Chapter 12: The Warrior’s Last Moment

Three young men walked along the rugged mountain path, trudging toward Titello City.

“You shouldn’t have come, Jeff.”

“I had to come. I had to do something, otherwise I… I would feel guilty toward Rama. And…”

“What?”

“I can’t let a friend take risks alone.”

“Jeff…”

“You all have reasons to come, but why did I have to take this risk too?” Poirot had changed into a tight-fitting outfit and was following behind Fred and me, without any trace of a mage’s pride and reserve.

“I think so too. Carlson sent you to help us, but so far I haven’t seen how you can help us.” I had been bickering with Poirot the whole way.

“I… I’m a Mage after all. How can a muscle-brained, simple-minded private like you insult a learned sage?” The mage’s sense of honor had worked a little on Poirot.

“When you ran away screaming, I didn’t see you acting like much of a sage.” I kept needling him.

“First, being able to wisely choose the path to survival at a moment of life and death is also a kind of wisdom. Second, when did I ever scream?”

“Then how did you cry out?”

“I cried ‘whoo-whoo’… no, I never cried.” Who said all mages were smart?

“Are you soldiers of Delanmaya…”

“I’m not a soldier at all, I’m a Mage… Ah, a ghost!”

From a nearby patch of grass, a hoarse groan faintly drifted over, sounding especially eerie in the lonely mountain wilderness. When I realized it must be a living person, I found myself huddled together with the young mage, trembling.

“Who are you?” Fred drew his sword and pointed it at the grass.

“So you really are Delanmaya soldiers… I’ve finally… finally waited for you.” A tall figure rolled out of the grass, wearing the cavalry armor of Delanmaya. It was our wounded soldier.

“Sir Echville!” Fred cried out in shock, quickly helping the wounded Echville up and supporting him to a tree to lean against.

“So it’s you, young man. Ah, and you too.” Echville had been badly wounded in places we could not tell. The armor below his waist was almost entirely stained red, and an arrow was still stuck in his shoulder, with blood flowing without stopping.

“What happened to you, sir?” I asked as I took out my water flask.

It turned out that after the whole army was ambushed, Echville had not hurried to retreat, but had led his men up the hillside, trying to break out of the ambush circle and seek help from Titello City. But the Winston had blocked up the entire exit completely; Echville and his men had no chance of breaking out at all. After putting up a stubborn resistance, all of his men died in battle. Only he, after killing several enemies, had charged into the mountain forest. Looking at the wounds on his body, we could imagine how fierce the scene had been. Even though he was badly wounded, he still did not give up hope. He even tried to climb down a cliff nearly two hundred paces high to reach Titello City below and raise the alarm. In his words, even if he fell to his death in the city, if it could make the garrison discover him and become alert, it would be worth it. But the repeated fierce battles had left him heavily wounded, and he had fainted on a hillside from which Titello City could be seen. When he woke up, it was already dark. He happened to see a group of survivors wearing Delanmaya Army uniforms entering the city to ask for help, reporting that the Seventh Legion had been ambushed and needed reinforcements from the city garrison. After part of the garrison left the city and entered the canyon, fires suddenly broke out in the city. The city gate was opened and the drawbridge was lowered. A large number of Winston rushed out of the valley and quickly charged into the castle together with the enemy troops stationed outside the city. Having lost the protection of the city gate and being attacked from both inside and outside, the garrison was quickly defeated. Titello City, known as the “Barrier of Dragon Peak” of the continent, changed hands in just one night.

Fred was right. Titello City had fallen, and even the way it fell had been predicted by him with not the slightest error. He might have been the first person in the Delanmaya Army to understand the intentions of the Winston, but even so, no one could reverse our crushing defeat in this war.

“We’ll take you back, sir,” Fred said.

“No need, young man. I’m done for,” Echville said, shaking his head. “Seeing that you’re alive, I… I’m very glad. I forced myself to stay alive just because I hoped to get the news out. Now… it’s worth it.”

He unfastened his saber and handed it to Fred. “This Ink Shadow has been with me for over ten years. Giving it to you will not be a waste. Young man, the first time I saw you, I felt… I felt you were very much like me. Use it well… don’t… don’t let it down.”

“Yes, sir.” Fred took the Ink Shadow blade and answered, holding back his tears.

Echville went on, “Help me… put my helmet on.”

I hurriedly put the helmet on his head, afraid it would be crooked, and gently adjusted it left and right.

He struggled to stand up leaning against the tree, softly said something, and then lowered his head forever. By this time, Fred and I were already crying, tears streaming down our faces.

“He is different from those who died on the battlefield,” Poirot said in a low voice. “He didn’t die with regret. I can feel it.” We did not know that Poirot’s words had a basis.

We left. Behind us lay the body of a great warrior. We were not familiar with one another, but this man, in only two brief meetings, had shown two young soldiers the noble character of a warrior. Fair, dutiful, loyal, friendly, and without fear even in the face of death, he left so calmly and with such dignity.

He was the first nobleman who saluted me, but before that, countless people had saluted him countless times.

He left behind an upright shell. In front of the death that everyone feared and respected, he behaved with such pride, like a steep rock that even the fierce mountain wind could not shake in the slightest.

He died without regret—maybe, I thought. This man had sown the seeds of the warrior spirit in two young hearts. Who knew how many naive, inexperienced youths he had turned into brave warriors galloping across battlefields before this?

His last words were: My friend, I have come.

What kind of past did this noble Knight have? What kind of person was the friend he spoke of?

I did not know, but I believed that between him and his friend, there had been moving stories beyond our imagination.

……

On the way back, I was still immersed in deep remembrance of Echville, with no energy to bicker with Poirot. Fred also walked ahead listlessly, not saying a single word. Seeing a faint light on the horizon, we were about to reach the bottom of the mountain. After passing a fork, we could return to camp.

But right at this fork, we encountered unexpected trouble:

A new sentry post had appeared at the fork. Several tall Winston soldiers were busy setting up fences and pitching tents. This position was not only the best spot for watching the movements on the main road, but also sealed off the only exit from the mountain forest to the main road.

“So fast. Such a thorough arrangement.” Fred sighed in a low voice, full of admiration for the enemy’s swift actions.

“This is not the time for you to praise the enemy. Think of something—we need to get back as soon as possible.”

“Four soldiers are setting up tents. There should also be a squad commander. Let me see… Oh, there he is.” Following Fred’s gaze, I saw a Winston officer lying under a tree, enjoying the shade.

“Only five people. Poirot, cover us.”

Just as I was wondering what Fred meant by “only five people,” he had already drawn his saber and charged out, leaving me behind in shock.

The five Winston soldiers frantically threw down their tools. They had just drawn their weapons when Fred was already upon them.

Using the momentum of his charge, Fred slashed his blade horizontally at the leading soldier. The soldier instinctively blocked. As the saber and the sword met, there was a light “clang.” A dark shadow cut the enemy’s longsword in two at the middle and struck straight at the soldier’s chest. A stream of blood burst from his chest. The tall soldier fell to the ground, and until he breathed his last, he kept staring at the broken sword in his hand, his face full of disbelief.

What a fast blade!

Fred, too, had not been mentally prepared for how sharp this Ink Shadow was. He stared at the corpse on the ground, stunned for a moment before snapping back to his senses. The other four Winston soldiers, who had just witnessed the whole death of their comrade, also snapped back to their senses. Their comrade dying inexplicably at a young man’s hands gave them a huge psychological shock. They nervously approached Fred step by step, but none of them dared to strike first.

By this time, I had moved to Fred’s side.

At last, a longsword thrust quickly at Fred. He swung his blade horizontally, but hit nothing—the owner of the sword had pulled it back just in time.

They were extremely wary of the strange black blade in Fred’s hand.

Another sword thrust came, and again it quickly pulled back.

After several more such probes, the enemies gradually got used to coordinating with one another and assaulted our defense line again and again. Sometimes several swords thrust at the same time, truly making it hard for us to block. Luckily, they were worried about the power of the Ink Shadow and did not dare to attack at full strength. Even so, I had already been struck by two swords, and Fred’s left arm was also lightly wounded.

“Poirot, what are you doing!” Fred shouted while dodging. “Magic cover!”

A strange sound came from behind a tree. Then Poirot poked out his silver-haired head and drew a circle in the air from afar, aimed at the fiercely fighting group.

A white light shot from his hand, flying straight toward the fiercely fighting group. When the four Winston soldiers saw magic coming, they turned pale with fright and jumped far away to dodge.

Strangely, the white light did not attack the enemy soldiers beside us; instead, it flew straight toward Fred and me at the center of the fight. In an instant, we were enveloped in the white light. Just when I was so scared that I was about to scream, I suddenly felt no discomfort at all. Instead, my whole body felt lighter, as if the armor on me had become much lighter.

Strange, what magic was this?

Fred recognized it and cursed, “Poirot, I told you to cover us! Why did you use a Haste Spell on us? Where are your attack spells?”

Poirot forced a strange smile and said something that left everyone speechless:

“I only know the Haste Spell!”