Chapter 91: Return, the Sorrowful Battle

On a winter night, atop the city walls of Silver Shield Castle.

The blood had already run dry.

I stood beside Fred, gazing straight ahead along with him. In the cold wind, I felt something at the corners of my eyes slowly freezing, making my eyes twitch slightly with pain. I didn’t know whether it was someone else’s blood or my tears. The night blocked our vision, and we couldn’t see anything.

Roll slowly walked up onto the city wall and unconsciously licked the blood off the back of his hand. He was covered in bloodstains, even more than all of us put together.

We all still remembered exactly what kind of battle the one we had just gone through was.

A day earlier, Fred had told our soldiers exactly how things stood, withholding nothing and hiding nothing. He let them choose for themselves: follow us to challenge the royal authority of our own homeland, to use our swords to win back the honor that the sinister usurpers had taken from us, and to seize our own fate with our own hands; or leave, become weeds just barely surviving in this chaotic age, drift with the current, and live out the rest of their lives in safe and ordinary mediocrity.

No one left. These loyal soldiers firmly stayed by their commander’s side. They were the most resolute and bravest people in the world. When the iron hooves of the Winston invaders were wreaking havoc, when the blades of the Cretans were flashing, it was they who stepped forward and formed an unbreakable shield in front of their homeland and their families. Under Fred’s command, their originally humble and lowly lives had become noble and valuable. They had won honor enough for themselves to be proud of for the rest of their lives. No one could take it from them, no matter whether that person held the marshal’s staff or wore the emperor’s crown. What’s more, not long ago, the ambitious schemer wearing the crown had just sold their brothers in arms to the enemy. Even relatives bound by blood were not as closely tied to one another as comrades in arms. And now, those people who had never left their side, not even slightly, since the war began, and who had always protected and depended on one another, had lost their right to live forever because of evil ambition. This hatred was no longer something that could be repaid with blood alone.

If a country had been destroyed, if a land had been turned upside down, if a people had been humiliated, then there was still at least one reason for true warriors to keep fighting: to defend the immortal glorious deeds that their names stood for, and to forever preserve the unforgettable memory and remembrance of their comrades who had died unjustly.

Only at this moment did this angry army truly deserve to be called an invincible elite force.

We refused Enrique’s kind offer to help us escape. What we carried was not only our own lives and honor, but also the lives and honor of nearly ten thousand innocent and brave soldiers, plus the blood grudge of another friend, so fresh and dripping that no one could forget it even for a moment, plus the deep-seated hatred and blazing rage rising from the depths of our hearts.

Even so, our merchant friend had still given us tremendous help.

The secret passage was the reason Bink and his friends could cross the canyon without being pursued.

Every merchant guild of any size controlled a few unknown secret smuggling routes, used to avoid the ever-increasing taxes or to transport goods that were restricted but highly profitable. This was almost an open secret. Every guild simply hid its secret routes extremely well, and no one could find them. A route like this was usually a source of great profit that could be measured in equal-length gold bricks, and no outsider would ever be allowed to peek at even a single secret.

But now, Enrique’s hand of friendship had opened this golden road for us.

Through this secret route, we crossed the canyon and came around to the rear of Silver Shield Castle.

After thanking him once again, we said our sincere goodbyes to our merchant friend. At the moment of parting, I held Bink’s hand tightly but couldn’t say a word. Although we had never met before, this middle-aged merchant had done everything that a most loyal friend could do for us. We owed him just as much as we owed Enrique, so much that we were ashamed to even put our gratitude into words.

After a short rest, we arrived at the base of Silver Shield Castle’s walls that same night. By now, the commander of the castle was no longer Major General Festrian and his Sixth Independent Legion. Instead, it was Lieutenant Colonel Milo, a man with a reputation for courage in the army and high favor in Miraze’s eyes.

This newly built castle was far taller and sturdier than the old fortress that had been destroyed in the landslide. Especially without any later carving or decoration, the entire castle looked even more massive and solid, with a rough, hard texture like raw stone.

But this tall wall meant almost nothing to us. In order to “welcome” our arrival at any time, the defenders had put all their attention on the southern side of the wall. The siege devices and weapons made for attacking the walls, all the boulders and rolling logs, the oil that could be set alight at any moment… All these tools of war that could cause massive damage to attackers were piled up on the other side of the castle. Meanwhile, on the wall in front of us, only a few torches were scattered around near the city gate, and the guards on the wall numbered no more than ten.

We couldn’t say Lieutenant Colonel Milo’s tactical thinking was stupid. Under these circumstances, no one would have imagined that we could break out from the layers of encirclement and cross the canyon without a single soul noticing. Even if I had been the one arranging it, after gaining some understanding of Fred’s command ability and this army’s incomparable fighting strength, I would also have placed all the emphasis of defense on the only side where a battle was possible.

But I still had to say: Lieutenant Colonel Milo’s tactical thinking was foolish!

A few ropes were lightly draped over the battlements, and then dozens of dark figures climbed up along the ropes. Only when our feet stepped onto the wall did a sharp-eyed soldier cry out in surprise, “Who’s there?”

Roll flashed forward and answered his question with his silent dagger. Like a ghost, he deftly circled behind the questioner and drove the dagger deep into the soldier’s lower back.

The soldier fell silently to the ground; even the strength to struggle or call for help was already gone.

At this moment, we heard Roll’s voice, even colder than the winter night wind:

“We are the ones who avenge the innocent dead.”

Even though I was in battle, I couldn’t help shivering when I heard Roll’s voice. At some unknown point, the original cute and shy Roll, who was always blushing in front of people, had completely vanished from within him. The Roll before us now was a vicious warrior with what seemed like demon beast blood flowing through his veins. He was still quiet, but no more shyness or kindness could be seen in his eyes. When you looked straight into his eyes, your blood would nearly freeze. You would unconsciously turn your face, look away, and dodge his gaze, which was soaked with the smell of blood. During idle moments, Roll was always sharpening the dagger he carried close to him. The sound of the whetstone was forever monotonous and harsh, yet carried a bloodthirstiness that could never be wiped away.

If it were Dakla, if it were anyone except Roll, we would grieve over a friend’s death, gather ourselves to take revenge for him, and use the heads of our enemies as offerings to our dear friend. And in the same way, our hatred and grief would, through many recollections, turn into the most beautiful memories of the friend.

But Roll was different from us. He had always been a fragile and stubborn person. Riley’s death had planted a knife in his heart, and his silence only stirred the knife deeper into the very core of his heart, making an even deeper wound. Riley’s death had destroyed this young man. Apart from battle and revenge, there were no other thoughts left in his head. We never wanted to watch him become like this, but there was nothing we could do. In the most painful part of Roll’s heart, a great door had banged shut, locking the gentle and shy big boy inside forever.

The battle began.

At the very front charged Roll and Dakla. These two completely different warriors were doing the same thing in the way each was best at: killing.

“Come on, come and fight! Let me see just how brave you soldiers who have thrown away your honor are! I’m right here, come and kill me, just like you did before—killing your own comrades-in-arms. Isn’t that exactly what you’re good at?”

He swung his warhammer, like a living statue of the God of War, standing awe-inspiringly before the defenders. One head turned into a crushed mess under his heavy strike, and then a second, a third… The enemies before him lowered their heads in shame and fear, not even daring to look him in the eyes.

If the opponents facing Dakla only felt cowed, the ones in front of Roll displayed a kind of wildness that exposed their despair. Roll’s right hand held a short sword. The greatest use of this standard military weapon was not to attack but to block the weapons coming at him. What was truly dangerous was the gleaming dagger clenched in his left hand. It was the most horrifying weapon on the whole battlefield. Whenever it pierced someone’s chest or belly with the shriek of tearing flesh, it would be twisted viciously by its owner’s deliberate will. When it was pulled out of that screaming human body, it would always drag extra things out from the wound. Those things had different shapes, some long, some round, but they all had the same terrifying color, writhing faintly at the tip of Roll’s dagger in an ugly and wicked form. They met the air with the fresh warmth of the human body, spreading a dim mist around Roll’s hand. On any battlefield where Roll was present, there was never a lack of horror and blood.

In the middle of the fight, a sudden pain came from my back. I quickly bent down and rolled forward from where I stood, dodging that dangerous blow. When I stood up again, I felt a burning sensation on my back. Sticky liquid rolled down along my spine, sticking my underclothes tightly to my skin. It wasn’t a serious wound. This wound stirred up my will to fight and my resolve to face death even more. I turned my head and, with a loud shout, stabbed at the enemy who had ambushed me from behind. The look he gave me was strange, as if he was extremely surprised. Only at the very last moment did he think to dodge my attack by shifting his body to one side. I didn’t let him off. I immediately swung my sword in a horizontal slash, but he blocked it yet again. As a soldier, the enemy in front of me truly had abilities above the ordinary standard. Strangely, he kept blocking my attacks from beginning to end and never made any move to strike back. In the end, my courage and strength overpowered him, and my short sword slashed hard across his chest. A warm arrow of blood sprayed into the dark night sky, telling the departure of a life.

“Lieutenant Colonel Gid…” The soldier I had cut down fell with a bitter smile. His sword slipped out of his grasp and landed far away. His voice seemed to call back my mind. I felt my head grow clear, and the fierce fighting spirit that had just filled my body vanished at once like smoke. “Do you know me?” More soldiers had already surged onto the wall, and almost the entire northern section of the wall had fallen into our hands. The battle was nearly settled, and that gave me time to question the man who was about to die under my sword.

“I once… at a tavern… saw you, sir. You even… bought us drinks…”

“You’re the… kindest person I’ve ever met. I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t want to… cough… I didn’t want to fight you…” Blood choked his windpipe, making him cough violently. The coughing pulled the wound open even more, letting more blood pour out.

“General Guderian, you, Mr. Red Flame, Lieutenant Colonel Dakla… you are… you are people we respect…”

“I’m sorry, sir. We… didn’t want to… fight you…”

“I’m sorry…”

The soldier died carrying guilt. In front of him stood me, carrying the same guilt. A painful weakness made me dizzy. I could only kneel on one knee and support my body with my sword.

“You’re wounded, sir!” A soldier ran up to me and shouted in alarm.

I stopped him. The wound on my back probably looked terrible, with blood and torn flesh, but it wasn’t very serious. I could even feel the wound slowly healing. Waves of numb itching crept through my nerve endings, making me feel heavy at heart. No, it wasn’t the wound that made me heavy-hearted. It was the soldier’s words. No one was willing to raise a sword against their own kin, not even these enemies who were fighting us to the death. They wore the same uniforms as us and used the same weapons as us. They were just as brave and just as loyal as us, and they had the same warmth and friendship that any person should have. Riley’s death was not their fault. In fact, it had nothing to do with them at all. They were victims of the conspiracy just as much as we were, and even more unfortunate than us: at least we had the chance to resist and win back our honor, while they would forever be cursed by those who knew the truth and live out their lives in remorse under the crime of betraying their own kin. They were bearing responsibility for other people’s sins.

But we had no choice. For our lives and our honor, we had to kill these people who shared the same land and the same blood as us. What could be more sickening than a battle like this? Looking at that corpse, I felt a little nauseous. That was a reaction I used to have only when I was still a recruit, and it was a reaction people laughed at. My body was expressing the extreme disgust in my heart in this way, and along with it came a faint sadness. At one moment, I even wanted to give up. Give up this fight, accept Enrique’s arrangement, go to some unknown place, and spend the rest of my long, long life quietly and happily, just as I had wished.

But I couldn’t. Hatred made me persist, responsibility made me strong.

Another group of defenders rushed up the wall, trying to take back the positions that had already been occupied. Their faces wore conflict and fear, just like the soldier who had died in front of me. No choice, right? They had none. Neither did we.

I tightened my grip on the sword hilt, stood up, and walked forward in big strides to face the sorrowful fate. It was my fate, and theirs as well. I let go of my hatred for the enemies before me and surrendered my life entirely to my instinct to fight. I swear that if someone killed me right now, killed my friends, killed my family, I wouldn’t hate him. Truly. Because I was doing the same thing.

Come on, this sorrowful battle that was doomed to have no good ending. I was ready.

Blood was drifting in the air, carrying the cooling passion…