Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: The One Who Sold What Couldn't Be Sold (2)
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What the hell is the criterion?
At this point, I couldn't help but agonize over the standards for Defeat Regression.
In truth, I'd been pondering it from the very beginning. At least back then, there were clear criteria.
Abandoning the fight to flee, or suffering defeat and losing your life. Those were straightforward benchmarks.
Anyone could see those as defeats, so I got it.
But out of nowhere, ditching the territory's people counts as defeat? What kind of standard is that?
After racking my brain, I finally came up with two hypotheses.
'The first is a lord's duty. A lord has an obligation to protect his territory and its people...'
If that hypothesis held, then why didn't abandoning the territory itself trigger defeat?
That led to yet another hypothesis.
'Abandoning the people and running triggers defeat because of the scenario... sort of like a campaign mission.'
Like other strategy simulation games, Undefeated in a Hundred Battles also features scenario missions.
For instance, Empire of Rebellion, where you become a great general of the Garon Empire preparing a revolt.
Or The Kingdom Reconstruction Chronicle of the Salvational Prince, where you play as a prince of the Arpen Kingdom restoring the realm to glory.
Each scenario has its missions, and failing them naturally ends in game over.
'So defeat is determined by scenario criteria too?'
"Lord, here's your meal."
"...Yeah."
One of the soldiers held out a bowl brimming with steaming porridge.
Snapped from my reverie, I took it wordlessly. Being the lord and all.
It had a fair bit of meat and vegetables mixed in. Still just porridge, though.
"How's the situation?"
"Not good. Rain had to pour right now, of all times..."
"Figured. Hang in there a little longer. Earl Sandwy's territory isn't far."
"Understood."
Rain fell endlessly, like a hole ripped in the sky. Its chill seeped right through the armor.
The mud, churned sticky by the downpour, made even walking a grueling ordeal.
We'd grabbed everything we could from the territory, but supplies were still dire.
Feeding 250 territory folk proper meals? Food was nowhere near enough.
So along the way, we foraged every wild edible in sight—tree bark and all—boiling it into porridge.
The force of a hundred was cut back to twenty. Forced conscription meant middle-aged men, even elders, among them.
Obviously, to prioritize rations for those who could fight now.
'March speed's slower than imagined. Three weeks on a half-month foot trek.'
At least double the slowdown. Lucky no pursuit latched on.
If the retreating Empire troops had hit our rear, we'd have been done for.
Was it leaving beloved hometowns for strange evacuation trails?
Among folk battered in body and soul, sickness began to spread.
A vicious plague named anxiety. Even soldiers weren't immune.
"Lord, can we really survive this?"
"You dare doubt the lord right now?!"
"But isn't it true...? Even Earl Sandwy's land—can we swear it'll hold against the Empire forces...?"
Not a wrong point. I harbored the same dread.
I'm just an ordinary person. Somehow thrust into leading, but at core, no different.
Truth is, Earl Sandwy's territory was chosen for lack of alternatives.
'Months on foot to the capital. Soldiers alone make it tough; with civilians, impossible.'
Hiding in woods? No go. Mages sniff you out too easily.
Having bloodied the Empire proper, pursuit was inevitable for me.
Wounded the mighty Empire army's pride—they'd scramble to save face.
'Conversely, Earl Sandwy's in the exact opposite direction from the capital, massive scale too. Conquering it'd drain heavy forces.'
The Empire splits troops to seize minor territories or force surrenders as they advance.
Arrogant, sure—but backed by overwhelming might and solid intel.
Put differently, a distant outlier like Earl Sandwy's is prime for bypass or mere harassment.
...At least, that's the hope.
"Earl Sandwy's a Sword Expert of advanced rank, isn't he? No way he'd fall easily."
"Advanced Expert! One of the kingdom's rarest elite knights!"
"Yeah, a man like that—even the Empire couldn't take him lightly!"
Hope's flicker kindled, shoving anxiety aside. Small mercy.
I, however, couldn't relax.
I knew the Empire-Kingdom gap better than anyone here.
That's when raucous hooves thundered from afar.
From ahead, not behind. Earl's troops? Fingers crossed.
Empire...? My hand drifted unconsciously to the sword hilt at my waist. And...
It was right. Shattering the fragile peace with hooves came...
The Empire's crimson banner, dragon emblazoned. Empire cavalry, yep.
'Roughly forty. Damn—a patrol sweeping the area.'
Patrolling enemy soil like home turf? This whole zone's theirs now.
Too late to hide. I faced them calmly, no choice.
Cavalry or not, easier than a thousand strong.
Hooves halted. One lead armored knight spurred forward.
"I am Sir Randkool van Grodel, knight of His Majesty the great Emperor. Are you friends of the Empire? Or foes to topple?"
"Cain Blackguard. Depends on what you bastards do."
"Insolent wretch. Kingdom hick dares yap?! I'll seal that mouth...!"
"Enough."
The adjutant, stung by a rural noble's slight, lunged to punish—but...
Sir Randkool raised a hand, halting him. What? Doesn't know me?
"Cain Blackguard? Baron Cain Blackguard of Blackguard Territory?"
"That's me."
"...Those folk behind...?"
"My territory's people."
Too much bullshit endured—a snide 'Can't you tell?' nearly slipped.
No point provoking. Curt answer it was.
Enough, apparently. Randkool pondered deeply a moment.
'No clue what he's mulling, but strike now while distracted...'
"That suffices. You look pressed for time—go carefully."
"...???"
"Sir Grodel! Letting Empire foes walk?!"
"Silence, adjutant. Questioning your superior's call?"
Discipline ironclad—adjutant clammed up at Randkool's glare.
Silencing him in a flash, Randkool cleared the path himself.
Even dismounted, bowing in greeting.
"Though fate casts us foes, honor to meet a lord of such nobility, upholding honor and duty."
"...You're really letting us pass? Why?"
"Who knows? Perhaps one day, under the same banner. This route... never mind."
'Lull with lies, then fetch backup? Nah. Forty knight-cavalry—if attacking, they'd have by now.'
Spouting nonsense, Randkool galloped off with his men.
What drivel—but no fight. Lucky.
Wondered how many deaths this round.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Randkool’s decision was extremely unconventional.
Even his subordinates were worried.
But this was not merely mercy.
It was a move containing careful calculation.
News that the army led by Sir Valentis had been defeated had already spread widely among the Imperial Army stationed in the east.
Defeat itself can happen.
Even if the opponent is the weak Arpen Kingdom.
The problem is the contents.
A rural lord opened the gate and challenged to a duel.
And even defeated Valentis, who had reached the realm of mid-rank Sword Expert?
‘Losing in a duel is already shameful enough, yet he even refused to accept the result and tried to overwhelm him with force.’
Randkool clicked his tongue.
He defeated a mid-rank Expert knight without even using aura.
The meaning was obvious.
Cain Blackguard is at minimum a high-rank Expert.
Perhaps even a top-tier knight looking toward Master.
Of course, the mages said he wasn’t even a sword user.
But what would those magic freaks know?
Rather, the moment he faced him, Randkool realized it clearly.
Even when facing the cavalry, he did not fear.
That mountain-like figure calmly placing his hand on the sword hilt, ready to respond.
If they had fought immediately there,
the ones defeated might have been them.
But the biggest shock was the countless crowd behind Cain Blackguard.
Commoners who clearly had no strength.
And the man standing in front to protect them.
‘To think he is trying to protect them without abandoning even a single territory resident.’
War is hell that strips away hypocrisy and pretense.
When people are pushed to the very bottom,
only then do they reveal their true face.
And just now, Randkool clearly saw the true face of Cain Blackguard.
Even in disadvantage he did not surrender.
Faithful to his country until the very end.
Not abandoning even a single territory resident.
Truly a noble loyalist of the kingdom.
“We will likely meet again soon.
Next time, I hope we meet as comrades under the same flag.”
Once again murmuring a meaningful monologue,
Randkool gripped the reins of his horse tightly.