Chapter 73
Chapter 73
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 73
Chapter Title: 35. Victory (1)
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Okua was dead.
With their ruler gone, the orcs lost all organization and were hunted down by the Allied Forces like wild beasts.
The troops, exhausted from the long campaign, showed the orcs no mercy. They thrust spears into the heads of every fallen orc to make sure it was dead.
The Allied Forces separated the human and orc corpses.
The orcs' bodies were thrown into pits and burned.
Foul smoke hung in the air for a long time.
The Allied Forces' fallen were entrusted to the high priests of the Holy Kingdom.
"We will never forget their sacrifice."
He draped white shrouds over each body and laid them out in neat rows.
There were so many dead that the ground was blanketed in white.
The white cloths fluttered in the prairie wind.
The entire army stood in formation.
Yuri stood at the front of the Brioll forces, overseeing the funeral.
"The gaze of the gods does not distinguish between high and low. Their faith and valor have been witnessed by the Lord, and all will be embraced in His warm hands and led to paradise."
As he listened to the priest's words, Yuri looked up at the sky.
The tale of gods granting paradise to the faithful and punishment to the false rang hollow to him.
Shouldn't he, who deserved hell, not be standing here?
His mourning was simply to bear even greater burdens on his shoulders, ensuring their deaths were not in vain.
"Let us observe a moment of silence."
At the priest's command, the entire Allied Forces bowed their heads.
Horn pipes echoed across the field.
The sound that once signaled war now mournfully comforted the souls of the departed.
The priest invoked holy magic.
"May sanctity claim their bodies."
The shrouded corpses were enveloped in white flames and began to burn.
No foul smoke rose, no black ash scattered.
Like flowers blooming and fading in silence, their remains quietly dispersed under the priest's blessing.
With that, the funeral ended.
Yuri turned around.
The war had ended only recently, but the troops had dressed as formally as possible to observe the rites. Some had red-rimmed eyes.
Yuri pulled a paper from his bosom.
"Kesman."
The name of the first to fall.
"Stefan."
He had succumbed to his wounds in the end.
"Fane. Altos. Gate..."
As the names of the fallen Brioll soldiers were read, everyone straightened their backs.
Yuri had recorded the name of every soldier who died in battle.
"Imar, Gusendai, James..."
Yuri called out every single one without omission.
The names of the dead brought tears to the living.
"Dyke."
Simon and Guinness, standing right in front of him, darkened their expressions. As tears welled in Guinness's eyes, Simon wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
Yuri placed a hand on Guinness's head and finished the roll call.
"That is all—our comrades who departed with honor."
He offered no empty promises of reunion in paradise.
He didn't believe in such things.
He simply spoke from the heart.
"It was an honor to fight alongside you."
Then he folded the list and tucked it back into his bosom.
Yuri turned back and watched until the white flames died out, until their remains fully returned to the earth.
Rolung and Jared stood beside him.
"You'll be seeing this plenty more from now on."
"We're prepared."
"No choice, is there."
Soon, the priest's holy magic fully incinerated the Allied Forces' dead.
Only handfuls of ash remained where they had lain.
Suddenly, a wind blew through.
The white powder began to scatter.
It swirled through the air before rising high over the Allied Forces' banners.
The flags were blanketed in white.
Yuri gazed quietly at the sight.
The march home was filled with high spirits.
There had been sacrifices, but they were the victors.
The Allied Forces had achieved the greatest feat in history, and lavish rewards and honors awaited the participants.
Once supplies resumed, Valshard sent endless alcohol and food.
Feasts broke out every night.
"I'm done with gambling now."
A gambler soldier from Yuges declared, staggering drunk.
"No more blowing money on cards. When the Allied Forces rewards come in, I'll buy some land and live an honest life farming."
Yuri shook his head.
"A talented gambler like you turning to farming? Doesn't suit you."
"Don't tempt me, sir."
"Farming? You think you'd be satisfied with that? Why not bet your rewards on a high-stakes card game? Imagine how much more that fortune could grow."
"Well..."
"Money earned staking your life—stake it again on a game for the history books."
"Ah..."
"Your fate isn't meant to end as a farmer."
Yuri was tempting his subordinate to keep gambling, like a trashy adult offering cigarettes to an innocent kid.
"You're right, Your Highness."
The man, who had been shaking his head, suddenly sharpened his gaze.
"Farming? I had the wrong idea. Yeah, hahaha—I’m not some small-time gambler. Time for the real game."
"You bastard."
"With my skills and that payout, I could sweep the houses back home and own a castle..."
Yuri slapped his cheek.
"Guh!"
"I was testing your resolve, you worthless scum!"
The situation flipped.
"Whoa, Your Highness?"
"The guy who bawled about his family suffering from your gambling debts every time you got drunk—you still haven't learned?"
"But..."
"I said we'd only play for fun during the campaign. Once the war ended, you'd fold up your cards for good."
"True, but..."
"Hey."
Yuri grabbed both his cheeks.
They'd had fun playing cards together, which only made Yuri more determined to set him straight.
In his past life as a mercenary, he'd seen countless bottom-feeders.
They hadn't started out that way. Everyone had their stories, mostly tangled in gambling or drugs.
So he could spot it instantly.
This was the classic opener to a down-and-out mercenary's drunken sob story.
He had to stop it here.
"Go home like this, and word'll spread you’ve got cash. Your old gambling buddies will come sniffing around, tempt you back in. You'll get fleeced, buried in debt, watch your family get sold off. Drowning in guilt and booze, you'll end up a frontline merc staking your life again."
"Whoa, Your Highness..."
"We're Brioll. Got it?"
Yuri stared into his eyes.
"Keep your oath."
Clarity returned to the soldier's drunken gaze.
He nodded.
"Understood."
Then he raised both hands.
"Long live Your Highness!"
He shouted it a few more times before collapsing.
Yuri muttered in exasperation.
"What am I even doing with a drunkard..."
He shook his head and sat back down. Drunken soldiers lay sprawled everywhere like rice cakes.
Despite his age, he hardly got drunk.
His father Fiore Brioll's genes apparently overpowered even intoxication.
"Your Highness, Your Highness..."
Another soldier sidled up and clasped Yuri's hands.
Yuri furrowed his brow.
"I heard every word you said just now."
"What's your deal?"
"It really touched me. To care that much for a lowly grunt... Sniff..."
"Why are you crying?"
"I love you, Your Highness..."
"You little..."
Yuri hurriedly shoved him away.
The soldier kept confessing his love before toppling over asleep.
It was chaos.
Knights and soldiers mingled everywhere, drowning their sorrows.
The Allied Forces, once disciplined as steel, had devolved into third-rate thugs now that the war was over.
"Good grief..."
Yuri just chuckled.
What could he do? Battlefields always ended up like this.
They'd fought for so long under constant threat of death. If blowing off steam like this helped, it was for the best.
Yuri took a sip of the beer in front of him.
It was lukewarm and tasteless.
"Hoo..."
As Yuri gazed at the starry prairie sky, an imperial soldier approached from afar.
"Your Highness."
"What is it?"
Yuri already guessed.
"His Highness invites you."
"Got it."
Since the victory, Yuri had been summoned to him every evening. Anyone who caught Ragnar's eye in the Allied Forces was in the same boat.
"Should I bring Master and Rolung?"
"Yes, that's correct!"
"I'll bring them, no worries."
"Thank you."
They'd grown familiar, so communication was quick.
The soldier saluted and turned away—probably off to fetch Hose and Jonathan in Bussen.
Yuri approached Rolung, sitting primly amid the collapsed revelers.
"Rolung."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Rolung shot to his feet before the words finished.
"Shall we go?"
"Huh?"
"His Highness must be waiting."
"Yeah..."
"I prepared in advance so as not to inconvenience you."
Rolung's symptoms seemed worse.
"You don't have to go that far..."
"I'll fetch Sir Moyong Chan."
"Alright..."
Rolung was pouring his soul into serving Yuri perfectly.
Yuri shook his head. At this rate, he'd pre-build a coffin when the time came.
With Rolung and Moyong Chan, they headed to the imperial side, where a large table was already crowded.
Ragnar, at the head, beckoned.
"Come on in, Yuri! And Great Hero Moyong Chan, Rolung!"
Moyong Chan's exploits had made his speech trendy in the Allied Forces. "Great Hero" caught on too.
Hearing of it, Ragnar started calling him that out of respect.
"Thank you for the invitation."
"Hahaha, sit, sit!"
"Yes."
Yuri glanced around and frowned.
Hernando occupied one table, surrounded by foreign mages who hung on his every word.
He'd apparently claimed the top spot among the mages.
"That Hernando punk..."
Yuri acknowledged his skill, but seeing someone so familiar receive such reverence was grating.
Yuri took an empty seat.
Ragnar was chatting with Moyong Chan.
"Great Hero Moyong Chan, did you sleep well?"
"It was good. The Empire's beds are comfy. For me."
"Glad to hear it. If the Great Hero likes it, so do I. Hahaha!"
Ragnar was showering Moyong Chan with gifts to win him over.
Moyong Chan accepted but played dumb with his continental tongue when it got risky.
Yuri began doubting Moyong Chan's language skills.
"Anyway, let's have a fun gathering tonight."
Ragnar clapped.
He'd been in high spirits lately.
From his view, he'd been pushed into a trap-like expedition, only for it to turn into unexpected glory.
"I called you all because I have something to say."
The seats filled up.
All the commanders from each nation were there.
"The Empire wants to invite the heroes of this Allied Forces campaign."
Murmurs rose.
Yuri narrowed his eyes at Ragnar.
"First, all the unit commanders here. You're all invited, and anyone you want to bring along—doesn't matter who or how many. We'll accommodate everyone."
Jonathan raised his hand.
"Do we have to go to the Empire right away?"
"No. The war was long; you'll want to stop home. We'll send invitations after the triumph."
"When about?"
"Not long. You all know what event the Empire's holding, right?"
The commanders exchanged looks. Some nodded, others tilted their heads.
Yuri knew what event Ragnar meant.
"The Swordsmanship Tournament. We'll invite everyone to coincide with it."