Chapter 91: Ghostly Shadow (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 91: Ghostly Shadow (1)
Silence hung heavy over the conference room.
Count Denver's remark utterly defied common sense.
Daniel Cairo spoke, his voice laced with exhaustion. "...I admit that Roman Dmitry is an extraordinary swordsman. Proving himself a 3-Star Swordsman by defeating Homeros at the mere age of twenty is a blessing to the Cairo Kingdom. However, everyone gathered here knows all too well. Even someone of Roman Dmitry's caliber cannot possibly influence the overall tide of this war."
Cairo's four factions.
The only reason they coveted Roman was for his future potential. Because he had reached the 3-Star realm at such a young age, everyone scrambled to recruit him. But if they simply compared current martial prowess, there were many who were stronger. In the grand scheme of things, Roman Dmitry was nothing against the might of the Hector Kingdom. His plan to cause internal disruption seemed like nothing more than the reckless bravado of a young upstart who had yet to truly experience the world.
For once, Marquis Benedict sided with the king.
"I share that view. Roman Dmitry is the future of Cairo. Rather than losing our nation's talent to a futile endeavor, our priority should be minimizing the kingdom's losses through a wise decision. Hasn't the Southern Front already fallen to the Hector Kingdom anyway? This is a fight we lost from the very beginning."
It was a realistic judgment.
Furthermore, Roman Dmitry was someone Marquis Benedict desperately hoped to recruit. He couldn't just let him die like this. Having already laid down plenty of groundwork since the Southern Training Camp, Benedict planned to bring the young man under his wing the moment Roman fulfilled his military duty.
It was an operation everyone opposed.
Based solely on surface-level information, no one would support Count Denver.
How should I handle this?
Count Denver swallowed a chuckle.
He possessed information he had preemptively acquired through his role managing the rankings. Revealing the truth would certainly turn the tide of the conversation, but Count Denver had absolutely no reason to go that far. Even though Cairo's blood flowed through his veins, his spirit belonged to Valhalla.
"If that is the consensus, I will not stubbornly insist," Denver said. "However, we have been given three days. I do not believe we need to give the Hector Kingdom what they want right away. Just wait three days. Let us mobilize our forces in preparation for 'war,' but if no variables arise on the Southern Front within that time, how about we accept the Hector Kingdom's demands then?"
It was a compromise.
Edwin Hector had given them three days. It was a period long enough to deliberate, yet absolutely impossible to overturn the tide of war.
Count Denver placed his bet on that very impossibility.
If Roman could produce meaningful results in such a short time, they would have to reassess his value entirely. Not just as a 4-Star Swordsman, but as a monster of even greater worth.
Perhaps finding Count Denver's proposal reasonable, Daniel Cairo pondered for a long moment before nodding with a dark expression.
"...Whether we accept or reject their proposal, we need time. As of this moment, the Cairo Kingdom will prepare for both options: war, and negotiation with the Hector Kingdom."
They were merely preparing for any contingency.
Everyone except Count Denver accepted the harsh reality that the fight had ended the moment the Warp Gate was captured.
Assuredly, there would be no miracle.
* * *
At that exact moment, Henry Albert felt like he was losing his mind.
Damn it.
When he had first set out following Roman, Henry Albert's chest had swelled with groundless confidence. He truly believed that as long as he stuck by Roman—the man who had slaughtered countless enemies—he could somehow survive any danger.
But what did he know?
Things went wrong right from the start.
With his pathetic stamina, he couldn't keep up with Roman's troops, and he ended up getting lost shortly after they departed. By the time he finally tracked their trail and arrived at the Southern Training Camp, Henry Albert was forced to face reality.
I'm fucked.
The sight before him was disastrous.
The camp that had been peaceful just a short while ago was now a complete ruin, with familiar corpses strewn everywhere. Roman Dmitry was nowhere to be seen. His mind became a tangled mess. Fearing that Roman might have been defeated, he hurriedly turned his men back.
"We are retreating to the 1st Defense Line!"
His hero complex had long since vanished.
What he needed now was safety. A protective barrier to shield him from the monsters who had devastated the Southern Training Camp.
But the sight that welcomed Henry Albert as he hurried along was the 1st Defense Line—already collapsed and burning.
"...My God."
His mind went completely blank.
In truth, he hadn't realized the situation was this dire. Although the Hector Kingdom had launched a surprise attack, the 5th Defense Line had held up well thanks to Roman's exploits. He had naively believed there was hope for the other defense lines as well. But seeing the blazing reality of the 1st Defense Line, Henry Albert's legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the dirt.
"It's over."
The 1st Defense Line was a key position.
The Southern Training Camp falling was bad enough, but with this fortress gone, there was virtually no hope left in this war.
He scrambled to his feet.
Cairo had lost.
But that didn't mean he had to sacrifice himself along with it.
"We are retreating over the mountains right now!"
"Move, quickly!"
His decision was swift.
Although the terrain of the Southern Mountains was rugged and unsuitable for an escape route, it was a far better option than standing around waiting to be slaughtered. Henry Albert ran with all his might, his body drenched in cold sweat. With his poor stamina, his breath constantly caught in his throat. His soldiers, accustomed to a comfortable life, couldn't hide their exhaustion either.
He didn't know Roman Dmitry's whereabouts.
But if Roman had chosen to fight, staying on the Southern Front with him was no different from jumping into a blazing fire while holding dry straw.
A hero of war? I don't need that kind of useless fame! I have to survive first!
He ran for a long time.
Gradually, the surrounding scenery changed. They were now deep in the middle of a mountain thick with vegetation.
Judging that he was relatively safe from danger, Henry Albert faceplanted onto the ground, gasping for air.
"Pant, pant."
I survived.
They must still be fighting down there. Once he crossed the mountain, he would truly be safe.
Just as that thought crossed his mind—
Cold steel pressed against his neck.
"Shh. Quiet."
A chilling voice accompanied the blade resting against his throat.
The owner of the voice was none other than Chris.
Henry Albert, who had nearly pissed his pants in terror, let out a massive sigh of relief the moment he recognized the man's face. The reason Chris had drawn his sword was simply to prevent Henry from screaming.
Sheathing his blade, Chris took the lead.
"Follow me."
Perhaps due to the sheer relief of surviving, Henry Albert, who was trailing behind Chris, only belatedly felt a sense of doubt.
...Why is Roman Dmitry's knight here?
It was strange.
Roman Dmitry had said he was heading to the rear base. So why was his knight wandering the middle of the mountains?
He thought it might be related to the attack on the Southern Training Camp, but it still didn't make sense. If it were him, he would have fled over the mountains as quickly as possible. Although they had run quite far, they weren't entirely safe from the enemy's pursuit yet.
How long had they walked?
Henry Albert's eyes widened as the scenery abruptly shifted.
What is this?
With just a few steps, the dense forest gave way to something else entirely.
It was a perfectly prepared camp.
Moderate-sized cover hid the soldiers from view, and behind it, a proper resting space had been established. It was hard to believe this place had been built in the middle of the mountains. A camp of this scale should have been visible from afar, but it was so brilliantly concealed that it seemed to materialize right before his eyes.
His soldiers were equally bewildered.
Seeing his men looking around in confusion, Henry Albert asked on their behalf, "When on earth did you build a hideout like this?"
Chris didn't stop walking. He simply raised a hand to signal to the sentries that there was no danger, answering without looking back.
"On our way to the rear base, we confirmed that the Southern Training Camp had been attacked. My lord judged that the rear base had already fallen, so we immediately climbed the mountain and established this secret camp."
"Then you should have fled over the mountain immediately! Why on earth did you stay here?"
Chris stopped in his tracks.
He slowly turned to look at Henry Albert, his eyes carrying a heavy hint of disgust.
"The war is not over yet. The reason we remained here is to protect allies like you, Lord Henry, and to eliminate any enemies climbing the mountain. A mountain is an excellent place to face a large enemy force with a small one. If you had been a man of Hector, the sword I pointed at your neck would have severed your throat right then and there."
It was a chilling statement.
Henry snapped his mouth shut instantly.
Although there was a strict barrier of social status between Chris and Henry Albert, Henry couldn't treat the knight lightly after witnessing him fight.
Roman and his soldiers... they were all monsters.
Chris, in particular, displayed outstanding combat skills that were nothing short of terrifying.
How does the Dmitry family possess such monsters?
He swallowed his curiosity. Then, he asked the one question he absolutely had to confirm.
"...Where is Lord Roman Dmitry? I haven't seen him since we arrived."
They had already walked deep into the camp, yet Roman was nowhere to be seen.
To that question, Chris calmly replied, "My lord is currently at the front lines, dealing with the enemies himself."
Henry Albert's face turned deathly pale.
It was just as he had suspected.
Roman Dmitry was a complete madman.
* * *
The outcome of war always leads to one clear conclusion: the death of the defeated.
Immediately after the 1st Defense Line collapsed, the forces fleeing from it were subjected to a one-sided slaughter by their pursuers.
Slash!
"Argh!"
"Urgh!"
There was no way to survive.
Under attack from all sides, the soldiers of Cairo struggled desperately, but they fell one by one, screaming as they were cut down by the merciless hands of their enemies. Edwin Hector had made it clear that they did not need many prisoners. Since they had to swallow the entire Southern Front in a short amount of time, he judged that keeping captives would only be a liability.
It was a slaughter.
Blood and death ran rampant across the battlefield.
As their forces dwindled in an instant, Brandt, one of the adjutants of the 1st Defense Line, could not hide his pale expression.
Donald, you son of a bitch.
Before they were attacked, Brandt had witnessed Count Donald receiving a communication from Roman. If only they had listened to Roman then, they could have avoided this worst-case scenario.
By choosing to defend the fortress out of groundless bravado, the 1st Defense Line had fallen without even holding out for long.
The Hector Kingdom was fully prepared. Starting with a surprise attack, capturing the rear base, and even using Flares. This is a fight we have absolutely no chance of winning. That must be why Roman Dmitry suggested fleeing to the mountains. He claimed it was for a guerrilla operation, but it really meant abandoning the Southern Front.
Brandt had no intention of calling him cowardly.
It was the right decision.
As the price of their complacency, the Southern Front had its rear gate captured, and from that moment, the outcome of the war was already decided.
An overwhelming defeat.
A metallic taste lingered on the tip of his tongue. Even though he hadn't swallowed any blood, the mere stench of it was enough to make his nose sting.
Thud!
Right beside him, a soldier's face slammed into the dirt.
Seeing the spear piercing through the back of the soldier's head, Brandt instinctively swung his sword at the attacker.
Whoosh!
"...!"
By a hair's breadth, his attack missed.
Meeting the rage-filled gaze of the Hector knight, goosebumps broke out all over Brandt's body.
Is this the end?
His swing had been too wide, leaving him completely open. He had known since the moment the 1st Defense Line collapsed that none of the forces on the Southern Front, including himself, would make it back alive.
He gritted his teeth.
Just as he accepted his death and prepared for one final, desperate counterattack—
Slash!
Spurt.
Blood splattered across the dirt.
The Hector knight's head soared into the air.
And right before Brandt's shock-filled eyes, a dark-haired man suddenly appeared.