Silent Patience
Urvurt Castle was in utter chaos. The soldiers on the walls, left without a commander, were little more than a disorganized rabble. The tolling bells and frantic shouts announcing the enemy’s arrival sent waves of panic through the citizens as well. Already cowed by the ongoing war, the townsfolk bolted their doors and hid beneath their beds. Yet even amid the uproar, there were those foolish enough to believe their own troops would somehow prevail; they remained inside their mansions without so much as stepping outside.
Chief among them was the lord of Urvurt Castle himself, Baron Meldin Urvurt. Though he held the position of commander, he exercised no leadership whatsoever. A typical noble whose well-fed frame spoke of excess, he had adorned himself with glittering ornaments instead of donning armor, even as the enemy reached his very doorstep. Had Gruon witnessed the sight, his fury would have been beyond measure, yet the enemy had not yet breached the walls.
Merquez, the legion commander, turned to Gruon. “Lord Gruon. Give the order and we will seize the castle at once.”
Seeing the terrified soldiers on the ramparts who showed no intention of even loosing an arrow, Gruon understood their caliber. He nodded and focused his will.
“O verdure, sprouting sapling, source of vibrant life—cast off thy husk and germinate. With the power of the earth, I shall swallow the enemy’s nest.”
Gruon channeled the mana of his circle and began the incantation, preparing a grand spell. When the magic neared completion, he cried out with resolute conviction.
“Over Root!”
Crack! The earth split open, and rapidly growing tree roots surged upward to engulf the castle walls. There was no need to breach the fortifications; the roots simply created a path over them. The massive roots formed natural footholds, and Gruon issued his command.
“Not even token resistance with fire? How dull. Take the castle.”
The moment the words left his lips, Merquez responded. He raised his right hand to cover the silver eagle emblazoned on his breastplate—a gesture of obedience—then lifted the horn at his waist to his mouth.
Pwooo! The blast raised the morale of the allied troops while heralding death for the soldiers of Urvurt. The Silver Eagle Legion began scaling the roots that now reached the height of the walls. Only then did the Urvurt forces seem to regain their senses.
“W-what are you doing? Stop them from climbing!”
“Thrust with your spears!”
“Archers, nock your arrows!”
Without a proper commander, their efforts were scattered, yet in a siege the defenders held the advantage. Some soldiers brought long spears suited for wall defense and thrust at the climbers, while others, though their aim suffered in the dim light, at least avoided hitting their own allies and managed to harass the attackers.
“Hmph. So they still struggle.”
Even so, the Silver Eagle Legion suffered almost no casualties. Their only difficulty lay in gaining entry. The haphazard spear thrusts lacked both power and accuracy, failing to pierce the legion’s armor. Whenever an attack threatened to land, the soldiers simply deflected it with their swords and pressed forward. Arrows proved equally ineffective; those that missed were as good as nonexistent, and the few that flew true were easily stopped by shields.
The Silver Eagle Legion might have appeared crude, each man wielding a one-handed sword and round shield, yet they were far from unskilled. In truth, they were formidable. Sword and shield formed the most balanced combination of arms, and these soldiers had trained with them their entire lives. Their momentum only grew as they advanced, blocking every incoming strike until they reached the walls.
“These bastards actually attacked us? Kill them!”
The Silver Eagle Legion was exhilarated. If the enemy surrendered en masse due to the overwhelming gap in strength, there would be no sport. Their bloodlust stemmed from a simple truth: the Urvurt forces had been the first to strike De Pruna. After enduring nothing but defensive battles, the Silver Eagles finally had their chance to retaliate. Even on a battlefield that ground men down, such exhilaration was inevitable.
Shhhk! The sound of blood spraying forth was chilling, yet to the Silver Eagle soldiers just now gaining the walls it was merely the rhythm of their labor. Once more, the legion prepared to bathe in blood.
Unfortunately for the Urvurt army, none chose to surrender. Even when Gruon ordered that those who yielded would be spared, many soldiers refused, burning with fighting spirit instead. Yet their resolve was born of ignorance; no order to retreat had come from above, so they threw their lives away. What had they gained by sacrificing themselves? And what mattered more than life itself?
Watching the scene, Gruon could not help but despise Meldin, who still refused to show himself.
“I tried to endure, but it seems impossible. From this moment, the Silver Eagle Legion’s sole objective is Baron Meldin. No—trash that this world no longer needs! Offer the enemy a chance to surrender, then advance toward our final goal!”
Gruon’s order was absolute. The Silver Eagle Legion had no choice but to obey, though many felt a twinge of disappointment at being denied the right to slaughter indiscriminately.
“Soldiers of Urvurt, lay down your arms! We will spare your lives! Once Meldin’s head falls, it will all be over!”
The cry echoed from the front ranks as the legion swept through the castle. The Urvurt troops could not ignore the offer. Loyalty to their lord did not run so deep that they would value it above their own lives—especially when that lord had yet to appear. None wished to serve under such a man. Weapons and pride clattered to the ground as soldier after soldier knelt in surrender. Thereafter, the path Gruon and the Silver Eagles walked remained spotless, untouched by blood.
“Report the casualties.”
“Two men grazed by stray arrows while scaling the wall, three wounded by spears piercing armor joints, and three lightly injured in close combat—seven in total.”
“Minor losses.”
Gruon felt relief. No one had died, and only seven out of five hundred were injured despite the disadvantages of a siege. He was satisfied.
“Even those can return to the front line after emergency treatment.”
The news that the wounded could fight again brought further satisfaction, yet Gruon took precautions.
“Enough. Send the injured to the rear for full recovery.”
He would not risk wounds festering later. With the advance through the castle complete, Gruon and the Silver Eagle Legion arrived at the mansion where Baron Meldin Urvurt resided.
“This is the place?”
The ostentatious noble residence offended his sensibilities, but since he intended to kill its master anyway, he let the irritation pass.
“No more time to waste. Find the baron.”
At Gruon’s command, roughly five hundred Silver Eagle soldiers stormed the mansion. Merquez accompanied them; one glance at Gruon’s expression had made refusal impossible.
Meanwhile, Baron Meldin Urvurt received the news belatedly.
“What? Our entire army has surrendered? Those rotten bastards! I’ve poured so much money into them!”
“Still, there is no cause for concern. General Davor will return soon, and we shall protect you, my lord.”
“No matter how numerous they are, we can buy time by holding this room.”
The corpulent Meldin looked as though rising from his chair required great effort; the thought of fleeing with him never crossed anyone’s mind. The five men who vowed to protect him were commanders of Meldin’s forces, equal in skill to Davor. Yet they remained unaware that Davor had already been defeated—crushed so thoroughly that his death had gone unnoticed.
When the Silver Eagle Legion had raided Davor’s camp, the general had died without resistance, just like his men. Gruon had even mistaken the absence of a commander for a lack of leadership. Could these five, comparable to Davor, truly stop the Silver Eagles? The answer was obvious.
Bang! Bang!
At that moment, a commotion arose outside the firmly shut door.
“They appear to have arrived. You should move behind the chair, just in case.”
Only then did the commanders grasp the gravity of the situation and reposition Meldin. Though he grumbled that movement was unnecessary, fear showed in his eyes as he complied. In his hands he clutched several iron collars.
“Hurry up! What are you staring at?”
Smack!
He struck the cheek of a slave bound by one of the collars. The slave did not lower her gaze even after the blow.
“You wench! Eyes on the floor!”
Smack! Smack!
Meldin vented his agitation by beating the slaves one after another, dragging them behind the chair and striking indiscriminately. Then came a strange sound from beyond the door, followed by violent shaking.
Creak! Creak!
How long could the mansion door hold? Hoping otherwise was foolish.
BOOM!
In mere minutes the door burst open, scattering iron and wood in every direction. The commanders and Meldin ducked to avoid the debris.
“Who dares destroy the mansion of a great noble?”
Whether from ignorance or overconfidence, Meldin still raised his voice even after his castle had fallen.
“It’s me, you trash.”
Gruon stepped into the room first.
“W-what did you say?”
Meldin’s face flushed with rage at the insult, yet he did not emerge from behind the chair; the commanders held him back.
“We will hold them off. Once General Davor and the returning troops join us, we can drive them out.”
The Silver Eagles, overhearing this bold claim, began to murmur.
“Davor? Was there such a fellow among those we killed?”
“Dunno. Maybe one of the ones we finished in the mountains?”
“Keh-heh, he died so easily I didn’t even realize he was a general.”
The legion’s mocking laughter filled the air. Gruon gestured with his chin, as if to ask whether Meldin had heard.
“T-that cannot be! General Davor was the strongest among us…”
The commanders’ faces darkened as they imagined the worst: no reinforcements would come, and they were trapped like rats.
“I… I surrender. Please spare my life.”
“Commander Jorge! What are you doing?”
The other commanders stared in disbelief.
“A commander of the Urvurt house, surrendering? I shall die with honor!”
The commander beside him drew his sword.
Shing!
The Silver Eagles behind Gruon moved to intervene, but Gruon raised a hand to stop them.
“I cannot bring myself to kill you out of pity. So shut your foul mouths and drag that pig out from behind there.”
Already furious, Gruon’s patience snapped at the commanders’ attempts to stall.
“And if we refuse?”
The enemy commanders did not back down.
“Kill him! That bastard! Commander Jorge! This matter will not end here! Commanders Lehman, Belr, Liwan, Turgan—stop him!”
While Meldin screamed like a slaughtered pig from behind them, the four commanders drew their blades and charged Gruon.
“Entangle Root!”
Gruon’s spell bound them instantly. Though they were commanders capable of wielding aura, their strength was meager compared to his magic, which ignored their resistance.
“Ghhk!”
Leaving the groaning commanders restrained, Gruon approached Meldin.
“Come out, you pig.”
Meldin, still cowering behind the chair, breathed heavily and produced a hidden dagger, pointing it at Gruon. Gruon let out a small, derisive laugh. Then Meldin changed targets, yanking the iron collars in his grasp.
“Kek!”
The slaves were dragged forward. Gruon raised his palm to cast a spell, but a silver-haired girl moved faster. Frail though she appeared, she clutched a wooden plank larger than her torso—apparently torn from a guest table. Using it as a shield, she slammed into Meldin.
Thud!
“Ghhk!”
Meldin dropped the dagger. The impact knocked it from his hand.
“Y-you crazy bitch! I’ve had my eye on you since before!”
He swung his arm, but the dagger was already gone, striking only empty air. Then—
“Entangle Root.”
Crack!
Tree roots swiftly bound Meldin.
“Now you know what it feels like to be restrained. Die already.”
Gruon’s rage, already at its peak, could no longer be contained after seeing Meldin attempt to use the slaves as hostages.
“Spear Root.”
Thud!
A sharply honed wooden root pierced Meldin’s chest without hesitation. Blood gushed forth, and Meldin’s eyes went lifeless. Gruon paid the corpse no further attention and rushed to the slaves.
“Are you all right? You held on well.”
Had the silver-haired girl not acted, the other slaves might have been harmed. Gruon embraced her, relief washing over him. Filthy from lack of washing, she nevertheless savored the warmth of his arms, drowsiness overtaking her.
‘Ah.’
Yet no voice emerged.