30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue
chapter-271

Chapter: 271

The victory banquet ended late at night, after the warriors had completely drained the last drink left at Findvald Fortress. One by one, they sprawled on the floor, succumbing to sleep.

Except for a few sentinels, everyone was snoring loudly as they dozed off. Ivan rubbed the stiff back of his neck and sat on the watchtower, gazing at the Eastern Front.

Hoo…

The wind swept through his hair, bringing a dry and cool breeze not typical for late summer. Ivan squinted, quietly watching beyond the darkness.

Thud, thud.

He felt a presence approaching, climbing the steps of the watchtower, but he didn’t bother to look back. The sound of footsteps was enough to tell him who it was.

Indeed, the one who came sat down heavily beside him and asked.

“What are you doing?”

“On guard.”

“Without rest?”

“Everyone else is resting.”

“Haha, such a diligent bastard.”

With everyone sprawled asleep, someone had to stand guard. There was no one else willing among the others, and in this festive atmosphere, it was unlikely anyone could properly keep watch, so he might as well do it.

It was easy to understand the implication.

Einar chuckled and opened his canteen.

“Want a drink?”

“Is there any left?”

“I saved the last sip. This is the one we’ve saved since we left our clan… No, slow down, sip it. Bastard.”

As soon as Ivan took the canteen, he gulped down about half of it. Einar smacked his lips as he took it back and took a sip.

“How is it? Not bad, huh?”

“It’s bitter.”

“Mead is always like that. I’ve got some that was brewed for Eshe’s wedding, so come back to find it later.”

“Hmm.”

“Dammit.”

Einar scratched his head awkwardly and looked up at the night sky.

“Bastard, take care.”

“I don’t get why everyone says that.”

“Who else said this?”

“Veolgrin.”

“Should I just kill that bastard?”

Einar looked at Ivan with a blank expression.

“You’re a complete rake. If you were Drovian, you’d be castrated.”

“Good thing I’m from Krasilov.”

“You’ve gotten better with words while I wasn’t watching.”

Einar chuckled and took another swig from the alcohol. After a moment, he quietly asked while looking at the sky.

“Did Veolgrin pass peacefully?”

“He left satisfied.”

“I see. How about Jill Ber?”

“…At least he achieved what he wanted.”

“Fools.”

Veolgrin, Jill Ber. The powerless Patricia, and Enrique, who ultimately chose to hide away.

And now, Maximilian, who had vanished.

“As I get older, I find I have fewer friends.”

Einar still looked young, whether it was ten years ago or now. His body always maintained the condition of its prime.

It seemed that even aging could not surpass his boiling rage and wildness. It was as if he alone lived untouched by the passage of time.

However, this old warrior, whose only change was the length of his beard, had a wrinkled face at this moment, washed away by the storms of time.

Not aged, but exhausted.

The warrior continued speaking.

“I’ve achieved a lot and done my best at everything I could. I’ve run toward the unreachable and fought until my breath ran out.”

“…”

“Now there’s only one goal left.”

Einar’s gaze was fixed on the sky. Here, on the front lines of Drovian, not a trace of the city’s brilliance or the smoke of war factories could be found, revealing a painfully blue sky.

The nights in Drovian were never dark.

Those countless stars brightening the night were their ancestors, shining across the galaxy.

Through eternal day and eternal night, the figures of their ancestors struggling against endless darkness could be seen. Marching in legion towards the heart of the night.

The heaven of all Drovian warriors always illuminated the skies above them.

“Are you thinking of dying?”

“Who knows.”

“Don’t die.”

“Huh?”

When Einar suddenly turned to look, Ivan was now meeting his gaze directly.

In contrast to him, Einar bore the scars of time. That awkward and stiff face of a soldier from back in the day was no longer there.

The youthful light in his eyes had now grown heavy with fatigue, glowing only with weariness. If anything hadn’t changed, it was the smoldering ambition within him, sharp enough to slice through just by reaching out.

“Don’t die anymore.”

“Bastard.”

Having faced the deaths of Jill Ber and Veolgrin directly, it wasn’t hard to imagine what that feeling might be like. If it were him, he would have burned down an entire city in rage.

Einar grinned and nodded.

“You’ve grown a lot, bastard. Yeah, this big brother needs to live long enough to see grandchildren.”

Ivan suddenly thought that a non-blood-related grandchild might soon be a possibility, only to quickly brush it away. He was a sensible person.

Instead, he took out dried snacks from his pocket and handed them over.

“Are you still making this?”

“It’s a complete food.”

“It’s just feed. Let me have it.”

Einar chewed on the nutritional bar.

“If the sun rises tomorrow, you should leave right away.”

“…”

“You’ve figured it out. This is a trap.”

The battlefield had entered a lull. The demon army, unable to withstand the damage, retreated beyond the Eastern Front, making it seem as if the war was over.

However, the very few left on this battlefield knew better.

The composition of the invading demon forces was bizarre. Various races mixed together, forming a coherent military might. Goblins, orcs, Taurus, and other rare races were all seen at least once.

This composition signifies only one thing. That the Seven Dragon Lords exist on this front. Without that level of dominance, it would be impossible to maintain such a collective cohesively.

While for convenience the demons were lumped together as ‘monsters,’ they were certainly not a unified race. It was a classification akin to calling horses and cows just livestock.

Without authority akin to that of the Seven Dragon Lords, it is nearly impossible for them to form an allied front. It would be like raising lions and tigers in the same pen.

But why had the Seven Dragon Lords not appeared directly, even in their defeat? It hinted at confidence but also revealed a reluctance to come forth.

“They are stalling for time.”

“Right.”

Ivan’s words made Einar nod. But it was a little short of being entirely correct.

“They’re stalling to prevent the army from disbanding and returning. To keep an eye on our backs; to make sure this front isn’t left empty. Do you know why?”

“Dual…front.”

“Correct.”

The Drovian legion, alongside Krasilov, is arguably one of the strongest military forces in the United Kingdom. Furthermore, those two nations had forged a solid alliance maintaining both frontlines.

If one side falters, it is easy for the other to provide support, being right next to each other.

From that standpoint, to deliberately tie down one side means…

“The Northern Front of Krasilov is likely in danger. If the Seven Dragon Lords have one here, you can assume they’ve moved one to the other side.”

“…”

“Go. Bastard. This big brother is fine.”

If Maximilian were behind all this, it might very well be the case, but… for now, it is. At least, if we ‘assume’.

Now he was effectively forcing Ivan into a cruel choice.

Will he defend Krasilov or stay here to support Einar?

If one were to assume that the Seven Dragon Lords have appeared on both sides, then Ivan’s stance at this moment could very well guarantee victory on a specific frontline.

It’s hard to argue that anyone else in this era could directly confront and survive the Seven Dragon Lords.

Einar would exhibit formidable strength against legions. However, one-on-one battles with opponents of the Seven Dragon Lords’ caliber were not his forte. Stalling for time may be easy, but guaranteeing victory is an entirely different issue.

His intentions would not apply to the Seven Dragon Lords. And if Ivan were Maximilian, the one the Seven Dragon Lords has placed here would likely…

“Ruler Thanashimor… would you be able to face him?”

“Yeah, it’s a bit disadvantageous.”

Einar shrugged. The Lord of Pride Thanashimor was practically Einar’s nemesis. If we’re to be precise, one could say he is the perfect counter to Einar’s intentions.

They would have to march beyond the Eastern Front, into the Demon Realm where he could be hiding. Otherwise, they would have to keep their forces fixed on this front indefinitely.

That couldn’t be done. Especially in a situation where supplies are critically insufficient. They had to finish the campaign as quickly as possible. After just a week, half of the warriors gathered here would likely attempt defection out of hunger.

Unlike the days of the Great War, they could no longer count on supply support from the United Kingdom’s rear.

“Ivan. Look at me.”

“…”

Einar was now looking down at him with a solemn expression devoid of laughter.

“I’ll protect this country, so you go and save this world.”

“Einar.”

“Damn it, that’s just creepy. This should have been something Jill Ber would say.”

He soon shivered, chugged the last sip from his canteen, and flung it towards the distant horizon.

“Protect everything you cherish, and if you have time left, save the world too, you bastard.”

“…”

“And save yourself a bit as well.”

If Krasilov were to fall, what would happen to Einar? It wasn’t hard to imagine. He would probably end up a ghost, wandering around in a more broken state than now.

So, before more time passes. Before it’s too late, he had to let him go. It was necessary.

“Follow the sea route. If you follow the open sea, you should be able to pass through the Demon Realm and reach the rear of the Northern Front. I believe you can survive and reach Krasilov even along that path.”

If one moves toward the Central Sea, the Northern coastal line connecting Tylesse to Krasilov appears. If they can reach that frigid plain frozen in every season, it would be good.

From there, heading south over the Northern Demon Realm, one could reach Andgrind. To the monstrous mountain range dividing the Krasilov Northern boundary.

As long as they can reach the main base of the 2nd Legion in Krasilov from Andgrind, that’s all that matters. If they hurry, it would take four to five days. If they do nothing but keep moving all day, that’s about how long it would take.

Traveling this way is much faster than by train.

Given Krasilov’s military capacity, they could easily withstand that degree of effort. This summer, Krasilov is likely turned into a swamp where foot marching is impossible; if they engage in a delay tactic, it wouldn’t be hard to take even longer.

So, don’t worry and set off.

Einar smiled and concluded.

“Let’s each save our homeland. Don’t make that face. Do you think I’ll die here?”

“After it’s over, at least bring back some good drinks.”

“Is that a dowry? I look forward to it, bastard.”

Einar patted his back hard and descended from the watchtower. Ivan stared at his back for a while before turning away.

A choice.

Ivan inadvertently opened the hand he had been clenching. The stone railing of the watchtower crumbled painfully beneath his tightly clenched fist.

“Maximilian.”

Under the night sky, he murmured quietly.

“I will no longer consider you a comrade.”

The next morning, the Hero Party departed amidst the grand cheers of the Drovian warriors. The sailing over the open sea was a specialty for Drovian, so their unique small speedboats cut swiftly through the summer sea, heading toward the horizon.

EP46. Castle Raid.