I Became the First Prince: Legend of Sword's Song
chapter-192-30041322

Chapter 192

True Soul Song for Her (5)

Shortly after Malcoy left me, his lieutenant came.

“You were alone with Malcoy,” he asked as he sat down before I even offered him a seat. Percival’s gaze was nailed on me. As I watched Percival’s nostrils flaring and him swallowing his spittle, I smelled the alcohol on him. Unlike his commander, I gave the man his own bottle of wine because we got along well.

“I was thirsty for another drink,” Percival said as he took the bottle, brought it to his mouth, and tilted his head back. His throat moved like a worm a few times, and then he took the bottle from his mouth.

“Hmm. Nice, what stuff is this?” Percival asked as he wiped his mouth exaggeratedly and gave the wine back to me.

“Malcoy’s answer seems to have been dissatisfying.”

When I nodded, Percival regarded me with me a friendly expression.

“War is unjust. It is the minority pushing the majority into enemy lines. He probably said something like this.”

“You know him well,” I stated.

Percival reached out his hand and once more grasped the bottle.

“He is probably confused,” he said. “Not everything in this fortress will match Malcoy’s common sense.”

“Common sense… To find any common sense on the battlefield, you have to be less conscious about ideology.”

“That’s it,” agreed Percival, “but honestly, this fortress is not normal to me.”

Percival had been sipping his wine and casually talking all this time; he now lowered his voice.

“The knights and soldiers here are like… They don’t seem to be afraid of dying. And especially those soldiers there. I swear, I’ve never seen anyone like them.”

Percival turned his head, and I followed his gaze. There were a bunch of guys cheering, giggling, and dancing ridiculous dances. They were the Rangers of Balahard, and Jordan was there as well.

“They were fighting for the lives of others. When I fight, I do so not to die. Compared to them… they were flying along the walls like ghosts, and they saved many of their own soldiers.”

I had to nod. It was as Percival said: The rangers had flown. Men like them, who had dealt with ferocious orcs with leather-hard hides, were like fish meeting water now that they faced human foes.

At first, the rangers had been a bit more humane when dealing with the imperial soldiers. Now, they made fun of them, saying that it was Balahard’s shame whenever someone was injured by an imperial. The imperial knights could not touch the rangers, while the clever rangers knew they could not face knights more powerful than they. As if herding an orc warrior toward an allied knight, the rangers did the same with the imperials. A great number of the Empire’s knights died from a knife or crossbow bolt in the back.

“It’s not just them,” said Percival. “There are others who are also not afraid of death.”

This time, his gaze settled on the soldiers of the Southern Army, who were enjoying a quiet rest.

“I’ve never seen soldiers so eager to kill the enemy.”

The southern soldiers had long been suffering the Imperial Army’s scorn, and the death of the queen was the final insult to them. Even if they died, the absolute will to decimate the enemy was nothing new to the southerners.

The same held true for the militiamen. They had volunteered for a war that they did not have to fight, so their morale and determination were as great as that of the rangers and southerners. I didn’t even have to say anything about the knights, who have always considered it an honor to fight until they fell upon the field of battle.

Percival had seen the knights and soldiers in action, and he was convinced.

“Perhaps that’s why,” he suddenly said in a heavy tone as his gaze turned in the direction in which his commander had left, “it’s difficult for Malcoy-nim to accept the situation right now.”

Percival took a swig from the bottle at once.

“Because the knights and soldiers of Marseille were not the same.”

The ideal image that the little prince of that time hoped the knights and soldiers of his country would conform to had surely been no different from the scene playing out in this citadel.

“In order for Malcoy-nim to endure his captivity when he was young, he needed people to blame – and there were the right people for it.”

Malcoy came to hate the nobles and knights who had forsaken their vows and the soldiers who had dropped their swords, fearing for their deaths. The little prince of the ruined Marseille thus resented the traitors as he endured prison life, and he even brainwashed himself into believing that none of it would’ve happened was it not for war.

“He’s a real fool,” I observed.

“It’s not something that can’t be understood. Malcoy was just a child at that time, and he had lost everything in a single day. If I think of him at that age, I understand. He must have felt useless, not able to do anything.”

Percival defended his commander, clearly not wanting me to insult the man. I chose not to object to his statement, but I knew that always thinking about the past, as if there was no one else in the world, was unhealthy.

“So please be gentle. He is a smart man. He will soon see reality for what it is.”

Instead of answering Percival, I offered him the wine.

“Excuse me, please,” Percival said after he finished the bottle and stood up. Even after he had left, his head hanging, I was still thinking.

Perhaps the end of the Marseille Kingdom could be the future of our kingdom.

No- Even if the corrupted nobles had not been purged in advance, they would have been slaughtered when the queen’s death ignited the flame of war in the people’s hearts.

The kingdom still faced great peril, though. Even if we were determined, nothing had truly changed. The Empire was still huge, and Leonberg still weak. The queen’s embers were burning everywhere, but I didn’t know if the hearts of the soldiers and the people would remain the same if the war became prolonged, if conditions remained the same for many years.

In all likelihood, they would start to blame the royal family for providing the Empire with a casus belli.

I had to find a way to prevent that. In the current war, we were merely enduring, and victory against the Empire was impossible if Leonberg just hung on and never pushed back.

In a war of attrition, it was Leonberg that would eventually collapse, even if the enemy suffered losses several times greater than ours. Before the long-burning flame snuffs out, before all of Leonberg’s forces became soaked in drizzle and melted away – we had to reverse this situation.

“The Eastern Fleet must play that role.”

I believed and did not doubt that the king and the fleet would return with news of victory after sailing to attack the Empire. However, time passed, and no news was heard of the king and his assault. Whether there was a battle, if it was won or lost – the news would surely have arrived by now. There was nothing. My ominous imagination kept disturbing my anxious mind, and I shook my head with vigor every time to clear away such thoughts.

The King of Dotrin and the Knights of the Sky were among those who have left for the Empire, and many believed that Dotrin’s ruler would be able to overcome any difficulties.

The descendants of the Sky Blade, Umbert, were real monsters. While I continued to struggle with my worries, the Imperial Army continued to batter Leonberg’s borders.

The Gifted Lion Citadel was attacked countless times. Until now, not a single fortress or stronghold had been taken from us, but that was no reassurance. There were reports that, in addition to the forces currently attacking the border, many legions were marching toward it.

And it was said that a large number of paladins and wizards were included among the enemy forces marching here. Once they arrived, the battles would become twice as hard as they are now.

But there wasn’t much I could do about it at this moment; all I could do was smash those imperial forces attacking the citadel.

There was a battle every day. The Rangers were still holding up well, but the southern soldiers had long since started to face the limits of their endurance. Rangers and knights constantly ran across the narrow battlements to relieve the exhausted soldiers, to fill the gaps.

I participated in the battles more actively than before, constantly reciting war poetry and energizing my allies. With mana gathered on the edge of my sword, I ran across the walls. In the process, the knights cut down by my hand were already beyond count, and a total of five enemy commanders owed their deaths to my efforts.

And by that time, the enemy was no longer our citadel. Thanks to that, we were given a chance to recover, but the burden on other fortresses increased, with all the imperial troops who gave up on attacking us heading to other strongholds.

I left the citadel with only the Black Lancers, and Malcoy and Percival came along as well.

We wandered across the land like madmen.

Whenever the news came that a friendly fortress was in danger, we mounted up, even if we had been sleeping, and rushed to the battlefield. Malcoy was tormented by the insanity of our deployment. He tried hard to hide his weakness and desperately tried not to fall behind. I always made sure that Malcoy rode at my side. Of course, being next to me often meant being where the fighting was fiercest.

Malcoy escaped the various pitfalls of death countless times. Percival and I helped him to trump the greater crises every time, but we could not prevent the smaller wounds from accumulating on his body. As Malcoy’s injuries increased, so too did he become more and more soldier-like.

“A few words would have been enough,” he told me. “A war fought to protect is still a war.”

It was clear that Malcoy’s beliefs remained unchanged.

“I have to push him some more, then.”

Each time, I just smiled at him and made sure he charged into battle. I firmly believed that if he wielded his sword, intent upon survival, the thoughts filling his head would disappear. But Malcoy was a persistent man. Whenever a battle was over, he came to me and talked about ‘real war.’

It was the same long story, and it was one that was not worth listening to.

“What’s the answer?” he would ask. “Is there an answer?”

He always wanted me to tell it to him so that he could judge it. I pretended not to hear him, and every time, Malcoy continued with his patient protests. Despite his efforts, I had no intention of sating his curiosity with words.

“It’s still far away, Malcoy.”

I told him that he had to find the answer on his own and turned around. Then, on a day when we crossed the border, I realized that the wide wire of his obstinacy had become narrow; Malcoy had stopped talking bullshit.

“Why? Why don’t you talk about what real war is?” he asked with a tired face. “I am no longer curious.”

He looked like he was about to die on the spot, and it seemed that he was asking himself whether the answer was important. I laughed; I was quite happy that Malcoy had now become fit for the battlefield. In fact, there had been no answer from the beginning. There is no answer to war.

I had merely wanted to shake away the arrogance and resentment that filled Malcoy’s mind, for he was acting as if he had mastered the world despite his lack of insight.

There were countless ways to get rid of misapprehension in this world, and my preferred method was to push them to the point where their judgment was no longer clouded.

The results were satisfactory. Malcoy no longer spoke bullshit, and he didn’t waste his precious breaks by pondering on useless worries.

“We return to the Gifted Lion Citadel.”

I led the Black Lancers home, smashing through the enemy to reach the citadel. The imperial forces that have been advancing on the border began to withdraw slowly, and it seemed to me that they were preparing to join up with the marching reinforcements.

My prediction proved correct.

“The report states that the enemy reinforcements are now a week’s march from the border. The exact scale of their force will only be known once our scouts return from their reconnaissance, but I believe they will be at least forty thousand strong.”

Sighs were heard all over the room.

We had destroyed or scattered more than fifteen legions while holding the border, and even while the Empire ridiculed our efforts, they sent more legions to the front.

Once more, the moment had come for us to reduce the difference in power. And it was known that among the additional imperial forces, there were wizards and paladins.

From here on out, we faced the real hump; but it was not time to give up and die.

Such was the case now.

“Your Highness! Reinforcements are here!”

As I ran to the north gate to look at the distant plain, I saw figures in white cloaks escorted by rangers. They were the wizards of the White Night Tower who the High Lich had said would be ready in half a year. They had finally achieved solidity in their craft, now appearing on the front line. But that wasn’t all.

Along with the wizards came some unexpected guests.