Chapter 52: The Back That Never Fades

There are always some things in this world that you do not want to recall, but more often than not, those are exactly the things you can never forget. On some day, at some moment, perhaps the wind from the south stirs your hair, perhaps the swallows flying north cry into your ears, perhaps the stars dim and the moon rounds, perhaps the noonday sunlight reflects off the tea in your cup and ripples across your eyes, perhaps it is all of this that startles your heart, and a sorrow too deep for words rises from the depths of your chest into your throat, making you leave behind peaceful sleep, push aside the lover who whispers softly to you, pour fine wine into the soil, and fill your empty soul only with tears. If it were possible, I would be willing to give all my wealth and virtue as the price of forgetting these memories. But that is impossible. In the end, they will accompany me for as long as I live, and at the same time, they also grant my grieving heart the courage to remember.

In the spring and summer of Continental Calendar 1457, there were so many things worth remembering: the Winston Empire’s invading army gained a firm foothold on the southern bank of the Morning Light River; Crown Prince Louis created a myth in the tactical history of Heavy Cavalry; Fred appeared in people’s conversations for the first time as one of the main figures on the battlefield, and played a pivotal role in the Second Battle of Centuria, becoming the only commander who could stand completely undefeated before the ever-changing, unfathomable young Winston leader, and becoming the most outstanding general in the Delanmaya Army.

But if I could choose, I would rather forget that glorious period, because in that brilliant season, so many people lost loved ones who were infinitely precious to them……

……

We successfully rescued Fred and Red Flame, whose left eye was severely wounded, but the battle was not over yet.

As we retreated at full speed, Fred had already made a correct and swift judgment of the situation anew. He ordered: the whole army falls back and organizes a defense.

I knew that the Winston Heavy Cavalry, which had put us in trouble from the very beginning, was about to charge. Fred had risked his life to stop them once, but now we no longer had the strength to stop them a second time.

Riley began to pull back and organize his new defensive line. Rodrick and Dakla held the enemy back as much as they could at the front line.

It was already too late.

The Winston iron cavalry had already begun to move, and their charge was unstoppable. Even though they had suffered considerable losses in the fierce battle just now, they still possessed a fighting power that no other army on this battlefield could match.

Facing their charge, I felt that even if a mountain stood in their way, they would smash through it without the slightest hesitation.

Our resistance was almost completely useless. Spearmen who had already lost their full formation might be able to deal with Winston infantry at a numerical disadvantage, but there was absolutely no way they could stop those terrifying knights, especially when that equally great and brave general among the enemy, Prince Louis, charged at the very front of the formation.

They had a title that people admired — the “Formation-Breaking Iron Cavalry.”

In fact, with their current numbers, it was already impossible for them to annihilate us beneath the city walls and create another glorious feat of desperate charging. So from the very beginning, they aimed their target at Fred’s command banner, at us who had just broken out of the encirclement. Our opponents certainly knew that once our leader was taken care of, the remaining troops would be nothing but a scattered pile of sand too weak to resist.

Their move was too successful. They chased us closely, and we could not even turn our heads back. The fierce battle we had just gone through made it impossible for our Light Cavalry to show its speed advantage, and the overconsumed Poirot could no longer provide us with any help. We were being gradually closed in on by these pursuers who had been conserving their strength ever since the battle began.

In fact, the Winston warriors were already at the end of their strength too. As long as there was a force to hold them back, leaving Riley and the others enough time to regroup, allowing us to gather together again, our irreversible numerical advantage would show itself once more, and victory would be ours in the end. It was just that at this very moment, we could not counterattack. Neither the exhausted Fred nor the severely wounded Red Flame could possibly turn their horses around and charge back to intercept the pursuers behind us, and I had no ability to command cavalry in a frontal assault at all, nor even the courage to continue fighting.

We circled along an arc and galloped toward Riley’s position ahead to the left, which had already separated from the main battle. Riley was rapidly reorganizing his defensive line. If nothing unexpected happened, he would soon stabilize the situation and lay the foundation for our final victory. But we were too far away from him. At our current speed, we would definitely be caught before we reached there. Behind us, the soldiers who had fallen behind were already being mercilessly swallowed by that silent iron torrent.

I could even feel the warmth of the Winston warhorses’ breath spraying onto my back.

Was it too late?

“Hey, kid, come to your old man!” A troop suddenly appeared before us from the right and assumed a fighting stance. The middle-aged man at the front who was speaking those crude words and shouting provocatively at the top of his voice — who else could it be but Carlson? The soldiers around him all wore righteous and resolute expressions, facing the gradually approaching charging iron cavalry with bold and fearless postures. Unlike those weak-willed new troops, they were the group that had passed through the test of life and death on the city walls of Kampnavia; they were the backbone of our army, the firm spine of this force. They had originally been attacking the enemy’s center. When we began to retreat in an arc formation, they cut across the shortest straight line and inserted themselves in front of us.

At this moment, using a loose infantry formation to oppose the galloping Heavy Cavalry was no different from walking to death.

When they stood here, they already had the resolve to die.

“Captain, no!” Fred turned his head and shouted desperately like a madman. If not for the soldiers forcibly holding him up, he might have already turned his horse around and galloped back.

The enemy was closing in.

“Jeff, my boy, take good care of our commander!” Carlson’s voice came over. I ordered the troop to continue forward and stopped my own horse. On his face hung his usual mischievous grin, with a face full of stubble, disheveled hair, and a slovenly appearance that was almost indecent. But his eyes carried a look of grim resolution, and the great sword in his hand gleamed with countless splashes of blood.

“Commander…” I could not help moving forward, wanting to stand by his side and resist those dangerous enemies together with him.

“I recall I once told you that protecting your soldiers is an officer’s duty,” he said loudly, completely ignoring the iron cavalry closing in step by step. “Now, let me give you one last lesson, to let you know how a true soldier should face death.”

“Commander, please let me fight together with you!” My chest surged with emotion. I did not know what factor made me brave, gave me courage, and made me make this request that went against my own wishes. I wanted to survive, but at this moment, I wished even more to die on the battlefield.

“That is not your duty, young man.” He shook his head with a smile, pointed at the distant figures of the riders riding away, and said to me, “Fred is a remarkable young man, but he needs your help. Tell him…” His smile was enough to dim all brilliance, “I am very glad to have met someone like him.”

“But…”

“Stop your whining. Do you still remember the first order I taught you?”

“I remember… Commander!”

“Then carry out the order, Soldier Jeffritz Gid. Turn around. Do not look back. Do not hesitate. Do not stop…” he commanded loudly. “Run! Run!! Run!!!”

“Yes…” I turned my horse, turned around, and galloped away. What he left me in the end was a back facing the sun. The sun’s brilliance flashed across his body like a layer of luminous skin, stinging my eyes and making me cry. But I had no intention of wiping away the tears on my face.

“My… Captain.”

The thunderous sound of hooves accompanied by flying dust — mixed within it was a voice worthy of respect.

“First-Rank Baron of the Kingdom of Delanmaya…”

The thunderous sound of hooves accompanied by flying dust.

“Carstian von Dawson…”

The thunderous sound of hooves accompanied by flying dust!

“I swear by my family name…”

The thunderous sound of hooves accompanied by flying dust!!

“For my comrades, for honor…”

The thunderous sound of hooves accompanied by flying dust!!!

“Fight to the death, never retreat…”

The thunderous sound of hooves, accompanied by dust, flew high…

“Captain!” I lay on my saddle, trying to dilute the grief in my heart with tears. The sounds of battle faded from my ears; I could only hear the wind blowing past the days of the past, gently brushing against the tender places in my memories.

……

“…You bunch of pigs, you cannot even put on your clothes properly, and you are already thinking about going to the battlefield to kill people…” That was the voice that once made us feel ashamed and resentful.

“…Everyone run toward the entrance. Do not turn your face. Do not lower your head. Only look straight ahead. You may…” That was the voice that saved our lives.

“…An officer’s duty is not only to lead his soldiers to victory, but also to protect their lives whenever possible…” That was the voice of the lesson that made us into true soldiers.

He was mockingly called “The Back” by those malicious, petty, foolish, and arrogant people. They thought he was afraid, that he was avoiding, that he was cowardly.

He had never avoided anything. He was simply fulfilling his duty in another way.

What he left to this world was a heroic back fighting bravely.

For us, in the final moments of his life, he gathered up the dignity of a nobleman once more and fulfilled a soldier’s duty with his life.

Carstian von Dawson.

That name meant nothing to me.

The man who was using his own flesh and blood to block those metal monsters was named Carlson, an infantry squad leader. It was he who made me grow from a timid, naive boy into a real man. Wasn’t he just a sleazy middle-aged man who loved to sleep, was lazy, cowardly, and enjoyed bullying his soldiers? I would rather he had been just that. I would rather he had not been such a brave man with such noble spirit of devotion. I only wished that this man, who was old enough to be my father, would live, live beside us, scold us and tease us with his crude words, rather than live forever in our hearts like a hero, as he did now.

“Captain!” In front of me, my comrades cried out in shock. At such a moment, everyone unanimously chose the title we had used when we first met him — Captain, that smallest military rank, that humble title, yet he was our commander forever.

I did not know what had happened to my beloved commander. I did not dare turn my head. I could not bear to turn my head. I was afraid that I would not be able to hold back this overwhelming feeling, disobey his order, rush to his side, and face death together with him.

“No! You promised me, you promised me! Come back! I order you, come back to me!” Fred had already returned safely to the formation. He was so exhausted that he could barely stand on his own, yet he still struggled to rush to the front of the position, shouting in despair. His nearly collapsing body was overdrawing his health, and he even dragged the two tall soldiers who were holding him back out of the formation.

Roll’s dagger struck heavily on Fred’s head, knocking him unconscious and silencing him for the time being. But this silent warrior, often overlooked by people, was also crying without a sound.

Pierre, my brother who dreamed of becoming a great legendary hero, once taught me a song, a song mourning fallen comrades. I had almost never managed to remember the whole of that sorrowful song.

But now, that old and unfamiliar melody seemed to be echoing across this land of grief:

Cast your name into the soil

Let it, on the land of your homeland,

Bloom with your crimson honor.

Cast your honor into the rain

Let the crystal tears

Carry your warm breath.

Cast your breath into the wind

Let the burning flames

Dance with my parting longing.

Take my longing away,

My beloved friend.

Your life

Will live on in my sword.

……

In the end, I still never saw how Carlson fell.

In my heart, his back has never fallen!

Farewell, my comrade, my commander.

Farewell……