Chapter 54
Chapter 54
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 54
Chapter Title: The Needle in the Pocket Will Always Stick Out (3)
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Maximilian was utterly flustered by his brother's drastically changed appearance.
"Right on the mark."
The First Prince looked immensely pleased. It wasn't just the arrival of the long-awaited reinforcements; the way he gazed at his younger brother carried a profound depth.
"Brother."
Unable to bear the awkwardness, Maximilian spoke up.
"The soldiers are exhausted from pushing through the blizzard."
"I see."
The First Prince, his eyes returning to their usual arrogance, welcomed the reinforcements.
"Welcome to Winter Fortress."
He greeted them as if he were the lord of the castle himself. The Rangers stood in formation, swords raised high, with the ancient fortress towering imposingly behind them.
It was such a convincing sight that Maximilian couldn't help but be impressed.
If only for the corpses strewn everywhere, it would have been a memorable scene etched in his memory for years.
"Follow me."
The First Prince turned and strode casually through the bodies.
Maximilian hesitated before following in his footsteps.
"Ugh."
A sudden wave of stench hit him—the acrid smell of burning flesh piercing his nostrils. He swallowed down the rising nausea and pressed on, only to hear retching from the rear of the column.
Glancing back, he saw the knights and soldiers pale-faced. Even the seasoned captain and mercenaries of the Silver Fox Company looked queasy.
The reinforcements' dignity was in tatters.
Forcing a calm facade, Maximilian spoke.
"Looks like there was a battle."
The First Prince replied nonchalantly.
"Yeah, three days ago."
Without looking back, he added,
"You'll get used to it soon enough."
The words sounded so casual they were chilling.
How many battles did it take to become numb to the sight of dozens, hundreds of corpses?
Noticing Maximilian's unsettled expression, the Ranger squad leader stepped in with some consolation.
"After facing a couple of living orc hordes, even these dead ones start looking pretty."
It wasn't much consolation.
"Looks like that's the welcoming committee."
The First Prince tossed out casually.
An elderly man stood before the gates with dozens of knights.
The Rangers who had guided them rushed forward, saluted, and took positions behind him. The old knight stepped ahead and gave a light nod.
"Respect to the Leonberger royal family. I am Bail of Ballerhard."
"Respect to the shield that blocks the north wind. It is an honor to meet the famed silver lion of the kingdom, the shield against the north wind. I am Maximilian."
"We are infinitely grateful that the royal family has not forgotten winter's harshness. You must be weary from the long journey."
"I'm sorry we arrived so late."
Amid the formal pleasantries, the First Prince standing nearby nudged the Ranger squad leader. The leader pulled a horn from his pouch and blew.
Bwooooo.
As the horn blared, countless banners rose atop the walls. Spears and swords gleamed in unison.
Winter Fortress's soldiers stood below.
Snap.
"Welcome to Ballerhard!"
"Respect to the royal family's unwavering friendship!"
Given the circumstances, Maximilian hadn't expected a welcome ceremony, and his face lit with emotion. Erhim Kiringger, beside him, gave a subtle glance.
Catching it, Maximilian nodded and shouted toward the walls.
"On behalf of the royal family, I thank you for your struggles, dedication, and sacrifices! Respect to the men of Ballerhard!"
A mana-infused, resonant reply echoed through Winter Fortress. The soldiers roared in response.
"Then let's head inside."
"Your Highness."
As Maximilian rested from the journey, someone visited. It was Erhim Kiringger, vice-captain of the Iron Lion Knight Order.
He seemed to have something to say.
"Did you see the gates?"
When urged to speak, Erhim asked directly.
"The iron plates patched here and there looked like hasty repairs."
"Sharp eyes. It seems the gates were breached."
Maximilian's expression hardened.
He had suspected as much from the corpses outside, but he hadn't imagined it had escalated to the gates being broken through.
"The situation appears far more serious than anticipated."
"Yet the people of Ballerhard don't seem too downhearted..."
A major battle just three days ago. Surely many had died. Yet the Ranger squad leader was cheerful, and the count showed no shadow on his face.
It was incomprehensible to Maximilian.
"Let's observe a bit more. We lack information for now."
It would take time to fully grasp this discrepancy.
Erhim nodded, then asked as if it had just occurred to him.
"By the way, how was it? A reunion with your brother after so long."
"Just confusing."
Maximilian added with a puzzled look,
"But I could tell his nature doesn't match the rumors."
They were brothers, but rarely met. Their father hadn't allowed it, nor had circumstances. Palace rumors were their only source of news.
A cowardly, incompetent, tyrannical, lustful wastrel—that was the brother from the gossip.
But no. The brother he met after so long was entirely different.
Bloodied from head to toe, striding through corpse piles—no trace of the rumored coward. Commanding the rough, fierce northern men like subordinates proved he wasn't the brutish, inept wastrel of rumor.
"Yet you don't seem surprised, Sir Erhim."
"His Highness the First Prince visited Iron Lion Castle once before. I had the chance to see him then."
Erhim recounted the events between the Iron Lions and the First Prince.
"Until the day he left, His Highness never lost once."
A boy not even half a year into sword training had bested Iron Lion regulars one after another. Erhim chuckled at the amazement.
"Today's First Prince seems even more advanced than back then."
The unexpectedly high praise left Maximilian stunned. He asked why such feats hadn't become rumor.
"His Highness didn't want rumors to spread."
Maximilian pondered.
People rarely changed drastically, but it wasn't impossible.
Yet innate talent and nature never altered. They were inborn qualities.
Talent didn't appear overnight.
So Maximilian considered another hypothesis. Far more plausible and sensible than sudden genius.
"Hiding existing talent is easier than creating it from nothing."
Erhim asked at his murmur,
"What was that?"
"Just thinking aloud."
Maximilian brushed it off.
He wasn't certain yet. More observation was needed.
Northern winter was long. He'd stay until the season passed—plenty of time to find answers.
Erhim Kiringger left.
Time remained until the welcome banquet. Maximilian planned to rest fully. He couldn't appear feeble before Winter Fortress's leaders.
But intruders arrived.
Thud thud. Before he could react to the rough knocking, the door burst open. A face poked through, grinning.
"This is it."
Maximilian's brother, the First Prince.
Entering without permission, he plopped into a chair.
"Do you have business?"
"Nah."
He thought there might be purpose, but no.
And it was true.
The brother sat silently, staring. Not a word.
The awkwardness was excruciating—like sitting on thorns. Maximilian cleared his throat repeatedly, giving hints, but the brother remained unmoved.
He bluntly said he needed rest, only for the reply to be, "Rest, ignore me."
"You really look alike."
After ages, the brother spoke unexpectedly.
Like their father? He'd never heard that. Maximilian tilted his head.
No, the brother's gaze was intensely burdensome.
Ignoring the inexplicable affection, those transparent eyes peering into his soul felt stripping him bare.
"How is it here? Any inconveniences compared to the palace?"
A wartime fortress's hardships were inexpressible. He knew, but asked to dispel awkwardness.
"Love it."
The answer surprised.
"I-is that so?"
"Yeah. Battles everywhere. Tons of monsters."
Was this good or bad?
Unable to grasp the context, Maximilian felt dazed.
Was he always this naive? He'd never felt so awkward with nobles.
Knock knock.
"The banquet is ready."
The voice outside was a godsend. Maximilian jumped up.
"You must be starving."
He ignored the brother's oblivious remark.
At the banquet hall, Count Ballerhard and fortress leaders awaited. They rose for introductions.
Clunk.
Mid-greetings, a plate appeared before him.
"Don't hassle the weary traveler with talk. Eat first."
The casually spoken brother offered the plate.
Stunned by the arrogance, Maximilian glanced around. Count Ballerhard nodded calmly, commanders sat unfazed.
No one seemed offended.
"You looking out for others? That's new."
Only the count remarked lightly.
The brother ignored it, piling delicacies before his brother.
"Brother, others will..."
He politely remonstrated, restoring the plates.
The brother grumbled about him being just like someone in frustration.
Maximilian felt bloated inside.
His brother's gaze throughout the meal made him unsure if food went to mouth or nose.
"Eat when you can. You'll regret it later otherwise."
If not so casual, he'd have stopped eating.
Finally, the tumultuous meal ended.
"What's the situation? Just the corpses near the walls seemed over a thousand."
Asking about the war, the banquet sobered instantly.
"Monsters attack every four days. Varying sizes, but in eight assaults, none under five hundred."
Erhim Kiringger replied.
"If battles persisted like that, enemies took heavy losses too."
Reports said 16,000 foes. Simple math: at least 4,000 down, 12,000 left max.
Erhim brightened.
Ballerhard's legion plus two from capital—3 legions, 6,000. With terrain advantage, holdable.
But reality rarely followed calculations. This was such a case.
"Enemies haven't decreased."
The reply came elsewhere. The First Prince wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"They've increased."
The flat tone was eerie.
"And they're steadily growing now."
Vincent, Ballerhard's eldest, stood to elaborate.
"Nine legion flags confirmed so far."
Nine legions: at least 18,000.
Maximilian let out a groan.
The meeting didn't drag. Considering the weary Maximilian's group, they planned detailed briefing tomorrow.
"Warlord."
The name, mentioned repeatedly, felt unreal to Maximilian and Erhim.
But more unreal was the fortress leaders' attitude.
They glanced at someone for confirmation before key points—even veterans, not the heir.
Not the commander.
The First Prince. Subtly, he led the meeting.
Something was up.
He needed closer watch.
But Maximilian wasn't alone. His brother watched him too.
The first sight of the Second Prince truly shocked me.
He resembled my old friend Lionel in his youth. Not just looks.
The essence matched too.
Righteous, virtuous, gentle yet unyielding strength.
Potential earning genius labels across fields.
"Definitely not reincarnation."
Not identical, of course.
Lionel had iron-blooded lord qualities; Maximilian was born a wise ruler.
I understood why the king shunned his eldest.
With such a brilliant younger son, the wastrel eldest was an eyesore.
Understandable, but I disagreed.
Wise rulers prosper and stabilize—not conquer lost lands.
The kingdom needed no shepherd for penned sheep.
Greenskin king emerged, evil fey revealed. More to come, unknown even to me.
Chaotic age dawned.
Fences would shatter,
Wolves in sheepskin roam free.
Timid sheep slaughtered,
Pastures barren.
Wisdom alone couldn't prevail.
Kingdom needed a wolf in sheepskin to restrain wolves, turn sheep to lions.
Immodest, but that was me.
Observer of countless wars and chaos,
Terminator of endless wars and chaos.