episode_0017

17. The Moment a Miracle Rises

Even I had to admit things were going suspiciously well.

Just a week ago, public sentiment within Penrose Castle was at its worst.

Foolish, uneducated commoners, terrified by the women of House Grace, had nearly opened the gates.

Many rebels, fearful that even if they repelled the attack now, it might come again, had tried to surrender.

Unlike my reckless brother, who sought glory by charging ahead, this was the worst possible scenario for someone like me, who preferred safety above all.

Yet, for a week, I disguised myself as a knight and concealed my presence.

Unlike House Grace’s army, we didn’t rely on conscripts—only knights and guards—so chain of command wasn’t an issue.

I secretly relayed orders to the knights, and public morale plummeted to rock bottom.

In such a situation, could Erica Grace possibly stay idle?

No, of course not.

According to intelligence, the enemy’s provisions were running critically low.

Of course, they’d want to end this war quickly, so Erica or her generals would have no choice but to engage.

But then, by sheer luck, their leader—Erica herself—had approached personally…

[…I’ll slaughter every last one of these bastards—!!]

Unfortunately, I couldn’t kill Erica, but I did manage to take down a man who seemed to be her closest confidant.

Judging by her anguished scream—loud enough for all within the castle to hear—she treasured that subordinate deeply.

As a result, the people’s hearts turned, now choosing to endure out of fear of Erica.

Everything was unfolding far too smoothly.

So smoothly it was almost terrifying…

“Now… how do you plan to escape?”

Contrary to expectations of retreat, Grace’s soldiers persisted in surrounding the castle walls, holding their ground stubbornly.

Despite nearly exhausting their supplies, they kept firing arrows, raising shields, and pressing the siege with disciplined determination.

A subordinate knight beside me sneered at the sight of the enemy soldiers.

“Haha! Seems they’ve given up. Must be ashamed that these women lost on their very first campaign!”

His words had some merit.

For a novice ruler leading her first expedition—especially one governing the volatile Redmain region—this defeat would spell political disaster.

“Erica Grace isn’t that foolish. Keep calm, observe the situation, and stay vigilant.”

I dismissed my subordinate’s gloating with a stern warning.

After all, the tactics I’d used only worked precisely because Erica was sharp.

Had she stupidly prolonged the siege, my people would’ve undoubtedly rebelled.

My strategy of disguising myself as a knight and hiding wouldn’t have worked either.

The reason my schemes succeeded against Erica Grace was… purely her lack of experience.

Despite learning directly from her father, a veteran of countless wars, and accumulating frontline experience as Redmain’s human shield, her inexperience remained her fatal flaw.

That gap in experience was the sole reason I’d prevailed against her.

Raw might and brilliant tactics… a promising young general versus an unremarkable but battle-hardened old veteran.

This was essentially the scenario I found myself in, which was why victory seemed assured.

Had Erica even a single prior war under her belt, *I* would’ve been the one defeated.

Unlike my brother, I didn’t grow arrogant in victory.

I acknowledged my opponent’s potential and abilities, meticulously planning for their next move.

“This… won’t be the end, will it?”

Assuming Erica had devised gambits as reckless as mine, I stayed on guard.

Peering down at her commanding her troops alone, I racked my brain for answers.

Time passed, and the next morning arrived.

“The generals have appeared! Vivian, Adele, and Luna!”

“And Erica?”

“She’s… gone. Probably resting after yesterday’s command.”

I didn’t find this particularly odd.

In joint campaigns, rulers and generals typically rotated command to prevent fatigue-induced blunders.

But… an inexplicable unease tightened around my chest.

“Any word from our spies in their ranks?”

“Well…”

The knight hesitated.

Likely because the intel wasn’t credible enough to formally report.

“They keep saying… ‘Hold out until the moment a miracle rises…’”

“A *miracle*? Hah…!”

“Forgive me! But their soldiers claim those were the only orders given!”

The knight elaborated further.

At the moment a miracle rises, the castle gates will open… march inside…

It was too absurd for mere subterfuge.

“Hoh… So the so-called prodigy of the great House Grace has been seduced by a witch doctor’s sweet lies?”

Witch doctors.

Folk who demanded tribute in exchange for honeyed promises and false miracles.

Faced with her first defeat, the prideful genius had fallen prey to one’s silver tongue.

That was the only explanation I could accept.

On the third day, the three generals reappeared, surrounding the castle and raining arrows.

On the fourth, Erica returned to lead her troops.

On the fifth, the generals attacked again, expertly picking off several of my knights.

On the sixth, Erica herself took command once more.

Watching it all unfold, I turned to the reporting knight.

“Our casualties?”

“Of thirty-three knights, fourteen slain. Of fifty-five guards, thirty-five dead.”

Losses were heavier than expected.

Like rabid dogs, they fought tooth and nail, tearing into us with relentless fury.

“The enemy?”

“Ah… Apart from three knights slain, negligible losses. However, roughly eight hundred regular soldiers have perished.”

A fifteen-to-one disparity.

True, we’d lost many skilled troops capable of wielding magic—a major blow.

But even conscripts weren’t emotionless puppets.

With comrades dropping left and right, morale must’ve plummeted…

And yet their leader, seduced by a witch doctor, fixated on a *miracle*.

This was a war I couldn’t lose even if I tried.

Moreover, the enemy was burning through provisions meant for retreat—when they withdrew, a counterattack would decimate them.

“Keep holding out. Strike their rear when they retreat.”

Inflicting heavy losses now would deter further hostilities for a long while.

Who knows?

Perhaps I’d even become the warlord of Redfield—my dead brother’s cherished dream.

Sweet ambitions unfolded before me.

For once, I dared imagine myself a hero, poised to stabilize this chaotic land.

“All we have to do… is wait.”

I let my guard down.

Why hadn’t I questioned the strangeness?

Why hadn’t I doubted their stubborn focus on the rear gate, their reckless full-frontal assault?

Why had I dismissed talk of a *miracle* as nonsense?

Why had I ignored reports of suspicious movements near the mountainous front gate?

And why… hadn’t I suspected the deliberate rotation of command between Erica and her generals—rigidly structured to lull us into complacency?

In hindsight, it was a flawless feint—a deception so masterful it’d be recorded in history books for centuries to come.

Drunk on my own brilliance, I’d swallowed arrogance like poison.

Though I knew my foe’s strength, I’d shackled myself to the arrogance of experience.

“What—what is *that*?!”

“A dragon? No—some sort of flying sphere!!”

A massive, bulbous shape—like an octopus’ head or woven basket—inflated before us.

Thick ropes tethered it to the ground.

Inside that basket stood the three generals… and the man I’d shot.

Could humans truly conquer the skies?

Not atop dragons, hippogriffs, or other monsters… but as *men*?

Unfazed by the heavens, the floating vessel cleared the thirteen-meter walls with ease, eclipsing the sun.

“Haha…”

I could only laugh.

How would history books describe this?

A flying ship? A soaring octopus? A sun-touched basket?

Perhaps only one phrase sufficed:

“The moment a miracle *rose*…”

The three warrior women aboard leapt onto the walls, flinging the heavy front gates wide open.

Though my knights rushed to stop them… weren’t these the same monsters who’d once felled even my prodigious brother in a single stroke?

Vivian, cleaving through knights with her bizarre glaive as she breached the gates.

Luna, poised and methodical, spearing each foe with her lance.

Adele, flitting about nervously yet steadily beheading knights with her blade.

And above them all, panting weakly in the basket… the nameless man I’d shot, peering down at the chaos below.

Confronted with this inconceivable feat, I voiced my honest awe—no bitterness left in me.

“Thank the heavens I’m a poor shot. I almost killed a man of such genius.

Had my arrow slain him, the gods themselves would’ve punished me for eternity.”

A pang of regret—had *I* possessed such talent…—flashed through me as I closed my eyes and surrendered to the generals.

————————————————————————

A miracle risen to the heavens.

What our fox had christened this flying contraption: the *hot-air balloon*.

True to her celestial favor, Erica leaned against the balloon’s basket, laughing breathlessly under the open sky.

An unparalleled invention—one we’d hesitated to deploy for lacking prototypes—stood triumphant.

An improvised marvel: the red wyvern’s thermal engine nestled in a furnace, paired with canvas for the envelope.

The fox, perhaps blood-deprived, peered down at me with fading vision.

Slumping with exhausted relief, she flashed me a thumbs-up and a wobbly smile.

“…Ha. Why’s her tail wagging so much?”

A quiet realization settled in Erica’s heart: she’d never let this one go.

If such talent crossed *her* path, she’d always assumed the gods meant for her to claim it.