Chapter 92: A Soldier’s Persistence

When the city gate opened with a heavy sigh, nothing could stop the flood of soldiers pouring in. The defenders of Silver Shield Castle fell back step by step under our overwhelming pressure. After futile counterattacks, they withdrew from the northern wall, then from the barracks in the center of the castle, from the warehouse where military supplies were stored, and from the training ground. Now the southern wall of the castle was behind them, and they had no room left to retreat.

Just when I thought we could take the castle in one push and use it as a temporary resting place, the castle’s commander, Lieutenant Colonel Milo, finally showed the soldierly quality he was famous for, stopping the complete collapse at the edge of total defeat.

First, a shower of arrows poured down from the tall and sturdy city wall, pinning down the invaders’ advance and rescuing the allies who were still falling back. These powerful weapons, originally meant to shoot us, finally found their use against the correct enemy—though they fired in the opposite direction from what had been planned.

“Defensive formation! Shields to the front! Two rows of spears!” On the wall, a firm voice cut through the night sky and woke the bewildered soldiers. Under the cover of the great volley of arrows, the broken troops, who had lost their formation, reorganized. Their spirits were still weary, their hearts still dejected, but if someone led them, if someone gave them orders, they were still opponents that had to be treated with respect.

Then we met the thing in this battle that truly made us afraid.

The defenders on the wall turned the war machines originally used for defense around. The mighty ballistas played a deathly tune against the flesh-and-blood bodies inside the walls, and the metal bowstrings made of a special material hummed in the silent winter night, like the eternal guardian deity of the realm of the dead whispering softly into the ears of the dying.

Thick bolts flew into human bodies with unstoppable force, and before they landed, they often had already pierced through three or four people. Huge sprays of blood burst in front of people together with the screams of lives leaving their bodies, like a cluster of brilliant, dazzling plum blossoms blooming by the corner of a wall on a winter night. Many brave and unfortunate men did not even realize they had been pierced by a bolt; only after running more than a dozen steps did they feel the delayed pain. When they saw their terrible wounds, there was no need to panic, because by then their lives had already drained away with their blood.

In front of this section of the wall, we suffered the heaviest losses since the start of the battle. Lieutenant Colonel Milo had indeed lived up to being the commander Miraze had chosen to hold this important castle; under his command, these large long-range weapons delivered the merchandise of death to us in a cold, methodical rhythm, and even the few brave men who crossed the dense net of bolts could only fall helplessly before the spear formations holding the foot of the wall. If we had been outside the city at this moment, we would have been completely helpless against this high wall.

Even now, we could not afford such losses. The order to retreat reached every soldier’s ears in time, and the attack stopped.

“Why stop!” Dakla rushed furiously up to Fred and shouted, “Why? We clearly could have charged through! We only needed to hold on a little longer. Why stop…”

“Dakla, obey orders!” Rodrick blocked Dakla’s path. “You can’t let soldiers die for nothing just because of your desire for revenge!”

Hearing Rodrick’s words, Dakla was stunned for a moment, looked at the wounded soldiers who had just retreated from the front, and was speechless.

“Maybe you’re right, Rodrick…” At that moment, Roll, who had remained silent throughout the battle, spoke uncharacteristically. In the battle just now, he had always charged at the very front of the formation, facing more than three enemies at once in the fiercest fighting. Time after time, he drove his incomparably sharp dagger into his opponents’ bodies, as if doing so could vent the hatred in his heart and ease the guilt he felt over Riley’s death. Every time he struck, he thrust so deep that almost his entire left arm went into the enemy’s wound, as if he wished he could tear out the man’s heart with his own hand. Fighting like this, of course, he could not avoid injury. His armor had almost no complete plate left, and his exposed body revealed many serious wounds. The muscles at the wounds turned outward hideously, twitching with the flow of his blood. I found it hard to imagine that, after such serious wounds, he could still fight so swiftly and ferociously; it was as if the pain in his heart had completely drowned out the sensations in his limbs, so that he could no longer feel the pain in his muscles.

“You can order the soldiers to stop attacking, Fred…” Roll pulled a barbed arrow from his left leg, and a fountain of blood shot out of his trouser leg, splashing onto the ground and melting a patch of frozen ice. This was a heavy wound enough to take a man out of battle, but he did not even frown. He simply tore off a piece of cloth stained red and black with blood and dirt, and while bandaging it hastily, said calmly to us:

“But you can’t stop me, Fred.” He stood up again, turned toward the city wall, and walked forward step by step, firm and slow.

“That is the only thing I can do for Riley…”

Under the clear winter night sky after the snowfall, his figure swayed alone, looking so small, so lonely, so faint that it seemed about to melt forever into this endless darkness, to follow our dead friend. I wanted to step forward and stop him, but I could not move my feet. I knew clearly that his decision was wrong, but my feelings told me that I had to let him do it, and even that I should do it with him. Otherwise, I would be insulting him, and insulting myself as well.

When I did not know how to decide, Fred stopped Roll. He rode forward and blocked Roll’s path.

“Don’t stop me, Fred! Don’t stop me! I beg you!” Roll said with a trembling voice. “Let me go, okay?”

“I’m not stopping you, Roll. You think the same as I do. This is the only thing we can do for Riley. But if someone has to be the first to step forward and do it, it shouldn’t be you, my friend…”

With tears in his eyes, Fred said in a choked voice:

“That person should be me!”

Ignoring Roll’s shock, ignoring our surprise, ignoring the soldiers’ confused looks, our leader turned his horse around and, in full view of everyone, rode alone toward the city wall.

It took me a while to realize what he was doing. I did not know what drove me to spur my horse forward, desperately chasing his figure until I was at his side. Charging out at the same time were Red Flame, Poirot, and Rodrick.

“Fred, you bastard, you always do stupid things that drag your friends into trouble!” Red Flame complained loudly.

“Nobody told you to come. Go back, all of you. I can do this alone.” Fred said loudly.

“That won’t do.” I refused firmly. “If Millia found out I let you go die like this, she would dissect me and turn me into a human specimen. Rather than being tortured to death by her, I’d rather die with you in this act of foolishness…”

“You guys…” Fred stopped trying to persuade us.

The wall in front of us grew bigger and bigger, and the figures on it became clearer and clearer. While passing through the ballistas’ firing range, I was extremely annoyed, not knowing why I had come with Fred to do this stupid thing. Fortunately, no one shot at us, though I did not know why.

Maybe the defenders felt that, against only five of us, there was no need to waste precious war resources.

We stopped our horses within bow range of the defenders. Fred made a stopping gesture toward us and slowly rode his warhorse alone toward the enemy ranks. He came so close that a single archer with just a slight aim could have taken his noble life.

That frightening scene never appeared.

“Soldiers of Delanmaya, you know who I am!” Fred shouted as he rode. “Yes, it is I, Duke Frederick Ka Guderian, General of the Kingdom, Commander-in-Chief of the entire army, your former general, your current enemy, a traitor. I am right here!”

“Half a month ago, we were still fighting to the death against the Cretans, for our common land and homes, for the honor of Delanmaya soldiers—for your honor. I swear to you, we have not disgraced our dignity.”

“Ten days ago, we became traitors.”

“Look at the people in front of you! Look at every opponent in front of you! They are honest and brave, and from beginning to end they have never abandoned their posts. Every one of them bears deep scars. Those scars absolutely do not represent shame or cowardice!”

“You used to be one of them, but now you are not. You have dishonored yourselves. Think about it. How did you treat your brothers and comrades? Do you remember? You abandoned them, exiled them, sent them to the hands of death, and you yourselves lived on. Tell me, do you feel shame?”

The soldiers opposite answered Fred’s words with silence. Under the torchlight, I saw them lower their heads and their weapons, and their faces were full of shame. Some seemed to be crying, weeping silently, shedding tears of regret.

I thought I could understand them. If I had been standing on their side, I would have been the same. To the soldiers of Delanmaya, Fred was a savior-like hero. When they faced powerful enemies and failed and retreated again and again, it was this young man in front of them who led them to break the myth of the enemy’s invincibility and gave them the pride of victors. This young black-robed commander had already become the undefeated idol in the hearts of all soldiers, like deities and legends, stamping a clear, dazzling mark in the deepest parts of their hearts. Even the most foolish and blindly obedient soldier would never connect such a great man with a despicable title like “traitor.” Only the brains of imaginative conspirators could unbelievably connect the two.

What he spoke was the truth, a truth everyone knew. But when this truth was spoken from Fred’s mouth, it carried unusual power, enough to override the soldier’s duty to obey orders, override the authority and dignity handed down from the throne, and override the threats and temptations of those in power.

“We have come for the dead. Among them are your fathers and brothers, your close friends, and among them is my friend, Lieutenant Colonel Riley Grant. He died covering us, surrounded by more than ten times as many Cretans. Some of you know him and know what a kind, gentle, yet upright and brave man he was. Now this man is dead, robbed of all the honor he deserved; he died in shame bearing the most despicable reputation a soldier could have. And the one who murdered him, the one who slandered him, is the very man you obey.”

“We have come for revenge. If any of you question our justice, then go ahead and take up your weapons. I am willing to defend my belief with my life.”

“But I sincerely beg you, put down the swords in your hands. They should not be swung against your own loved ones.”

After saying these words, Fred continued to ride forward, going all the way into the spear formation of the defenders, slow and calm, as if a general were reviewing his own troops.

I followed closely behind him, my heart calm and steady. Before this moment, I would never have believed that I could walk so calmly and naturally through the enemy formation we had just been fighting. But now, I felt it was only natural.

At that moment, if even one person had shouted, picked up his weapon, rushed at us, and stirred up the fighting will of the others, we would have been chopped to powder by these thousands in an instant. But such a thing would never happen.

Because the person they faced was Fred, the warrior who always appeared with miracles.

“Clang!” From some corner came the sound of metal falling, then a second, a third… In an instant, this infectious sound merged into a wave, ringing out row after row through the positions we passed, as if saluting Fred.

At the foot of the city wall, we saw the commander of this city, Lieutenant Colonel Milo. He was a tall, strong man, around thirty years old, born into a fallen knight family. Before the expedition to Greenleaf Forest, I had met this man several times. He was a rigid soldier loyal to his duty and treating orders as truth; at the same time, he was a respectable and upright warrior with impeccable noble character. He placed even more importance on his military position and on the oath he had sworn as a soldier before the throne. This classical code of honor, which seemed meaningless to me, looked so heavy on him, as if it were a loyalty and a destiny that he had to fulfill with his whole life.

There he stood, with the proud bearing of a soldier, showing not the slightest trace of the discouragement or shame of a defeated man.

“General Guderian, it has been a long time.” With great solemnity, he gave Fred a knight’s salute. Judging from the respectful title he used for Fred and the salute he gave, he did not think Fred had any authority over him.

Fred dismounted and treated the lieutenant colonel with the same respect one would show a knight.

“Hello, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“You alone defeated my army, General. You are the greatest soldier and the noblest man I have ever seen. I salute you. I have already ordered the entire army to surrender to you. I hope you will treat these soldiers well. I swear by my sword that they were forced to fight you.”

“Thank you very much, Lieutenant Colonel. Your reason and mercy stopped a meaningless slaughter. On behalf of all the soldiers—including your soldiers—I thank you.”

This battle had already ended, and we had won. No, rather than saying we had won, it would be truer to say Fred had won. He alone conquered a city, not because of his sword, but because of his noble character. That was his most powerful weapon.

But was this battle over?

“In the name of a soldier loyal to Delanmaya, I arrest the traitor Fred Guderian! I ask you to surrender, to avoid unnecessary harm. If you resist, sir, I will regretfully have to choose to use force.” After completing all the surrender formalities, Lieutenant Colonel Milo drew his longsword and pointed it at Fred’s face.

“I’m sorry, General, but I must be loyal to my country.” The lieutenant colonel’s hand trembled slightly; that was not the hand a warrior should have in battle. His eyes were resolute and sorrowful, with the generous expression of a man ready to die.

“What you are doing is not loyalty to your country, Lieutenant Colonel. You are only being loyal to a fallen family name. Is it worth it?” Fred answered him like this, without drawing his weapon.

“Perhaps, General. Forgive me. This is just the willfulness of a dull and foolish soldier, but it is what I must insist on… Draw your blade, General. This is a battle. Please satisfy a soldier’s heart that seeks honor!”

At last, the black blade slid against the scabbard, making a soft and gentle sound, like a requiem, singing eternal tenderness for the one about to leave this world.

Seeing Fred’s blade, Lieutenant Colonel Milo’s face broke into a joyful smile. It was the satisfied smile of a man who had finally caught the happiness of a lifetime.

“I understand. Then, I refuse to surrender, Lieutenant Colonel. I refuse all the charges forced upon me. Like you, I have things I must insist on and cherish. So, I choose to resist!”

This was a true battle that would not lose to any famous battle, even though only two men were fighting. They were not fighting for some country or some person. They were fighting for two beliefs, two beliefs that were worth real warriors giving their lives for.

The lieutenant colonel took an attacking stance but never moved.

He watched with a smile as Fred’s battle blade pierced his heart.

Before that, Fred had deliberately swept his left arm across the lieutenant colonel’s longsword, using that motionless weapon to leave a bleeding wound on his own arm.

The two of them were pressed tightly together, with almost no distance between them. Blood from both men’s wounds flowed out, mingled together on their close-pressed bodies, and dripped into the soil at their feet, staining the crystal ice and snow with brilliant, dazzling colors. Two warriors who were about to be separated forever by life and death were, in this way, joined tightly together, no longer separate from each other.

“You are an excellent warrior. This scar is an honor you have earned.” Fred leaned close to Lieutenant Colonel Milo’s ear and said to him earnestly.

Those were the last words the lieutenant colonel heard in this world. Then, with a proud smile, he crashed to the ground, carrying with him the justice he had upheld and the honor that belonged to him.

The battle was over.

Although one died and one was wounded, this battle had no loser. Both sides in the battle had put their beliefs into practice with their own actions, and the price they paid had been rewarded with equal value; therefore, they were both glorious victors.

Who says victory belongs only to conquering tyrants?

It should belong to all those who had carried out their noble ideals…

…

This was the battle we had just experienced.

The deepest part of the night had passed, and a red glow spread across the eastern sky, shining on the open land before us. The warm color of the morning sun drove away the blood-red light and coldness of the whole night, letting a different kind of warmth gather in our chests.

Straight ahead, that huge white city stood in the faint mist, looking so beautiful.

Sadly, before long, it was destined to be stained with thick blood, bringing an end to its long, beautiful, and peaceful name.

Would that be our last battlefield in this war?