Chapter 67
Chapter 67
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: 21. Knight Beyond Knights (4)
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Almost there. Really, the end was practically in sight.
Damn mana was on the verge of bottoming out.
Even maintaining the War Poem was a struggle. My heart throbbed like it was being torn apart.
"Hah!"
My uncle shook off his sword with vigorous force. The Warlord leisurely parried it before retreating. Covered head to toe in blood, he still exuded an air of leisure, like a predator toying with prey it had already cornered.
"Idrian. That's enough."
I gritted my teeth, ready to charge in, but my uncle blocked my path.
"Withdraw the poem now."
I opened and closed my mouth several times before clamping it shut. Then I pulled back the power of the War Poem. The excruciating pain in my heart vanished as if it had all been a lie.
"Looks like the plan failed."
"Not yet. It's not over."
I still had poems on the level of myths, like the Eye of the True Dragon. If I pushed myself and unleashed a fragment of my soul, I could turn the tide.
That's right. I definitely could.
"Yeah. It's not over."
But I never got the chance.
Thud.
I looked down. My uncle's fist was buried in my gut.
"Why...?"
I asked my uncle.
"From here on, this is Knight Bail's fight."
The mana packed into that unguarded punch rattled my insides. My head wouldn't think straight.
My legs gave out. As I pitched forward, my uncle caught me. I rested my chin on his shoulder and asked again.
"What the hell are you..."
"Someone has to stay behind and clean up. I'm leaving that burden to you."
Suddenly, someone lifted me from behind.
"Sir Quean. I leave it to you."
"Excellency..."
A deep voice rumbled.
"What the hell are you doing..."
I tried to resist, but my body had no strength left. I thrashed about, but those iron grip hands wouldn't let go.
"It was an honor serving alongside you, Excellency."
"You've done well."
I ground my teeth at the presumptuous voices chattering away.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
But no one answered me. I was hoisted onto a horse, and damn Sir Quean Lichtheim even tied me tightly to his back.
"Fare you well!"
"Respect to Knight Bail Ballerhard's blade!"
Spear cavalrymen who had gathered unnoticed shouted their farewells. Then they spurred their mounts forward. Bound tightly to Quean's back, I watched my uncle.
Orcs swarmed in like a tidal wave. My uncle vanished beneath the dark green flood.
"Ah..."
I stared blankly at the sight.
All I could see were the knights trailing behind, turning one by one to block the orcs, spilling blood as they fell.
Up ahead, knights were dying to carve a path.
The Winter Fortress knights had numbered two hundred when we set out. Now, fewer than fifty remained, and that number kept dwindling. When the trailing knights dropped to around thirty, I reached for my waist.
My fingers touched the hard texture of the horn. With trembling hands, I untied it and brought it to my lips.
Poo... Poo...
Thanks to my uncle's unresolved mana still churning in my gut, I couldn't muster the strength from my core.
Poo... Phew...
I blew the horn until dizziness set in. In my mind, I recited the War Poem endlessly.
Pheeeew.
In the chaos, a wolf rider hugging my tail thrust his spear at me.
Bloooow.
I felt the cold bite piercing my chest, but I just kept blowing the horn.
Bloooooooow!
In that instant, an eerie noise pierced my ears.
Shhhk.
It was a stealthy yet menacing sound, like a snake flicking its tongue.
Yelp!
Squeal!
The wolf rider suddenly screamed and tumbled away.
Grahhh!
Kek!
Screams erupted from all directions.
Shhhk.
Dozens of shadows rose from amid the orcs. Fresh green cloaks fluttered wildly before my eyes, distinct from the orcs'. Silver flashes lit up the heavens and earth.
It was the elves.
Damn it. Why now, of all times...
My vision blurred. And finally, darkness swallowed everything.
Watching Prince Idrian depart the battlefield with the spear cavalry, Bail Ballerhard turned around.
"Thanks for waiting."
Grrr.
The Warlord growled low in its throat. Words meant nothing, but the meaning was clear from its arrogant face—as if boasting about the mercy it had shown.
But that lasted only a moment.
The beast quickly bared its savage temper. Red battle aura surged from its spear-gripping hands.
The old knight was utterly exhausted, yet the dark green monster king brimmed with energy.
A truly hopeless situation. Yet Bail smiled.
"Feels liberating. Can't remember the last time my heart felt this light."
He was free of his commander duties and his role as head of the count's house.
And he even had a perfect excuse.
To buy time, ensuring the retreating allied knights weren't trampled by the monstrous orc king.
The perfect finale for Knight Bail.
The Warlord charged, thrusting its spear. He slashed back with his aura-infused blade.
The fierce attack, which he could barely block even with the poem's power, was effortlessly deflected. Bail's sword twisted like a living thing, pressing toward the Warlord.
The Warlord spun its spear to knock the blade away.
Before, a single exchange like that would have shaken his insides, leaving him drenched in cold sweat.
Yet now, strangely, he felt nothing.
His eyes were clear, his body light. His sword tip thrummed with life, and his aura shone brighter than ever.
They exchanged dozens of blows in an instant.
"Excellent!"
Revved up, Bail slashed in all directions.
The surging battle aura tore like paper, scratches blooming on the Warlord's body. But Bail's wounds multiplied just as quickly.
And that became the decisive difference.
One side was a monster's resilient flesh; the other, an old man's battered frame. Blood flowed and wounds piled up equally, but Bail was the one losing ground.
Yet even so, he didn't yield to the Warlord.
His flesh's failings were compensated by the mana freed from his rings.
Four rings resonated endlessly, sustaining his body.
Then, a change occurred.
A fierce current pierced through the four rings, which had merely resonated before. At first a mere straight line linking them, it coiled and closed at the ends.
Becoming yet another ring.
"Ah..."
An unimaginable surge of power welled up within him. Amid that overwhelming torrent, Bail felt ecstasy.
Penta Chain. The ultimate realm all ring knights dreamed of.
He had finally reached the state he so desperately craved.
Bail lowered his sword. Rather than charging, the Warlord retreated. Gone was the reckless spear-thrusting brute; now it moved with caution.
Bail clicked his tongue softly at the sight.
If only it had come a little sooner.
The breath of death grazed his chin. Too many wounds, too much blood lost.
The fifth ring granted immense power, but nothing to cling to life with.
Probably just once.
Before his ruined body gave out.
The joy of the grand utterance was matched only by the ensuing emptiness.
Then, from afar, a horn's laborious wail echoed.
Bloooooooow.
A familiar, struggling tone.
'Green corpses piled into mountains. Beneath them, a red pond formed.'
The clumsy song he'd echoed in his mind passed through his thoughts.
"At least I can leave the bastard a little parting gift on my way out."
Bail smiled.
He regripped his sword. Azure sword aura blossomed endlessly from its tip.
The Warlord's red energy rose like a tidal wave, engulfing the earth.
The towering azure aura rained down onto the reddened ground. It was as if a heavenly general's colossal blade cleaved the crimson sea. In that fleeting moment, the red aura shredded the old knight's body.
Even in the agony of being torn apart, Bail did not release his sword.
The first and last strike of Penta Chain Knight Bail Ballerhard.
Dedicated to him.
Idrian, my nephew.
"For Prince Your Highness."
The azure sword aura finally split the crimson sea asunder.
In the northernmost reaches of the central region, linking the north and center—Lord Bert of Shurtle had been plagued by nightmares lately. It was all due to the upheaval in the north.
A plea for aid from the Ballerhard house, which had repelled countless monster invasions before.
Bert immediately set aside all else to muster troops. But before he could send them north, other lords arrived.
They claimed Count Ballerhard was up to petty tricks, trying to swallow an army armed with central gold for free.
Bert refuted it as nonsense, knowing the count's character. He was ready to ignore the drivel and dispatch five hundred infantry north.
That's when the second son of Count Giern spoke up.
"The imperial ambassador advised against rash actions and to watch the situation."
With the kingdom on the brink of crisis, what did some foreign ambassador matter? As Bert tried to end the pointless meeting, another lord chimed in.
"He said he'd be deeply offended if we ignored his friendly advice. Might even turn to anger."
Bert wanted to grab the babbling lord and demand if he was an imperial noble or a kingdom one, then beat some sense into him.
But he couldn't.
A powerless minor kingdom's noble couldn't defy a great power's aristocracy. He'd seen countless houses fall for it.
Even the Ilai count house, once called the kingdom's foremost sword clan, had been reduced to less than a rural barony after falling from imperial favor.
Bert didn't want House Shurtle to suffer the same fate.
In the end, he yielded to the lords' pressure and persuasion, disbanding the assembled army. The massive losses were covered by the gold Marquis Montpellier funneled through Count Giern.
His coffers were refilled, but the unease lingered.
That stubborn Ballerhard old knight wouldn't cry wolf without reason. Night after night brought nightmares.
So he gathered the central nobles again.
"What if we send reinforcements now?"
A few lords nodded timidly in agreement. But heads of powerful houses drowned them out.
"Hey now, Lord Shurtle. Why keep pushing this? Sending them just helps others reap the benefits."
"Two legions already went from the capital to Ballerhard. Combined with theirs, that's three legions—six thousand strong. And Ballerhard's soldiers and knights are renowned for valor. What's there to worry about?"
Their tongue-clicking condescension felt like they were scolding children. Deeply insulted, Bert couldn't even show it.
Equal titles didn't mean equal standing.
They were real powers tied to high noble faction leaders. He was just a nominal count with no substance.
He could only lament the kingdom's state and pray nothing ill befell House Ballerhard.
But sadly, Bert's wishes were in vain.
"A herald from Ballerhard!"
The guard captain burst through the door, shouting.
"Probably another aid request. Such cheap tactics, unbecoming."
"Heh, just make excuses and send him off."
Bert raised a hand at the other lords' words. The guard captain's face was too ashen to ignore.
Something big had happened. Dread clenched his heart.
"What did the herald say?"
"No need to listen. Just say no and brush him o..."
Before Count Giern finished, the guard captain yelled.
"Ballerhard has fallen!"
The haughty Giern heir gaped, too stunned to scold the guard's rudeness.
"Winter Fortress has fallen! Count Bail Ballerhard's status is unknown!"
"Wh-what?!"
Shocked nobles shot to their feet, but a ragged herald pushed through the open door.
"Who are you?! This is a gathering of esteemed lords! How dare you barge in uninvited?!"
Even in the tension, Count Giern fumed. But the herald ignored him, baring his teeth in murderous fury. The feral intensity made Giern choke and slump back. Bert addressed the herald in a trembling voice.
"B-Ballerhard Ranger. Wh-what's the situation?"
The Ballerhard ranger roared like he was vomiting blood.
"Rangers: 343 fallen! Heavy infantry: 210 fallen! Light infantry: 492 fallen!"
The ranger's glare swept the nobles' faces.
"Black Spear Cavalry: 79 fallen! Winter Knight Order: 88 fallen!"
Late to recover, the nobles sputtered about rudeness. The ranger bellowed louder.
"Not done yet!"
The nobles stammered but cowed by his momentum, fell silent.
Eyeing their sealed lips, the ranger rasped from his ruined throat.
"Provisional reinforcement legion! Heavy infantry: 198 fallen! Light infantry: 323 fallen! Archers: 172 fallen! Knight order: 64 fallen!"
Bert clutched his head, dizzy.
"3rd Legion Commander! Winter Fortress Lord! Ballerhard House Head! Bail Ballerhard: fallen!"
He finally collapsed into his seat.
"First Prince Idrian Your Highness: gravely wounded!"
Spitting the words at Bert, the ranger continued.
"Winter Fortress fallen. Survivors retreating..."
His voice trailed to sobs by the end. Bert squeezed his eyes shut.
"As herald of Count Vincent Ballerhard, I convey his words to the central nobles!"
The ranger bellowed again.
"All central nobles shall assume wartime footing, muster maximum forces, and prepare to counter the 10,000-strong monster legion!"