The Shield of Noxvine Retreats
“Abandon the outskirts.”
When Belion Vergrad said those words, the officers of the Eastern Military Camp did not understand at first. No, they understood perfectly well, which was why they could not accept it.
On the map spread across the command tent, red markers had been placed. The outer supply depot. The auxiliary supply route. The outposts near the reception center. Two of them already bore black marks.
Black King Castle raid. Destroyed. Lost.
And the final sentence: Kardia Noxbell captured.
Someone ground their teeth in the low light.
“Your Highness.” The title rang heavily within the tent. “Are you telling us to retreat and leave General Kardia behind?”
Belion looked at the officer. His gaze was cold. It wasn't cold because he lacked anger; it was cold because he had frozen that anger solid.
“What is required to rescue her?”
“A single cavalry unit would suffice.”
“It would not be enough.” Belion placed his hand on the map. “Black King Castle will not hide Kardia.”
The officer’s mouth snapped shut.
“On the contrary, they will show her off. They will put her at the top of the prisoner list, treat her wounds, feed her, and keep her alive.”
“What does that—”
“So that our soldiers can see it.” Belion’s finger moved slowly across the map, from the outer supply depot toward Black King Castle, then back toward the main force of the Eastern Military Camp. “The fact that Kardia is not dead.”
His finger stopped.
“The fact that the soldiers who laid down their weapons are not dead, either.”
The tent fell silent.
“The moment those two facts reach our main force, the army will no longer be held together by blades alone.” Belion’s voice was low. “Fear keeps soldiers standing. But soldiers who have seen a way to live will not be held together by fear alone.”
At those words, one officer bowed his head. Not out of resentment, but because he didn't want to admit it.
“But if we abandon the outskirts, Black King Castle’s proclamation will spread even further.”
“That is why we are abandoning them now.” Belion said. “Even if I were to lead the charge myself.” He picked up a black marker from beside the map. “Lucion will be waiting.”
The name was spoken. Lucion. Until now, that name had been spoken lightly in the Eastern Military Camp. The weak prince. The third son who survived by luck. A decorative ornament wearing a crown. But now, no one in the tent dared to call him that.
“If we move the main force because we lost a supply depot, the path will narrow.” Belion placed the black marker on the map. “If the path narrows, the soldiers will trample one another.”
He placed another marker beside it. “At that moment, Black King Castle’s Protection List will be brought in again.”
The final marker. “And the Kardia we went to rescue will be placed in the spot where Black King Castle is most visible.”
The officer’s face hardened.
“Then rumors will spread that we abandoned General Kardia.”
“No.” Belion shook his head. “Rumors will spread that we lost the main force trying to rescue Kardia.”
That was even more cruel.
The officers could not answer. Belion folded the report. His fingertips applied the slightest bit of pressure. Kardia Noxbell. The blade of Noxvine. She was strong on the battlefield. Because she was so strong, the soldiers believed that wherever she was, that was the battlefield. Lucion had pierced that belief. By the time Kardia arrived, the supply depot was already burning, the soldiers had read the Protection List, the retreat route was closed, and her name had been changed in the black ledger.
Belion closed his eyes and opened them again.
“Kardia was not defeated by a sword.” Everyone in the tent looked at him. “She arrived after the battlefield had already moved.”
It was not a compliment. It was not admiration for Lucion, either. It was merely an accurate diagnosis. And an accurate diagnosis is sometimes more unpleasant than an insult.
“Send a messenger.” Belion said. “The outer forces are to retreat to the northern ridge of the main camp. Do not recover the remaining supplies at the depot. Abandon the soldiers who would die trying to drag them back.”
“Your Highness.”
“Supplies can be gathered again.” Belion’s eyes pressed down on the officer. “Soldiers cannot.”
The officer closed his mouth.
“Evacuate the wounded first. Do not mix the noble family’s private soldiers with the regular army. Do not capture and hang those who were swayed by Black King Castle’s proclamation.”
This time, a different officer was surprised. “You will not punish them?”
“If I hang them now?” Belion asked. “It would just be handing Lucion another line to write.”
No one could answer. Belion spoke for them instead.
“‘The Eastern Military Camp killed the soldiers who wanted to survive.’” He smiled, though it was a short movement that could hardly be called a smile. “That single line would be more than enough for us to be defeated.”
Outside the tent, the soldiers were murmuring. Radin survived. That word had already spread. General Kardia is not dead, either. That word had spread, too. Whether the rumor that the outer soldiers who laid down their weapons were added to Black King Castle’s Protection List was fact or fiction was still unclear. But to soldiers, rumors were always faster than facts. And fear was faster than rumors.
“Issue the order to retreat.” Belion said. “Do not write ‘defeat’ in the order.”
“Then what shall I write?”
“‘Realignment of outer forces.’”
The officer’s lips trembled. Political language is always more polite than reality. A burning supply depot becomes a realignment. A retreat becomes a maneuver. A defeat becomes an adjustment. But everyone knew. The Shield of Noxvine was, for the first time, taking a step back.
The inside of the iron door in the Black King Castle prisoner ward was quiet. Kardia Noxbell sat with her back against the wall. The cloth for her wounds had not yet been wrapped around her shoulder. She hadn't touched the bowl of water, either. Footsteps stopped outside the iron door. It was Seradin.
“The Eastern Military Camp has abandoned the outskirts.”
Kardia’s eyes opened. She didn't say anything for a long time. The chains rattled softly against her wrists.
“Liar.”
“The report is final.”
“His Highness Belion would never abandon me.”
Seradin watched her from beyond the iron door. “He didn't abandon you.”
Kardia’s jaw tightened. Seradin said, “He chose the battlefield.”
The words entered the prison cell. Coldly. Accurately. Kardia bit her lip. A drop of blood formed. Only then did she look at the water bowl. Prisoner management regulations. The words remained in her ears. Not mercy, but regulation. Not treatment, but storage. Not release, but evidence.
Kardia did not kick the water bowl. It wasn't because she lacked the strength. It was because she felt that the moment she kicked it, she would be admitting that she was reacting to the rules of this room.
“He has changed.” Kardia said low.
Seradin did not answer. Kardia leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
“No.” She corrected herself. “Was I just slow to see it?”
Seradin was silent for a moment, then said, “I will not record the sentiments of a prisoner.”
The footsteps beyond the iron door faded away. Kardia didn't laugh. She didn't cry. She only lifted her bound hands and looked at the chains on her wrists. There was no sword. The battlefield had moved. But she could not move.
The victory report came with the scent of blood. I learned that for the first time. The word "victory" was not as glamorous as I had thought. Numbers were written on the paper. Destroyed supply depots. Secured supply routes. Soldiers who laid down their weapons. Captured officers. And the dead.
Fuck. We won. We really won.
That thought came first. But the moment I saw the number of dead written on the first page of the report, that joy caught in my throat. This world records the number of dead people very administratively. So many killed in action. So many wounded. So many missing. So many listed on the Protection List. The Demon Kingdom makes even its Excel sheets out of blood.
“Your Majesty.” Hermun said quietly. “The Eastern Military Camp has abandoned the outskirts.”
“And the main force?”
“They were preserved.”
As expected. Belion was not stupid. If he had rushed in emotionally to rescue Kardia, I might have been reading the next victory report by now. But he retreated. He swallowed his pride, abandoned the outskirts, and saved his main force. That was what bothered me.
“He’s strong.” I said.
Hermun looked at me. “Are you referring to Belion?”
“Yes.” I put down the report. “A guy who doesn't shrink even when he loses is the most troublesome.”
It was true. A guy who wins is scary. But a guy who doesn't collapse even after losing is scarier. He looks at the next board. And usually, those are the guys who live a long time. Not the guy who lost now, but the guy who is looking for a way to win next time. That’s why he was more troublesome. It felt like we had won, but it didn't feel like it was over at all.
“What about the soldiers who laid down their weapons?”
“Thirty-seven. Twenty-four of them are half-demons or have diluted bloodlines.”
“Feed them.”
The scribe picked up his pen.
“Add them to the Protection List, separate them from the noble family’s private soldiers, and house them. Investigate who their commanders were separately.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And the wounded?”
“Twelve Eastern soldiers, nine Black King Castle soldiers.”
“Treat them.” I pressed the corner of the report with my finger. “The prisoners, too.”
Hermun raised his head ever so slightly. “Even the Eastern prisoners, Your Majesty?”
“If I kill them, it becomes Belion’s justification.” I said. “If I keep them alive, they become my list.”
The sound of the pen continued. Scratch. Scratch. I was getting used to this sound lately. The problem was that it was a sound I shouldn't be getting used to.
“Shall I process Kardia Noxbell as planned?” Hermun asked.
“Leave her at the top of the prisoner list.” I answered immediately. “And the sword?”
“It is being kept as evidence.”
“Good.”
The word "good" came out too easily. So I stopped for a moment. It wasn't good. It was necessary. If a person starts calling necessary things "good," at some point, they can no longer manage their own monster. I let out a long breath.
“Clear the list of the dead first.”
“Yes.”
“Then the Protection List.”
“Yes.”
“Then the prisoner list.”
I looked out the window. The sky over Black King Castle was still dark. There was no way the lights of the East could be seen from here. Yet, strangely, it felt like a red glow remained in my eyes.
“Your Majesty.” Hermun said low. “How shall you announce this victory?”
I didn't answer. The question was simple. But the answer was not. If I write only "victory," it becomes a war. If I write "punishment," it becomes terror. If I write "protection," it becomes a temptation. If I write "record," it becomes order. I knew which one I had to choose.
“It will not end as a war.”
Hermun’s pen stopped. I said, “It must remain as a historical record.”
The scribes in the room looked up simultaneously.
“Prepare the proclamation.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Write the first line like this.” I said slowly. “The blade of Noxvine has been added to the prisoner list.”
The scribe’s pen moved. Scratch. Scratch.
“And the Shield of Noxvine.” I paused for a moment. Belion Vergrad. I thought of that name. Strong brother. War hero. Traitor. And an enemy who still hadn't collapsed. I laid down the final sentence.
“Abandoned the outskirts.”
That night, the scribes of Black King Castle wrote the first line of the new proclamation.
The blade of Noxvine has been added to the prisoner list, and the Shield of Noxvine has abandoned the outskirts.
That sentence was copied before dawn came. And before the sun rose, it began to scatter across the roads of the Demon Kingdom.