The remaining 10,000 troops of the Fenris Mobile Corps arrived at the battlefield. They replaced their exhausted comrades, organizing the scene and securing the prisoners.
Among the reinforcements were a few priests who began tending to the wounded, their bodies weary but their resolve unbroken.
Ghislain summoned the knights who had led the charge in the battle, personally commending their efforts. Of the Fenris Knight Order, roughly 200 had participated in this operation.
“Well done, all of you,” Ghislain praised. “Rest well today. Tomorrow, we march again.”
One of the knights, Gordon, raised his hand enthusiastically.
“Where are we heading next? Another battle?”
“It’s too late to move directly to another battlefield,” Ghislain replied. “First, we’ll meet with the kingdom’s commander-in-chief and reorganize our forces. Then, we’ll rendezvous with the Northern Army.”
“Understood!”
“For now, let the rear forces handle the watch. Those who fought can eat and drink to their hearts’ content tonight.”
“Waaaargh!”
The knights erupted in cheers. After days of hard marching, surviving on rations alone, they were eager for a proper meal.
The Delphine Army, with its 30,000 soldiers, had brought substantial supplies. While most would be handed over to the kingdom’s army, there was enough to feast for at least a day.
As the men indulged, a few drunken knights got into scuffles. Normally, such behavior would never be tolerated in the disciplined Fenris army, but Ghislain let it slide with a few clicks of his tongue. He knew when to allow his troops to unwind.
With the rear forces standing guard and all nearby threats neutralized, the troops were granted a night of reprieve.
The next day, the Fenris Mobile Corps began their march anew.
“Dark,” Ghislain called out. “The lords have likely regrouped their forces to form defensive lines. They won’t expect us to be here yet. Find where their troops are gathering.”
― Got it.
Dark sped ahead to scout the area. The mobile corps, slowed by the prisoners they escorted, moved at a measured pace.
Meanwhile, Maurice had successfully escaped and was rallying allied forces with nearby lords to establish a defensive position.
The assembled force numbered only around 8,000 but had entrenched themselves in a fortress, preparing to hold their ground.
Maurice, addressing his troops, raised his fist high and shouted, “Our numbers may be fewer than the advancing Delphine forces, but with the blessings of the goddess, we have Saintess Parniel of the Moriana Church on our side!”
“Waaaargh!”
The soldiers cheered with renewed vigor.
They knew the Southern Front had been decimated, and the Delphine Army was advancing toward them. For these men, the presence of a saintess, a superhuman, was their final beacon of hope.
Maurice, aware that he was leveraging Parniel’s presence to boost morale, smiled contentedly as the saintess struck her massive mace against the ground and declared:
“In the name of Moriana, the Salvation Order shall be eradicated from this world. Victory is ours!”
“Waaaargh!”
The soldiers roared again. Parniel’s towering figure and imposing musculature exuded unwavering confidence.
While Maurice strategized, a scout rushed in, shouting, “An army has been sighted nearby!”
“The Delphine forces have arrived! Prepare for battle!” Maurice commanded.
“No, sir! It’s…”
“What is it, then? Is it another allied force?”
“They’re flying the banner of the Northern Army, sir!”
Maurice’s face twisted in confusion.
The Northern Army was supposed to be far from here, engaged in battles elsewhere. How could they have arrived so quickly?
He issued orders to ready for battle and ascended the fortress walls to see for himself.
In the distance, a massive army approached, bearing the banners of the Northern and Fenris forces.
“Is this real? Why is the Northern Army here?” Maurice muttered.
Even if they had managed to break through, they should have encountered the advancing Delphine Army first.
As Maurice watched, someone broke away from the approaching army, riding a black horse at full gallop.
Seeing the rider, Maurice’s expression brightened.
“It’s really my nephew!”
Even with the saintess’s aid, Maurice knew the odds were slim against the Delphine Army. Their lack of troops and mages was a glaring disadvantage.
But now, with the Northern Army joining them, hope surged anew.
“Open the gates! No, I’ll meet him myself!”
Maurice hurried out with his retainers to greet Ghislain.
“Hahaha! Nephew, you’ve come!” Maurice exclaimed jovially.
“You’re alive. That’s good news,” Ghislain replied coolly.
If Maurice had died, morale across the kingdom’s forces would have plummeted. The role of a commander-in-chief carried such weight.
“How did you get here so fast? What about the Delphine Army? Didn’t you run into them?” Maurice asked in astonishment.
“They’re annihilated,” Ghislain said simply.
“What?! You’re serious?”
“The survivors are now prisoners.”
Maurice turned to examine the approaching army. Among them, he spotted a substantial number of disarmed soldiers.
“This… How is this even possible?!” Maurice stammered.
Ghislain had not only defeated the Delphine Army but also brought back an extraordinary number of prisoners.
“You’re incredible… truly incredible…” Maurice murmured in awe, his words faltering.
With Ghislain, victory seemed inevitable.
This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.
However, Maurice’s gaze shifted uneasily to the prisoners.
“There are too many of them… How are we supposed to handle all these captives?”
It was clear that the number of prisoners exceeded 10,000. Even unarmed, the sheer volume of them made it a daunting task to manage.
Ghislain smirked.
“Just integrate them into the kingdom’s army. Reorganize and put them to work.”
“I… I suppose that’s possible, but what if they’re too many to control?” Maurice hesitated.
“You’re the kingdom’s commander-in-chief. Isn’t that your job?”
Maurice bristled.
“I never said I couldn’t! I just worry about how my subordinates will handle the pressure!”
“Give it a few days. Feed them, let them sleep, and they’ll fall in line. Are you taking them now or not?”
“Of course! But what about the nobles and the church? They’ll have issues with sparing heretics…”
The Ducal Faction’s forces were considered heretics by the church, and it was understood that they should all be executed. Maurice worried about the backlash.
Ghislain’s eyes narrowed.
“And you, as the kingdom’s commander-in-chief, can’t manage that?”
“I—I can! I’ll convince them… somehow…” Maurice mumbled.
In truth, he couldn’t. Nobles like Marquis Branford might let it slide, but the church’s bishops would be relentless.
Desperate for an excuse, Maurice grasped at another concern.
“What about food? Do we even have enough supplies for them?”
“We took all the supplies from the Delphine Army. If it’s not enough, I’ll have Fenris and Ferdium send more immediately.”
Ghislain’s assured response left Maurice with no room to object.
Then Maurice’s face lit up with an idea.
“Ah, right! We have a saintess here. She might not approve of this plan.”
“A saintess?” Ghislain’s brows furrowed.
“Yes! Saintess Parniel herself! She’s a superhuman, you know. Saved my life, she did. Arrived just in time to stop the pursuers. It’s divine intervention, I tell you!” Maurice rattled on.
Ghislain barely registered his words.
“A saintess… who’s a superhuman?”
“Yes! Recognized by the church! Truly a blessing!” Maurice declared, leading Ghislain to meet her.
At the gates, Parniel stood tall, her imposing figure impossible to miss.
“Saintess, this is Count Ghislain of Fenris. He’s practically family.”
“It’s an honor. I am Parniel, Saintess of the Moriana Church,” she said calmly.
Ghislain’s expression tightened.
‘She’s really here…’
He knew her well—her immense physique and overpowering presence were unforgettable. They had fought side by side several times in his past life.
But her presence here was a problem.
‘Why is she here? She should be dealing with… him.’
Parniel’s attention should have been focused on the "Master of the Dead," another member of the Continent’s Seven and a far greater threat.
Her absence from that battlefield meant that lunatic would be free to wreak havoc.
‘Well, this is my doing.’
Ghislain sighed internally. His actions had altered the course of events, drawing Parniel to Ruthania.
‘No choice now. I’ll work with her to clean up Ruthania quickly.’
Strategy could always be adjusted. Her presence might even prove advantageous to the kingdom’s loyalists.
Noticing Ghislain’s hesitation, Parniel asked, “Is something wrong?”
“No, it’s an honor to meet the saintess,” Ghislain replied smoothly, concealing his thoughts.
Parniel offered a faint smile.
“I’ve heard much about you, Count Ghislain. A hero of the kingdom and the strongest in the North. Truly impressive.”
“You’re too kind. I heard you saved the commander-in-chief and even dealt with a high-ranking priest of the Salvation Order.”
Maurice laughed heartily.
“With the two of you here, I feel invincible! Let’s celebrate with a feast—”
Maurice’s words were cut short.
Parniel had stepped closer to Ghislain, her massive mace glinting in the light.
Her towering figure loomed over him as she smiled coldly.
“Count, do you know how a saintess decides her path?”
Ghislain’s hand moved slowly to his sword, a faint smile on his lips.
“I’ve heard she moves as her heart dictates…”
Parniel nodded.
“Correct. And right now… my heart tells me to test you. Something feels… off. I need to see your true strength.”
Maurice’s face paled.
The tension between them was palpable, the air thick with impending violence.
Ghislain was not one to back down. Maurice knew this all too well.
‘Damn it, if only that old hag were here!’ Maurice cursed silently, despairing at the escalating confrontation.
***
Bonus Chapter: Lucas’ Love Counseling — A Consolation Tale for a Heartbroken Knight
The drunken brawl among the knights began with one of Lucas’ notorious tall tales.
After Ghislain celebrated the battle’s success by offering drinks and roasted meat, the knights were in high spirits. That is, except for one knight who stood off to the side with a sullen expression.
“What’s with him?” Ghislain asked, tilting his head. “Looks like he just got dumped.”
The knight in question, nicknamed "Wind" for his swift movements, looked even more dejected at those words.
Lucas, ever the troublemaker, slung an arm around Wind’s shoulders with a grin.
“He did get dumped. Pfft, it’s hilarious!”
Despite being in the middle of a war, the Fenris Arrow Delivery Service—Northern Army’s supply network—was still operating in full swing. Unfortunately for Wind, it had delivered something less than desirable recently: a breakup letter.
“Hmm…”
Ghislain folded his arms, pondering how to handle the situation. As someone with no real experience in romance, he was at a loss. After a moment’s thought, he offered a sincere, if plain, piece of advice.
“Hang in there. I’m sure better days are ahead.”
Not wanting to linger in unfamiliar territory, Ghislain quickly made his exit.
Once the food and drinks were laid out, Lucas, slightly drunk, sidled up to Wind and began to speak.
“Let me tell you about the time I got dumped. It’ll be like… love counseling.”
“No thanks. I don’t want to hear it,” Wind replied, his tone flat.
But Lucas, ignoring him entirely, gazed wistfully at the night sky.
“There was a woman I truly loved before I came here. We even promised to get married. But back then, I had nothing. No title, no wealth. She told me it didn’t matter. She said we could live together at her family’s home.”
The knights, curious despite themselves, began to listen. Why had such a promising relationship fallen apart?
Lucas continued with a bitter smile.
“I was so grateful. She lived with her mother, you see. So, I confidently told her, ‘I’ll treat her like my own mom.’ It was all I could offer. But… that’s where the trouble started.”
“Why would that be a problem?” Gordon asked, his brows furrowed. “Most women would love to hear that. It’s rare to find a man so willing to respect her family.”
Lucas looked at him solemnly.
“At first, she did love it.”
“Then what went wrong?”
“Well… I actually treated her like my mom.”
“...???”
“I asked her to cook for me whenever I was hungry. Walked around the house in just my underwear. Asked her for allowance money. Complained about the food. Got grumpy if she woke me up too early… You know, just the way I act with my mom.”
“...”
“Eventually, she kicked me out. I mean, I treated her like my mom, but she didn’t treat me like her son.”
Is this guy insane?
Everyone stared at Lucas, dumbfounded. Among them, the female knights made a mental note: If a guy ever says he’ll treat me like his mom, run for the hills.
Lucas, oblivious to their judgment, beamed.
“After that, I wandered around for a while and ended up here with Fenris. Time heals all wounds, you know? So, how about it? Feel better after hearing my story?”
Not even a little.
The knights, without a word, rose to their feet and began to pummel Lucas.
“Argh! Damn it! Why are you hitting me?!”
Even though Lucas was one of Fenris’ strongest knights, he couldn’t fend off a coordinated attack from so many of his comrades.
While Lucas was being thoroughly thrashed, Wind turned his gaze back to the night sky.
The cool breeze swept over him, but the ache in his chest remained.
...
Everyone says heartbreak is a rite of passage, but only the person experiencing it can truly understand the pain. Empty platitudes and unhelpful advice, like Lucas’ absurd story, didn’t make it any easier.
Still, with enough time and reflection, Wind believed he’d eventually be okay.
Until then, it was fine to feel the hurt, to drown in it if need be. Whether that meant sweating it out in training or simply waiting for the days to pass, it was all part of healing.
Like his namesake, this pain would eventually pass, carried away on the winds of time.
And as Ghislain had said, better things surely lay ahead.
For now, though, the priority was to vent some frustration—by stomping on Lucas a few more times.
“Whew…”
Exhaling deeply, Wind joined the others in stomping Lucas into the dirt.
“Why… the hell… are you doing this?!” Lucas screamed, his voice echoing into the night as the sound of stomping continued unabated.
Thud! Smack! Thud!
Lucas’ wails and the rhythmic thudding of boots on his body filled the night air, an odd yet strangely satisfying symphony of catharsis.