Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: The One Who Sold the Unsellable (1)
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Victory.
Could there be any triumph so sweet yet so ill-fitting for me, like clothes that don't suit at all?
But it was real. The enemy forces were retreating, dragging their massive numbers with them.
I could only stare blankly at their backs in a daze.
My breath had already risen to my throat, and my limbs, pushed to their limits, felt as heavy as if shackled, making even movement a burden.
And yet.
I was alive. Undeniably surviving, drawing breath.
That fact brought me more joy than I could imagine.
"Th-the enemy is retreating!"
"The Lord has won!!"
"Long live the Lord!! Long live His Majesty the King!!!"
'Long live the King, my ass. What the hell did that king bastard do from the back lines?'
Hearing it over and over just made my stomach churn with the worst possible words.
I didn't know the details, but this war was surely born of the king's incompetence.
Yet to credit that king with the glory of victory? Sorry, but I couldn't stomach it.
He should've struggled just enough.
Anyway, there was no time to bask in the sweetness of victory. This was just the beginning.
Garon Empire.
The undisputed hegemon of the continent, holding over half its territory and boasting the strongest military might—a true military superpower.
True to its setting, it dominated in talent, troops, resources, provisions, and nearly every field.
No wonder veterans avoided picking the Garon Empire.
Choosing the Empire made the game too easy—no challenge at all.
They'd even thrown over a thousand troops at conquering this one rural territory.
"It's too early to celebrate. The war has only just begun."
"L-Lord."
"Forgive us."
Was it because I'd shown monstrous prowess? The soldiers looking at me were filled with trust.
Of course, that didn't change the fact they'd fled without a backward glance.
Still, it was encouraging that, after repeating death, not a single soldier ran anymore.
In game terms, my leadership had risen, forcing them to obey.
In other words.
I had to play the guide through this mess too.
Medieval serfs, unlike modern folk, were utterly uneducated and ignorant.
Even those who could read were rare enough to count on one hand.
Even among nobles, illiterates weren't uncommon.
'The problem is I'm not much different.'
In the end, serfs were ordinary folk. And so was I.
Born to middle-class comfort, I'd gotten the standard compulsory education.
Graduated college ordinarily, got a regular job, paid taxes like everyone.
If modern serfs existed, I'd fit the bill perfectly.
The point was, I was used to following orders.
Who'd have thought the lack of leadership—supposedly a modern virtue—would hit so hard?
"First, we abandon the territory and retreat to Earl Sandwy's lands."
"Pardon? Abandon the territory?"
"But we won, didn't we?"
"Nonsense. That's not even a tenth of the Empire's forces. You think they'd commit their full strength to a backwater like this?"
Only then did the soldiers grasp my words, their faces hardening like stone.
A thousand.
Not a small number by any means. But against the Garon Empire, a military giant.
If my memory held, the Empire commanded a million-strong army.
And the population and resources to sustain that horde.
Of course, they wouldn't throw all a million at a weakling like Arpen Kingdom.
Maybe fifty thousand at most. More than enough to overrun the kingdom.
"So we must join Earl Sandwy first and fortify defenses. He can hold off the Empire."
"R-Right, he governs the eastern territories."
"Rumors say his fortress is no joke..."
But no need to crush morale by telling them the truth.
So I instilled hope: reach Earl Sandwy's lands, and we'd survive.
People can't live without hope. I knew that better than anyone.
"Understood, Lord. We'll inform the serfs and prepare at once."
"What are you talking about?"
"...Pardon?"
As if their throats were clogged with charcoal, their words choked off.
I'm human too.
I knew full well how ruthless my decision was. But there was no choice.
I still remembered.
The agony of arrows piercing flesh, the body cleaved by swords. Death.
The inescapable pain was etched into my body as scars.
And relive that?
If God existed, I'd beg for mercy just once.
That's why.
Forcing my unresponsive lips, I conveyed my conclusion to all.
"We abandon the serfs."
"Wh-what kind of nonsense is that?!"
"No! How can we abandon our people?!"
The soldiers predictably paled and objected fiercely.
I understood. Their families were among the serfs too.
But I didn't think the retreated Empire forces would just leave.
They'd regroup with the main body to pursue and seize the frontier.
Then hell would restart.
Just imagining it made my hands tremble. Me, endure that hell again?
"If that's your will, fine. Those who stay, stay. Those who follow, follow."
"Th-that's..."
"You mean to cowardly flee alone?!"
"Cowardly? You dare lecture me on cowardice to my face?!"
My vision turned red. Rage had boiled over, veins bursting.
I remembered clearly. Not one of you stayed—you all abandoned me and fled.
Of course, later they all held by my side.
But could I credit that to their merit? Bullshit.
It was only possible thanks to the abilities I raised while dying.
My chilling roar, laced with ghostly aura, left the soldiers dumbstruck.
"Last warning. Follow me or stay. Choose."
The numbers split evenly. Mostly those without families followed me.
Those with kin in the territory chose to stay.
...My heart grew heavy.
Guilt crushed my chest, making even breathing hard.
"Where will you abandon us for?!"
"Lord! Please don't abandon us!!"
"..."
It wasn't easy watching the serfs kneel, weeping and begging.
Never had my own incompetence enraged and saddened me so... Damn it.
But I gritted my teeth and turned away. Just as you want to live, so do I.
To survive, I abandoned everything and fled, eyes squeezed shut against the surging guilt.
And then.
"Understood, Lord. We'll inform the serfs and prepare at once."
"...Huh?"
The moment I opened my eyes again.
Hell repeated.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Victory.
The impossible outcome skyrocketed the soldiers' morale through the heavens.
It went without saying. Facing the Empire's troops swarming like endless ants.
Few could have believed they'd survive that moment.
No.
None at all.
Yet one man hadn't given up until the end in that hopeless situation.
Cain Blackguard.
The lord of Blackguard Territory. From the ramparts, he'd declared to all:
"From now on, anyone fleeing or urging surrender will be severely punished under military law."
The easygoing, affable lord vanished in an instant.
Instead, a voice cold as winter awakened everyone's spirits.
The lord's voice held power. The power to make men follow.
"W-well, even if we run, where to?"
"If we're dying anyway, might as well trust the Lord."
A faith bordering on resignation. Yet the lord gladly answered it.
He'd butchered the Empire knight who accepted his duel in seconds, then charged alone into their ranks and wrought havoc.
It was an overwhelming prowess these rural kingdom folk witnessed for the first time.
Thanks to that, the Empire troops were pushed back helplessly and chose retreat.
He'd seized a victory all believed impossible—alone.
But it didn't end there.
"Inform the serfs to prepare evacuation at once. Once ready, we retreat to Earl Sandwy's lands."
"If you're right, Lord, won't the Empire pursue?"
"Evacuating with the serfs might get us caught."
"Not one will be abandoned. Dare any disobey my command?"
Despite some soldiers' objections, the lord declared it.
No serf would be left behind.
At this, the soldiers saw their lord anew.
From just some rural lord.
To a hero they could trust with their lives.