CHAPTER 80: I've been waiting for this day (3)

Tamos's legs trembled, unable to stay calm.

The soldiers couldn't get close to the flames, so they could only rescue a handful of the injured who managed to escape.

At first, quite a few came out, but now, hardly any more soldiers were making it.

'Damn it, they're all wounded—what am I supposed to do with this!'

Those who had managed to escape early on were in relatively better shape, but the rest were barely clinging to life.

Even with all of them combined, they didn't total 500.

'Viktor, you idiot! Acting so high and mighty, and this is what we get? To lead an army like this and still lose!'

While Tamos was cursing Viktor, Lowell, who had been scanning the battlefield with darting eyes, started sweating nervously.

'This doesn't make sense. Even if the fire is fierce, this is an open plain. They should be able to run out, even if badly wounded. Something's off.'

Desmond had sent trained knights and soldiers as reinforcements.

There was no way they'd all fall into a panic over this.

'Were they too tightly packed? Maybe the dense formation hindered their movement, causing the fire to spread…'

He had expected at least a thousand to make it out, but the number of survivors was alarmingly low.

Agonized screams still rang out from within the flames.

'They're screaming in pain but not escaping?'

A dreadful feeling hit him like a weight.

Lowell quickly checked to the east and west of Perdium's castle.

'There's no dust cloud!'

If the enemy were pursuing them, they would've mobilized cavalry. If that were the case, they should have already seen dust clouds.

'What the hell is happening in there?'

Goosebumps covered his skin.

Grinding his teeth, he shouted to Tamos.

"My lord! We must retreat immediately! Take the remaining soldiers and knights and flee!"

"What? Didn't you say we should take the wounded?"

"There's something in there! Get to safety immediately!"

Tamos, who had been ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble, brightened as soon as he heard Lowell's words.

"Yes! Let's run! Everyone, retreat! Retreat at once!"

But it was already too late.

Figures in black armor burst through the flames.

They looked like demons from hell.

"Th-those outfits…"

Both men turned pale.

Smoke poured endlessly from their black armor.

Tamos spun his horse around, not caring in the slightest how they had emerged from the flames.

"Stop them! Hold them back!"

Leaving that order behind, Tamos kicked his horse into a frantic gallop to escape.

"Huh? My lord! My lord! I'll follow you!"

Lowell called out insincerely, hurriedly following Tamos.

As the last few knights fled with their lord, the soldiers, now leaderless, fell into chaos.

"W-we should run too!"

"What about the wounded?"

"We've already lost! If we stay, we'll all die!"

The savvier soldiers began scattering, abandoning the wounded and their weapons as they ran for their lives.

Even the reinforcements from Desmond's forces lost the will to fight.

"Everyone, retreat! Return to the territory however you can!"

The mercenaries took off in a mad pursuit, hunting down the fleeing soldiers.

"Get every last one of them!"

"Ha-ha-ha! Where do you think you're going?!"

"Kill them all!"

The mercenaries, intoxicated by the bloodshed, slaughtered the enemy mercilessly.

"Aaargh!"

The screams of the enemies caught from behind echoed across the battlefield.

The mercenaries slashed down wounded soldiers as they ran, decapitating those limping away.

Crack! Crunch!

"Please spare me! I surrender! I surrender!"

"Stop! Please, stop!"

"I dropped my weapon! Spare me, please!"

Some soldiers fell to the ground or knelt, begging for their lives, but the frenzied mercenaries paid no heed.

"Our captain doesn't take surrenders! Ha-ha!"

Only a few soldiers managed to escape. Nearly all of Tamos's guards were wiped out.

"That's enough! Stop the chase!"

Gillian raised his hand, reining in the blood-crazed mercenaries.

If they pursued any further, even their own troops would scatter.

"Ha, what a pity."

"That was one hell of a warm-up, ha!"

"Is it really over? Let's check the bodies."

The mercenaries began rifling through the fallen bodies.

They searched for rings, necklaces, or anything else of value.

Gillian, seeing them picking through the corpses with glee, growled as he approached them.

"What do you think you're doing? You were told that spoils would be shared fairly once the war was over!"

"Aw, come on, you know how this works."

"Finders keepers!"

"Why don't you join in?"

When the mercenaries responded nonchalantly, Gillian pressed an axe to the neck of the closest one.

"Want to lie next to that corpse? Who told you to act on your own?"

Startled by his fierce tone, the mercenaries stepped back reluctantly, though their faces showed dissatisfaction.

Knowing that crushing their pride would only breed resentment, Gillian added one more line.

"Have you forgotten the young lord's orders? Even mercenaries should show respect for the fallen. You'll receive fair payment."

"Ugh…"

"Right, he did say that… Guess we can't do anything about it."

The mercenaries clicked their tongues and reluctantly complied.

Had it been any other employer, they would've cursed him out, but they didn't dare complain here.

Though Gillian managed to keep the mercenaries in line, he cast uneasy glances around.

'Young lord…'

Ghislain was still nowhere to be seen.

'Did something happen?'

It made no sense for Ghislain to still be inside when even the mercenaries had escaped so easily.

Gillian inspected his armor.

The inner lining of Dirus Ent had already shrunk and lost its protective qualities.

Most of it had fallen off, with only a few charred scraps clinging to the armor.

He touched his helmet—same story.

In this state, he wouldn't last long in the flames.

The fires raging around them showed no sign of dying down.

If it were normal fire, he could endure it with mana protecting his body, but this was magical fire.

Gillian couldn't confidently say he'd be safe inside.

'I should check…'

He couldn't just sit back and wait.

If something had happened, he'd need to help, and if not, he could just bring him back.

As Gillian took a step forward, Kaor tilted his head and asked.

"Hey, old man. Are you really going back in there?"

"Yes, the young lord hasn't come out yet."

"Ha-ha, are you seriously worried about that crazy guy?"

"Watch your mouth. Want me to kill you right here?"

Kaor stepped back, feigning fear as Gillian raised his axe.

"Let's save it for next time. I've had enough action for today."

Gillian shot him a cold glare before turning back.

"Anyway, I'm going back in. You keep the mercenaries in line."

"Hey, if the captain hasn't come out, maybe he has his reasons."

"What?"

When Gillian frowned and looked back, Kaor shrugged and continued.

"Don't go barging in and messing things up. We just need to follow orders. Am I wrong?"

"Hmm."

Kaor had a point.

Ghislain often moved faster than anyone expected, making it hard for his own men to keep up with his plans.

Perhaps he was handling something Gillian hadn't foreseen.

But he couldn't just leave him be. Ghislain always walked a fine line.

One mistake could cost him everything, yet Ghislain seemed unafraid of such risks.

Gillian felt it was his duty, as a loyal follower, to back his master up.

'I suppose I'll wait a bit longer.'

But with Kaor's logic in mind, Gillian decided to wait, just a little while.

***

Clang!

Viktor staggered from the force of the blow. If he'd been a split second slower, his head would've been cleaved off.

Viktor was stunned. Was there actually a knight here strong enough to threaten him?

He instinctively thrust his sword, and his opponent stumbled back.

"Not bad!"

Viktor steadied himself and took a good look at his opponent, eyes widening.

"You!"

A figure in black armor with a black helmet.

One of those accursed individuals who had consistently thwarted him throughout this war.

"Good of you to show yourself!"

Viktor gripped his sword tightly, seething with fury.

Yes, he'd have to hunt down every last one of these bastards.

Just as he was about to take a step forward, he noticed something strange.

Hiss!

Steam continuously rose from his opponent's armor.

"…It wasn't armor?"

Upon closer inspection, he saw that it wasn't true black armor but rather a black coating on top of regular armor.

The black material absorbed heat and released steam.

'That armor… it's shielding him from the flames.'

Realizing this, Viktor was filled with dread.

"Did… did you plan this trap from the start?"

From the very first day of the war, the enemy had worn that armor.

Which meant they'd been prepared to ignite these flames at any time.

They'd lured him in, waiting for him to gather all his forces to maximize the trap's effect.

"You… you…"

Viktor was so shaken that he struggled to form words.

His opponent tilted his head.

"Yes, this is my very expensive trap. Like it?"

"You prepared this? Who... who are you?"

Viktor couldn't see the figure's face beneath the helmet.

But he knew that anyone capable of this kind of feat must be someone important—surely a lord, knight commander, or master of arms…

"Ghislain Perdium."

"…?"

"You don't know me?"

"Ghislain… Perdium? The young lord Ghislain?"

"Yes, that would be me."

Ghislain raised his chin arrogantly as he introduced himself.

Viktor stared, dumbfounded, as his breathing quickened.

'The infamous young lord… the shut-in Swordmaster… the northern scoundrel…'

Ghislain had never been on his radar. His name hadn't even come up on any list of threats—a name Viktor had never even considered.

To have fallen to someone like that, a wave of humiliation engulfed him.

His head felt hot, his vision dizzy. Viktor stumbled before regaining his balance and stance.

"I, the greatest knight in the North… defeated by the likes of you?"

"Yes. And your life will end here, Viktor."

"…!"

Viktor suddenly snapped to attention, as though doused in cold water.

"How… how do you know my name?"

He was Harold's secret weapon, after all—his name was almost entirely unknown.

How did this backwater young lord, this so-called scoundrel, know his identity?

'The count was wrong. The count's information was flawed.'

Viktor was certain now.

Their loss in this war wasn't his fault; it was Count Desmond's mistake.

There had to be a traitor in their territory, someone who had relayed the count's plans to Perdium.

That was the only way they could've known his name and prepared a trap like this.

If he could just kill this man and return…

Then he could explain it all.

This defeat was not his fault. And with this meddler out of the way, things would finally be under control.

"You arrogant bastard. You knew who I was, and you dared face me alone, talking like this?"

Viktor's eyes glowed with killing intent.

The searing heat of the surrounding fire didn't even register.

His fury alone threatened to consume him.

"A lowlife like you thinks you can take on the greatest knight in the North?!"

Boom!

Dozens of slashes rained down on Ghislain.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Ghislain wielded his massive two-handed axe to block the attacks, but the force pushed him back.

Viktor's skill was evident, his blade steady despite his injuries.

Each precise strike targeted Ghislain's vital points, with a relentless power that forced Ghislain to retreat, even with his larger weapon.

Clang!

The axe was deflected in a clash, and Viktor seized the moment to stab forward.

Thud!

Ghislain twisted his body, but Viktor's blade followed, piercing his shoulder.

Hiss!

The red-hot blade seared his flesh, and smoke rose from Ghislain's wound.

Viktor, exhilarated, prepared to attack again.

But Ghislain's cold voice pierced through the chaos.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"What?"

Whoosh!

An axe swung from Ghislain's blind spot, cutting through the air. Startled, Viktor leaned back.

Shing! Crack!

The chest plate of his armor split, blood spraying from the wound.

Ghislain didn't waste the moment, spinning around and delivering a powerful kick to Viktor's stomach.

Thud!

"Gah!"

Viktor, off balance, stumbled back before quickly recovering.

Fortunately, the next strike didn't come immediately.

"You… how can a bastard like you…"

This scoundrel had enough skill to fight him toe-to-toe?

Even in his wounded state, it was hard to believe.

With a thud, Ghislain tossed his axe to the ground.

He removed his helmet and threw it aside, revealing a face slick with sweat.

"You're pretty good. But is that really all it takes to be the best in the North?"

He slowly drew his sword, pointing it at Viktor.

Then he smirked, a mocking expression on his face.

"Get up. Let me show you who's really the best in the North."

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