Chapter 149

Chapter 149: News of Victory.

A few dozen minutes later, inside Mudside’s defensive camp.

Kaaang! Kaaang! Kaaang!

Medeia thrust her sword forward as she advanced.

Pattinson’s brow furrowed as he blocked her strike.

“Iiik…!”

Was Princess Medeia truly this strong?

There were rumors calling her a genius of swordsmanship, but in the end, she was just a knight in her twenties.

Even if her mana level was similar, he thought it would be difficult for her to surpass the experience that only years could provide.

But.

Kaaang! Kaaang!

With every exchange of blows, Pattinson’s body was pushed back little by little.

Her movements felt, how should he put it… almost like…

‘Like that man.’

Though seemingly aggressive, at crucial moments her strikes came in with a path more perfect and precise than anything else.

It overlapped with the movements of that blond young man who had tormented Pattinson just earlier.

“Uwaaaaaah!”

Pattinson once again thrust his spear forward with increased speed.

‘This is….’

In that instant, Medeia’s body vanished, leaving behind only a shadow.

Pattinson’s brow tightened as he hurriedly shifted his gaze.

And there she was, already inside his guard.

Her eyes and blade glowed with the chilling, ominous aura of mana.

‘I-I’m going to die!’

The instinct honed by decades as a knight screamed at him.

Goosebumps rose all over his body, and his throat itched as if tightening.

He tried to twist his body to counter somehow, but…

Kkaaaaang!

Medeia’s sword struck his wrist, knocking his spear away. The weapon flew and embedded itself into the ground.

Thuck!

Her sword reached his throat as a cold voice flowed into his ears.

“Will you continue, Pattinson?”

Pattinson’s pupils trembled before he dropped to his knees on the spot.

“…I lost. It seems the world’s praise falls short of Your Highness’s actual skill.”

“Bind him.”

“Yes!”

At her nod, a nearby soldier stepped forward and fastened a mana restraint engraved with magical runes around Pattinson.

Medeia slowly lifted her head and scanned her surroundings.

“S-Surrender!”

“We surrender! Spare our lives, please!”

Amid the corpses scattered everywhere, Tread’s knights and soldiers were seen dropping their weapons one by one and surrendering.

The tide of battle had already turned, and now that their knight commander Pattinson was taken hostage, their will to fight had collapsed.

“Damn it…!”

“Let’s end it here.”

In front of Benjamin and Daphne’s unit commanders, Gilton and Bohim dropped to their knees with bitter expressions.

And at the very center of the battlefield…

 Kkkiiiiieeeek!

“We surrender! We surrender unconditionally, so please get that chicken—no, that monster away from us!”

The Cockatrice was still running rampant, robbing the enemies of their very souls.

Watching this, Medeia let out a shallow breath and muttered softly.

“…It is nearly over.”

And then, Medeia slowly turned her head toward the main gate of the defensive camp.

‘Should I go join him? Or perhaps….’

At that moment, an unexpected voice came from right beside her.

“Well now, you won, eh?”

“Hm?”

When she turned her head, she saw Hardin squatting in front of Commander Pattinson, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

“This fellow was pretty strong. How’d you manage to beat him? Did your skills improve while I wasn’t looking?”

“……”

At his mockery, Pattinson clenched his eyes shut and endured. Seeing this, Medeia let out a deep sigh before asking in a calm voice.

“How did you finish things? Hardin.”

“…Finish things?”

Hardin grinned and picked something up from the ground, holding it out.

“Heo-eok!”

Pattinson let out a horrified scream and stumbled back, while Medeia’s eyes widened before her brows furrowed.

What Hardin held was the severed head of Vernian, Lord of the Count of Tread.

Medeia shoved it aside with her hand and spoke.

“Put it away. You truly have not even a speck of dignity.”

“Were you surprised? Couldn’t tell from your face.”

“Really, if only you resembled Varlach by even half….”

As displeasure spread across Medeia’s face, Hardin asked again.

“Varlach… who?”

“Enough idle chatter.”

No, but that Varlach is me, though.

Hardin shook his head and looked back at Medeia.

“Anyway, Your Highness is quite something as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Commander Pattinson. That old man… didn’t you beat him alone? He’s pretty strong, so I was surprised you managed to win.”

Medeia’s eyes widened slightly before she cleared her throat and answered.

“Khhm! I don’t think it’s something worth praise. He had already been considerably weakened.”

“Keuuu, so humble.”

When Hardin said this with a grin, Medeia’s voice turned cold in an instant.

“Enough chatter. Do your duty.”

“Yes, yes.”

With a heavy exhale through his nose at her urging, Hardin strode off quickly.

Step, step.

He reached the center of the battlefield.

Thud!

Hardin raised high the severed head of Vernian he had cut down and shouted.

“Surrender, all of you! Your lord has fallen by my hand!”

His booming howl, laced with mana, resounded across the entire defensive camp.

“W-what did he just say?”

“Our lord… has fallen?”

The voice reached even the Tread soldiers still fighting.

Their eyes wavered, their gazes losing focus, mouths opening in disbelief.

Of course, they were not the only ones stunned.

“Young Master, you truly did it?”

“H-Hardin!”

“…Is it Brother again?”

From Mulgybson, Cobalt, and Malion, to the household knights and even the conscripts.

Every gaze was fixed on Hardin holding Vernian’s head aloft.

And then…

Boooom! Clatter!

The remaining Tread forces, who had still been resisting, one after another laid down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender.

“We… won? We defeated Tread?”

“Hhhhuuuuuh….”

Perhaps relief at having survived reached them first.

On the faces of the conscripts, smeared with sweat and blood, blank expressions began to appear.

And once the murderous atmosphere slowly faded away…

“Uooooooh! Victoryyyyyyy! We wooooon!”

A soldier slammed his weapon into the ground and roared.

“Ahahahaha! We did it!”

“Long live the Young Master!”

“Long live Daphne!”

“God Faeron… thank you!”

Some pulled comrades into embraces and jumped in place.

Some threw down their weapons and ran about madly.

Others dropped to their knees in prayer.

Each expressed their joy in their own way, raising a clamor.

And then it happened.

“Long live the Young Master! What are you waiting for, you bastards? Shout it out!”

From atop the watchtower, Gadolph had suddenly appeared, screaming until his throat tore.

“That’s right! Long live the Young Master!”

“Ohohohoho! Long live the Young Master!”

The soldiers burst into laughter at this and shouted along.

“…Haa. That idiot’s at it again.”

Watching Gadolph, Hardin shook his head with an embarrassed look before sighing and returning to Medeia’s side.

“What is it?”

When Medeia tilted her head,

Hardin bowed his head, then jerked it back and shouted.

“Hey, you ungrateful bastards! Don’t you see Her Highness the Princess right here? If she hadn’t sent reinforcements, you’d all be corpses by now! Huh?!”

“There’s no need to say things like—”

Medeia tried to stop him with a raised hand, but—

“Oi! Aren’t you going to shout it, Gadolph? Long live Her Highness!”

And then.

“L-Long live Her Highness Medeiaaaaa! Kkuhuhk! Kkuhuhk!”

Gadolph coughed violently mid-shout, as if choked, and laughter erupted all around.

And then once more…

“Long live Princess Medeiaaaa!”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

Voices of gratitude and cheers echoed again from every direction.

Hardin smirked, glancing sidelong at Medeia.

“How is it? The feeling of victory.”

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Why else? The port Your Highness invested in—thanks to us, it’s been protected.”

“…What did you just say?”

“Ah, don’t get angry. Just a joke, just a joke. Heheh!”

When Medeia’s brow twisted, Hardin scratched his head and quickly stepped back.

Medeia let out a long breath, closing her eyes tight before opening them again.

‘This man… I can never tell what he’s thinking.’

He lied to the family, saying reinforcements were coming, and then started a war against Tread, who outmatched them so overwhelmingly.

Whether it made any sense, whether he was even serious, she couldn’t believe it—so she had hurried to finish matters on the eastern front and rush here, only to find this.

‘Was he truly fighting with victory in mind from the very start?’

It was true that victory had come more easily because Medeia had arrived—but even when she first set foot on the battlefield, the situation spoke for itself.

Even without their help, Daphne would have won eventually, though it might have taken longer and cost more lives.

‘As expected… the descendant of Lord Varlach.’

Medeia was lost in thought when—

“Long live Princess Medeiaaaa!”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

The soldiers’ cheers, piercing to the ear, finally reached her as well.

Faces filled with genuine joy and heartfelt gratitude.

As she stared at them, Medeia lifted the corner of her lips ever so slightly, hardly visible.

“Not bad.”

“Eh? What is?”

Hardin asked back with a puzzled look.

“Did you not ask me earlier how I felt?”

“…I did, yes.”

“Guarding this place… feels like it was not a poor choice. That is all.”

“Ahh, that.”

Not a poor choice, she said.

Good grief… the way the descendant of Linian spoke, it was like listening to a stone golem.

Hardin let out a short laugh and added.

“You’re right. It was a good choice. One you’ll never regret… the best choice.”

The noonday sun shone brightly above their heads, illuminating them both.

---

Inside Mudside’s defensive camp.

Daphne’s conscripts and knights moved busily in every direction.

“Move the wounded this way! Bring more bandages over there!”

“Yes! Understood!”

“Quickly, quickly!”

The wounded were carried away on stretchers, while others covered the dead with blankets and moved them outside the camp.

In stark contrast to the joy of victory just moments ago, grim expressions filled their faces.

No matter how dramatic the victory had been… those who died in this war were still their neighbors and friends. Somberness was inevitable.

Amidst this scene—

“……”

Former Commander Mulgybson crouched down, closing the eyes of a young man and wiping the blood from his face with a handkerchief.

A conscript cautiously spoke from behind him.

“Sir Mulgybson, you don’t have to do this yourself. We can take care of it….”

“This is the last journey of a comrade. Allow me to share it with him.”

“…Understood.”

When Mulgybson shook his head and answered, the soldier responded with a solemn expression.

Meanwhile, on the path leading from the camp to the port—

“My Lord, all the prisoners have been confined in the supply warehouse.”

“Good. You’ve worked hard. And the wounded—are they being cared for properly?”

“Yes, the physicians have all arrived. Third Young Master is also assisting with the overall relief effort. Calpion has agreed to send additional manpower as well.”

“Very well. Continue reporting.”

Cobalt stood at the center of command, with people from all the houses approaching him one after another to report and receive orders.

Though his face was drawn with exhaustion, and he had not even removed his armor soaked with blood, he showed not the slightest sign of fatigue.

Amidst the bustling crowd coming and going—

“Oi, oi. Move faster, faster.”

“Ah, stop kicking me already. I’m going as fast as I can.”

Hardin, with a strip of jerky in his mouth, followed behind Mikkelsen, kicking his rear as the man waddled forward carrying a large crate.

Mikkelsen narrowed his eyes at Hardin and asked.

“But Young Master, are you not going to work?”

“Work? What work?”

“Everyone else is busy, but you’re the only one idling.”

“Idling? As Young Master, I’m overseeing, managing. I’m managing you right now, aren’t I?”

“…Sounds like an excuse.”

“Excuse, my ass.”

Whack!

Hardin slammed his fist onto Mikkelsen’s head, and Mikkelsen pouted his lips as he stomped forward.

How long had they walked like that?

“Sir Mikkelsen! Please step aside for a moment!”

“Ah….”

A stretcher rushed past Mikkelsen.

“Aaaagh! It hurts, it huuuurts!”

“Hold on! We’ll get you to the physician!”

On it lay a young man, his shoulder drenched in blood. His face was pale, his body trembling—his pain was so clear that just seeing him made it echo in one’s own body.

For a moment, Mikkelsen’s eyes widened.

‘Paul?’

 Hahaha, Sir Mikkelsen! Please have some of this!

 Oh, thank you! Haha, what a generous fellow you are!

The laborer who had quickly befriended Mikkelsen while working on the traps in front of the camp.

That very man had just passed by on the stretcher.

Mikkelsen furrowed his brows and then slowly looked around again.

“Move quickly!”

“Bring more herbs!”

The shattered defensive camp, the overturned earth, and the countless wounded filling every corner entered his sight.

Mikkelsen shut his eyes tightly, then opened them again with a heavy breath.

“Young Master.”

“What.”

“This time… we’re not attacking, are we?”

“Attacking where?”

“Where else—the main stronghold of the Count of Tread.”

Expectation glimmered heavily in Mikkelsen’s eyes.

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