Bading arrived at the scene just as the fire had been extinguished and the morning sun began to rise. Moments after spotting an unusual object flying across the eastern sky of Leang, he quickly grabbed a soldier who had come from the mansion and inquired, “What happened to Lady Latilda?”
“I came to inform you,” the soldier hesitated, unsure of where to begin. “She escaped. And the Count personally led soldiers out to deal with it.”
“Who escaped?” Bading felt a throbbing headache as he tried to process this overwhelming situation while still recovering from the effort of putting out the fire.
“What were the guards doing?” For some reason, he pictured the soldiers easily giving way to Latilda as if she were casually going out for a drink.
“Word has it that she had someone with her. That person seems to have facilitated the escape.”
Without taking any more time to think, Bading took action. “Go back and report to the Count that the fire has been extinguished. Say we still don’t know the cause. If pressed for a reason, say it was magic.”
“Really? Magic?” The soldier seemed to think that Bading was joking, given his blunt reference to magic. Bading shot him a stern look.
‘Five houses completely destroyed and the surrounding area turned into a wasteland. And not a single witness! What would you say happened?’
Instead of elaborating, Bading simply issued a short command, “Just relay the message.”
“Ye-yes, my apologies.” The soldier spurred his horse toward the mansion, and Bading, accompanied by three other knights including Biang, headed east towards Leang.
When Bading arrived, he was surprised by the unsettling silence. Despite the twenty-odd dismembered bodies scattered around, no one was there to see, scream, or even gawk. It was as if the village was deserted.
Judging by the torn armor and shattered bow fragments, there was no doubt these were the mansion’s guards. From what the reporting soldier had said earlier, one of the bodies might be Jacques. However, Bading did not bother to confirm.
“Search the area. Check if Lady Latilda’s body is among them.”
Bading had witnessed many battlefields, but he had never seen a sight like this. The closest thing he could recall was a battle he witnessed during his mercenary days involving a wizard. Even knights celebrated as the best had been no match for the staff of a wizard. Decades of honed swordsmanship meant nothing before magic.
‘Well, they say magic has been refined over centuries.’
Even if the archers were led by the clueless Jacques, there were still twenty of them. And they were against Latilda, who was essentially baggage. The fact that they were reversed like this indicated the work of a wizard.
“Captain Bading, we’ve found a survivor,” Biang shouted.
“What’s his identity?” Bading asked, approaching the area. The man Biang pointed to was leaning against a wall, his head down.
“He’s not one of our soldiers,” Biang said cautiously, his sword pointed at the man. Despite the blade touching his throat, the man remained immobile.
“Stand up and identify yourself,” Biang nudged the man’s shoulder with the flat of his sword.
The man didn’t appear to be dead, nor did he seem unconscious. He was in some liminal state. Finally, he lifted his head, his eyes blank.
Bading immediately recognized him. “You were Latilda’s coachman.”
The man shifted his gaze to Bading, “I’m no coachman.”
“Then a bodyguard perhaps? Doesn’t matter. You’re clearly not the wizard who did this. So who did?”
The man blinked, looking up at the sky before slowly rising to his feet. Biang immediately pressed his sword against the man’s throat, but he only rose to brush off the dust. A bandage tightly wound around his shoulder and thigh suggested bleeding. Even as he clenched his legs while getting up, he didn’t express pain through his face.
‘Looks like he’s lost his mind.’
Bading lowered his sword to the ground and asked, “Where is Latilda?”
“She’s dead.”
It was a dry response, but Bading was as stunned as when he’d learned of the Duke of Sheffield’s death. That he wasn’t overwhelmed by shock was something of a relief. Bading asked as if he were hearing about the death of someone unrelated to him.
“Who killed her?”
“The men lying dead over there did. With bows.”
“Then who is the wizard responsible for reducing my men to that state?”
“There is no wizard. We came to rescue Latilda and…”
The man seemed to struggle with how to label the wizard Bading was thinking of.
“I’ll need to accompany you. I have many questions.”
“There’s no time for that. I have places to be.”
“Where would you be going?”
Bading asked, almost out of habit.
The man mumbled in confusion at Bading’s question.
“Where should I go? To Normant?”
He shook his head, mumbling to himself.
“Or should I return to Denmoju to ensure Latilda’s safety?”
Unable to make a decision, the man started to walk forward, only for a blade to be thrust against his throat.
“Listen, the captain’s speaking—”
In an instant, the man’s hands moved so swiftly that it was impossible to see how or where. The blade that had been aimed at him was now in his hands, and he quickly pointed it at its previous holder. The surprised man raised his hands and stepped back. The man threw the blade behind him.
Despite the man having thrown away his weapon, his opponent stood immobilized. The man looked around hurriedly for something, then picked up a sword from the ground. He neither threatened the one who had aimed at him nor did he point the blade at Bading. He looked like a drunk man packing up his belongings.
‘He only picked up his own sword.’
Bading gestured to his approaching subordinates to halt. They still didn’t know; he didn’t even have the confidence to explain that attacking this man would mean their deaths.
“No matter how naive Latilda may be as a lady, she wouldn’t employ a mediocre knight as a bodyguard. Why did I not see that?”
Bading raised his sword to block the man’s path.
“I can’t let you go.”
“I’ve said all I need to say. I must go.”
The man spoke in a pleading tone.
“I can’t let you go.”
Bading was unyielding. He didn’t even think he could be persuaded.
“Move.”
The man spoke threateningly, glaring at him.
Bading extended his sword.
“Try making me.”
In that instant, the man’s sword flew toward Bading’s neck. He thought he’d seen all the world’s swordsmanship. Yet, when he parried the blade, he realized there were still techniques he had not seen.
There had been one knight he felt he could never defeat—a young man from the Excelon Knights. Bading hadn’t even felt the urge to challenge him. Though they were of similar age and build, in the face of the young man’s overwhelming power, Bading couldn’t even draw his sword.
‘How about it, kid? Is there anyone here worth fighting?’
The man who appeared to be the captain of the Excelon Knights spoke. It wasn’t Captain Welch. The man’s name was Victor, and he seemed to be the young knight’s mentor. Victor treated the young knight as though he were his son or younger brother.
The young man glanced at Bading.
‘None.’
Bading couldn’t reply. He never found out who those two men were beyond Welch. He never discovered Victor’s role within the Excelon Knights or who the young knight accompanying him was. He only knew one thing about them: they belonged to the Excelon First Knights.
Bading never forgot the day he met those two men.
‘My name is Bading. In the land of Camort, there is no one who can defeat me.’
He’d been unable to say those words to the two men that day, and that regret had stayed with him for a decade. Now, things were different. Even if that young knight had grown stronger, Bading felt he could make that declaration. That’s what he thought—until he parried the sword of Latilda’s knight, and his confidence shattered once again.
‘Why are there so many above me?’
Bading parried the incoming blade and thrust his own sword sideways. His opponent stepped back and took another swing, but Bading dodged it by tilting his head backward.
Bading touched his neck while maintaining some distance between them. A thin line of blood was visible. The first attack had been so fierce that it felt like it could snap his sword in half. A powerful assault, reminiscent of the young swordsman who had shattered his confidence a decade ago. But it was the seemingly casual second swing that had almost ended his life.
The attack was chillingly smooth.
His opponent stepped back briefly before lunging again with his sword. Bading dodged and counterattacked, but the retaliation failed, leaving a cut on his cheek.
“Captain!”
Biang stood beside Bading.
“Now is not the time for a duel. We need to apprehend the criminal.”
His loyal subordinates also stepped forward.
“We’ll assist you, Captain.”
Bading took a deep breath while observing his opponent. The man seemed to be waiting, unperturbed by the arrival of Bading’s reinforcements.
‘Could it be? The gods have given me another chance.’
A peculiar thrill overcame Bading.
“Biang, haven’t I told you before? My wish is to die in the best duel against the best swordsman.”
Biang responded incredulously.
“Captain, even if that’s your wish, now is not the time.”
“When is the time then? We only realize the peak moments of our life when they’ve passed. I can’t afford to miss this moment.”
“But, Captain, claiming that he’s the best is absurd. Look at his shoddy—”
“Since when does being the best swordsman mean holding a magical sword and growing a beard down to your chest?”
Bading now felt a sense of euphoria, forgetting even his fears.
He raised his voice, “To convince my subordinates. After this fight, even if I die, they will treat you with the highest respect. I ask you this for that promise. Who are you? It doesn’t matter if you’re a mercenary or a knight from a nameless house, just answer truthfully.”
Joyfully waiting for the answer, Bading shouted once more.
“My name is Bading. Who are you?”
“I am…”
The man paused briefly before replying.
“I am a White Wolf of the Aranthia Wolf Knights. That’s all I can tell you.”
The Black Lion Knights, including Biang, looked shocked, but Bading grinned as if he had expected this answer.
“So, you’re the real Captain of the White Wolves, aren’t you? Not a pretender.”
“Don’t call me by that title. I’ve long stepped down from that role,” the man said with a bitter tone.
Bading nodded.
“Understood. What’s in a name anyway?”
Turning to his men, Bading commanded, “Listen up, everyone. I will fight this duel alone. Do not intervene. This is a formal duel between knights. Even if I lose, do not attack him. And Biang—”
He whispered something in Biang’s ear.
“Remember the promise. If I die, you know what to do.”
“Focus on your fight, Captain.”
“Thank you, Biang.”
Without wasting any more time, Bading charged. The man defended and counterattacked, but Bading deflected each blow, swinging his heavy sword with finesse. Sparks flew whenever the blades met.
“Hold on a moment.”
In the middle of the duel, Bading suddenly stopped and threw aside his chest armor. Changing his stance, he lunged again, this time at a speed incomparable to before.
The clashing of swords accelerated, broken pieces of stone scattering from where they stood. The stagnant dawn air was heavily disturbed. However, facing the fast blade of the White Wolf, whose counterattack could come at any moment, Bading’s concentration wavered. Mentally exhausted, he got too eager to finish the duel and swung his double-handed sword with reckless abandon. His opponent didn’t miss this opening. Striking Bading’s wrist, he disarmed him.
He aimed his sword at Bading’s throat, and Bading raised his hands in surrender. Yet his eyes remained defiant, locked onto the Wolf Knight before him. He could have killed Bading right there but chose not to.
“I didn’t do my best. Let’s go again.”
The Wolf Knight stepped back and said.
“There’s no need for pity.”
Bading retorted, his voice tinged with anger.
The knight replied, also in a heated tone.
“If you die from an attack like that, wouldn’t it make the White Wolves look bad? Pick up your sword again. You haven’t reached your limit yet.”
Bading broke into a grin.
“Thanks for that.”
Once more their swords clashed in the darkness. Neither let their attacks go astray; every strike aimed for a weak point. Each blow was almost too fast to see.
Biang, watching, felt a sorrow that such a monumental duel between two great knights had only three witnesses. Unknowingly, tears flowed down her cheeks. She didn’t even blink, not wanting to miss a moment. And the deciding moment came suddenly.
The White Wolf’s blade had pierced through Bading’s abdomen. Dropping his sword, Bading sank to his knees.
The cold dawn air settled again. The Wolf Knight withdrew the sword that had pierced Bading’s belly and stepped back. The fight was over, and a prolonged silence followed. The first to speak was Bading, impaled on the blade.
“Take my horse and invoke my name. No one will stop you until you escape from Leang.”
With a grunt of pain, Bading grabbed the blade buried in his abdomen and pulled it out himself. A muted groan escaped his lips, but that was the end of it. Offering his own bloodied sword to his opponent like a gift, he asked,
“How did my swordsmanship look to you?”
The Wolf Knight responded,
“You were a fingernail’s length short.”
“I’m not quite sure how much that is,” Bading chuckled.
“Neither do I,” the Wolf Knight admitted.
“It’s over now. Go, Wolf Knight.”
He nodded at Bading and retreated, climbing onto Bading’s black horse reputed to be the fastest in the Kingdom of Camort. Initially, the horse resisted a stranger’s command, but soon calmed as Bading spoke softly to it.
The horse carrying the White Wolf started to walk slowly towards the city gates.
Bading watched the retreating figure until he collapsed backward. Biang rushed to his side.
“Captain Bading!”
Bading looked up at his kneeling subordinates surrounding him.
“Biang, if it’s not too sentimental a last request, I would like you to scatter my ashes in the same lake where you scattered the Duke of Sheffield’s ashes. Can you make up for the duty you couldn’t fulfill when I was alive?”
“Yes, Captain Bading.”
“Don’t be too sad. I dueled with the strongest among the White Wolves; what regret could I possibly have?”
Biang gritted her teeth as she replied,
“Whether it’s a White Wolf or whatever, the true knight in my eyes is you, Captain Bading.”
Biang drew her sword and knelt before him. The other knights also drew their swords and knelt before Bading. When they looked up again, Bading had already drawn his last breath. A muffled sob broke from Biang.
☆ ☆ ☆
By the time Count Lumerier arrived with his troops, it was already morning.
At first, he was shocked to see the streets littered with flesh. It took him a moment to realize that his second son was among the casualties. After losing his youngest and now his second, Count Lumerier was beside himself. But what truly incensed him was finding Bading’s lifeless body.
“Bading is dead? What on earth happened here?”
“He lost in a duel that was a matter of knightly honor,” Biang replied, her voice subdued. But the Count wasn’t convinced.
“Who would dare to challenge Bading in Leang? What were you all doing?”
Initially choked up, Biang regained her composure.
“It was Captain Bading’s last wish. We had no choice but to abide by his orders and watch the duel unfold.”
“Nonsense! Who killed Bading?”
“It was one of the White Wolves,” Biang replied.
“Who did you say it was?”
“He didn’t give a name. He just said…”
Biang couldn’t fully explain the exchange to the agitated Count.
“He said he’s the Captain of the White Wolves.”
Count Lumerier clenched his fist and trembled.
“I see.”
The one reporting from behind added,
“It seems the same person set fire to Leang and kidnapped the Red Rose Count’s daughter. We also found Sir Jacques…”
The voice trailed off as they mentioned discovering Jacques among the battered corpses. The Count didn’t even acknowledge the information.
“How can Captain Wolf be here when he’s supposed to be in Normant?”
One of the commanders responsible for the outskirts of Leang finally spoke up.
“I’m not sure if it’s the right time to say this, but there’s no Captain Wolf in Normant right now.”
“What did you say?”
“According to our spy, Captain Wolf has been missing from Normant for about four days. A raven brought us a message yesterday. Considering he was found missing two days ago, he might have left before that.”
Filled with rage, Count Lumerier glared at Bading’s corpse before walking toward the mansion.
“Commander, what’s the status of our remaining forces?”
“Five thousand are currently in Leang, and another five thousand are regrouping on the Drupho Plains. Captain Bading was planning to occupy Normant next, so he had already—”
“Of course. As long as we hold Latilda, Varda will not dare to make a move. We’ll get to the king… a brilliant strategy.”
The Count’s voice was gradually becoming more animated. Biang quietly left the area without him even noticing; he probably didn’t care.
“All troops advance to Normant.”
The Count commanded.
The Commander was shocked, “You’re leaving Leang undefended?”
“It doesn’t matter. If they counter-attack and take Leang, then my next fief will be Normant.”
The Count spoke with a look in his eyes that suggested beheading for disobedience.
The Commander bowed his head immediately, “Yes, My Lord.”
All the commanders, knights, and soldiers retreated. As the Count returned to his lonely mansion, he mumbled to himself in the empty surroundings.
“That’s right. This is who I’ve always been. I wasn’t myself when I was grieving over the loss of a son!”
His boiling voice was accompanied by a ragged breath.
“Captain Kassel, even if it means going to war with Aranthia, I will make you kneel before me and cut off your head.”
–TL Notes–
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