Chapter 35

Chapter 35
## Chapter 35

“What exactly am I witnessing?”

Raymond blankly replayed the events of the last seventy-two hours in his mind.

Following his tense meeting with Tristan, Lucian had guided the hired blades toward Greve City.

“I have intelligence suggesting the opposition might launch a feint attack against Greve City. Everyone, gather your gear. We depart immediately!”

The sellswords, most of whom had never laid eyes on a platinum coin, grumbled under their breath but complied without resistance. They had already seen a glimpse of Lucian’s power, and they trusted his purse would open wide if blood was spilled.

Raymond was impressed by the ease with which Lucian managed the rowdy group, but his concern peaked shortly after.

“I will provide specific coordinates for maneuvers if an actual raid begins. Until then, maintain a relaxed watch rotation.”

The instructions weren’t merely flexible; they were dangerously negligent.

Raymond, who had anticipated Lucian would coordinate a sophisticated defense, was baffled. If this was the strategy, why bother hiring the mercenaries at all?

“Third Young Master, even if we aren’t bracing for a grand siege, shouldn’t the perimeter security be tighter than this?”

“I believe I just tightened it.”

“No, I mean a systematic military array. Is the strike not expected in three days?”

In response to Raymond’s concern, Lucian offered a faint, knowing grin.

“These sellswords are fragmented into tiny bands of barely twelve men. Even if I forced them into joint drills now, they wouldn’t find a collective rhythm in time. It is far more effective to set a baseline of rules so they don’t collide during a crisis, rather than creating resentment by forcing cooperation. They will be more effective if they are comfortable.”

“That logic only holds if you can command them on the fly. To my knowledge, you possess zero experience on a live battlefield, Third Young Master.”

“There is a debut for every skill. For me, that moment is simply now.”

Raymond let out a heavy breath at Lucian’s bold claim.

It was undeniable that Lucian always harbored a hidden plan, and he certainly had the grit to see it through. However, leading men on a field where gore and steel collided was a different beast entirely.

*People are not carved idols on a gaming board. Even veteran soldiers who have survived hellish training occasionally falter under pressure. How much more volatile will these mercenaries be?*

Even if a general stood unmoved by death, expecting the common soldier to mirror that stoicism was a fool’s errand.

A battalion’s courage was forged through repetitive drilling, the bond shared with the man to their left, and a fundamental belief in their triumph.

Regrettably, the men under Lucian’s banner possessed none of those traits.

*They have never stood in formation together, they would slit a throat over a copper scrap, and they are blind to the nature of the coming threat. If the line wavers, they will spiral into a self-destructive panic.*

The solitary saving grace was their fear of desertion. The mercenaries understood that if Lucian perished because they fled, Grand Duke Sigmund would hunt them to the ends of the earth and execute them personally.

They were aware of this grim reality; they might lose their nerve, but they wouldn’t run.

*If it descends into madness, I will have to seize control and stabilize the front. This will be a very costly education for the Third Young Master.*

Luckily, the Black Mage seemed unaware that the mercenaries had relocated to Greve City. Since he was likely dispatching monsters to what he perceived as an undefended target, the numbers shouldn’t be insurmountable. As long as the unit didn’t shatter, they could hold.

That was Raymond’s assessment as he stood guard.

“You fools! Stop staring at the sky! Move your legs if you value your skins!”

“I commanded you to close the interval! Do you want a spear in your gut?!”

“Do I need to break your ribs to get you in position?! Reinforce any section that looks thin!”

Contrary to every one of Raymond’s fears, Lucian was darting across the engagement zone, directing the mercenaries with surgical accuracy.

Individually, they were skilled enough, but as a unit, they were a chaotic mess. Yet, Lucian was wielding that mess as if it were an extension of his own body.

The mercenaries, though stunned by the rapid-fire commands, executed every movement perfectly.

*It’s unbelievable. In the heat of a desperate struggle, these hardened criminals are obeying him without a word of protest.*

Hugo, who was fighting in the thick of the ranks, was floored by his master’s mastery. By driving them with relentless energy, Lucian gave them no mental space to hesitate, all while staying at the vanguard to validate his own tactical calls.

Under that level of intensity, the sellswords were simply swept up in their employer’s momentum.

And that wasn’t the end of it.

“Grrrk!”

“O-oh, it’s over the wall…!”

*Squelch!*

“Useless! Keep your blade moving!”

The instant a Gnoll crested the low fortification, Lucian’s blade sang. Once he verified the creature was falling back with a ruined chest, Lucian delivered a stinging blow to the mercenary’s face.

*Slap!*

“Wake up! I told you to stay focused! Do you have a death wish?!”

“I-I apologize…!”

“Shut up and hold! There are no second chances here!”

Having sealed the breach before it could widen, Lucian shoved the man back into the fray. This scene repeated several times. Whenever a point of contact grew precarious, he would appear, intervening with flawless timing to bolster the defense.

He was so efficient that the Black Lions, who had been positioned nearby to act as a fail-safe, found themselves with nothing to do.

*Is he visualizing the entire theater of war? In this mayhem, he knows exactly where the cracks are forming and what remedy is required?*

“Graaaagh!”

“Hup!”

Hugo jumped at the screech of a Kobold leaping toward him and lashed out. The beast, its torso opened, hit the dirt with a final shriek. If his reflexes had been a fraction slower, Hugo would have been the one bleeding.

*I nearly failed just by letting my focus drift for a heartbeat.*

His pulse thundered in his chest. He was no stranger to the violence of the slums, but a true battlefield was chilling. This wasn’t a killing driven by a personal debt or a sudden rage; it was a tempest of slaughter where the singular objective was to erase the life in front of you.

If he didn’t maintain a iron grip on his mind, even Hugo felt the bloodlust would consume him.

“Hugo! Are you still among the living?! You didn’t soil yourself, did you?!”

Suddenly, Lucian’s shout reached him. The pure levity of the question made Hugo bark out an accidental laugh.

“Yes! I’m still standing! I’ve got plenty left in me!”

“Excellent! You’ll be seeing this every day once you earn your spurs as a knight, so get used to the smell now!”

“Hearing you say that, I think I’ve already adjusted!”

“Don’t get overconfident and get killed! Protect your back while you fight like a demon!”

“That’s a bit of a contradiction, isn’t it?!”

“Hahaha!”

Laughter rippled through the mercenaries at the banter. Jarred by the sudden humor, Hugo finally realized the momentum of the skirmish had shifted entirely.

Monsters remained, but the majority were now mounds of carrion; the remaining few could be counted easily. Even those were just instinct-driven brutes throwing themselves at the wall without coordination. The mercenaries, sensing the end, began to finish them off with calm precision.

*Thrust!*

“Grrr…!”

A spear found the neck of the final Gnoll. The twitching beast went still and collapsed onto the heap of dead with a dull thud.

“Phew, phew!”

“Is it… over?”

The sellswords wiped grime and sweat from their faces, looking around in disbelief. After such a frantic cycle of killing, it was hard to accept the silence. Every pair of eyes turned toward their leader, Lucian.

Lucian stood before the men with a grin and raised his voice.

“Men!”

“….”

“Celebrate! This victory belongs to us!”

After a heartbeat of silence, a roar of triumph shook the foundations of Greve City.

—

“Waaaaaaaah!”

Jude, the Black Mage, chewed his thumb till it bled as the cheers drifted over the trees. Where had the plan collapsed? He had come to harvest sacrifices, only to watch every beast he had spent months taming be slaughtered.

His guts twisted with such fury he felt as if an ulcer were tearing through him.

“…Lord Jude, should I release a major strike now?”

“A major strike? Now? Have you lost your mind?!”

Jude snarled at Colin’s idiotic suggestion. It might have served a purpose before the fall of Greve City, but now that the engagement was finished, it was a waste. What was the point of striking the enemy when the opportunity to claim souls was gone?

“Do whatever you want! I’m sure they’d appreciate the fireworks!”

“Is that so? Then I believe I shall.”

*CRACKLE!*

A blinding strobe of light and a sound like a mountain splitting erupted right next to him. Jude gasped, attempting to scream, but the energy traveled faster than his voice.

Simultaneously, a kinetic wave hammered his frame, followed by a localized heat that turned his nerves to ash. It was only after he hit the ground that Jude realized he had been struck.

“G-grk!”

Bloody foam bubbled from his lips instead of a curse. He tried to mentally trigger a counter-spell or move his fingers into a seal, but his limbs were unresponsive. With a final, agonizing effort, he raised his right hand, but it was a nightmare of charred flesh, twitching in a rhythmic spasm.

“‘Do whatever I want.’ That was a refreshingly open-ended directive. So I acted on my own desires, and you’ve been scorched far better than I anticipated.”

“Grrr! Y-you…!”

“You really should have scrutinized the fine print when drafting a pact. When a legal bond is this porous, it’s difficult not to exploit it, even for a man of my character. I trust this serves as a lesson.”

Though, naturally, it was a lesson he wouldn’t live to apply.

Colin looked down with a sneer at the dying Jude. The mage tried to strike back by forcing a gesture with his ruined hand, but it was useless. His scorched lungs could no longer push enough air for a single syllable of power.

After several moments of pathetic twitching, Jude the Black Mage expired, smelling of burnt hair and ozone.

“Tsk. A common Black Mage thinking he could hold my leash.”

Colin spat on the remains and sighed. Once the petty thrill of betrayal faded, he was faced with the grim reality of his situation. Colin had been a pawn of the Black Mage, but the Empire Liberation Front wouldn’t care for the distinction.

“Once they realize I ruined the operation, they’ll group me with this corpse and put a price on my head. Time to find a new roof to hide under.”

He wondered how many times he had become a vagabond now. The research his master had entrusted to him before passing was still unfinished, yet he had no time for study, let alone a permanent laboratory. It was a pathetic way to live.

Mourning his luck, Colin dusted off his dark robes and stood up.

“Waaaah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”

“…Do those idiots never run out of breath? Well, I suppose a win against a horde like that earns them a shout.”

He gave a dry, hollow laugh at the mercenaries’ distant celebration. Sellswords were notoriously incompetent at coordinated warfare unless they were the highest-paid elites. Yet, someone had molded that rabble and broken a monster wave with practically zero casualties.

*Whoever that commander is, he is a rare talent. If I had the choice, I’d seek sanctuary with a man like that.*

Colin shook his head, clearing the thought. He had never encountered anyone who lived up to his standards. In his world, the talented lacked the bloodline, and the high-born lacked the brains.

*The heavens are truly biased. Giving someone that level of tactical genius only to have them rot as a local captain of the guard.*

Pitying the unknown officer, Colin turned and vanished into the depths of the Yellow Forest. He hoped his next stop would provide a slightly more dignified existence.

At the edge of the now-quiet Yellow Forest, only the lightning-scarred remains of the Black Mage marked the spot.

—

“What? Fifteen minor wounds and not a single fatality?”

“Correct. It was a total rout.”

“That’s a physical impossibility…!”

Tristan’s complexion turned a violent shade of red as he crushed the parchment in his fist. Greve City possessed no formidable defenses other than a wall a child could climb. And they had broken a swarm of over a hundred monsters there? Leading a collection of mercenaries who hadn’t even shared a meal together?

“There is a flaw in the intelligence! Even with Lucian, these metrics are absurd!”

“I was skeptical at first as well, but the account was drafted by the Black Lions themselves.”

If the Black Lions had authored the report, it meant a duplicate was already on its way to Grand Duke Sigmund. Unless they were suicidal, they had no incentive to lie about the outcome.

With shaking fingers, Tristan tried to flatten the mangled paper.

—Fifteen minor injuries. Zero deaths. Approximately 140 Gnolls and Kobolds repelled. No civilian casualties; negligible damage to infrastructure.

The more he processed the data, the more his vision blurred. The feat was monumental, and yet there wasn’t a single mention of a mage’s intervention. Lucian had maintained the cover-up perfectly while ensuring no one was lost.

That reality made Tristan feel even more hollow.

*If there was no need for sacrifices, then what was the point of my calculations? The choices I have made until this moment…*

He had convinced himself it was noble to trade the few for the safety of the many. But if the few didn’t need to be traded at all, what did his “noble” choices actually represent? Had he spilled blood needlessly because he lacked the vision to find another way?

“Gaaah!”

“Y-Young Master!”

“First Young Master!”

“I’m fine, stay back!”

Tristan shoved the frantic attendants away and buried his fingers in his hair, pulling hard. He felt as if his skull would shatter if he didn’t focus the internal pressure on physical pain. By the time his hands dropped, a clump of hair drifted to the rug.

“…Organize the departure. We are returning to Kelheim.”

Tristan spoke in a flat, drained tone. The monsters intended for the enemy’s ranks were gone, and the opposition had imploded due to the Black Mage’s treachery. Even if the city-level destructive magic still existed, they lacked the means to deploy it.

Since the threat was neutralized and the justification for the mercenaries was gone, there was no reason for Tristan or Lucian to stay.

*A bitter return.*

He had craved the comfort of home, yet he felt no relief. The moment they stepped back into the estate, the relative standing of Lucian and Tristan would be fundamentally altered. Of course, their ranks wouldn’t flip overnight because of a single border skirmish. However, it was undeniable that Lucian had closed the gap enough to begin hunting for his position.

“It’s terrifying.”

At the cold shiver running down his spine, Tristan instinctively touched the nape of his neck. Without realizing it, his hand came away slick with cold sweat. It was as if his very instincts were screaming that the era when he was the undisputed heir was officially over.