Chapter 83

“Isn’t it truly miraculous?”

Clang!

Priegoss glanced at Mutuk, who was barely managing to block his sword, enduring the pain.

Mutuk’s face was a mixture of pain, injustice, anger, and despair.

“I would have felt the same if I were Mutuk.”

Up until just before the battle began, victory had seemed assured.

The number of troops was in their favor, and with Orcus joining the fray, the quality of their forces was undoubtedly superior.

Thus, Priegoss had only planned to give his life for the surviving Pohelrn, aiming to achieve as many accomplishments as possible before he died without any intention of continuing further.

However, suddenly the elves descended onto the battlefield as reinforcements.

The calamity that was Algul was forced off the battlefield by Araya, and the overwhelming Actik was quickly defeated and burned by Anart without putting up a proper fight.

Having seen Anart’s power firsthand, he finally realized he was no longer in imminent danger after hearing the High Elves’ words about heading towards the other commanders.

Even with his force reduced to less than 500 fatigued and demoralized troops, they faced a vastly superior army of Orcus driven by high morale, and yet the mere participation of fewer than 100 elves began to change the atmosphere of the battlefield.

The Batár Army led by Mutuk was left untouched by the elves.

When the terrified Batár Army frantically unleashed their weapons, it was easily suppressed.

However, it was a calamity for the Orcus.

The Orcus, twice the size of unarmed elves, were crushed underfoot to a gruesome extent.

Six harmonious swordsmen, revered as the goddesses of victory within the Pohelrn ranks.

Each elf seemed to match up favorably against those top-tier swordsmen.

While there were competent individuals among the Orcus who could put up a good fight against some elves, ultimately they too crumbled.

The number of troops led by Mutuk was still overwhelmingly large in comparison.

Yet, despite this, the initially confident demeanor began to fade, with morale dropping as time went on.

Even the soldiers could keenly sense the shift in the air over the battlefield.

That they absolutely could not win.

And then, when Alia led the reserve forces of 500 from Pohelrn to the battlefield, the momentum clearly shifted.

In this chaotic moment, Buker, who had been Priegoss’s aide, quickly forgot about the deathly pallor he had moments before and began to shout energetically across the battlefield.

“This cannot be…! This can’t be! Surely this was a war we were destined to win…! If only I could take one more step forward… then this world would have been mine!”

With pent-up frustration, he swings his sword.

His swordsmanship, while vastly inferior to Araya’s, was polished through years of deliberate practice.

Just as Alia and Araya had their own patron in the form of Algul, Mutuk too was a formidable figure who ruled the south.

Compared to average humans, he was an extraordinary individual.

Clang!

A heavy blow landed.

Not only was he guiding a horse, but he was also putting his weight and a portion of the horse’s weight behind a single strike.

The weight drove the injury on his left arm to flare up, blood seeping out once more.

“Ugh!”

At the same moment, an incongruous and delicate scream erupted from the battlefield.

Turning his gaze toward the source of the scream, he saw a beautiful elf, flitting about while commanding summoned spirits to clear the surroundings, gripping her staff tightly with both hands and watching him with a worried expression.

And Alia too was looking at him with an anxious glare.

But as he glanced at the rare sight of Anart beside her…

‘…Alia seems to look somehow displeased.’

Alia was more than just a reliable advisor and minister; she was also a like-minded comrade, lover, sister, and motherly figure.

She had been his companion for a long time. It was no longer difficult to read the hidden emotions behind her outwardly composed mask.

Even the scream just now, along with every action Anart made, provoked an annoyingly grimace.

‘Is her relationship with Anart not that great?’

No matter what, Anart was Araya’s sister and the benefactor who had helped defeat Actik.

If this war were to end smoothly, it seemed he would need to work towards mending their relationship.

“You seem to be far too relaxed! Damned fool! Are you now distracted by a woman in the midst of this chaos!?”

‘Hmm…?’

The powerful strike of Mutuk’s sword was made even more fearsome with horsemanship added in.

After weeks of hardly resting and throwing together his accumulated energy into a single blow, not only was it blocked by Algul, but the recoil also fatigued his right hand that held the sword’s balance.

Furthermore, he still bore a wound on his left arm received while rescuing Anart.

In peak condition, though he possessed innate talent and divine power, Mutuk would have lopped off Priegoss’s head within ten exchanges, having never learned martial arts.

In the worst condition of his life—having expended all his energy and sustaining injuries—this duel dragged on close to thirty exchanges.

His body was in the worst shape it had ever been since arriving on the battlefield, and while they were winning the battle, it was far from a comfortable situation where someone could come to his aid.

Moreover, the opponent he faced, Mutuk, was, among all the enemies he had encountered thus far, the best he had faced concerning human foes.

Yet still, he couldn’t shake the feeling.

‘It feels like I won’t lose.’

It was merely a thought that crossed his mind.

His body felt heavy, as if he had entered the water while still layered in thick clothing, yet his mind and eyes were sharpening, clearly watching the swords clash and intersect.

Priegoss felt as if the sword approaching him from Mutuk had slowed down slightly in his perception.

And at the same time, the thought crossed his mind.

‘…Could this be possible now?’

As the thought crossed his mind, Priegoss’s right arm moved.

However, it was far too clumsy an attempt to deflect Mutuk’s powerful strike.

With his remarkable reaction speed, Mutuk observed that pitiful attempt and a cruel smile crept across his face.

‘You’re tired! You pitiful wretch! Even if I die, I’ll make sure to tear you to shreds!’

As soon as his blade deflected Priegoss’s sword, he intended to swing it widely to cleave through Priegoss’s torso entirely.

But Priegoss’s blade curved smoothly, meeting Mutuk’s blade.

At that moment, Mutuk exerted force to fling Priegoss’s sword away, but when their metallic blades clashed with weight, he was not met with the expected resistance.

Feeling an unfamiliar sensation in the hand gripping his sword, Mutuk realized his weapon was being deflected oddly in an unexpected direction.

Mutuk’s sword was gliding along the surface of Priegoss’s sword blade, veering off course.

As he swung that heavy strike with strong might, he found himself forcefully led away from his intended target due to the strange direction of his sword.

With his upper body thrown off balance, Mutuk thought.

‘…What is this!?’

At once, he exhaled a sigh of astonishment, eyes turning to meet Priegoss, who was slowly and deliberately swinging his sword in his direction.

‘…He looks so calm…’

Priegoss’s face was serene.

It seemed devoid of hatred towards the foe he faced, the fear one would feel crossing the battlefield, and even the pain stemming from exhaustion and injury was absent.

His gaze shone clear and devoid of distraction, like a serene lake, as it focused on Mutuk.

‘What the hell… You’re acting like a madman, maintaining such composure until the very end.’

As Mutuk perceived Priegoss’s face reflecting his life-or-death struggle, he felt the blade slicing through his torso.

‘…How embarrassing.’

At that moment, Mutuk felt all the strength leave his body as he toppled from his horse.

◈ ◈ ◈

“…Cough… What am I doing, not finishing this quickly?”

Priegoss looked down at Mutuk, who was still clinging to life, blood spattering from a deep gash across his chest.

“…You bastard… cough… with your eyes…”

“…I was fortunate. Mutuk.”

Amidst his choking on blood and gasping for air, Mutuk, who had just been laughing, immediately turned serious.

“Shut up. Ultimately, cough, everything goes to those who win in the end.”

“…”

“But it’s a pity. If those strange eared bastards hadn’t shown up, the north’s bountiful lands and all the women would have been mine.”

“That won’t happen.”

“Cough… Cough, what more can the defeated say?”

Having seemingly lost all strength, Mutuk sprawled his neck on the ground, staring up at the sky.

“Kill me.”

“Do you have no final words?”

“The victory and defeat have already tipped, and with me down, this battle is essentially concluded. If I’m going to die anyway, why leave lingering regrets? I’ve never been one to stubbornly cling to things unattainable. Isn’t that foolish? That’s something only losers do. Cough… Am I not a loser?”

As Priegoss approached to behead him, Mutuk looked up at the sky with a refreshing expression.

“…I suppose it wasn’t a bad life for a rat, nibbling on the garbage others discarded.”

Priegoss swung his sword toward the neck of his final adversary from the human realm.

The clinking of weapons around them began to quiet as the onlookers watched the duel.

“Hear me, enemies! Batár Mutuk has fallen to the hands of Pohelrn’s king, I, Priegoss!”

Priegoss lifted Mutuk’s head and shouted.

“The war is over! The outcome is decided! The enemies of Pohelrn, cast down your weapons and surrender!”

At that moment, cheers erupted from the Pohelrn ranks.

“Buker!”

“Yes! Yes, my king!”

Buker, who had been witnessing the duel from nearby while fighting, appeared in a rush before Priegoss.

Priegoss handed Mutuk’s head to Buker and said.

“Attach this head to the top of the flag and proclaim what I just said while you march across the battlefield.”

“Of course! Leave it to me!”

Buker excitedly took the gruesome head of Mutuk, dripping blood from the severed stump, and attached it to the flag, then began to shout across the battlefield.

“Hear me, enemies! Batár Mutuk has fallen to our king of Pohelrn, Priegoss!”

“Hear me, enemies! Batár Mutuk has fallen to our king of Pohelrn, Priegoss!”

“The war is over! The outcome is decided! The enemies of Pohelrn, cast down your weapons and surrender!”

“The war is over! The outcome is decided! The enemies of Pohelrn, cast down your weapons and surrender!”

As Buker went around the battlefield rallying the troops, the soldiers began to follow suit, their weary voices rising in collective cheer.

Before long, the majority of the Batár forces had laid down their arms and surrendered, and those who continued to resist were quickly met with death.

Even the Orcus, who had followed Algul and the commanders instead of Mutuk, began to flee instinctively as their leaders vanished and the superior beings meant to guide them fell.

“…The fatigue among the soldiers has accumulated significantly. Let us refrain from pursuing them for now. We will deal with the remaining stragglers once we’ve thoroughly recovered.”

Rather than ordering an immediate pursuit of the fleeing enemies, Priegoss commanded the cleanup of the completed battle.

As he issued commands to the surrounding soldiers, he suddenly felt a soft touch against his right arm.

“…Anart?”

“I’m so glad we won! You were amazing, Priegoss!”

“Ah… thank you. But if possible… just a little bit.”

“Yes?”

As Anart, having drawn closer, wrapped her arms around him, Priegoss found himself flustered at the sensation.

As he looked down at Anart’s innocent eyes shine up at him, he pondered how to smoothly navigate this situation to minimize her embarrassment when Alia came to his aid.

“Anart, I’m sorry but Priegoss is in a very fatigued state right now. Since he also needs to manage the aftermath of the battle, it would be best if you don’t cling too much.”

“Ah… Am I bothering you?”

With her long ears drooping, Anart looked dejected.

“Not at all. It’s just… my condition is such…”

Despite feeling a twinge of guilt seeing her, he continued.

“Then I’ll help you! I’m quite strong, you know!”

Showing off her slender arms, Anart perked her ears and puffed out her cheeks.

As she stepped forward to assist, Alia quickly moved between Anart and Priegoss and helped him instead.

And then, smiling brightly at Anart, she said.

“How could I ask for a favor from the High Elf, Anart? I will tend to Priegoss. You should take a moment to rest and recover from the fatigue of battle.”

“And who are you?”

“I am Alia, the minister who has been assisting Lord Priegoss for a loooong time.”

“…Oh my.”

With that remark, Anart smiled as if she sensed something and echoed Alia’s expression.

‘…Did I bleed too much?’

Priegoss felt a cold shiver as he watched the beautiful sight of the succubus and the High Elf both smiling at each other.

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