Chapter 121
Chapter 121 — Virtues of Leadership
The Alliance Forces advanced rapidly eastward.
"The enemy looks just like Duke Saitz. Utterly ruined."
Days of continuous marching. As the young Count Mozak put it, brief skirmishes broke out here and there, but resistance was weaker than expected.
Midra's cold had lost its strength, and the Alliance Forces outnumbered their foes overwhelmingly. Yet the blackened plains and poisoned air remained unchanged.
Calix lifted his head briefly from atop his horse.
Wind rolling in from the north sent his cloak billowing, and beneath him, dry blades of grass crumbled under hoofbeats.
"Close ranks!"
Amid all this, veterans like Royce and Marik were pouring every ounce of effort into maintaining discipline. The mercenaries alone numbered fifteen thousand — and even simple orders were beyond them.
Thanks to that, mid-ranking members who had kept quiet until now were rising to the surface.
"—Nuri!"
"Those damn bastards…… I'll settle for half of them dead!"
Nuri Sarui, a dwarf of the Snowbrack Tribe, received the vice-captain's order and stormed off snorting. Bel Haim, son of Valo Haim, restored order with kicks rather than words.
The elves were no different. Nyan Storal of Wesaria, Daren Yoamang of the Rowent Tribe, Lauren Alban from Albant — all rode through the ranks, teaching even the most basic things from scratch.
There was no shortage of resentment, but even seasoned mercenaries couldn't openly defy such unfamiliar and foreign faces.
In a way, it was a familiar sight.
'Just like the Mountain Rabbits.'
Calix felt quietly satisfied. Being a mercenary himself, he trusted them to handle it. Had no one called for him, he would have lent a hand in the training himself.
"Fascinating."
A voice, neither hurried nor slow, saturated with ease, pressed into his ear. Right beside him sat Great Chief Yoman.
The ruler of Kalahim had been requesting constant meetings since the Alliance Forces' council. It was enough to leave Calix without time to receive instruction from Master Belrnar.
Soon, Yoman gazed at the mixed crowd of elves, dwarves, and humans and asked,
"Excessive freedom invites chaos, and excessive oppression breeds revolt. How did the Mountain Rabbits establish their rules?"
"We value promises over orders. We make oaths with our lives on the line and fight together to survive together."
But this was also, in its own way, a place of learning. The desert lord shared his experience and knowledge in a manner quite unlike a master's — through his own lived wisdom.
He would ask about the Mountain Rabbits, then follow up with sharp questions.
"And when someone commits a wrongdoing? What is the manner of punishment?"
Calix's lips stirred, but in the end, he could say nothing. Meting out punishment had always been Royce's role as captain.
There had never been a system to speak of.
'Establishing discipline within the group is also important.'
His expression hardened naturally. With the scale of those under him growing rapidly, there was a need to lay down a proper foundation.
Yoman then quietly added his counsel,
"True governance requires that the standards of reward and punishment be set right. Yet at the same time, one must also keep forgiveness and tolerance in mind. Only then can the one who gives orders take responsibility for their choices, and at times ask sacrifice of those close to them."
Of course, Calix did not merely listen in silence. He took in the other's words while actively expressing his own views.
"I see. I've learned something more. However, the Mountain Rabbits…… do not demand sacrifice from their comrades."
What followed was a quiet question in return.
"Is that truly so?"
"……"
"Are you not already demanding it? If there are those who follow you, prepared to face death — then who bears the responsibility for that?"
Fearfully cold and cutting. And yet not a single word was wrong.
The Mountain Rabbits had followed Calix until now. He had done his best at every turn, but one way or another, many had died.
'Was the path I pointed the right one?'
Could he stand before the fallen comrades without shame? Calix felt something shift inside him. He had no regrets, yet there was an undeniable ache in one corner of his chest.
And so he did not deny it.
"That responsibility…… is mine."
"Indeed it is."
The conversation that followed continued regardless of place or time.
Inside a tent where starlight filtered down, through the journey pressing eastward, even as a drizzle came to announce autumn — it went on.
Pit-a-pat.
Yoman watched the soldiers pushing through the rain and continued,
"One must not focus solely on what is visible on the surface. Justice changes freely depending on each person's position. Conviction and the realities of self-interest are different things. The Mountain Rabbits themselves are a fine example."
When Calix looked at him with curiosity, the answer came. Heavy content wrapped in a light voice.
"You needed supplies, and you took the rights to the grain-producing lands of southern Astria. So then — are the people living there faring well?"
For a moment, silence hung in the air. But Calix found the answer without much difficulty. With the anomalies creeping into every corner of the continent, farmland could hardly be spared.
Food was scarce for the common people as well.
"…… In exchange for the Mountain Rabbits receiving the grain, the people of the south would be going hungry. That is something I had not considered."
Great Chief Yoman nodded with a look of quiet satisfaction.
Calix was clearly still inexperienced. His individual might and his ability to frame the board of war were remarkable — but he had not yet become a ruler.
"That's right. The cause you have set forth is sharp as a blade, yet the dirtying of your hands cannot be avoided. That is not your fault — it is simply how things are."
"That means…… That the distinction between good and evil holds no meaning?"
"No, good and evil exist."
"…… Only their boundary is blurred."
"Yes, that is how I see it."
Even so, the conversation never faltered. If he was taught one thing, he would reason out two or three, and he absorbed the man's long years of experience like parched sand drinking in water.
'I simply hadn't known — but I was already carrying someone's pain on my back.'
In an instant, Calix's thoughts deepened. Inside his Core, 'chaos' writhed as if mocking him.
Silence drifted for a while.
As though he had given enough time, Yoman opened his mouth once more. The Alliance Forces had by now brought the Storm Forest into view in the distance.
"Young one — do reflect deeply, but do not sink into it. No one will ever fully understand the anguish of one who leads. Above all else, we already know the answer, do we not."
"…… In the end, it comes down to accepting my responsibility."
The choices could not be undone. Then results had to follow. He had to prove that the sacrifices of those who had fallen were in service of something worthy.
'Persuade the Niboria Empire. Defeat the forces of darkness.'
The goal was the same as before, but the weight of it had changed.
At just that moment, Gregor — who had been silent all along — abruptly thrust his head in.
"Sand-pile chief, I've been listening and something's come to my mind."
"Speak, old-timer."
"Why do you teach him everything? If the day comes when the cook puts a blade to your neck, what will you do then?"
At the old man's question, Yoman laughed heartily.
"Are we not facing a common enemy? And even if such a day were to come — I would welcome it gladly."
"Gladly, you say?"
"That which is greater blooms through fierce competition. How could one not rejoice at the arrival of a true rival? I'm already looking forward to it."
"Oho, you carry the heart of a swordsman as well?"
"But of course — I too am a man born and raised in the desert."
But there was not enough time to forge a deeper bond. Soon a horn blew long and full, and the Alliance Forces came to a halt.
Having reached the Storm Forest, the moment had come for each to go their separate way.
***
While the Alliance Forces threw themselves into building a defensive line, the Mountain Rabbits finished their preparations to head north.
Rumble, clatter!
The supply wagon rolled laboriously over the muddy ground. Thick clumps of mud clung to every axle, but mercenaries rushed over and pried them loose in no time.
"Thanks to the additional food that came from the Kalahim side, the burden's been greatly reduced."
"But the cargo's increased instead."
"…… They say he's the Great Chief's son. He'll pull his weight."
Dwarf Basim and Zahira watched the young warrior with unconcealed skepticism. It was Ranakk — the very one who had shouted at Calix to draw his blade during the first encounter with the Kalahim cavalry.
"The language works, right? If he just jabbers on in that strange tongue like before, that'll be a problem."
"……"
"…… Bloody hell, I heard the man has thirteen sons alone. Should we just quietly take care of him on the way there and back?"
"Basim!"
"Yeah! I'm here! What!"
There was a small commotion, but one way or another, the Mountain Rabbits set out northward with the sunrise. Counting all the mercenaries and Mountain Rabbits together, their number reached sixteen thousand.
Belmar, Master of Latia, stood watching in silence as they departed. The vanguard members of Kalahim and Viale had gathered together to see their comrades off.
Yet his gaze inevitably came to rest on Adrian Deconti. His former student, who had lost one arm, was screaming himself hoarse.
"You rotten bastards! Close the ranks! This is why a republic doesn't work!"
"But weren't you just saying you didn't want to be treated like a prince……"
"That was before you lot started acting like animals!"
"Hahahahaha."
"I said don't you dare laugh!"
The former prince then delivered a headbutt — thwack — and a mercenary crumpled to the bare ground. It was rough beyond measure, but he was no longer drowning in loss.
"…… Foolish kid."
Many emotions poured into the words Belmar let fall. His student was still reckless — but he had finished preparing to rise again.
He turned away quickly, yet the corners of his mouth carried a faint smile.
***
A week later.
As the sun rose and set in repetition, the Mountain Rabbits checked their gear one by one. The closer they drew to the northern border of Astria, the harsher the wind became.
Their destination was the Niboria Empire — but before that, there was one thing to be resolved. Captain Royce laid it out again plainly.
"Northern Astria is divided east and west. The west belongs to the Alliance, but Niboria's expeditionary forces remain in the east. There is a possibility of battle, so do not let your guard down."
"Yes, Captain."
With that, the scouting unit led by Hadiya spread out to survey the surroundings.
"The traces of shadows are thick."
"…… If anything, that works in our favor. We've faced the real thing."
"Ah, meaning the Army Commander is not in this area."
Calix knew there were no ambush forces, yet he held his tongue. Just as the Mountain Rabbits had, the mercenaries too would gradually transform into a proper army.
Therefore, they had to experience that process step by step.
'The first opponent isn't bad either.'
He recalled the journey he had made not long ago, pressing toward Midra. In that brief time, merely drawing close had been enough to feel crushed beneath the weight of that dark energy.
Then what state would the Niboria Empire's expeditionary force be in — having endured months in the northeast?
The answer came before long.
***
An open plain in the northeastern Astria Kingdom.
The Niboria Imperial Army had set up camp with the mountain range at their backs. Soon the sound of a horn rang out as the Mountain Rabbits came into view — and yet, somehow—
"…… There's no response?"
"They're slow."
"Hm?"
"I said they're slow. Their discipline has collapsed to the point where they can't respond in time."
Volga tilted his head and accepted it without a word. If his friend said so, then it was so. And indeed, Calix was looking over the Imperial camp in minute detail.
'Movement is sluggish, and the hue of their mana is murky.'
Just as he had anticipated.
Orders were being given, but there were none who heeded them properly. Discipline was strict — yet not upheld. They were nothing more than an empty shell.
"Roughly fourteen thousand in size, cavalry approximately fifteen hundred. How many of those could be deployed in actual combat — that I cannot say."
"Right, good work."
Hadiya's report followed shortly after, but it was of little use.
"Rear, keep in step!"
"Lower that shield a bit more. Tighten the armpit area. If they push in from the flank, it'll break immediately."
"Yes sir!"
Still awkward, but after repeated training, the Mountain Rabbits' formation took shape with speed. The Imperial forces, by contrast, only completed their battle line a considerable time later. Nothing but the crackling noise of things breaking apart, and desperate shouts cast out into the air.
There were precious few soldiers left with their limbs intact. Those who had lost their toes to the encroaching cold, or had their wrists amputated entirely, were beyond counting.
"This isn't a war or even a fight. We simply came to crush them."
Basim's assessment was exactly right.
The numbers on both sides were similar — but the spirit was not. The Niboria Imperial Army, once renowned as elite troops, stood on the brink of collapse.
It was then.
That a cloud of dust rose from the enemy lines.
Clop, clop.
A knight walked out holding a flagpole, advanced to the center of the field, and drove it into the ground.
"Is that…… Asking for a duel?"
"No. If it were, there would be no need to carry out a flag. It's a request for a parley."
The mercenaries who had joined not long ago broke into laughter, but the veteran Mountain Rabbits silently stared at the enemy flag — and soon turned to look at the face of a young man.
"Calix, it's the Silver Shield crest."
"……"
In truth, Calix had been staring at nothing but that flag from the very beginning.
A silver beak, wings spread wide to both sides, sharp talons and a gaze filled with towering spirit — as if alive, the hawk's form that symbolized the knight house rippled in the wind.
As far as he knew, there was only one person who could use that emblem.
"Marquis Ashapel."
In an instant, a foul stench seemed to fill the air. A chill like a blade grazing bone wrapped around his body. Even so, he held his expressionless face to the last.
Yaleyan Von Ashapel.
Calix's maternal uncle — and the very person who had sold him off to the mana stone mine.