Our Victory!
“Hurry! We have to get across!”
“How the hell did this collapse…?”
The right-hand canyon wall had given way, and the debris that crashed down had completely sealed the path at the bottom of the gorge. The one mercy was that the blockage was not impassable. The Kar warriors still at the rear scrambled desperately over the fallen rock.
With their force split in two, their comrades up ahead were in mortal danger—they had no choice.
But then—
Swaaaaash!
“Gah!”
“Aaagh!”
“……!”
“E-enemy archers! Imperial bowmen have taken the canyon rim!”
A sudden rain of arrows swept the Kar warriors climbing the rocks and sent them tumbling back to the ground.
How had so many Imperial troops gathered here so fast? No—more than that, the fact that they held the canyon walls meant…
“……It can’t be.”
Urkaron, an upper warrior of the Kar tribe who had been holding the rear, battered arrows aside and stared beyond the rockfall. In that same instant, a sound rolled through the gorge.
Bwooooooooooh!
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
It was not the cry of his own side.
The moment that bone-chilling trumpet blast thundered through the entire canyon, Urkaron stamped on the boulder and vaulted upward in a single bound. What filled his vision was pure despair.
“No prisoners! Kill them all!”
“Gyaaaaaaah!”
“S-spare me— khurk!”
Watching Imperial soldiers pour through the breached canyon mouth, Urkaron bit down hard on his lip.
And then—
Thud!
“Kh!”
An arrow punched into his right shoulder and staggered him. Someone shouted, pointing straight at him.
“There’s an upper warrior here! Concentrate fire on him!”
Chajajajajak!
In an instant the archers poured a concentrated volley onto Urkaron. Beneath the storm of shafts he leapt back down below.
“Fall back! Fall back!”
Piiiiiiiiii!
In the end, the only thing left to them was flight. The moment the retreat whistle shrilled through the canyon, the Kar forces still at the rear began to pull away in haste.
And at the sight of it—
“Do not pursue! Hold formation and finish off whoever remains!”
“Maintain the line!”
The officers bellowed orders to their men.
And amid a battlefield that was at last settling into order—
“……Hah.”
Arteon sank down where he stood, breathing hard in short, ragged pulls.
“……We won.”
Before him lay Turak, the life gone from his body—an upper warrior of the Kar tribe, bearer of three feather tattoos. Killing him held no small meaning even for Arteon.
He had not yet broken past the three-star realm.
……It works. My strength actually reaches them.
His skill was effective against the Kar. The road ahead was still long, but the fight with Turak had laid bare every weakness he needed to correct.
“I have to get stronger.”
He had burned his mana to the dregs; the overload tore through his muscles with a pain like ripping fiber. Even so, Arteon planted his spear like a staff and forced himself to his feet.
It looked finished—but it was not finished yet.
And then—
A firm hand caught his arm.
“Don’t push yourself.”
“……?”
Ponlaron had come up without his noticing and took Arteon’s arm, steadying him. Everyone who had climbed above carried small wounds and was caked in blood.
Arteon asked, “The upper ridge?”
“Already cleaned up.”
At that, Arteon let out a short snort of laughter.
“For a clean-up job, you look like hell.”
“And you look any better?”
“Heh… fair point.”
Arteon finally laughed outright. An absurd operation—and yet, in the thick of this savage battlefield, it felt as though he had found comrades whose backs he could truly trust.
But a moment later he bent and picked up a fallen Kar spear from the ground. His mana was spent; he could not call on Iglis.
“Then… let’s go finish this.”
“Follow me. I’ll take the lead this time.”
Arteon’s legs were trembling just from standing. Ponlaron pretended not to notice and stepped out ahead; Arteon nodded.
“All right. Let’s go.”
And as dawn slowly broke—
“This is our victory!”
The Ogre of Benhard. A man who almost never let emotion touch his voice—yet in this moment even he could not help himself. His faintly trembling cry rolled through the entire canyon.
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
“Our victoryyyyy!”
“We’ve taken Helikel Canyon!”
The Imperial soldiers roared. For the first time in a full ten years, Helikel Canyon had returned to the Empire’s hands.
“……What did you say?”
Word of what had happened on the First Defensive Line spread through the entire North in a heartbeat. The middle-aged man holding a glass of chilled wine made no effort to hide his shock at the messenger’s report.
“Velkain retook Helikel Canyon?”
The North was broadly divided into the Northwest, the Central North, and the Northeast. Velkain commanded the Northwest—and of all its battlefronts, the First Defensive Line was known as the fiercest and most dangerous of them all.
He had already heard that a major victory had been won there recently. But how little time had passed since that news arrived…?
“Hah.”
The man’s expression twisted strangely. Whether it was pure dismay, or the sense that something that should never have happened had come to pass, was hard to read—but one thing was certain: this was not the atmosphere of simple celebration.
He looked at the soldier before him.
“Depart for the First Defensive Line at once. Find out exactly what happened there… in full detail.”
“Yes, my lord!”
The soldier hurried out. The middle-aged man crossed to the window. Beyond the frost-rimmed glass stretched the gray sky peculiar to the North.
“……Helikel Canyon.”
Anyone who served in the North knew what that place meant. It was, quite literally, the signal that the war for the First Defensive Line had been brought to an end.
“So the Northwest has gained a fortress…”
A thick shield had been raised firm across the Empire’s northwest. And more than that—
“They have built a foothold for a push deeper into the North.”
The repercussions for those within the Empire would be enormous. For some it might be a golden chance to expand their reach. But—
“For those who need the North’s bitter strife to continue…”
—it was an event large enough to shake their power to its foundations.
The man sat again and began to write a letter in rapid strokes. If Helikel Canyon truly had fallen into Imperial hands, he had to move before the news reached them.
A week at most, then.
He could only hope nothing would come of it—but uneasy premonitions of this kind had never once been wrong.
“Is anyone outside!”
“Yes, my lord. You called?”
“Deliver this letter to Count Calvilon at once. It is of the highest importance—get it there as fast as humanly possible.”
“Understood.”
The man seized the letter and hurried out. Important correspondence always demanded careful preparation from those who carried it; in politics, there were always people ready to intercept a message the moment it began to travel.
And in the quiet that settled over the room—
“……Hah.”
—the middle-aged man’s sigh drifted softly into the stillness.
The bloodstained earth still mixed dust with the reek of slaughter. In the space of a single night the canyon had changed masters, and though the sun now stood high, the raw scars of fierce war remained everywhere.
“Over here! Haul it this way!”
“Move every last barbarian corpse over there, and get the wounded into this tent! Hey! You—stop loafing and move it!”
In the narrow pass where the fighting had been fiercest, soldiers worked in a frenzy, clearing bodies and shattered boulders. Outside the canyon mouth, tents had been raised for the wounded; the survivors gathered their fallen comrades and set the battlefield in order.
Near the command tent, Arteon sat slumped against a rock, drained to the bone. His left arm was splinted with a branch and bound tight in bandages; every breath sent a dull throb through his ribs. Even so, his gaze remained calm and unshaken as he watched the men working the canyon floor.
Then—
“What are you doing out here?”
Someone approached and spoke. Red-tinged blond hair. Striking blue eyes that looked as though they held a lake. Isaac Duraik stood looking down at the seated Arteon.
Arteon rose and saluted.
“Hearts of Steel.”
“Enough. What kind of salute is that from a wounded man? Sit and rest.”
“I’m fine, sir.”
“Your left arm and a rib are broken. It may not look like much, but a cracked rib can turn into something far worse. Focus on recovering.”
“……Understood.”
At Isaac’s words Arteon settled lightly back against the rock. By rights he should have been lying on a cot in the wounded tent—but he had no desire to.
Injuries like these…
Compared to those who had lost their lives, or taken far graver wounds, they were nothing.
Isaac studied him in silence. He had watched the boy for days now, and still none of it made sense.
“Arteon. Are you truly fifteen?”
“Why do you ask, sir?”
“Curiosity, mostly. Or is some forty-year-old veteran using magic to look young? Or maybe you were a general in a past life and got yourself reborn.”
“……I didn’t realize you had such a vivid imagination, sir. With talent like that, you could have made a fine living as a bard.”
“Hah. I do have a gift for it, don’t I? Still—you being fifteen simply doesn’t add up.”
“To be honest… it does feel as though I’ve lived a rather long time.”
“……Hm?”
Isaac frowned, not quite grasping the remark, and looked at him more closely.
Just then someone else approached—the clank of armor, a greatsword at the hip, a massive frame. Division Commander Velkain.
“Hearts of Steel!”
“Hearts of Steel!”
Isaac and Arteon snapped to attention and saluted. Velkain’s gaze settled on Arteon.
“Tents have been raised for the wounded.”
“I stepped aside for men hurt worse than I am, sir. I couldn’t take a place they might need.”
“……Is that so.”
Velkain regarded him for a moment, then slowly nodded. And then—
“Well done.”
The unexpected words made both Isaac’s and Arteon’s eyes flicker. It was nothing like Velkain’s usual manner of speaking. But he paid no mind and went on.
“What the two of you did is no different from saving thousands of soldiers.”
Every year the First Defensive Line produced staggering numbers of dead. That hellish war had, in effect, been brought to an end.
“Once the cleanup is finished, the fortification of Helikel Canyon will begin. The moment word of this victory reaches the capital, elite reinforcements will almost certainly be dispatched.”
Once the fortress at Helikel Canyon was complete, it would hold back Kar invasions for decades—perhaps even centuries. Of that monumental achievement Velkain spoke without a shred of shame.
“You were the protagonists of this war. The Special Unit’s deeds will be written into the history of the Empire.”
Unprecedented rewards would follow. Some among them might even receive noble titles.
But at Velkain’s words, Arteon’s eyes grew cold and still.
Soon now…
News of the victory at Helikel Canyon would reach the center. And when it did—
They’ll move.
The ones who had been waiting.
On a battlefield where the fireworks of triumph were only just beginning to rise, Arteon’s gaze was already stretching toward what came next.