Chapter Four: The Drizzle, the Gut Feeling, and the Ambush

The army of twenty thousand, led by Herscherik, had so far proceeded on schedule, and only a few days remained until they were expected to arrive at the border fort.

I feel kind of... queasy. Herscherik sighed as he rode in his carriage. However, it wasn’t just the shaky carriage that was making him feel sick. Everything so far is going so well that I feel queasy.

Herscherik had been forced to take part in the expedition by one of Minister Barbosse’s schemes, under the pretext of raising morale and inspiring the soldiers. Herscherik had assumed that Barbosse would attempt something during the march. However, they were now three-fourths of the way from the capital to the border fort, and nothing had occurred yet. Herscherik felt uncomfortable, the absence of trouble needling at him like a small fish bone stuck in his throat.

The outside of the carriage was rather dreary despite it being the middle of the day, with a thick fog limiting Herscherik’s view and a light drizzle reducing the temperature. The weather had slowly gotten worse as they approached the border fort, with the occasional shower of heavy rain. This kind of weather was common enough for the region and the time of year, and they’d been expecting it even before they left the capital; as they had planned the expedition with the weather in mind, they were still on schedule. However...

“It’s raining all the time, there’s a fog, we still have a few days until we arrive... Not to mention the location...” Herscherik mumbled as he sometimes had a habit of doing ever since his previous life, where he would subconsciously talk to himself whenever he was thinking hard about something.

Herscherik analyzed the situation while visualizing the layout of the surrounding area. The road they were traveling was narrow, with tree-covered inclines on both sides. In order to pass through here, the soldiers had reorganized themselves into a long, thin procession.

Herscherik had a bad feeling about all of this, stemming from his long experience as an otaku in his previous life. Horror excepted, he had enjoyed a wide variety of games, books, manga, anime, and movies of almost every genre. He had been particularly fond of war stories. Many of these went into detail not only about battles, but also strategies and tactics. They covered everything from staffing and logistics to march planning and the impact of the terrain and climate on the battlefield.

Had Herscherik been an enemy officer, he would have chosen this location to launch an attack. When he’d first seen a map of this area while planning for the expedition, alarm bells went off in his head. However, with only his intuition to go on, with no proof or grounds for an argument, he could not hope to convince anyone of deviating from the fastest route to the border fort. On top of that, there was one other thing that was worrying him.

Herscherik let out a deep sigh.

“Hersch?” Shiro, who was riding along with him as usual, asked as he lifted his gaze from his book. Herscherik furrowed his brow and groaned in response.

“I’ve just got this sort of... bad feeling in my gut.”

A long, thin line of soldiers; the forested inclines on both sides; cold, miserable weather with limited visibility; soldiers who have let their guard down after a week of marching without any issues... All these facts came together to lend credence to Herscherik’s premonition of doom.

Suddenly, there was a commotion outside. Herscherik heard the sound of multiple objects hitting the roof of the carriage and the roars of soldiers. He threw his arms up to shield his face as he fell backwards onto the pile of pillows stacked on his seat. Dust danced in the air inside the carriage, and Shiro grimaced—though Herscherik, his face currently buried in his arms, failed to notice.

“Dammit, my gut feeling was right in the worst possible way,” Herscherik mumbled, dejected.

“Fire!”

The voice of an officer who did not belong to the royal army reverberated through the fog. Immediately after, the sound of many objects slicing through the air could be heard from the slopes on both sides, as a rain of arrows showered down upon the procession.

The sudden assault halted the army in its tracks, as the rain of arrows mercilessly dragged knights from their saddles, horses neighed, and the screams of soldiers could be heard as the arrows pierced the cloth roofs of their carriages.

“We’re under attack!”

It was unclear who had shouted, but the voice served as a signal. As if a dam had burst, enemy soldiers flooded down from the inclines by the road, dividing the long line of soldiers. Those who had survived the rain of arrows leaped from their carriages and attempted to pick up their weapons, but they were pierced from behind by swords and spears and dropped to the ground, wide-eyed. Reflected in the eyes of the soldiers, lying in the mud powerless to do anything but await their own death, was a flag emblazoned with a lion holding a crown—the imperial flag of Atrad.

“Why... Why...” the soldiers moaned as they perished. Countless screams and shouts could be heard across the battlefield as the twenty thousand soldiers were suddenly thrust into an abyss of despair and confusion.

Witnessing this sight was Teodor Seghin, who was frozen to the spot.

“General Seghin! We are under attack! We’ve suffered major losses! Please, give us your command!”

“What... did you say?” Teodor floundered at the report of his screaming subordinate. The subordinate noted how even a general could not help but flounder in an ambush. However, that was not the reason for Teodor’s reaction.

This is not what I was told! As the army was about to set off, Teodor had received a secret order from the minister. He was to hand over the Seventh Prince, whom the minister considered dangerous, to the enemy.

This was how Teodor expected it to play out: The prince would arrive at the border fort, only to find himself faced with an imperial army a hundred thousand strong. The royal army, consisting of a mere twenty thousand soldiers, would have no chance against the enemy in battle, so after negotiating with the imperial army, they would hand over the prince as hostage. In the face of such a force, the prince would have no choice but to accept if he did not want to send his own soldiers to their deaths.

And the minister had already struck a deal with the empire, allowing him to do away with this dangerous prince and forge a ceasefire with the empire in one stroke. The blame for the entire ordeal would fall upon the mercenary-turned-general who accompanied him.

However, things were turning out very differently from what the minister had described.

“At this rate, we—argh!” As the subordinate tried to continue his report, an arrow struck the back of his head, and he collapsed. Teodor let out a shriek as he just barely managed to avoid falling from his horse.

Teodor was a general, but he was not the type to stand on the front lines wielding a weapon himself. One would generally find him at headquarters giving out orders. In an unexpected situation where he truly feared for his life, he was greatly disoriented.

Another subordinate approached Seghin.

“General Seghin! Your orders, please!”

“...at...”

“General Seghin?” Due to the commotion and how softly Teodor had spoken, the subordinate failed to make out what the general was saying, and asked for his command one more time. However, as he had to raise his shield to protect himself from incoming arrows, he failed once more to hear Teodor’s reply.

The subordinate lowered his shield and again looked at the general, only to find that he was turning his horse around.

“Retreat! Cavalry, follow me! Protect me!” Teodor screamed in a shrill voice, at which his subordinates, shields raised against the arrow rain, widened their eyes in disbelief. The subordinates ran up to Teodor, who seemed ready to take off at any moment.

“B-But, General, what about the other soldiers?” A subordinate asked what to do about the remaining foot soldiers.

Teodor turned his bloodshot eyes toward the soldier and screamed, “Why should I care?!” He then set off on his horse, and the cavalry followed after a moment’s hesitation. None of them wanted to die there.

There was one boy soldier who had witnessed the scene that just unfolded.

No way... Roy couldn’t believe what he had just seen.

By sheer luck, Roy had avoided being struck by an arrow when the ambush first commenced. He had hid behind a carriage, and had been unable to do anything but watch as the friends he’d spoken to as recently as the day before all fell one by one. He had been asked by an armed soldier to go and receive orders from their captain, whom he set off to search for while dodging the enemy soldiers. By pure chance, he had happened upon the general. However, the general had simply fled before his very eyes, prioritizing his own life above those of his soldiers.

As he fled, the general had also said something unbelievable.

“This isn’t what His Excellency promised... He said that we would simply hand over the prince to the empire!”

Not what His Excellency promised? What does that mean? Roy failed to grasp exactly what was going on. However, he did manage to piece together that their general had abandoned them and the prince was in danger.

“Kill them all!” the enemy screamed. Roy heard a shriek from right next to him, and the smell of blood filled the air. His heart was racing and his armor, drenched from the rain, felt heavy and cold.

“Die!”

Roy turned toward the voice to find an enemy soldier raising his sword.

A battle ax slashed through the air as the heads of enemy soldiers separated from their bodies and their blood mixed with the falling rain. An arrow was released in the direction of the man who wielded the ax.

“Whoopsie.”

However, along with this comment completely devoid of tension, the ax quickly knocked the arrow to the ground—and then cut the soldier who’d fired the arrow clean in half. The wielder of the ax—Heath—rested the haft against his shoulder, took a deep breath, and had a look around the area.

The attack had been sudden, but the confusion only lasted for a short while before Heath, together with the captains directly under him, had got his division under control.

“General Blaydes!” Heath’s adjutant came running toward him, and the general looked down at him from his horse. The adjutant had no hint of panic on his face, holding his blood-stained sword and a small shield in which a number of arrows were lodged, as he spoke to Heath without ever losing sight of his surroundings.

“General Blaydes, I have a report to make!”

“I’m not really in the mood. What is it?” Heath nodded as he readjusted his grip on his ax.

“We’re under attack by an enemy force. Their banner depicts a lion holding a crown—it’s the Atrad Empire. We still don’t know their exact numbers, but it seems to be on the order of fifty thousand. More of them might still be hiding nearby, however. Additionally, General Seghin’s division is still in disorder and has yet to establish a chain of command.” The adjutant was capable both in the castle and on the battlefield, matter-of-factly briefing Heath on the most important points.

“And General Seghin’s whereabouts?”

“Unknown, sir.”

Heath sighed at the adjutant’s curt response.

First of all, being ambushed by the empire within the kingdom’s borders simply didn’t make any sense. The border was supposed to be protected by the soldiers stationed at the fort. So how had the imperial army even made it into the country?

Heath only saw one explanation. They had passed through the Principality of Parche, which bordered both Gracis and Atrad. The principality was the home country of the First Queen and had always been on good terms with Gracis. They must have betrayed the kingdom and sided with the empire.

No, I suppose the probability of that is pretty low. Heath immediately gave up on that line of thinking. If that was true, the Foreign Relations department should have been aware of it already. And as much as the empire may have increased its forces lately, Gracis was still the stronger power. Under these circumstances, it was hard to believe that the principality, which normally excelled at evaluating political situations, would betray Gracis.

Just then, a soldier approached the adjutant. After listening to the soldier’s report, he turned to Heath to relay the information.

“General Blaydes, it appears that the enemy soldiers are looking for someone in particular.”

“Who?” Heath asked, while casually knocking aside any arrows that came his way. The adjutant similarly protected himself from an arrow with his shield before continuing.

“Prince Herscherik.”

Heath froze up for a moment upon hearing the prince’s name before sighing deeply, as if he had completely forgotten about the ambush they were currently defending themselves from.

“So that’s it, huh.” With the help of some speculation, everything came together in Heath’s mind.

So it’s basically the worst-case scenario. Sheesh, why do I have to deal with this?

Heath was always getting dragged into one problem after another, and he was usually the one who had to clean up afterward. However, he certainly didn’t care to be dragged into something just to die. His peaceful farm life was waiting for him after retirement.

“Goddammit. Well then—instruct each battalion to prepare for retreat. You take charge of the first battalion, make toward the first division, and confirm whether General Seghin is alive. If he is, then we’re all good. Tell them to retreat and come back here. However, if he’s dead or missing, take control of the first division’s chain of command and carefully fall back as you fight. Once you’ve joined up with the second division, we will begin the retreat. If anyone complains, tell them it’s on my orders. Threaten them with a court-martial if they don’t obey.” He dished out orders in rapid succession, his demeanor having changed completely from how it was only a moment ago. His adjutant turned to start carrying out the orders at once before remembering one important detail.

“What about Prince Herscherik?” The general made no mention of the prince in his orders; the adjutant wondered what he was to do about the most important figure of the expedition.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about him right now,” Heath flatly brushed aside the adjutant’s concern. “Everyone’s on edge from the ambush. At this rate the army will slowly collapse. Getting the army in order is more important than the prince right now.”

“But...” The adjutant continued to argue, at which Heath raised an eyebrow.

“You know, I remember you said you weren’t interested in women. Is the prince more your type or something?”

“Of course not! Do you have a death wish, sir?” The adjutant immediately refuted his superior with a menacing tone. Heath shrugged his shoulders as if to say that it was just a joke. Despite the predicament they were in, Heath was the same as ever—but this was also why the adjutant placed so much faith in his general, as flippant as he may have been.

“I’ll take all responsibility if anything happens to him. Hurry up,” Heath commanded. The expression on his face was no longer that of the usual listless superior officer, but the man they called the Undefeated General.

As for why he was called “undefeated” rather than “invincible,” it was because, even though he often suffered setbacks and losses, he always claimed victory in the end. The adjutant, at least, had never seen him lose a battle even once since joining his command. He may not always win, but he never lost. Even in the most desperate of situations, he did his best to turn things around without worrying about victory, and he always brought the conflict to an end. That was why he was referred to as the “Undefeated General.”

“Understood...” The adjutant obeyed the Undefeated General’s command.

“Your Highness! Prince Herscherik, Your Highness, are you all right?!” A voice calling Herscherik’s name could be heard coming from outside the carriage. Herscherik, who was wrapped in an overcoat and ready to go outside at any moment, looked toward the door. He quickly glanced at Shiro, who was also already wearing his overcoat. Shiro turned an annoyed glance toward the source of the voice and slowly stood up from his seat.

“Prince, are you okay?” he heard his knight of service say shortly after, so he simply responded with a knock on the door. The door immediately opened to reveal Oran, his armor drenched in rain and blood, with a serious look on his face.

“Step out,” Oran continued, and Herscherik nodded. He obeyed, led by Oran, and was struck speechless as he emerged from the carriage and saw the view outside.

Around the carriage, two types of bodies were lying on the ground, with the only distinguishing feature being their armor—either belonging to his own army or to the empire. Regardless of their armor, every corpse shed the same red blood, staining the ground a dirty black. As Herscherik had witnessed once before, the relentless flow of blood claimed one life after another, and the air was filled with a metallic stench. He replayed the events of that day in the back of his head as he clenched his teeth.

“The enemies numbered fifty thousand at the start of the ambush, followed by a reinforcement of thirty thousand. The total number is probably less than a hundred thousand.”

Motionless at the sight of the corpses, Herscherik came to his senses at the sound of the voice behind him. He moved only his eyes to find that Kuro was standing there. He was wearing not his usual butler uniform, but a well-tailored black outfit reminiscent of an ordinary traveler, and he seemed to be on high alert. Just as Herscherik was about to ask Kuro about the current situation, he heard another voice call out to him.

“Your Highness, you’re safe!”

Herscherik turned his gaze away from Kuro toward the source of the voice. A man, the same person who must have been yelling outside the carriage only a moment ago, was kneeling there with his head bowed. Herscherik recognized him as the captain of the thirty royal guards that had been assigned to protect him during the expedition.

“What’s the situation?” asked Oran, who was standing next to Herscherik, while keeping an eye on his surroundings. The man nodded and looked up at Herscherik.

“We have been ambushed by what appears to be the Atrad imperial army.”

“How severe are our losses?” Herscherik asked, at which the man’s face took on a deep frown.

“On account of the surprise attack, the army is currently in a state of confusion, and it is difficult to get a clear picture of the situation. The first division is particularly disordered...”

Herscherik clenched his fist, which the captain made no note of and continued.

“I advise Your Highness to retreat immediately.” Herscherik became wide-eyed at the captain’s suggestion. “It appears that the enemy is searching for Your Highness specifically. The best means of ensuring your safety is to flee the site of the battle as quickly as possible.”

“Are you telling me to leave everyone behind and run away?” Herscherik replied in a quiet, but very angry, voice. In response, the man lowered his head further.

“Your Highness’s safety is of the utmost importance. While few in number, I am confident your men of service will be able to repel any enemy soldiers that come your way. Please, Your Highness—make the decision.”

Herscherik closed his eyes. I won’t be of much help even if I stay behind here. That was the unshakable truth. Herscherik was well aware of how weak he was. If he stayed behind, he might only get in the way. And so, he made up his mind.

“Very well.”

The royal guard seemed relieved. However, the next words out of the prince’s mouth left him stunned.

“Oránge and Weiss, you two stay behind and get our forces back in order, and annihilate the enemy army. Schwarz will be enough to protect me.”

“Your Highness?!” The captain, who was not expecting the prince to leave most of his convoy behind, started to fret. However, Oran took no notice of the captain and simply nodded, as did Weiss, who had exited the carriage and was now surveying the surroundings, albeit reluctantly. After confirming their responses—and before the captain could get a word in—Herscherik addressed the soldiers and guards who were currently fighting to protect him.

“Herscherik, the Seventh Prince of Gracis, commands you!” His dignified voice echoed across the battlefield. “I shall now make a temporary retreat! You are to join Oránge’s command as you escape from here, after which you will join with General Blaydes!”

Herscherik took a deep breath before continuing.

“My most important order is only this: Survive!”

The soldiers roared in response to Herscherik’s command, and the confusion on the battlefield started to dissipate. The prince had said that he would leave his very own Vanquisher of a Hundred Zealots behind. And not only that, he had ordered them not to protect him nor to die for their country, but merely to survive. The minds of the previously terrified soldiers were now fixed on one thing—staying alive. With a single order, Herscherik had breathed new life into the army.

However, that was not the only consequence of his speech. His voice had taken control of the soldiers’ confusion and raised their morale, but at the same time he had also informed the enemy of his whereabouts.

A shrill whistle sounded, and a voice screaming “The prince is over there!” quickly followed. The nearby enemy soldiers immediately started to gather together. Oran readied his sword as he called out to Kuro.

“Black dog, hurry up and get out of here. Weiss, you stay. I’ll be right back.” After seeing Kuro pick up Herscherik with one arm and Shiro nod listlessly, Oran continued. “I’ll open a path for you. Hurry!”

With that, Oran started running. The enemies took note of his assault and attempted to intercept him, but Oran cut them in half at the waist—armor and all—chopped off their heads, and severed their limbs. Without so much as breaking a sweat—and without anyone even crossing swords with him—Oran took the life of one soldier after another.

Kuro ran after him, carrying Herscherik under his arm. Outrunning both the enemy soldiers and Oran, he leaped into the nearby forest. The enemy attempted to pursue the pair, but they were blocked by a glowing, transparent wall that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Oran looked toward Shiro to find his hair shining in a sky-blue color and understood that he had erected a magical barrier. Oran turned around and headed straight for the thick of battle, stopping next to Shiro.

“Weiss, thanks for the barrier,” Oran said to Shiro. Even Oran would have found it difficult to prevent every enemy soldier from escaping. However, no ordinary soldier would be able to make it through a barrier, and circumnavigating it would cost them time. With that extra time to escape, Kuro could avoid being captured by the enemy.

Next on the agenda was figuring out what to do about their current situation.

All right, so what do I do now, then? Oran racked his brain as he cut down the opponents that launched themselves at him. The ambush had divided the long, thin line of soldiers, and being stationed in the middle of the procession, they could not escape to the front or the back. Evading the enemy encirclement by climbing the surrounding slopes would result in significant losses, but at the same time, simply staying where they were would only add to the pile of bodies on the ground.

If only we could meet up with Heath, we’d probably figure something out... Oran had no practical experience on the battlefield; any knowledge he had was purely theoretical. Heath, on the other hand, possessed a wealth of experience, and knew how to handle situations like these.

The best option is probably to fall back in search of Heath, Oran decided, and just as he was about to instruct those nearby to do so, he heard a small sneeze. He looked to his side to find Shiro holding his nose, looking disgruntled.

“It’s cold.”

Oran sighed at Shiro’s complete lack of tension. Shiro’s next utterance, however, sent chills down his spine.

“So... do you just need me to wipe these guys out, or what?”

“What?”

“If they’re in the way, I can just wipe them out, right?” Shiro asked in an apathetic tone, ignoring the dumbfounded Oran. “Hersch told us to annihilate them... If I can just kill them all indiscriminately, it won’t take long.”

A vicious smile surfaced on Shiro’s beautiful face.

Hearing the magic maniac utter something so frightening with a straight face, Oran almost forgot that he was in the middle of battle.

“How can you say something like that so gleefully? You can’t seriously be planning to take out our own soldiers while you’re at it! Hey, why are you looking so disappointed?!”

Shiro’s vicious smile from a moment before had been replaced with a pout. Oran knocked down an arrow with his sword as he argued with him.

“Well, jokes aside...”

No, no way that was a joke, Oran thought, but he kept it to himself.

“I can eliminate just the enemy soldiers, but I’ll need some time.”

“Got it.” Oran did not doubt that he could pull it off. Shiro was not so overconfident that he would claim to do something that he couldn’t. Oran nodded and readied his sword. “How long do you need?”

“Ten... No, eight minutes should be enough.”

“All right. Everyone, the Spellcaster is about to prepare a spell that will allow us to get out of here alive. Don’t let anyone near him!” Oran instructed the nearby royal guards and soldiers. In response, an enemy soldier broke from the royal guards and launched himself at Shiro, but Oran stepped between the two in the blink of an eye and cut the enemy soldier in half.

“Weiss, don’t worry about the enemy.”

“Right.” Shiro nodded, and without taking any note of the enemy soldiers falling around him, he started gathering Magic from the surroundings using his own special ability. As rain contained Floating Magic, he was able to collect even more than usual.

A large-scale spell will be a bit of a pain, he complained internally as he started to compose his magical formulas. His waving white hair began to glow a pale green. As Shiro started to recite an incantation, pale green bands of light inscribed with the spell started to circle him. At the same time that he finished his incantation, he cut the air horizontally with his arm. A wind burst forth, slicing through the fog.

Area of effect set. Targets set. Commence construction of large-scale offensive magic, defensive barrier magic, and parallel incantations. Activate... Countless bands of light danced around Shiro, and his hair began to glow in a rainbow of colors.

As he activated multiple spells and constructed complicated magical formulas, Shiro quickly glanced toward Oran. He was just in the middle of cutting down an enemy soldier. Even Shiro, who had no experience fighting with swords, could tell just how much Oran outclassed the guards and soldiers around him—even though he fought with the fog limiting visibility, the ground muddy from the rain, and while protecting a completely defenseless Shiro.

Spellcasters could not defend themselves while reciting incantations. Shiro, despite being more powerful than most and possessing immeasurable amounts of Magic Within as a result of his own natural ability and the events of the Church’s terrorist attack, was no exception.

When Herscherik first introduced Shiro to his other men of service, he had been very wary of them—a wariness brought about by Shiro’s innate distrust in others. He had been called a monster ever since he was young, and even after being taken in by the Church, people would look at him strangely. And as a man with the appearance of a woman, he had come close to suffering a number of unspeakable experiences. Shiro had only ever trusted two people in his life—in the past, that had been his adoptive father, and after Hoenir betrayed him, Shiro had come to trust Herscherik instead. He considered anyone who threatened to get close to him a potential enemy.

However, his fellow men of service were different from the others. The knight had done his best to look after Shiro, while the butler had seemed utterly indifferent to him. Even so, Shiro would constantly be on his guard, keeping others at arm’s length like a wounded cat. Then, one day, Oran had spoken to him with a saddened look on his face.

“Come on, you don’t have to be on your guard like that all the time.” Shiro gave him a dubious look, but Oran continued. “Everyone needs some time before they can really trust a person—though I suppose Herscherik is an exception. But I trust you, and I rely on you too. I do that because Hersch trusts you. I’m sure the black dog feels the same. The fact that he’s himself around you, even though he’s usually always putting up a façade, is proof in and of itself.”

In front of others, Kuro would always act exceedingly sociable. In front of Shiro, however, he was exactly the opposite and made no effort to appeal to anyone. This was a sign that Kuro trusted Shiro, Oran thought.

“So why don’t you try having some faith in us—the people Herscherik puts his trust in—even just a little bit?”

Upon hearing this, it felt like all of his anxiety had simply dissipated. He felt as though he might be able to let his guard down around them, just a little. If he didn’t like something they did, he could just ignore it, he told himself. However, nothing unpleasant happened when he was with them. Eventually being with them started to feel natural, even comfortable. It wasn’t long before that turned to real trust.

Of course they also had their differences of opinion. However, that too was rooted in a mutual respect for each other—not that Shiro would ever think to tell the other two this. So Shiro could entrust Oran with his life as he constructed his magical formulas completely defenseless.

As Shiro continued to build up his spell, he remembered something that happened before they had departed. Oran had asked Shiro the same thing as Sigel—if he really was going to the battlefield. Shiro told him the same thing he had told Sigel, but Oran had shook his head.

“That’s not what I mean. When you stand on the battlefield, will you really be able to take someone else’s life?”

Seeing that Oran looked unusually serious, Shiro fell silent for a moment before replying, “Yes. Yes, I will.”

Hearing this Oran had nothing else to say.

I’ll kill anyone that gets in our way—be it human, god, or Djinn. This was how Shiro, having come to accept the “monster” that he was, expressed his gratitude and resolve.

Shiro’s hair flashed between purple, signifying lightning magic, and sky blue, signifying barrier magic, as the bands of light around him started to shine even brighter. The magical formulas were almost complete. The high-density Magic caused the air to pulsate and blew the drizzle away. He then drew even more Floating Magic from his surroundings, converting it to his own Magic Within, further amplifying the spell.

Eight minutes had almost passed since he’d begun his spellcasting.

“Weiss!”

Oran’s distressed voice shot across the battlefield as an enemy soldier approached Shiro from right in front of him, sword drawn. If he didn’t stop his incantation and flee, he would almost certainly be killed. However, Shiro remained motionless.

Oran threw his sword at the enemy, which embedded itself into the soldier’s chest, but he remained standing with his sword held high.

What kind of idiot throws his weapon? Shiro thought as he spread his arms, almost as if to welcome the enemy soldier’s blow.

That gesture signified the release of his large-scale spell. Right before the sword could strike Shiro, a roar akin to thunder could be heard, reverberating across the battlefield.

Still carrying Herscherik under his arm, Kuro ran past the trees of the forest, concealing himself in the fog. At times they would come across imperial soldiers hiding in the forest, but Kuro would simply launch a dagger into their foreheads or use his wire to decapitate them, leaving a trail of bodies as he ran. However, Kuro considered that the enemy might use that very trail to track them down, and it was only a matter of time before they would be caught.

But that wasn’t their only problem.

“Are we surrounded?”

“Are those imperial soldiers?” Herscherik asked, pale—not from fear, but because of the motion sickness from being carried. Kuro shook his head in response.

“No, they’re too fast to be pursuers from the imperial army.” They were already quite some distance away from the site of the initial ambush, and it was unlikely that the empire would have soldiers stationed here.

If they’re not imperial soldiers... Kuro arrived at a certain conclusion, and furrowed his brow even more.

“Kuro.” Herscherik, still being carried, gently tapped Kuro on the arm. “Kuro, you can put me down now. If a fight breaks out, I’ll only get in your way. Even for someone as skilled as you, protecting me with one arm while carrying me with the other wouldn’t exactly be easy, right?”

Herscherik could feel Kuro jerk in surprise, but he ignored it and continued to speak in a calm tone.

“I’ll go on by myself from here. You’ll have no issue taking care of them on your own.”

But Kuro’s mouth remained closed. Herscherik sighed quietly as he gave Kuro’s arm another tap and spoke as if admonishing him.

“Kuro, put me down.” He spoke calmly, but it was an order.

In response, Kuro slowly lowered Herscherik to the ground. He then kneeled down to Herscherik’s eye level, but kept his eyes on the ground, opening his mouth and then closing it again without saying anything. After repeating this action a few times, he finally started speaking.

“If...”

“I won’t die.” Herscherik interrupted him before he could finish. Kuro quickly looked up, to find Herscherik smiling as usual.

Kuro sometimes seemed like a small child to Herscherik, with eyes that looked as if he might start crying at any moment from all the worry bottled up inside him. Herscherik theorized that something must have happened in his past that made him this way. However, unless Kuro brought it up first, Herscherik had no plans to ask him about it. Everyone had things they didn’t want to mention and pasts they couldn’t discuss.

So instead, Herscherik smiled.

You will not die before me. When you die, I die too. That was the first promise they ever made. The promise he made with Kuro that day, in that shaking carriage. “Just like we promised—as long as you don’t die, I won’t either.”

In addition to the promise, Herscherik had also decided on something on his own—to keep trusting in Kuro, no matter what. And that went for his other two men who would always help him, Oran and Shiro, too. No matter what. Even if they were to betray him.

And he had also vowed to trust in himself, whom his men trusted, and to keep walking forward.

“So,” Herscherik continued, “believe in me, Kuro. Just like I believe in you—in all of you.”

Kuro closed his eyes for a moment, letting Herscherik’s words sink in. He then opened them again, looked straight at his master with his blood-red eyes, and nodded. His gaze was no longer that of a frightened child.

Herscherik nodded too, swung around, and started running. Seeing his tiny master off, Kuro stood up, and disappeared into the fog.

The man who had been watching them was unsure what he had just witnessed. But the next moment, he let out a scream of intense pain, as though a hot iron had been pressed to his back. However, before the scream could leave his mouth, a hand covered his face from behind as he collapsed to the ground and died. Looking down on the unmoving corpse was the dead man’s target—Kuro. His cold eyes only observed the man for a moment before disappearing into the fog again. One after one, he took the figures hiding in the forest by surprise, ending their lives with a quick strike from behind. They only noticed their fallen comrades after they had lost almost half of them.

Herscherik ran up a hill then down another, his feet sometimes getting stuck in mud as he ran through the trees as fast as he could muster. He had tripped a number of times and his clothes, his light gold hair, and his fair skin were all covered in mud, but Herscherik had no time to worry about that. Overexerting his delicate body, he finally made it out of the forest into a clearing. The sky was overcast with thick, dark clouds, and a drizzle continued to fall. Before him was a wide plain which stretched all the way to the Principality of Parche.

However, Herscherik stopped, as separating him from the plain was a violent, flooded river, and Herscherik himself was standing on top of a precipitous cliff. He bent over slightly, placing his hands on his thighs, taking deep breath after deep breath. If he could have, he would have collapsed onto the ground to rest right there and then, but he stopped himself, realizing what a bad idea that would have been.

This much running sure takes its toll on a child’s body... Herscherik thought, though he soon realized that he would have fared no better in his previous life and chuckled sadly to himself. Even to thirty-something Ryoko, a full sprint would have been difficult, since she’d had no muscle mass to speak of. Not to mention, she would have been sore the whole day—or even two days—after.

Herscherik suddenly heard a quiet noise behind him. He straightened his back again, took another deep breath, and tightened his grip around the silver pocket watch in his pocket. He then steeled himself and looked behind him.

He found himself looking at a group of men, no more than he could count on one hand. The men were from neither the imperial nor the royal army. Their faces were hidden by hoods and cloth, only their eyes visible. They were all dressed in dark outfits, reminiscent of Kuro’s spy gear. Herscherik surmised that they must be in the same general line of work. However, he still called out to them.

“And who might you be?” Herscherik secretly complimented himself for keeping his voice from trembling.

Right now, Herscherik was all alone. Steel himself as he might, he could not erase his fear. With neither Kuro, Oran, nor Shiro here, even if he attempted to fight back, he would be dead in the blink of an eye. Even so, Herscherik faked a confident expression and once again addressed the men who were slowly making their way toward him.

“You don’t even know how to introduce yourselves properly? Do you not have mouths under there or what?”

“We have no reason to respond.”

“My, aren’t you cold.” Herscherik shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll bet Barbosse sent you here, didn’t he?”

The fact that the men froze for a second at the mention of Barbosse’s name did not escape Herscherik. He gripped his pocket watch even harder. Still, he did not let his emotions show on his face as he continued speaking.

“What’s he after, then? My life?” Herscherik did his best puppy dog eyes as if pleading to them for an answer, and what seemed to be the leader of the group responded in a muttering voice.

“It does not matter. You’ll be dead soon either way.” The man quickly realized his mistake. His answer was in practice a confirmation of Herscherik’s question. He hadn’t planned on answering him, but Herscherik’s dignified, captivating emerald eyes had gotten the better of him. Realizing this seemed to bother the man.

Paying him no heed, Herscherik let out a deep, theatrical sigh.

“I can’t believe a group of adult men are ganging up on a little boy,” Herscherik continued, shrugging his shoulders.

“Your life is forfeit.” Doing his best not to be affected by Herscherik’s transparent performance, the man pulled out a knife beneath his cloak. The other men also drew their weapons as they encircled Herscherik, preventing him from fleeing. As their encirclement closed up on him, Herscherik took one step back, then another.

“I’m not really fond of pain, you know,” Herscherik mumbled as he backed away even further. Looking behind him, he was already at the edge of the cliff.

Turning back to the men, all holding daggers and knives in their hands, they seemed moments away from attacking Herscherik.

“Ah...” A pitiful voice said. That was the last thing Herscherik uttered.

Herscherik disappeared from their view, and a violent splash could be heard from the waters below. The men hurriedly ran to the edge of the cliff and looked down, but could see nothing but the murky, flooded river. There was no sign of the prince.

“I guess he fell...”

“I don’t see him surviving a river as violent as this.”

The other men nodded in agreement with their leader. An adult man might still have had some chance, but a small child like the prince had no hope of surviving.

“Let’s head back,” the leader said, and they all disappeared back into the forest.