably slow. Louis stepped in and slashed; the blade merely grazed the man’s neck, but that alone sent him clutching at the blood welling soft and warm—then he toppled.

‘Hoo…’

Shocking by peacetime standards, the sight barely moved Louis now.

He flicked open the info window and confirmed the double experience was active. Taking Dekal’s lesson to heart, he had resolved to grow stronger himself; from now on he would enter most battles. Especially in special situations, the battlefield bonus was potent—even for Louis, whose raw talent was low…

‘If I learn mana, I might reach Sword Expert…’

It wasn’t a joke. Louis caught a charging soldier’s blade on his own. Cold steel shrieked. He shoved the man back hard; as the soldier stumbled, Louis instinctively stabbed left. The sword bit in a single stroke, drank deep, then fell along the seam of another man crawling on the ground.

Thud.

‘Hooo…’

Perhaps he lacked stamina. Maybe it was the murderous atmosphere, but after several swings his breath grew short.

‘I have to learn mana.’

He drew breath again and swallowed dryly. The echoing screams faded. In the short time since contact, Pierre’s pike unit had been ground to paste. Louis glanced at the military window. Only a few blinking red dots remained; those alive were fugitives sprinting madly for the twin forests, with several of Louis’s men chasing like men possessed.

He weighed clamping down to keep tight control, then shook his head—better to focus on the fight before him and harvest the experience.

Moisture swept in again; the ground turned slick, as if after rain. Boromir galloped up and stopped before Louis, dismounted, and knelt.

A soldier arrived with Louis’s mount at the perfect moment and knelt beside Boromir. Louis mounted to resume command.

“Well done, Boromir. The operation isn’t over. Give it everything.”

Boromir swung into his saddle, and Louis looked down. Arriving a step late to the slaughter was Pierre’s main body—pike troops. They were so out of breath from rushing that their formation had fallen to pieces.

‘Rattled, brother? Let me pay my respects.’

Remembering his past humiliations, Louis smiled thinly. He deployed the reloaded archers and ordered them to fire. From the high ground they enjoyed better sightlines—and gravity’s help to rain a stronger storm of arrows at distance.

Panting beneath the weight of heavy armor, the soldiers went pale at the iron smell wafting from the front.

“F… fall back! Fall back!!”

Some brave soul gave the order, but bloodshot from the chase, units were already intermingled; the cry would never reach the rear. Worse, the commander of a thousand who should have organized them had died instantly when Boromir burst his head—no one remained to restore the chain of command.

The pikemen retreating from the front crashed into those climbing up from behind—pandemonium. Arrows poured over them.

Thud-thud-thud-thud.

A blizzard of shafts. Tangled like a bog, men smashed into one another and died in droves without knowing why.

“What in God’s name—!”

Racing up to see for himself, Pierre beheld a river of blood. He ground his teeth. He wasn’t the only one shocked; those with him stared, too. A perfect deception. Pierre jabbed a finger and shouted; only one thought flashed through his mind.

“Seize that man!”

“I—I’m innocent!!”

Haon tried to punch his way free, but his wounds had not healed. After a token struggle he was grabbed.

‘Damn it… damn it… Louis!! You half-made piece of trash!!’

Pierre had never been humiliated like this—twice in a row—by Louis.

A rout.

No gilding it: a complete defeat. As always, his attendant had brought the chessboard; Pierre smashed it to the ground. Clatter—every piece spilled and dirtied.

“You must decide—quickly!”

“I know…! I know!!”

Either reinforce the surviving pikes—or retreat. As every man within bow range turned into a hedgehog, the heavy cavalry rolled forward again. With the rear in chaos, the center and front were worse. If they didn’t want to die, there was only one choice left.

“We retreat!!!”

Pierre wheeled his horse and fled without looking back; those without mounts ran at first, then threw down their weapons and sprinted. Some in the very front even stripped off their armor.

The heavy cavalry pounded downhill over slopes and corpses—Louis at the tip. In his window he watched his brother’s army collapse.

‘If I’m lucky, I can end him here.’

Cold words—but Louis was a duke’s son. Nobles paid for their luxuries with heavy burdens; refuse them, and a brother would carve off your head. To live, he had to hone the blade.

Hyah!

Louis spurred hard. He slid his slick sword free and jabbed at a soldier’s exposed back. With a death cry, the man lost balance and was swallowed between the warhorses like a cogwheel’s teeth.

The pursuit began. Louis did not know how far he could carry the killing, but he had to cut their numbers as much as possible.

‘Bleed them now, and the siege will be easy.’

The city of Kayani was famed across the duchy for the tallest, strongest walls.

Louis pushed for more, but after three charges his mount was flagging; speed bled away.

Even so, it was more than enough for hunting routed infantry. A front woven from blood and flesh—thanks to it, Pierre survived, escaping far ahead before looking back with bloodshot eyes. The sting in his gut was so sharp he thought he might faint.

‘Forget the mines—pull every man back. I need time to refit.’

Pierre measured the situation coolly but could not settle on how far to withdraw. The safest course was to hold defensively until Marquis Gangpireu finished Fred. But that would hand all his lands to Louis.

If he clung to defense, it wasn’t impossible to turn the tide someday—but retreating now shattered his pride.