Chapter 138
Chapter 138
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 138
Chapter Title: 44. Fish in Water, or a Foal Off the Leash (1)
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Burk Bertin, the old lord overseeing the southwestern reaches of Dotrin, had originally been a man assured of a comfortable retirement.
His territory was stable, his vassals loyal, and his successor reliable.
It was a life anyone would envy, yet the man himself suffered from chronic lethargy.
By his own reckoning, he was a warrior. An unlucky one, born in the wrong era.
He had devoted his life to the sword, only to age into an old soldier without ever drawing it in true battle.
What a hollow existence.
That emptiness had likely driven him. When word arrived that the Empire had declared war on Dotrin, he had packed up without a moment's hesitation and marched to the front lines, leaving everything behind.
And as expected, he found purpose on the battlefield.
His wrinkled skin remained unchanged, but vitality surged through his veins.
It felt as if he'd reclaimed his lost youth.
The war situation worsened by the day, and the fortress couldn't even guarantee tomorrow.
Yet he had never once regretted his decision.
Even when the king declared no reinforcements would come, he simply resolved to bury his bones in the fortress.
The walls would fall soon enough, but not before he piled them high with imperial corpses. He had no doubt it would be an end without regrets.
It didn't take long to realize that such thoughts were the petty desires of a wretched old man.
Boom!
Dozens of fiery streaks slammed into the fortress.
"Ugh..."
A young soldier huddled in terror, hands clamped over his ears.
"It... hurts..."
A soldier scorched by magical flames wept dry tears before breathing his last.
"Mommy..."
"I don't want to die. I don't want to die."
The walls were filled with soldiers cowering and sobbing.
Burk Bertin strode toward the battlements with a hardened expression.
Soldiers pinned beneath collapsed rubble screamed for salvation at the sight of the old commander.
He cleared the debris with his own hands.
"Excellency! It's dangerous! Fall back!"
The loyal old knights who had followed him from his domain shouted in alarm.
But he ignored them and kept digging.
"Just hold on a bit longer."
"Th-thank you, Excellency..."
A soldier with his lower body crushed expressed his gratitude in a feeble voice.
Boom.
Another barrage of imperial magic rained down from above.
Rumble.
A boulder crashed onto the unnamed soldier the old commander had been trying to free from the rubble.
"Excellency!"
The knights rushed in a step too late, pulling him away.
The old commander gazed at the limp hand of the fallen soldier. That mangled remnant was all that remained.
He looked around.
"You bastards, stop this!"
A soldier who had been clearing debris to save a comrade unleashed a curse amid sobs. Others stared blankly at the wreckage, faces drained of hope.
Atop the walls, terrified soldiers shook as enemy spells exposed them mercilessly to death.
"Where are our mages?"
"They're barely holding the gate."
The old commander squeezed his eyes shut.
Where had it all gone wrong?
Was it arrogant to dream of dying in battle for the kingdom as a knight?
Should he have retreated when the Empire first encircled the fortress, no matter the cost?
A torrent of regrets swirled in his mind.
But there was no time for reflection.
Screams and shouts echoed from every direction. Beyond the walls came the relentless drumbeat of the advancing enemy.
Once this horrific barrage ended, the imperial forces would arrive. Embittered by repeated defeats, those vultures would scale the walls to tear into Dotrin's exhausted troops.
The old commander snapped his eyes open.
He drew his sword and climbed to the battlements.
From above, the dire state of the battle laid bare.
Half-ruined ramparts from ceaseless magical bombardment, endless volleys of arrows pouring down, allied archers too cowed to even peek out, much less return fire. Exhaustion and despair etched every face, the end closing in like a tangible force.
The old commander thought to himself.
Even if luck held and they survived the day, the fortress's fate was sealed.
For the first time, the word "end" truly surfaced in his mind.
He shook his head fiercely and glared ahead.
Thoom, thoom.
Drums pounded from all sides as endless dark shadows surged toward the burning fortress.
He snatched a bow from an archer cowering below the wall.
Pulled the string taut and released.
Twang.
One imperial soldier crumpled.
He loosed another arrow.
Another fell.
Arrows hammered his armor even as he fired.
He didn't falter.
To thin their numbers by even one, he drew and released without pause.
Inspired by their commander's defiance, archers rose from hiding spots across the wall.
"Argh!"
The enemy seized the moment, unleashing a fresh hail of arrows that felled many.
But more still managed to return fire.
Twang, twang.
The first proper counterattack since the magic barrage began.
Yet even united, the wall's archers couldn't slow the enemy's advance.
Suddenly, the arrow storm ceased.
Fortress archers leaned out en masse, unleashing a volley.
But their window was brief.
Ladders hooked the walls, grapples bit in.
Imperials began clambering up.
Infantrymen swung axes to sever grapples. Knights channeled mana to shove ladders away.
Still, they couldn't stop the climbers.
Archers dropped bows for spears and swords, slashing desperately at foes cresting the parapets.
Clang.
But the enemy atop the wall parried their strikes effortlessly.
Heads rolled in an instant.
"Enemy knights!"
Someone shouted too late.
Blade flashes erupted.
The fortress knights charged to repel the imperials.
But Dotrin's knights, drained of stamina and mana, couldn't push them back. Holding on was their limit.
More enemy knights gained the wall.
Fortress knights fought desperately, often two or more foes to one.
They couldn't even aid the infantry.
Survival was struggle enough.
The old commander fared no better.
Enemy knights encircled him. His domain's veteran knights fought fiercely to protect him, but they were outnumbered.
A lifelong comrade and loyal knight took a blade to the back and collapsed. Another, who had griped endlessly about being the baby of the group for decades, joined late and tumbled from the wall with a sword in his chest.
"Excellency, fall back."
A bloodied knight urged retreat.
"Fall back to where?"
Instead, the old commander gripped his sword tighter, steeling his resolve.
It wasn't the glorious end he'd hoped for, but he'd meet it fighting on the walls as planned.
He discarded his helmet and scabbard.
Gripping his sword two-handed, he carved through the battlements.
His swordsmanship, honed since boyhood, lacked the talent for Quad Chain, but he was no weakling. At its peak, his blade severed imperial knights' necks in succession.
"Drive them back!"
Inspired, his knights summoned their last strength to push. Soldiers clung to foes, aiding the effort, heedless of death.
The stubborn resistance forced enemy knights to withdraw one by one.
"Huff... huff..."
The old commander caught his breath, surveying the wall.
Few enemies remained atop. The fortress had somehow held—for now.
But that judgment proved premature.
Boom!
The wall shuddered with a thunderous roar.
Screams followed.
"The gate's breached!"
He sought the mages.
They'd held until mana backlash knocked them unconscious.
"Half stay on the wall. The rest, with me to the gate!"
He rallied knights and raced to the breach.
In that short time, the gate defenders were nearly annihilated.
Elite heavy infantry, far superior in arms, training, and morale—yet they scattered like conscripts.
It was inevitable.
No infantry, however skilled, could face knights.
Least of all those wielding aura blades—knights among knights.
His ornate armor set him apart: an imperial paladin massacring the heavies.
"You scum!"
The paladin, who cleaved two heavies with one stroke, turned at the old commander's roar.
His eyes gleamed from within the helm.
The paladin cut through more as he advanced on the old commander.
"Excellency! Get clear!"
Knights blocked his path, shouting.
"Clear to where?!"
The old commander set his sword resolutely, glaring at the paladin.
He ordered the remaining troops to regroup, break the encirclement, and escape. The knights refused.
But he was firm.
Reluctantly, they peeled away, scattering.
Only his domain's old knights remained.
"Why haven't you gone?"
"We've lived long enough. Where would we go?"
"We'll buy time for the young ones to flee, then follow."
The veterans replied flatly to the old commander.
Their voices held transcendent calm.
Realizing his old comrades had embraced death, he abandoned persuasion.
"We can ignore the rest, but that paladin must be stopped."
"Dunno if these old bones can manage, but we'll give it a shot."
"Who knows? Maybe he's as decrepit as us."
They exchanged ill-timed jests, steeling for battle.
The paladin strode forward. Allied archers loosed arrows in unison from the wall, but not a scratch landed. Unfazed, he reached the old commander.
"We'll go ahead and hold him."
A dozen veterans charged as one.
Seasoned blade work poured toward the paladin.
But he was beyond seasoned—perfected.
The old knights crumbled helplessly.
Ten, eight, seven, five, four.
Six lay cold in seconds.
The remaining three exchanged glances, cautiously encircling.
The paladin ignored them, eyes fixed on the old commander.
A low voice emanated from the helm.
"Speak Dotrin, you cur, now that you're in Dotrin."
The veterans rebuked him.
The paladin prattled on undeterred.
The old commander pieced it together from his rudimentary imperial tongue, learned in youth.
The paladin urged surrender.
"No need to shame myself in old age."
He replied in clumsy imperial—whether it came out right, who knew.
But seeing the paladin reignite his faded aura blade, he knew his resolve had been understood: death before dishonor.
The paladin raised his sword.
The old knights lowered stances, gathering sword auras.
Clash.
The paladin moved.
Ignoring the subordinates, he lunged straight for the old commander, who swung fiercely in response.
The paladin slashed.
His effortless stroke, stride unbroken, sheared away decades of honed power.
The paladin surged in. A gauntleted fist replaced the sword, hurtling toward his face.
"Not a chance!"
Still intent on capture, eh? The old commander bellowed, drawing and swinging his waist dagger.
And in that instant,
Thud.
Incredibly, the paladin's hand severed clean off.
Even the old commander, who had swung the dagger, stared in stunned disbelief.
"Gah!"
The paladin clutched his spurting stump and staggered back.
The old commander alternated between his bloodless dagger and the paladin.
Not a drop on his blade.
Yet blood gushed from the paladin's hand.
He soon understood why.
His dagger hadn't done it.
A sword pierced the blood-sprinkled ground. Crimson dripped from its edge.
"Are you the one in charge here?"
A voice called out.
The old commander turned.
A man approached through the gate, as if materialized from nowhere.
Fierce blade flashes raged nearby, yet he strolled casually, like on a leisurely walk.
Helm revealing only below the nose, commonplace leather armor, a crude sword gripped loosely.
Meeting the eyes glinting from the helm, the old commander nodded unconsciously.
"Right place, then."
White teeth flashed beneath the helm.
The man picked up the embedded sword, shook off the blood, and held a blade in each hand.
"Heard you're prepping to retreat. Think you can punch through the siege?"
"Can't promise, but we've no other choice."
"Then scrap the retreat."
The old commander frowned.
The mysterious man pressed on regardless.
"The fortress won't fall today."
His voice rang with uncanny conviction, and hearing it, it suddenly felt true.
An unfamiliar sensation.
Forgetting the chaos, curiosity gripped him about the man's identity.
"Who in the world are you to—"
As he asked, the man cleared his throat with a hem-hem.
Then, erupting with strands of aura blade, he bellowed,
They were the reinforcements from the capital, he claimed.