Departure

Alt Kenche, who held command of the Silver Eagle Independent Combat Brigade, was one of the few who had risen from a common soldier all the way to commander.

He had been a soldier since before the war, and after advancing at a not-unsatisfactory ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pace, he had stood on the Demonfolk frontlines—where veterans died and the survivors earned merits, repeating the cycle over and over. It was a result he had carved out through sheer persistence. Since he had chosen this path to make a living in the first place, he had never felt particularly honorable about it, but he did take pride in having lived diligently.

Perhaps because of that past, he was a rather open-minded man. The most representative example was how he tolerated Ranje—whom the soldiers called the Mad Squirrel—and her behavior, which was often indistinguishable from outright mutiny.

Ignoring orders would have been a problem, but... a capable commander who faithfully carried out orders, executed her duties flawlessly, and survived a long time was a resource as precious as any artifact. So he tolerated the rudeness as a sort of performance bonus. It didn't cost him any coin, after all—he actually considered it a net gain.

This time, however, the situation was somewhat different.

'Could it be... that I've gotten old?'

He was approaching forty now, but he had never thought of himself as old. Plenty of his subordinates were older than him, after all.

It was simply that the moment he heard what the wandering knight brought by Margrave of Levien was saying, the thoughts "this is absurd" and "this is insane" had surged up simultaneously. An anxiety crept over him—the creeping dread that he might be viewing the battlefield through too rigid and entrenched a lens.

On the battlefield, those who lacked imagination died first. And when that person was a commander, it was the subordinates who died. If by any chance he now found himself in such a predicament, it was only fair to say he needed to reexamine his own command capabilities. In a situation where he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠couldn't help but feel uneasy, Alt quietly shifted his gaze around and nearly let out a sigh of relief upon registering that the reactions around him weren't much different from his own.

Fortunately, it seemed the wandering knight really had spouted something insane. Though whether one could truly call it fortunate that a man awarded a medal in the royal family's name just days ago had lost his mind—he wasn't quite sure.

"That's madness. Is the Margrave truly accepting this opinion in earnest?"

This time, it was genuinely fortunate. While he had been hesitating, at a loss for words, a somewhat hot-tempered subordinate had stepped up first.

But it was an inappropriate remark. Before either Margrave of Levien, whose brow was furrowing, or the wandering knight, whose eyes were narrowing dangerously, could open their mouths, Alt tapped the table lightly and spoke.

"Raynel. That was out of line."

She might be young, but she was the Margrave. She was the very justification for this war. And though it might have been a mere formality, she was publicly the supreme commander—and afterward, she was the woman destined to become the hero the royal family needed. No matter how uniquely positioned the Silver Eagle Independent Combat Brigade was, a mere regimental commander of lower nobility dared not treat her with contempt.

And above all, the wandering knight was at her side.

According to the report received from the royal family before undertaking the operation, he was a man who reacted with extreme sensitivity to any affront to Margrave of Levien's honor—the very same man who, the moment the traitor Envelde had attempted an assassination, had counterattacked and reduced his entire mansion to rubble. The warning appended at the end of the barely believable record of his exploits had been simple:

-Regard him not as an ally, but as a dragon without hostile intent. Generally harmless, so long as you give him no justification.

Even setting aside the warning that went so far as to use the word "dragon" itself—what did "generally harmless as long as you don't give him justification" even mean? Alt withdrew his hand, recalling the warning he had never quite grasped despite mulling it over countless times, his life having been far too removed from the games of politics.

"If you cannot show proper respect, I will have you removed. Mind your words."

"...My apologies."

He knew full well that, contrary to those words, Raynel was grinding his molars behind closed lips. But for the moment, this seemed to suffice. When he looked back, the expressions on the Margrave and the wandering knight had eased considerably.

"My apologies to you both, but I believe our opinions may not be so different from Raynel's—only the phrasing was gentler."

Only Ranje, the sole battalion commander among the regimental commanders, protested with an expression that practically declared 'Not me, though?' but no one paid her any mind. Margrave of Levien, who had been staring at the map spread across the table during Alt's answer, asked without lifting her gaze.

"And the reason?"

"Because we cannot throw our soldiers into peril with an unverified tactic."

It wasn't that he failed to grasp how a novel tactic could become the springboard for a reversal—but "something no one had ever thought of" and "something no one had ever felt was worth attempting at all" were entirely separate matters. And this plan fell squarely into the category of "something no one had thought of, but the moment they heard it, they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠felt it wasn't worth attempting even for an instant."

Run straight up the fortress wall? Alone, at that? Even Ranje, who rampaged utterly without restraint, wouldn't display such reckless bravado.

'...Or would she? Had she?'

As he found himself chewing over memories rendered slightly uncertain by the sheer volume of battles he'd been through, the wandering knight spoke up this time.

"And if it has been verified?"

Everyone's gazes converged on him, yet he was utterly unperturbed. That alone, in fact, was remarkable enough.

Just as Ranje's report had indicated, the man—who gave off a strangely Demonfolk air—made them uncomfortable with his mere presence. And as a result, the regimental commanders had shown not the slightest hesitation in radiating their aura.

It was behavior indistinguishable from a show of force, declaring that at the first suspicious move, swords would be drawn. It was a pressure that would have made most knights, subjected to it for any length of time, either demand to know if he was picking a fight or simply lose their nerve entirely. Yet the man remained utterly indifferent, as if he felt nothing at all. If anything, when his eyes happened to meet Raynel's—whose glare had been utterly venomous for some time—he even furrowed his brow as if to say, the hell are you staring at?

Alt could state with certainty: this was not behavior one casually displayed while surrounded by four people who prided themselves on standing at the very edge of Aura Expert. Unable to gauge just how skilled the man truly was, Alt decided to hear him out further.

"You're saying you have actually used this method to neutralize a fortress wall?"

"I used it when confronting Count Mekelin's territory in the Kaldar Kingdom, in the western region."

At the wandering knight's answer, everyone except Margrave of Levien tilted their heads. Hadn't that phrasing been a bit... off? Confronting a count's 'territory'?

His thoughts nearly ground to a halt once more, but Alt barely collected himself and asked back calmly.

"You took part in a war?"

"It was a duel."

"...With this, Count Mekelin?"

"He was the ultimate objective, but due to various circumstances, I challenged the entire county to a duel. I naturally had to fight my way in from outside the walls. The method I mentioned is one I employed firsthand at that time."

Was he joking right now?

"Are you joking right now? Or are you mocking us?"

For a split second, Alt had feared his own inner thoughts had slipped out of his mouth without his realizing it. It was only when he saw Raynel—face flushed red and contorted—move that he registered those words had been his. But this time, the story he had just been told was far too shocking for him to even think to point out Raynel's insolence. His mind was reeling.

The other regimental commanders likewise regarded the wandering knight's statement as nothing short of an insult, just as Raynel had. Naturally, everyone's expressions (Ranje, once again, was excluded from this) soured in tandem. Yet the wandering knight remained as brazen as ever.

"I am not idle enough to throw around jokes on a battlefield. What, precisely, is the problem? I am not asking you to do it. I am not asking your soldiers to do it. I will carry it out. And afterward, you carry out the planned tactics. Is that not the end of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠matter?"

"Ha... ha! Do you take the battlefield so lightly? A single fool running wild can shatter morale and turn the entire tide—why in the hell should we take on such a risk?"

Sadly, it could hardly be called an exaggeration—it was, in fact, surprisingly common on the frontlines. Though of course, more often than not, it wasn't a genuine fool running wild that caused the problem, but rather the morale-crushing reality of a powerful warrior everyone had relied upon and believed in dying a meaningless death.

Raynel himself had once nearly lost an entire battalion under his command to a similar incident, and so he was more sensitive to it than most. The same held true for the others, who shared the experience of nearly seeing their entire formation torn open, the tide nearly reversed. They silently sided with Raynel, and the air in the command post grew heavier and heavier.

But the wandering knight remained unbothered. If anything, he even smiled.

"Well, now. Taking the battlefield lightly—I wouldn't know about that. But as for what effect shattering morale has, I'd say I understand it every bit as well as all of you. Tell me—if some mad bastard you'd never seen nor heard of suddenly challenged your entire city to a duel, scaled the walls, lopped off your knights' heads, and hacked apart every soldier within arm's reach the moment he got his hands on them... do you truly imagine morale would have remained intact?"

The sneer practically dripped with the implication: surely you could have deduced that much on your own. At this, veins bulged on Raynel's forehead, and his hand shot up to point in fury.

"With those kinds of bullshit lies—"

This time, the behavior clearly crossed the line, and Alt moved to react—

"I'm stepping in since the brigade commander seems too deep in thought to respond in time, but watch that mouth of yours. You have already crossed the line. Multiple times."

The wandering knight's reaction was faster.

The smile that had lingered on his face just moments ago vanished in an instant. As Raynel faltered at the abrupt shift—as if the expression had never existed at all—the man continued speaking.

"I acknowledge the absolute hell you've been through in the war against the Demonfolk. And I find that sense of duty admirable in its own way. That's why I've been letting it slide. But the very moment some regimental commander brat opened his mouth and addressed the Margrave as though questioning whether she was in her right mind—from that moment on, you had no leg to stand on even if you got killed for it. Do you take the kingdom's laws for a joke?"

"What...?"

"Publicly, the supreme commander of this expedition is not the brigade commander. It is Her Excellency Margrave of Levien."

Unlike Raynel, who looked utterly dumbfounded as if he couldn't fathom what any of this had to do with anything, Alt felt a cold chill snaking down his spine.

Damn it all. So this was what the report had meant by justification...!

"Your behavior is clear-cut mutiny against the supreme commander, you son of a bitch."

The moment the words left his mouth, the wandering knight slapped Raynel clean across the face. Even the regimental commanders, who had been strung tight with tension, were too slow to react—Raynel took the palm strike square and toppled backward. But the wandering knight was already looking at Alt as if none of it merited even a flicker of concern.

"Since you don't seem to be aware, I'll add this as well... I am a wandering knight who spoke directly with and joined this campaign for the express purpose of assisting Supreme Commander Margrave of Levien. I am not formally integrated into this military. Nor am I a soldier under the Margrave's direct command. I stand here as an independent force and commander—which naturally means I am participating in this conference with the full, legitimate voice a commander is entitled to exercise."

Staring at Raynel, who was somehow struggling to his feet despite both the physical and psychological shock, Eldmia spat out his declaration as if grinding the words to dust between his teeth.

"To put it simply... when the people above your station are talking, a whelp who doesn't even rate doesn't get to keep butting his presumptuous ass in."