Victory at the Western Border
The march continued through villages, forests, and gravel roads.
At intervals the soldiers re-formed their ranks and posted sentries against the possibility of monster attacks.
He rode at the very front, scanning the path ahead. On the battlefield he never stood behind others—that was his principle.
Two days later, when they reached the western frontier, the people there were paralyzed with terror.
…Quite the mess.
Several villages already lay in ruins, black smoke still rising from the wreckage, while the survivors had fled inside the fortress walls.
“Exactly how many monsters have come through?” he asked the villagers’ representative.
The man answered in a trembling voice.
“We don’t know the precise number. There are packs of wolf-type beasts at the smaller end, and we’ve also seen larger ones—ogres, trolls. They move in groups, striking the villages along the roads.”
With a grave expression he surveyed the surrounding terrain. The region was a tangle of mountains and valleys, and one gorge in particular offered only a single passage.
He gathered his unit commanders and laid out the plan.
“We will use this canyon. The monsters travel in packs, yet they show no organized movement. First we station a portion of our forces at the canyon mouth to cut off the smaller groups; the main body will circle around from the rear and close the net…”
He explained the command structure in meticulous detail. The officers were impressed, yet uneasy.
“What if these packs are not all of them?”
He shook his head.
“That possibility exists. But if we turn tail here, more villages will be sacrificed. We eliminate as many as we can in this place, then form pursuit detachments to hunt the rest relentlessly.”
The soldiers trusted him. From every battle they had fought together, his judgment had always proved exact; even operations that looked perilous ended in victory. He trusted his men, and they trusted him.
The operation lasted two days and nights. He barely slept, summoning commanders at all hours to check the situation.
In the first clash at the canyon mouth the imperial army annihilated a portion of the monsters, yet the threat remained. After reorganizing his troops he took the vanguard himself and advanced into the gorge.
Inside, damp moss and the night-borne howls of monsters filled the air. Now and then red eyes glinted from behind the trees, setting the soldiers on edge.
He adjusted his grip on his sword and called out in a quiet but unyielding voice.
“Do not waver. We have training and experience. The monsters will scatter soon enough.”
As he predicted, a great many of the beasts took fright at the army’s disciplined advance and began to flee. A few of the larger ones, however, fought to the end.
After a desperate struggle filled with screams, the imperial forces seized the upper hand; the monsters broke and fled in every direction.
By the time the morning sun rose, the canyon was a scene of mingled blood-stench and darkness. Exhausted soldiers supported one another and searched for fallen comrades. Without the slightest disorder he moved across the field, assessing the wounded and ordering treatment.
“We need a healer here!” a soldier shouted.
He ran over himself and examined the injured man, who had taken a deep wound to the leg and was groaning in pain.
“It’s all right. This can be saved.”
He spoke as calmly as he could, reassuring the soldier. On this battlefield the words of a man who wielded absolute authority planted more hope than any physician’s. He summoned a medic in his place, had the wound staunched, and medicine applied.
In the end the monster purge achieved a measure of success. Temporary peace returned to the western frontier, though the task of hunting down the remaining packs still remained. He left several commanders behind to organize search parties and prepared to return to the capital himself. Fresh orders and new duties would already be waiting for him there.
On the road home he stopped briefly at a shabby village tavern. The soldiers, too, needed rest after their accumulated fatigue. While he quieted his hunger with a simple bowl of warm soup, he asked after local news.
“Has anything of note been circulating lately?” he inquired quietly of the innkeeper.
The man scratched his head.
“Monsters have been running wild, true enough, but over in the southeast of the continent there’s a strange rumor going around. They say the red moon will rise again… people are fretting, calling it an ill omen.”
He frowned slightly.
“The red moon… I’ve heard it symbolizes the worst of luck.”
The innkeeper nodded.
“That’s right. Demonkin stirring, war breaking out—some even call it a harbinger of catastrophe. Whether it’s true or not I couldn’t say, but whenever something uncanny happens, that moon is said to appear.”
He offered his thanks and rose. The red moon, they said, had hung in the sky the night he was born. And this world still hid countless secrets yet unknown.
Leaving the tavern, he gave a brief order to his subordinate commander.
“If you should come across any legends or records concerning the red moon, report them to me separately.”
The officer looked puzzled yet promised to carry out the command faithfully.
He gazed at the gray sky beyond the window. The rain had already ceased; thin sunlight filtered through the clouds.
As the march resumed he reviewed, from time to time, the battles he had fought. The novel he had read in his previous life—The Savior of the Heavenly Sword—and the countless scenes of carnage he had witnessed with his own eyes circled through his mind. This world was clearly similar to the novel, yet the finer details kept shifting, little by little.
“Once I return to the imperial capital, quiet days will be gone again,” he muttered.
Ten days later the walls of the capital came into view once more. Even from a distance the city remained magnificent. High towers and brilliant banners adorned the ramparts; within them countless people lived in bustling industry.
“Well done, all of you.”
He offered the brief words to his men; the weary soldiers exhaled in relief.
“Kyaaa! General Kareha!”
“He went and wiped out the monsters again, didn’t he? Honestly, the only one who thinks of common folk like us is General Kareha!”
As they entered the city the citizens welcomed them. Carts made way; children waved white cloths to greet the soldiers. The people cheered the victory over the monsters, and the markets and plazas took on a festival air.
Even amid the acclaim he smiled and raised a hand. Inwardly, however, more complicated feelings stirred.
When the Demon King appears, how easily will peace like this collapse?
After dismissing the troops and delivering a brief report, he entered the imperial palace once more. Upon his arrival, numerous officials and military figures were already waiting. They bowed as one and congratulated him on his safe return.
“This affair will greatly stabilize the hearts of the people on the western frontier,” someone said.
“His Majesty will be most pleased,” another added.
He returned their thanks, yet personally he felt an urgent need for rest. Days of continuous fighting and sleepless nights had drained his strength. Still, unfinished work piled high before him.
That evening the emperor hosted a small celebratory banquet. He had no choice but to attend. In a gathering of countless nobles and foreign envoys, the figure he was expected to present was that of a young war hero—the very emblem of the empire’s future.
The grand banquet hall of the palace glittered beneath golden chandeliers; a string ensemble poured forth elegant melodies. Noblewomen in splendid gowns exchanged greetings; young knights and bureaucrats clustered in threes and fives, savoring wine.
He wore a black military uniform, the imperial decorations pinned across his chest. Countless eyes turned toward him. A man who, at so young an age, had already earned multiple distinctions of valor was an object of curiosity and awe to every guest.
“Lord Kareha, my congratulations.”
Several nobles approached with greetings. He smiled with the utmost courtesy and answered them politely.
“My thanks. It was possible only because everyone gave their strength.”
From time to time wealthy merchants or lords from other regions proposed partnerships. He took care not to form deeper ties than necessary.
Then a woman halted before him—like a single flower come into full bloom. Clad in a violet dress against white skin, she stood before Kareha with such presence that even those whose interest in him had already faded found their attention seized once more.
“My lord.”
Iris de Fontana. The eldest daughter of Count Fontana stood before him; when Kareha looked at her she smiled, lifted the hem of her skirt in a graceful curtsy, and offered her greeting.
“Lady Iris de Fontana, daughter of the Count.”
“Oh—you know my name? Lord Adolf Kareha.”
She spoke as though deliberately displaying that she knew his full name as well, the corners of her eyes curving. That look had kept countless men burning through sleepless nights; Kareha merely regarded her in silence.
“What business do you have?”
“I simply wished to become better acquainted with the hero of the battlefield.”
“…Is that so. I have no desire for further conversation this evening.”
Approaching a man who had only just returned from the front and was steeped in exhaustion—that was the Count’s daughter’s first mistake. At the unmistakable dismissal she pressed her lips tightly together.
“Was even a brief conversation so unpleasant to you, my lord?”
“It does not seem to be the night for it. What does the young lady think?”
To the irritation laced through her words Kareha answered with firm finality, meeting the gaze of the Count’s daughter who stared straight at him. The moment their eyes locked she felt as though a pair of raptor’s eyes were fixed upon her, and for an instant she trembled with fear. Unable to endure her own undignified behavior under the watching crowd, Iris de Fontana carefully raised the hem of her dress and had no choice but to accept his dismissal.