Chapter 529: Because Peace Had Lasted Too Long
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 529: Because Peace Had Lasted Too Long
"The Moonlight Elf Unit is a rather useful force," Barnas Hurier remarked out of nowhere.
His adjutant turned to look at him, wondering what had prompted such a sudden comment.
"I just feel like it’s a bit of a waste to use them like that."
The man known as Azpen’s ultimate weapon smacked his lips.
"In exchange, we were able to show the enemy scouts exactly what we wanted them to see."
It meant they had manipulated the enemy's movements to suit their own intentions from the very beginning.
"Yeah, exactly. Even if it’s a waste, you have to use what you have when the time comes. If you hoard your assets for too long, they just go to waste."
The adjutant didn't know why he was bringing this up now.
As the adjutant stared blankly, Barnas smirked, his massive mouth twisting. He used the edge of his hand to chop through a branch covered in pointed leaves that was blocking his path.
He had struck it with nothing but his bare hand, yet the tough, living wood split cleanly with a sharp crack.
It was an impressive feat no matter how many times the adjutant saw it—one that he, a mere adjutant, could never hope to replicate. Of course, that was only natural, considering he hadn't even reached the level of an associate knight.
The adjutant’s talent did not lie in raw martial prowess. Instead, he knew how to command troops to handle threats that defied conventional logic.
In other words, he knew how to deal with knights.
Not that he could actually kill them or achieve anything decisive against them. Knights possessed a level of power often compared to a natural calamity. Thus, it was more accurate to say he knew how to endure them, rather than fight them.
"I hope those kids make it back alive," Barnas muttered again.
By his calculations, the Moonlight Elf Unit had a high probability of dying. They would either perish upon encountering the enemy, or they would bypass the main force and charge straight at the enemy's knights.
Barnas had sent them knowing this full well. Of course, the commander leading the Moonlight Elves was unaware. Not everyone stood on this battlefield out of a sense of duty; after all, they were closer to allies than subjects.
Because of that, he had used them somewhat carelessly.
The adjutant, who was also a commander in his own right, replied while watching his step.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
To him, it was a given they would return alive. The Moonlight Elf Unit was a force that could hardly be dismissed as a mere scouting party. If they were wiped out here, Azpen would be in a difficult position. This was a force borrowed through an alliance with the Moonlight Elf tribe; their total loss would cause immediate diplomatic friction.
The commander walked on, his feet digging into the dirt as he thought.
Untrodden ground was always a struggle to traverse, and this place was no exception. Although Naurilia had cleared out the monsters to create a passage for travel, it was a temporary measure; they hadn't paved a proper, solid road.
Since hunters didn't frequent the Pen-Hanil Mountains, there weren't even any small trails to follow. At best, they occasionally saw tracks left behind by demonic beasts or wild animals. It was a rugged path filled with jagged, protruding rocks and frequent steep slopes, making the march alone a grueling drain on their stamina.
The adjutant was grateful it was daytime. No matter how well-trained a unit was, marching through such terrain at night would have been a nightmare. If someone sprained an ankle, they couldn't exactly abandon them.
Fortunately, the rough path was gradually improving. The sharp, trap-like rocks were thinning out, and the slopes had leveled off—a sign they were nearing their destination.
"Just saying."
Hearing Barnas's voice again, the adjutant looked up.
The man was sometimes cruel, sometimes cold-hearted, yet from another perspective, he could be warm. A person rarely had only one side; it all depended on the angle from which you viewed them.
Barnas Hurier was such a man. And Abnayor was the same.
Abnayor was a man who cared for refugees and sent silver coins to orphanages housing children who had lost their parents to war. He played the role of a father for the fatherless, respected monks, and prayed with sincere devotion. He worked tirelessly for the kingdom, burning through his own lifespan to ensure its prosperity.
Yet, the strategy Abnayor had proposed for this war was a victory built upon the foundation of sacrifice. Azpen was not moving with just a small, elite force.
"Did you say this was originally a force prepared to challenge even the Empire?"
Barnas had sent the knights—Azpen's primary strength—to their designated positions. Thus, only his adjutant, the commander leading the accompanying unit, and a portion of their allied forces remained by his side.
"That is my understanding," the adjutant replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
He had been like this for a while. Barnas clicked his tongue in annoyance, but he didn't feel like scolding him. As Abnayor had stated and Barnas had agreed, these men were to be sacrifices. They would charge forward just to leave a single scratch on the enemy.
Though they didn't know how many knights Naurilia would send, Abnayor wanted a guaranteed victory. To ensure that, he relied on sheer numbers, deploying a massive army alongside the knights.
These men would die, and Barnas would write the word "victory" upon their corpses. That was Abnayor's strategy.
"Do you not trust me?" Barnas had once asked.
Abnayor had shaken his head and replied, "I only hope you will dispel my anxiety."
Because he had set the stage this way, Abnayor was certain of victory. He believed they could not lose. He had even deployed the forces originally meant to be held in reserve until after they swallowed Greenpearl. This was a trump card he had been preparing since before their previous defeat.
This time, there were no traps or schemes like the ones used to corner Encrid in the past. They would clash power against power—but first, they would wear down the enemy's strength.
It was a battle that staked their very fate, a bold investment. Deceiving men and sending them to the battlefield knowing they would all die was sheer madness. An ordinary strategist wouldn't even dare attempt it; they wouldn't even conceive of it. But Abnayor was no ordinary man.
After all, the line between a widely praised hero and a defeated idiot cursed by every passing child was always paper-thin. If he won, no one would criticize his boldness. In truth, even if they did, it wouldn't matter. By then, he would hold the power to silence such words.
"Nice weather," Barnas remarked as he reached the location Abnayor had calculated.
Beside him stood fifty heavy infantrymen, led by their commander. Every single one of them held a heavy, solid steel spear.
"Got anything to eat?"
The enemy had yet to arrive. Barnas began to fill his stomach, munching on bread and a few pieces of salted meat. Meanwhile, his troops prepared their armaments.
With the rhythmic clinking of metal, they donned their iron armor. Though the individual pieces varied, they were armed in a similar fashion: arming doublets reinforced with chainmail at the joints, layered with iron plates or additional mail.
If someone struck them with Will-infused blows, how many hits could they withstand? If it were Barnas himself, he was confident he could take them down one by one with a single strike each. If he went all out, he could easily slaughter them as they came.
But while the enemy was busy erasing these men one by one, what would happen if a wolf beastman who had become a knight long ago targeted their rear?
Wow, I'm being really underhanded.
But did that make it dishonorable? Not at all. Barnas was shameless, and that shamelessness firmly anchored his Will deep within his heart. He accepted this as a valid tactic. Therefore, he stood tall.
"Aren't you curious how we ended up fighting like this?"
Bored, Barnas addressed his adjutant again. The adjutant was no fool; he understood what was happening. What he didn't know was just how cold-hearted Abnayor could be. Or perhaps, he had followed along while knowing it deep down. Barnas didn't bother to ask. Whether he knew or not changed nothing, and it wouldn't do any good for the soldiers to overhear.
Barnas had asked for the reason behind the fight, and the commander spoke for the sake of this whimsical, stubborn, yet respected knight.
"It is because the Border Guard has grown too large."
If the Border Guard heard this, they would call it madness, but it wasn't wrong. Of course, since the Border Guard was a city and had no mouth to speak, the one who would actually call it crazy was Krais.
On the current continent, skirmishes never ceased, but major battles were rare. A considerable amount of time had passed in this state of relative stability. While only localized skirmishes took place, Naurilia had made a self-destructive move. Thanks to the actions of Count Molsen, a nation that had historically boasted significant power was now on the verge of tearing itself apart.
So, everyone had been content to sit back and watch. If Naurilia collapsed into chaos, not only Azpen but every other nation would have made their move. This lull had lasted for decades.
Had everyone just been sitting idle? No. The outstanding figures among them had all "prepared."
For the coming era of war. For the storm that was bound to strike. For the moment of conflict that would consume the entire continent in flames. No one knew whether the trigger would be the Demon Realm or another nation, but they had prepared.
"Each nation has accumulated power. And when we speak of power..."
"Right, I'm sure I wasn't the only one raising knights, was I?" Barnas chimed in, playing the role of an excellent listener.
The adjutant nodded, tucking a helmet with an iron visor under his arm.
"The southern empire, of course, and even Kairos or the Theocracy would have advanced into the center if Naurilia had collapsed."
Such was the commander's prediction. Neither Barnas nor the commander was a prophet, but they perceived the facts clearly.
Yet, Naurilia—which should have been plundered and ruined by Count Molsen—had pulled off one reversal after another. The beginning of it was the Border Guard. The end of it was the Demon Slayer. They had displayed their martial might without reservation, and through that, an outstanding king was born.
Though various nations had tried to interfere, Naurilia had overcome everything. Those who had hoped for Molsen's success were left disappointed. If things continued, they would lose Greenpearl to the Border Guard and lose their momentum. Azpen’s national power would inevitably decline.
Thus, it was only natural for them to move now. Those who had prayed for Naurilia's downfall were still of one mind. The South would likely pick their annual fight to coincide with this period so the Red Cloak Knights could not withdraw. Kairos, to the northwest, would show similar movements, and even the Theocracy would lodge a protest.
Some of these were light threats, others merely annoying remarks, but Barnas judged that even that alone gave them an advantage.
Moreover, their strength is fully exposed.
Naurilia's hidden strength—or so it appeared to outsiders—had played its part, allowing others to gauge their capabilities. They fought well; that much was clear. However, they had shown too much of themselves. From Azpen's perspective, the enemy did not know them, but they knew the enemy.
That was why their strategy had shifted from minor skirmishes to an all-out assault. Of course, there was also the fact that Azpen had been humiliated and lost Greenpearl.
What would happen after they crushed the Border Guard? Only then would Naurilia hurriedly dispatch the Red Cloak Knights. By that time, Azpen would have swallowed Greenpearl whole. It would be the beginning of true war.
"Peace has lasted too long," Barnas remarked.
He casually spouted words that would make anyone who had lost loved ones to war curse his name. But from the perspective of continental affairs, he wasn't entirely wrong. Even the battle between Azpen and the Border Guard was not a large-scale war when viewed macroscopically.
Just as his stomach was comfortably full, a sharp whoosh-whoosh of cutting wind echoed from the bushes. Branches and pointed leaves rained down, and a rift seemed to open in the middle of the forest. Light filtered through the gap, illuminating two figures.
"Only two of you?" Barnas asked.
They had reached the designated battlefield—a spot where the undergrowth had been cleared to create space. Into this clearing stepped an elf and a human.
The human was a blonde man carrying a black greatsword. His appearance matched a description Barnas had heard before.
"Is it you? The Madman Murderer?"
At those words, the human turned his head toward the elf.
"What have you been going around killing?"
"He's talking to you, not me," Sinar replied, ignoring the human's confusion. "How foolish. To think you’d be insulted by a barbarian."
"Me?"
Sinar dismissed Ragna's words and looked forward. She saw a middle-aged beastman she had never seen before, one who resembled a dog. Since a beastman's youth lasted quite long, he might actually be elderly.
"An old dog?"
"You know how to run your mouth, too."
Barnas brushed off his backside, stood up, and pulled out his weapon. It was a claw—three sharp talons fixed to the back of his hand, secured by wrist straps and an iron guard extending to his elbow.
"My claws got pretty damaged from fighting when I was young."
Originally, he had fought barehanded, but ten years ago, he had lost two fingers to some Cypress bastard from the Red Cloak Knights. Since then, the claw had been his weapon of choice. Because using a mechanical claw instead of his own nails was secretly embarrassing, Barnas spoke as if making an excuse, though no one present could perceive his shyness.
"All units, raise spears!" the adjutant bellowed.
The human and the elf cast their gazes forward simultaneously. Their eyes, stripped of any humor, locked onto Barnas. They faced an enemy unit holding heavy spears as if to pierce the sky, and a single beastman who was clearly a knight.
"Are you a knight?" Barnas asked, thinking himself lucky. If there were only two of them here, the fight for his allies on the other side would be easy.
Instead of answering, the Madman Murderer raised his sword.
"This cheeky bastard," Barnas muttered with a chuckle. The man was definitely getting on his nerves.