Chapter 46
Chapter 46
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 46
Chapter Title: Siege Camp
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I'd figured it would just be hard rye bread and some soup. But I kept any reaction off my face, accepted it all naturally, and ate slowly. Even rough rye bread wasn't so bad once you tore off a bite and chased it with soup.
"Sir Knight, you eat rye bread like it's delicious? The other nobles won't even touch it unless it's wheat flour bread."
That came from a soldier who'd been blankly watching me eat. He must've found it strange that a noble like me was scarfing down rye bread.
"...Well, yeah."
Back in my serf days, I'd been force-fed things no human could stomach. I only escaped by risking my life when I thought I'd starve to death otherwise. Just recalling those memories somehow made the bread taste twice as good.
I demolished the bread and soup in no time, then stripped every bit of meat from a slightly overcooked, tough chicken leg. Washing it down with the wine in my cup, I asked the question that had been nagging at me.
"Any word on Cligrove?"
"Nothing solid. But the rumors are flying about the Lady of Cligrove leading an army here—the outside's in total chaos. And..."
Once he got started, the soldier rambled on about things I hadn't even asked. Then, with a dissatisfied scowl, he added,
"To be honest, I don't have any grudge against Cligrove. Our count started this war—why hold it against them?"
He laughed it off, saying it was easy for him to say since he hadn't been fired from his contract. Right then, the cell door creaked open again. The soldier glanced over, went pale as a ghost, and shot to his feet.
"C-C-C-..."
C-?
I quickly figured out why the soldier sounded like a broken record. A man with black hair and black eyes—the Sarisa Count—had stepped into the cell.
"Out."
"Yes, sir!"
The knight who'd come in with him dragged the soldier away. The count eyed me, locked in the cell, and wrinkled his nose.
"Filthy cur."
"Apologies, Count, but I'm a noble now."
"Don't sully a noble's name with that lowly mouth of yours. I could rip you limb from limb right now. You should be grateful you're still useful."
"I'm thankful you find me useful, then. So what brings your precious self all the way here?"
He stared at me without a word. The count's eyes gleamed with murderous intent. He must want me dead. I'd foiled him twice already—once on the battlefield, once in this castle.
Because of me, everything had gone to ruin. Not just losing the war, but his dishonorable schemes too.
"You asked why I'm here? I'll show you right now."
The count grinned cruelly and grabbed a whip from the wall.
The count came back a few more times after that, whipping me each visit. But it only lasted a few days. Once the scouts reported Cligrove's army in sight, his visits stopped cold. Only then did the count's nervous underlings approach Kyle's cell.
"...The world has gone mad—beating a fellow noble."
That was from the swordsmen who'd come to Kyle's cell. Captured nobles got special treatment. Regular soldiers might be tortured, but nobles lived like they were in lodgings, sipping wine. Sure, it all factored into the ransom.
It was a matter of manners among nobles—anyone who captured one could end up a prisoner themselves someday. But the count had ignored it all and lashed Kyle anyway.
"You..."
"It's me. Your escort from before."
"I remember. But I don't know your name."
"Come to think of it, I never told you. Name's Ericsen."
"Right... Ericsen. Why come here? Nothing good awaits you."
Ericsen glanced at his companions, who herded the guards away. Even among soldiers, seniority mattered—the grunts couldn't defy them.
With just the two of them left, Ericsen looked at Kyle and said,
"Cligrove's army is closing in on the castle."
"Already?"
"It's been five days since that mess. A full march could've gotten them here easy."
"I see... The lady will arrive soon. What of the count? Haven't seen him lately."
Ericsen relayed that the count was prepping for a final stand—and that soldier morale was in the pits over it.
He fired men on whims, then called them back when needed. On top of that, he'd stiffed them on compensation—not just for war dead, but for those killed in the manor raid.
Once he opened up, the complaints poured out. Ericsen even confessed that some vanguard swordsmen had survived.
"Good... That's a relief. But why tell me? Planning a revolt?"
Kyle meant it as a joke. But he quickly realized it was a brilliant idea. Disgruntled troops, a certain defeat, a leader without authority—the perfect storm for rebellion.
"Haha, as if. How could we..."
Before Ericsen could shake his head, Kyle's voice turned dead serious.
"No. On second thought, it's perfect."
"What..."
"Think about it. You really believe Cligrove's army will spare you? They won't slaughter everyone, but the castle will be ransacked. The lady will allow looting this time."
"..."
Ericsen's brow furrowed. They'd dodged looting last war, but with things this dire? Combined with pillage, countless peasants would starve.
Of course, with just cause to seize the territory outright, Lenia probably wouldn't order looting even after breaching the walls. But Ericsen, a commoner, had no clue.
To him, defeat meant pillage, plain and simple. Kyle whispered in his ear like the devil himself.
"Help me spark a revolt, succeed, and you'll all be safe. I swear it on my honor—no looting."
"But... the knights will stay loyal. And not everyone else will agree."
Kyle stifled a laugh. Ericsen was already hooked. It showed just how far the count's grip had slipped.
"That's where you come in. Aren't you the leader of your comrades?"
"Ahem... Not really."
"They all follow you—humble, aren't we? Anyway, there must be others with gripes. Round them up, convince them. You said my men survived? Link up with them, and we've got a real shot."
Even as he spoke, Kyle advised against roping in anyone beyond the vanguards—excluding elite swordsmen. Revolts succeeded through secrecy and speed.
Clack! Clack!
Meanwhile, outside the castle, Cligrove's army marched on. Three to four thousand strong, same as the first war. Despite heavy losses then—and no mercenaries—they'd gathered this many for two reasons.
First, Kyle's tale of sacrifice. Second, the promise of an overwhelming victory.
Who'd skip a sure win? Opportunists chasing easy gains and romantics inspired by Kyle's story had swelled the ranks—even after cherry-picking, they'd hit three thousand.
And soon, they reached Sarisa's castle.
"Halt! Halt!"
"Stand straight!"
Even after a grueling march with barely any sleep, morale soared. Conscripts or not, under veteran officers, they swiftly prepped siege engines and camps.
"Over here!"
"Careful! You'll get hurt!"
Seizing a castle was no easy feat. Sun Tzu said it took three months' prep minimum. But they aimed for a quick strike.
Topple the walls before three sunsets. That was the plan.
"Move it!"
"Damn it! I said no stalls yet!"
The camp followers and merchants turned the area into a bustling market amid the siege prep.
Through the din, the Sarisa Count climbed the battlements. He scowled at Cligrove's troops encircling the walls.
"Lady of Cligrove! I wish to parley!"
An abrupt call for talk. But Lenia's response was ice-cold.
"No talks needed! What I want is the count—your head!"
"So you'll ignore the mercenaries who died shielding you?"
"What..."
Lenia faltered at his words. He spoke as if Kyle lived. If he hadn't died? Captured? Her mind raced. But she commanded this army—showing doubt was a luxury commanders couldn't afford.
Lenia clamped her mouth shut and stared up at the count coolly. Seeing it, he smirked.
"Can't believe it? Want proof? That mercenary lives!"
"..."
She stayed silent. Better to ignore tricks than fall for them.
Her silence frustrated the count. He frantically signaled a nearby soldier.
"To the dungeon—fetch him."
"Him, sir?"
"That filthy mercenary scum! Hurry!"
The soldier rushed to the dungeon. But he soon bolted back to the wall, ashen-faced.
"No one's in the cell!"
Kyle had escaped.
'As expected...'
Lenia had watched the wall with faint hope, but no sign of Kyle. He'd probably fought to the end and fallen. She clearly remembered his final shout—for her.
"Kyle..."
An odd man. He'd felt approachable from the start. She owed this march to him: laying the groundwork for reversal in the first war, sacrificing himself against the count's vile plot this time.
The more she thought of him, the sadder she grew—until sorrow ignited into rage. Gazing at the sky, Lenia swore,
"Kyle... I'll bring you the count's head. I promise."
To lay it at his grave.