Ch.240Decision

I still remember.

The consequences brought by a single careless remark. The screams of women and children, etched into my heart like a tattoo carved with a needle.

And the countless memories of slaughter that followed. The men I cut down with my sword, and the eyes of slaves who had lost everything.

If there’s an origin to this feeling, it could only be then.

—-

“…Sometimes I dream.”

“Dreams?”

“Yes. Always the same dream. I’m running alone somewhere in darkness so thick I can’t see an inch in front of me… until they appear.”

I didn’t dream often. Most were strange, confusing nonsense.

But this nightmare had repeated itself many times. As if telling me to never forget.

“Hands… the hands of the half-rotted dead grab my legs. And then their heads, their faces, their upper bodies… they slowly crawl up, digging through the ground. By then, I can recognize who these dead are. They’re all people I’ve killed. Innocent people whose only crime was meeting me, cut down as I accumulated Karma of Murder. They wail curses at me and tear my legs, my body to shreds. Then I scream apologies until I suddenly wake up.”

On mornings after such dreams, I’d light several cigarettes in succession as soon as I woke up.

To cover the gloom in my chest with white smoke.

“Apologizing? Isn’t that funny? What’s the point now…”

A hollow laugh escapes me.

Hersella must be laughing at me too. Saying how pathetically weak I sound.

[ ….. ]

“…Lord Median, do you wish to atone?”

Atone?

No, surely not. There’s no way. Atonement is…

.

.

.

…Perhaps I do.

“…Yes. Perhaps I do.”

“Hmm… atonement… In other words, Lord Median, you feel guilty about your past. Is that why you fight?”

Yes. At first, it was simply the desire to live.

But as the screams in my head grew louder, I began to think this wasn’t right.

That I couldn’t be forgiven for committing countless massacres just because of my impulse to survive.

No, my own conscience couldn’t forgive myself.

So I desperately searched for a reason.

A reason why I had to live.

Not selfish, personal reasons like survival instinct or fear of death… but a real reason why I must, why I had no choice.

And I found it.

It was to save. Not just more people than I had killed, but the entire world.

This world I faced directly was so unstable and cruel that it seemed it would collapse like a sandcastle if someone didn’t protect it.

I decided that someone would be me.

I’m here to save those beyond Demian’s reach, to accomplish what Demian alone couldn’t handle.

Yes. I believed my life carried the weight not just of myself but of hundreds, thousands, perhaps the entire world.

So I had to survive, I told myself, as if to comfort myself.

Disguising my sins as sacrifices for the world.

That was the only way to suppress my guilt.

That’s why I fought.

To turn my self-comforting rationalization into truth.

When Durandal awakened, I might have been secretly glad… as if it proved I was right.

“Yes, I wanted to atone. By eliminating all threats to people, making the entire world peaceful. Then… the deaths of those I killed to survive would have meaning. I know that no matter what I do, they won’t come back to life. So at the very least, I wanted to give their deaths a noble, inevitable meaning… like cornerstones for peace. That’s what I thought my atonement was.”

“…I understand why Elpinel watches over you. Atonement and requiem for victims by destroying all evil…. If you had followed Elpinel, you would undoubtedly have become an excellent Paladin.”

Lacy made the sign of the cross and offered a brief prayer.

“That guilt, that sense of debt toward the dead, must be your foundation. If you’ve realized that, I have no more advice to give. Use your foundation as a standard and ask yourself: what is right, what do you want to do? Go where your heart points. At least, so you won’t have regrets.”

—-

As Lacy said, my consultation with her didn’t give me answers.

It only made me face myself.

I must save the world. For those already dead. No matter what sacrifice it takes.

Yes, even if it’s an unbearably difficult task.

Looking up at the night sky, I return to my tent.

With each step, I renew my resolve.

Having to kill so many people was still terrible, but at least now I could accept it as necessary.

[ …”Saving,” is it? A feeling I cannot understand. Yes. It was the same back then… ]

A low voice. Like a whisper, a hesitant utterance.

[ However, if you desire it so much… I’ll give you one piece of advice. Just this once, specially. ]

‘Advice…?’

[ I don’t know if it will work until we try… but if it goes as planned, we could break the enemy’s morale without much bloodshed. ]

The method Hersella suggested could indeed reduce the number of casualties if successful.

Though the chances of success were infinitesimally small.

‘…Thank you. I’ll try discussing it.’

[ Better not to expect too much. The westerners are different from the Ka’har. ]

Still, I should at least try.

—-

That night, I didn’t have nightmares.

—-

The next morning, I explained Hersella’s proposal to everyone.

Ludwig opposed it. The probability of the enemy accepting was low, and even if they did, the chance of failure was too high.

His opposition was for my sake. Failure meant my death.

Lord Wien agreed, saying if successful, our casualties would be greatly reduced.

Whether he truly worried about our losses or hoped for the death of someone rumored to be Leopold’s confidant and mistress, I couldn’t tell.

The Duke of Faelrun merely smiled with interest.

Though the scar across his lips made it look like a predator’s savage grin.

Lacy smiled gently, and Leopold looked at me with a somewhat anxious expression.

“Is it possible…?”

“…We won’t know until we try. But I don’t plan to die.”

I smiled lightly at him.

Finally, Leopold nodded. Very heavily.

—-

We faced the enemy forces before noon.

The summer sun blazed dazzlingly, stinging our backs. This was favorable for Leopold’s army.

Whether in large-scale war or one-on-one combat, fighting with the sun at your back gives a slight advantage.

Moreover, the fatigue from heat would disadvantage Ernst’s army with their limited combat experience.

“A textbook semi-encirclement… Well, that’s the most appropriate way to leverage their numerical advantage.”

Ludwig muttered as he surveyed the enemy formation.

Ernst’s army across the plain was divided into three.

A formation with wings aimed at us.

Each wing had six thousand conscripts and a thousand cavalry.

The center gathered the remaining eighteen thousand infantry and archers, along with about four hundred knights.

Their intention was clear: break our momentum with cavalry on both wings, then penetrate from the flanks to surround us.

—-

Our formation, meanwhile, concentrated core forces in the center.

Nine thousand infantry and three thousand archers gathered at the rear center, with heavy cavalry blocking their front.

Three thousand heavy cavalry were concentrated in the center in a wedge formation, with two hundred knights positioned on each side of the heavy cavalry.

One hundred fifty Paladins were positioned between the heavy cavalry and infantry.

The remaining two hundred knights, the most valiant ones, formed the spearhead of the heavy cavalry at the very front.

Along with me, Heiden, Richard, and Nigel.

According to the original plan, these 204 would pierce through the enemy lines like an awl, completely crushing the conscripts.

…If Hersella’s suggested method failed, that’s exactly what would happen.

So I gently struck my horse’s reins.

The startled horse snorted and walked forward.

Advancing toward over thirty thousand enemies. Just me, alone, very slowly.

No arrows flew.

Ernst’s army wouldn’t think a single warrior approaching slowly would attack.

They’d probably consider me a messenger with something to convey.

Yes, I did have something to say.

Eventually, I came close enough to faintly see the enemies’ faces.

The attention of tens of thousands holding weapons focused on me alone.

Doubt, fear, anxiety, desperation. The various expressions of those facing death.

Looking at these people who were neither warriors nor soldiers, I took a deep breath.

And shouted toward them.

“The last descendant of the Great’s Twelve Knights! The true First Sword of the Empire who shattered the Ghost Blade! Aishan-Gioro Haschal is here—!”

Looking to the sky, I cried out as if expelling all my breath at once.

So my voice would reach even the commanders watching from their safe headquarters beyond the pale-faced soldiers.

“Is there no one who wants to take my head and claim the honor of being the Empire’s strongest? I don’t care how many come at me! Anyone with the will to fight me, step forward! I alone will cut you all down and prove it here!”

A passionate roar shook the heavens.

Startled horses pawed the ground with their hooves.

“The Ghost Blade is nothing but a senile old man!”

Now, what will you do, Valenstein?

Can you ignore this insult and order your soldiers to charge?

“Stop hiding behind a whore’s skirt and come out! You insects in heat, bewitched by a witch!”

What about you, Isabella?

You wanted to catch me.

That opportunity has come so obviously. Can you resist?

Of course not.