Chapter 189
Chapter 189
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 189
Chapter Title: 59. Requiem for Her (2)
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The young legion commander flinched back.
I didn't give a damn. I kept my eyes fixed on him.
The info floating above his head drilled right into my vision.
Malcoy de Marseille, 34 years old.
The last royal of the fallen Marseille Kingdom.
His physical abilities were on par with any average knight, but his aptitude and talent for strategy, tactics, and leadership as a commander were more than enough to handle tens of thousands of troops.
The more I looked, the more I wanted him.
The kingdom was full of outstanding knights. But there wasn't a single commander capable of leading them.
The current Marquis of Billefeld served as Field Marshal, but he fell short.
I acknowledged the old marquis's administrative prowess.
But his abilities stemmed from his years as a great noble and his experience as an administrator, not from any innate military genius.
Vincent, who at least had a knack for defense, was stuck at Winter Fortress.
The Iron Lion Knight Order's leader was a knight whose political insight outshone his military talent.
The rest of the kingdom's knights and nobles were all middling at best.
And now, right in front of me, a commander worthy of leading our forces had appeared.
It would have been weirder if I didn't want him.
On top of that, this young legion commander had virtually no loyalty to the Empire.
He harbored hatred for it instead.
I couldn't fathom how someone like him had ended up as an Imperial legion commander.
If the justification and rewards were right, recruiting him would be a breeze. I immediately proposed that he join the kingdom's army.
Promising treatment befitting a legion commander.
And Malcoy de Marseille...
"No."
Rejected my offer flat-out.
Malcoy de Marseille had watched his homeland fall at the tender age of thirteen. He spent fifteen long years as a prisoner before finally meeting the Second Prince at twenty-eight.
For him, prison life in the kingdom was nothing new.
Of course, that didn't mean his body wasn't worn down.
He didn't even need to think back to the luxuries he'd enjoyed under the Imperial prince's patronage. Even during his imprisonment, he'd received fairly lavish treatment—no restraints on his freedom, living like any noble.
But prison in the kingdom was different.
Far from lavish, the single daily meal was abysmal. The cramped cell got only faint light from a narrow window. He couldn't take a single step outside.
It was cold. He was hungry. Everything was uncomfortable.
Yet despite all that, he didn't think his current lot was so bad.
At least here, no one treated him like an animal in a cage. No one forced him to attend unwanted banquets as a victor's trophy and sing hollow praises of their mercy and magnanimity.
At least mentally, life in the kingdom prison was peaceful.
His only worry was whether the lowliest foot soldiers under him—excluding himself, Percival, and the other officers—were enduring even worse conditions.
Vice Commander Percival clicked his tongue. "This isn't the time to worry about others."
"The fortress atmosphere is off. Discipline is razor-sharp, overly so. Feels like the Empire stirred something up to turn the kingdom inside out. They might take it out on us."
Percival was right.
From the knight guarding them, he'd heard how the Imperial army had raided the capital. The queen had been sacrificed in the process, and countless others had died.
No time to worry about others, just as his vice commander said.
If the kingdom wanted to vent, commanders like him would be first.
But the kingdom didn't harm him in any way.
"The kingdom's knights aren't so lacking in pride that they'd take out their anger on prisoners."
A knight who seemed to read their thoughts said it with a displeased frown.
Just as he was about to sigh in relief, the knight tacked on an ominous note.
"The Crown Prince might be another story."
And sure enough, not long after, the kingdom's Crown Prince showed up.
Malcoy steeled himself.
Whatever ordeal came, he'd endure it with dignity—no ugly displays.
As he gathered his resolve, the Crown Prince suddenly mentioned the Altringen family.
Only he and Percival knew of the vice commander's lineage within the legion.
Percival immediately flared with killing intent.
But the flames Percival ignited were swiftly extinguished by the prince's icy chill, like frostbite.
It was astonishing.
His vice commander was a powerhouse who could crush even the Imperial Paladins if he wanted. He just hadn't had the chance to show his full strength due to his lord's position.
Yet here he was, spitting blood before he could even draw his sword.
But the real shock was something else.
The prince he'd thought came just to vent offered him defection.
Not just any offer—he promised a legion commander's post.
It was unprecedented. Even the Empire, boasting its magnanimity, had watched him for fifteen years before granting him the role.
What did this little kingdom's prince see in him to promise it outright? He couldn't understand.
But that didn't mean he wanted to throw himself back into the hell of the battlefield to find out.
"No."
He turned down the Crown Prince's offer on the spot.
That was when it started.
The Leonberg Kingdom's Crown Prince began visiting the prison regularly.
He tried to recruit him morning, noon, and night.
Sometimes promising better treatment for the prisoners. Other times offering the impossible: possible release if they earned merits.
Malcoy wavered.
He could endure prison for himself alone. But he didn't want others suffering for his stubbornness.
"If you can't swear loyalty to the kingdom right away, at least advise us as a guest consultant."
"What makes you trust me with that? What if my 'advice' harms your kingdom?"
"That's my problem."
"Just that, and you'll improve the other prisoners' conditions?"
"Can't promise meat and wine every meal given the situation, but it'll be better than now. That's a guarantee."
After agonizing, Malcoy accepted the Crown Prince's offer.
From that day, he was released from prison.
The prince magnanimously freed his vice commander too.
"Never thought they'd let even me go."
Percival, a paladin-level fighter, looked stunned. He hadn't expected such easy release.
The prince even returned Percival's weapons and armor.
"Is this okay?"
"You could snag new sword and plate anytime if you wanted, right?"
It was absurd logic, but true. The fortress was lousy with weapons, and Percival could claim any—even if owned.
"What do we do?"
"About what?"
"I'm starting to like Leonberg's Crown Prince more and more."
Malcoy shot back in exasperation, and Percival's reply was a doozy.
"Jealous? Don't worry. You're always my top priority, Malcoy."
The cheeky vice commander added,
"My take: If we can't fight under our homeland's banner anyway, might as well stand under the kingdom's instead of the Empire's. Fighting for the Empire a hundred days won't get you promoted anyway."
Malcoy scoffed at the 'better snake head than dragon tail' bit.
"Even when that foul-tempered dragon's eyeing the snake's head to chomp?"
"Fortress vibe says they won't hand it over easily."
"So you're saying not just advice—actively help the kingdom now?"
"Eh, prince seems straightforward, treats well. Better than Empire all around."
"Better quit while you're ahead. Starting to get confused. Are you my subordinate or the prince's recruiter?"
"Me? Your loyal subordinate, obviously."
Malcoy shook his head at the chuckling vice commander.
Then or now, Percival itched to drag his lord to the battlefield. No more words for that.
He clamped his mouth and watched the fortress soldiers and knights.
Even after his release, Imperial attacks continued several times.
No one unscathed, no one not bone-tired from repeated battles.
The sight was familiar yet alien to Malcoy.
Wounded Leonberg troops overlapped with his homeland's knights and soldiers, now perished.
They too had endured the Empire's relentless assaults.
Malcoy still vividly remembered that time decades ago.
The border fortress the young crown prince visited, hand in father's, reeked of defeat. Soldiers and knights gripping spears and swords wore thick fatigue, thicker despair and fear.
Even as a child, he'd foreseen his country's fall from their faces.
Leonberg's army was different.
Fatigue was the same. But those hollow faces burned not with despair or fear—with fighting spirit.
Not one feared the Empire. None thought of kingdom defeat.
Mad as a group? Or northern hicks ignorant of Empire's might?
Neither.
They'd suffered their capital's outer walls breached—a national humiliation. Lost their queen to Empire just recently.
Empire's nationwide offensives had the kingdom's fate hanging by a thread. No exaggeration.
They knew it full well.
That's why they clung so desperately. They knew if they fell, the kingdom fell.
Yet the soldiers showed no fear.
Even guts spilling, hearts pierced, they gripped swords. Embraced enemy who'd stabbed them, hurled both off the walls.
"Long live the kingdom!"
"Long live the Leonberger royals!"
They cried for kingdom's prosperity, royal family's safety.
Particularly ragged, poorly armed ones caught Malcoy's eye.
He knew instantly: conscripts, not regulars.
"Long live Queen Margarita!"
"Long live the Leonberger royals!"
Even forcibly drafted ones shouted queen and royals over death cries, not just royal troops.
What made them different? Fallen homeland vs. theirs—what gap caused this chasm?
He couldn't grasp it, no matter how he pondered.
"Heard how Leonberg's queen died? She refused escape, stayed on walls to protect outer capital citizens. Fought to the end, then threw herself off to avoid capture."
Percival told him the queen's end, but it wasn't a satisfying answer.
"King never left front since war start. Now firstborn fights like common knight at foremost fortress. Even big-shot nobles all at front lines. When top brass risks necks like that, no grumbling."
"All nobles fighting front?"
"Not all volunteered, sure. Rumor prince threatened to behead personally any who desert or leave lines. Weird it actually works, though."
Malcoy, knowing nobles' ways, couldn't buy it.
His homeland's nobles flipped banners to Empire the moment peril hit. Now lolled luxuriously on old Marseille lands, Imperial territory.
Countless citizens trampled, slaughtered by Empire. Royals butchered miserably, last survivor dragged like dog—yet their lives stayed plush.
Only change: master's name, country's name.
That was nobility.
Soldiers no different.
When palace besieged, knights and troops turned blades backward.
They'd beheaded loyalists screaming last stands, offered heads to Empire.
No resentment now. They just wanted to live. That's war.
Just sick of it.
War's essence unchanged, no matter grand justifications.
Steal and stolen from, kill and killed. Only victors, losers remain.
Nothing mattered more than surviving.
Country's rise-fall? Loyalty? Honor? Others' grand causes? Worthless.
That's how he'd lived.
Until this cold, remote place.
Eyeing his sunken gaze, Percival blurted,
"Hate to admit it, but you don't hate war, Malcoy."
"Shut it, Percival. What do you know? I've seen war's start and end..."
"What you really hate isn't war—it's people."
The unexpected words froze Malcoy.
"Or distrust, maybe."
"Shut up. If you open your mouth again..."
"Time to admit it, no?"
"I said I won't tolerate it."
Malcoy drew his sword, thrusting at Percival.
Percival snorted, snatched it away.
"Quit the tantrum. Every time you rant about war this, people that, those of us who followed you here trusting only you feel like idiots. Makes my guts churn."
"Percival!"
"Look over there, Malcoy de Marseille. Is their war the same ugly mess you always describe?"
Percival gripped his chin, forced his head around.
Women tended wounded soldiers. Too-young kids toted stones and arrows in tiny hands.
"Tell me, like always: They're just war participants, ugly side of war."
Malcoy couldn't. So he clamped his lips.
Long moments passed.
Percival's iron grip loosened.
"Sorry for the insolence. Got it off my chest—feels good. Punish me all you want. Just don't kill me."
The vice commander knelt, unrepentant.
Malcoy had meant to punish him harshly moments ago. Now? No heart for it.
His head spun.
Fortress chaos dazzled eyes. Percival's words tangled his thoughts.
Nothing sorted.
His sharp mind offered no help now.
Dazed in turmoil, urgent horns blared: Pwoooo!
Swish.
Footsteps from behind.
He turned. Crown Prince's face.
"Nice day, so I was catching some sun."
Prince nodded at nearby roof, all casual.
Malcoy scowled.
Thanks to Percival, pointless words overheard. Mood soured.
"What can ya do? Looks like tussle with Empire on this fine day."
Percival bantered friendly-like.
"What else? Finish quick, back to rest."
Prince played along smoothly.
Then Malcoy got it: how Percival knew kingdom details so well. Maybe knew prince lurked all along.
"Busy now, so later."
Prince started to leave, paused.
"Ah. Wasn't intentional eavesdropping, but since I heard... one thing."
To Malcoy:
"Guys like you, judging everything with your head, chase reasons and excuses only. Never grasp what real war is, your whole life."
"At least I think I know war better than Your Highness."
Prince smirked. Clear mockery.
"Really think so?"
Malcoy saw no need to reply.
"Follow me."
Ignoring him, prince as always—willful.
"I'll show you the difference between watching war from afar and living it."
No waiting for answer, prince vanished ahead.
Malcoy glared daggers at Percival, then followed.