Awakening the Great Bloodline

Chapter 103: An Unbreakable Oath

The war was over.

Uwaaaaaaah!

Victory cries swept across the plains, and flags fluttered in the wind, proclaiming the existence of the victors far and wide.

The elf Airien raised her voice as well. She held her sword aloft, calling out Calix's name just as the warriors of Kalahim did. To any observer, she was the image of an honorable warrior—a very participant in a great and triumphant victory.

But that was only part of the truth.

Thud, thud.

Her heart was pounding like mad. Not from joy. Relief and terror, nauseating disgust, and a shiver that crawled up the back of her neck—all of it tangled together in a mess.

"Iaaaa——!"

She cried out again and again, trying to bury those complicated feelings beneath the sound. She cheered as though screaming, and raised her voice once more to confirm, for the second time, that the fighting was truly over.

This was because she had survived.

The elven woman had cut down countless humans. Following the path Calix had pointed out, she had run forward, scattering blood in her wake. She had turned her face away from fear and claimed the lives of others.

And in the moment all that slaughter had ended, her two hands were trembling uncontrollably.

‘What's wrong with me? We won. So why am I so frightened?’

The enemy's blood had long since dried, yet her composure had not returned. It was a most un-elven state of being. Airien understood it now, albeit too late.

She had lost something.

The justification for fighting—for Viale—she had dropped it somewhere in the noise of the battlefield. When a righteous cause is accidentally mislaid, what remains is only the smell of death.

‘Pull yourself together, Airien. Didn't you know something like this might happen?’

Reproaching herself did nothing to help. From deep within, a voice asked whether this was the extent of her convictions all along—whether her faith had always been this frail.

Yet she was not the only one.

The cheers that had resounded across the battlefield slowly faded. Where fatigue and heat had lifted, the reality of what followed a battle was making itself known.

"Over here, somebody help over here!"

"Aah, Mother……"

"……The casualties are not few."

Real screams erupted everywhere. Despite every effort to minimize sacrifice, the Alliance Forces had lost more than several hundred comrades. Including the wounded, the number of those who had fallen to the ground exceeded one thousand.

"Even so, a great victory is a great victory! We shattered nine thousand with five thousand. Losses like these are…… unavoidable."

"Indeed, it was a battle worthy of having its name carved into history."

Most chose to look away. They helped the wounded but refused to let go of the thrill of victory. Afraid of sinking too deep, they refused absolutely to look downward.

It was then.

"It's Calix."

"Kagracha is moving!"

The one who had fought at the very forefront—the being who had swung his radiant sword to bring the battle to its close—was quietly moving forward. Everyone stared at him. It had already seemed strange that he hadn't even given a speech.

What would he say? Where would he point to next?

Clop, clop.

But rather than opening his mouth, he moved silently. A moment later, Lunos's hooves came to a stop. It was where Priestess Ella and Vice-captain Marik were kneeling.

In that instant, Airien's breath paused for a moment. Beside them, a single person lay fallen, soaked in blood. The clothing and the face were familiar.

A comrade who had been with Calix since the days of conscription.

It was Wheatley.

***

Airien approached as though drawn by something she couldn't name. The Mountain Rabbits had already gathered in a circle. Volga and Kotchap were weeping openly, and Captain Royce was speaking with a young man whose face had gone pale as ash.

"Romance."

"No, no. Ella can treat him. That bastard is tough as nails—just a little—"

"You made a promise."

"Damn it, damn it all. That's a lie……. This is all fake."

She did not know the Mountain Rabbits' oath. She had heard of it in passing, but she had never understood what it truly meant.

And so instead of looking at them, she looked at Calix.

The moment he stepped down from the stirrups and landed on the ground, his body swayed. He quickly leaned against Lunos, steadying himself. It was clear his condition had gone beyond the normal range.

Yet somehow, he still moved his feet.

He soon met Priestess Ella's gaze, and saw the woman slowly shake her head. It was beyond the range that sacred magic could heal.

Airien understood the meaning without difficulty. Wheatley's abdomen had been torn open by something. His innards were exposed, and blood was gushing out in surges.

The sacred power had only dulled the pain. There was not much time left.

"……Calix."

"Wheatley."

"Did we—did we win, win?"

Perhaps Calix was feeling exactly the same emotions as her. A comrade who had overcome countless crises together now stood at the threshold of death. Doubt, grief, and guilt must have been washing over him.

Of course, Airien did not know Wheatley well. They had never shared drinks, never had a long conversation.

And yet a corner of her chest ached with a sharp, stinging pain.

That was likely because of the smile the young man wore.

"That's right. We won again this time. We've never lost once, have we."

"Right, of course—cough!"

Calix gripped his hand tightly and wiped away the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Tears had gathered in his eyes, yet he did not cry. He forced himself to smile, to ease his friend's fear.

"I—I can't make it, can I? That's the truth, isn't it?"

"……Yes. I'm sorry."

He said it was his fault, yet he would not blame anyone for it. In a battle this vast, it was impossible to save everyone.

Shortly after, urgency crept into Wheatley's eyes.

"Mother, my family……. I have four younger siblings at home."

"Don't worry."

"When spring comes they'll go hungry……. I had been sending money, sending money……"

Was it more frightening to leave behind what mattered most, even more than death itself? Calix covered the tears rolling down his cheek with the palm of his hand.

"They will not go hungry. I will not allow it. If something happens to me, then Romance will—after that, Volga, then Ella, then Vice-captain Marik and Captain Royce will take responsibility to the very end."

"……"

"There truly is nothing to worry about. Not a single thing."

He brought his face close, and in a tone full of conviction, gave him his answer.

"If, as you said, a great war were to come……"

"I'll find them all. You know who we are."

"……We're Mountain Rabbits."

At that, Royce silently nodded, and even the fear that followed was swept away without mercy.

And then, the one who would receive the oath came forward.

Romance's face was a wreck. Tears and snot ran freely, and the dagger in one hand trembled uncontrollably. Seeing that, it was Wheatley who offered a small smile first.

"You idiot, come here."

"I, I……"

In that moment, Vice-captain Marik placed a hand on Romance's shoulder. Royce placed a hand on the other shoulder, and Zahira and Basim followed in turn.

They promised him peace.

The person himself knew this. Romance sobbed heavily, yet in a mangled voice, he began to receive the oath.

"We……are Mountain Rabbits. Because one alone is not enough, two together form one whole. Leaning on unwavering faith, we face our enemies. Before crisis, we do not look away from one another……. We shall never let each other depart in solitude."

The blade moved toward the left side of Wheatley's chest. Unable to see clearly ahead, Calix held the blade himself and guided it.

"If the time given to us should differ, then we shall remain at your side……. And bear witness to your death."

The eyes of Airien, watching from nearby, trembled imperceptibly. She was not alone. The dwarves and elven heirs who had joined the Mountain Rabbits late could not tear their gaze away.

"Therefore, as we swore, I stand watch over your final moments. As we promised, I will carve your name and memory deep within me……. And walk the path you left behind the rest of the way."

A moment later.

Romance stilled Wheatley's heart, as gently as if soothing it. An eternal rest. Calix pressed his forehead against the one who had departed. It was not a simple farewell. It was the resolve of one still living, and the warmth shared in that last moment expanded now into a covenant belonging to all.

And then.

Airien watched the scene before her and grew strangely, inexplicably calm. The discomfort and guilt she had felt during the battle, the feelings of distrust toward herself—they slowly settled.

It was different from what humans called 'honor' as though by habit. This was nothing like that. It was something far more solid and binding—something that might bend, but would never break.

Now, at last, she felt she understood what they were fighting for.

Without turning away from tragedy, bearing the burdens of those who had gone, and pressing forward once more. The actions of the Mountain Rabbits conveyed a meaning far clearer than any lengthy speech ever could.

"Hm—"

The stubborn dwarves snapped their heads away all at once. Sunlight caught the edges of their eyes and gleamed. Even so, each of them raised a clenched fist to their chest.

The elven heirs too bit their lower lips and removed their helmets. Despite being born of noble blood, they lowered their heads in a gesture of respect.

A solidarity of souls.

Different in race, in language, in tradition—

Yet it was an emotion that transcended all of it.

***

Three days later.

The Alliance Forces completed their reorganization. They treated the wounded, collected the bodies and held funeral rites, opened the food stores and distributed dried fruit and jerky. Those who had distinguished themselves were given pieces of metal engraved with the flags and crests of the Imperial Army as reward.

Thanks to that, the soldiers were recovering quickly. During the day they sat in groups and boasted of their exploits, and at night they played drums and horns and shared short songs. It was as though there had never been a battle at all—they were returning to their usual selves.

But there were things that could never be undone.

The standing of the Mountain Rabbits was one such thing.

Swish, swish.

Inside the Kalahim encampment, the desert warriors stepped aside on both flanks, clearing a path. Calix was walking out alongside Captain Royce.

"……Everyone's avoiding his gaze. It's gone unnervingly quiet—hard to believe."

Royce muttered to himself, clicking his tongue inwardly. Even Commander Barakh had not said a single word in response to the request to return the prisoners from the Imperial side. As if he'd never been stubborn a day in his life, he had nodded and agreed without argument.

All of it was because of the young man walking beside him.

"I believe they are showing respect for our allies."

"Hmm, to my eyes it looks more like reverence."

"……"

He'd said it as a tease, but he wasn't joking. The warriors of Kalahim were lined up in orderly formation as though before a battle. They only refrained from meeting his eyes—even after he had passed, they did not relax their discipline.

Some whispered that his gaze had changed. That the killing intent which had once resided only at the tip of his sword now overwhelmed everything around him—that it was no longer something belonging to a human.

It was reverence and awe, and at the same time, a distance that could not be bridged.

In truth, it wasn't only Kalahim. Whether elves or dwarves, when Calix appeared, the surroundings fell silent with uncanny precision.

The man himself, meanwhile, was trying to check whether anything was lacking, whether anyone needed something—but everyone just stiffened and waved him off.

It was no different now.

"Are you alright?"

"Y, yes, of course!"

On the way back. Calix approached the dwarves and asked about the condition of the wounded. But the one who had been groaning until just a moment ago leapt to his feet and shouted.

"Perfectly fine, I am! Please don't lump us in with elves—that'd be an insult. We are like boulders grown from the earth itself!"

"Hmm……. But blood is flowing from your forehead."

"L, looks like rain might be coming! Must be all the moisture in the air out here on the plains—hah, hah!"

"……"

Essentially, normal conversation was impossible at this point. The saving grace, if there was one, was that the original members were not swayed by this atmosphere in the slightest.

"Oh, you're b—back!"

"……Hadiya."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to."

The woman of desert birth flashed a grin wide enough to show her gums.

"No but really, they're all looking at you like you're a hero out of a storybook. Isn't that funny? Maybe it's because I'm desert-born too, but I feel like it's getting hard for me to look you in the eye either……"

Calix couldn't bring himself to laugh at that, and only let out a sigh. At that, the other read his thoughts first and answered.

"Well, who told you to get that strong? But in all seriousness—who would've imagined you came from a noble house? No, I mean, I'd imagined it—but I never thought it would be real. So a reaction like that is only natural."

"It doesn't matter that my mother was Ashapel."

"……You don't really mean that, do you?"

He had been examining the wound on his abdomen. But Hadiya suddenly asked in a low voice. Looking up, a serious expression filled her field of vision.

"Do you know what those Kalahim bastards are saying? That the Niboria Emperor's honor has been shoved face-first into the mud, and they're laughing about it. Don't misunderstand. Those bastards don't respect the Ashapel family name. They respect you."

"That's……"

"The Imperial Expedition Commander is Marquis Ashapel, isn't he? Did you know?"

The words stuck in her throat.

"Calix, those desert warriors they call—are writing songs about you."

It was true.

'From the sound of it, he must have been cast out of the Ashapel marquis house—what depths of suffering must he have endured?'

'He must have lived as a slave, obviously. Without a trial that great, how could he ever be called Kagracha?'

On that very subject, men with thick, bristling hair were reciting verses through the night. Their eyes had grown damp—it was truly a mercy that he couldn't understand their language.

"Don't you get it? Those bastards don't just respect you—they follow you. Do you think others are any different? If you're not sure, I'll tell you just one thing. We crushed Blutspheer and Richterkreutz—known as the 'Empire's finest knight orders.'"

"I didn't do it alone."

He tried to push back, but it was pointless.

"Let me say it again—does the rest of the world think the same? You saved three thousand wanderers, led Viale out from beyond the mountain range. And just a few days ago, you led the Alliance Forces and put an end to Niboria's ambitions."

"……"

"And on top of that, you stood against Imran Akran. Even the enemy's Master acknowledged you."

Calix's reason judged it a fair point. The Niboria Empire would shake violently from the inside out. There was not even room for doubt.

However, that final remark was one he could not accept.

"I didn't stand against the Master. He chose to let me walk away."

"Oh is that so? Go say that exact same thing to Emperor Caracal—who'll be absolutely seething before long."

Hadiya exhaled through her nose as though incredulous, but Calix steadfastly continued. It was not so grand a thing.

If he were to speak in terms of feeling genuine danger, if anything—

"I mean it. That was less difficult than when we met on the ramparts."

"The ramparts?"

"The very first time—when I was still a conscript. I'm talking about the moment the Captain tested my potential."

But persuading the other was out of the question. Hadiya just spread both hands wide, her expression saying 'what on earth are you talking about'.

It was then.

Smack!

A sound from one corner of the Mountain Rabbits' encampment turned their heads. Gregor, who had been sitting near the campfire, had brought his hand down sharply on the backside of the person beside him.

The victim was none other than Royce.

"Comrade leader, you must maintain your dignity!"

Perhaps the stew pot had been tampered with—Calix was about to jump up in alarm, when the memory-afflicted elder let out a sharp scolding.

"Receiving a little praise and wagging your tail like that—what do you think you're doing! Hmm?"

"……"

"Goodness! Even now……?"

It was an ordinary afternoon at lunchtime.