Chapter 31: Power of Death

Ten days quickly passed.

Although he knew that his military power would soon be stripped away, the general still held onto the hope that the person replacing him would be someone from the military, allowing him to continue leading troops into battle. He did his best to fulfill the duties expected of a general.

So far, the situation regarding the orc forces remained unclear, and most of the reconnaissance units sent out returned empty-handed. The general even began considering sending a vanguard of several thousand men to attack Orford City to test the waters.

However, Asa vehemently opposed this idea, for only someone who had personally experienced it could understand how reckless such an action was; it was nothing short of a death wish. He knew what Orford's strategy entailed: buying time. Orford had never intended to go to war with the Empire; by keeping the specifics of their fighting strength concealed, their opponents would be too afraid to act rashly. Moreover, the situation in the royal capital was already clear: a ceasefire and withdrawal order was merely a matter of time.

Asa understood that his mission was also just a matter of time. As long as he could delay the general from sending troops until the King's orders arrived, that would suffice. Therefore, over the past few days, he had worked hard to use his somewhat inadequate speaking skills to persuade the general. Fortunately, his rich experience in the wilderness and battle allowed him to articulate his points effectively, and he managed to convince the general. He emphasized that he had witnessed the orcs' astonishing combat strength and understood Orford's high efficiency under the rule of Theodorus. He analyzed the orcs' mobility beyond the wilderness, and most importantly, their enhanced night vision and hearing that far surpassed that of humans. This was a completely different situation compared to when the general had previously wiped out the rigid orc tribes. If the orcs were to take the initiative and fully exploit their advantages, the concept of battle would be entirely transformed. Furthermore, the presence of the wiverns could allow them to observe troop movements from heights unreachable by arrows. In the dark, continuous nighttime raids would likely leave the morale of their forces shattered.

In the ongoing arguments, the general's attitude toward Asa gradually softened; he even began to show admiration. This young man possessed the qualities of a true warrior—wisdom and battle experience that belied his age. Unlike other priests who spent their days indulging in luxuries or discussing abstract theological matters with clerics, Asa was clearly a natural-born fighter, someone who had walked through the line of life and death. On numerous occasions, the general wanted to ask why someone with such potential would serve the family of Earl Ernie, but he refrained from doing so.

Finally, the messenger delivering the King's decree arrived. As expected, the general's military authority was stripped away, and he would no longer be a general. The selection of the new commander had become a contentious issue between the military and the Ernie family, but ultimately, Duke Murak was chosen by unanimous agreement from both factions. He would soon come to assume command, and the King ordered the general to wait for the duke's arrival.

The general listened silently to the imperial decree, and when it concluded, he asked, "Will Duke Murak continue the fight? Will he lead the troops here to attack the orc city-state?"

"The King has already decided to withdraw. Envoys from various nations have strongly requested it, and Bishop Ronis has also been advocating for the recognition of Orford as an independent state. I've heard that Orford is about to send envoys to discuss a peace treaty. This war will not only end now; it likely will not be fought again in the future. The 40,000 troops stationed here will be taken over by Duke Murak, and if necessary, half of them will be sent home," the messenger replied.

The general fell silent, his body trembling slightly as he forced out a few words: "I accept the decree."

At dusk, the general called Asa out. He led him to a small hill outside Bracada City.

Once they reached the hill, where no one else was around, the general stared at the blood-red sunset for a moment before speaking. "These days, I've come to see that you are a true warrior. I want to have a conversation with you now, setting aside all political stances, purely as two soldiers discussing matters."

The general looked at Asa with a powerful gaze, filled with regret and unwillingness. "Why have you stooped to serve those filthy politicians of the Ernie family? You possess the qualities of a true warrior, evident in your demeanor—qualities born only from walking the line of life and death, from tasting the essence of death, and from having walked over the blood and flesh of your foes. How can you endure the company of those swine-like politicians? Don't you feel disgusted when they toy with their convoluted schemes?"

"I am not from the Ernie family," Asa replied. "I was sent here by Bishop Ronis."

The general looked surprised and asked, "The Bishop? What did he send you here for?"

"The Bishop sent me to ease the tensions and await the ceasefire."

"Ease the tensions... No wonder you've been actively stopping me from sending out troops these days." The general did not erupt in anger; it seemed as if all his energy had been depleted by the decree he received that day. "So what will happen to us soldiers after the ceasefire? We can fight and use our blood and flesh to expand the nation's territory, and then use our lives to protect it. But in the end, what will the outcome be? Once peace is achieved, we will be of no use; it will belong to the realm of those treacherous politicians. The sword cannot compete against tactics and schemes. We, who risk our lives on the front lines, become nothing more than political tools. We cannot engage in such dirty deeds; we will only be gradually squeezed out, and this country will slowly fall into the hands of those indulgent nobles. What are those people? Living lives of luxury, incapable of doing anything but indulging in food and women. We could crush them with a single finger, as easily as squashing a cockroach." The general's eyes began to glow with anger. "Why must we be played with by them? Why must the land and glory that we earned with our blood and flesh be seized by these people?"

Asa fell silent, sensing the turmoil within the general. Although he did not understand military politics, he could comprehend the elder's rage.

The general looked at Asa, slowly articulating each word. "I have a request of you. This is the first time in my life that I am asking someone for something. It is a request from one warrior to another. Can you agree to it?"

For someone like the general, with such a personality and stature, this was likely the first time he had ever asked someone for help.

A request from an elder who had lived his life, a general commanding tens of thousands of troops, asking in a manner that recognized Asa as an equal—how could such a request be refused?

Asa nearly agreed on the spot. However, he did not forget the current delicate situation and his mission; he simply said, "Go ahead."

The general paused for a moment before continuing, "Did you not notice? When the decree was read, there were only the two of us present. And shortly after the messenger delivered the decree, he left quickly. All of this was arranged by me on purpose."

"Is that so?" Asa frowned, unfamiliar with such tactics. "Why arrange it that way?"

"No one else heard the content of the decree. This means that aside from the two of us, no one knows that I have lost the authority to command the troops... Do you know why I did this?"

"I don't know," Asa replied, waiting for him to elaborate.

"This is the army I've led for nearly twenty years; I can say that every officer here is my trusted confidant. As long as they don't know that I've been stripped of command, I can still mobilize them," the general said.

"What do you want to do?" Asa frowned as he looked at the general.

The general's voice slowly regained its vitality and authority: "Tomorrow, we will advance the entire army toward the orc nest and wipe it out. Once we level that nest to the ground, the other nations will see our military might and will naturally be too afraid to speak out. The King will understand that maintaining the country requires us soldiers, and those politicians will be frightened and humiliated, unable to play their tricks anymore."

Asa looked at the general in astonishment; the desperate situation had transformed his anger and unwillingness into a gambler's fighting spirit.

"There's no need for concern. History has always been about victors and vanquished. As long as we succeed, no one will dare to say anything. Bishop Ronis won't blame you either. There won't be any issues with the Paladin Order; Commander Roland has been my comrade in arms for many years and will certainly support us in secret. If we cooperate wholeheartedly, and you coordinate the priests with the troops, we can completely annihilate those orcs. Our numbers are ten times theirs!" The general's eyes began to shine, as if victory were just within reach.

"I'm sorry, I won't do it," Asa shook his head. "I told you, rashly deploying troops will yield no good results. Also, my mission here is to stop you. I will go back and inform the other commanders that your military authority has been stripped."

The general's gaze dimmed, but then a furious fire reignited within him, a hundredfold more intense.

Facing the general's murderous glare, Asa felt no fear; he merely found the old man somewhat pitiable. He shook his head and said, "Isn't a ceasefire better? What does it matter who is in power? The soldiers don't need to die; they can go home. Living peacefully is better than dying here."

The general's voice roared, almost like a scream: "Everyone must die eventually, sooner or later. As soldiers, would you rather go home to farm and sell vegetables, waiting to wither away in bed, or die gloriously on the battlefield?"

Asa still shook his head, maintaining his calm demeanor as he replied, "Even if you think that way, these tens of thousands of soldiers do not. Their families do not think that way either. They all want to see their sons or husbands return alive. General, don't your wife and children wish for you to come back alive?"

The general slowly extended his hand, pointing westward, where the sunset was as red as blood. His voice trembled: "My wife and my last son both died there, at the hands of the orcs."

Asa was stunned.

"Twenty-five years ago, my wife was traveling with a merchant convoy through the wild highlands and was killed and eaten by the orcs. I don't even know where to find her body," the general said, his former strength and might evaporating, leaving only trembling sorrow. Facing the sunset made him appear like a broken statue. "More than half a year ago, my last son led a group of mercenaries to scout deep in the highlands, and once again, he went missing. He was only twenty-five, a brave warrior. Given time, he would have undoubtedly become a great warrior and general, you know?"

Asa knew. He envisioned that brave figure facing a giant ogre alone atop a desolate mountain.

"I'll tell you this: twenty years ago, the villages and towns around the wild highlands suffered annual attacks from the orcs. Those beasts hunted humans as if they were prey, capturing them alive to kill and eat. When I led the troops to eliminate those beasts, I saw decorations made from human bones in their tribes. They wrote on human skin and wore it as clothing. And now, those beasts brazenly build cities and seek to negotiate with us humans. Can you allow that, not just as a warrior, but as a human?"

The general's voice had lost its fervor, replaced by sadness and a weary anger. But Asa's heart began to stir.

No one could forget the orcs' past of cannibalism. One of the biggest impressions these subhumans left was their bloody and savage barbarism. Compared to the eloquent words of the brilliant Lord Theodorus, hearing such horrors from an old man who had lost his wife and child was indeed blood-boiling.

But Asa knew that sending troops to attack would lead only to death. Moreover, from now on, under Theodorus's leadership, the relationship between the orcs and humans would be entirely different. Waging a war purely out of past hatred was meaningless.

Asa took a few deep breaths, looked at the general, and softly said, "I'm sorry."

The general's tall figure trembled suddenly. Despair, loss, and pain twisted across his face before slowly morphing into rage. The killing intent in his eyes became unmistakable.

If he killed Asa, he might still command the army and seek revenge!

As Asa looked at the general, who had transformed into a lion baring its fangs in anger, he calmly shook his head and said, "If your wife and child are watching from above, they would never want you to take the lives of these forty thousand men in revenge for them. If they knew you were going to treat these living men as offerings to honor them, do you think they would be happy? Do you think they would want you to die too?"

The general continued to glare at Asa, but gradually his eyes became confused and powerless, and the killing intent dissipated. He stood still for a moment before silently turning away, no longer acknowledging Asa, and walked back alone.

Under the blood-red sunset, the once-majestic figure had lost its former grandeur, appearing only slightly staggered and weak. As Asa watched the figure gradually disappear in the setting sun, he could only hope that Duke Murak would arrive soon to withdraw the troops and put an end to all this. So he could report back to the Bishop and then go on a journey to forget these bothersome matters.

An owl perched on a nearby branch hooted a couple of times. Hearing that sound, Asa, who usually loved animals, suddenly felt a surge of aversion and turned to glare at the ominous bird of prey.

That night, a hazy half-moon hung in the sky. It was an unusually cloudy day for the highlands.

The general lay in bed, unable to sleep. This was the first time he had experienced insomnia since he first killed someone at the age of thirteen.

But unlike the anxiety, inexplicable fear, and excitement he felt back then, now he only felt fatigue, an overwhelming weariness.

This was not just fatigue; it was a tangible exhaustion pressing down on his heart, an unshakable sense of despair. Not only could he not muster the strength in his muscles, but his spirit was also on the verge of collapse, as if his body were merely a shell, devoid of any vitality.

Every wound, old and new, in his body groaned in unison at this moment. After decades of warfare, he had achieved nothing. His wife and son had died at the hands of the orcs, and now he could not even seek revenge for them. And soon, he would leave the army under the machinations of those politicians, living out his days like a useless old dog, subsisting on the leftovers doled out by those politicians until he died. Even dying gloriously, like a warrior, had become an unattainable wish.

Living had already lost its meaning; even dying could not be done properly… The general closed his eyes, feeling himself slowly dissolve into a puddle of mud, deforming, decaying in a haze of helpless sorrow and despair…

"Father." A deep voice awoke the general. He opened his eyes to see his son—the youngest, his favorite, and the most talented son.

He still had the same imposing and steady face he had in his youth, his serious expression suggesting he had just returned from a fierce battle. He held a bare sword hilt in his hand, standing straight with a gory, torn wound on his forehead staining his entire face red, but it could not conceal his heroic demeanor. A bloody hole marred his chest, left by some horrific weapon.

"You…" The general dared not move, fearing this apparition would suddenly vanish if startled. He did not know whether this was his son's spirit or an illusion conjured by his longing.

"Father, I followed your teachings and fought to the last. I lost my life in the most glorious battle; my death is a warrior's most honorable return," he stood tall, firmly gripping the sword hilt in his hand, the terrifying wound on his chest appearing like a medal.

"Is that so? You did well; you did very well, my good son…" the general murmured.

"I saw countless innocent people who died at the hands of the orcs; their deaths were tragic. But they all praised you, saying you were a great hero who avenged them by killing many brutal beasts. I also saw those soldiers who died fighting the orcs; they all encouraged you, hoping you would continue your battle. You have always fought to avenge those who have died. Perhaps you are not the greatest general, but you are the greatest warrior."

"Is that so…" The general nodded, a tear falling from his long-dry eyes.

He had always hated and despised tears, considering them a symbol of weakness, something a warrior should never need. But now, he felt all the vitality of his spirit surge forth with that single tear.

"I also saw mother. She said she hopes you'll come to meet her in heaven in the most glorious way. I hope to see my father fighting again; that is the true you." The voice gradually faded, and the image became blurry. "Goodbye, Father. I must go now."

"My son…" The general suddenly sat up in bed, the dawn light already breaking.

Was it just a dream? The general realized there were indeed tears on his face. He wiped his eyes, half-sitting as he looked around in confusion. In the distance, he saw a small object shining in the morning light on the ground.

The general slowly walked over and picked it up with trembling hands. It was a bare sword hilt, the blade having seemingly shattered under great force, leaving only a small fragment near the hilt.

Years of sun and rain had made it appear very old; even if discarded by the roadside, it would not attract attention. Yet the general recognized what it was. The end of the hilt had an indentation of a Holy Cross, the emblem of the Paladin Order, and on the other side were the words "Courage" and "Glory," which he had carved himself.

He pressed the sword hilt to his chest, as if trying to absorb its meaning into his heart. Then he stood up, feeling a surge of strength within him, a vitality he had never felt before.