Chapter 129
Chapter 129 — Heroes Gathering
The right flank of the battlefield.
"Huff, huff……"
Mercenary Milo was moving in a frantic blur. His hands and feet had turned to mud, and he'd barely managed to snatch a weapon off the ground.
"Shield wall, hold-ld!!"
Crash!
Just then, a deep roar burst from the Silver Shield Legion at the front. A solidity that could stop even a massive beast's charge in its tracks. But the situation on the flanking line was far more chaotic.
The dark energy had been driven back by Kriya's light, but allies and enemies were tangled together all across the field.
'Will I make it back alive?'
His quiet doubt vanished instantly at a shout from someone nearby. Zoltan, the mercenary captain of Grima, was flaring the muscles of his forearm to their absolute limit as he hurled a short spear.
Thwack!
"Kieeeek!"
Above Milo's head, a creature shaped like a serpent let out a shriek and crashed to the ground.
'……I nearly died.'
Though his entire body was already soaked, cold sweat seeped through him once more.
He was, at best, a rank 2 mercenary. With no grasp of how the battle was unfolding, his confidence had drained away, and fear had rushed in to fill the void.
"I—I need to run……"
"Run where! I thought I'd saved a comrade, turns out I pulled out a useless fool!"
Naturally, Zoltan's face twisted into a scowl.
It was at that exact moment.
Thud-thud-thud-thud.
The ground trembled faintly in rhythm with the sound of hooves. The mercenaries' gazes turned as one, as though it had been choreographed.
The Mountain Rabbits.
They charged without hesitation toward the enemy's rear. Milo stared at the sight, dumbstruck.
A broad-shouldered young man held aloft their banner, announcing their presence. A man whose face was covered in burn scars breathed fire from the tip of his blade, and an elven and dwarven cavalry followed close behind.
And at the very front — he was there.
"……Calix."
A figure that cut down wicked things, trampled them underfoot, and raised the living back to their feet. Energy whirled outward, hurling enemies aside, and with a single swing of his blade, space itself was cleaved in two.
Yet he had only cleaned up the Corrupted who had spilled out to the flank — it hadn't even truly begun.
Calix raised a whistle to his lips.
Phweeeeet!
At the charge signal, the silhouettes of the cavalry stretched long as they surged forward at speeds that shattered the limits of their kind, plunging headlong into the mass of beasts ahead.
"Move! Charge order!"
"Follow the Mountain Rabbits!"
Without anyone needing to go first, the surrounding mercenaries all broke into motion at once. As though they hadn't been scattered moments ago, they united as one and thrust their blades toward the enemy lines.
Milo unconsciously tightened his grip on his sword hilt.
'Why?'
He couldn't explain it by reason alone. But his instincts knew.
'Follow that man, and I'll live.'
A thrill he had never felt before. Nothing like those times fighting the half-trained soldiers of the Niboria Empire. It was as though ice water had been poured from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.
He pushed himself upright from his crouch.
Fear and hesitation were nowhere to be found.
"Kagracha!"
"Raaaaaah!!"
At last, the troops on both flanks poured inward toward the center. Every last one of them ran with everything they had. For no other reason than that they felt they had to follow Calix.
Milo thought, 'This must be what fate looks like'.
They were, without question, heading into a death ground. Only — they were not the ones receiving death, but the ones delivering it. That absolute conviction shone through in their eyes.
Before he realized it, he was running — swept up in that great, surging wave.
He had taken his first step as a Mountain Rabbit.
***
Once the battle reached a lull, nothing remained on the plain but the thick stench of blood and black smoke.
The veterans of the Silver Shield Legion quietly reformed their ranks. Despite the humans' victory, a strangely awkward atmosphere hung in the air.
They exchanged sidelong glances while tending to their bloodied shields, and one man removed his helmet to wipe the grease clinging to his skin.
"We survived another day."
Legion Commander Erdman Falter let out a quiet, hollow laugh.
"Does this mean we've become……rebels?"
At that, Gregor shrugged and answered calmly.
"We protected the Empire."
"His Majesty will be furious."
"Even if he is, there's nothing to be done. We had to hold out, no matter what."
"……I suppose."
Between the bitter truths, a rough yet unshakeable conviction shone through. Meanwhile, the mercenaries, their excitement still unspent, were each trading their tales of valor.
"He swung Falling Fire like he was yanking turnips out of a field. Fought half a day and didn't look even slightly worn out, I tell you."
"And what about when he burst that beast's body clean open in one hit?"
More precisely — they were all talking about Calix.
And that very subject was currently moving through camp, working hard at the cleanup.
"Burn the bodies, and get the wounded to the temporary tents!"
The reverence and cheers directed his way — even the looks of fear — had become familiar enough by now. But Calix did not look away from the cold reality before him.
'Victory is nothing but a fleeting illusion.'
Captain Royce shared the same view.
"Nergas, was it? That thing was reviving the monsters. The problem is, Legion Commander Kohtan holds a power far deeper and darker than that creature."
"Yes. At the very least…… We have to assume he can repeat cycles of death and rebirth."
If Nergas was a wild dog, Kohtan was a predator.
A battlefield where a single death was not the end. If they clashed head-on like this, even the most valiant legion and mercenaries would have no hope of winning.
And so—
"Nobles and knights from across the Empire, and Emperor Caracal himself. We must scrape together every force we possibly can and face him together."
That only made the path forward all the clearer.
Vice-captain Marik nodded in agreement.
"For now, we need to bring the Silver Shield Legion in properly. We've been needing a solid core unit to anchor us."
***
One week later. Northern Niboria Empire — Drensholme, the Akron Ducal Territory.
A dry wind looked down upon the wasteland. On the boundary where life and death exchanged places, the earth held its breath in a blend of ash-grey and white.
In a place that had once been covered in forest, only flesh-cutting cold and coarse soil remained. The farmlands barely managed to sprout stalks of barley, and across the fields, stunted pine trees stretched out their twisted branches. Naturally, the territory of wild animals was far wider than that of men.
Duke Akron's domain was this desolate.
Yet the reason no one could dismiss him lightly was that he was the ruler of the Empire's north. Beyond the horizon, near the mountain ridges, granite fortresses and ice-covered rivers lay tangled together.
'A cold and hungry land — but the birthplace of the Empire's finest warriors.'
That was precisely why Yelayen, The Pointing One, had sought this meeting.
"Please, come in."
The door opened, and three figures stepped into the reception hall.
First, a mage in a long overcoat narrowed his eyes slightly. A familiar air. It was not an unfamiliar scene to Yelayen. Two young men followed at his side.
Members of the 'Survey Party' — returned from scouting the Land of Shadows. One was Varga, with sun-bronzed skin as though he carried a desert sun on his back, and the other was Olek Akron, heir to the domain.
If Adrian and Isabela had set out toward the Astria direction, these two had sought to turn the tide of fate in the harsh north.
"Father."
"Save the personal words for later."
Olek opened his mouth, but the duke's voice was cold as ice.
A heavy silence enveloped the room.
The aged duke, Dredvik Akron, studied the mage. They appeared to be peers at a glance, but in truth an immeasurable gap in years stretched between them.
Yelayen's opening words were exactly as one might expect.
"Your family was once called the Northern Star."
His gaze traveled over the portraits of past dukes, the ornamental swords, and came to rest on an old shield crest.
Atop a cliff, a pale and withered ancient tree stood precariously, its roots exposed to the air. Stars were embedded in the sky above it, and below, a family motto was etched: 'Unyielding Tenacity'.
For just a moment, the duke's fingertips trembled.
The legend of 'The Pointing One' that he had heard since childhood — the realization that this mysterious sage stood before him now had finally hit home.
Yet his tone only sharpened in response.
"Did the Emperor send you? I'm afraid, regrettably, there are no more men left here to send."
Even as Yelayen shook his head, the look of suspicion did not fade.
'Emperor Caracal possesses eyes that read the heart. There's no predicting what he might do. He could have deceived even a mage.'
Then the mage let out a hearty laugh. He threw his head back as though he'd heard something absurd, and tears even formed at the corners of his eyes.
"Oh my, forgive the rudeness. That was an amusing jest. But you were half right."
"……I'm listening."
"Even beneath a frozen river, spring continues to flow. To make the riverside trees put forth leaves again — your strength is needed. Snow always melts in the end, and your decision will set all things in motion. Please, help the Empire."
The duke said nothing for a long while. His eyes swept across the wasteland outside the window, moved along the walls of the reception hall, and slowly returned to Yelayen.
A short, bitter smile crossed the corner of his lips.
"The north's winter has already stretched for over a hundred years."
His voice was low, but layered within it was anger upon anger upon anger.
"The Empire called on us only when it needed us. We endured the cold and the hunger of the frontier by selling the lives of our able-bodied men. All that came back in return was discrimination and contempt. And now, after all of that, they want us to draw our swords again?"
The pent-up fury detonated all at once. He brought his clenched fist down on the armrest, and the veins swelled, blood welling at the knuckle.
"Yelayen, mage who bears ill tidings. The north wind simply marches on in silence toward where it must go. If you have nothing more to say, I'll ask you to leave."
The mage was silent for a moment, then bowed his head.
"I sincerely apologize for the laugh just now. I did not take your past lightly. Only…… The currents of the world are such that, regardless of our own will, they sometimes bring all things together as one."
"What do you mean by—"
At that, the duke's son, Olek Akron, stepped forward. He drew a letter from his breast pocket and held it out to his father.
The sealing wax bore the crest of the great western lord, Count Harald Lugar.
"……Explain what this is."
At the cool-toned command, the answer came as though it had been waiting.
"It is a message Count Lugar sends to Your Grace. By now, his army should already be marching on the capital."
"How…… Don't tell me, you stopped at the west on your way back?"
"Does that matter?"
"……"
Father and son's eyes collided for a brief moment in the air between them. Something had happened — the very look in those eyes had changed.
But he was the ruler of Drensholme. Rather than rejoice at his son's growth, he turned first to the conditions he had been given.
'This is not enough.'
At that moment, someone gave a quiet knock at the reception hall door. He could guess it meant urgent news, but a nagging unease he couldn't shake remained.
'Before the knock at the door, the mage's head had already turned.'
Far too strange.
But the thing he truly could not comprehend lay elsewhere.
"Say that again. What did you just say?"
"The Emperor has ordered all remaining troops in the ducal territory to be brought forth in full. I've heard the eastern front has completely collapsed, and now only the capital's defense force remains."
The duke raised his palm and cut the steward's report off mid-sentence.
"Leave that. What came after."
"The Imperial House has declared all southern nobles to be traitors. Furthermore, in the southwest, the Marquis Ashapel's forces have marched out……"
The rest was cut clean away. The whisper at his ear scattered like a distant echo. What followed was the sensation of his nape going cold.
"……In addition, Count Bermak of the southeast has issued a proclamation criticizing the Imperial House. It appears the Mountain Rabbits have won a major victory in the southeast."
"……"
"Your Grace, are you all right?"
The old man leaned back silently in his chair.
His thoughts, his will, his plans — all of it had fallen several steps behind. As though everything had already been decided, the world was sliding away somewhere, leaving the duke behind.
Before long, his head rose. The duke looked at Yelayen's face once more.
"All of this…… You knew, and came anyway?"
Instead of answering, the mage smiled quietly.
Yes. He was 'The Pointing One'.
"……Fate is calling the Empire's heroes to gather in one place."
Duke Akron stared into the open air for a moment, then let out a low sigh. What remained now was to yield to the tide of the age.
"Those who linger behind will only fall further back. Yelayen, I will follow your lead. Drensholme, too, shall march for the capital."
And so, every road in the Empire converged upon a single destination.