Chapter 523: What Is Honor?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 523: What Is Honor?
Why must we wage war?
To say such a question had never crossed his mind would be a lie.
Why must we kill?
Why must we die?
"If you've chosen to live by the sword, shouldn't you naturally be prepared to die? Any bastard only thinking about saving his own skin has no business calling himself a warrior."
So said a loyal mercenary.
"If they wish to meet God, we merely send them on their way."
So said a priest of the God of War.
Everyone had their own reasons.
Of course, among them, some swung their swords without a single thought, while others simply followed orders.
"Swinging a sword is the only thing I know how to do."
There were also highly talented monsters who spoke like that.
On the other hand...
"I do it for this. What else is there to say?"
...said someone, gesturing the shape of a coin with their thumb and index finger.
"To prove myself through slaughter! No other reason is needed!"
He had even seen a giant shouting this on the battlefield.
"There is a heat that rises in the midst of war. That heat alone is proof that I am alive."
Who said that again? Ah, yes. Those were Frok's words.
A man like Frok was always chasing after something, whether a desire or a goal, so it was only natural for him to say such a thing.
"I fight because they come at me."
There was also a beastman who took a passive stance toward combat.
Encrid had seen so many people. He had fought by their sides, nearly died by their hands, and—thanks to the curse of repeating today—he had actually died. Conversely, he had reached the present by striking down every opponent in his path.
So, why do we wage war?
He didn't know.
From the perspective of those in power, the purpose might be clear. For instance, to expand their territory. To possess more.
On a continent where urbanization was forced by the presence of monsters and demonic beasts, a growing population inevitably led to problems. There would be a shortage of food, clothing, and living space. Thus, those in power had to fill what was lacking. They needed land with water, land good for farming—in other words, land where people could live and thrive.
But when they tried to step onto that land, the neighbor would say:
"Hey, that's my land."
To which the power-holder, in need of land, could only ask:
"Since when?"
"Since my father's father's father's time."
"I've never heard of that."
"Well, that's none of my business. It's my land."
"Hmm. Look, do you want to take a beating before you leave, or do you want to walk away quietly?"
"Are you looking for a fight?"
"Yeah."
"Bring it on, you son of a bitch."
Even if actual curses weren't exchanged, wasn't this roughly how the conversation went?
Now, when war broke out, did the ones who lost their tempers and cursed actually die? The kings or nobles holding power?
No, of course not.
The ones who actually died were the soldiers. Those under the command of the powerful. But should they resent those who started the war? He didn't know that either.
The only truth Encrid knew and understood well was that if you stepped forward holding a piece of iron, you had to be prepared to die.
If you hated that, you should have shaved your head clean, become a monk, and spent your days dodging public eyes to harass women or secretly wetting your throat with wine behind the temple. And if you hated even that, you should have quietly accepted your place as one to be plundered.
But when you're being plundered, isn't it only natural to want to fight back?
That, too, was natural.
It was impossible to know the reasons behind everything that happened in the world. That was why Encrid held his sword. Since he couldn't know the reason, he had no choice but to plunge in himself. Since words wouldn't work, he had to let his sword do the talking.
The Knight of the End of War.
The moment the bard's song reached his ears and took root in his heart, it became his dream. Now, a part of that dream had been realized.
So, what did he want to do after achieving it?
He had no desire to drive soldiers onto the battlefield and merely cheer while they all died.
Then, how should he fight?
A way to minimize casualties—that was what Encrid pondered. War and fighting might be inevitable, but he did not want to be dragged along by them. It wasn't that he would turn a blind eye to death, nor would he hesitate to kill. However, even if he couldn't deliver a single strike that would end all fighting right now, wasn't it right to move toward something close to it?
He still did not know if this path was right or wrong. Even after walking for a long time and looking back at the path he had trodden, judging right from wrong would be difficult.
For that was the nature of life. Even if one looked back at the path they had traveled, even if it was already the past, one could not fully know right from wrong. Yet, since there was no opportunity to walk a different path, once a choice was made, one could only move forward.
Encrid had to do so. And he wanted to.
"Azpen will not advance easily."
Before leaving, Krais explained everything he had prepared, piece by piece. It was a scheme disguised as strategy, but Krais himself simply called it a trick to deceive the opponent.
"How?" Encrid asked.
An oil lamp puffed out acrid smoke. It was evening, in an office they rarely used.
"What happens if you are walking through an open field and a wall suddenly blocks your path?"
"You leap over it, break it down, or go around it."
Krais was momentarily lost for words.
Right, the Captain is this kind of person.
He was a crazy bastard who would find a way no matter what.
"Normally, people stop. Especially if they know the wall blocking them is thick and solid, and that if they get close, a fist will fly out of the wall to strike them."
"If they know?"
"They will halt. They will stare at it or ponder right there. Or perhaps ponder while pretending to stare."
Did he really have to explain something so obvious? Krais did not think such things. It wasn't that Encrid was dense and pretending not to understand. This was, so to speak, like a conversational beat. Knowing this, Krais continued without losing his composure.
"If they stop, we buy time."
"And then?"
"Our main force will bypass them."
A map was spread across the office desk. The wide map showed the Pen-Hanil Mountains, along with several major cities and key strongholds. Krais placed his finger on the map and drew a line. The light from the lamp cast a long shadow of Krais's finger.
"Are you telling us to go around and strike their rear?"
Normally, anyone would have thought so. But it wasn't. Krais knew there was a sly creature of a man beyond Greenpearl.
The information gathered so far, Azpen's reactions, and the current situation—Krais put everything into his head, kneaded it, and baked it into bread. The freshly baked white bread spoke:
"There is someone in Azpen who employs the exact same kind of strategy. I am certain of it. Though we haven't explicitly promised to buy time, what we have tacitly agreed to uphold has become the rule."
Wondering what kind of nonsense this was when he had asked about striking the rear, Encrid stared blankly at Krais. The large eyes reflected in the lamplight held a flicker of anxiety.
Krais was always like this. He did not easily let his guard down just because he felt a sense of relief. To him, anxiety was like a limb—a finger or a toe. It was a part of his body, ever-present.
He was scared and terrified. The absolute worst-case scenario automatically replayed in his head. This time was no different. Krais agonized as usual.
What if my thoughts are wrong? What if the opponent doesn't move as intended? What if everything falls apart in the end? No, what if things go as planned but we still lose? What then? Should we just run away?
Though he had prepared means to escape just in case.
"Do you think it's cowardly?"
It was a few nights ago, when he was digging multiple burrows like a rabbit. Krais had asked Nurat, prepared to accept her criticism.
"Not at all," Nurat shook her head.
"Why?"
"Because you aren't the kind of person who would run away when it truly matters."
"I am going to run away, though."
"Sure, prepare for it. It puts your mind at ease, doesn't it?"
I really am going to run away, though.
Nurat didn't take his words seriously at all. Krais brushed aside the memory of that recent conversation and spoke again.
"It is an interception."
"Interception?"
"The tacit rule is this: we both say we want to fight, but we avoid a full-scale war. Instead, let's clash with our main forces—forces both you and I know well—and agree that whoever wins here wins the whole thing."
Though his eyes wavered with anxiety, a strange heat radiated from Krais as he spoke. Anxiety was merely the inside of his mask. It was a kind of faith born from having done everything possible to reduce variables. Winning or losing aside, it was a prediction that things would flow this way.
Well, he could be wrong, but Encrid fundamentally trusted Krais's predictions—or rather, his foresight. So he asked:
"So we just have to win?"
Interception meant meeting the attacking enemy and fighting them head-on.
"Yes. But if, by some chance—some chance, some chance, some chance—you think it's too disadvantageous or feel it's too dangerous, flee into the mountains."
"Who knows what kind of monsters are lurking inside the Pen-Hanil Mountains?"
The path Krais had drawn on the map bypassed the Pen-Hanil Mountains. It was rugged terrain and a path of the highest danger level that an ordinary commander would never enter. He had pointed out a path along the outskirts, yet he was telling them to go even deeper inside if things went south.
"Finn has led the ranger unit and secured a few safe paths. Of course, it doesn't guarantee absolute safety, but..."
"But?"
"Even in the worst-case scenario, you must pull back."
Krais was originally this kind of fellow. He had an obsession where he absolutely had to prepare by assuming the worst, no matter what.
"Right, sure."
There was no weight in Encrid's response. It was casual, no different from when he said the marmalade he ate the other day was delicious. That calm attitude was anxiety-inducing, but it also brought a small sense of relief.
A person who wouldn't run away at a crucial moment—Krais knew well that it wasn't himself, but the man before him. Encrid was not the type of man to run away or avoid danger just because it was risky. Honestly, Krais thought it was a miracle he had survived this long.
That was why, even when Encrid's skills had been no different from his own, Krais had risked his life to stand in front of him. Without realizing it, Krais had been influenced by that, and without realizing it, he was acting similarly to him. Because she was close to him, Nurat had noticed, but it was something others didn't really know.
"Was the opponent's strategist named Abnayor? It seems that fellow has stepped forward again."
Krais felt the limits of what he could achieve by merely sitting in the safe zone of his desk and racking his brains. So, he had personally entered the Pen-Hanil Mountains.
"Sinar, I have a favor to ask!"
He utilized the elf company commander, who was the commander-in-chief of the ranger unit, and moved the troops with Finn at the forefront.
"Do you know which blacksmith the Captain usually visits? What is the Captain's greatest interest these days?"
Though he was a man for whom swordsmanship and training were always the top priority, even within that, there were bound to be specific interests.
"Intriguing."
Sinar nodded without much difficulty. In this way, Krais used Encrid as bait to reel in Sinar. While ensuring safety inside the Pen-Hanil Mountains—a playground for demonic beasts—he personally surveyed the terrain and scouted the paths.
After that, he went out to Greenpearl and looked at the site that would become the new fortress city. He had envisioned three cities, but now the direction had shifted slightly: to having three fortresses within the great city of Greenpearl.
In time, it might be called Greenpearl, Guarded by Three Swords.
This would align with the symbol of the nation of Naurilia, planting a firm perception in the minds of the people, not just representing practical power. The three swords that protected the royal family. The three cities that protected Greenpearl. Didn't they feel somewhat similar?
When he told Esther that he wanted to engrave protection spells on the three fortresses, she had told him something. She said that in magic and spells, people's perception was also important. The transformation of the city's structure had begun with that single remark of hers.
Of course, all of this was for later. For now, blocking Azpen's attack came first.
"We must eliminate as much of the enemy's force as possible. They will likely be of knight-level strength."
As Krais spoke, his eyes were still filled with anxiety. There was no need to erase that anxiety with words, nor could he. For his obsession was not something that could be erased so easily.
So Encrid thought.
"Understood."
He felt he understood the reason why they had to eliminate the knights and intercept the enemy. While threatening a full-scale war, they would avoid it and instead send a small force around the back to fight. It would likely be a battle with no onlookers, one that no bard would ever sing of.
But did that make it dishonorable?
Pushing aside his conversation with Krais, Encrid gave the order to march and now stood at the entrance of the Pen-Hanil Mountains. Gazing at the peaks, Encrid looked upon the path he would walk.
What is honor?
It was something decided by one's own heart. If useless sacrifices could be reduced because of this... that alone would be honorable enough.
Above all, he quite liked the strategy Krais had chosen—the method of minimizing casualties.
*
Krais guided the opponent's thoughts in a certain direction. To achieve this, he subtly leaked information into enemy territory.
Now, look. I've figured out your scheme. So come at me.
Krais manipulated the information, and Abnayor naturally noticed it. Should he twist things once more and look for another path? Out of the question. It was a path through the Pen-Hanil Mountains. The opponent had cleared the monsters and demonic beasts from that path, presenting an easy way to travel. So, what should he do?
Originally, he had intended to see through the opponent's intentions and outmaneuver them. But what if his strategy had been read? Getting angry here wouldn't change anything, so he had to act according to the altered situation.
"It seems the enemy is coming out to greet us."
Abnayor spoke to the beastman general in a calm manner, then added:
"Please win."
Words hold power. Words hold magic. There were such sayings. There was also something dwelling in Abnayor's words now: faith and trust. It was the exact opposite of the anxiety Krais had shown.
One side held anxiety; the other, faith. Who, indeed, was right?
Naturally, the one who won would be right.
"Yes, this is how it should be."
The beastman general laughed instead. He wanted to meet this fellow—whether he was a demon slayer or a crazy murderer. If he had to choose between the two, he wanted to see the crazy murderer bastard who had dared to cross the border and kill two associate knights.
He was curious to see what kind of face he had.