Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: He Who Sold What Couldn't Be Sold (5)
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What the hell is going on?
Viscount Dermus felt like he was going mad at the unbelievable reality unfolding right before his eyes.
At first, he'd thought that country bumpkin had simply lost his nerve and gone insane.
What?
Try killing me if you can?
It felt like getting smashed in the head with a hammer. How dare that peasant talk to me like that?
The utterly unhinged response was so absurd it even made him forget his anger. But only for a moment.
Soon enough, realizing the insult, Viscount Dermus's beard began to tremble with rage.
"What are you all doing? Go take that bastard's head right now!!"
"B-but, Viscount, sir. That guy's momentum is unnatural."
"And there's those rumors..."
"Damn those rumors!!! If you don't go now, I'll execute you myself!!"
Only at the viscount's bellow did the soldiers finally force their frozen legs to move.
The numerical advantage was clear.
The bumpkin must have gotten cocky leading those lowly rabble, puffing up his shoulders.
That was all over now. He'd pay the price for his bravado soon enough, or so the viscount was certain.
"Uwaaaaaah!!!"
But that certainty shattered into pieces at the gut-wrenching scream that followed.
Wondering what was happening, he looked closer—and there was that madman charging straight in himself?
He was a bit startled, but this was even better. His head would roll in no time like that.
"Aaaah!!"
"M-monster! It's a monster!!"
"Save me!!!"
"Wh-what...?!"
But the screams didn't stop. If anything, even more began echoing through the air.
The bumpkin whose head he was sure would roll any second was still alive, swinging his sword.
It hadn't been long since he'd even drawn the blade, yet dozens of soldiers had already lost their heads.
"F-fire the arrows! Arrows should take him down easily!"
"It's not working! He's deflecting them and killing our soldiers instead!"
"Does that even make sense?!"
His adjutant grimaced at the viscount's roar. He'd only reported the facts as they were.
But the viscount's reaction was understandable. He'd heard of deflecting arrows before.
But knocking away dozens, hundreds, and turning them back on the attackers? Never.
'Even in the Empire, no knight pulled off such absurd feats. And this lowly peasant dares...!!'
The Arpen Kingdom had frequent exchanges with the Empire before the war due to its geography.
Viscount Dermus had even visited the Empire himself to broaden his horizons.
Arrows didn't work. Overwhelming numbers didn't either. What the hell was he supposed to do...?!
"...!!!"
Viscount Dermus was at the center of the main force. Far from the front lines.
Naturally, he commanded from under the soldiers' protection. It was only natural.
Yet from the first clash until now, his eyes had never left the enemy.
Yes—even now, as he plunged in personally, cutting through the soldiers between them!
'No way... that monster's target was me from the start?!'
He's coming. Getting closer, steadily slicing through countless soldiers alone.
And the image that flashed in his mind was his own head, severed and bleeding.
"My old friend. I pity you." He thought he'd never hear those final words again, yet they echoed in his ears.
In that instant, the viscount unwittingly wheeled his horse around, face drained pale as death.
"Get out of the way! All of you, move!!"
"V-Viscount?!"
"Are you abandoning us to flee right now?!"
Ignoring the endless screams and the soldiers' distraught whimpers completely.
Viscount Dermus turned tail and galloped back the way he'd proudly led his men.
Yet even as he rode without pause, the chill at his nape never faded.
"Damn it! Retreat! Retreat!!!"
With their commander fleeing, the soldiers' morale plummeted to rock bottom.
The only one still holding it together in this mess was the viscount's adjutant.
But before he could even issue the retreat order, the soldiers were already scattering one by one.
At least they'd pulled back before the casualties hit triple digits. Small mercy.
Meanwhile, the soldiers who'd trusted Cain and held their ground to the end witnessed it clearly.
Cain charging headlong into the enemy ranks without hesitation, overwhelming them utterly.
"W-we won!!"
"Glory to Blackguard!!"
"Long live Lord Cain!!!"
And so, victory cheers rang out unexpectedly through the forest.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Huff... huff."
Panting raggedly, I simply watched the soldiers fleeing in blind panic.
I wanted to pursue and finish them off for good. But my body had reached its limit.
The first time, I'd lost control in rage, swung wildly until exhaustion claimed me.
Anger grants explosive power. But sustaining it is incredibly taxing.
Like fire—easy to picture. It dies out fast without fuel.
And since I can't wield mana, stamina management is crucial.
'Start over from the beginning. Stay calm this time. Don't let anger take the wheel.'
Lessons paid for in blood demand reflection, correction, progress.
No repeating mistakes. The agony of death etches them deep.
I can't afford defeat—not when no one else will protect those behind me.
I'm learning to control my breathing bit by bit. Stamina growing, I can feel it.
"My old friend. I pity you." "Lived by your mouth to the end, huh? That fancy tongue never stops, even at the last." "I'm serious. Can't you see? Your pathetic end coming right up... " "...?"
A familiar voice rang out. One I'd definitely heard somewhere before.
Startled, I scanned around frantically, but saw only my cheering soldiers.
Am I finally cracking from all the deaths? Or hearing what I shouldn't?
"My lord! It's our victory!!"
"Not yet."
"Pardon? What do you...?"
"We still have a castle to retake."
"Y-you mean... retake the earl's domain right now?"
I nodded. Today's win was just a tiny skirmish.
Anyone else might not know, but I've died countless times clashing with the Empire. I know.
Viscount Dermus's rabble weren't the Imperial Army. Far from it.
Empire soldiers held formation, swinging weapons to the last breath.
These guys? No formation, awkward swings at best.
And why would the Empire let a surrendered noble command them anyway?
"That was just bait. Living bait to gauge our strength."
"You mean..."
"The Imperial Army's coming soon. The real deal, leagues above those ragtags."
I could guess the Empire's game. Reduce disarmed surrenders while testing rumors—without spending their own troops.
War's war, honor be damned. It's all manipulation.
'Best is flight. But can we outrun Empire cavalry with civilians in tow?'
Too many—kids, elders, not just able-bodied youths.
Forced march? Impossible. Dozens already bedridden.
Defending this flimsy stockade? They'd overrun us in seconds.
Empire's elite. With siege weapons—and worst, disaster mages.
'If mages torch the forest... total annihilation.'
Burning alive is nightmare fuel beyond imagining. Flesh melting, skin sloughing off.
Then oblivion swallows even that horror. For everyone.
I let out a deep sigh. Truth was, the answer was already set.
"So what if it's the Imperial Army."
"Right! If we all pull together, we can win."
"Even if things go south... we'll follow you to the end, my lord."
At least forest terrain gives a slim shot.
That's why I chose solo assault on the castle—not ambush.
Walking to my death. Forsaking even the safety I'd craved.
Finally, before the gates: a jet-black greatsword plunged in the earth. I know its owner.
Earl Sandwy. Kingdom loyalist who resisted to his last breath.
Why solo siege over defense? Simple.
"If death's inevitable anyway."
At least I'll choose how I die.