Chapter 46

Translator: Willia

Silverreach, captain of the Silverreach Mercenary Company, looked every inch a veteran of a hundred battles. There was the scar running across his face, his sharp eyes, and the battle gear that looked as though it had served him faithfully for years.

Yet despite the company's well-known strength of five hundred, he had actually brought only around a hundred men.

Whether he had decided that number would be enough, or whether there was some other practical reason, no one knew.

Still, all one hundred were Men-at-Arms, fully equipped from helmet and armor to shield and weapon. His soldiers were clearly cut from a different cloth than troops drawn from farming villages. They had the unmistakable air of professional soldiers.

“......So you're saying the Dwarven Steel sword is the problem?”

Silverreach privately found it pathetic that they had failed to capture a city because of a single sword.

“That's right.”

Gunnar answered rather curtly. He simply did not care much for mercenaries.

“Hmm...... It should make fine spoils, then.”

“You'll be lucky if you keep your head.”

Gunnar made the spiteful remark for no real reason, but Silverreach, experienced as he was, did not seem bothered in the slightest. A mercenary encountered all kinds of nobles over the course of his career. Compared to some of them, Gunnar was practically a gentleman.

“Very well. Let's summon every available force here except His Excellency's rear forces. Gather as much food as possible, and the moment the siege equipment is fully assembled, we'll launch a General Offensive. There's no need to worry about the supply line. Once we take the city, we can reach Torvik by river.”

“Easy for you to say. Do you think my men and I have been breaking our backs all this time for nothing? If this fails, are you going to take responsibility? A thousand men could starve to death.”

Silverreach's proposal certainly left no room for retreat. Put simply, he wanted to drag in every soldier and every scrap of food they had and settle everything in one blow.

Yet even at Gunnar's sharp question, he merely gave a faint chuckle.

“The greatest concern when hiring mercenaries is that they'll drag their feet without doing their jobs properly, all while collecting their pay. We're not like that. We're busy. We have plenty of places to be besides a backwater like this, Young Lord.”

“......Where are you going?”

“Never mind that. His Excellency has given his orders, so I would appreciate it if you followed my recommendation.”

“......”

Gunnar turned toward the Count of Winddale beside him. The Count nodded. They had failed to capture the city on their own anyway, so he figured there was no harm in listening to the expert.

Besides, he wanted some rest. The men in the rear guarding the supply line had surely suffered too while dealing with the Highlanders, but Siege Warfare had a way of pushing people to their absolute limits. He wanted those men to do some of the fighting now.

If, by some chance, the attack failed, they would be out of food anyway. They could simply leave.

This really was the last attempt. The Count of Winddale felt that way, and so did the soldiers.

The soldiers of Grinnen watched the Ducal Army from atop the walls, sinking deeper and deeper into despair.

Even though Valery had repeatedly taken the lead and performed unbelievable feats that raised their morale, there was nothing they could do. The Ducal Army's numbers had swelled by the day.

Grinnen had only eighty soldiers. Losing even one man to death or injury was devastating, yet no matter how hard they fought, the enemy's ranks kept growing by the hundreds. It was enough to crush anyone's spirit.

Had it been hopeless from the start? What had all that fighting even been for?

Worse still, hearing that Valery had collapsed sapped their will to fight beyond measure.

Arne stepped forward to steady their resolve. He gathered everyone together, climbed onto the wall, and delivered a speech to kindle their determination one last time.

In one hand he held the billhook once wielded by The Ball-Ripper. It was Arne's weapon now.

“Everyone. I know your worries and your fears. I feel them too. But running away simply because we're afraid is not the right choice. You and I both know there are lives worse than death, don't we? We haven't gone without sleep and fought ready to die merely to cling to a miserable existence. We want something. We want to live as human beings. We want to live without groveling. We want to live with our families in homes we built with our own hands.”

Arne had supervised construction work, so he knew the people who had worked beside him at the sites. He looked at them one by one in the crowd. He knew their names too.

“Torch, Wells, Kenid, Wolf, Woods, and all of you who worked beside me, thank you for everything. This is goodbye. I intend to die in the final battle. I won't force any of you to join me. I simply wanted to say thank you.”

There was something deeply moving about Arne's speech. It was different from Valery's ability to set people's hearts ablaze, but his words resonated heavily within them. Some had tears streaming down their faces.

That was because his words came from honesty and a sincere heart.

What was a hero, after all? Was it not someone who gave people courage and hope, guided them down the right path, and brought them together? If so, then Arne too had the makings of a hero.

“And one more thing. Wid is my friend. If it weren't for him, I never would have come this far. I don't know how I ended up fighting this hard to protect this city...... I really don't. But I think I can die with a glad heart, at least. If only to protect my friend, I will fight.”

Arne smiled as he spoke. His expression was simply peaceful. It was not courage he had forced himself to summon. He seemed to be facing his fear with a serene heart.

The irony of it was that before regression, Arne had died at Valery's hands while trying to protect a city. Now, in the reverse situation, he was prepared to die protecting Valery.

The people did not roar with fervor. They merely applauded, and Skard and Knut did the same. Yorik was unfortunately absent, as he was staying beside the fallen Valery.

Then again, perhaps life was so painful and miserable precisely so moments like this could bloom.

Two days had passed since the Silverreach Mercenary Company joined them and the forces that had been guarding the supply line all gathered together. Now they truly had almost no food left for the next day. They had scraped together every soldier and every scrap of food for the final assault.

Unless they captured Grinnen and took the river route to Torvik, they would have to retreat while starving and fighting the Marquis's army. In other words, they were as good as trapped in enemy territory.

The day was overcast. The weather had been clear until yesterday, but now the sky was filled with gray clouds. It might rain. If it did, who would it favor, and who would it disadvantage?

None of that mattered anymore. Neither the Ducal Army nor Grinnen could retreat from this battle.

With the troops that had guarded the supply line and the Silverreach Mercenary Company joining them, the Ducal Army now numbered nearly eight hundred. They divided into three forces and advanced.

At the center, the Count of Winsloe's army advanced while protecting the Battering Ram. Gunnar and the Count of Winddale commanded the left, while the Silverreach Mercenary Company took the right, pushing the Siege Tower.

As the entire army moved at once, the rolling rumble of their footsteps sounded like thunder in the distance. They did not charge wildly. Instead, they raised a solid shield wall and advanced slowly.

Once they entered bow range, Grinnen's soldiers fired a volley of arrows. Several times as many arrows came flying back from the Ducal Army.

As arrows flew back and forth, the Infantry continued advancing behind their shields. Up to that point, there were hardly any casualties on either side.

“Don't break formation! Keep in step!”

“This is the last one! The last battle! Break through there and we go home!”

The Sergeants urged the soldiers onward. Sometimes their encouragement included vicious curses.

The ground beneath Grinnen's walls was covered in scorch marks and corpses that had never been collected. There were also piles of rubble where sections of the wall had collapsed.

When the enemy had nearly reached them, Grinnen's soldiers unhesitatingly hurled down Peat, reeds, and timber, then set the base of the walls ablaze once more. Flames spread in a long line along the walls, making for quite a spectacle.

The Ducal Army soldiers endured the agony of their flesh roasting as they dragged sacks of sand forward and hurled them onto the flames. It did not put the fire out very well, but it was better than doing nothing.

Their formation became somewhat disordered at that point. The rotation between the soldiers carrying sand and those holding weapons was not going smoothly.

Once the flames seemed to have weakened enough, the captain of the Silverreach Mercenary Company gave a bold order.

“Just push through!”

The mercenaries pushing the Siege Tower put their backs into it and picked up speed. Its wheels rumbled loudly across the ground.

Without caring if it got a little damaged, they rammed the Siege Tower straight into the wall. Then the men carrying swords and shields swiftly climbed its stairs.

But there was no one atop the wall. Looking into the city, they saw a long, deep trench, with Grinnen's soldiers waiting on the far side armed with bows and Crossbows.

Twang! Thud-thud-thud!

The mercenaries hurriedly raised their shields. They could not block everything, however, and several arrows and bolts lodged in their legs.

Yet perhaps because they were veterans of real battles, they gritted their teeth against the pain and refused to retreat, making their way down from the wall. If any one of them hesitated, the allies behind him would be unable to enter.

They knew from experience that pressing forward actually increased their chances of survival by allowing their allies to join them. In that respect, they were clearly different from ordinary territorial troops.

Mercenaries began pouring over the wall in earnest. Formation no longer mattered. They intended to overwhelm the defenders with sheer numbers.

“Long live His Majesty the King! Lead us to Heaven!”

“Long live the Silverreach Mercenary Company!”

The mercenaries shouted their cheers for the King and their company once, then used that momentum to charge. But the trench was too wide to cross in a single leap.

They had to climb down and then back up again. The moment they began scrambling up the far side, Grinnen's soldiers formed a close formation as though they had been waiting for them and thrust their spears at Arne's command.

“Thrust!”

“Hah!”

Whether the mercenaries were stabbed or blocked the spears with their shields, either way they were forced back. Those who had charged at the front tumbled back into the trench, dead or wounded.

Whenever new enemies somehow climbed up, the defenders thrust their spears again. Another wave toppled back down. Meanwhile, the soldiers in the rear ranks fired arrows without pause.

They were holding the line remarkably well. If things continued like this, they might even win. But that was not the only place the Ducal Army was attacking.

The sound of the Battering Ram pounding against the city gate rang out.

Bang! BAAANG! Bang!

They had completely barricaded the gate from the inside, but once the gate itself was breached, clearing those barricades would only be a matter of time.

Skard was commanding the section where a collapsed stretch of wall had been temporarily blocked off with ropes. The situation there was much the same as Arne's.

But perhaps the Ducal Army was truly determined to settle everything now, because even as casualties mounted at a frightening rate, they refused to stop. The trench filled with corpses and wounded men, and the attackers crossed by stepping over them.

“Aaaaaargh!”

“I'm alive! I'm still alive!”

“Mother!”

The survivors trapped beneath the bodies in the trench screamed. Grinnen's soldiers threw more Peat down on top of them and set it ablaze. It was pure pandemonium, a truly horrific vision of hell.

The acrid stench of the flammable material filled the air, mingling with the smell of roasting flesh from corpses and living men alike.

Silverreach had reached the wall by then and surveyed the battle. From what he could see, there was no other way. They would have to keep pushing with sheer numbers until the end. Those bastards were damn tenacious.

Bang! BAAANG! CRACK!

At that moment, the city gate gave way. The Winsloe troops could not pour straight through yet, but once they cleared away the carts, stones, timber, and other obstacles blocking their path, Grinnen would truly be finished.

Even amid all that, a handful of Ducal Army soldiers slipped into the city like grains of sand leaking between one's fingers. Knut dealt with them, but there were too many places that needed defending.

“To the gate! Get to the gate!”

Silverreach shouted. There were all kinds of obstacles in the way, but if they squeezed hard enough, they could force their way through. And the obstacles were steadily being removed.

Unfortunately, Grinnen had no soldiers left to defend that point.

The Grinnen soldiers on the left and right thrust their spears until their palms split open, but now there truly seemed to be no way out.

In desperation, Skard mounted a horse and tried to defend the center even if he had to do it alone. By sheer bad luck, an enemy arrow struck him in the shoulder at that exact moment, sending him from the saddle.

The sight was jarring to friend and foe alike. There was something symbolic about seeing a mounted man fall.

“We've won! Push them!”

“To the gate! Clear the obstacles!”

Enemies swarmed toward the gate from both inside and outside.

Meanwhile, at the mercenary company building where Valery lay unconscious, the sounds of fierce fighting echoed from afar.

Yorik was beside himself with anxiety. He did not care what happened to him. But the one thing he could not bear was seeing Valery killed by the enemy while he lay unconscious. Having made up his mind, he spoke to the unconscious Valery.

“I think... I don't really know, but I think you have to live, Lord Wid. I feel like you're meant to do greater things. I'm sorry to the others, but later... when you wake up later, you can blame me.”

Yorik's throat tightened as he spoke. Tears did not come pouring from his eyes, but his chest ached.

Still, he had made his decision. He intended to carry Valery on his back, head for the wharf, and escape.

As he pulled Valery's arm toward himself to hoist him up, a voice reached his ears.

“How could I ever blame you......”

Meanwhile, the Siege Defense was rapidly turning against Grinnen. The city gate was nearly breached, and Aethelred, Count of Winsloe, was leading soldiers into the city. Harold, Gidwin, and Tommy were there as well.

That was the nature of war. By a twist of fate, even father and son or brother and brother could meet as enemies.

Not a single Grinnen soldier fled, even at the very end. But the enemies who had entered the city began dragging women by the hair and attacking from the flanks and rear.

Watching the scene, Silverreach felt exhilaration welling inside him.

“Every last one of them......!”

Silverreach never finished the sentence. No, he had definitely shouted loudly, but halfway through, the sound vanished. It was the same for everyone else. It was as though sound itself had suddenly disappeared.

At the inexplicable strangeness of it, friend and foe alike froze for an instant. They tapped at their ears and went, “Ah, ah,” but heard nothing.

Then the wind blew. The flames consuming the corpses leaned in one direction with it.

Following the direction of the wind, they saw someone standing on the roof of a house. There was no backlight, yet the figure was completely shrouded in shadow, visible only as a pitch-black silhouette. His clothes fluttered in the wind.

The instant Silverreach saw him, goosebumps covered his body and the fine hairs on his skin slowly rose. A sense of wrongness, an inexplicable sense of wrongness, swept over him. And it was not only him. Everyone on the battlefield felt it.

Then lightning flashed across the cloudy sky, and thunder struck at the same instant. After that brief world without sound, the deafening blast slammed into their eardrums as though it would rupture them.

KRA-KOOM!

Everyone who had been intoxicated by the frenzy of battle squeezed their eyes shut, clapped their hands over their ears, and collapsed. The weapons in their hands dropped to the ground.

What was happening? What in the world was happening? What was about to happen? Trembling in fear, everyone stared at the person standing on the roof. At that moment, two points of light appeared within the pitch-black silhouette. They were eyes.

He drew his sword and raised it toward the sky. As though it had been waiting for him, a bolt of lightning fell from the heavens.

KRA-KOOM!

None of them had ever seen lightning from so close. Everyone shut their eyes against the blinding flash. Some, terrified by the wrath of the heavens, instinctively covered their heads and dropped flat.

But when they opened their eyes and looked up again, he was no longer there.

No one knew how he had moved, but now he stood atop the wall beside Silverreach.

And every Ducal Army soldier along the straight line he had passed was collapsing, either decapitated or cleaved completely apart. Electricity crackled as it crawled across the ground.

Silverreach's legs gave out without him even realizing it, and he slumped to the ground. From closer than anyone else, he looked up at the figure.

Silverreach had survived countless battles and believed there was nothing left in the world for him to fear. Yet now terror had numbed his mind and body, leaving him capable of nothing but trembling.

An enraged face that looked almost ready to weep. Two eyes blazing with light. A sword filled with lightning. This was no human. At the very least, it was something beyond humanity, whether a superhuman being or a god itself.

Valery now hovered on the boundary between consciousness and unconsciousness. He could no longer tell whether he was moving himself or whether something else was moving him.

One thing alone was certain. He was filled with nothing but agony that seemed to burn his heart and an immense sorrow.

Valery raised his sword, Und, overhead and brought it down. From the farthest reaches of the sky to the earth below, a single bolt of lightning crossed that immense distance in an instant and fell.

KRA-KOOOM!

What resistance could possibly be offered? Silverreach was charred pitch-black, his entire body splitting apart as though his body had been destroyed before death itself could catch up.

From atop the wall, Valery looked around at the people. Then he drew in a deep breath, spread both arms wide, and shouted as though expelling that enormous pain and sorrow from within himself.

It did not sound like thunder rumbling in the distant heavens. It sounded like thunder crashing right beside them.

“Who dares oppose me!”

Once again, everyone's eardrums felt as though they might burst. A high-pitched ringing filled their ears, and the temporary damage to their sense of direction left them dizzy.

One man had not merely overwhelmed this enormous force. With a single shout, he had subdued them.

Friend and foe alike had gone weak at the knees and could barely remain standing. At this moment, to the Ducal Army, courage no longer meant fighting. It meant running away.

Someone who was farther from Valery was the first to muster the courage to flee.

That was all it took. The Ducal Army broke and ran en masse. Thought itself vanished from their minds, leaving only terror in control.

Even the hatred and malice toward the enemy that had swelled during the battle seemed to be crushed flat beneath that overwhelming power.

Capture? Victory? Defeat? None of those words even existed in their minds anymore.

Rain began to fall. The flames burning the corpses in the trench died down, and Valery released his sword.

With the battlefield now silent except for the sound of rain, the sword striking the ground rang out loudly.

Clang!

Valery dropped to his knees and clutched his heart. It had lasted only a short while, but this absurd, near-divine power came at a price. But had he not already decided to pay that price for Grinnen? Then that was enough.

As the trance gradually faded, the power dispersed, leaving behind nothing but unbearable pain. Was his heart going to burst and kill him, just as Regin had said?

Still, feeling pain also meant he was alive. For a dead heart to return to life, that much pain was only natural.

It hurt so badly that death seemed preferable, but if he had to go on living like this, then that too would be part of the price.

As his consciousness began to blur, unable to tell whether his heart was about to burst or whether he was simply going to faint from the pain, Valery felt as though his surroundings were growing brighter and raised his head.

He saw a light that had begun among the reed beds of the Wetlands in the distance, drawing steadily closer to him. Was it an illusion? A hallucination?

The light was not dazzling. It was simply comforting, and when it came close, he could make out a humanlike figure wreathed in its glow. A Mage holding a staff, a Rune Mage.

“Those who willingly shoulder pain deserve rest. You've done everything you had to do, so close your eyes and rest in peace.”

Could any voice truly sound this sweet? A thought suddenly came to him. He had never seen his mother, but he found himself wishing her voice had sounded like this.

The Rune Mage wrapped Valery in a warm embrace so he could fall peacefully asleep.

At the edge of consciousness, he saw the Frog Banner hanging limp and soaked with rain. Even so, it had never been taken by the enemy or allowed to fall. Just like Valery.

Chapter 11 – When a Dead Heart Comes Back to Life. End.