30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue
chapter-150

Soldiers poured through the wide open castle gates. Saint Mathilde boasted a well-managed city with a grandeur that reflected its reputation as a prominent trading hub. Despite being a city renowned for commerce, its walls were broad enough to accommodate such vast military forces without shortage.

– Hoohaahoohaa!

The soldiers ran in excitement, their eyes wild with anticipation. Even the most disciplined army could transform into marauders the moment a fortress fell.

In a city of this size, even if the citizens had evacuated as much as possible, one could imagine an enormous amount of loot still hidden away.

Moreover, the Granmarteau Count’s legion, excluding the main force, consisted entirely of soldiers from various lords’ retinues. Strictly speaking, looting was closer to an economic activity aimed at offsetting the hefty cost of military supplies.

Even if one desired an intact throne, the prohibition of looting itself could not be enforced. After all, it would incite dissatisfaction among the vassals immediately.

Hence, the soldiers ran with eyes gleaming at the nearly unlimited loot targets. Villages burned, hidden citizens dragged out, furniture thrown out of windows.

Chaos ensued.

“Where! Where are they?”

“Just a moment, please. There’s too much crowd, the information…”

Eugene furrowed his brow and pushed through with his words. The infantry didn’t stop them. Their top priority was looting, with fortress conquest being secondary.

In truth, it wasn’t considered likely that any commander would personally lead an assault from within the fortress. It was common sense. If one were riding here, it was only right to assume they were nobility.

Because discipline had not been properly established, it was impossible for the soldiers to recognize all the nobles from different territories.

“I saw them! Over there, that white horse! Wearing armor! Right?”

“That’s correct!”

The group spurred their horses forward, riding back against the tide of soldiers. The soldiers merely grumbled as they avoided the passing horse, not daring to consider them as enemies.

It’s a common occurrence on a battlefield where the front line hasn’t been established. In this case, I suppose we’re fortunate. Eugene sighed quietly as he looked at the soldiers’ foolish faces.

This reckless charge seems to be actually working.

It’s fortunate that the situation is more chaotic than expected. Eugene felt conflicted about whether to admire Oscar’s wit in intentionally creating chaos in the city.

Well, as long as the results are good. With that thought, Eugene followed behind Oscar, urging his horse onward.

A group of knights, spotted by Elpheira, soon appeared before them.

“Étienne!”

A rough shout erupted from Oscar’s lips. It seemed that only anger remained after overcoming fear, intense anger.

“Look at what your hands have wrought! The city that has stood for a thousand years is burning!!”

Oscar drew his sword with a shout. The knights approaching from the end of the street stopped and began to stare at them.

At the forefront, a knight of imposing stature clad in gleaming white armor blocked their path through the city. Behind him stood a squire holding the commander’s standard.

It was Count Étienne de Granmarteau. It seemed like lightning flashed beneath his extravagant helmet.

“Étienne de Granmarteau!! Come on! If you want to take this country, you’ll have to trample over the bodies of the remaining soldiers of this country!”

“Oscar!! Wait!!”

The warhorse gallops. A warhorse reaching maximum speed cannot stop on its own power at this distance. Eugene screamed beneath his helmet.

“That’s not Granmarteau Count—!!”

Eugene’s words did not reach Oscar’s ears. The noise of the confused soldiers and the collapsing city from all directions was too overwhelming since Oscar’s arrival.

Heartbeats ring out too loudly. Not out of fear, but out of anger.

Eugene gripped his sword tightly. Following suit, everyone in the party raised their weapons.

“His level is… 63!”

Considering the average level of the hero party, he was undoubtedly formidable opponent. Even if the enemy was real Étienne, they would still have to fight for their lives—.

“Indeed.”

The knight’s voice reverberated. Piercing through the noise, it penetrated precisely into their ears.

“It was a trap. How cute, using such tricks.” (Elpheira)

– Clank.

The knight’s gauntlet pulled the lance out of its saddle. A massive axe-lance, fit for infantrymen, swung up.

It was too large a polearm to be wielded solely by upper body strength from horseback.

– Clang!

Oscar barely managed to duck his head, avoiding the axe blade. His helmet was roughly scraped off and flew away. Yet, the axe-lance, still with momentum, demolished the wall at the end of the street.

“Oscar!!”

Elpheira screamed, forming a spell. Magic surged, and lightning crackled. With a sharp noise destroying the air’s insulation, a searing lightning bolt surged towards the knight.

“An elf?”

The knight merely turned his head to deflect the lightning bolt that struck him squarely. The helmet strap, burnt by the lightning bolt, fell weakly, and the visor rolled on the ground.

Beneath it revealed a face that wasn’t Étienne’s. Much older, but still robust. It belonged to a man as solid as a rock.

“Baron Gerard de La Monde!?”

“Do you know him?”

“I know him! The Red Baron La Monde…! But why on earth—?!”

Isabelle exclaimed, her voice trembling. The cavalry charge finally came to a halt. The group stood stiffly before Baron La Monde, gripping their weapons firmly.

Soldiers who heard the commotion gathered around. They held their spears tightly, aiming at them.

The knights in front seemed unwilling to move, trusting in the knight at the forefront. The name of Baron La Monde, the Red Baron.

Baron La Monde laughed as he threw his helmet, crackling with electricity, to the ground.

“Isabelle. How have you been?”

“Shut up! This traitor—!!”

“Traitor? Haha. What a bitter thing to say.”

Baron La Monde shrugged and continued speaking. Closer, closer. As the horses approached, the pressure intensified.

Amidst the soldiers aiming crossbows and spears, La Monde waved his hand to restrain the soldiers and stepped forward.

“Show some respect. Didn’t the envoy come to sign the surrender document?”

“Who—!”

“Or did you think that this is all a strategy? The son of the homeland’s border guard, the son of a hero, and… well, foreigners. Do you think that a bunch of upstarts, risking their lives, can charge in and win?”

La Monde looked at Oscar with a chuckle.

“Leaving the gates open implies surrender, yet you chose to lock the fortress and siege it. And you even sent back the nobles’ heads wrapped in packages to the Count. If you dared to provoke by demanding immediate entry, naturally, what other options would be left?”

“I should have killed you long ago, Baron La Monde.”

“With your skills, you’re sorely lacking.”

“Father shouldn’t have trusted you.”

“It was easy. Winning the trust of the Duke wasn’t much of a challenge.”

Oscar clenched his sword with bulging veins in his hand.

An initiation knight of the Eastern Knight Order. He was the man who was first dispatched when the dragon of the Bernini Mountains was first reported and then went missing.

With the disappearance of that man, the Eastern Knight Order had the justification to mobilize their troops directly. Regardless of the orders of the Crown Prince, they needed that level of justification to mobilize the entire Eastern Knight Order.

“Was everything planned from the beginning? From the appearance of the dragon to this situation now…? Just how, how long have you been preparing…?”

“At least longer than your age.”

La Monde twirled the axe-lance onto his shoulder. He flicked his gauntlet and said,

“No one shall interfere in this fight. The credit for striking down the head of the Homeland Guard belongs to me alone.”

“Everyone. I’m sorry.”

Oscar spoke with suppressed anger.

It seemed hopeless.

Even if he were to defeat Baron La Monde, there seemed to be no way out. If it were Étienne in his place, he could have fought to the last and retreated into the castle, even using hostages.

Baron La Monde’s life wasn’t worth that much. Even if they were to defeat the opponent, Étienne would have been the man to order their deaths along with the hostages without hesitation.

“Ivan’s words were right.”

The most crucial thing in planning a strategy is information. Traps are usually the best efforts of those who prepared them. If you have enough confidence, go into the trap yourself. After acknowledging the existence of the trap and considering all the information and possibilities, even more boldly.

Ivan’s teachings were the basics of tactics. Conversely, when selling a trap, one should have prepared for the best that could be done. They should have been prepared for the collapse beyond compare in case of failure.

They believed they were prepared enough. But it wasn’t sufficient.

At Oscar’s words, Isabelle raised her sword.

“The hero party is in crisis!!”

“…Yes?”

“Plunged into crisis by the machinations of blinded nobles and fallen knights!”

Isabelle smiled, but her eyes didn’t. Like a blazing comet, she glared at La Monde.

“But a true warrior always leads the way. It’s not about the strongest, but the bravest! Oscar, son of Jill Ber. If you’re afraid, step back!”

“Isabelle… ”

“But if not—.”

Isabelle aimed her sword at La Monde.

– Clank.

– Swoosh.

– Crack…!

Simultaneously, everyone prepared for battle.

From the outset, this operation was a collective effort. There was no need to bear the burden of failure alone, nor to blame oneself and die without demonstrating one’s abilities.

In that sense, through actions that conveyed sincerity even without any response.

“Life always moves forward, not backward!”

As the old man taught.

Survival, infiltration, assassination, and exploration.

Isabelle shouted loudly as she spurred her horse forward. Even though they hadn’t coordinated, everyone naturally formed a wedge formation centered around Isabelle and began to charge.

*

– Booooom!!

“We’re late…! We’re late! Yermov! What… what should we do!”

Saint Mathilde was burning. Countless soldiers were already marching through the city gates wide open.

Various kinds of noise could be heard throughout the city. However, it wasn’t the sound of battle. It was the noise of destruction and looting.

He was well acquainted with this kind of disturbance. It was a familiar environment of the battlefield, one might say.

“Not yet.”

Ivan’s gaze fell on the center of the city. The Royal Palace. It was the fortress of the city, a solid stronghold beyond the deep sea.

And atop it, still, the royal banner of Tylesse fluttered. Along with the flag of Etarique.

Ivan’s gaze returned to the gate and the outer fortifications. There were no signs of battle anywhere. There wasn’t even evidence of the gate being destroyed. It meant it had been open from the start.

“They intended to defend from within.”

If that was all, it would be nothing more than obstinacy. Given the uncertainty of the enemy’s forces, it was not possible to withstand this level of disparity in strength with only the city’s defenses. The difference in supply capacity alone was stark.

So, if one were to speculate about the party’s calculations—

“They set a trap.”

Open the outer fortifications and lure the enemies. If they intended to defend from within, the enemy’s vanguard would surely march into the city for negotiation, mockery, or improvement, whatever it may be. They would attempt something.

But…

“They were careless. It was too easy to predict.”

Ivan sighed, contemplating a different approach. A truly brilliant strategy doesn’t merely react to the enemy’s moves but dictates them.

In his shoes, Ivan would have not only breached the outer fortifications but also infiltrated the inner defenses. Using Eugene’s status window, he’d eliminate all of the Count’s henchmen, install loyalists in key positions, and manipulate the royal family’s movements.

He’d bide his time, waiting for the perfect moment, perhaps after a ceremony when defenses were lax. Then, amidst the chaos of war, he’d strike, assassinating Count Étienne and framing his own allies to sow internal discord, igniting a civil war.

Closing the gates would trap them all inside, creating a bloody free-for-all within the castle walls.

Once enough chaos reigned, soldiers loyal to the king could restore order to Saint Mathilde.

It was a meticulously crafted plan, waiting only for the right circumstances—a grand strategy poised for execution if time and opportunity aligned. If only there were just one count orchestrating the rebellion, it would be an unquestionably bold move.

“No one can teach this method.”

Because it had to be developed through real experience.

Ivan moved forward with a determined pace. If he was still alive, he could grow even more through today’s experience. He thought so.

“Where, where are you going?”

“Do you remember what I said to you?”

“Yes?”

“The words I told you to sacrifice your life for a better place. Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

Without looking back, Ivan urged his horse forward. He quickly descended the hill, heading towards Saint Mathilde.

“Right here. Hand over the lives of the nobles to me. I will return their homeland to them.”

“B-But how…? We’re just a little over sixty!”

“Breakthrough.”

Ivan raised his sword and faced the enemy head-on. He could see the cavalry detecting their protrusion and maneuvering towards them.

Their numbers amounted to about two hundred. Not a single one of them was a knight.

Even if they managed to break through them, they would have to pierce through the infantry’s line again. And then? They would have to break through the cavalry once more and advance.

This wasn’t an annihilation operation. It was a decisive strike through a single point. A surgical operation aimed at minimizing engagement with the enemy and ultimately eliminating their leaders.

“Victory is not behind us. It’s only in front. I will do my best. Are you willing to die willingly?”

“Damn it, you’re crazy!”

The barons grumbled once and then clamped their lips shut.

Clank, clank. All the knights under the barons simultaneously pressed their helmet visors deeply. Underneath, it seemed like a gleaming determination could be seen.

“Keep that promise at all costs!”

“Absolutely.”

The sixty riders began to charge down the hill.

They stared straight at the approaching cavalry. Already, their numbers were more than four times theirs, and the forces behind them, if counted, were like a flood, not even worth calculating the difference in numbers.

They rushed towards them. With bodies and horses weary from long battles and marches. Their conditions were such that it wouldn’t be surprising if they collapsed right then and there. But even so…

If the enemies were likened to a flood, it was quite fitting.

Everyone here had pledged to be a breakwater for the kingdom.

So, sixty cavalrymen rode forth. Towards an army of over thirty thousand.

Toward Saint Mathilde. At dawn.