Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 13
>Chapter Title: The Morning Star (3)
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*
Sir Dian August overcame the excruciating pain of the truth serum with a will of steel.
At least, that was how Isabelle chose to remember it.
What mattered wasn't that Sir August had screamed profanities at her, or that he'd tried to leak the knightly order's accounting records while clinging to the arm of the man named Ivan.
Of course, Isabelle, unable to bear the sight, had immediately struck Sir August across the face.
Only after a lecture from Ivan on how dangerous it was to strike the head of someone vomiting blood did Sir August finally become capable of human speech.
“Mama?”
“Hm.”
Ivan examined the well-sutured wound and gave a clear diagnosis.
“The shock caused a regression. Isabelle, this is your fault. You should reflect on your actions.”
“I don’t think Sir August would agree with you. Can he even go back to normal?”
“Don’t worry. It’s a common symptom. He’ll come to his senses with time.”
Ivan glanced outside for a moment before speaking.
“But his screaming must have drawn a lot of attention. It’s about time for the ambushers on the mountain to descend, so we must prepare.”
“What about Sir August?”
“We’ll have to carry him.”
Ivan stared at Isabelle. Isabelle stared back at him.
A moment of silence passed. Only then did Isabelle understand Ivan’s glance, and she asked with a flustered expression.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“What about you?”
“I have to fight.”
“I can fight too!”
Ivan looked down at Isabelle and shook his head. Her aptitude was certainly exceptional, unparalleled among her peers, but her mind was not.
An incident as minor as this had left her pale-faced, the hand gripping her sword unable to stop its faint trembling.
“I’m sure you can.”
“Are your words and actions always this contradictory…?”
“You’ve hit the nail on the head.”
Ivan chuckled and turned his back. Left alone in the cabin, Isabelle soon let out a deep sigh and hoisted Dian onto her back.
He was heavy.
It wasn't that she was too weak to bear the weight of a grown man. The weights she used for training were heavier than Dian.
But the weight of this injured, weakened man pressed down on her shoulders.
After needlessly readjusting Dian and walking out, Ivan, who stood with his back to the moon, suddenly turned to look at her.
“Your aptitude isn’t bad.”
“That’s incredibly insulting. Hey, do you know me? When did we get on a first-name basis?”
“Did you get your personality from your mother?”
“Wow, you really make me want to draw my sword. So, is your charming personality from your mother’s side or your father’s?!”
“Well, I can’t even remember either of their faces anymore.”
“Oh…! I…! See…? Riiight….”
Though his eyes and skin looked strangely young, she squeezed her eyes shut as she looked at the thick beard covering his entire lower jaw.
The war had ended just four years ago.
And that war had lasted for nearly twenty years.
It wouldn't be strange for someone his age to have lost their parents during the war….
She felt a sense of unfairness. So what if he doesn't have parents? Bringing up parents is rude in itself, isn't it? Is it different in Krasilov? Is that just how they say hello? (This kind of inquiry about parents is considered a friendly greeting in Droan, but not in Krasilov.)
After grumbling for a while, she finally caught the meaning of Ivan’s words and started in surprise.
“You know my father?”
“Perhaps.”
Ivan thought to himself, a faint smile playing on his lips at the kid’s rapidly changing expressions.
*Could anyone truly claim to ‘know’ Maximilian?*
He shrugged and said.
“Gather the survivors. Build a fire, and tear out the train seats to use as blankets. The winter nights in this land are harsher than you think.”
“What about the ambush if we light a fire?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“You’re going out alone? Without even knowing who you’re up against?”
“That, too, is not your concern.”
It was his first time meeting Maximilian’s daughter, but Ivan was feeling a rather unexpected emotion.
*Her looks and talent are the spitting image of her father, but her personality is completely different.*
Maximilian used to boast every night about his ‘lover back home,’ describing her as a kind and considerate person. It seemed the daughter took after her mother.
*This is how dangerous love is. It prevents you from seeing a person’s flaws and weaknesses.* Ivan smirked and left.
*
There is a saying in the tactical doctrine Ivan learned.
Assume the worst, act for the best.
It was such an obvious statement that the Ivan of that time had scoffed at it.
That is, until he re-evaluated the phrase through actual combat.
The true meaning of the sentence was this:
Assume the worst. Meaning, the enemy will always attempt to attack in the most difficult way for you to handle.
Act for the best. This means:
If your enemy is the worst possible opponent for you, then you must become the same for them.
Therefore, imitate the enemy’s tactics. The worst attack you can imagine will be the best offensive you can unleash upon them.
If so, what Ivan had to do now was crystal clear.
First, assume the most terrible situation.
‘Being ambushed while fleeing after survival would be the worst. It would be even more severe if it turned into a war of attrition.’
Sporadic raids in the dead of night exacerbate fatigue. While Ivan could manage, it would be a fatal attack for the wounded and a young child.
So, assuming the worst, the enemy would surely act on the assumption that Ivan and his party would attempt to flee.
Logically, if a train is overturned by an attack, it is only right to leave the scene and call for support.
Now, consider the countermeasure.
‘Act leisurely, drag out time, and leave the target in plain sight. Make them seem helpless.’
This would force the unknown enemy to recall the personnel they had deployed for the pursuit. They would have to switch their tactics from pursuit to encirclement.
This world was not a real-time strategy game. Unfortunately, it was an academy genre story.
Soldiers do not immediately ‘output’ an action just because a command is ‘inputted.’
In other words, the time delay that occurs when recalling the pursuit teams means gaining a tactical advantage from the very start.
And an encirclement carried out from an offensive position usually comes with a sense of psychological ease. They would see them as rats in a trap, ready to be devoured at any moment. Therefore, the enemy would be more deliberate in choosing their moment to attack.
Having recalled their pursuit teams, they would want to strike an unavoidable blow at the optimal time, to ensure their target could not escape.
This was the next best thing. The ‘worst attack’ the enemy could conceive.
So, he would imitate it. To make the enemy’s best move become the worst for themselves. By preparing an ambush, carefully honing the offense, and spreading out for an encirclement.
“Hoo…”
In the deep forest, cloaked in the heavy shadows of night, he gripped the cold gun.
Ivan took a quiet breath in, then exhaled half of it.
Hunkering down beneath a tree, he held his breath and slowly raised his hand.
Carefully, so that his shoulder and fingertips formed a straight line. Suppressing the tremor from his own life rhythm as much as possible.
*Click.*
Slowly, with the momentum of three breaths, so the sights wouldn't waver from his index finger inside the trigger guard, he pulled.
And then.
—*Bang—!*
Pistol sniping. A shooting technique devised so that agents of the Annihilation Squad, who had to conceal their weapons in enemy cities, could engage in long-range assaults even with a pistol.
Beneath the moonlight, a silhouette half the size of a fingernail crumpled to the ground.
There was no need to rush the reload. The first shot had been a direct hit. An unsettling presence soon filled the forest. The enemy had also realized from the gunshot.
That the ambush had begun.
Furthermore, they would soon realize.
That an ambush by the Annihilation Squad had begun.
With the dark night and the deep forest, familiar terrain and a suitable weapon that fit his hand.
An ambush by the Annihilation Squad means a single individual can surround a group.
*
—*Bang—!!*
When the gunshot echoed from deep within the forest, Isabelle fought to hide her trembling hands and prepared for the enemy’s assault.
It was clearly the sound that signaled the start of a battle. Loud enough to startle sleeping birds into a panicked flight.
The people gathered around her stared at her, shivering in front of the bonfire.
“We’re all going to die now, aren’t we…?”
“I’m scared… I’m so scared… Mama… Mamaa…”
The whimpering of the survivors, each with at least a fractured bone, enveloped her.
Amidst the bewilderment, pressure, and guilt, Isabelle forced her head down. They were victims caught up in this because of her. The fact that only a dozen or so had survived from that large train weighed heavily on her shoulders.
Just then, a low voice came from behind her.
“The reason we call a hero a hero is not because he is the strongest, but because he is the most courageous.”
“Sir August? Are you conscious?”
August, still on her back, continued to speak in a somewhat dazed voice.
“Therefore, we must not become heroes. We must not even try. For we must be aware of our own weakness.”
“Sir August…?”
“We must stand with the weak, see through the eyes of the weak, and look upon those who are like us. The reason we take up the sword is not because we are brave, nor because we are strong, nor because we are superior to others.”
August’s voice still lacked any sense of lucidity.
But strangely, it was clear and precise. As if trying to engrave each and every word into her heart.
“We take up the sword because it is right. Because it is just. For the great cause that must be protected. Therefore, our taking up the sword is no different from donating to the needy on any given day, or helping up the injured from time to time. Because it is natural. Because it is right.”
“Sir August…”
“So, take up your sword. You, do not try to be a hero. O Knight of Thales. You stand here not with valor, but with humility.”
She now understood what Dian was saying.
This was a very old and highly traditional knighting ceremony.
Not the knighthood of a ‘title’ bestowed by a monarch upon a vassal.
But the final lesson given by a knightly order, as a group of pilgrims, to their squires.
Dian August came from a traditional knightly order, and even now, having lost his senses, he was reciting the words that had remained most impressively in his mind.
“Take up your sword for the great cause. For doing good is always a humble and rightful deed. Take up your sword not for your strength, but for your goodwill. Now, your name is Knight.”
With those words, Dian spoke no more. Only faint breaths escaped him.
Isabelle knew of Dian’s career. He was a veteran knight who had served since the war against the Demon King’s army.
Now she understood why a sentence he had likely heard only once, decades ago, remained so clearly, without any distortion or misinterpretation. For she, too, felt she would never forget this moment for the rest of her life.
She rose to her feet, finally lifting her head to survey her surroundings.
Many eyes were on her. People suffering from cold and fear, pain and hunger.
Those who had been driven to this state because of her.
The guilt still weighed on her shoulders, but, nevertheless, now.
“I will.”
Gently setting Dian down, Isabelle stood tall before them.
The sword in her hand felt heavier than before, but the hand that had been trembling just moments ago was now calm, gripping the hilt firmly.
In her eyes, the morning star burned.
*