Chapter 240

I still remember it.

The consequences brought by a single careless word.

Like a tattoo etched with a needle, the screams of women and children dug deep into my heart, leaving a permanent mark.

And then, the countless memories of slaughter that followed.

The men I cut down as I swung my sword, driven to the edge, and the hollow eyes of those stripped of everything, reduced to slaves.

If there’s an origin to this feeling, it must have been then.

—-

“…Sometimes, I dream.”

“A dream?”

“Yeah. Always the same one. Running alone in pitch-black darkness, unable to see even an inch ahead… until they appear.”

I don’t dream often. Most of the time, they’re just strange, chaotic nonsense.

But this nightmare has repeated itself countless times. As if it’s telling me, *Never forget.*

“Hands… half-rotted hands of the dead grab my legs. And then, their heads, faces, torsos… slowly crawl up from the ground, clawing their way toward me. By then, I can recognize who they are. They’re all the people I killed. Innocent people who had no sin other than crossing paths with me… They curse me, screaming as they tear my legs, my body, to pieces. I wake up screaming apologies.”

On mornings after such dreams, I light up several cigarettes in a row as soon as I wake up.

To mask the gloom in my chest with white smoke.

“Apologies? Don’t make me laugh. What’s the point now…?”

A hollow laugh escapes me.

Hersela would probably laugh at me too. Calling it pathetic, weak nonsense.

[…]

“…Sir Median, do you wish to atone?”

Atonement?

No, surely not. That can’t be it. Atonement…

…

…

…

…Maybe.

“…Yeah. Maybe I do.”

“Hmm… atonement… So, you’re saying you feel guilt over your past, Sir Median. Is that why you fight?”

Yes. At first, it was just the desire to survive.

But as the screams in my head grew louder, I realized I couldn’t keep going like this.

The countless massacres I committed just to survive—there was no way they could be forgiven.

No, my own conscience couldn’t forgive me.

So, I desperately searched for a reason.

A reason why I *had* to live.

Not just the instinct to survive or the fear of death—selfish, personal reasons—but a reason that truly compelled me, a reason I couldn’t ignore.

And I found it.

It was to save.

Not just a number greater than the people I’d killed, but the entire world.

The world I faced was so unstable and cruel, it felt like it would crumble like a sandcastle if someone didn’t protect it.

I decided that someone would be me.

To save those Damien couldn’t reach, to do what Damien alone couldn’t—that’s why I’m here.

Yes, I believed my life carried the weight of not just myself, but hundreds, thousands, millions of lives… maybe even the entire world.

So, I told myself I *had* to survive.

I wrapped my sins in the guise of sacrifice for the world.

It was the only way to suppress the guilt.

That’s why I fought.

To turn my self-justification into truth.

Durandal’s awakening felt like proof that I was right… and deep down, I might’ve been glad.

“Yes, I wanted to atone. By eliminating every threat to humanity, by bringing peace to the entire world. Then… the deaths of those I killed to survive would have meaning too. I know. Nothing I do will bring them back. But at the very least, I wanted their deaths to be noble, necessary sacrifices… stepping stones for peace. That’s how I thought I could atone.”

“…I think I understand why Elpinel watches over you. To atone and offer solace to the victims by eradicating all evil… If you had faith in Elpinel, you would’ve made an excellent paladin.”

Lacey drew a holy symbol and offered a short prayer.

“That guilt, that sense of debt to the dead—that’s your foundation. Now that you’ve realized it, I have no more advice to give. Use that foundation as your measure. Ask yourself what’s right, what you want to do. Follow where your heart leads. At least that way, you won’t have regrets.”

—-

As Lacey said, her counsel didn’t give me answers.

It just forced me to face myself.

I must save the world. For those already dead. No matter the cost.

Yes, even if it’s an unbearably heavy burden.

I look up at the night sky as I return to my tent.

With each step, I reaffirm my resolve.

The thought of killing so many is still horrifying, but at least now, I can accept it as necessary.

[…’Save,’ you say. It’s a sentiment I can’t comprehend. But… if that’s what you truly desire… I’ll give you one piece of advice. Just this once.]

The voice was soft, almost a whisper, hesitant.

[Advice…?]

[Whether it’ll work, I can’t say… but if it does, you might break the enemy’s morale without shedding much blood.]

The method Hersela suggested—if it succeeds—could indeed…

It seemed like the number of those who would be sacrificed could be reduced.

The chances of success were infinitely low, though.

“…Thanks. I’ll try talking to them once.”

[It’s better not to expect too much. The westerners are different from the Ka`har and others.]

Still, it’s worth a try.

—-

That night, I didn’t have any nightmares.

—-

The next morning, I explained Hersela’s plan to everyone.

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

He was against it for my sake. Failure would mean my death.

Duke Bien supported it, saying that if it succeeded, our losses would also be greatly reduced.

I don’t know if he was genuinely concerned about our losses or if he wanted me, who was rumored to be Leopold’s close aide and lover, to die.

Duke Pailoon just smiled, seemingly amused.

His scar across his cheek made his smile look fierce, like a beast.

Lacey smiled gently, and Leopold looked at me with a somewhat uneasy expression.

“Is it possible…?”

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

I gave him a light smile.

In the end, Leopold nodded. Very heavily.

—-

We faced the enemy’s forces before noon.

The blazing summer sun stung our backs. It was a welcome sight for Leopold’s army.

Whether it was a large-scale war or a one-on-one duel, fighting with the sun at your back gave you a slight advantage.

Moreover, the heat would cause physical exhaustion, which would work against Ernst’s army, which had less combat experience.

“A classic semi-encirclement formation… Well, it’s the most appropriate way to utilize their numerical advantage.”

Ludwig muttered as he observed the enemy formation.

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

A formation that seemed to aim its wings at us.

Each wing had six thousand conscripts and a thousand cavalry.

In the center, the remaining eighteen thousand infantry, all the archers, and about four hundred knights were gathered together.

Their intention was clear: to break our momentum with the cavalry on the wings and then push in from the sides to encircle us.

—-

On the other hand, our formation concentrated our core forces in the center.

Nine thousand infantry and three thousand archers were gathered at the rear of the central army, with medium cavalry blocking the front.

Three thousand medium cavalry were gathered in a wedge shape in the very center, with two hundred knights deployed on each side of the medium cavalry.

One hundred and fifty holy knights were positioned between the medium cavalry and the infantry.

The remaining two hundred knights—the most valiant ones—were positioned at the very front, forming the tip of the medium cavalry’s spear.

Me, Hayden, Richard, and Nigel.

According to the original plan, these 204 were the ones who would pierce through the enemy formation like an awl and crush all the conscripts.

…If Hersela’s proposed method failed, that’s exactly what would happen.

So, I lightly tugged on the reins.

The startled horse whinnied and began to walk.

I advanced toward the enemy, numbering over thirty thousand. All alone, very slowly.

No arrows flew.

Ernst’s army probably didn’t think a lone warrior slowly walking toward them would attack.

At most, they might think I was a messenger with something to say.

Well, I did have something to say.

Before long, I was close enough to see the faces of the enemy.

The gazes of tens of thousands of armed soldiers were focused on me alone.

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

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

And then, I shouted at them.

“The last descendant of the Twelve Knights! The true Empire’s strongest sword, who shattered the Ghost Sword! Princess Ha-shal-leur Ai-shan Gi-or is here—!”

I shouted at the top of my lungs, as if expelling all my breath at once, so that my voice would reach even the commanders watching from a safe distance beyond the pale-faced soldiers.

“Is there no one who wants to cut off my head and claim the honor of being the Empire’s strongest?! It doesn’t matter how many of you come at me! If you have the courage to fight me, step forward! I’ll prove it right here by cutting you all down alone!”

A roar filled with passion echoed through the sky.

Startled horses dug their hooves into the ground.

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

Now, what will you do, Valenstein?

Can you ignore this insult and charge your soldiers?

“Don’t hide in a whore’s skirt, come out! You bugs driven mad by a witch!”

What about you, Isabella?

You wanted to capture me, didn’t you?

Here’s your chance, right in front of you. Can you resist?

Of course not.