Chapter 376
Chapter 376
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 376
Chapter Title: The King's Oath
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Overlooking the battlefield from the sky, his two eyes simultaneously scanned in all directions. Fernandez was now performing an acrobatic feat akin to gambling.
-Clang!
He raised his sword to block the attack. The blade glanced off, and he smashed down on the enemy soldier's helmet with the pommel—a sword path that should have flowed seamlessly now stuttered in fits and starts.
It couldn't be helped. Delays were creeping into his perception. The human nervous system had limits to the amount of information it could process at once.
But it wasn't just the expanded field of view causing this state.
-Thud!
"Urk!"
A spear slammed into his shoulder. His pauldron crumpled, tearing the skin beneath. He couldn't counterattack right away and barely managed to regain his footing. Hearing his grunt, Vicente swiftly snapped the spear shaft and charged in.
"Sir, are you all right?"
"Almost there."
Fernandez wrenched his neck with a crack and resumed his stance. Swordsmanship was a skill more influenced by technique than strength. With his thoughts slowing, his counters and attacks lacked fluidity.
Yet he couldn't stop. Fernandez spun the crow around to gaze at another part of the battlefield. The crow's eyes swept relentlessly over every corner of the field without pause.
* * *
At the edge of the infantry phalanx holding back the northerners, the direction a soldier's thrust would bend. The responding northern warrior's shield angling that way, distorting the blade's path as a result.
Fairn's heavy infantryman attacking an unnamed northern warrior would lose his head for failing to recover his blade in time. Three seconds from now.
* * *
A pilgrimage knight order battle priest's spear pierced the chest of a knight from Fairn's Third Cavalry. The priest quickly discarded the cavalry spear and drew his sword, but his helmet, slightly askew from the charge, obstructed his right field of view.
Because of that, the unnamed battle priest failed to react to the hammer charging from his right, his crown brutally smashed. Three seconds from now.
* * *
An arrow glided smoothly through the sky above the battlefield. Not aimed at anyone in particular, nor fired by an exceptional archer—just an ordinary shot.
The arrow, tracing a gentle arc, struck a northern warrior's helmet and bounced off pathetically.
The warrior shook his dazed head from the impact, letting out a sigh of relief. He fiddled with the dent in his helmet, grateful to be alive, and raised his weapon again.
Right then, another blind arrow slipped under the visor of his helmet. Three seconds from now.
* * *
"Cough!"
Blood trickled from Fernandez's lips. Nerves on the verge of blackout were held together only by superhuman endurance.
His mind grew hazy. The sensation of losing himself. Changing viewpoints wasn't merely altering how he saw—it was immersing himself in the battlefield itself, beyond personal events, where the "self" vanished.
The more information piled up, the more his mind fragmented. This technique mimicked the gazes of information-reflex independents. Mana consumption was minimal—just enough to sustain the familiar's eyes—but mental strain was another matter.
He had to stop now. He was in the heart of the battlefield. Vicente was deflecting attacks with all his might, but one man couldn't handle every incoming assault.
He swiftly thrust his sword to block while manipulating the familiar's eyes. Continuously, relentlessly. Until he had taken in every sector of the battlefield, every clash. No—every single movement.
* * *
Among the intelligence bureaus of the secular royal families, there's a saying taken as common sense: enough information guarantees the future.
From simple weather or climate shifts, to family relations, material flows, recent political issues, and even deeply secretive conspiracies known only to the innermost circles.
As all information converges, a picture emerges at some point. Fragmented in places, yet discernible in form. A picture called the future.
In a closed system without external interference, even if not all variables can be controlled, acquiring all information about an area reveals the future.
But unlike desk-bound agents, Fernandez had to analyze all that information in time units below seconds—
"Arise."
Right there, while parrying life-threatening spears and swords, overlooking the entire battlefield—
"Arise...!!"
And that was merely one factor in the magic he intended.
A chant under one word, a hand seal under one syllable, mana under a handful. A "low-grade cantrip" using minimal computation. So trivial in single casting that no battle mage would bother with it.
No—its trace so faint it could be mistaken for ambient mana if not scrutinized closely. His fingers clenched the air, completing the final seal.
At the same instant, a thread of his mana extended toward the sky. Toward the familiar flapping its wings overhead.
* * *
Kirhas was anxious. The ambush had been perfect, but it wasn't enough to overcome the numerical disadvantage. The front, which had seemed to be pushing forward, had stalled into a grueling war of attrition.
The enemy's command was quickly regaining composure. Linking with the rear knight orders was impossible without coordinating with that sector's commander.
Even if they could coordinate, the situation wasn't hopeful. The northern forces they'd scraped together barely exceeded three thousand, and the pilgrimage knight order matched that. The enemy total: thirty thousand.
A five-to-one disparity. Formation advantages and ambush momentum were the only things holding the line. On the other hand—
'Silver Benefactor is there...!'
Fernandez and Vicente were blocking the enemy's vortex with just two bodies. "Blocking" was too generous—the enemy wasn't lacking. Fairn's vanguard had already bypassed them toward Altbert.
Yet Fernandez was clearly isolated and fighting there. He needed help now. But how?
"Push! You going to let those pale southern weaklings push us back? Hey, Gunnarson! Keep that axe tight!"
Aeren roamed the field, bellowing nonstop. Despite her efforts and the warriors' individual prowess, the northerners couldn't advance easily against the numerical inferiority.
If the line stagnated and the enemy formed proper phalanxes for systematic counterattacks, the northerners would be the ones isolated. Not good. Kirhas fretted, her anxiety over looming defeat and worry for Fernandez making her pace wildly.
In that moment, her tail shot straight up.
"Eek?!"
Call it the keen instincts of catfolk. Or the instinctive sense of victory her eyes caught. She looked up at the sky without thinking.
Something blue floated beyond the heavens. Squinting, she saw a dark red crow wreathed in blue aura flapping alone high above, beyond arrow range.
"Silver Benefactor...?"
The deep blue form had long been Fernandez's symbol. Kirhas stared blankly at the sky, then jerked her head back in alarm.
-Whoosh!
A blind arrow grazed her cheek. She hadn't seen it coming. It was from outside her vision—normally, she couldn't have dodged so perfectly.
Not luck or amazing instinct. She had clearly "seen" the arrow that would pierce her cheek.
"This is...?"
She gently touched the unscathed skin near her cheek and looked around.
The air was changing. Blue threads danced from all directions. A premonition of victory raced wildly across the front. Over the lead warriors who, just seconds ago, had been slowly losing momentum!
* * *
One warrior flinched in shock, instinctively ducking his waist. In that split second, a spear tip scraped the air where his body had been.
Without time to thank his fortune, he reflexively swung his axe, severing the soldier's neck. Then, unconsciously, he patted around his waist. No wound.
"What in the world...?"
* * *
A pilgrimage knight jerked his head aside. An arrow ricocheted off the iron plate beside his visor. He adjusted his crooked helmet, looked skyward, and made the sign of the cross.
* * *
Mages sometimes say magic consumes something besides mana. Some call it focus, others mental power—this sensation.
Nothing special, really. All actions consume mental energy. Plowing farmers, forging smiths, even merchants poring over ledgers.
But the mages' "mental power" means something more fundamental.
Mages forcibly implant acquired nerves called mana circuits into their bodies, using mana to drag concepts into reality—that's how they cast.
Concepts belong to the mental realm, so when mages exhaust their mental limits, the backlash differs from ordinary folk. Unlike simple fatigue-induced blackout, it brings physical collapse.
Colloquially, this is "riding the line." Crossing the boundary between imagination and reality, or life and death.
"Gr... urk!"
And Fernandez was now treading that line. In this brutal battlefield where even minimal computation was needed for survival, he oversaw the entire field, conjured magic, and swung his sword to parry—all at once.
His thoughts stuttered. But only his body. His mind soared through the skies, blanketing the battlefield. This dissonance was eating his flesh moment by moment.
Unimaginable for normals, untried even by average mages. Even past Feizashi Wildcast wouldn't attempt it.
Beyond possible or impossible—pointless. What he did bordered on tantrum. For such mental and mana cost, Feizashi would have chanted a massive AoE spell to reverse the tide.
But Fernandez tried a path Feizashi never would. Unlike Feizashi, who eradicated threats by killing all, Fernandez consumed himself to save everyone.
"Is this your magic, sir?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
Vicente laughed hollowly. Tension and burden had vanished from his body. Without looking, he dodged incoming arrows, parried swords, deflected spears.
Not miraculous martial skill. He could see them. Every attack reaching his body— in that fleeting instant, clearly "seen."
"You've done something insane. Is this even possible? Not just for me, right? How many gained these eyes?"
"All of them."
"...All? Everyone wielding a blade on this field?"
"At least those who took up arms for Dane's survival. All of them. Yes."
"Hah... haha. Hahaha!"
Vicente bellowed with laughter, toying with his sword. No need to think to read attacks and respond with technique. Enemy strikes' paths filled his mind; he just attacked as he pleased and moved as needed.
If this state afflicted the entire battlefield, then—
"I could handle ten with one hand. What's this spell called?"
"Oath... King Vicente's Oath. That's what I named it."
An oath not to refuse the hands of the weary and powerless, even if he couldn't fight all injustices.
Among the many knights who marched inspired by that noble vow—including himself—Fernandez chose not to attach his name to it.
A spell granting all doomed warriors a three-second glimpse of the future. Requiring extreme conditions and self-exhaustion, with perfect incapacitation from backlash upon completion. Yet despite those limits, Fernandez didn't release his clenched fist to dispel the magic.
Even as his legs buckled and his head drooped. Even if he had to yield this body helplessly to the approaching enemy's spears and swords.
He had turned back time to make different choices from his past life. Though his soul was stained with sins that plunged the world into hell, he vowed to save this land again.
Just this once, it was fine to do something foolish. Fernandez couldn't hide his smile even as he staggered and crumbled. A sense of relief washed over him.
Even if mere self-consolation. Such acts couldn't erase his past sins. But pretense was always better than bravado, wasn't it?
-Thud.
Someone else's shoulder supported his. Vicente propped him up, grinning.
"Gilding like this is acceptable. With only one hand free, I can't carry you—match my steps yourself."
"Your Highness."
"I'm off to end this war. Can't leave you here, can I?"
Fernandez smiled back at Vicente's hearty laugh and took a step.
* * *
"By the way, sir, why hide that you're such an amazing mage?"
"Being an 'amazing mage' is an insult in most cases."
"Fair point. Haha! If a man's set on his path, better a knight than a magus anyway!"
Not what he meant, but Fernandez held no grudge against Vicente's爽朗 laughter. Mocking his past as a mage no longer bruised his pride.