Chapter 48
Chapter 48
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 48
Chapter Title: Melee
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Squelch... Squelch...
The slightly damp dirt path squished underfoot. Even though we were openly marching along the main road toward the castle, we were still some distance from the walls, so no soldiers were in sight. The only ones scattering in every direction were terrified locals.
Along the way, the Elite Swordsmen had split off to head to the mansion. From here on, it was just me and twenty Vanguard Swordsmen to take the lord's castle. We'd end this quickly.
"Who goes there!"
We encountered our first soldiers right in front of the lord's castle. Two guards on duty. They hurriedly thrust their spears at us in panic, but fear was written all over their faces. They could tell who we were just from our gear and appearance.
"Subdue them. Don't kill them."
At my order, the Vanguard Swordsmen grinned wickedly and stepped forward. And then...
"Gah!"
"Urk!"
It took less than ten seconds to overpower the two guards. The swordsmen snatched their clumsily thrusting spears and shoved their fierce faces right up close, growling.
"Look at this bastard? What? Gonna try to gut us with this toothpick?"
"How about I split your gut open and show you what color your intestines are?"
If mercenaries were pro criminals, these guys were pro butchers. Sure, there are different kinds of butchery, but if we had to specify, they were experts at human slaughter. Far more seasoned than regular soldiers, they shook the guards down like dusting off dirt.
"Where's the Count? Answer in ten seconds. Or else..."
"I don't know! No idea!"
"Don't know? Heh heh... If I start breaking your fingers and limbs one by one, you'll probably remember the color of your childhood undies."
The guards paled at that and waved their hands frantically.
"No! He's inside, but I don't know if he's in the castle right now! The mansion and castle are connected, I swear I don't know!"
So he is here. The swordsmen grumbled as they dropped the men they'd been shaking by the collar. Then they slammed their fists into the napes of their necks. Hard enough to make a thud.
"Argh!"
"Urgh!"
The guards screamed and tumbled to the ground. But these brutish swordsmen just said, "That's supposed to knock 'em out, right?" and kept hammering their hammer-like fists into the backs of their necks. Crude guys with half-baked knowledge are the most dangerous, as they say.
Thud!
Finally, unable to withstand the relentless beating, the guards pretended to pass out. Only then did the swordsmen smile, satisfied with their handiwork. Idiots.
"The Count's probably on the top floor. But to be safe, check every room we see."
"Got it!"
Once inside the castle, we searched the interior like rats. The swordsmen even lifted beds and shook their heads.
"Nothing here!"
"Nobody in here either! Captain!"
The castle was eerily empty, as if it had always been abandoned. I couldn't believe it. Had he already fled? Did he think there was no hope? But the siege had only been going on for two days.
High-ranking nobles like Counts often built secret tunnels from their mansions or castles leading outside for safety. Nicknamed rabbit holes—nobody admitted to having them, but most people knew they existed.
But even if the Count was irresponsible, he couldn't have fled already. The castle wasn't on the verge of falling; it was holding up better than expected. I peeked out a window, but the siege was still raging fiercely outside.
"No word from the mansion side?"
If so, the Count had to be in the mansion, but the Elite Swordsmen who'd gone there were radio silent.
Realizing something must have happened at the mansion, I urgently called back the scattered swordsmen.
"The mansion! Move, now!"
"Damn them all!"
Bam!
The Count slammed his desk in a fit of rage. It had started with the war. Fighting Cligrove was absurd given Sarisa's scale in the first place, but with the Duke's backing, things had gone smoothly at the outset.
And then, by chance, elf cavalry had flowed into the territory. Back then, the Count brimmed with confidence in victory. But that confidence shattered soon enough.
The moment their armies clashed, the balance—initially even—collapsed with the elves' deployment. Barbarians that even northern troops hardened by harsh real combat found tough. Expensive, sure, but they lived up to their reputation.
Cligrove's cavalry shattered in an instant, and a mere handful of riders disrupted their left flank. It showed why they were called the north's scourge. But the Count ground his teeth, thinking that far.
"If not for that guy..."
Lucas Kyle. The one who'd captured the elves, rallied the routing mercenaries, and turned the tide. And just days ago, he'd even sprung the Cligrove lady.
"Should've torn him limb from limb back then..."
Despite capturing him as a bargaining chip and locking him in the dungeon, he'd escaped. The Count glared irritably out the window.
All he saw beyond the walls were Cligrove soldiers. They were barely holding with the walls for now, but how long could that last?
"If I can escape and request reinforcements from the Duke..."
As the thought of fleeing crossed his mind, a racket erupted outside, and a vassal in armor burst in. A noble who'd grabbed the family heirloom armor when war broke out, despite lacking proper sword training.
"C-Count!"
"What is it!"
"Rebellion! The Elite Swordsmen!"
"What?"
News of betrayal from the knights' next-best force in Sarisa's army. The Count shook his head in disbelief.
"Nonsense! Them betraying us? Impossible!"
"The escorts are holding them off outside! You must evacuate, now!"
"Out of my way! I need to see for myself!"
The Count shoved past the yelling noble and stormed out of the office. The sight that greeted him was an unbelievable reality.
"Waaah!"
"Don't let them reach the Count!"
The remaining escorts—three knights and five swordsmen—clashed with the suddenly invading Elite Swordsmen. Swords on swords, armor on armor; the clashes filled the once-quiet mansion, overflowing with murderous shouts down the halls.
In the narrow corridor, it was less swordplay and more close-quarters brawl. Spotting the Count emerging from the office, one Elite Swordsman pointed.
"There—the Count!"
Not "Your Excellency," just "the Count." Enraged by the slight, the Count bellowed.
"Insolent traitor! Guards! Seize him at once!"
Stress and fury from days past clouded his grasp of reality. Outwardly fine, he was mentally crumbling.
"Count! You must retreat!"
"Someone! Grab these arrogant rebels now!"
Unfortunately, all soldiers who might heed him were at the walls. No response came—only his escorts fought desperately.
Clank! Clank!
Just as the Count's mind frayed, a group of soldiers ascended from the corridor's end. Vanguard Swordsmen.
"Ah! My loyal troops! Crush these insolent rebels at—"
His face, brightening at the sight of rescuers, twisted horribly as they neared. Their armor bore Cligrove's emblem boldly. Leading them, a man greeted him.
"Fancy meeting you again like this, Count."
"Y-you...!"
With Kyle's appearance, the fight paused. He addressed the swordsmen.
"I said send one back when you spotted him. What a mess."
Ericsson bowed awkwardly.
"Wanted to, but their numbers were higher than expected. Couldn't spare one safely."
Kyle ignored the excuse, eyes on the Count. The tide had turned—Cligrove knights were losing, and now Vanguard Swordsmen had arrived. He smiled.
"What'll it be, Count? Surrender nicely and become our prisoner. I'd prefer that."
The exact words from their last war, when Kyle had captured him. The Count wailed.
"Kill him! Kill that bastard, no matter what!"
The mansion corridor was narrow. Their fight was no duel of blades but savage brawling—smashing heads with swords, pummeling with fists. In such melees, numbers ruled.
One knight handling three Elite Swordsmen? Maybe with space to swing. Here, cramped, their prowess plummeted, pushed back by sheer force.
"Kill!"
"You Count's bastard dogs!"
What kept them going was superhuman loyalty to protect their lord. The Count's last knights, to the bitter end. But he betrayed even their hopes.
Watching the knights yield with fearful eyes, the Count spun and fled into his office. He aimed for the rabbit hole, abandoning his faithful knights. Kyle shouted urgently.
"Count! Where do you think you're running!"
His thunderous roar—enough to make swordsmen flinch—echoed down the hall as he charged into the fray.
"You scum! How dare—argh!"
The outnumbered knights rushed to block him, but it was futile.
Bam!
Kyle's gauntlet smashed a helmet with a hammer-like thud; the knight flew back, rolling on the floor. The others gaped. How could a fist dent a helmet like that?
And he was out cold—one hit. Likely his neck snapped from the shock.
"Damn it!"
The fragile balance shattered; knights crumbled under the swordsmen, faces pummeled to pulp on the ground. Sparing their noble lives was the swordsmen's final mercy.
"Count!"
Meanwhile, the fleeing Count hadn't gotten far. In his haste, he'd left the rabbit hole entrance ajar. Dragged out from behind the soot-blackened fireplace by Kyle's grip on his nape.
"I'll kill you! I swear it! You most of all!"
Half-mad, the Count cursed. Kyle smirked through the tirade.
"Pray you don't die before you can kill me. The Lady's pretty pissed."