Chapter 374
Chapter 374
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 374
Chapter Title: King's Gate Battle (5)
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Magic support had ceased, but tens of thousands of soldiers couldn't possibly be halted by a single man. Gunther roughly cleaved the neck of a soldier who was hesitantly retreating backward, then bellowed.
“The bastard's alone! Damn it, did they say he has dozens of hands? Push forward together! You there! You! And you! Raise your shields and form a phalanx! Advance!”
The soldiers advanced hesitantly. Then, the moment one of them crossed Vicente's line—
*Slash!*
No soldier saw the blade's movement. For a brief instant, the morning sun glinted, and the soldier's body was cleaved in two, shield and all.
The soldiers' faces drained of color. Vicente remained standing in the exact same posture.
“M-Monster…… It's a monster!”
“Damn it, you go first! I, I don't want to die!”
“You idiots!! Anyone retreating will be dealt with under military law! Don't run!!”
The soldiers clenched their teeth and crept forward bit by bit. One more man died, then another, and yet another.
But gradually, the number of soldiers crossing the line increased. Vicente let out a short sigh.
‘Is this the end? I've held out long enough.’
For one man to hold back tens of thousands for even an hour bordered on the miraculous. His role was fulfilled.
His people would never forget this sight, not even into eternity. Even if Dane's borders crumbled and their lands burned, they would never give up.
That was enough. Vicente narrowed his eyes and raised his blade. The soldiers no longer halted. Spears and swords scraped harshly against his armor and grazed past.
That was when it happened. Hoofbeats thundered toward him, and screams began erupting from the outskirts of the phalanx.
“Your Highness! Albert of Cerned joins the fray!”
“……Sir Albert? How in the world did you……?”
“When Your Highness expressed concern for a friend yesterday, I nearly blinded myself with thoughts of personal glory and ignored your grace—forgive this disloyalty!”
Fernandez leaped in with a bright, utterly unapologetic laugh. His greatsword carved a wide arc through the air, sending entangled soldiers tumbling away with shrieks.
Having swiftly cleared some space, he positioned himself in front of Vicente and faced the soldiers. They flinched at this sudden arrival.
“Have you come seeking death, Sir Albert?”
“Don't say that, Your Highness. From here on, I plan to seek a path to survival.”
“Here?”
Vicente glanced around. The soldiers cowered momentarily under Fernandez's fierce aura, but within minutes, they would resume their advance. There was no escape except back to the city's inner keep, and even fleeing into the city offered slim chances of survival.
Yet Fernandez chuckled and said.
“Our allies have reached the enemy's rear. And beyond this mountainside, reinforcements are rushing toward us even now, moment by moment. Your Highness, shall we fight to the death, or preserve ourselves?”
“Reinforcements……? Who in the world is aiding us?”
The knights under his command had already scattered across the Eastern Alliance. Even if they turned back, a full-scale battle was impossible. They could not be expended here. To isolate Fairn's main force later, their aid would be needed.
At Vicente's question, Fernandez grinned.
“Priests and barbarians, Your Highness.”
Fernandez vaulted down from his saddle to stand beside Vicente. He slapped his horse's rear to send it fleeing, then gripped his sword hilt firmly.
“So let us hold. Victory is within reach.”
Two men holding back thirty thousand advancing foes. Of course, it was absurd. But Fernandez simply stared straight ahead.
In his past life or this one, he had never given up simply because something was deemed impossible. Possibility and impossibility were not up for debate. Only whether it needed to be done.
And this had to be done. Until the Papal State's temple knights struck the enemy's rear and the northern barbarians hammered their flank.
Until then, they had to halt the enemy here.
When thousands of hammers would strike, these two had to endure as the anvil.
It had to be done. To save the king. And to sever the thick karmic ties of this tenacious past life that now felt almost like a curse.
“Come! I am Albert of Cerned. A knight.”
Vicente burst into loud laughter at those words. He raised his blade beside Fernandez and strode forward willingly.
“You saw it all, huh? Fine, Sir Albert. Let's give it a try.”
The boy who grew up reading knightly epics now took up his sword to write his own. The two advanced into the forest of spears and blades.
* * *
*Clop, clop, clop.*
A thousand cavalry riding in single file at an unhurried pace presented a profoundly surreal sight to the infantry on the plain. Facing the rising sun in the east, they scattered metallic gleams from horizon to horizon.
Priests marched. Slowly.
*Clop, clop.*
No horns or war drums regulated their advance. No signalers or trumpeters as in a typical knightly charge. They simply walked, walked, and walked in silence.
In this eerie quiet, the only sounds they produced were the heavy scrape of steel, the patient trot of mounts pounding the earth, and the flap of banners whipping in the headwind.
The pure white woolen cloth seemed to glow under the sunlight. Upon it, blood-red emblems seared themselves into the soldiers' minds: the inverted cross-keysword. The seal of the War God Beitasser. And atop it, the willow leaf dragon crest.
Symbols of the Order of St. John.
*Thud thud thud!!
A group of cavalry charged ahead of their path. With the siege underway, Fairn's legion—in combined arms formation—had positioned its mounted units to the rear.
Fairn's knights crossed the plain to block the temple knights. Halting at the very edge of arrow range, the lead knight raised his visor and shouted.
“Halt!! You interfere in secular affairs! If not, shall we interpret this as treading mud into the royal house's politics under the pretext of divine will?!”
The knight's cry was almost desperate. Their king would likely welcome this intervention. The petty kingdoms of the Eastern Alliance would not stand idly by. The Church's divine authority would plummet.
Yet even so, the knight could not welcome their involvement. Regardless of the kings' thoughts, a thousand well-armed knights charging the allied rear was nightmarish even in imagination.
Of course, compared to Fairn's numbers, it was hardly noteworthy. Including attendants, perhaps two to three thousand combatants. Enough to be a variable, but not to overturn the field.
But how many casualties would that entail? And the greatest issue: they themselves had to respond first to the enemy cavalry charge. The knights here steeled themselves for death.
‘Damn it, where the hell are those arrogant Griffin Knights……!’
If the Royal Griffin Knights had been present, they could have pressured them militarily, but Fairn's cavalry could not match the Order of St. John. The knight swallowed hard and awaited the priests' words.
But the priests simply stared without reply.
“Say something! Damn it, no. Turn back! If you do, we swear not to target your rear!”
Still, the pilgrimage knights offered no response, merely gazing silently. Only then did the knight recall their identity, his face paling.
The Order of St. John consisted of temple priests, each bound by a most peculiar vow.
‘The Vow of Silence……!’
One of the ancient Church vows, swearing to speak only unadorned words before the Lord. Thus, priests under this vow uttered no words save scriptural verses.
In this era, aside from a few cloistered monasteries of extremists, no priest took such antiquated vows. Modern priests served as advisors, counselors, and guides to educate the flock.
But the current Order of St. John, inheriting the traditions of Pilgrim John and his disciples, were zealots of unyielding fundamentalism.
They now refrained even from scripture. As ascetic priests vowed solely to serve God—not the people—they never took His name in vain.
Even the rote phrases common among battle priests and temple knights—
‘Thy will be done.’
‘The Lord wills it.’
—went unspoken. To them, such words were too obvious.
Thus, only action remained. They cleaved falsehood. They cleaved injustice. They cleaved if the Lord willed.
Dialogue exchanged opinions between self and other. Thus, they refused it. Their sole creed was Lord Beitasser's, not subject to mortal compromise!
“Say something……. No, please. Just halt!!”
*Clop, clop.*
It was like an approaching cliff. Like nature advancing. The knight stared, face ashen, at the temple knights walking slowly forward.
*Shing……!*
“Advance further, and we'll take it as a battle signal. Understood? This will sow seeds of strife between your Church and the secular crowns!”
*Clop, clop.*
Hooves thudded heavily against the earth. As if his cry were the signal, the leisurely trot accelerated. First, a walk.
*Clop, clop, clop.*
In silence, rising to a trot.
*Thud thud thud thud……!*
Now, a canter. Lances rose as they prepared for the initial charge. Seeing this, the knight wheeled his horse, turning the formation, and yelled.
“Talks are over! All units! Prepare to charge! Knights, prepare to chaaarge!!”
*Thud thud thud thud thud!!!
300m, 250m, 150m. The two knightly lines closed on each other in seconds. Lances drawn tight against shoulders, heavy cavalry breathed raggedly beneath helmets, glaring.
100m. Charge climax: gallop. In the span below a second, mounts thundered forward, lances thrusting—
*Boom!!!
The impact of horse, man, and steel slammed into Fairn's rear.
* * *
Watching the scene, Kirhas bit her lip. Her lord battled precariously at the ravine's end; temple knights charged the enemy rear despite overwhelming numerical inferiority.
She paced anxiously between mountaintop and ravine below, fidgeting with her lips. Numbers weren't easily overturned, no matter the initial momentum.
Fernandez's plan lay in utter disarray. To her eyes, this battle promised only honorable annihilation or glorious defeat. The enemy was merely momentarily confused; once command regained composure, the tide would turn disastrous.
“Lady Freya, hurry!!”
Unable to bear it, she shrieked toward the northern goddess she hoped might hear. Then, at the treetop she leaned against, a sky-blue flower bloomed with a *pop*.
Soon, petals burst one by one, climbing the trunk ever higher. She stared blankly, gaze rising.
*Scree!*
Against the blue sky atop the tree, a hawk took flight.
“Aeren!!”
*Crack!
Branches twisted together, forming a long arched passage. Stretching tunnel-like across peaks, at its end approached a band of men.
Kirhas finally grinned brightly and mounted swiftly. At their fore, a warrior woman gripping a battle axe two-handed smiled back.
“Northern heroes arrive precisely when needed.”
“You're already late.”
“Southern clocks run a bit fast.”
Aeren laughed heartily, then bellowed in the northern tongue.
“Then as wished, let's end it swiftly. Warriors!! For the Hall of Ancestors, charge! With so many Muspel faithful left on this soil, let us proclaim Einherjar's might!”
The warriors' roars tore through the mountains. Soldiers below halted, staring at the peaks flanking the ravine.
*Roooaaarrr!!
The mountains seemed to bellow. In the chaotic command tent, Sigismund pressed his eyes and roared in boiling fury.
“What in the blazes is happening!!”