Chapter 368
Chapter 368
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 368
Chapter Title: Honor and Dishonor (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
In contrast to Fairn, whose lands were mostly flat plains, Dane's territory was rugged with mountains scattered evenly throughout.
That was the origin of the Round Table Knights. With farmland and pastures severely limited, the people had no choice but to carve out slash-and-burn fields in dense forests and treacherous peaks, inevitably clashing with the wild.
Nature is never kind to humanity. Not just beasts like wolves and saber-toothed tigers, but monsters such as ogres and trolls that had made their lairs in the region, along with cursed entities born from nature's mysteries.
The nation's founding king, Knight King Dane, was born in that very era. Taking pity on the people mired in hardship, he cleared away the giants ruling the plains, the monsters lurking in the forests, and the spirits haunting the mountains, thereby establishing his kingdom.
Those who took up the sword in admiration of his life—and among them, those who endured to the end and fulfilled their knightly oaths—came to be known as the Round Table Knights. King Dane's Round Table Council had been forged in that crucible—
“Take up your swords.”
In keeping with this ancient tradition, every member of the Dane royal family and all knights under their banner bore sacred duties: stand against injustice always, protect the weak always, pity the fallen always.
“Knights of the royal banner, take up your swords!”
They called these duties the Oath of the Round Table, the journey undertaken to fulfill that oath the Pilgrimage, those who completed the Pilgrimage knights—and the purest resolve that birthed a knight they termed chivalry.
“Those who can fight, take up your swords! Those who hold swords, look to your burdens! And look to the knights who stand shoulder to shoulder beside you!”
Vicente's voice boomed across the plain. Some thirty thousand had gathered here. Mages wove spells to carry his words above their heads.
The young knight-king's cloak rose and fluttered on its own. An unnatural wind blew. One born of human hands. The culmination of human effort and lives, mana infused with that essence, manifesting as wind.
-Kieeeing…!!
Vicente drew his sword and pointed it straight ahead. The knights' gazes followed. In that direction lay a scorched burial ground. Half-burned pyres and collapsed corpses beneath them were visible. Burial mounds stretched in a line, like a long scar across the plain.
One could almost call it a valley—that vast wound. Charred bodies writhed with maggots, swarmed by flies, rats, and crows feasting on rotting flesh. Amid clouds of carrion birds, a blood-red sunset sank.
“Pity the weak. Not as the pity of the arrogant, but as humble service from the lowest stance. It does not mean to sacrifice for others' lives. It means to stake your life on that single value—the one that lets a human stand tall as a human. That oath flows in my blood. And you? Does it flow in yours?”
Fairn's Pilgrimage Expedition was nearing its end. In truth, they had gained nothing. This vast land was ravaged beyond imagination by tyranny and slaughter, dried and withered; every city had welcomed Vicente's advance.
Traversing deep into enemy territory without a single battle, Vicente realized it. *They're bypassing us, invading our homeland.* It was too late to turn back. In the time they'd marched, the enemy had done the same.
“Some might say, 'These are not our people!' Others claim, 'This wastes our strength, fattening the enemy!' True enough! We stake our lives on values that seem meaningless and faint hopes, eroding our collective will! But!”
-Kwang!
Vicente spun and slammed his heel into the ground. The banner he raised high snapped in the wind.
“When our ancestors raised this nation, did borders create people? No! People scorned, starving, dying. His life, lived for every soul he could touch—that became this country. And you? With your own lands burning under foreign boots right now, do you wish to turn back home? Or! Will you march for those collapsing in flames before you, starving, gasping under spear and blade?”
The knights fell silent at Vicente's words. In truth, he felt the expedition's morale had hit rock bottom. He didn't dismiss their resolve—staying despite homes ablaze and families ravaged back home proved it.
As king, he had two choices: turn back or press on.
Fairn writhed under demonic uprising. Sigismund's massacres and scorched-earth tactics set the whole realm ablaze. How many would die? And without rear supply lines, how could this expedition endure?
It wasn't just food. Armies burned vast sums just marching. Meals, horse upkeep, resupplying expendable gear—all that expense, with no way to fund it.
Fairn lay barren, Dane under assault. The petty kingdoms declared neutrality in this civil war, and his forces dwindled. Without a single battle!
Vicente had to decide now. Give his faltering, discontent knights a new vision.
Murmurs spread among the knights. Whispers of expedition failure and army disbandment. He saw doubt clouding the faces of those towering men, visors lowered, staring at him.
They were lords, landowners, fathers before knights. The horrors before them screamed injustice, yes—but strictly a foreign matter. And now, the invaders causing it trampled their own homes.
Everyone here imagined the same tragedy befalling their kin, faces growing grim.
Vicente scanned each face, choosing his words. How could he blame them? Reaching this point together, not deserting for home—that alone made them truly honorable knights.
From his heart, he thanked them—for making him their king, their lord, the sole recipient of their loyalty.
“I see your thoughts. You fear this tragedy striking your parents, children, people, descendants—or perhaps it already has. I share that fear. My blood kin and household await me beyond the border in Altbert! And the enemy marches on Altbert's walls even now.”
Vicente's eyes burned with resolve.
“If you turn back to protect your families, who would blame you? A knight charging the foe, accepting failure's dishonor—that's more honorable than any! Not just your kin and folk, no one in Dane would dare condemn you!”
Baiernmeier's face twisted oddly. Was the king urging desertion? But Vicente spoke firmly.
“Yet I command you: march on! Fulfill your oaths! I declare myself your final tyrant! Hear me: your ancestors drew swords not just for kin and folk, but for all mankind! So advance. Even if we can't save the world, knights who swore never to refuse the weary and sick—advance! Fulfill your oaths!”
A chill silence hung among the knights. Their king demanded they abandon family, court kingdom's fall. Who could obey?
One knight stepped forward, eyes fierce.
“Then, Your Majesty, are these lives so precious, while our people suffer invasion under Dane's skies?”
Impertinent words, yet no one called him on it. Not even Vicente. He nodded calmly.
“These lives are as precious as my people's. That is my judgment.”
“We cannot obey!”
“I am your king, and a king must first uphold his knights before commanding. So obey me. Your worries, your dishonor—I bear them alone.”
Chaos rippled through the knights. Dishonor meant expedition failure, retreat. Knights who marched for honor returning empty-handed to save their lands? Cheap fodder unfit even for street romances.
That was why they hadn't deserted. For knights, retreat was utter shame, whatever the reason.
“I will go. As Dane's last tyrant, I claim your duties! Duty to guard home and lands, loyalty to king and death in battle—I seize them! I plunder the lord's and father's burden of dishonor! So you bear only honor. As knights, you shall be honorable alone!”
“Then Your Majesty...”
“I go for your kin, households, people. You stand proud in honor. So march. Ignore Dane's plight—march! I bear your worries alone. As Dane's king, yours. For Dane's people, I retreat.”
Silence fell again. Not condemnation, but awe at selfless sacrifice beyond words. Retreat was dishonor—so he alone would retreat, face the foe.
Possible? Could a lone king defeat thousands upon thousands? No. In army-scale war, one man's valor was mere ornament.
Yet lords were here. Round Table Knights and retainers. Each ruled a city or village. Instinctively, they grasped Vicente's intent.
Eyes met among the lords. They scanned the stunned crowd wordlessly, understood their role. They nodded to each other, knelt one by one, and shouted.
“Vicente!”
“Vicente!!”
Chanting the king's name, they roused the assembly—as if this were noble sacrifice, true honor. Those who fathomed his purpose mechanically urged retainers and soldiers, bellowing his name.
*'My king, we shall not forget we were your knights.'*
*'It was my glory to be your lord.'*
Such glances passed between lords and king. Vicente nodded shortly; soon, city lords exhorted troops, peeling off from the ranks one by one.
Watching them depart in all directions, Vicente finally burst into laughter. A hearty guffaw, then a long sigh from horseback.
Two knights remained to the end. Baiernmeier and Palliamein, Round Table Knights who had served him since the war with the Burial Church.
“And you two?”
“What choice is there? My dearest wish was to die before Your Highness perishes.”
“No jest. No chance of survival. I depart to die.”
“We know.”
Baiernmeier grinned warmly, clapping Vicente's back.
“A sublime decision.”
“The only way to save the kingdom.”
“Cleverer than I'd expect from Your Highness. Did he give you a hint?”
“He? Ah... Albert? No.”
Vicente chuckled, shaking his head. Yet for one sworn to brook no injustice, it was deeply political—he admitted that.
For knights to grasp his actions, they needed political context first.
Fairn's main army was ravaging Dane. Troop and civilian movements unknown, no pleas or messengers from Dane—kingdom likely in enemy hands.
Turning the army home would be disastrous.
By arrival, foes would await in Dane, shattering the weary expedition force.
Nor could they hold Fairn. The land was so wasted, mere occupation strained them. So what then?
Vicente devised the best option as king.
1. These remaining knights were Dane's finest strength. Preserve them.
2. War's tide outstripped royal power. They were fully ensnared.
3. Seek foreign aid. But petty kingdoms struggled to defend themselves, no spare strength.
4. Even if able, Eastern Alliance had cut ties post-Imperial Expedition.
Best move here: Scatter Dane's knights across the East, resolving petty kingdoms' woes. Seeming folly of disbanding one's army—
“Isn't that too slim a hope?”
“Depends who's at the center, no?”
“I'll protect not Your Highness, but the Prince.”
“Good luck.”
Vicente laughed heartily, nodding. Yes, disband to aid foreign woes? Would petty kingdoms then aid against Fairn?
Of course not. Eastern secular royals were political, selfish. They'd covet ruined knights' prowess, recruit or detain.
But Vicente was the Empire's guest. Twice aided Imperial Expedition, secured standing there. Lost Eastern ties, but nuanced his position here.
If he died in war, Empire gains pretext for vengeful intervention.
If he dies, yet royal line endures and war drags—Empire's legions march legally East.
If Empire learns knights aided petty kingdoms yet they spurned Dane—future legions debate Eastern survival on that pretext.
Eastern Alliance formed to check Empire. Yet tributaries paying homage to avoid province status. Never free of Imperial shadow.
Empire rebuilding swiftly under Emperor Kabelrier, East crumbling in prolonged war and strife. Once set, balance tips obviously.
Past winter, petty kingdoms face food, trade crises. Empire won't miss it; pretext for devouring East lies in Dane's fall.
So bolster secular kings' cause. Stake his life as trigger for Imperial entry. Vicente's scheme was statecraft, not warfare.
His retainers, Round Table Knights, saw it—departed to render king's death meaningful. Scattering across the East.
“As long as they survive, Dane endures. Each is Dane itself.”
“And Your Highness?”
“Exactly. So isn't it absurd? If I am Dane, my death saves Dane. How paradoxical.”
Vicente laughed heartily, seizing his reins. As legions disbanded to their paths, the king choosing death to save all turned toward his fallen kingdom.
Gaining nothing, dismantling his own expeditionary force, bearing tyrant's stigma for homeland's ruin mid-campaign.
Utterly honorable dishonor. The two Round Table Knights crossed themselves briefly at his back. Then spurred after him.
* * *
Hearing via Piel, Fernandez left command post instantly, launching operations. He tasked Abel with Altbert's defense, personally leading northern army to smash enemy elites.
Had King Vicente turned whole force home, Dane's fall unstoppable. Fairn troops would ambush on news. Expedition-weary army couldn't match Fairn main.
But disbanded legions, lone fallen king returning? Sigismund leisurely seizes Dane.
Dane refugees flock to Altbert for siege; Sigismund treats war as winter hunt pastime.
Thus, Fernandez's task clear: Preempt Sigismund's swiftest, strongest legions, buy maximal time.
Until Empire or petty kingdoms intervene fully.
Until one hero crumbles miserably, birthing new. Trials and villains forge heroes—he was peerless in both this material world.
Fernandez briefly mourned the great knight-king, spurred to battlefield. Next day, Fairn Royal Griffin Knights vanished from maps.