Chapter 93

“Ha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a!”

Irian’s spear clashed against Erhandorf’s mace.

With that as the trigger, soldiers from both sides plunged into fierce combat.

If we were to compare sheer numbers alone—while Serpina’s army held a slight advantage over Aishias’ forces spread across multiple fronts—it was undeniable that more than half of Aishias’ troops were elite soldiers originally mobilized from Falaharte Castle for the invasion of Raclaine Castle.

These weren’t just any soldiers; they had extensive battlefield experience honed by rigorous training under the brilliant commander Iren Julieat.

Though the northern Serpina Army boasted formidable strength, their numbers were significantly weakened during their march south due to numerous casualties. Furthermore, they had absorbed many former Brance Army soldiers, making it difficult for them to maintain cohesion on the battlefield. As such, they inevitably struggled against the disciplined might of Aishias’ forces.

And then…

Clang!

“Hmph…!”

Even in direct combat with Erhandorf, Irian soon realized something alarming:

“What the hell?! Why is this guy so ridiculously strong?!”

Back when he graduated top of his class at the Academy and cut through the chaos of war like a hot knife through butter—slaughtering countless enemies and earning glory—he truly believed himself to be exceptional. He even felt a twinge of regret not having crossed blades with Kalintz Brance, but still, victories piled up one after another.

But now…

Well, let’s face it: Irian was still a wet-behind-the-ears kid compared to someone like Erhandorf, who played a pivotal role in founding an entire nation. Sure, comparing current “exploding potential” Erhandorf to young-and-still-growing Irian might not seem entirely fair—but this wasn’t the Academy anymore. This was the battlefield. Here, there were no second chances. One mistake, and you were dead.

“Here… failure means death!”

Retreating slowly while weaving between his own men, Irian slipped away from the fray. Erhandorf swung his mace furiously and shouted taunts.

“Fleeing already? You talk big, but you’re pathetic!”

“Hmph, keep yelling,” Irian thought smugly, though internally calculating his next move.

Prideful as he may have been, Irian wasn’t the type to throw his life away for empty honor. Death was final—and besides, if *he* fell, morale among the Serpina troops would plummet instantly. And worse yet, he could jeopardize the advantageous position painstakingly crafted by his lord.

Losing because of bad judgment scared him far more than losing his life.

“…Such a coward!”

Meanwhile, Erhandorf turned his attention toward nearby soldiers, cutting them down mercilessly with every swing of his weapon. Irian switched to his bow, firing arrows into the enemy ranks to draw their focus before shouting encouragement to his men.

“Don’t panic! Hold your formation! We’re winning this!”

The front lines tilted slightly in favor of Aishias’ forces, but trouble brewed elsewhere—the rear guard battling mercenaries.

“Aaaah!”

“Mercy!”

“Fight till the end!!”

Unlike the organized resistance at the front, the rear guard suffered sudden ambushes. Their ranks disintegrated, bleeding out rapidly without proper coordination.

‘Should I call Ern back from the front line? But what about Serpina…’

Anima wracked her brain desperately but couldn’t find a solution. All those military treatises she devoured in solitude offered little help here.

“Damn it…”

When she lost her hand and could no longer wield a sword, it didn’t feel devastating initially. She’d chosen the blade merely because she needed to learn something—she never harbored deep passion or talent for swordsmanship. Instead, she found joy watching her childhood friend Yuri excel. Thus, abandoning her dream as a swordsman and dedicating herself fully to strategy came naturally.

At first, leading Aishias’ forces seemed fulfilling. Despite commanding capable generals, Anima believed she contributed uniquely. Even after passing the mantle of national strategist to Jinoru Knighthardt, her confidence remained unshaken.

But lately…

Was she simply… ordinary?

Had she been the first among the five strategists to lose relevance simply because that’s how things worked?

Yuri excelled in everything. That much Anima knew better than anyone. When Yuri chose Jinoru, Anima wondered if her role had truly ended.

“Pull yourself together!”

Slapping her cheek hard, Anima assessed the situation. The carriage where she stood wasn’t safe. Though guarded by soldiers, enemy forces might prioritize capturing the carriage—and thus, her.

“I-I must leave immediately!”

A nearby soldier tried to stop her, but Anima reassured him calmly.

“I intend to withdraw temporarily. Could you cover my escape?”

“…Understood! I’ll protect you!”

“Thank you. It means a lot.”

With forced calmness, Anima stepped out of the carriage, aided by the soldier. Fortunately, enemy forces hadn’t reached this area yet.

“Miss Anima! It’s dangerous here!”

Ignoring the warning, Anima prepared to flee. Just then, the soldier protecting her suddenly collapsed, impaled by a sword piercing through his armor.

Blood sprayed everywhere, drenching Anima.

Turning around, she saw a towering figure clad in dark attire—none other than Sad Astron, leader of the notorious Astron Mercenary Unit known for ruthless efficiency in surprise attacks.

“One-eyed warrior… So, you’re the mastermind behind Serpina’s reinforcements.”

“Ah, recognition at last. Guess fame does pay off—even a one-eyed cripple gets respect sometimes.”

Sad sneered upon seeing Anima’s missing arm, laughing mockingly.

“So this is why you brought a carriage. Ambitious woman, aren’t you, Anima Ingram?”

Every seasoned fighter knew Aishias’ strategist lacked an arm. Likewise, Anima recognized Sad due to his distinctive eye scar.

“You’ve caught quite the prize today.”

“…!”

“Don’t glare so fiercely, dear. Spoils your pretty face. Besides, shouldn’t fellow cripples stick together?”

Anima froze. This moment felt eerily similar to the academy’s attack—a critical juncture threatening her very survival.

—

Back at the front lines, Erhandorf fought valiantly despite mounting fatigue. Bloodied and battered, he sensed danger approaching from behind.

“If we stall much longer, Anima will be in grave peril…”

Fighting against overwhelming odds proved futile regardless of skill. Especially since the rear guard faced outright ambush tactics.

“Cursed fate…”

Since Anima stepped down, Erhandorf blamed himself for failing to execute her plans properly. Determined to improve, he trained relentlessly, striving to surpass even Emma and Epinal.

This time too, he vowed absolute loyalty. Anything to make Yuri reconsider…

Yet reality struck hard. His vision blurred, blood loss taking its toll. Retreat seemed inevitable unless…

“NEVER!”

Summoning every ounce of resolve, Erhandorf roared ferociously, charging forward once more. His berserk charge sent shockwaves through the Serpina ranks.

“Monster!”

“Stay calm! He’s just one man! Surround and overwhelm him!”

Led by Irian, several Serpina commanders rallied their troops for a decisive strike.

“Four against one!”

“We’ll crush him together!”

Just as they closed in…

Suddenly, confusion rippled through the battlefield.

“Fall back! Everyone retreat!”

“Prepare for withdrawal! Pull back!”

Irian halted mid-charge, visibly perplexed. Moments later, Serpina forces began pulling back en masse.

“What… is happening?”

Erhandorf watched silently, equally bewildered. What unforeseen event caused this abrupt change?

—

Elsewhere, inside Falahart Royal Palace…

The grand audience chamber buzzed with tension. Then, the door creaked open.

Slowly, a silver-haired youth approached the throne.

“Swen! You’ve returned safely! Tell me, how did it go?”

“…”

Kneeling before Lord Yuri, Swen delivered his report.

“It’s not too late.”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Raising his head confidently, Swen smiled reassuringly.

“Do not worry, my lord. The Serpina Army will retreat.”

And with that, peace seemed within reach again.