The heraldic soldiers, in packs, devoured the belly of the Great Saint army. Everyone was moving forward as if they were parting the sea and going through a deserted field.

　The soldiers, who were far more numerous and skilled than they were, were crumbling away in a hilarious manner. Perhaps they were drunk with the sight, or perhaps they were carried away by the heat of the battlefield. The footsteps of the soldiers running in the front line are getting faster and faster. In a few moments, the enemy's main camp would be in sight, and then the game would be decided. It would be as if the glory was in the hands of the heraldry. And best of all, we will return alive.

　If I make it back alive, I can drink and hold women. You can get out of this ugly hell. The mere thought of this is enough to turn the hearts of the soldiers. It would be impossible for them to see anything else.

　In the midst of the fervor of these soldiers, I was alone, squinting my eyes. A feeling of dread slowly creeps up from the depths of my chest, tightening my heart.

　The hope that maybe I can win this thing. And the grief that it can't be that easy. These two emotions are eating away at each other, sapping the heat from my body.

　The soldiers continue to advance without any problems. The enemy soldiers are weak as if their will has been frustrated.

　Are the enemy soldiers really falling apart? Do you really think you can penetrate the enemy's main line at this rate? Will old Richard allow that to happen?

　But on the battlefield, there are always unexpected things that can happen. In fact, you could say that the battlefield contains unexpected events from the very beginning. No matter how skilled a general you are, there are times when you miss one thing and everything is ruined.

　On the battlefield, in war, anything can happen.

　So how is it possible? Is it possible that a single-minded, self-motivated strategy will work in the face of such a vicious master?

　My throat gulped down the spit of thirst. Expectation seemed to cover my heart for a moment. My heart told me that it would be better if I just moved forward like this.

　--But is that really what I want?

　For a moment, I stared into my eyes, looking not at the front, but at the entire battlefield from my horse.

　There is no way you can see anything worthwhile with your vision clouded by expectation. There was no point in looking at the enemy soldiers crumbling in front of me, so I would have to trust in my master's viciousness.

　I look over to the left and right flanks of the battlefield, which is now very far away. I can see only the flickering of flags, but it still seems to be a stalemate. After all, it is only the center that is being held back. The Archdiocese is deepening its bosom, as if it were holding the heraldic soldiers in its arms.

　I could feel my breathing becoming ragged. It was as if the heat that had built up in his lungs was being expelled.

　He then turned his eyes to the leg of the horse ridden by the commander of the enemy vanguard. He held his breath for ten seconds, maybe not even blinking. He peered at the legs of not just one, but several commanders.

　I followed them and finally gulped.

　--No, we're being set up. He's hiding his troops, isn't he?

　As soon as I realized this, I felt an inexplicable chill fill my lungs. The truth is usually a bad thing, of course. I was well aware of that. I had been reminded of this many times in my past travels.

　But I wondered if the truth had ever been so poignant. It was the first shock in too long. It felt as if a weight had struck me in the chest. But now, I can't deny what I've seen.

　The entire formation of the Great Patriarchal Army is completely unnatural. An army is like a living organism, and if one part collapses, it will spread to the whole. It's not every day that only one part of an army collapses.

　Besides, you know. Even if such an unnatural situation were to occur naturally, there is no way that the vicious master, the old general, would not do something about it. In fact, the fact that old Richard was not here made me realize that the play that was going on in front of me was malicious.

　Besides, it is obvious from the legs of the horse that the commander is pulling on the reins.

　Human legs can be acted out in any number of ways, and there are so many individual differences that it is difficult to read their intentions. But horses are much more obedient than humans. If the rider gets upset, or if the reins are pulled in an untrained manner, the horse will flap its legs.

　So what? None of those front-line commanders wobbled their horses' legs in spite of the sudden retreat. In fact, perhaps because the confusion caused by Fialat's battlefield magic had faded, their reins were even sharp.

　Even though he was in the center of the front line, he couldn't help but look behind him. I turned my thoughts to retreat, or at least to see if I could hold back the momentum of the soldiers. But the thought was instantly dismissed.

　No, the soldiers were moving forward in unison, without hesitation or thought. And because everyone is shouting, even if I were to shout, there would only be a few dozen people around me.

　I had the sensation that someone had ripped off my neck. My lips and tongue were dry, and anything resembling moisture had disappeared from my throat. No matter how many times I turned my thoughts, I realized that the inescapable end was at hand.

　His green uniform wrinkles, and he lets out a breath as he squeezes his sword tightly. The time it took for the breath to escape my lungs felt like a very long time.

　I turn my vision from behind to in front of me. Although still far away, the enemy's main camp is now in sight. If I rode my horse at full speed, I could cut it down in a single breath.



　Well, what to do, I asked myself. The situation is bad, to say the least. Defeat and death lay before me, and I couldn't even get my footing away from it. It's like a swordsman who is forced to advance against a raging beast.

　If I could get a little closer to the enemy's main camp, the spears of the ambushers would probably bite through my side from both sides. You might be able to die more comfortably than you thought. Dying of defeat in a war is an easy enough way to die. It must be much better than dying a miserable, hungry death on a back road, or dying a tortured death while being mocked by many.

　There is a way to face the same death. In any case, I would like to meet my end in a way that I am satisfied with. Is that an extravagant wish?

　The enemy soldier made a slight defiance that could hardly be called a counterattack. For a moment, the battlefield stalled. Seeing an opening, I sat on my horse and sucked on a chewing tobacco.

　For the briefest of moments, he let go of his thoughts and enjoyed the feeling of the tobacco's smell wafting through his nose. The dry wind of the battlefield beat against his cheeks.

　--Yes, there are ways to die. I wish people would at least let you choose.

　It's a strange thing, I think. Things are getting worse, and there's no good way to turn things around, and the best I can do is to keep struggling.

　And yet, I can't help but feel a surge of resignation and desperation in my heart. There was only the will to do what needed to be done.

　Whenever I felt that kind of resignation, I would hear that awful voice in my ears.

"That's enough. Let's give up. No, you've done well. You don't have to try anymore. You don't have to get hurt.

　So ask for help and take my hand. Such an unpleasant voice I can hear. The voice I heard in Belle Fain, the voice of someone pretending to be Alueno. That voice, a mixture of displeasure and pain. It reverberates in my ears like an auditory hallucination, as if it were a curse.

　I don't like it, it's too unpleasant. I can't stand that tone of voice in my ears.

　Oh, even if I have to suffer the miserable defeat of being covered in mud and shame. Even if I have to suffer a cruel end like having my intestines ripped out. I won't hold your hand until my last breath. I'll never go back to those days of resignation.

　Not even a horrible defeat or a cruel death will be a reason for me to give up. The words escape me, twisting my lips.

"Fie alert. One more time, just one more time. Can you do the spell?

　I'll trench the battlefield. The only way to win the battlefield is to betray and defeat your opponent's intentions.