74 — 8 (4)

Even a Sword Expert would have been injured if struck by a charging warhorse. Yet Anok, who recovered faster than himself and came charging in again, was undoubtedly abnormal. Otomar leaped forward, snatched up his halberd, and struck upward while suppressing his rising disbelief.

Steel clashed with steel in a thunderous roar. Anok swung down in a killing strike, as if intent on crushing him in a single blow, and Otomar barely managed to block it. The impact didn’t feel like metal meeting metal—it was like a massive club hammering down on a bell. Otomar, still holding his guard, was pushed back several steps.

“You’re not half bad.”

“You brute.”

Otomar gave a faint, bitter smile—but not because he found his opponent easy.

The two were now fully entangled in combat—tiger against dragon. No one around them had a reason to interfere. Yet, no matter how spectacular the duel, it didn’t change the essence of war. While the frontlines roared, slaughter erupted in the rear as well.

Louis looked toward the city of Kayani at the front. True to its reputation as the wealthiest city in Pontina territory, Kayani was ringed by a smoothly maintained white wall. Here and there, traces of wind and sea erosion remained—inevitable for a coastal port city.

A deep wind blew from somewhere. Louis breathed in the heavy scent of the sea. Above, seabirds were flying in long lines toward distant lands, perhaps to cross the continent as the season changed. The sun was about to set, and the world was turning orange, like ink spreading across a page. As the city sank into twilight, the white walls lost their original hue.

Louis clicked his tongue. For some reason, he wanted to stain those walls with blood—it would make for a far more beautiful sight. His forces surrounded Kayani in loose formation. Normally, such a scattered siege was dangerous—it risked being defeated piecemeal. But he had done it deliberately, an open invitation for the enemy to come out. The moment the gates opened, his heavy cavalry, stationed at the center, would charge from any direction.

Even if the defenders chose to wait, Louis had siege engines ready—catapults. His soldiers were diligently setting them up. The catapults hurled stones, the simplest and most common form of siege weaponry. Though every nation possessed them, acquiring and maintaining such weapons on a ducal level was no easy feat.

Across the walls, Pierre stood pale-faced, staring outside. It was only natural—he couldn’t fathom how Louis had managed to obtain siege engines, yet the proof stood right before him. The plan had been to hold until Marquis Gangpireu arrived—but Pierre was beginning to doubt if that was even possible.

The despair wasn’t his alone; his soldiers’ faces were equally grim. It had been the soldiers themselves who spread the rumor that Louis had received the blessing of Mars, the god of war.

Then it began—the sound of rope snapping, followed by a stone soaring through the sky. Some soldiers only stared dumbly, unable to process what was happening. The massive rock, like a falling star, struck the upper wall without mercy. The impact gouged a deep hole, and when the stone fell, it shattered the ground below. That was only the beginning. Soldiers, unaware Louis had brought siege weapons, had only prepared bows and boiling oil.

The difference lay in information—a complete lack of reconnaissance. Pierre should have risked losses to send scouts, but his days of drinking in shock had caught up to him. Boom! Another strike—this time even stronger—made the entire wall tremble. It seemed the gate itself had been hit; the iron beams holding it together were bending.

If the bombardment continued, the gate would eventually collapse. And when the wall was next struck, how much longer could it hold? Kayani’s walls were sturdy, but Louis only needed patience. With time, the outcome was certain.

“Lord… Pierre!”

Pierre slumped to the ground, eyes hollow. He wasn’t even sure if his message had reached Marquis Gangpireu. Even if it had, the gate would break long before the marquis could arrive. Having witnessed Louis’s heavy cavalry firsthand, Pierre knew that once they entered the city, there would be no survivors.

When a man realized there was nothing he could do, despair followed. Pierre felt that despair wash over him. Kayani was a port city, and he still had merchant ships—he could flee by sea. But then a question struck him.

‘To where?’

Where could he go? Once he lost his domain and city, his fate was already sealed. He might keep breathing, but he would have no dream, no hope. Would he even find rest in sleep? No—his enemies would hire assassins, again and again, until he died. He would have done the same in their place.

Men of the Pontina line were lions, even when maimed. Pierre remembered the chilling glint in Louis’s eyes on the battlefield. The wall shook again. Feeling he would go mad if he stayed, Pierre began to descend the stairs.

“Please, give us orders!!”

A chiliarch shouted, but Pierre said nothing. He simply mounted his horse and rode toward the manor. The streets were in chaos. It was no surprise—no noble could keep calm while such destruction raged outside. Anyone with wealth was grabbing their gold and jewels, racing toward ships to flee Kayani. They still had choices. The rich always did. But Pierre, who had used them as his tools, had none left.

‘I’ve lost.’

He had lost—completely. Pierre thought back to the past. Louis had always been last, even behind their sisters. The treatment of a half-blood bastard had never changed—scorn and ostracism. Pierre had led it himself, beating his brother more than once. Why hadn’t he slit Louis’s throat back then? Why hadn’t he crippled him? He could have done it anytime, and their father wouldn’t have cared—because that was how the Pontina family worked. The strong survived. That was their creed. The succession wars of Pontina were infamous, and even Duke Remitri had slain his own brothers to claim the title.

‘I’ve lost…’

Back in the manor, Pierre went to his office and looked one last time at the sea. Darkness was falling.

Louis’s catapults didn’t stop through the night. Each shot required about sixteen men pulling ropes and hauling stones. Yet Louis intentionally didn’t use all of them at once. The reason was simple—he didn’t want to damage the walls too much. If only the gate broke, victory would be certain. That harbor city was already his. Damaging what would soon belong to him would be foolish.

Louis wanted to claim the city immediately. His excitement was like that of a young man before a naked woman. He had never possessed a city this grand—wealthy, industrious, and thriving. The city of Aksen, which he had recently conquered, had its dye industry, but compared to Kayani, its value was far lower. Controlling maritime trade was an unparalleled advantage.

One question occupied his mind: how to spend his remaining points. He could focus them on city development—or pour them into leadership traits that boosted his own power. If he did the latter, he would grow stronger faster, and his armies would become even deadlier.

Battlefield bonuses were dangerous but alluring. Once the succession war ended, he could target Marquis Gangpireu—or another domain entirely. With more troops and stronger logistics, he could even overturn the Duchy of Eron itself.

It was a dangerous thought. If anyone overheard, he would be charged with treason—a crime that stripped even nobles of life and property without exception.

Then the battered gate fell, and white banners began fluttering everywhere. In the deep dawn, when Louis had been preparing for one last assault, he was instead met with Pierre’s surrender. A smile spread across his face. The damage was minimal. Only one concern remained—that this surrender might be a ruse, a prelude to a desperate counterattack.

Even a rat would bite when cornered. Louis immediately dispatched his heavy cavalry. After long hours of waiting, they surged forward at his command, smashing through the gate in an instant. Louis kept the System’s interface open, watching the blinking numbers that represented his cavalry—but not a single one decreased. They had swept through Kayani unhindered.

‘I’ve taken it.’

He had. Louis felt elated despite the late hour. Sleep was impossible now. Two cities were his—and the first of his rivals had been removed. Though pleased, he felt a faint unease at the decision he knew was coming next. Giving orders to move all troops inside, Louis spurred his horse forward.

Everywhere, white banners fluttered—signs of complete surrender. Even the soldiers who had kept their bows drawn earlier had now dropped their weapons, greeting Louis unarmed.

Louis ordered them to be bound and was just about to move to capture Pierre when the highest-ranking officer appeared, fell to his knees, and spoke.

“Consul Pierre has committed suicide. The city of Kayani surrenders completely to Louis of Pontina, third son of Duke Remitri.”

“…Suicide… you say?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You’re certain?”

“…Yes. The body is being brought to the square—you’ll see soon.”

It was a strange feeling. His brother was dead. The brother who had tormented him endlessly as a child had taken his own life. Louis’s heart pounded with a mix of joy and bitterness. It was fate—the fate of Pontina’s sons. He whispered the family creed several times. Yet a part of him wondered if his brother might still be alive.

Soon, cavalrymen arrived, carrying something. Hundreds of soldiers and civilians gathered to witness. Surrounded by guards, Louis approached the shrouded form and lifted the cloth.

“…He’s dead.”