Those Who Harbor Resentment
The morning was still veiled in lingering gloom, its chill silence unbroken.
A gentle mist lay thick across the world, breathing a quiet promise of one last moment of rest before the day stirred. Everything felt held in soft embrace, as though the land itself refused to wake fully yet.
Then.
A small sound broke through the hush.
It rose like vines bursting from the earth—sharp, urgent, swelling rapidly.
As if the silence had been a lie all along, the noise swallowed the entire world in a single breath.
—URURURURU…
A marching army shattered the quiet and surged forward with terrifying speed.
Cavalry led the charge, followed by battalions of infantry.
At the rear, a thousand three hundred mages and cannon crews moved in formation, engines roaring as they drove toward the front.
“General Freezer, hold your right wing and seize the western hill. Once you’re in position, open fire. The rebels inside the fort won’t last long.”
“Yes! I’ll handle it! I’ll drive them out in one swift push!”
“There’s a small farm halfway there—keep an eye out for any ambush they might have set.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll sweep the enemy clean and send word of victory as soon as it’s done.”
“General Rizel, take your left wing and hold the rear for us. I’ll lead the soldiers straight at the fort’s main face.”
“Understood, General!”
“Excellent! Then let’s move out. We’ll meet again inside the fort after the battle.”
“Yes!”
Commanders of the left and right wings scattered according to Grand General Burgoyne’s orders.
Once he had placed these trusted subordinates in charge of their sectors, the Grand General drew his sacred weapon—the red-glowing Laevateinn—and prepared for war.
Beyond the thin veil of mist, Fort Stanwix stood in the distance.
Unlike the overwhelming host he had seen the night before, the garrison here looked far smaller. A deep smile spread across Burgoyne’s lips.
“So it is exactly as I calculated. No matter how many enemies they have, if we can take Governor Gates alive, victory is ours!”
Confident that his plan would not fail, he raised his sword and gave the order.
“Charge the fort!”
“AAAAAHHH!!!”
“Exterminate every last rebel!”
“For the Empire!”
Soldiers rushed toward the fort under Burgoyne’s command.
The lead warriors raised mana barriers and pressed forward.
Behind them, the artillery and mages unleashed a barrage at the walls.
—BOOM!!!
The shock of magic and cannon fire rattled the stone.
As if answering the blow, the rebels answered with their own volley.
“Fire! Hold them back!”
Under the commanders’ orders, the gunners poured shot after shot.
The enemy responded in kind, their bullets and shells hammering the advancing imperial line.
Yet, despite the overwhelming firepower, the front ranks of the Empire suffered almost no casualties.
Fewer than twenty percent of the soldiers dropped; more than half rose again without hesitation and kept charging.
Among the ten thousand-plus imperial troops, the elite warriors specialized in mana barriers moved like living fortresses. Their reinforced magical shields turned cannonballs and bullets aside with ease.
“Damn it! Keep firing! Their mana can’t last forever! Keep shooting until they drop!”
Commanders quickly recovered from the shock and renewed the attack order.
The soldiers reloaded and prepared to fire again, but before they could act, the rebels’ front line had already reached the base of the fort.
“Over the wall! Wipe them out!”
“For the glory of the Empire!”
Warriors scaled the walls amid a storm of bullets; foot soldiers followed in waves.
The rebels answered with everything they had.
“They’re climbing! Roll boulders! Pour boiling oil—don’t let them get over!”
Under the commanders’ commands, the defenders fought desperately.
Most were militia, inexperienced in this first battle, some even reluctant to fire their own muskets.
Fortunately the fort’s defenses held strong and the garrison was not small, yet the tide clearly turned.
Still, they resisted with raw stubbornness—nothing more than ordinary soldiers, yet fighters driven by burning resentment.
“Die! Enemies of Debbie!”
Jane McCree hurled boiling oil with the fury of a vengeful ghost.
The imperial soldier at the top of the ladder twisted in agony, his legs giving way as the oil burned his mana barrier and scalded his skin.
He tumbled backward, taking others with him in the chaos.
Compared to the sea of imperial troops, it was a drop in the bucket—but the same scene played out at every point along the wall.
In that moment the militia on the ramparts looked possessed, clawing at the climbers with animal desperation.
Every one of them carried the same wound: loved ones lost to the Empire.
To them, each soldier ascending the wall was a personal devil that must be slain.
‘Those filthy children who murdered my mother!’
‘Because of bastards like you, my daughter died! Those demons… they took my girl!’
Grinding their teeth, eyes blazing with hatred, they fought back with everything they had—even throwing themselves over the edge to strike at heads below.
When they died, they would drag as many enemies to the underworld as possible.
The front-line militia, having chosen to fight in the thick of the Empire’s advance, faced the imperial army with the reckless courage of demons from hell itself.
The imperial soldiers on the wall faltered.
The initial momentum stalled.
“Resistance is fiercer than expected.”
“That’s just the way it is. Any moment now General Freezer will open fire from the side hill. Once that barrage hits, they’ll break in an instant.”
“True enough…”
The adjutant’s words received an immediate nod from Grand General Burgoyne.
Yet something felt off.
Despite the surprise dawn attack, the rebels showed no panic.
No—rather, they stood like lions, refusing to yield an inch.
Burgoyne studied them and, with a hint of unease, asked,
“What of the forces on the other sides?”
“Rest easy, General. Scouts report no movement from the main enemy army.”
“…Really? That’s surprising. Even if they’re slow, they stirred up this much noise and still show nothing.”
“But it’s true. No matter the weather, we would have noticed that many troops.”
“Hmm… still…”
The numbers involved were no small host—thousands at minimum, possibly tens of thousands.
If they had scattered and then converged here, something was clearly afoot.
Yet no sign of it appeared.
Burgoyne felt relief and decided to focus solely on capturing the fort.
Then—
“Sir! General!”
A breathless soldier sprinted toward him.
Burgoyne’s hand tightened on his sword hilt, suspicion rising.
“What is it?”
“Enemy! An enemy has appeared!”
“A rebel army moving?”
“N-not quite…”
The soldier tried to explain in a rush.
Suddenly—
—BOOOOOOOOOOONG!!!!!
A thunderous horn blast split the air.
Every eye in the imperial camp snapped toward the sound.
On the eastern hill, half-hidden by mist and the still-low sun, a formation of soldiers stood at attention.
Though the numbers were modest, the sight of armored warriors proudly waving rebel banners gripped every soldier’s attention at once.
“…What the hell? Only a few hundred at most?”
Compared to the vast sea of imperial troops, this was a mere drop in the bucket.
Burgoyne and the others exchanged knowing smiles.
“Hah… so they finally showed themselves.”
“We don’t need to waste time on that. Keep pressing the fort.”
“Yes, General.”
Burgoyne dismissed the unexpected sight and turned his attention back to the main battle.
But then—
—FLICK!
“What?”
“What is that?”
In the next instant, a blinding emerald flash pierced their gaze.
The light that swept across the mist carried an ominous promise.
And then.
“…! What… what is that?”
“So… no way…”
After the flash passed, what they saw was something taking shape in the thinning fog.
Full suits of silver armor.
Warriors descending from the heavens as if the will of an almighty god had brought them down.
A soldier’s voice broke the silence.
“The… Saint?”
“Saint Edward Cromwell?”