Chapter 109 – War (IV)
"No... this shouldn't be happening."
"It shouldn't be like this..."
"I was chosen by Lord Duke himself to be a Knight!"
Joseph sat atop his horse at the edge of the battlefield, eyes locked in grim horror on the rapid collapse of the Honor Legion. His so-called "soldiers" screamed and howled as they scattered in panic, fleeing before a tide of small but ferociously violent Monsters.
In every dream he’d ever had, he imagined leading a glorious charge, shattering the enemy ranks, earning Duke’s personal commendation, receiving a fief, and becoming a true noble. Even if fate had been crueler, he’d hoped to die heroically in front of witnesses—felled by enemy blades after a valiant stand—his name sung by bards for generations.
But now? He was leading a rabble of "gray livestock" into annihilation, destined to die unseen and meaningless in this wasteland.
"This... shouldn’t happen!"
Joseph’s face hardened with sudden resolve.
As the crowd surged in flight, he spurred his horse upward, leaping against the flow. He trampled men beneath his hooves, slashed through the fleeing, and with one brutal stroke, severed the head of the first deserter.
Holding the bloody head aloft, face smeared in gore, he bellowed with a voice like cracked stone:
"See this?! This is the fate of deserters!
You cowards! You beasts!
Turn around and fight! Fight to the death!"
To the remaining soldiers, he was no longer a commander—he was just another monster, one more threat from behind.
Yet his reckless command had a fleeting effect. The panicked retreat slowed. Faced with the choice between dying on the battlefield or being executed by their own officer, some men found the courage to raise their weapons one last time.
But it was too little, too late.
The wave of Monsters—Goblinoid and Goblin—swallowed them whole. Panic took over. People fled blindly, driven only by instinct.
"Die, you vermin!" Joseph slashed down with his sword, cleaving through a Goblinoid’s neck.
But in an instant, a dozen Goblins swarmed him—leaping onto his horse, clinging to his arms, clawing at his eyes, biting into his face.
CRACK!
He was thrown from the saddle, crashing hard onto the ground.
With a snarl, he ripped the creature from his arm and drove his blade through its skull. His face was a mask of fury, blood dripping from his lips.
"You filthy scum! Die!"
His voice was raw, hoarse, spitting saliva. With a final burst of strength, he twisted violently—sending the clinging Monsters flying.
But before he could rise, more Goblins pounced. Their combined weight, the exhaustion in his limbs—his knees buckled. He fell.
He fought. Again and again.
But each struggle only drew more Monsters. Dozens of them, like a living mountain, piling atop him—pinning him beneath their claws and teeth.
"Die... die..."
His voice faded.
Then silence.
The cries of the Monsters drowned out everything.
And then—nothing.
The battlefield was silent again.
Only a pool of blood, scattered bones, and tattered, shredded uniforms remained.
On the chest of a torn coat, the emblem of the Eagle and Sword—once a symbol of noble pride—was now soaked in crimson.
No one cared.
Even the Goblinoid didn’t bother to pick it up.
It was just another scrap of waste in a field of death.
---
Captain Aiden of the First Regiment of the Northwind Eagle Guard landed his Giant Eagle with a thunderous beat of wings, stepping into the Command Tent with heavy, deliberate strides.
"Lord Baron," he reported, voice low and grave, "the Honor Legion is in full rout.
Approximately six thousand disorganized troops are now fleeing toward our lines."
Robert nodded slowly, his expression calm.
"Less than an hour," he mused. "Just as I predicted. These rabble are only useful as bait—clearing the way for us, reducing unnecessary casualties."
His fingers tapped rhythmically against the table.
"What of the enemy forces?"
"Primarily Goblins and Goblinoid—around twenty thousand. A few Dragon’s Claws among them, but they’re only capable of handling this so-called Honor Legion. They pose no real threat to us."
"Good," Robert said, rising slowly. "It’s time these ignorant, foolish Monsters learn—what true War truly is."
He stepped out of the Command Tent. Aiden and Schneider followed closely behind.
The Eagle’s Claw—men clad in gray hooded cloaks, bearing pikes and shields—formed tight, unbreakable lines, each phalanx a wall of steel and discipline. Their shields bore the engraved feather of the eagle. Five-meter-long spears gleamed like a forest of iron, cold and deadly.
The cavalry stood ready—warhorses snorting, their plate-armored riders poised for charge.
Above, hundreds of Eagle Guards circled in perfect formation, eyes scanning the sky, ever vigilant.
Behind the tent, soldiers heaved forward a massive Ballista Cart, rolling it forward with grunts and strain.
"My soldiers..."
Robert’s voice was quiet—but amplified by magic, it carried to every ear.
"The true War is upon us.
Our enemy is unlike any we’ve faced before. Brutal. Unrelenting. Monsters—Goblins, Goblinoid, Ogres, even Dragons.
They may be strong. Fast. They may breathe fire.
But remember this: behind you are the homes of your families. Your parents. Your wives. Your children. Your friends.
The Red Dragon’s hunger knows no end. But we? We have one duty—to fight back. To make them know our strength.
The Duchy has given us peace for generations. You were raised under Lord Duke’s protection. You were raised in secrecy.
Now, every man of blood and honor who understands gratitude—must answer that debt. Fight to the death for Lord Duke. Fight to the death for the Duchy of Lakanman!"
"For the Duke!"
"For the Duchy of Lakanman!"
Robert raised his Silver Sword high.
The cry echoed through the ranks.
The elite soldiers of the Lakanman Family—mostly city-born, descendants of petty bourgeois or minor nobles—had been trained from childhood in elite military doctrine. The call to defend their homes, to repay the gift of peace, struck deep.
They raised their weapons. Spears drummed on the ground in unison, building a storm of sound.
A wave of roaring cheers surged through the army—"For the Duke! For the Duchy of Lakanman!"
The chant echoed across the battlefield, rising like a war drum.
Yet on Robert’s face, a shadow fell.
He turned slightly, voice low.
"Aiden... why hasn’t the Sixth Regiment returned?"
Aiden’s chest tightened. He swallowed hard.
"No word. But... they may have run into the Dragon."
A long silence.
Then, faintly—
"...We lost them today.
Twelve thousand souls... gone."
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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