Revenge Must Be Thorough
Revenge shouldn't be this thorough. This can't be happening. For trash like that—a traitor—to utterly crush the heir to the Sword Duke, chosen by the One God...!
Zikfried denied the horrific reality right in front of him, thrusting up the tip of his greatsword. From beyond the flames, he unleashed his killing intent toward Kailun, who was staring back at him.
"You crushed the vanguard? That's just the natural result of my orders! The Sword Duke's heir has annihilated the vanguard—I'll have to send knights to the Imperial Capital with news of our great victory."
"Clear away the corpses rolling around in the trenches. It's a job befitting a lowly third-rate noble like you."
"Do I have to spell out every little task? Handle it yourself! You're getting paid by Linde every month, and yet you're as lazy as any mongrel blood."
Kailun von Valtenstein had been an excellent servant. He followed orders to the letter, obeyed without complaint—a perfect "consumable" for idolizing the Steel Lorelei.
But then—
"Gaaahhh! My, my face—!!"
Molten metal poured from the helmet, warped by the ferocious heat. Like iron straight from a blast furnace, the boiling liquid seared gruesome burns across Zikfried's handsome face.
Crack!Crackle-crack!
In this desperate moment, countless defensive and auxiliary spells detonated in succession to protect their user, extending the armor's lifespan. As expected of the Red Tower's unparalleled masterpiece, forged for the Sword Duke's heir—it brimmed with vast stored mana.
The cavalrymen were already charred black. The Sword Duke's knights were engulfed in boiling molten metal, their bodies melting away.
Knights weren't invincible. They were just swollen with arrogant confidence.
The merciless scene before them proved the knight order's decline and true nature.
"I'll kill you! I'll tear you apart, Kailun—!!"
Whoosh!
He kicked through the flames with mana-concentrated steps. Was this enraged stride vowing never to let the archenemy who ruined him live? The Sword Duke's heir charged at Kailun like a wretched monster wreathed in fire, swinging his zweihander.
"Banish the darkness with waves of white, Albrus."
Kailun gripped a new sword hilt. The blade of the White Night Sword, infused with pure white, revealed itself.
A gale whipped along the edge. It was a storm of incandescent white, loaded with overwhelming destructive power.
The raging white-hot gale instantly shattered the zweihander, crushing Zikfried's suicidal resolve.
Craaaack—!!!
"Gaaahhh!!"
The gauntlets exploded with a metallic scream. Zikfried's hands, which had swung the zweihander, were swept away amid countless metal shards.
Caught in the torrent of pressure, his bones and muscles were utterly pulverized.
Zikfried screamed at the sight of his dangling, rotten-meat-like bundles of exposed veins.
"You cowardly, despicable bastard! Suddenly pulling out the White Night Sword... activating Albrus! Don't you have even a shred of honor?!?!"
"Gear beats gear. You used your gear first, you dumb young master."
Fair play? War is nothing if not unfair. What an idiot. What war plays rock-paper-scissors?
Kailun looked down at Zikfried sprawled on the dirt with utter disbelief.
"Forgive me...! Please, I truly regret it! My face is ruined, both hands shattered...! I've paid enough for my sins, so spare my worthless life!"
The young powerhouse representing the Theodor Holy Empire, lover of the Lorelei, had completely fallen.
Covered in filthy dirt and soot, Zikfried crawled on the ground with his hands severed, begging for his life. No trace of pride, honor, self-respect, or the responsibility of pureblood lineage remained—just pathetic squalor.
Even as his isolated subordinates burned in the inferno, his ugly survival instinct screamed to escape the sulfurous flames.
"Young master Zikfried!"
"The young master...! Secure Young Master Zikfried first!"
As Kailun aimed the White Night Sword's tip, Kreuz family cavalry burst onto the scene—reinforcements from the rear guard. Armed with lances, they clashed against the Valtenstein detachment.
Witnessing it all, Kailun turned the blade on Zikfried's nape, staging the pinnacle of despicable behavior: a hostage standoff.
"Drop your weapons and remove your armor. Make one wrong move... and this dumb young master's head rolls."
Kailun warned in a grave voice. The Kreuz cavalry lost all will to fight.
* * *
Diego von Bellasquez. One pillar of the Yellow Path 12 Palaces: the Infantry Palace. Legion commander of the 9th Legion of the Holy Empire's imperial army.
He had rushed here from a picnic with beautiful noble ladies at an eastern resort, upon hearing the urgent news of the colonial empire's invasion.
Diego fiddled with his splendid mustache, visibly annoyed at his ruined vacation schedule.
"No rash actions, everyone. Hasty panic is the surest path to defeat. The colonial empire's horde has invaded Sanktus, but... that key northeastern stronghold won't fall so easily. They've walked right into the tiger's den on their own feet."
Charging in without securing retreat routes or supplies. The epitome of mercenary ignorance.
Diego had no intention of clashing head-on with the Red Mercenary King's shock troops. He ordered blockades on surrounding passes to encircle the invaders.
Hard to believe. The Red Mercenary King is the colonial empire's premier war hero... Would such a hero charge recklessly without calculating retreat or supplies? Especially one who's fought in the continent's heartland—she's faced our Holy Empire before.
Among the empire's legion commanders, Diego was renowned as a master of orthodox tactics and strategies. Top of his class at the Imperial Capital's officer academy, he'd racked up victories to claim command of the northeast.
Wasn't it strange? His seasoned instincts rang alarm bells.
Mercenaries were calculating, cunning materialists who prized their own safety. The polar opposite of knights who braved death for loyalty and patriotism.
For such creatures to ignore retreat and supplies and plunge into dangerous terrain? Mercenaries were vile, ignorant, yet cunningly adept veterans. They couldn't possibly be unaware they'd been thrown into a suicide rush against the Holy Empire.
"Request for aid from Count Lansdorf!"
"A messenger arrived! Count Beltheim has been routed...!"
"The Mercenary King's cavalry, bypassing Sanktus, is torching our supply lines! We need reinforcements now!"
Requests poured in from the forces Diego had deployed to encircle the mercenaries. Frederica's elites had ambushed their flanks and rears from hidden spots at every key point and stronghold.
The net tore the moment it was cast. Like hurling a fresh net onto spear tips.
The big picture had been completely read. The Red Mercenary King? No. The countermeasures were far too astute, too perfect. Someone peering into the Holy Empire like an open palm.
Which strongholds to blockade for encirclement, where to place rear supply depots, when to launch simultaneous isolated strikes—all foreseen.
They'd anticipated the 9th Legion's mobilization against Sanktus, and even Infantry Palace commander Diego's encirclement plan, preparing meticulous counters.
Everything read, everything pierced. The ultimate humiliation for a battle-hardened commander.
"Which colonial bastard read my tactics... Kailun von Valtenstein! He's the culprit!"
"Pardon? But Valtenstein's just a mongrel-blooded third-rater. He only led a few hundred in a detachment. Hardly the caliber to orchestrate a war..."
"Of course it's possible. We've never given him more than a detachment."
"......"
Withdraw all forces from the encirclement. Diego ordered a retreat.
But the messengers sent to the field never delivered the order safely. All annihilated or routed.
Frederica and her elites' mercenary craft was brutally efficient. Piles of corpses littered the sites, testament to one-sided slaughters.