Chapter 192
Chapter 192
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 192
Chapter Title: 59. Requiem for Her (5)
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Not long after sending Malcoi away, his adjutant came to visit.
"You had a private meeting with Sir Malcoi, didn't you?"
He plopped down into a seat without waiting for an invitation, his eyes glued to my hand. With his nostrils flaring and swallowing hard, it looked like he'd caught the scent of alcohol.
I offered the bottle to the affable man, a far cry from his superior.
"I was just feeling thirsty for a drink myself."
He snatched the bottle eagerly.
Percival tilted his head back boldly, chugging straight from the bottle.
His Adam's apple bobbed several times before he pulled the bottle away from his lips.
"Ahh. God, how long has it been?"
He wiped his mouth with exaggerated flair and handed the bottle back to me.
"So, it seems Sir Malcoi's response didn't sit well with you."
I nodded, and Percival gave a knowing look.
"War isn't just. The many are driven to the slaughter for the sake of the few. Something along those lines, right?"
"You know him well."
He held out his hand. The bottle returned to his grasp.
"It's probably confusing. Everything in this fortress flies in the face of Sir Malcoi's common sense."
"Common sense... Searching for common sense on a battlefield is proof you've lost your mind."
"Fair enough, but honestly, even to me, this fortress doesn't seem normal."
Unlike moments ago, Percival took a light couple of sips, his voice dropping lower.
"The knights and soldiers here... they don't seem afraid of death at all. Especially those soldiers—what the hell? I swear I've never seen anyone like them."
He turned his head. Following his gaze, I saw men dancing clumsily and chuckling among themselves.
It was Ballerhard's rangers, including Yorden.
"They fight like they've already thrown their lives away. In battle, they seem insane to die, but they're agile as hell, uncanny at hit-and-run tactics, so hardly any actually bite the dust."
I nodded unwittingly.
As Percival said, the rangers were practically flying.
Guys used to butchering tough, vicious orcs were like fish in water against humans.
At first, even they were stunned by the gap in skill with the imperial soldiers, but now, if one of them got so much as scratched by the imperials, the Ballerhards treated it as a disgrace and ribbed him endlessly.
The imperial knights were the only ones who could handle them, but those sly bastards never clashed head-on with stronger foes.
They'd herd orc warriors toward our knights like cattle, then stab from behind or loose crossbows. Since the war began, countless imperial knights had fallen to the rangers.
"They're not the only ones. The others fear death just as little."
Percival's gaze shifted to the southern troops resting quietly.
"In all the soldiers I've seen, not one was cautious with his own body."
The southern troops, already grinding their teeth at the empire's atrocities, were venomously enraged by the queen's death.
Their resolve to kill enemies even at the cost of their lives was nothing new for them.
The conscripts were the same.
Having volunteered for a war they didn't have to fight, their morale and grit matched the rangers and southerners.
No need to mention the knights, who saw collapsing from exhaustion on the field as an honor.
Percival could accept it if it were just knights, or only some soldiers, but he'd never witnessed everyone united in purpose for war. He kept marveling.
Then, suddenly, in a heavy tone:
"That's probably why."
His eyes turned toward the wall where his superior had vanished.
"Sir Malcoi can't accept the current situation at face value."
He downed the rest in one gulp.
"Because Marseille's knights and soldiers weren't like this."
The young prince of the now-destroyed fallen kingdom must have envisioned his homeland's knights and soldiers just like those in this fortress.
"The young Malcoi needed someone to blame to endure his captivity. And conveniently, there were candidates."
Nobles and knights who broke their oaths of fealty, soldiers who gripped their swords backward out of fear of death.
The young prince of the fallen kingdom endured captivity by cursing traitors, convincing himself it wouldn't have happened without the war.
"What a childish tantrum."
"It's understandable. Back then, Malcoi was just a kid who'd lost everything overnight. Considering how he was, it's impressive he didn't take his own life."
Percival defended his superior, disliking my insults.
I didn't bother arguing.
Who in this fortress was without a story? I had no interest in nitpicking someone else's past.
"So, go easy on him. He's sharp—he'll realize the truth soon enough."
In lieu of a reply, I handed him the bottle.
"Well then, I'll leave him in your hands."
Percival drained the bottle dry and stood. After bowing and departing, I sat lost in thought for a long while.
The fall of Marseille could become our kingdom's future.
No—if we hadn't purged the rotten nobles early, if the queen hadn't reclaimed justification through her death, it surely would have.
Things were still precarious now.
We'd steeled our resolve, but nothing had really changed.
The empire remained vast; the kingdom, weak.
The queen's spark blazed everywhere, but if this dragged on, we couldn't assume soldiers' and people's hearts would stay the same.
Most likely, they'd start resenting the royal family that provided the war's pretext.
We had to find a breakthrough before that.
This war was mere endurance. Victory against the empire wasn't possible by just holding out.
Even if they suffered losses several times ours, the kingdom would crumble in the end.
Before the newfound flames died, before our forces melted away like clothes in drizzle.
We needed to turn the tide.
"The Eastern Fleet has to play that role."
I had no doubt the king and Eastern Fleet, off to land a blow on the empire, would return victorious.
But no word came, even as time passed.
Win or lose, news of battle would have reached us, but silence.
Anxious, grim imaginings plagued me, but I shook my head fiercely each time to dispel them.
Among the forces sent to the empire were Dotrin's king and the Knights of the Open Sky.
I trusted Dotrin's king could overcome any hardship.
Descendants of the Sky Sovereign were true monsters.
Even amid this anxiety, the imperial forces hammered the kingdom's borders relentlessly.
The Silver Lion Fortress faced countless assaults.
We hadn't lost a single outpost yet, but no room for complacency.
Intel reported more imperial troops marching toward the border beyond those already there.
And among those heading here: masses of mages and paladins.
Once they arrived, battles would double in difficulty.
But right now, my options were limited.
All I could do was smash the imperials attacking the fortress.
Every day was battle.
The rangers held strong, but the southern legion's soldiers had long hit their physical limits.
Rangers and knights dashed along the narrow walls to cover their weary spots.
I didn't sit idle either.
I threw myself into combat more aggressively than before.
Chanting war poems nonstop to boost morale, I raced the walls with mana gathered at my blade's tip.
Enemy knights I'd felled already topped a hundred; legion commanders slain by my hand numbered five.
By then, even the enemy hesitated to assault our fortress lightly.
Our fortress regained some breathing room, but the burden shifted to others.
The imperials who'd targeted us moved elsewhere.
I led only the Black Spear Cavalry out. Malcoi and Percival came too.
We rampaged east and west like mad. At news of a friendly fortress in peril, we galloped to the front even from sleep.
Malcoi suffered terribly in this insane forced march.
He didn't whine. He gritted his teeth, desperately keeping up.
I kept him by my side, driving him mercilessly. Naturally, my side was always the thickest fighting.
Malcoi survived countless brushes with death.
Percival and I bailed him out each time, but he accumulated minor wounds inevitably.
And as scars multiplied, Malcoi's face grew ever more soldierly.
"A few words would suffice. A war to protect—that's the true war."
Yet he still sought some grand meaning in this war.
"Gotta roll you more."
Each time, I grinned and shoved him into the fray.
Believing that mindless sword-swinging for survival would clear his head of nonsense.
But Malcoi was tenacious. After battles, he'd seek me out to prattle about the "true war."
Tedious drivel not worth hearing.
"What's the damn answer? Is there even one?"
After I ignored his weary ramblings every time, Malcoi finally protested.
But I had no intention of enlightening him myself.
"You're not there yet, Malcoi."
Find it yourself, I said, turning away.
Traversing the vast front so much it felt narrow, Malcoi eventually stopped spouting nonsense.
"Why? No more preaching about the true war?"
One day I asked, and he replied with a fatigued face.
"Not curious anymore."
His eyes said: when I'm about to die any second, who cares?
I laughed.
Finally fitting the battlefield. I was genuinely pleased.
Truth be told, there was no answer from the start. Absurd to think war has one.
I just wanted to purge the immature insights and arrogance cluttering Malcoi's head, as if he'd mastered the world.
Many ways to clear stray thoughts exist, but my favorite was grinding until none arose.
The result satisfied.
Malcoi spouted no more nonsense, wasting no precious rest on useless worries.
"Returning to Silver Lion Fortress."
Crushing enemies en route, the Black Spear Cavalry and I headed back.
The border imperials were pulling back troops—looked like preparing to link with reinforcements.
My hunch was spot on.
"Enemy reinforcements have reached a week from the border. Exact numbers await scouts' return, but at least 40,000."
A sigh escaped.
We'd wrecked or shattered over 15 legions. Yet the empire mocked our efforts, committing even more.
Another stark reminder of the power gap.
And among those reinforcements: hordes of mages and paladins.
Now the real ordeal began.
But no law said you just die.
This was exactly that case.
"Your Highness! Reinforcements!"
Heart leaping, I rushed to the north gate and scanned the plains. Figures in pure white cloaks approached under ranger escort.
The White Night Tower mages Hyrichi said would be ready in half a year.
They'd finally achieved minor success and joined the front.
But that wasn't all.
Unexpected figures accompanied the White Night Tower mages.