Inevitable Fate (4)
The initial chaos had just settled, and peace was beginning to take root when the door to the study creaked open cautiously. The one who entered was Ella. Her apron was stained with clear soup splatters from days spent stirring pots and ladling out broth at the refugee relief station. One of the busiest people inside the lord's castle, yet she showed no sign of fatigue as she approached Kyle and pulled a small jar of ointment from her bosom.
"My lord, hold still for a moment... We can't let that cut on your cheek get infected."
Kyle silently entrusted his healing scar to her. Her delicate fingers passed over the wound. The cool ointment touched his skin, clearing his mind for a brief instant. Ella applied it meticulously, whispering softly.
"Those scary stick things you made... I believe they'll protect us. Everyone's putting their faith in you alone."
She hesitated for a moment, pausing her ointment-smeared fingers and bowing her head deeply. Her voice trembled faintly, laced with profound apology.
"...And about that time at the shooting range when I yelled and got mad—I'm really sorry. Seeing you bleeding like that, my vision just went black without me realizing it."
Ella lifted her head again, gazing at Kyle with tear-filled eyes. In those blue depths, the awe for her lord was overshadowed by a woman's genuine worry for one man.
"So next time, if there's anything dangerous or scary, just make me do it instead. I'll handle it. You're everything to this territory. I... I can't bear to see you get hurt again."
Ella's small, warm touch and her clumsy yet devoted confession became a far stronger motivator for Kyle than any magic enchantment. The tears in this girl's eyes as she ached at the sight of the scar on his cheek, the warm soup she shared, and these utterly ordinary daily moments. What this power he created needed to protect wasn't the empire's grand welfare or territorial conquests.
The empire didn't grant them more time to savor that warmth. Not even a few minutes after Ella quietly left the room.
From beyond the window, the frantic hoofbeats racing toward Eisengrad's gates shattered the silence. The clamor of the imperial messenger kicking up dust storms as he burst into the castle faintly reached the study. At the end of that uproar, the door to the study flew open with a bang.
Bang—!
"My lord!"
The one who burst in, panting heavily, was Serina.
"An imperial messenger just arrived. They've officially proclaimed the stripping of his title and a subjugation order."
In her hand was a parchment bearing the crisp emblem of the imperial central government, still reeking of horse sweat and dust.
"Volf Count is no longer a noble. From this moment, he is branded an imperial traitor and the monstrous ringleader of beasts that must be exterminated."
The golden-sealed parchment Serina handed over with trembling hands. A perfect license allowing Eisengrad's army to ravage the count's territory borders. Yet at the same time, an invisible noose the empire had slipped around Kyle's neck.
The empire feigned outrage at the count's madness, but in truth, it was using that fury as a pretext to gauge just how far Eisengrad's military might could threaten imperial order. This document was both justification to kill the count and the imperial court's intricate scheme to measure the unknown variable that was Kyle.
"...In the end, they've set the stage for us."
If they'd handed him the exam paper, it was only polite to submit the answers. Though those answers would be far more destructive and ruthless than the empire could imagine.
"Grody! Pull out every single one of the first-batch rifles fresh off production! Time to prove it in the field."
His sharp voice echoed down the corridor. As the clattering footsteps rang out, he scanned the map on his desk with piercing eyes.
"The count's waiting. Let's go end this damn fated grudge once and for all."
The next morning, Eisengrad's massive gates groaned open, and the trained footfalls broke the silence. With the territory's population growing and some breathing room, the total forces had expanded to battalion size, but one company was held back as reserves for defense. What marched out were two companies under Kyle's direct command.
Veterans from the recent orc battle were evenly distributed among the green recruits. Their appearances varied wildly, but each segment of the formation carried a heavy sense of stability.
Yet Kyle's brow kept twitching as he watched them.
...I really can't look at this with my eyes open.
Looking down from horseback, his army was a ragtag mob through and through. Some wore tattered leather vests, others rusted breastplates handed down from grandparents, and one guy was even lugging a musket in his everyday tunic. Uniform rifles in precise specs, but the soldiers holding them were a chaotic mess with no standard gear whatsoever.
Once this is over, mass-produce uniforms first thing. Discipline starts with the uniform.
He recalled the razor-sharp creases in his past life's fatigues and the shine of polished combat boots. A unified uniform instilled fear in enemies and belonging in allies. Right now, they looked like armed hunters at best. The insane drill training was barely holding the formation together.
"My lord, the men are struggling. Complaints about the gear being too heavy..."
Boris whispered worriedly from beside him on the march. Besides their muskets, the soldiers' backs were laden with ammo pouches, emergency rations, canteens, and camping gear.
"They carry it even if it's heavy. That's an infantryman's fate. And by my standards, that's not even a full loadout."
Kyle's gaze lingered on the soldiers sweating buckets as they trudged on. Compared to modern full kit, it was less than half the weight—but for lifelong farmers, even this march was grueling. Watching them silently kick up dirt, he remembered his past life's brutal hikes. The shoulder pain from straps digging in, blisters on his soles. A strange kinship mixed with irritation at the long trek ahead, drawing a sigh.
Imperial Knight Order 3rd Squadron Leader Katarina spat blood-mixed saliva. Sweat streamed through her disheveled golden hair, blurring her vision, but she gripped her sword tighter.
"Captain, the shields... they can't hold any longer!"
She bit her lip at her subordinate's cry. A warrior who'd craved knowledge her whole life, she despised mages' arrogance and knights' pageantry, believing the empire must change. But against the monster wave, all she could do was huddle behind battered iron plates and endure with her body.
In the end, is this where we fall?
As she readied her final charge, a bizarre wall of humans emerged from the trees.
"Entire battalion, disperse! Secure cover and fire!"
Katarina's blue eyes widened in shock. Bursting from the forest were no gleaming knights in ornate armor or billowing cloaks—just ragged civilians burdened with heavy packs, a true motley crew. But their movements were chillingly precise. As they leveled their long steel tubes horizontally, Kyle's cold command rang out.
"Fire on my mark!"
Bang—!
Bang-bang! Bang!
The forest filled with thunder no knight had ever heard—an era's new roar. Monsters that demanded knights close the distance at life-risk exploded head-first and crumpled with each twitch of Eisengrad soldiers' fingers.
Katarina stared blankly. Dozens of bullets tore the air, brass casings raining like sleet onto the ground amid gunsmoke, scattering knightly romance to the winds. This wasn't heroic knightly combat. Just calculated, one-sided slaughter.
As the situation cleared, he rode up to her. A strange man emanating ointment scent from his cheek and acrid gunpowder.
Katarina finally spoke in a trembling voice.
"...Kyle von Airhart, lord of Eisengrad?"
"On imperial orders for the operation. You look like hell."
His dry tone drew a hollow laugh from her as she picked up a warm casing from her feet. This metal sliver, still hot, outpowered decades of honed swordsmanship in reshaping the world.
"This little piece of metal... it feels like it's mocking my lifelong sword art."
She crushed the casing in her palm. Her world of clashing steel screams and noble auras crumbled powerlessly before it.
"Knightly valor... it feels worthless now."
Kyle's eyes widened slightly at her despairing question for the first time. He glanced at the dull brass glinting in her palm, then indifferently looked away.
"It's not worthless. The monopoly's just over."
He tapped his cooling musket casually and continued dryly.
"I'm not destroying this world. Just making it equal. Anyone can get strong, no special talent or aura required."
Katarina shuddered watching his back. Bone-chilling fear, yet a strange liberation she'd never felt. Deep down, she yearned for the storm this curt, arrogant man unleashed to sweep away the empire's rotten old era and its ironclad privileges in one go.