9 (3)

The medium cavalry were cutting through the terrifying downpour like arrows. The ground, so soaked that water now pooled everywhere, had turned to mud and burst apart like firecrackers beneath the heavy weight of the riders. No one saw it, but had anyone looked, the sheer ferocity of that movement would have made their knees buckle. They were driving at full speed for one reason only: Louis’s order. Morale had soared to its peak — all but for one man.

Jerome, hanging on clumsily, could not even open his eyes properly in the rain. It was his first time riding a horse at such speed. If only the weather had been gentler — but it was a vicious storm. In truth, joining a battlefield like this, especially with the cavalry, was worse than death for him; but Louis’s charismatic push left him no time to hesitate, and he had only managed to blurt, “Understood,” which he now found pathetic — yet he could not disobey Louis’s command either.

In effect, without Louis’s full support, this position — and even his magic circle — were heights he could never have reached in a lifetime. Terrified as he was, Jerome felt gratitude beyond words and a debt of the heart; he had no choice. He had to grit his teeth and endure, praying this would pass safely.

Before long, one of the lead riders relayed a warning sharply back from the front.

“It’s a field of corpses!!!!!”

The cavalryman’s voice broke at the end, and the stench that hit them made Jerome retch. The sight that unfurled before his eyes sent him into dry heaves. He had never seen so many corpses while alive, and so few intact among them — the decay had gone too far. At the thunder of hooves, hundreds of red-eyed rats the size of wrists split and scurried to either side — a shock to Jerome, who had never truly experienced war.

“Uwegh…”

Boromir glanced over and barked.

“Shut your eyes, mage! If you collapse here, we’ll leave you behind!”

Unlikely as that sounded, the already-shrinking Jerome squeezed his eyes shut at once. It helped for a moment, but his will was not yet trained to ignore the reeking rot and the sheets of rain.

He dry-heaved again and spoke weakly.

“W-will the plan really succeed?”

Boromir started to answer, but Kaiser at the head spoke faster.

“Do not doubt. Lord Louis’s plans are always perfect.”

Seeing Kaiser’s utter lack of hesitation made Jerome blanch. He, too, followed and respected Louis — but the words Kaiser chose felt beyond the reach of ordinary men.

Boromir was the same, though he did not say it aloud. He trusted Louis, but as someone who had clawed his way up from centurion, he knew better than anyone that on a battlefield one could not see even a step ahead. The only thing to trust was oneself.

Anok, meanwhile, rode with eyes fixed forward. He said nothing, yet everyone around was acutely aware of him. Killing intent — mana laced with murderous will — streamed off him like the driving rain. Until Anok spoke first, no one dared address him; that was how savage his aura felt. His face looked like that of a demon.

Regardless, the medium cavalry kept skimming across the field.

Their speed had to drop as they began forcing a path through the corpses, but even in that sway, the stirrups let them move with stability.

Marquis Gangpireu continued to receive reports from his couriers. His expression remained stern, yet he could not hide his unease. ‘This is unfavorable.’ He ground his teeth. He had competed with House Pontina his entire life. At this point, the house itself had begun to terrify him.

He had seen Louis only twice — once when the boy was very young, and a second time when Louis came to trade goods with him. Twice, only twice — and yet that whelp now dominated the field completely.

After years and years of preparation, after killing Fred by throwing in everything, the reef hidden behind him loomed even larger. Worse, Louis had taken barely any losses. Pierre had lied in his reports. It was a rout. Judging by those forces, it had been an absurdly crushing victory.

‘No wonder he declared war out of the blue…’

“Damn it…”

The words slipped out unwittingly. The unspoken remainder held his resentment toward Pierre. Even when struggling against Fred, Marquis Gangpireu had not cursed like this. To face such a strong army before he had properly recovered was too much even for him. He now bitterly regretted not throwing everything into the pursuit. Louis had even gathered up the routed remnants whole.

Even so, the balance had not tipped entirely to defeat. The marquis too had pocketed a sweet victory and, after a simple refit, his numbers were fine on paper. If only he could divine Louis’s tactics well…

‘Where in blazes are the medium cavalry?’

That was the problem. Reports said the medium cavalry still had not shown themselves. Not knowing where they might strike kept him from committing his infantry at full power. If they charged and the cavalry swept the flank mid-push, the infantry would be slaughtered.

“Send me out. I will change the flow.”

Mihoff, face full of displeasure, asked the marquis to deploy him. The arrogant swordsman could not fathom what it was that Marquis Gangpireu feared. The playground lay open — and yet, thanks to the marquis’s craven hesitation, they could not advance.

It was his fifth request already, but the marquis ignored Mihoff again. The wound Fred had left had turned him into a coward. The marquis’s obsession with House Pontina grew worse as the battle ground on. The line might still be called even, but a foul, suffocating weight pressed on his chest. His own transcendent intuition warned him that if he sent Mihoff out now, something ill would happen.

Perhaps it was a mysterious sense born of a lifetime competing with Pontina. Even while commanding from the safest rear, he felt as if some predator were baring its fangs at him. Honestly, he felt shame that Louis — not even half his age — could make him feel this way.

And whenever he steeled himself to decide boldly, the severed ear throbbed and sent up its signal.

At last Mihoff snapped. He had borne it long enough.

“Send me out at once, Marquis Gangpireu!!! Even now the situation is worsening by the moment!”

He looked at the trembling marquis in disbelief. How could the man who was usually so cruel and cunning be this frightened? The marquis had not trusted Mihoff’s oaths, had secretly locked away his precious younger sister as a hostage, had manipulated Mihoff like a puppet — that was how deep his schemes ran.

But the man before him was not the ruler he knew. It was a face he knew all too well — the look toys wore right before he broke them.

‘Shall I cut him down…?’

Mihoff judged that he had never sworn true fealty to such a coward and quietly nursed murderous intent. He was the sort who treated few as human, so thoughts no ordinary officer would conceive rose in him by instinct.

What held him back each time was his younger sister. Had the marquis not taken her as a pawn, had he not threatened Mihoff again and again, Mihoff would have cut him down just now. Habit, however, was strong enough to suppress his instincts.

Marquis Gangpireu, chin in his hand, brooded for a long time. At length his eyes flashed, as if he had found an answer, and he spoke.

“Mihoff. Stand by. I cannot shake the feeling that this is aimed at me. Even if he shares only half of Fred’s blood, he is still Fred’s brother; that wretch is likely targeting me even now. Order the rear units: form squares to stop the cavalry.”

Mihoff — and the chiliarchs present — wondered at what bizarre judgment this was. With dense woods blocking both flanks and the only corridor being the front, how could cavalry possibly attack here? They could fly from the sky, perhaps — but in this rain, even birds struggled to fly.

Yet none of the centurions could gainsay the marquis. He was so charismatic in normal times that none besides Mihoff could even think to object. Even Mihoff gave up and said nothing; the centurions shouted in perfect order for the men to prepare to receive cavalry.

A black hail of arrows fell where Louis had just been — he had already slipped away. By drawing the enemy’s attention, he had saved many lives.

“Bring me a fresh quiver.”

A page hurried up and handed Louis a quiver. Even while refitting, Louis kept his eyes on the battle-status panel. Mihoff still seemed idle. If so, there was only one place he could be.

‘Anok will like this.’

The returning cavalry would strike the marquis’s rear, and the fight there would be fierce. It had been wise to gather all his elites into one formation just in case. The marquis might have used tricks to obscure his command post’s position, but the straightforward movement of his lines made it plain he was in the orthodox dead center.

That being so, there was no need for separate orders to the medium cavalry.

Louis’s eyes narrowed. The cavalry had nearly circled the terrain and were about to enter the marquis’s rear. He had to match the beat here.

“Gaion.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Order a general advance.”

“A… all of them, my lord?”

“Yes. Now.”

Through a magic device Louis signaled Jodan and Kalbang on both flanks. It was a basic tool that shivered when a signal arrived, and it meant one thing only: a general advance.

The instant Louis gave the order, a long trumpet call pealed through the downpour, rolling like thunder across the world.

‘Now then — let’s enjoy this properly.’

More than he had expected, Louis felt certain the marquis was beneath him — and he found himself enjoying the moment. It was almost instinct. That alone proved he bore the blood of House Pontina.

“General charge!!!!!!!!!”

Louis’s shout, laden with mana, fell upon the soldiers.