Chapter 139
Chapter 139: Who Is the Guilty One?
Anxiety was humanity's instinct.
Even with Calix and the Mountain Rabbits' renowned reputation, the shadows of defeat rose first in the hearts of the Imperial soldiers.
"……It's suffocating."
An aging knight muttered quietly. The comrade beside him nodded and bit his lip.
The moonlight illuminated the world as if it were midday. Yet hands wiping away sweat refused to stop. The sticky air, the humid wind, the noise pouring from the monster horde in the distance—every element overlapped in an ominous way.
Perhaps that was why.
Someone summoned the courage to ask Master Imran Akran.
"……Were you acquainted with that old soldier?"
Near the campfire, the gazes of the Mountain Rabbits and the knights beneath him converged. Imran's expression was unexpectedly still. The hand tracing the edge of his blade did not waver, yet his eyes alone were submerged somewhere deep in the distant past.
He slowly opened his mouth.
"It was sixteen years ago, perhaps. No—nearly seventeen."
Calix's gaze rested on Gregor's face. The old man who had lost his memories was tilting his head in puzzlement.
"That time…… I would have been in the Silver Shield Legion, wouldn't I?"
"You would."
Imran's voice was quiet. But those around him held their breath and, without realizing it, swallowed. Soon after, he closed his eyes.
"You and I were both in our prime. The hot blood of youth still remained, and we were blind to hollow honor……."
With those words, the tense air slowly eased. An old memory seeped into the center of the encampment like morning fog.
***
On that day seventeen years ago, the moon hung in the sky as well. Where the golden hue of autumn had faded, the moonlight draped a veil of ash.
"Kill the traitors!"
The flames that blanketed the fields had not yet cooled. Human corpses flowed in layers down the river, and the enemies holed up in the mountain fortress were on the verge of starving to death.
Imran Akran silently watched the scene.
‘The remaining enemy is but a handful.’
The Imperial Army had surrounded the fortress in several encircling layers. But Emperor Caracal was not satisfied with this much.
"Knight Akran, these are orders to purge the entire region."
"……."
Imran's fingers suddenly gripped the scabbard.
‘This is not war. It has no honor.’
Something boiled within him.
The Emperor's intent was blatant. It went beyond crushing the rebellion—he wanted to make an example through dreadful terror.
Yet he could not, in the end, raise his sword against it. In his mind, the contents of the secret letter the Emperor had sent flashed through. It was a single line.
-The name of Caracal is eternal; offer him your loyalty.
Imran had understood the meaning of those words precisely. It was a threat—that if he defied the Emperor's orders, the next in line would be House Akran.
And soon, forces at the scale of an entire legion began to move. The earth groaned under the weight of iron armor, and the countless torches lined up swallowed the night.
The orders were clear.
‘Sweep the entire domain clean.’
Flames erupted across the villages. As thatched rooftops blazed furiously, the residents scattered in every direction. The cries of children filled the alleyways, and women's screams whipped through the air.
Imran watched the carnage in silence.
A young man grasping a pickaxe resisted, then was run through by a spearhead and crumpled to the ground. Those who had hidden in the well were killed by thrown stones, and houses were broken into one by one, scattering the scent of iron throughout.
"……Silver Shield Legion."
They moved like precise machinery.
They silenced weeping, severed screams, and stopped hearts. Seasoned warriors, full of nothing but loyalty toward the Emperor. What lay within them was unknowable, but outwardly, they betrayed not a trace of emotion.
Even those who burst out of the burning grain storage were soon reduced to a pile of corpses.
But there was no one with the standing to condemn the Silver Shield Legion. Gritting his teeth, Imran took in every single scene before him.
‘Emperor, just how cruel do you intend to become.’
Then suddenly, his gaze turned toward one old soldier. The fingertips clutching the sword trembled finely. Before him, an elderly woman had fallen to her knees.
A face covered in ash and dust.
She clung to the old soldier's ankles, her voice desperate, begging for mercy.
"Please…… Just spare these children!"
"……."
Oddly enough, Imran first examined the man's blade. It was far too clean—it seemed he had not participated in the slaughter. Perhaps, he thought, the man might let them go.
His arm muscles had stiffened rigid, and his two legs had not delivered a single kick. From the hesitant movements, Imran read the man's wavering.
In that gap, the elderly woman screamed at the children at the top of her lungs.
"Run now! Get to the forest!"
She thrust a bundle carrying an infant into the arms of her ten-year-old grandchild, shoved the child away, and thrashed about. Yet even so, she never released the hands gripping those ankles.
At that moment, a torch illuminated the side of her face. The entire left half was covered in burn scars.
"……!"
The old soldier's lips sealed shut.
It could only be a coincidence. But fate, reviving a single memory—awakened the man behind the shield.
"……Go. It is not yet too late."
And.
Imran had only been half right.
Atop a wooden bridge over the river, one soldier clad in armor stood firm. It was the only passage leading to the forest.
Children, elders, and limping farmers—he let all of them pass.
"……Gregor."
But his comrades, he blocked. The color had drained entirely from his face, yet his two eyes ran deeper than the river.
***
The mist over the river scattered, and the woman fell to her knees, clutching the children to her. In Gregor's chest, memories from his childhood rose up vividly.
His mother, who had held her child tight within the flames. Scorched skin. A hold both firm and gentle.
He had sworn never to let that moment repeat itself.
The comrades were visibly flustered. Gregor had defied a grave order. Yet to call it treason seemed unfit—there were no small number of men who owed him their lives.
That confusion only settled some time later, when the legion commander arrived.
"Gregor! What is the meaning of this!"
Erin Casapchak stood facing him atop the bridge. Between the two, there was nothing but a silver shield.
"We may stop any enemy, but we do not stain our blades with the blood of civilians."
The old soldiers lined up before the bridge looked to each other's faces. No one could bring themselves to step forward. As for who was right—on that alone, opinion was sharply divided.
At this, the commander's eyes narrowed.
"Those you've saved…… Will return one day with blades drawn."
She tried to persuade him, but Gregor did not reverse his choice.
"Then I'll fight them then. Not today."
A brief silence lingered. The river crashed furiously against the supports, and the air atop the bridge froze taut.
"Commander, what are your orders?"
"……Restrain him first."
Imran Akran took in the sight of the old soldiers rushing forward. Gregor held his ground and met the comrades charging at him.
Bang!
He shoved back Erdman Falter with his shield—a man no different from a blood brother.
Crunch, crack—thud!
He struck with the flat of his blade, then sent the man tumbling into the river with a kick. His ability was exceptional to begin with, and since neither side harbored killing intent, it was difficult to respond to.
"Guh—ck, hk—wheeze!"
He even extended his spear shaft to those flailing in the river to pull them out. He had made a choice that could be called wrong, yet his camaraderie had not wavered.
‘Was it truly the wrong choice?’
Imran's brow furrowed faintly. He was greatly moved by Gregor's actions, and yet felt an inescapable question he could not dispel.
Because of that, he stepped forward himself in the end.
Clip, clip.
As the sound of hoofbeats approached from behind, Legion Commander Erin's expression darkened. The one presence she had desperately hoped would overlook all this had inserted itself.
"Knight Akran, I will resolve this quickly. Allow me to handle it."
"I have something to ask him."
"……Does it have to be now?"
If there were no witnesses, there would be no problem. But as misfortune would have it, the other man's name carried far too much weight. Even then, he was a top-rank knight who stood at the threshold of Master, known as the Emperor's shadow.
The moment Imran Akran demanded he clear the way, refusal was impossible.
And soon, two men faced each other. One stood atop the bridge catching his breath; the other let his sunken eyes gleam.
"You have made yourself a traitor."
From the very first words, a weight that was hard to bear was packed within them. Even the old soldiers who had lost their memories understood the meaning of those words and stiffened their brows.
"This single choice will change everything. Your reputation and standing, your life, and perhaps even your family will be executed or exiled. For what reason do you bear so heavy a burden?"
Gregor gazed at the other man's face for a moment. His breathing gradually settled. Just as the man said, from this very moment onward, he stood to lose so much.
But—
"The pride of one's life is not something others place in your hands. Only what I have protected testifies to my days of glory."
He had sworn to become a shield.
‘……Mother.’
Thinking of what lay ahead clouded his mind. Even so, he could not bring himself to commit an unjust act. Into his green eyes, a firm conviction gradually seeped out.
Imran acknowledged his words, but immediately raised a counterargument.
"A splendid aspiration for a man. Yet you are also a member of the Silver Shield Legion."
He gazed at the young Gregor before him. Hair white as snow, though black strands still grew here and there throughout. Wrinkles had lined his face, but the shield in his hand was well-maintained and smooth.
The appearance of a man who had layered courage and stubbornness beneath conviction already belonged to a completed warrior.
Even the answer that followed confirmed it.
"That is precisely why I stood here. We offer loyalty to the Emperor—we are those who drive out evil and protect the Empire. Therefore, we must not kill fellow citizens of the same Empire. Least of all those who do not even know how to grip a sword."
At this, a brief sigh escaped.
"……I see. You placed protection before loyalty. Because only by doing so could you stop this massacre and ease the burden on your comrades."
Hopelessly contradictory, yet not without reason. Imran felt something faintly aching in one corner of his heart.
‘I am bound by the Emperor's hand. Yet he looked only to his own belief, and put it into practice.’
Shame crept down the back of his neck. For a moment, the impulse to agree with the man's view arose. But he suppressed the feeling in the end, sealing his lips and burying his emotions under one final question.
"Will you not regret it?"
The answer that came back was equally short.
"Of course not!"
At Gregor's radiant smile, Imran turned his back as if fleeing.
"……Knight Akran, would you not be willing to pretend you saw nothing? We shall pursue and annihilate the escaped traitors ourselves."
At that moment, Legion Commander Erin Casapchak spoke with evident anxiety. Before he knew it, hundreds of old soldiers had gathered near the bridge.
Some bowed their heads and averted their gaze, and some stared at their comrade's form, on the verge of tears.
At this, Imran silently shook his head. There was no way he could help, even if he wanted to. The knights who had followed him numbered in the dozens alone, and the likelihood of the Emperor's spies being among them was high.
And from that day on, the name Gregor was erased from the Silver Shield Legion. He had fallen to the status of an exile, having barely kept his life.
The official record: failure to comply with orders.
However—
The guilty one was upright even in the moment of his departure, and those who remained fell silent so deep not a single breath could be heard.
***
Back to the present.
When Imran's story drew to a close, a long silence fell like a dying campfire. Knights and Mountain Rabbits alike did nothing but meet each other's eyes and hold their breath.
Then a Knight, retracing memories, let out a sound of admiration.
"Ah, I had heard a rumor related to him as well. That Knight Akran had repeatedly petitioned His Majesty to spare a single old soldier."
"Hm? Did you really do that? You helped me?"
Gregor's eyes lit up wide.
He did not bother to deny it.
"It was my own…… Penance. It was also repaying the debt to the one who gave me enlightenment."
"Me? What enlightenment?"
"I had placed my house first, and you had protected an innocent person in place of hollow honor. You had known instinctively that it was the act of protecting one's comrades, of protecting the Empire. That difference—it is what separated us."
How strange a thing is fate?
The question the old soldier had cast brought enormous change to Imran's life.
Two years after that, he crossed the wall and reached the realm of Master. He worked to free himself from the Emperor's grasp, and gradually, it came to be.
Then, when time had passed, he came face to face with a certain young man.
"Calix. Perhaps this is why I let you go. Because what I could not do, someone else was willing to stake their life to carry out."
"……."
"The day I met that man, and the day I crossed paths with you…… I saw the same thing in both."
The gazes of three men became entangled as one. Calix did not understand immediately what it meant, but within it, he read old guilt and hope together.
At the same time, he did not miss a small hint.
‘The comrade who fell into the river back then…… Was the current Silver Shield Legion Commander, Erdman Falter.’
Calix realized it belatedly, overlaying the image of the old soldier from the recollection. There was a reason the Silver Shield Legion had lent their ears to Gregor's words.
Fate.
It had once taken everything from Gregor, but had in return given him back just as much.
Soon after, Imran continued.
"And today, the situation we face is the same as that time."
Beneath the bright moonlight, only the sound of the fire crackling and snapping could be heard. The attention of Royce, Basim, and the rest of the Mountain Rabbits was drawn in, and the knights, without realizing it, straightened their backs.
"Legion Commander Kohtan is the strongest enemy any of us have ever faced. And yet, someone said something to me."
Calix followed Imran's gaze.
At its end stood Vice-captain Marik.
"If you wish to survive one more day, fleeing is the wise choice. If you wish to earn merit, going only to wars between men is right; and if you feared defeat, you should have taken up the plow instead of the sword."
At that instant, the air of the encampment changed. A single sentence cast into the smell of wet grass pierced the hearts of every last person present head-on.
"……It is a speech that stirs the martial spirit of a warrior."
The Mountain Rabbits, the knights, and even Calix raised their heads sharply. Hands that had been hesitating gripped sword hilts, and eyes soaked with anxiety reclaimed their original strength.
"Fear is washed away by courage and conviction. Tomorrow, we go to confirm that truth."
Imran's voice faded away. Yet the resonance of his words remained deeply embedded. Calix met the eyes of Gregor, Marik, and Royce one after another.
Roooaaaarr—!
Just then, from beyond, the cry of a monster shook the earth and split the night.
And they were now ready to advance onto the battlefield.