Gerald was assigned to guard the castle’s back door. If Sheyden provoked from the front, naturally the troops would flock towards the back of the castle. At the right moment, if he flung the door wide open, the events currently unfolding at the front gate would be replicated. The enemies would be greatly taken aback, and if luck was on their side, they might even retreat.
It was an incredibly reckless plan. But Gerald felt it was worth a shot.
“Well, this is it.”
Gerald didn’t make it to the castle’s back door. He halted in a spacious courtyard on the way. There, blocking his path, were twelve individuals who shouldn’t, by any logic, have been there. Coincidentally, all twelve seemed just as surprised to see Gerald blocking theirs.
Gerald stood with his ax at his side, folding his arms.
“I won’t ask how you got in because it doesn’t seem like you’d answer anyway. Why are you here, Linke? Unless it’s too rude to ask!”
The knights in red armor stared at Gerald expressionlessly, ready to attack on their captain’s command.
Standing in the front, Linke lightly tapped the hilt of his sword at his waist.
“I’ll tell you if you promise to keep it a secret, my dear friend.”
“Ah, sounds like a death wish to me. Well, I’ll keep your secret. Not sure if everyone else will, though.”
“We came to kill the king.”
“Not to kidnap?”
“To kill.”
“Isn’t bringing twelve of you a bit excessive for an assassination?”
“We prefer it loud.”
“Is this the will of the Red Rose Count?”
“No, this is our intention. Because he’s dead.”
Gerald tilted his head in surprise.
“Then what’s with the army outside? Whose command are they under?”
“Under no one’s command. If anything, they follow the command of the Count’s specter.”
“That specter would be you?”
Linke didn’t deny it.
“You find this funny?”
Gerald continued with a stern face.
“Why bring an entire army for a mere king’s assassination? Care to redefine assassination for me?”
“I never said assassination. I said we came to kill.”
“What’s the difference?”
As Gerald gasped in surprise, Linke signaled with his hand. In unison, the eleven knights raised their swords and shields. Gerald unfolded his arms and stepped back a few paces, groaning.
“Would you consider showing some mercy? If you all, more than five, then it’s a bit…”
“A bit what? Cowardly, Gerald?”
For some reason, Linke gave a bitter smile. Gerald grasped his ax with both hands and lowered his stance.
“Wait, why don’t you have the scar on your face from when I got you last time?”
Ignoring the question, Linke commanded his subordinates.
“He’s not an opponent we can beat without sacrifices. Four of you, take a hit from his ax. That’ll create an opening.”
Gerald’s eyes widened in shock. Linke continued in his cold tone.
“Since I exposed the strategy, we’re even now, right?”
At Linke’s cue to draw his sword, the eleven knights charged simultaneously. Each one possessed combat skills rare even in the kingdom of Camort.
In no time, they had Gerald surrounded. Gerald swiftly moved back, trying not to get encircled, but the rapid encirclement left him with no escape.
‘They’ve been trained to focus their attack on one individual.’
This was a tactic typically employed by mercenaries. Knights who had risen through formal channels weren’t skilled in fighting against multiple opponents. However, these fellows seamlessly surrounded Gerald while maintaining enough distance to avoid clashing with each other’s swords.
It was as if they were a single entity with twenty-two arms and eleven split bodies. With synchronization at this level, it wasn’t just a multi-man brawl.
Axes and spears clashed. From left and right, blades flew toward their target. But just as one blade was blocked, another weapon lunged from behind, seeking its mark. With every such attempt, Gerald countered with bold swings of his axe, causing his adversaries to fall back.
Linke was not among those who had encircled him. From the start, Gerald had regarded Linke as his primary target, yet the man had positioned himself considerably behind the fray.
Suddenly, Gerald halted, momentarily disrupting the flow of the skirmish. The knights from the Twelve Thorns hesitated, but their composure quickly returned. But for Gerald, that split second was ample. Like an arrow, he sprang forward, swinging his axe at the man directly in front of him. Two others tried to thrust their spears from the sides, but by then, Gerald had already moved past them. As a head flew, Gerald managed to break free from the enclosing circle.
The knights regrouped without showing any sign of panic, quickly reforming their encirclement. Gerald took steps backward, trying not to be ensnared again.
‘They won’t let me escape the same way again. If they corner me, it’s over.’
One knight lunged from behind. Only by the sound of the steps did Gerald discern the attacker’s location, swinging his axe toward the neck. But pausing even briefly came at a cost; a blade slashed across his chest, and a spear grazed his shoulder.
Leaping backward, Gerald felt the wall pressing against his back.
‘Trapped again. Need a new plan.’
Still, Gerald mumbled to himself in a habitual tone, “Two.”
Hearing him, Linke responded, “How high can you count?”
“Obviously, up to twelve.”
“You already look exhausted.”
Gerald held his axe upright and took a deep breath. He even closed his eyes momentarily. Showing such an evident vulnerability, the nine surrounding him couldn’t bring themselves to attack. They saw no need to strike first, given their perfect encirclement. And so, Gerald too remained stationary.
“Linke, remember when I told you that your skills hadn’t improved at all?”
Linke didn’t respond verbally but signaled. Simultaneously, all nine unsheathed their swords.
Charging forward, Gerald broke through the center of the encirclement, causing two knights to collapse, their flanks exposed.
Now, Gerald stood before Linke.
Slowly, with a stoic expression, Linke leaned toward Gerald, “What do you want to say, boy?”
“That was a mistake. It’s not that you haven’t gotten better, but that I’ve improved too much.”
Twirling his axe with one hand, Gerald smirked, “I’m not the Gerald you knew. I’m Gerald Wolf of the White Wolves.”
The remaining seven knights, unfazed even after witnessing the fall of their comrades, showed no intention of retreating.
Ignoring the other knights, Gerald lunged at Linke. Linke blocked the first strike but couldn’t parry the second. His right arm, severed, sprayed blood, flying aimlessly. Gerald, after a swift kick that knocked Linke off balance, raised his axe and brought it down hard, breaking three spears aimed at him.
As the circle tightened, Gerald didn’t flinch. The fifth knight lost his head, and the sixth, his right leg. The axe in Gerald’s hand, swinging like a whip, seemed to extend indefinitely, making it impossible to gauge its range.
The seventh knight, an axe embedded in his chest, tried to retaliate, only to be met with a punch from Gerald that broke his nose.
In moments, the blue courtyard was drenched in blood. The walls stained with the abstract art of scarlet splatters, as the eighth knight collapsed, impaled by his own spear.
The ninth knight, wielding a massive sword, was identified by Gerald as Kravzic through the shouted names.
‘He’s almost on par with Linke.’
Facing Kravzic’s relentless blows, Gerald felt his arm muscles tense to the point of cramping. Yet, ultimately, Kravzic’s black blade met its end, and with the tenth knight, another life was taken.
Gasping for breath, Gerald glared at the eleventh knight. Even after witnessing the annihilation of his peers, this knight stood firm, silently extending his blade, fear absent from his gaze.
‘How odd…’
Gerald scanned his surroundings. The only ones still standing were the eleventh man and Linke, who clutched his severed arm. There were others still breathing, but their conditions rendered them unfit for further combat. Many were critically injured, teetering on the edge of death.
“Cowardice, huh?”
Linke’s body trembled as he hung his head.
“Damn you, did you call me a coward? After what you did, you dare call us cowards?”
A bitter smile mixed with pain shone in Linke’s half-opened eyes.
“The coward is you!”
Blood dripped from Linke’s lips as he shouted.
“Do you know how many mercenaries despaired watching you, always a step ahead, even if they trained with all their might? But I thought, at least, I had a position from which I could defeat you. I just needed to distance myself from you, train elsewhere, more rigorously.”
Linke coughed up blood but continued undeterred.
“I wanted to return as a warrior who surpassed those monsters I saw in my youth, one that would leave everyone in awe…”
Blood streaming down his forehead got into Gerald’s eye, making him wince. It wasn’t Gerald’s blood. It was the blood that had splattered from a throat he’d cut earlier. While there was blood oozing from wounds on his arm and chest, most of the blood soaking him wasn’t his. Still, his vision began to blur as if he was losing a lot of blood.
‘What’s happening?’
Gerald tried to clear the blood from his eyes, but his vision remained dim. Linke’s eerie voice continued as he neared death.
“You were my ultimate goal. I thought that by defeating you, I’d achieve that. But then I encountered you again in Carnelock, another monster that left me defeated!”
“Don’t joke, boy. There are many out there stronger than me. I earned my abilities with several times the effort you put into training…”
“Enough!”
Linke spat blood and shouted.
“You don’t know. That monster, just because I had a bounty on my head for killing one village woman, hunted me down. Do you know how it feels to be hunted, not in a duel, but truly pursued? If it had been a fair fight, I would’ve probably been evenly matched or even weaker. Yet, I fled in terror.”
Linke looked down at the hand dripping with blood from where he clutched his severed arm. His voice choked with emotion.
“I was chased away, disgracefully, by that young hunter. I rode for half a day, fleeing from him.”
Holding his frayed arm, Linke let out a chilling laugh. Blood flowed through the gaps between his fingers.
“Do you understand what I mean, Gerald? Even though I’m still ready to challenge the renowned White Wolf, I can’t muster the courage to face that young man who humiliated me years ago. That’s true despair. That’s my limit.”
Linke’s voice grew stronger, no longer stuttering.
“Someone helped me then. The Red Rose Count. He gave me an arm and power, nearly two to three times stronger than before. I thought that with that strength, whether it was the Dragon Knights or the Wolf Knights, it wouldn’t matter. But that wasn’t the case. Not long ago, I was defeated again, by your friend.”
“Friend?”
“Yes, the one with the spear, in front of the cathedral.”
Gerald gritted his teeth. Beyond his still-dim vision, he could see a headless figure and another without legs staggering to their feet. Corpses were rising, blood gushing from their thick, severed neck veins.
“This fellow you haven’t killed yet, his name is Drupo.”
The eleventh knight introduced by Linke held a massive halberd. He showed off his right hand and said,
“This arm you once took from me was returned by your captain. Convey my gratitude to him.”
Everywhere in the garden, the Thorns Knights who had fallen began to rise. Linke held up a silver necklace and said, kissing it.
“The Count always said that after his death, he wanted his daughter to be protected by the twelve priests. But now that both are dead, we have nothing left to serve. It means the shackles binding us have disappeared.”
Linke took a long blow on the horn hanging from his waist. At first, it sounded like an ordinary horn, but gradually it morphed into a grating, unpleasant noise that tore at the ears.
A dark mist began to fill the surroundings. The garden, which should have been filled with a hue of green, quickly darkened like the night, and the trees lost their vitality, drooping lifelessly.
Drupo’s armor was the first to absorb the darkness, resembling a white cloth soaked in paint. The severed neck bounced like a ball, returning and attaching itself to the head of the headless knight. It was a scene they had witnessed before, and they assumed the walls had been easily overcome this time too.
“Linke, is this your idea of becoming stronger?”
Gerald asked.
“I guess someone like you would never understand.”
Linke’s body too gradually turned dark, transforming into the figure of a black knight.
“Now come, Gerald. It’s twelve against one once again.”
Initially, his words were understandable, but as he spoke, they morphed into an eerie noise indistinguishable as speech. The twelve black knights, having restored their broken bodies, approached Gerald, surrounding him.
☆ ☆ ☆
At the sound of the enemies’ shouts shaking the entire fortress, Azwin couldn’t help but rise from her bed. Just standing straight was enough to bring tears to her eyes due to the pain.
She threw off her pajamas and began dressing in the garments laid out one by one. She put on a leather vest and fastened a thick belt which held a sword, it was so heavy that her knees wobbled.
Normally, she would also wear protective gear on her shoulders and wrists, but she couldn’t manage to put it all on. It was too heavy. She barely managed to extend the straps of her shield to hang it on her back. Unwilling sounds of pain escaped her lips every time the bandages grazed against her clothes.
“Seems like I was quite injured, huh?”
Azwin energetically shouted as she stepped into the corridor but couldn’t walk more than a few steps before she had to support herself against the wall.
“I’m fine. This much won’t break me.”
She muttered breathlessly.
Just then, a dreadful horn sound reached her ears, a sound that seemed to tear at her back’s wounds anew. She shuddered, unwelcome, horrifying memories resurfacing.
‘I can’t avoid it. I am a White Wolf. I have to be the legendary knight who blows away all the fears in the world with strength.’
The sound came from the garden on the path behind the castle’s back gate. Azwin turned in that direction.
Stumbling and getting back up repeatedly, Azwin continued to walk. Blood filled her mouth. Blood flowed from her torn wound down her waist. Each step she took, a “clank” sound resonated as her heel hit the floor. Looking back, she noticed a trail of bloody footprints she had been leaving unknowingly.
‘Ah, seems the wound has torn open again.’
Azwin stopped walking. Seeing the red chunks of flesh, all her courage collapsed at once. Eventually, she stopped right in front of the door leading to the garden.
‘Are you scared? Just from this, you are scared?’
Azwin had never lost courage when facing a formidable enemy. A defeat would only ignite her fighting spirit. Only her one-armed swordsman master from her childhood had taught her what fear was. Since then, she had never felt fear in her swordsmanship, always victorious, and always knowing she would win.
‘I am a woman who is afraid of nothing!’
Azwin bit her lip gently, her hand still on the doorknob.
‘No, that’s not true.’
There was an existence that had thrown her into fear. The first murderer she had killed as a bounty hunter. He rolled a woman’s severed head towards her, giggling and laughing. He haunted her dreams, terrifying her and cutting her throat.
In the nightmare, Azwin reverted back to a ten-year-old child who knew nothing of swordsmanship, helplessly violated by the man’s hands.
‘Come to think of it, when did I stop having that nightmare?’
The man used to make her tremble with fear at the slightest touch, but at some point, the nightmares ceased. The dread she once lost was rekindled upon meeting the Black Knight, but the nightmares never returned.
‘Ah, I see.’
Her trembling hands came to a halt.
‘It wasn’t the defeat I feared. It wasn’t the nightmares I was scared of. It was the idea of returning to my old, frail, and frightened self that terrified me.’
Azwin reached for the door handle, but just then, a man’s voice echoed from behind.
“If you leave now, you will die.”
A middle-aged man with neatly tied long blond hair approached from the corridor. He appeared as a traveler, shouldering a large backpack and donning ragged clothes. He adjusted his backpack with a relaxed smile.
“Who are you?”
Azwin widened her eyes in surprise.
“The one who sneaked into the castle last night and hid in the kitchen till this morning. And now, I am here, chasing the strange horn sound. I have been tracking that Black Knight for months, no, years. I found him again in Normant. What’s your name?”
“My name is Azwin.”
Azwin shifted, pressing her sore back against the wall. She assumed a stance, preparing for a possible fight. However, an ominous feeling washed over her, as if she wouldn’t stand a chance against this man, especially in her current condition.
“So, Azwin Wolf, correct? Then the knight guarding the castle gate now is Sheyden, and the one outside confronting the Black Knights is Gerald?”
Anyone in the royal palace who listened even briefly could gather such names, so she wasn’t surprised.
“I don’t know who you are or why you’re intervening, but I don’t have time for introductions.”
“Even if it means death?”
For whatever reason, his tone sounded mocking to Azwin. In a fit of anger, she reached for her sword. However, he drew his blade faster, placing it against Azwin’s throat. Without a hint of malice or a change in expression, she was frozen by his sudden attack.
“Look here. If you can’t even counter such a simple move, what do you plan on doing out there? Serve as a shield? That would be suicide.”
Azwin couldn’t respond. The man revealed a pouch from beneath his clothing. It appeared so full that it seemed like adding even a single acorn would make it burst.
“Here, a magic powder that can revive the dead. I’ve saved it for a truly critical moment for over ten years. However, if you answer my question correctly, I’ll give you half of this powder.”
“If I use that, can I rise and fight?”
“Yes.”
He paused, savoring the moment.
“Well, probably. Most likely. I’ve never actually used it.”
“Then give it to me.”
Azwin reached out to snatch it, but he swiftly pulled his hand back.
“No, no. Not so fast. I want to know if you’re worth using this powder I’ve saved for a decade. Answer me, Azwin.”
He asked, testing her with his eyes.
“What is your fang?”
Instantly, Azwin recalled the fifty or so sword techniques she mastered. Among them were skills that even surpassed the boasted techniques of Master Loyal. Yet, she couldn’t provide an answer that fit his question.
The man fidgeted with the pouch around his neck.
“Who can survive after seeing your fang? Right now, outside, it’s all twelve of the Black Knights. Including me! So, it can’t be. Only the White Wolf should be able to survive after seeing the fang of the White Wolf.”
The fierce look in his eyes reminded her of the one-armed warrior she once revered as a master. She even wondered if this could be her master in a different form.
“Tell me. What is your fang, Azwin?”
“My fang is…”
‘Why didn’t I have nightmares? Why didn’t that terrifying monster, the memory of which resurfaced upon encountering the Black Knight before arriving in Normant, continue to haunt me? Why was I always so unchanging?’
“My fang is…”
‘Even just now, I jumped out of bed, ready to fight despite the pain. I didn’t want to succumb to fear. And for my friends who are fighting alone outside!’
Azwin swiftly grabbed the wrist of the man who was clutching his pouch.
“I won’t answer.”
The knife he held was already caught in her grip.
“The moment I respond, the only ones who can remain alive are my friends. Isn’t that right, nameless Wolf Knight?”
With that, Azwin forcefully shoved the man backward. Stumbling, he retreated a few steps. Azwin spoke with a thin smile.
“I don’t need your magic powder.”
“But you could die,” the man said nonchalantly.
“I won’t die. Until now, I’ve instinctively tried to protect myself. But in actual combat, it’s different. I can forget. Then it doesn’t hurt. I won’t die.”
“What kind of foolish logic is that?”
“I always become foolish in battle.”
Before he could reply, Azwin had already left for the garden.
“Hmm, she seems lighter than earlier,” the man noted, shrugging his shoulders.
☆ ☆ ☆
“Do you hate blood, or is this the first time you’ve killed someone?
Captain Greenlich approached Sheyden, who had been washing off blood for an hour.
‘Both.’
Sheyden replied tersely. Greenlich, with a somber look, placed a hand on Sheyden’s wet shoulder.
‘Do you believe in God?’
‘My mother was a devout believer, so I naturally became one.’
‘Then pray to Him.’
‘No reason justifies taking a life. I can’t be forgiven for that. Thus, I cannot pray to God.’
‘Then your religious views need to change. Change your prayer. God isn’t as narrow-minded as humans. What about this: “Do not forgive the sins I’ve committed today.” How’s that sound?’
Sheyden frowned, “If my mother heard that prayer, she would have kicked your behind immediately.”
Greenlich laughed heartily.
“Sheyden, I’ve been watching you. That impressive skill, that potential; in just a year of training, you’ve surpassed the official knights of the royal guard.”
“But I always lose to you, don’t I?”
“Sorry, but I’m the best.”
Greenlich chuckled again.
“What’s important is your future path. You can reach even greater heights. But not here. You need to learn knighthood, master court etiquette, and gain other experiences outside of swordsmanship. At best, it’ll take three years. It’s a valuable education, but for a prodigy like you, it might seem a waste.”
“What should I do then?”
“Go to Aranthia. If you hate blood, go to a place where there’s no war!”
Sheyden’s spear and the arms that held it were drenched as if they had been soaked in blood. Arrows stuck out of his shield like quills on a porcupine. At his feet lay slashed and stabbed bodies, and dozens of soldiers were piled beneath the bridge.
The enemy commander continued to order advances, and Sheyden cut down any enemy that entered his range. Sometimes arrows flew, sometimes mounted knights charged. As time went on, they pressed harder, thinking Sheyden was growing weary.
His thighs and biceps ached, his joints groaned. Since wielding his spear, he hadn’t felt this strained, except for the time he first defeated Loyal. But he still had strength left. It wasn’t time to give it his all yet.
Looking up at the sky, Sheyden murmured, “Forgive me not for the number of people I kill today.”
Only moments ago, Gerald had been facing Kravzic, who was a knight. Now, Gerald parried the knight’s broken sword with his axe, retreating several steps. The numbers were the same as before, but comparing then and now was impossible. He had only managed to defeat one Black Knight while taking wounds all over.
Gerald, focused on defense, kept eyeing the knight he’d downed. When black smoke leaked from the knight’s armor, nothing else happened.
‘Thank God. He doesn’t seem to be coming back to life.’
Leaning on his axe, Gerald asked, “Hey, Linke. Can you speak? At least being able to understand would be helpful.”
For a moment, the Black Knights stopped. They all turned their gaze toward Linke.
‘So, they do understand.’
Soon after, Linke reached out, speaking in a voice that sounded like scraping metal.
“Sprek.”
Gerald surmised that he was being prompted to speak.
“You said earlier that it’s better to kill the King with a loud display, right? No matter how much I think about it, I don’t get it. Moreover, didn’t the Red Rose Count die? What’s the reason for attacking this place? What do you gain by doing so? Out of loyalty to the Red Rose Count? For honor?”
Although it was rough, Linke uttered his name.
“Gerald.”
That strange voice overlaid with the usual tone of Linke.
“To you, was it Woodrow?”
“You remember Woodrow?”
“I do remember.”
Gerald responded, hoping to regain a bit of his energy. But it didn’t work. Even if he had regained strength, he didn’t feel confident facing all of them.
“It was an organization crafted to commit heinous deeds and later claim they were the ones to rectify them.”
Soon, only Linke’s voice remained, the monstrous tone faded, though it still echoed ominously.
“When you, the core of the group, left, all the gathered members left too. It became an organization that never really started.”
“Is this an excuse? The name might be childish, but am I insane? Going around killing innocent people.”
“This is the continuation. The existence known as the Black Knights has already become widely recognized throughout the kingdom of Camort. Now it’s time to become the infamous villain who kills the White Wolves and even the King of Camort. The next name will be the Red Viper.”
Linke pounded his armored chest.
“Why attack? I don’t need a grand reason. It’s for money. I was with the Red Rose Count because he had the power to dominate this world, and now that he’s gone, I plan to obtain that power myself.”
“…Kushiejour Ripazrut.” (TL Note: It makes no sense, so I just translated it to the best of my ability.)
The last part reverted to the monstrous language. Gerald stood up after a brief respite. His gaze was not on Linke but on the stairs above the garden.
‘Thankfully, someone’s coming to help.’
“Linke, want to know why you always lose to me? I always conserve some energy, but you never notice. Forgot I had allies?”
Gerald raised his axe.
“And wolves are truly strong when they’re in a pack.”
“Especially when there’s a female in the pack.”
The Black Knights turned their heads simultaneously to where a woman’s voice echoed. From the second-floor corridor overlooking the garden, a woman with long braided hair leaned on the railing. With a nimble move, she jumped down to the garden, letting out a soft grunt upon landing.
‘Oh no, she hasn’t fully recovered from her back injury. Was she too excited?’
Gerald was worried, but Azwin quickly assumed a stance with a sword and shield in her hands, smiling.
“Azwin, embarrassing as it is, I’ve been eagerly waiting for you.”
Gerald held his axe high. Azwin lifted her shield.
“Not too tired?”
“I saved some strength knowing you’d come. How’s the injury?”
“Don’t worry about it. Think about it later.”
“Good. After this fight, I want to retire so badly from the injuries.”
“Sounds nice. How about we, two injured ones, build a little hut and live peacefully together?”
Azwin proposed, and Gerald grinned.
“Is that heaven?”
“Heaven sounds good. Alright, let’s go. Third formation.”
“But we need Loyal for that.”
“I guess it’s time to pay for my rest. I’ll take Loyal’s part too.”
Azwin charged into the midst of the Black Knights. Gerald also sprinted towards her from the opposite side. The Black Knights’ relentless assault continued until the two met. An axe scratched the garden floor, a blade brushed past Azwin’s hair. Gerald, weary, lagged a bit behind, but Azwin’s slightly slower pace made the timing perfect. Back-to-back, they circled, swinging their weapons.
Swords and spears pierced towards them, but every attack was blocked by Azwin’s shield. Immediately after her shield deflected the attacks, Gerald’s axe flew, cutting down two knights. They both separated instantaneously and ran, drawing a large arc. Due to continuously facing only Gerald, the Black Knights couldn’t keep up with the sudden movements of the two.
As Gerald lunged inside the guard of a sword-swinging Black Knight, he slashed through the armor, cutting the knight’s waist, and then remarked,
“Azwin, do you have any idea how much I’ve wanted to show these guys just how formidable the White Wolves are when you’re with them?”
Azwin kicked a Black Knight’s helmet and leaped into the air, slashing her sword from side to side as she descended. Blood spurted, following the arch of her twirling hair, painting the scene as if from an artwork. The two Black Knights, trying to attack her in mid-air by crossing their spears, had their necks sliced. Black smoke dispersed in every direction.
“You’ve been injured on your back…”
Gerald began with a hint of surprise.
“No chatter during combat! Switch to Formation 7.”
Azwin commanded. Standing in line with Gerald, she attacked Linke. Linke roared as he blocked both their strikes, then swung his sword to the left. However, by the time Linke realized, Azwin had already cut through his left leg, and Gerald had slashed through his side.
“Formation 12!”
Azwin shouted.
Moving with unpredictable agility like entwined snakes, the two tore through the ranks of the Black Knights. In the chaos, some knights even mistakenly attacked their own comrades. Although these knights seemed almost immortal, moving even with severed arms and cut necks, they stood no chance in front of Gerald’s axe that thoroughly shattered their armor.
“How many left?”
Azwin asked after briefly closing and reopening her eyes.
“One.”
Only three shadows stood in the royal garden as dusk approached.
“Then, end the formation.”
The last one was Linke. Or at least, what was once known as Linke.
Linke, bleeding black smoke from his side and leg, knelt. Gerald approached confidently. Suddenly, Linke rose, swinging his sword with might.
Anticipating the move, Gerald sidestepped and swung his axe down onto Linke’s head. The empty armor, from which black smoke escaped, collapsed with a clang.
“Even if it’s a sword made by Lergo, it’s quite worn out after fighting these monsters.”
Azwin remarked, inspecting her blade before sheathing it.
Gerald checked his axe blade. It felt more like striking with a lump of iron rather than cutting with an edge now. The blade had turned blunt.
“We need to preserve enough to fight alongside Sheyden, right?”
“Will these not come back to life? Like that time.”
Azwin questioned.
“There’s no chance. The Red Rose Count is dead.”
“Huh? What does the Count have to do with it?”
“Ah, you wouldn’t know. These were the Twelve Thorns. We’ll talk more later. For now, we need to join Sheyden.”
Gerald reached out his hand to Azwin. She smiled and reached out in return.
“I don’t want to go.”
“Why?”
“My legs won’t move.”
Azwin couldn’t grasp Gerald’s hand and slowly knelt. Gerald rushed to her, trying to support her fall. But he too, couldn’t handle her weight and fell with her.
“Hmm, seems I’m in the same boat.”
Resting on Gerald’s neck, Azwin heaved heavy breaths.
“I don’t feel pain in my back anymore. But isn’t this a bad sign?”
Azwin murmured with her eyes closed.
“Probably. Near the end, my left arm wouldn’t move. Felt like my muscles were torn apart. I was shocked when you called for Formation 7 in that situation.”
Gerald, placing down his axe, gently cradled Azwin’s blood-streaked back.
“You pushed yourself, Azwin. What if you never stand again?”
“It’s fine. If that happens, you’ll take care of me for life, right? Remember the promise from earlier? That you wouldn’t die before me?”
Azwin replied with a smile. Gerald laughed in response.
“Do you believe that? It’s touching that you do.”
Azwin weakly asked as her consciousness slowly faded.
“Gerald, I’ve always wondered, what’s your fang?”
“My fang? Well…”
“Mine is…”
Both Gerald and Azwin answered simultaneously. But neither heard the other’s response as they passed out.
The man who had overheard their exchange had entered the garden to aid in the fight. However, he had only drawn his sword, unable to join the fray.
“In my day, we had no such cooperative attacks. Impressive. They’ve made it so I couldn’t even intervene!”
He opened a pouch around his neck, sprinkling a substance over Gerald and Azwin’s heads. It glittered like crushed diamonds as it descended onto their heads and shoulders. A brilliant white light enveloped the two.
“These kids are a step above us. Right, Quain?”
He watched over the two transformed white wolves, smiling contentedly.
☆ ☆ ☆
The King of Camort stood atop a tower, overlooking the battlefield, despite his advisers’ objections.
‘How can this be?’
A lone knight stood on the drawbridge, single-handedly fending off the oncoming infantry. Bodies piled up around him, so much so that it became difficult to move, and the bridge was soaked in blood. Beneath the bridge, dozens of bodies had fallen. The forefront of the infantry didn’t even dare to charge anymore.
It was like a quicksand trap, pulling in the oncoming troops. The enemy commander, without a shred of respect for Sheyden who stood alone defending the bridge, kept ordering relentless arrow assaults. They even timed their attacks when their own troops charged. But only their soldiers fell to the arrows; Sheyden stood tall and unyielding.
As one battalion’s assault ended, another heavily armored infantry advanced. But they seemed far less spirited than the first. In battles between armies, even in defeat, there was a chance to survive. But in this scenario, charging meant certain death.
Furthermore, after witnessing their own troops being hit by the earlier arrow barrage, their morale plummeted. Soldiers moved reluctantly, only obeying orders. Again, a battle of one against fifty ensued.
“General Jean Seigey, what am I doing here?”
The young King spoke, his voice cracking. The general, grasping the parapet tightly, remained speechless.
The conflict began with 300 Excelon Knights decimating 2,000 Camort infantrymen, marking the start of the Lontamon continental conquest. For Jean Seigey, it was a painful memory he’d rather forget. And the Wolf Knights, a mere fifty of them, had defeated those 300 from Excelon. The general wanted to smack those who only looked at numbers and kept weighing the odds.
Yet now, one of those numbers, a White Wolf knight, was right before him.
“It’s shameful. Even as a King, I wanted to be the knight at the forefront of the battlefield. Ten years ago, when the knight named Meorix stood alone on that bridge, fighting the Excelon Knights, I hid here. And now, I hide again while a knight from another land fights Camort’s soldiers.”
Jean Seigey couldn’t muster a response.
“How have I become so weak?”
The King lamented, tears streaking down his face. However, he soon gritted his teeth, simply observing the fight. He had to bear witness to all of it, to give the battle the gravity it deserved.
It was then that General Jean Seigey noticed a peculiar change in the soldiers defending the castle. It wasn’t astonishment at the White Wolf’s strength or fear of the endless enemy numbers.
Not long ago, when the Nightmare Knights invaded, they’d only cheered from behind the White Wolves. Now, they were again protected by a White Wolf facing an immense army alone. They were royal guards, trained to dream of being heroes at the forefront just like their king. Yet, their inability to do anything filled them with rage.
They had now forgotten that they lacked the arrows to harm those numerous soldiers, the weapons as well. They forgot the overwhelming difference in numbers, a disparity that exceeded tenfold. Shame had given birth to rage, and rage was forging courage.
It was unclear who had started it. One individual slammed the ground with his spear. Another soldier beside him, in synchrony, beat the ground as well. Thud. Thud. Thud. There were no shouts; they just struck the ground silently.
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
Soon, the rhythmic sound echoed throughout the fortress. Witnessing this, it wasn’t just the common soldiers of the Red Rose Count who were engulfed in terror. The commanders, especially the general Luchi, were equally petrified.
“We should’ve launched a full-scale attack on that bridge from the start…”
It wasn’t the time for such thoughts. Their morale was already at rock bottom. The boiling spirit of the royal soldiers felt palpable, as if it was seeping through the skin.
“Do not be mesmerized by the spectacle before you!”
Luchi shouted at his troops, trying to rally them.
“However intimidating he seems, he is just one enemy. Look, he is exhausted. The enemies are hiding behind the walls because they lack the strength to attack. It’s merely a ruse. We are the proud warriors of the Red Rose…”
His spirited speech was cut off by a sudden stir. Standing on the bridge was not just one figure. Beside the White Wolf, who had dispatched over two hundred soldiers with spear and shield to fall below the bridge, stood a man with an axe slung over his shoulder and a woman with braided hair thrown back.
It was evident that the man with the axe was the White Wolf who had defeated Captain Linke. There was no doubt the woman with the shield was a White Wolf too. The two stood silently beside Sheyden. Without a single word or shout, their imposing presence was beyond the ordinary.
“Don’t be afraid! Three people can’t do much. This is war. Remember, we number five thousand.”
Luchi yelled vehemently.
“Everyone, breach the walls! Abandon the bridge! Tear down the castle! Such a ridiculous tactic won’t work unless it’s a straight line. Brave warriors of the Red Rose Count, we won’t back down here. We came here to win today.”
Retreating from here would leave Luchi with nothing. He had risen to this position at an incredibly fast pace. Thus, he knew if he lost, his fall would be swift. Luchi almost instinctively sensed this. So, sacrificing every soldier here, he had to emerge victorious.
“Everyone, take up your spears and swords. And…”
“Silence.”
Suddenly, Luchi was interrupted by a voice from his side. Someone, cutting through the soldiers, came forward and stood beside him.
Looking down from atop his horse, the man appeared like a rugged mercenary who hadn’t bathed in days. Luchi, for a moment, thought some mad foot soldier had lost his sanity and charged forward.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
The tall, black-haired man glanced up at Luchi on his horse and responded softly, “I’m here to end this battle. Who’s the commander?”
“What did you say?”
For a second, Luchi turned to the other commanders. They too were dumbfounded, at a loss for words. Luchi drew the sword given to him by the Twelve Thorns.
“You dare speak to me like that!”
Luchi swung his sword down at the man. However, the powerful strike was parried by the man’s swift blade. The impact’s shock made Luchi’s hand hurt, causing him to drop his weapon. The other commanders and nearby soldiers immediately drew their swords to protect the general. But the man effortlessly swatted Luchi’s sword away and knocked the other blades out of their hands. Magically, all their weapons floated in the air before crashing to the ground.
The man’s sword now pointed menacingly at Luchi’s throat.
“Are you the commander?”
“You…who are you?” Luchi stammered.
“There are three of them there. I’m the fourth.”
Luchi tried to scream and retreat his horse, but the man sliced off the arm holding the reins.
The blood-soaked commander’s arm flew over the heads of the soldiers and landed in a puddle formed by rain. Luchi screamed in terror and tumbled off his horse.
A man grabbed Luchi by the scruff of his neck and turned to the soldiers attempting to defend their commander, shouting,
“I am Loyal Wolf of the White Wolves! See clearly who you’re fighting against!”
At his declaration, the shocked soldiers swiftly retreated. With the front line retreating, chaos erupted from behind. Loyal, ignoring Luchi’s screams of pain from his severed arm, dragged him along. No one dared to intervene. Instead, the soldiers in Loyal’s path parted, clearing a path for him.
Loyal dumped Luchi somewhere in between the bridge and the army of the Red Rose Count. Then, leaving the writhing Luchi behind, he approached another three individuals on the bridge.
Upon seeing him, Azwin smirked, “Look who’s late but still loud.”
“Sorry. Are you hurt?”
Standing beside Azwin, Loyal examined the bloodied forms of Azwin and Gerald.
“I was nearly killed, but some old man showed off and saved me.”
“Which old man?”
“Well about that…”
As Azwin was about to explain, a distant horn echoed. It came from the north of Normant. A guard on the tower shouted,
“The army of the Black Lion! The Black Lion Knights are advancing towards Normant!”
For a moment, the soldiers of the Red Rose Count stirred restlessly, and soon, the entire army began to retreat. As the approaching army’s war cries closed in on Normant, some soldiers began to desert, causing more chaos.
At that moment, a resounding roar echoed.
“Advance the army!”
From the walls of the fortress, royal soldiers showered arrows. Those holding the backline near the bridge were swept away like a tidal wave. Sheyden, Gerald, Azwin, and Loyal had nothing to do but move aside to let the soldiers rush in.
The army of the Red Rose Count didn’t look back and began their escape.
What seemed like a prolonged battle concluded dramatically by evening.
☆ ☆ ☆
Moving away from the bridge, Loyal looked around, asking,
“Dunmel? Hasn’t he arrived yet?”
Sheyden inquired, “From what you’re saying, you met Dunmel?”
Loyal nodded.
Sheyden continued, “Dunmel hasn’t arrived yet. When did you get here?”
“Just now. I was shocked. I didn’t expect things to have escalated this much.”
They sat down and shared stories of their respective experiences.
As dusk approached, the four watched the Black Lion Count’s carriage and the march of the Black Lion Knights.
“Huh, acting as if he’s some kind of war hero,” Azwin remarked sarcastically.
“He might as well be. After all, it was his army that made the final decision. He probably thinks all the glory is his,” Gerald retorted, stopping mid-sentence and freezing.
The Black Lion Knights were escorting a wooden-barred carriage, and through its gaps, a familiar face was visible. Recognizing it, Sheyden immediately halted the Black Lion Knights. Though the knights pointed their spears, Sheyden demanded,
“Who’s the prisoner inside?”
“Do not approach. He is a major criminal, arrested for the alleged murder of Count Jacques Den Lumerier and an assassination attempt on the Black Lion Count.”
Enraged, Gerald was about to throw his axe, demanding, “Speak clearly. Who’s the criminal?”
Although visibly frightened, the knight replied firmly, “Captain Wolf.”
–TL Notes–
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