Chapter 167 - What Kind of Country Is This (1)

Roars filled the entire battlefield.

The knights and soldiers of the Northern allied forces shouted the name of Ballorhard.

Even the royal knights and musketeers, who lived solely for the glory and well-being of the Royal Family, were shouting the name of Winter Castle rather than the Royal Family at this very moment.

That was perhaps their own form of respect for the choice of those who had given up a spring that might have come, plunging instead into the biting winter winds, and also a mourning for the boundless possibilities they had ultimately abandoned—the chance to finally leave the frozen earth behind and head toward the warm southern world.

The lords and soldiers of the Northern allied forces were no different.

As everyone cried out the name of Ballorhard like that, the fierce resistance of the Orc war legion was slowly coming to an end.

Now, the remaining Orcs amounted to less than a single legion, and Winter Castle's forces surrounded them, launching a fierce attack.

I, too, assisted them.

"For Ballorhard!"

Crying out for Ballorhard with my mouth just as they did.

SCREECH!

And shortly after, I was able to slash the neck of an Orc that had been resisting to the very end.

There were no roars.

Having annihilated the Orcs, the knights and I turned around as if on cue and headed somewhere into the snowfield.

To the place where the battle between the old Orc and the Masters was in full swing.

BOOM! BOOM!

Explosive sounds erupted in succession. The frozen earth was heavily gouged out by spear thrusts laden with red Fighting Spirit and massive strength.

But that was all.

The bastard's spear did not even touch a single hair on the Masters.

It pointlessly tore up the ground and only cleaved through the empty air.

I sheathed my sword and watched the battle.

The miserable appearance of the old Orc—who was born with the spirit of a king and was once called the king of kings while leading warlords—was right there.

The Overlord was screaming, engulfed in flames, unable to even extinguish a fire sparked by a wish that was merely of the Extraordinary Grade at best.

This was proof that the bastard's spirit had been damaged to the point where he could not even handle that much.

Now, the bastard was nothing more than a monster with mere physical strength and a tough body.

And the durability and massive strength left in him were nothing in the face of the Masters' combined attacks.

Chunks of his flesh were hacked away by the sword lights scattered by the Masters.

The bastard screamed and resisted even more violently. But the more he did, the fiercer the flames of requiem attached to his body burned.

Then, at a certain moment, the flames completely swallowed his body.

ROOOOOAR!

Letting out a terrible scream, the bastard swung his spear wildly.

Arwen dug into the opening of that fierce spear strike.

SLASH!

One of the bastard's forearms, engulfed in flames, fell to the ground.

That bastard Eli cut off the leg of the old Orc as it shrieked. Even the remaining leg was severed by Adelia's slash.

The old knight's sword slashed out both of the bastard's eyes.

SCREEEEECH!

Pressing against the ground with his single remaining arm, the bastard wailed in pain and terror.

Meister Surka, who had reached point-blank range, halted his axe with a start.

"This is not my share to take."

Then, grumbling that it only ruined his appetite, he spat on the ground and turned around.

The Masters stepped back as if on cue.

TRUDGE. TRUDGE.

Vincent, panting heavily, approached the bastard.

『S-Spare me, s-spare my...』

SLASH!

Before the ugly begging could even finish, Vincent struck down with his sword as if collapsing.

The treasured sword of House Ballorhard, symbolizing the lord of Winter Castle, pierced the back of the bastard's neck.

The bastard's mouth gaped open and shut.

Vincent twisted the sword.

The severed head fell with a SPLAT, plunging into a puddle of blood.

A hideous face half-melted by the Fire Dragon's breath; the ugly face of a coward who had plotted to save his pathetic life until the very last moment.

Vincent staggered over and picked up that hideous object.

"We have..."

Having squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, he suddenly snapped them open. And then, he hoisted the Overlord's head high.

"Won!"

At the roar of the castle lord, the knights and soldiers unleashed the cheers they had been holding back.

"We killed the King of Orcs!"

"We won!"

Thumping their chests with bloodstained longswords and spears, they shouted their victory like madmen.

"We drove the monsters away!"

Both the Northern allied forces and the reinforcements from the Royal Family roared like madmen just the same.

『[Poem of Requiem] is...』

『Connected to [Poem of Domination]...』

The roars struck so deeply that even the messages echoing in my head were buried beneath them.

I blocked out the messages.

What I needed to hear right now was the roars of the holy victory they had achieved without compromise, not some trivial messages.

Without even blinking, I etched the sight of these people crying out their victory into my eyes.

So as not to miss a single thing.

In the future, someone might mock today's victory, calling it a worthless triumph forged by fools.

Perhaps even among those present here today, there might be someone who would forever regret what happened today.

Saying that pride and grudges could surely be set aside for a moment for the sake of the Great Cause.

That forgiveness held a greater value than any revenge.

If there was truly someone who spoke like that, I would answer them this way.

Whose Great Cause was it for, and who dared to have the right to disparage their choice?

When everyone else was enjoying a sunny, warm summer, they alone had been facing the harsh winter.

Forgiveness and revenge were merely choices for the parties involved, and the claim that forgiveness was more valuable than revenge was nothing but lip service from those who had never experienced it.

Today's victory was by no means worthless.

Furthermore, today's decision was by no means foolish.

They had simply made a choice.

Instead of choosing a temporary peace gained through compromise with a coward, they had simply chosen their own history and their own Great Cause. They simply had not turned a blind eye to the cries of their own hearts under the guise of a Great Cause that anyone could accept.

Even if that choice meant they would stand before the blizzards and biting winds once again.

Who would dare disparage their resolve as the foolhardy bravado of idiots?

If there was such a person, I would personally go and smash their snout in.

I had already seen it far too many times.

To prevent greater sacrifices, for the sake of immediate peace.

Nobles who had lost their pride, knights steeped in a sense of defeat. A monarch who had lost his vigor.

Those whose spirits were broken under the name of the Great Cause, those who unconsciously stepped back at the mere mention of the Empire...

There were far too many of them in this kingdom.

In such a kingdom, the existence of those who did not lose their resolve until the very end like this gave me great strength.

Because the path I had to walk from now on was a thorny road where not a single step could be taken through compromise.

"We won!"

I looked at Vincent, who held the Overlord's head high and roared fiercely.

The Master's momentum and aura that had shone brilliantly just a moment ago could no longer be felt.

Even his towering presence had vanished like a lie.

I naturally came to understand.

Vincent's awakening was not complete.

Perhaps it was a temporary change that occurred in reaction to the [War Poem], or perhaps it was a single moment of brilliance blooming as the avenger's wish burned within the flames of requiem.

As I was now, I could not be certain of anything.

But I believed.

Even if it was a brilliance that lasted for only a single moment, his body and soul would remember today and continuously grow.

And that before long, a day would come when he would shine brilliantly again just like today.

Because that was the reward for the penance and sorrow he had endured in his past life, and the glory promised to an unwavering man who had refused to compromise.

And personal completion was not the only thing promised to him.

"If you had compromised with that greenskin monster, the Dwarves would never have visited this castle again."

Meister Surka approached me and said.

"Because we never share friendships with hypocrites who break their own will for a moment's gain."

The Dwarf's voice was deliberately blunt, but an undeniable look of satisfaction was evident within it.

"Their minds are like fire, and their souls are like iron. We Dwarves like friends like that."

"Friends, huh..."

Hearing the word 'friend' from a Dwarf's mouth was by no means an easy feat.

Dwarves were stubborn artisans.

They were those who knew no compromise, and those who lived for pure aspirations.

To them, compromise was a sin.

They did not acknowledge someone as a friend simply because they had fought together, nor did they consider someone a friend just because they showed goodwill through countless gifts and favors.

They were extremely picky, a race with their own unique set of standards.

And if someone was lucky enough to become a friend of the Dwarves, and if they ever found themselves in great difficulty, the Dwarves would actively lend their strength as if helping their own kin.

"The moment I return, I'll have to gather the old geezers."

"Why the Meisters?"

"A friend is in need. To help out, we'll have to open the storehouses and get those heavy-ass bastards moving, but that's a bit tough for me to do alone."

I ended up laughing without realizing it.

Because the blessing of fire and iron that would descend upon these steadfast men was something even I had not expected.

* * *

The Rangers dug through the snow that had piled up overnight, rescuing the wounded and recovering the bodies of the fallen.

Thanks to the knights actively climbing the walls and fighting from the very beginning, the casualties among the Rangers were not as severe as expected.

However, the casualties suffered by the soldiers of the Northern allied forces could by no means be ignored.

The allied forces, which were closer to being reserves, only directly jumped into battle right before the end, when everyone went on the offensive.

Nevertheless, they had fallen into complete chaos due to the Orcs that had abruptly sprung out from the ground, forcing them to suffer massive casualties.

During the short time it took for the Royal Knights and the royal musketeers to step in and restore order, they had lost three-tenths of their entire force.

The losses were simply too great to just cheer over a hard-won victory.

Ultimately feeling the need to regroup, they decided to leave Winter Castle and return to their own domains.

"Call us at any time. We will drop everything and come running."

"Winter Castle is not alone, so do not forget that we are behind you."

The faces of those speaking such words as they left were filled with sincerity.

In that moment at least, there was a righteous spirit that paid no mind to the immense casualties they had suffered.

They had only spent a single winter together. Yet they looked as if they had completely regained the spirit of the North that had been lost during years of indolence.

Vincent expressed deep gratitude for their goodwill and friendship, seeing them off up to a day's journey outside the South Gate.

He had felt it as well.

That although much was lost in this war, much had also been gained.

And it was actually the case.

Neighbors whose faces were normally hard to even catch a glimpse of were now clinging to the walls and gates damaged by the fierce battle.

It was the Dwarves.

Of the two hundred Dwarves who had participated in the battle, one hundred stayed behind to help repair the broken gates and walls.

"Just who the hell supplied these hand cannons! If you're going to do it, you should have trained them properly too! Is just throwing hand cannons at them the end of it?!"

A few of them even exploded in anger at the Rangers' clumsy handling of the hand cannons and began teaching them how to utilize the hand cannons.

"These items are at least 300 years old. They might have been quite useful back then, but not anymore. Using such antiques so proudly in war hurts our clan's pride."

Another Dwarf extended an unasked-for favor, offering to upgrade the hand cannons used by the royal heavy armored musketeers.

"I guarantee it. You won't be able to use these many more times. A few of them are already broken, and if you use them a couple more times, the rest will end up the same way."

The old knight was extremely troubled.

It was a welcome thing for the Dwarves to tune up the weapons made by Dwarves, but because the origins of those items lay in the royal treasures, it was difficult in many ways to recklessly entrust them for upgrades.

"It's a rare opportunity, so let's just close our eyes and hand them over."

So I stepped forward and persuaded the old knight. Because the old knight also knew which option would be more beneficial to the Royal Family, he feigned defeat and accepted my persuasion.

Having returned after seeing off the lords, Vincent was terribly bewildered upon seeing the Dwarves suddenly act so proactively.

But he quickly suppressed his surprise and threw himself into his duties.

Like that, while Winter Castle was recovering from the damage sustained in the past war and preparing for tomorrow, news flew in from The Capital.

[Your Highness! We have a huge problem!]

The voice of that bastard Montpellier coming from the other side of the communication crystal ball was excessively frantic.

"What now. What is it."

Because the bastard's fussing wasn't just a once or twice occurrence, I asked apathetically.

Because I figured it wouldn't be anything major this time either.

But it was.