Chapter 96: The Sword of Vengeance That Could Not Be Swung

Amid the crashing of metal and the screams of the dying, we met with Miraze’s Royal Guard.

For any soldier, the Royal Guard was a name to be respected and admired. Only true warriors were worthy of a place among their ranks, standing closest to the seat of the kingdom’s power , guarding the most powerful man in the nation. Their banner bore some resemblance to the royal family’s crest — a leopard in full stride. The difference was that, on the crest, the leopard ran along a wall of interwoven roses and orchids, while on the war banner, a dripping sword and shield crossed beneath the leopard’s feet.

Yes, sword and shield — the most ordinary yet most noble of weapons. Those were the final reliance of every sovereign of Delanmaya throughout the ages.

They were truly loyal guardians of the royal dignity and honor. Caught off guard, they had no chance to organize an effective defensive formation, so from the very start they abandoned the idea of positional warfare. The moment they made contact, they entangled themselves with us like a snake coiling around a lion’s body, desperately tightening their muscles, trying to halt the beast’s charge.

I had never seen an army fight at such a high level with such a scattered formation. They scattered before us in groups of three or five like madmen, swinging their weapons tirelessly. This was a battle they were bound to lose, and they were not unaware of that cruel reality. But they were the Royal Guard — their duty was not to win victories on the battlefield, but to protect the one who wore the crown and defend his life. They were buying time for their master. No matter how shameless a scoundrel their master was, they were true men, worthy of their magnificent armor and the leopard banner that symbolized royal authority.

They almost succeeded.

In that instant, the shimmering tide of stars that raced through the wind and snow seemed to have its light dimmed by a silver cloud. We were forced to slow our pace before this brave yet chaotic defense. Every step forward for our warhorses was so difficult that we could only dodge the attacks flying at us from every direction amidst the disorderly crowd. The Star Knights, who had just smashed through a Heavy Cavalry unit head-on, were slowed by these fearless men. Ahead of us, two Heavy Infantry squares were closing in from both sides toward the center, trying to cut us off from Miraze, who was not far ahead.

I said — they almost succeeded.

If given the choice, no commander would ever willingly fight these brave men under the leopard banner. In any other setting, we could have praised their courage without reservation. But now, we could only destroy their lives without reservation.

“Being held back by a scattered mob — aren’t you ashamed?” Red Flame parted his twin blades, raising a mist of red, then turned his head and shouted loudly. His emerald-green single eye was shot through with streaks of blood, clearly showing his valor and his impatience.

“Follow me, forward! Forward!! Forward!!!” The Ranger tightened his reins, and his mutated mount kicked up dirt with its four hooves, leaving us behind in an instant. Before him, no one had the chance to take a second look at him. The wounded who lay on the ground clutching their wounds and wailing had reason to count themselves lucky — at least they had kept their lives, and still had the chance to bury their comrades with their own hands.

Red Flame’s encouragement excited the already high-spirited soldiers even further. His fighting figure was like a layer of oil applied to a freshly sharpened blade, making the unstoppable edge even sharper still. For this army, Red Flame was absolutely an indispensable leader. If Poirot’s magical creativity had given this army its flesh and bones, and Fred’s command and decision-making had given it life, then Red Flame’s presence gave this army a soul for battle.

Although he held no military rank due to his race, Red Flame was our de facto cavalry commander. All cavalry training and combat were led by this bold Elf. Unlike ordinary officers, Red Flame never commanded soldiers through orders and status. What he relied on was his incomparable courage, his superb combat skill, and his genuine care for his soldiers. On the training ground, he was the strictest instructor and also the most outstanding fighter — there was not a single soldier who did not respect his immense power. And in daily life, he was the most energetic leader: drinking, wrestling, racing, arm-wrestling… He would joyfully mingle with the soldiers without regard for rank, communicating with them like an older brother. He was always with his soldiers, influencing them through his own actions and earning their respect. Someone like him would be welcomed anywhere.

Poirot earned the soldiers’ respect through his kindness and wisdom, and Fred earned their admiration through his nobility and brilliance. As for Red Flame, he stimulated the soldiers’ hearts directly with his fiery passion, making them obey him and follow him. The soldiers had grown accustomed to not listening to what Red Flame commanded, because it simply wasn’t necessary. The only thing Red Flame ever asked of his soldiers was to keep up with him, to stand with him, and to overwhelm the enemy with their strongest side to win the victory. No matter who the enemy was, as long as Red Flame was there, our army would never feel the slightest fear. That was the charm of the Flame Ranger — he could ignite all the potential in those around him, causing even the most ordinary person to burst forth with tremendous power in an instant and become the most fanatical warrior.

“By blood as our witness, we return only in victory!” The already incomparably sharp Knights shouted at the top of their lungs, miraculously pushing forward another great step beyond the limits of their physical strength and magic. The enemies before them seemed to become fragile in an instant, almost making one wonder whether they were the same army that had given us so much trouble just moments before.

The Royal Guard’s efforts crumbled in an instant. They had been excellent, but for us, that was nowhere near enough. These dazzling Magic Knights surged forth like a torrent that, after being dammed for but a moment, burst through the levee with even greater force and rushed forward even more violently.

Blood, snowflakes, and hot tears blurred my eyes, making me raise my head involuntarily and pull my gaze away from the battle around me, casting it to a place farther ahead. That banner symbolizing the king’s position was already very clear to see. I could almost measure with my eyes how long the streamers hanging from the flag were.

Miraze’s panicked expression was right before me, so close it seemed I could reach out and grab that ugly face in my hand. The infantry squares were closing toward the center, but it was already useless. There was still enough space ahead for us to pass through with ease. Although Miraze still had close to twenty thousand troops he could freely command at this moment, to our light cavalry of fewer than three thousand, he was practically naked and completely defenseless, exposed beneath our blades.

If there was anything Miraze should have done at this moment, it was to act like a true king and warrior — to bravely charge forward at the head of his army, make one final desperate stand against us, face us entirely with his own martial skill and will, and leave victory or defeat, life or death, to the gods of fate and death to decide. If he had done that, perhaps I would have considered him a bold and ambitious man, and while hating him and despising him, I might still have reserved a small place of dignity for him in my heart.

But, like all treacherous and base people, he would not — and dared not — do such a thing. At this critical moment between life and death, he lost his last chance to be an upright man.

Miraze’s so-called royal dignity collapsed completely. In his terror and despair, he had entirely lost the bearing of a good commander and committed an irredeemable folly. Low and urgent horn calls rang out — the man about to suffer a shameful defeat was sending a signal of retreat across the entire battlefield. This order contained not a shred of reason. Through it, we could only see the final madness of a coward: the nearly thirty thousand troops surrounding our main formation were currently holding the advantage, and they had no time to turn back and reinforce his position. If he had let them keep attacking, they might have wiped out Rodrick and his men entirely and shaken our morale.

The one and only chance slipped away silently under Miraze’s cowardice. Nothing could save him now.

The great banner began to retreat. In the howling cold wind, the flag that had once flapped so proudly now rolled about uneasily, like a writhing, convulsing ugly reptile.

But in truth, Miraze was not beneath that banner. In this irredeemable chaos, Miraze had abandoned the men fighting alongside him for the second time.

He had hoped to hide among the chaotic masses and find a chance to slip away, escaping our pursuit — but that was utterly impossible. His gleaming golden armor and splendid cloak betrayed him, and the magnificent warhorse he rode had now become an enemy that exposed him. His almost pathological vanity had finally met its reckoning, leaving him with no place to hide before our blades.

In truth, even without those shiny, flashy luxuries, I still could have found him. Because from the moment we broke through the Royal Guard, my eyes had never left him.

“I’d recognize you even if you were burned to ashes!” That was a saying people often used to express their hatred for someone. I had once thought it was an artistically exaggerated figure of speech, but now I believed it was true. My hatred for him had even chiseled through my bones and carved itself deep into my soul. When your hatred for a person reached such a level, even if you closed your eyes and relied on feeling alone, you could still sense where he was. I firmly believed that.

“Miraze! Come on, come and fight me, like a real man!” For the first time in his life, Fred displayed his hot-blooded boldness in battle. His eyes were wide open like an angry bull’s. Perhaps he was the most outstanding commander, the calmest leader, the bravest soldier — but at this moment, this young man was merely an avenger, a youth determined to seek justice for his friend. At a time like this, no one could control their emotions. If anyone could, then he was certainly not a real man.

Hearing his shout, Miraze did not even dare to look at him. But he no longer merely fled — he finally did something.

He did something truly infuriatingly brutal!

In his panic, Miraze drew his sword and cut down a soldier who stood in his horse’s path.

“Out of my way! All of you, out of the way for your Emperor! You lowly people, do not block your King! Hold them back for me! Do you hear me? Hold them back for me!”

Once the atrocity began, it could not be stopped. One after another, soldiers caught completely off guard died beneath their own King’s sword, all for one despicable reason. In truth, these soldiers had done nothing wrong. They stood where they stood because that was their formation, that was the position they were supposed to hold. They had not given up resistance. Many of them were still trying to stop us, launching futile yet brave attacks against us. They could still fight, and they were still fighting. They were all innocent and courageous people who stood before us purely out of loyal patriotism and noble honor, fighting for the benefit of Miraze alone. And now, the man they fought for had been the first to betray them, to deny them. For a warrior, what insult could be more merciless than that?

“Whoever blocks me, I’ll send to the labor camp! I’ll make sure they never see their families again for the rest of their lives! All of you, get out of my way!”

More and more soldiers saw Miraze’s mad state, but he did not notice. He continued driving off the soldiers before his horse. The way he gripped his sword was nothing like a warrior — his fingers were white from over-tightening, as though he were a drowning man desperately clutching at the last straw on the shore. Every swing of his sword seemed to use every ounce of strength in his body, the kind of mistake made only by those just learning swordsmanship because they could not control their power.

Miraze’s eyes had long since lost their spark. His face bore an unhealthy pallor, and his lips had turned blue-purple from panic. His once neat and handsome hair was now a wild tangled mess. Large beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, melting the snowflakes that landed on his face. Only the crown inlaid with huge jewels still sat tightly upon his head, as though it had been driven into his skull, not moving an inch. Even so, that despairing monarch still reached up with his left hand, which held the reins, to adjust it from time to time. If anything, this gesture was less about fixing the crown on his head than it was a nervous habit.

Only when his hand touched the crown did Miraze’s eyes settle slightly, as though he had found some comfort. But the moment the crown left his fingers, he immediately became that cruel, despairing thug again.

There were still many who had not seen Miraze’s atrocities, still throwing themselves forward to block us. By this point, the outcome of this battle no longer had much to do with them. If they were still doing this, perhaps it was out of loyalty to this country. They were noble, but at the same time foolish. This country had nothing to do with the man they were fighting for. Their courage should have been used to defend this land, not to defend a noble but irrelevant surname. That was what I thought.

“Look! That is your King! You fight for him, you bleed for him, you sacrifice for him — and yet he raises his sword against you to save his own skin? Is this the honor you wanted?” Finally, after cutting down a soldier who charged at him with a spear, Fred could no longer endure this meaningless battle. He pointed furiously at Miraze and shouted.

“…Stop! While there is still time, while you are still alive, while your families do not yet have to weep in memory of you. Do not defile your own names with your hands any longer. Do not do things that will make both you and us regret this! Sacrificing your precious lives for this man — it is simply not worth it!”

Even within Miraze’s camp, Fred’s name was known to all. When this young commander shouted in fury, even the soldiers charging at him could not help but halt in their steps. His words were sincere, and so were his feelings. Many people followed his pointing hand with their eyes, then cast down their weapons in anger:

“This man is not our King!”

“We have been deceived!”

“Stop fighting…”

…

In the distance, more people did not yet know what had happened, but they should have sensed the abnormal reaction rippling through the ranks. When someone told them what was happening and what had already happened, they suddenly understood, and likewise chose to stop fighting, then passed the word on to soldiers even farther away.

Amid the noise, someone even shouted loudly:

“Kill the King!”

It stopped. Except for revenge, everything had come to an end. Fred ordered a Knight to convey his command to Rodrick and his men, telling them to stop fighting and move toward this position. He specifically instructed that word of what was happening here be passed to the three infantry legions of Miraze that were moving toward us — they did not yet know that something beyond their imagination had already occurred here.

At this moment, near Miraze, the desire to survive had overcome the awe of royal authority. At last, one soldier raised his spear at Miraze. Though that soldier’s courage was not yet enough to kill a man wearing a crown, he had nonetheless raised his weapon in defiance against his King.

The spear grazed Miraze’s arm, producing a harsh scraping sound.

“Wretch! Do you know what you are doing? This is treason, treason! Someone! Tie up this rebellious cur for me! I want him to receive the cruelest punishment! What are you all standing there for? Why aren’t you moving? Do you expect your King to personally punish a base soldier? Why aren’t you fighting? Pick up your weapons and go fight for me! Now! I command you! Hold them back for me…” More spears were aimed at Miraze, forming a wall he could not escape. The soldiers between Miraze and us voluntarily stepped back, opening a passage nearly seventy paces long before us.

At last, Miraze sobered slightly from his senseless madness. In the soldiers’ eyes, he saw something he had never seen before. The sounds of battle were no longer in his ears. He looked around in bewilderment, and what he saw were pairs of furious eyes.

“Charge out!” As if he could see danger approaching step by step, he tightened his reins and desperately urged his mount to rush outward. But the spears pressed against the horse’s neck and front legs, making it impossible for it to move forward.

“Quick, you beast! Charge out for me!” In his frantic desperation, the deranged King stabbed his longsword into the horse’s hindquarters. In agony, the warhorse reared up with its front hooves high in the air, throwing him hard to the ground. Then it finally burst through the wall of spears before it, galloping far away from this battlefield and disappearing beyond the horizon without looking back.

“Even you betray me! Even you, beast, betray me! Come back here! I’ll kill you! Kill you!” Lying on the ground, Miraze shrieked at the retreating figure of the horse. Then he struggled to his feet, nervously adjusting the crown on his head, as if afraid it might be even slightly crooked. Then he turned to the soldiers who had just been throwing themselves forward for his ambition, barking like a mad dog:

“And you! Why aren’t you fighting? Why aren’t you resisting? Why? Am I not the God-chosen King? Am I not the rightful heir flowing with royal blood? Should you not obey me, serve me, fight for me, die for me? You shameless traitors, traitors! I… I will… I will…” Suddenly, Miraze’s voice rose again. He shrieked like a hysterical shrew, cursing madly.

“Shut up, you shameless man!” I could no longer tolerate his ravings, and finally could not help but interrupt him.

“You despicable coward, you wretch who seized power through betrayal and scheming — what right do you have to demand that others die for you? Even if you are a King, so what? They are all brave, loyal soldiers. Why should they lay down their lives for a King who has not a shred of shame?” Even though these were enemies I had just been fighting for my life against, I could not bear to see them slandered in such a way. On the battlefield, anyone could be killed by anyone, and no one could complain about that. Now that the fighting was over, I could no longer keep hating these people who had grown up on the same soil as I had. I could only regard them as my brothers.

Perhaps because I too came from common stock, I felt that at this moment I should say something for them — to refute this madman who babbled nonsense by relying on his bloodline, and to prove for them the honor they deserved. Though I was only an insignificant person, though my words carried so little weight, I felt that saying these things at this moment was something I simply had to do.

“If you truly want to prove that you are worthy of people sacrificing themselves for you, then come! I am right here. Pick up your sword and prove your worth with it!” I dismounted and strode forward, step by step closing in on the man I dreamed of killing every night.

“No, don’t, don’t come near me! I command… ah, no, I, the Emperor, command you — do not approach me! I am the King, the King! Who gave you the right to come near me… Get back, get back…” At this moment, Miraze had completely collapsed. Even facing me — such an ordinary person — he was filled with terror. Even at this point, he still had not let go of his obsession with the title of King. His left hand pressed tightly against the crown on his head, and when referring to himself, he still clung to the exclusive term “the Emperor.” As if, apart from those two things, there was nothing else in this world worth caring about.

In that instant, I suddenly felt that this young man before me, whose mind had completely lost its reason, was rather pitiable. Though his character was base, in other respects he was such an outstanding and excellent person. But his ambition had been far too vast — so vast that it exceeded the limit he could bear, and in the end it crushed his fragile soul.

The snow drifted, the blood burned, and the wind panted with angry breaths, making me grip my sword tighter in my hand. Our sworn enemy was right before us, utterly unable to defend himself. I should have been joyful, shouldn’t I? How long had I waited for this day? Ten days? Twenty days? Ever since I learned the truth about Riley’s death, I had been endlessly fantasizing — if I ever had the chance to kill Miraze with my own hands, what a satisfying thing it would be. I knew my chances were slim. Whether in commanding troops or in personal combat, I was the worst among my companions. Perhaps that was why I could only slightly relieve the weight in my heart through such fantasies.

And now, it was all truly happening before me. Fred and Red Flame did not stop me; they left the pleasure of revenge to me. But why did I feel so heavy-hearted, so leaden in my steps? Why, facing this petty man who clung to his crown even at death, did I actually feel pity?

“Don’t come near… put the sword away, don’t come close to me. You’re too close, it makes me uneasy… What do you want? I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll make you an official, I’ll make you a Marquis? A Duke? A General? A Marshal? A Prince? As long as you don’t take my throne, I’ll agree to anything… Go away… I beg you…” Miraze curled up on the ground, supporting himself with his elbows and heels, retreating without cease. His body was curled tight like a helpless infant.

I walked to his side and raised my sword high. I truly could not bear to look at his terrified face, so I closed my eyes and listened to him crying and laughing nonsensically. I wanted to bring this sword down with all my might, but something was holding me back, preventing me from moving. I felt the muscles in my shoulders twitching endlessly — half of them wanted to swing downward, while the other half, against my will, froze in place. I just stood there, as if my own arms were about to tear themselves apart.

Riley, help me, help me!

I silently chanted my fallen friend’s name, hoping to draw strength from him. Just as I thought I had mustered my courage and could accurately bring down this sword…

“Jeff, stop, I beg you!” A familiar voice drifted from behind me. I opened my eyes and saw Roll, covered in blood, stumbling toward me.

“Don’t kill him, I beg you, leave him to me…” As after every battle he had been through, Roll’s body was covered in scars. This brutal warrior seemed accustomed to bleeding and pain, as if doing so increased his courage. I could tell that after we had charged out of the formation, they had endured a hard fight. Seeing that they were still alive filled me with relief.

Roll ran up to me and grabbed my hand.

“I beg you, let me do it. Let me do it myself!” He looked into my eyes, pleading with me. In his eyes I could see no emotion — only a cold, black mist. Even the falling snowflakes could not rival the coldness of his gaze.

It was the kind of cold that reached into the deepest part of one’s heart — fear.

My friend did not know that at this moment, I had already completely lost the confidence to kill Miraze. I lowered my sword and nodded to him.

An unnatural gleam lit up in the depths of his eyes. He then drew that dagger renowned for bloodshed and cruelty, and whispered to me gratefully:

“Thanks. I owe you one, Jeff.”

No, he did not owe me anything. It was I who owed him. If not for him, I would have almost let Miraze go — the murderer of our closest comrade.

I turned to leave, feeling my hand still trembling slightly. Fred gave me a meaningful look. He seemed to know everything, and yet seemed to know nothing at all.

Miraze’s screams rose up from behind me. I felt a twinge of pity, and also a hint of fear. Whoever incurred Roll’s vengeance would inevitably regret ever having been born into this world.

The screams came in waves, lasting a very long time. Many times I thought that even if nothing were hurting him, just letting him scream like that, so miserably, would be enough to tear his own soul out of his body. I truly could hardly imagine how Miraze had managed to survive for so long under such agony.

I did not want to know what Roll was doing to him.

In my heart, there was only guilt and apology toward my fallen friend, and a deep, indescribable conflict of emotions.

A snowflake landed on my eyelashes, stinging my tear ducts.

I closed my eyes tightly and let it melt in my tears.

Riley, I’m sorry. I could not stand firmly on the ground of friendship and righteousness and avenge you without hesitation. Perhaps it was because my feelings for you were not strong enough.

I’m sorry, my friend…