The Facade of Defeat
The queen’s army reached the vicinity of Penswill as the sun began to dip toward the horizon.
“We will soon arrive at Penswill, Your Majesty. Since Tarcus Heywalden has illegally occupied it under the banner of the rebels, they will likely not welcome us.”
“Of course. Rats who only look after their own interests in the midst of war always behave that way.”
The queen spoke with open contempt.
Aiden Romanden bowed his head at her words and continued.
“Indeed. I suspect they received word of our approach rather late and are now frantically trying to reorganize their lines.”
“Will a siege be necessary?”
“Most likely. Ignoring them and pressing forward would be difficult. Penswill is a large fortress, and Heywalden’s forces are far too dangerous to leave at our backs.”
“That is true. By the same logic, a siege will not be easy either… but—”
The queen added a caveat.
“The castle will not be perfectly defended. Tarcus Heywalden must have suffered considerable losses just to capture it.”
“Your insight is correct.”
Aiden nodded.
The queen studied the map for a moment, then nodded in return.
“Then the conclusion is simple. Upon reaching Penswill, we will crush Tarcus Heywalden. Reorganize the troops.”
The march halted that evening on a hill overlooking Penswill Castle.
High walls.
Blackened traces of fire.
And the banner of House Heywalden flying above them.
From this vantage, the signs of large-scale repairs were unmistakable. Freshly reinforced wooden barriers, outer walls, and hastily built defensive towers rose awkwardly across the structure.
“It looks like a garment crudely stitched back together by rough hands,” Aiden remarked.
The queen nodded in agreement.
The castle bears clear signs of recent, hasty repairs. Its defenses are patchwork at best. A siege at this moment would be advantageous.
“If a siege is unavoidable, now is the most favorable time.”
Yet in truth, Queen Alena’s calculations reached far beyond that.
“Still, we have neither battering rams nor catapults.”
At those words, Aiden Romanden lowered his head.
“The march was too forced. The siege engines remain in Myrdin, along with the bulk of our supplies…”
“That is excellent.”
Alena smiled instead.
Her smile was sharp—beautiful and cold, like a rose covered in thorns.
“It gives them sufficient reason to believe we will not attempt a siege.”
She immediately issued orders to the soldiers.
“Prepare the ladders and scale the walls. Position the assault troops at the front, supported by shield-bearers. We attack at once.”
“…Your Majesty, that is far too dangerous. Penswill Castle is—”
Her army possessed no siege weapons whatsoever.
The hurried march and constant attrition had left them without proper supplies, let alone battering rams or catapults.
Yet they could not retreat now.
Reinforcing the defenses would take time, and time was currently the enemy’s greatest weapon.
“What matters is momentum. Press them with sheer momentum. Today, we will climb that wall.”
It was not a suggestion. It was a command.
That afternoon, the horns of advance sounded.
Despite the lack of siege equipment, the order was to scale the walls with ladders at dawn the next day.
No one questioned it.
The queen had remained undefeated in every battle thus far, and her momentum remained unbroken.
At dawn, the sound of trumpets pierced the air. Soldiers moved through thick fog.
The vanguard carrying ladders charged forward, and arrows soon began to fly.
“For the queen!”
“Myrdin! Myrdin!”
Soldiers reached the base of the wall and began climbing, one by one, then two by two.
A fierce battle soon unfolded atop the ramparts.
The attackers climbed relentlessly amid chaotic war cries.
The defense of Penswill was ferocious.
Yet momentum, just as the queen had said, created something astonishing.
Several times, their banners nearly planted themselves upon the walls.
When the front line broke through and a concrete breach began, the defenders felt true panic.
But at the decisive moment, the allied forces—without reinforcements—were gradually pushed back.
The momentum faltered, and the battle atop the wall inevitably turned against the outnumbered attackers.
In the end, at Aiden Romanden’s judgment, the order to “retreat” was given.
A miserable scream rang out from somewhere.
“We’ve been defeated!”
The army withdrew outside the castle.
The wounded and those struck by arrows were tangled together. Some soldiers had lost their lives.
No one suspected that the day’s assault had been a feigned defeat.
The attack had been so desperate, the near-victory so agonizingly close, that the loss felt painfully real.
Alena stood motionless, gazing down at the battlefield.
When Roen quietly brushed the dust from her collar, the queen spoke in a very small voice.
“Now they will be drunk on victory.”
“But will it truly be that easy?”
Roen sounded slightly doubtful.
The queen shook her head.
“I told Aiden that the most important thing in this battle is momentum, Roen.”
With those words,
the queen gave a chilling smile.
“To soldiers drunk on the momentum of victory, nothing else is visible. I guarantee it.”
The queen’s words were true.
Beyond the walls, Tarcus Heywalden’s soldiers were cheering in triumph at having repelled the assault.
“Even with superior numbers, without siege weapons they’re useless. Ha!”
“It’s the queen’s greed. After Iredain fell so easily, she grew reckless.”
They laughed heartily atop the gatehouse.
But their laughter did not last long.
Strangely, a small force had been climbing the collapsed section of wall near the gate, and a separate small mobile unit had already quietly moved along the moat, infiltrating through the wall’s vulnerabilities.
Heywalden’s army, believing the enemy’s lines had collapsed after the failed siege, could not properly establish a defensive line amid the chaos.
Soldiers pouring in from all directions like ambushes soon turned the fight into brutal street-to-street combat inside the castle.
The queen had perfectly memorized Penswill’s layout in advance.
The collapsed gate tower. The poorly defended northeast wall. The weak stone foundation where the roads connected.
From the beginning, she had never intended a siege—she had lured them into urban warfare.
By the time the sun climbed high overhead, the castle had fallen.
Alena stood before the gate covered in enemy corpses and slowly lifted her gaze to the walls.
There was no blood or tears in her eyes. In those cold blue irises, there was only one thing—
“See? It turned out exactly as I said.”
After that day, Penswill no longer bore the name of Tarcus Heywalden.
The fortress had become a symbol of death and stratagem beneath the queen’s banner.
A little while earlier, while the battle was still raging.
Bella knelt beside another wounded soldier, holding blood-stained bandages.
“Please stay still. If you drink the poppy extract, you’ll feel a little more comfortable.”
Her movements were not quick, but they were careful.
Whenever she wrung out a cloth soaked in cold water and placed it on a wound, she would always whisper softly.
“Just endure it a little longer. You’ll get better soon.”
The wounded soldiers gritted their teeth, relying on the warmth of her small hands.
But not everyone was like that.
“You smell nice, miss.”
Bella nearly dropped the bandage she was holding.
When she turned around, a knight with disheveled hair was looking down at her.
His shoulder to elbow was wrapped in bandages, but his hand was fine.
He lifted the hem of his clothes between his legs—not the injured area—and smirked.
“Instead of bandages, why don’t you wrap something else for me?”
“…I am in the middle of treating patients.”
Bella turned her head away with effort.
The man narrowed his eyes and stepped closer.
“So you’re saying you won’t treat me?”
He tapped the hilt of the sword at his waist and moved to her side.
Bella stepped back, clutching the edge of the bandage.
Her hands were trembling, but she tried to ignore it.
However, the man reached out mockingly and grabbed her arm.
“Acting all refined for a mere maid. I don’t know who your master is, but he wouldn’t let such soft hands go to waste, would he?”
His grip tightened subtly as he pulled her wrist toward him.
They were behind a cart, hidden from the soldiers’ view. Bella tried to pull away in panic, but with only one free hand, it was difficult to escape.
“Please… stop.”
“Why? Are you scared? You know what happens after battle, don’t you? A man burns with unbearable heat. So if you could just—”
Before he could finish,
“Remove that hand, Sir Randen.”
The voice was ice-cold.
The knight froze with Bella’s wrist still in his grasp.
A chilling air sliced through the space.
The owner of the voice behind them was all too familiar.
“If you do not withdraw that hand, I will break it far worse than your injured arm.”
It was Emil.
He approached slowly.
His robe was caked with dirt and dust, and exhaustion darkened his eyes, but his gaze was crystal clear.
A cold, golden gaze cut through the battlefield haze like a blade of judgment.
“P-Priest… sir…”
Bella barely managed to speak.
Emil did not even glance at the knight. He simply wrapped her wrist with careful fingers and said,
“Are you hurt?”
“…No.”
“Good. Step back for a moment. You’ll soon hear a pig squealing, so cover your ears well.”
Emil gently coaxed her aside, then finally turned his gaze toward the knight.
“My, my. Your foul mouth remains as uneducated as ever, Sir Randen. I suppose you learned it from your mother who works in the brothel?”
“Priest Emil… It seems receiving the queen’s favor has made you far too bold. This is a battlefield. Sir Aiden is not here to protect you.”
Sir Randen ground his teeth at the insult and reached for his sword hilt.
“Do you understand now? Even if you die here, Her Majesty will simply see it as an unfortunate accident during war.”
“Ah, of course I understand perfectly.”
Emil nodded with a slightly awkward expression,
but the knight mistook it for fear and grew even more arrogant, issuing threats.
“Then kneel immediately and beg for my forgiveness. Apologize for insulting me. After that, I’ll have to fuck that woman beside you. You can stand there and just shake that pathetic little cock of yours—”
He could not finish the sentence.
Emil had kicked him squarely in the jaw.
With a sickening crack, the knight collapsed.
Emil immediately drew the sword from the man’s waist and pointed the tip at the fallen knight.
“I understood very well, Sir Randen. The fact that even if you die here, no one will hold me responsible.”
“Kuh, you— you priest bastard… How dare you… you’ll never get away with—”
Emil drove the blade straight into the bandaged part of his arm.
Just before a horrific scream could escape,
Emil stomped on the man’s mouth with his boot.
“Shh, shh. You must stay quiet, Sir Randen. Your arm wound is festering. Oh dear, I’ll have to cut it off.”
Then Emil began slowly twisting the embedded blade, carving off the knight’s wildly thrashing arm while he was still alive.
“Krrgh, kuhk! Mmph— mmph—!”
“Good heavens. It seems it wasn’t just the arm that was festering. There’s something even more hideous here, Sir Randen.”
Emil pulled the sword free and slowly traced the blade along the man’s groin before plunging it into the center.
“Grrraaagh—!”
Sir Randen—or perhaps it should now be called Lady Randen?—screamed at the loss between his legs.
Emil laughed cheerfully.
“Look at this. It’s as small and ugly as a boil. Surely that tiny thing couldn’t have been a penis… Don’t worry. I’ve already cut it off for you.”
“Krrgh— huu— huuuk!”
“You’re thanking me? No need. It is a priest’s duty to serve all mankind. Ah, but the most hideous thing still remains, doesn’t it?”
Still smiling brightly, Emil raised the sword once more
and drove it into the man’s throat.
“—!”
Without even a final death rattle,
Sir Randen’s life was severed.
Or rather, his battle wound had festered and he had died.
What a tragic affair.
Emil observed a moment of silence,
then approached Bella, who was curled up and trembling in the corner, and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“…Eek! P-Priest, sir.”
Her shoulder trembled so violently it was visible beneath his hand.
Emil did not withdraw his hand. He waited patiently until she lifted her face.
“It’s me.”
At those words, she barely managed to raise her head, but quickly lowered her gaze again.
“…I’m sorry.”
The small sound barely escaped her lips.
“I’m truly sorry. It was because of me. If I hadn’t been here, Priest, you wouldn’t have had to…”
She looked as if she was desperately trying not to cry.
“…I should have prevented something like this from happening. Because of me…”
Emil gazed at her for a long time before finally answering softly.
“None of this is your fault, Bella.”
His voice was low and calm.
There was no excitement, no reproach. It simply settled over her like a breeze upon still water.
Emil smiled.
“Right. We’ll have to add a name to the casualty list.”
The air was still too heavy for jokes, but at least it gave her trembling lips room to breathe.
“‘Sir Randen, died from a festering battle wound.’ We’ll write it exactly like that.”
Bella stared at him blankly for a moment, then let out a deep breath.
She shrugged her shoulders and gave a small laugh.
“Where exactly was the festering wound, Priest…?”
“In a very embarrassing place. It was once a part he treasured greatly, but sadly, there’s not even a trace of it left now.”
Emil spoke with a straight face. Bella couldn’t hold back her laughter and covered her mouth.
Even so, her fingertips were still trembling, so Emil gently placed his hand over hers.
“Priest… thank you…”
Emil nodded at her words.
“Now, we must write the list. ‘Sir Randen, died from a festering battle wound.’ You must write it exactly like that.”
“Yes… Priest.”
At Emil’s joke,
Bella nodded with a small, genuine smile.