Chapter 40 : Chapter 40
Chapter 40. Baptism by Blood and Fire
Eli stood at the highest point of the wind-eroded earthen bluff, his white hair whipping wildly in the hot wind thick with the smell of blood.
This was no longer a place of the living.
The narrow riverbed had become a crimson slaughterhouse.
Corpses lay piled atop one another in twisted poses among the jagged rocks and thorny shrubs.
Broken chainmail, torn leather armor, shattered weapons, the carcasses of dead warhorses...
The ecstasy of victory receded as swiftly as the ebbing tide.
In its place came something cold and crushingly real, something called cost, and it seized Eli’s heart in an iron grip.
His stomach churned violently, and a fierce wave of nausea surged straight up his throat.
“Urgh—!” He doubled over at once.
Bracing both hands against his knees, he retched violently, as if he meant to vomit out his very organs.
Ella cried out softly and immediately moved to support him.
Her small hand patted his back gently, her violet eyes full of worry.
The sound of steady, powerful footsteps came from behind.
Captain Buck walked over to Eli’s side, his fine black light armor splattered all over with dark-red blood.
“Young Master,” Buck said in a low, steady voice, “the preliminary count is finished.”
Eli forced down the nausea roiling inside him and straightened up, his face as pale as paper.
He made himself look at Buck and silently signaled for him to continue.
“Our casualties: twelve infantry dead, most of them new recruits. They were struck during the final encirclement when the enemy made desperate last-minute counterattacks.
Thirty-five lightly wounded, seven seriously wounded. They have already received emergency treatment from the field physician and must be sent back to camp as soon as possible.
As for the Black Crow Knights...”
Buck paused for a moment.
“Two dead, both Lower Silver Tier knights.
They exhausted themselves forcing their way through the enemy’s core and killing the opposing Silver knights.
They were struck down by desperate counterattacks from multiple enemies before they died.
Ten lightly wounded, most from excessive aura expenditure or blunt-force injuries from the charge. Their combat strength remains unaffected.”
Every cold number was like a heavy hammer crashing into Eli’s chest.
Twelve soldiers. Two Silver knights...
Living people, now gone forever because of his decisions, left behind in this riverbed drenched in blood.
They had been the people of Black Territory, warriors who had trusted him and followed him.
“They all... died because of me.”
Eli’s voice was dry and hoarse, heavy with guilt and a burden too deep for words.
Buck looked in silence at Eli’s pale face, his gaze resting for a moment on those tightly pressed lips.
Then, unexpectedly, he stepped forward and sat down casually on the blood-stained rock beside Eli.
“Young Master,” Buck said, and there was a strange warmth in his voice, one touched by memory.
“The first time I ever saw the Marquess on the battlefield was at the beginning of the Frostwolf Rebellion in the north.
Back then, the old Marquess had just thrown him into the army to temper him. He was still a half-grown brat, far worse than you are now.”
Eli was slightly stunned. He had not expected Buck to bring up his father at a moment like this.
Buck’s gaze drifted into the distance.
“It was an encounter battle, much smaller than this one. The enemy came howling at us. Blade-light reflected off the snow, blood sprayed high into the air...
And the Marquess was standing not far from me.”
A rare trace of amusement tugged at the corner of Buck’s mouth.
“And then... I saw his legs go weak and nearly buckle under him. His face was white as a corpse, and down there in his trousers... there was a great wet patch. He pissed himself from fear.”
Eli’s eyes flew wide open as he stared at Buck in utter disbelief.
That father of his, stern as a mountain in his memory, unsmiling and imposing... had actually...
“What happened after that?” Eli asked instinctively, with a hint of curiosity and... relief, perhaps, in his voice, though even he did not notice it.
“After that?” Buck snorted.
“Lord Gordon—your uncle—saw it. Back then, he was still the Young Marshal.
That temper of his was as explosive as ever. He walked up and kicked the Marquess right in the backside, hard enough to send him flying straight into a snowbank.”
Buck mimicked Gordon’s rough, severe tone so vividly that it was almost uncanny.
Then he turned and looked at Eli.
“That kick woke the Marquess up. It kicked some courage into him too.
And later... he became the ‘Black Crow’ Leon, famed throughout the Royal Domain.”
He patted Eli on the shoulder, neither too hard nor too lightly, the gesture carrying the solid weight of an elder’s reassurance.
“Young Master, this was your first time commanding a battle on this scale.
To face a scene like this, remain standing to the end, and win such a great victory...
You are far stronger than the Marquess was back then.”
His tone was calm, but the certainty in it could not be doubted.
“These men did not die because of you. They died to protect Obsidian Territory.
They died to protect the home behind them! Their blood will not be shed in vain!
What you must do is carry their share with you, build Black Territory into something better, and make sure more people live on.
If you sink into guilt and despair here, that would be what truly betrays them.”
Buck’s words were like hammer blows, shattering the heavy layer of ice wrapped around Eli’s heart.
He was not a god. He could not wage war without sacrifice.
But he was a lord. His duty was to make those sacrifices mean something, and to lead the living toward a better future.
Just then, another set of footsteps approached.
Clark had climbed up the high bluff as well.
His signature golden hair was now caked with dust and clotted blood.
The usual irreverence and excitement had vanished completely from his face, replaced by a pallor and silence Eli had never seen before.
His golden eyes were unfocused as they stared at the mangled hell below, and his lips moved slightly.
It seemed as though he wanted to say something glib, but in the end not a single word came out.
He walked over silently and stood shoulder to shoulder with Eli, his gaze equally heavy as it settled upon that crimson scene.
After a long while, Clark finally muttered, as though speaking to himself,
“War... really is... brutal...”
His voice was dry and faintly trembling.
For the first time, the lawless Clark had been struck to the core by the true cruelty of war.
Eli looked at Clark’s lost expression and understood at once.
He lightly nudged Buck’s arm and signaled with his eyes toward Clark beside them.
Buck followed Eli’s glance, saw how shaken Clark was, and the corner of his resolute mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
Eli drew a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the heaviness surging through his heart and the lingering sickness in his stomach.
Then he straightened his back, and the eyes beneath that white hair sharpened once more with resolve.
This was not the time for guilt or despair.
Buck’s words had awakened him. The blood of the warriors could not be shed in vain.
And right before him now lay a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—Lucerne City.
Grumm’s main force had been annihilated here. That city occupied by the rebels must be nearly empty now.
If he took it, not only would he remove a festering poison from the Western Frontier,
he would also win the baron’s title Sir Lucius had promised him, allowing Black Territory to truly plant its feet in this wasteland and gain a lawful foundation.
He turned and swept his gaze across the soldiers below, who were silently clearing the battlefield.
Then his voice suddenly rose, carrying clearly across the blood-soaked field.
“Clean the battlefield! Quickly!”
“All intact armor and weapons that can still be used—collect every last piece!
Leave nothing behind! Those are spoils won with our lives!”
“Strip every corpse of whatever food, dry rations, and waterskins they carry! Do not let even a single grain of wheat go to waste!”
“The bodies... gather them and burn them! We cannot risk plague!”
“The seriously wounded are to be escorted back to the Black Territory camp immediately by the lightly wounded and part of the infantry. They are to receive the best treatment we can give!”
He paused, his gaze moving across one exhausted face after another, faces in which his orders were already beginning to kindle hope again. A note of fierce encouragement entered his voice.
“I know you are all tired. I know you have bled and lost comrades!
But the battle is not over yet!
Grumm’s lair—Lucerne City—is now an empty city!
Inside it are the grain and supplies they looted and piled up!
Take it, and we can fill Black Territory’s granaries to the brim!
Our families will no longer go hungry!
Our warriors will have stronger armor and sharper weapons!”
He raised an arm and pointed in the direction of Lucerne City.
“Now, clean the battlefield! Then take the spoils, take the rations, and return with me to Black Territory...
We will rest for one night. Tomorrow morning, we will hold a victory banquet and feast like kings.
Eat your fill, drink your fill, and then we march on Lucerne City!
Everything that belongs to us—we will take it all back!”
“Roar——!!!”
“Long live the lord!!”
“Take Lucerne City!!”
“A feast!!!”
After that brief silence, a deafening roar of cheers erupted like a volcano that had been suppressed too long.
It echoed through the entire blood-soaked ancient riverbed.
The fatigue and heaviness on the soldiers’ faces vanished, replaced by soaring morale.
Clark was startled by the sudden storm of frenzied cheering and looked around blankly.
But when he saw the fire rekindled in the soldiers’ eyes, some light gradually returned to his own golden gaze as well.
At the very least... he no longer looked so utterly lost.
He looked at Eli, at the resolute profile beneath that white hair, so full of a leader’s force and charisma, and pressed his lips together with a complicated expression.
Buck looked at the soldiers below, now hard at work clearing the battlefield, and then at Eli beside him, whose fighting spirit had been rekindled.
An indescribable trace of relief and emotion passed through his eyes.
He rose to his feet and patted Clark on the shoulder, saying nothing further.
Then he turned and strode down the bluff, beginning to direct the Black Crow Knights in the efficient gathering of valuable spoils.
Especially the equipment from the fallen Silver knights.
Ella gently took Eli’s hand, her palm warm and steady.
Eli clasped it tightly in return, and in his blue eyes burned a fire woven from ambition and responsibility.
The smell of blood still lingered over the Windrest Plain.
And yet a new journey was already drawing into view.