Chapter 98: Don’t Call Me Your Majesty

In the winter of 1461 by the Continental Calendar, the Cloud Leopard Dynasty, which had founded and ruled Delanmaya for four hundred years, completely collapsed. On the stiff corpse of the former dynasty, Fred, as the newly born monarch, left Morning Light City, the crumbling capital of Delanmaya, on the very second day after taking up the scepter, beginning his wandering journey as a king.

Before leaving the capital, we did everything we could to spread the news of the new king’s ascension. We hoped to let those who had not yet lost their will to resist know that they had not been abandoned by their own kin, and that their leader had not lost his will to resist.

At the last moment before pulling out of Morning Light City, Fred issued his first decree: to recognize the legal status of Mages and all races within the Kingdom of Delanmaya. Within Delanmaya, any law-abiding person would be treated equally and must not suffer discrimination due to profession or race. Members of any race, as long as they settled in Delanmaya, could apply to become citizens of Delanmaya and enjoy the corresponding rights of serving in the military, participating in politics, doing business, and paying taxes.

For us at that time, this decree was perhaps no more than a move to unite people’s hearts and expand the army. But after this turbulent period passed, this decree triggered a chain of reactions that almost completely overturned the original system of the Farvill Continent. It was the first edict in continental history to publicly recognize the legitimacy of the Mage profession and to acknowledge that races other than humans could become legal citizens of a human royal nation. Its most direct impact was to shatter the low and dishonored status that Mages had long suffered, allowing more and more magic practitioners and enthusiasts to research, exchange, and teach magic skills in public places. This small ripple during the war years, driven by time, stirred up a huge wave of magical prosperity twenty years later. And the initiator of this decree and its most powerful promoter, Poirot Jonas, himself a spellcaster and a Necromantic Warlock, was worshipped as an idol by the Mages who benefited, and was honored with the title “Pioneer of the Spirit of Magic.”

This decree did indeed achieve obvious results: although becoming citizens of a human kingdom was not very attractive to members of other races, the desire for equal rights to survival led quite a few Mages to join our army and become Fred’s most loyal followers. Although they could not yet play a role on the battlefield for the time being, with a little training, they would turn the remnant soldiers in our hands into a mighty army that no one could afford to underestimate.

Hugh obtained most of the wealth from the original treasury of the Kingdom of Delanmaya. This fortune did not mean much to us, but in the hands of our merchant friend, it could unleash a hundred times its value and eventually become an unbroken supply line behind us. After that, the Enrique Chamber of Commerce truly became the most powerful chamber of commerce on the Farvill Continent. It was no exaggeration to describe young Hugh as “wealthy enough to rival a nation.” No one raised any objection to how this money was handled; Hugh was a loyal partner whom we had no reason to doubt. Although he had received no title or rank, Hugh was in fact already Fred’s minister of finance. No one was more suitable than him to be the controller and manager of this huge fortune.

As for the supplies and property that we truly could not take away, we distributed them to the citizens of Morning Light City in the shortest possible time. I will not deny that we did this to win their sympathy and affection, and also to keep our enemies from gaining greater benefits in a short time. But one thing was absolutely certain: we truly carried out this task with guilt and apology in our hearts. We were soldiers, yet we had failed to fulfill our mission, allowing our homeland and people to inevitably become the spoils of war for foreign races. All we could do was try our best to compensate the innocent civilians who had been caught up in the war, using these meager possessions to soothe their frightened and panicked hearts.

On the night of February third, the main army quietly left Morning Light City. Following us were fewer than twenty thousand soldiers who knew full well what the outcome would be yet still refused to give up the fight. More people chose to give up in the face of the hopeless battle situation and became deserters. I did not blame them; no one had the right to ask them to give up their own lives and the happiness of growing old peacefully with their loved ones for a slim chance. But I respected the ones who stayed even more. They were truly remarkable soldiers who never abandoned their duty until the very last moment.

We began to march toward that unfamiliar territory in the east called the Holy Fox Highlands. In most cases, this land was always forgotten by people. Besides the reasons of dense mountains, complex terrain, and humid climate, there was also a vast forest on this land: the Moonstream Forest. From a geographical standpoint, the Moonstream Forest should belong to part of the Holy Fox Highlands, and both belonged to the original territory of Delanmaya. But people usually followed another saying: the Holy Fox Highlands were part of the Moonstream Forest, a place where the Elves of the central continent had lived for generations. Given the Elves’ proud and troublesome nature and the meager returns of this land itself, the successive rulers of Delanmaya only claimed ownership of this land in human society but never truly ruled it effectively. And now, that land I had never set foot on, and had never even heard of before, had become the only territory we had left, the battleground we had to hold and fight for to the end. Apart from the last faint but steadfast feeling called hope, no one knew what more was waiting for us there.

On the night of our departure, Morning Light City, covered with thick snow, gave off a pale white light under the moonlight, like a huge shroud draped over this land of the dead. The north wind howled like sobbing cries, blowing through the hearts of every soldier leaving home, filling them with sorrow.

Four days later, news arrived that Crown Prince Diansos, the heir to the Crete Empire, had personally led fifty thousand troops to occupy Morning Light City. On the same day, the Crete Empire and the Winston Empire issued a joint statement, declaring that as the victorious nations, they held “full ownership rights” over the former territory of Delanmaya, and would redraw their borders using the Centuria Plains as the boundary. From then on, the “Kingdom of Delanmaya” became a “former” geographical term that existed only in people’s hearts, completely vanishing from the maps of all nations. And we became what those robbers called “rebel forces,” “leftover remnants,” and “bandits,” targets to be chased and intercepted by powerful enemies.

Even though we had long known that something like this was bound to happen soon, I still could not sleep that night. When I was still a new recruit, I had once thought: if the Winston people could all treat the people of the occupied areas as kindly as Crown Prince Louis did, if the enemies who invaded us were a little better than our current rulers and could let the people of this country live a richer and happier life, then was it still worth continuing this war and letting more people meet misfortune in the flames of battle? If we gave up resistance and let a wiser monarch become the master of this land, would that not be better?

From the standpoint of an ordinary person, rationally speaking, this idea was correct.

But now, I knew I could not do it. I had spoken the word “Delanmaya” countless times, using it casually without any respect and taking it for granted. But now, when this word was taken away from me in an irreversible way, I suddenly realized how precious and beautiful it was. Even if it took more people’s blood to scrub it clean, it would not bring a single trace of rust to this shining name.

“De…lan…ma…ya…” Lying in the tent during the march, I silently recited this word that was familiar beyond measure yet also utterly strange, chewing each letter that formed it on the tip of my tongue and between my teeth, tasting from it a bitter-sweet attachment that made my heart ache yet was so hard to let go of. While swallowing my own salty tears, I secretly made an oath: perhaps this word and the meaning it carried had temporarily left us, but I would never let it disappear forever from people’s memories, forgotten under the crushing pressure of the two powerful names “Winston” and “Crete.” One day, this name would be lifted up in a more glorious and shining posture, drawing the attention of the entire Farvill Continent. And in that, there would be a small but selfless share from me, Jeff Gid!

When the morning glow once again filled the sky, gathered around me were no longer the slaves of a fallen nation dejected by the loss of their homeland, but a group of warriors bearing deep sorrow and unchanging oaths, determined to revive their country…

Hugh’s intelligence was accurate. The Cretans and Winston, having just occupied vast territories, were busy consolidating their own rule and had no time to allocate large military forces to pursue us. At the same time, Colonel Pekra’s interception also kept part of the eastern territory from falling into the hands of the Cretans for the time being, which also ensured that we encountered no attacks on our eastward road.

Now, the Umberlian Valley was less than two days’ journey away from us. If nothing unexpected happened, Colonel Pekra was there making his final efforts to resist the invasion of the Cretans. Although the deaths of friends and the fall of our homeland made my heart heavy, the thought that we would soon be able to see this old and respectable soldier again filled me with uncontrollable joy and delight.

“Your Majesty…” Just as I was feeling a little dazed by my mixed emotions, unsure whether I was happy or sad, ahead of us a warhorse kicked up a trail of fine dust as it galloped swiftly toward our central column. The rider on the horse shouted loudly. It was the scout we had sent toward the valley to deliver intelligence and gather information:

“Your Majesty, the Umberlian Valley has been under attack by the Cretan army since a day ago. The battle situation is tense now…”

Hearing this news, we were secretly shocked: if the Umberlian Valley was captured by the Cretans before we arrived, we would truly be caught in an encirclement and never be able to escape.

Fred did not show the same unease as we did. He thought for a moment, then immediately gave the order: “The cavalry will ride at full speed to reinforce the Umberlian Valley. The remaining troops will be led by Rodrick on a forced march, and must arrive within one day…”

A half day later, on a hillside on the western side of the valley, we witnessed this battle:

It was a one-sided battle. The overall conclusion of the war gave the Cretans the ability to gather no fewer than forty thousand troops before this small pass. The brownish armor of the Cretans stretched across the mountain terrain like a dense swarm of mountain ants, mercilessly gnawing at the pass that sealed off the valley. The Cretans, holding an absolute advantage, had even transported a considerable number of long-range catapults, hurling large chunks of mountain rock at the city wall. Every impact of a stone projectile against the wall burst out a shocking cloud of dust and tore large pieces of rubble from the wall.

If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I could not even believe that this pass had held out for more than a day against such an onslaught. The resisters guarding the pass, risking being pierced by arrows and crushed by boulders, time and again threw the Cretan soldiers who had climbed onto the city wall back down. The non-stop attacks of tens of thousands of enemies gave their bodies no chance to rest. Their fighting movements were stiff and labored, as if every swing of a weapon required squeezing out all the strength of their bodies. But even so, these brave people still held their positions, never taking a single step back, even when death came.

“I am right here, for the last piece of our homeland…” A hoarse, parched voice drifted down from the city wall. The owner of this voice was frail and thin, with a slightly hunched figure. He stood at the rear of the wall, his right hand propping a bright silver sword against the ground, standing there unyieldingly. A single step ahead of him was the battlefield of close combat. Many deadly weapons flashed before him, right in front of his eyes, but he seemed not to see them at all, standing there completely unguarded, as if he fully trusted the soldiers in front of him who were shielding him from attack. Those bravest soldiers did not disappoint his trust: although he was so close to danger, he never received a single injury from beginning to end. It looked as if, even if this thin middle-aged officer jumped off the city wall and charged into the Cretans’ main formation, his soldiers would never let him come to harm.

“Whether in life or in death, I am right here, and I will never retreat!” That voice was firm and brave, without the slightest hesitation, just like that person’s feet, standing there firmly.

That was exactly Colonel Pekra, our comrade-in-arms whom we had not seen for many days.

We all knew very well that the most trustworthy thing about Colonel Pekra was not the hand that held the sword, but his calm and thorough mind. When he completely gave up using tactics and relied only on courage to inspire his soldiers to fight head-on, it must be the most dangerous and urgent moment.

There he stood, not retreating half a step. Any stray arrow that had lost its target could directly take his life. The sword in his hand was nothing more than a pretty ornament. On this battlefield of bloody close combat, this thin officer had no more ability to protect himself than a child. He was not unaware of this, yet he just stood there like that. Behind him was the only remaining land of Delanmaya. Although that land was vast, he had nowhere left to retreat.

“Fred, give the order now!” Seeing this scene, Red Flame could no longer hold back. In his impulsiveness, he almost immediately charged out to rescue our friend.

Just at this moment, I heard an incredible order come from Fred’s mouth: “Stop! Rest where you are!”

“Have you lost your mind, Fred?” Red Flame roared as he turned his head around. “What are you doing?”

Fred shouted back in an equally loud voice, “We came from far away and charged a long distance! We need rest!”

“I don’t need it. I can fight!” Red Flame insisted.

“Yes, we can, but our mounts cannot!” Fred answered. “We came to save people, not to throw our lives away…”

Indeed, what he said was correct. After a whole afternoon of galloping, our warhorses were completely exhausted. For us cavalrymen, horses were as important as our lives. If we lost the powerful support of our horses and threw the more than three thousand Star Knights into the midst of over forty thousand Cretan troops, we probably would not even splash a ripple.

But how could anyone carry out this order? Our comrades were sacrificing themselves, our soldiers were bleeding, Colonel Pekra’s life was already hovering on the edge of death, barely held up by the courage and selfless spirit of his soldiers. Now we were supposed to rest where we were and watch coldly from the sidelines—who could do that?

“Fred…” I moved closer and spoke in a low voice, trying to change his mind.

“I said, rest where you are! That’s an order!” Before I could finish, Fred’s roar pressed down on me again. He had his back turned toward us, his voice cold and cruel, leaving no room for discussion, giving us only his dark back.

I was stunned. I could not believe that a person so brave, upright, and kind had, in less than ten days since ascending the throne, become such a brutal man before my eyes. He ignored the sacrifices of the allied forces, ignored that our friend was at the line between life and death—all for the sake of a safe victory.

Rather than saying I yielded, it would be more accurate to say I was in despair. I obediently stopped my steps and said softly but decisively:

“As you command… Your Majesty.”

When I said those two words, I felt that I had lost the most important part of my life. My heart seemed to have been drained of blood in an instant, pale and powerless.

Just as I was about to quietly step back, Fred hit me.

A right hook, landing heavily on my left eye. I felt a dizzy blur before my eyes, and then it seemed my limbs left the ground, floating straight up toward the clouds. When I felt a slight vibration, I was already lying on the ground.

“Don’t call me Your Majesty, Jeff. Don’t use that word to insult me…” By this time, Fred had already pounced on me, sitting on my chest, and landed another vicious blow on my right cheek.

“You can’t do this to me. Anyone could, but not you…” Fred no longer had that cold expression from a moment ago at all. He swung his fists at me like a madman, and I could only raise my hands to block desperately. Through the gaps between my fingers, I saw Fred’s face.

It was a humiliated, weeping face. Tears ran wild across his cheeks like runaway horses, and he had no desire to wipe them away. He completely ignored the stunned expressions of the more than three thousand soldiers around him, did not consider his own status and responsibility, did not think about the enemies he was about to face. Like an ordinary young man, he was beating me savagely in the manner of a street brawl.

Water dripped onto my outstretched hand. It was my friend’s tears, because I had hurt him.

He was still Fred Guderian, my closest friend in this life. He still carried such warm concern for everyone. If there was one person here who cared more about Colonel Pekra’s life than I did, it should undoubtedly have been him.

But he had to do this. He had to do the most correct thing. Because he could no longer make choices representing only himself. He had to choose for me, for Red Flame, for Pekra, and for every person who followed him because they held on to the wish of a nation.

When reason and emotion clashed, we could indulge our emotions and let our worried, angry, and depressed hearts have a release. But Fred could not. When he took on this heavy responsibility, he had already lost the right to “indulge his feelings.” He had to forcefully suppress in the depths of his heart the things he wanted to do, using his reason to prevent the mistakes we might make. Although sometimes, making such a choice was so painful—as painful as pouring salt on one’s own wounds and sticking needles into one’s own heart.

Just like now.

This, perhaps, was the fate that a great person had to bear.

In this sense, my friend was the most pitiable one. It was just because he was too strong and too outstanding; his brilliance had hidden all of this behind his shadow, so much so that we had never discovered it.

I was supposed to be the one who could understand him best, was I not?

But I had actually hurt him like this.

Remorse, remorse, remorse!

Remorse was like a saw, tearing back and forth at my heart and lungs. I felt that I had treated my friend in the cruelest way, while he, from beginning to end, had been using all his strength to protect us, lead us, and save us.

Compared to what I had done, this beating was far too light a punishment. If I could choose, I would rather accept a harsher interrogation. Because what I had done truly did not befit a friend of this great man before me. My actions had not only hurt his heart, but had also shamed his heartfelt efforts.

But I had to do something to stop Fred’s outpouring of emotion.

Because we had more important things to do.

Of course, it was also because his blows were really too heavy, and I could hardly take it anymore.

I fought back. A punch landed on his chin, and his body pressing down on me struggled and toppled to the side.

I sat on top of him, desperately pinning down his flailing arms, and shouted loudly:

“Rest where you are! Rest where you are! Do you hear me! Red Flame, don’t just stand there! Eli, pull Poirot down from his horse! Kelsey…”

Tears blurred my vision, and I could no longer hear my own voice.

“Alright, Fred, no one dares to beat his own King…” I said through my tears. I had to save my friendship, in a man’s way, in a soldier’s way.

“I am hitting my friend, to express my apology…”

“…and also to repay the mark you left on me.”

With a crisp sound, Fred’s left eye gained a black-and-blue ring, probably just like the one on my face. He might have been a bit dazed by this punch. He stopped struggling, gasped heavily, and collapsed onto the ground.

I rolled over to the side, also breathing heavily.

“Jeff…” In the haze, Fred’s voice seemed to drill directly into my mind. “Don’t call me Your Majesty. Never, never…”

“Mmm…” I swore, swearing on my friendship.

“And, I’m sorry. I had to do this…”

“Nonsense…” I was not sure if I had said these words out loud. “The ones who should say sorry are us…”

“You bastard, your fists are really heavy…” I covered my injured eyes with both hands and groaned softly.

What I was covering was my streaming tears…