30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue

Chapter 222

The city closest to the northeastern border of Equitania was Portabella. As is customary for border towns, this place was more akin to a trading city than a military one, connected to trade routes heading north.

Thus, the castle walls of Portabella were more showy than practical. They were splendid but unsuitable for defense. And the enemies had artillery.

Unlike the era of catapults, artillery could actually pierce the walls. This weapon, supplied along with trains during the great war, itself twisted the structure of siege warfare.

“Damn it.”

Standing on the gallery of the castle walls, a knight lamented. He could see the enemy’s banner flapping on the horizon beyond the border.

It was the banner of Elrsos, crowned with a stag. Judging by the banners beneath it, it was a large army consisting of at least three counts.

A serious military force. The funny part is that this isn’t their real strength. These were merely the vanguard, scouts meant to gauge the strength of this side.

Since the other nations of the Southern Six Nations had not yet mobilized their crusading forces, it was merely a matter of snagging a minor achievement before the real crusade began.

A truly minor military skirmish. It would be nothing more than a show of strength.

However, the knights present were gathered here to die for that show of strength.

“Life really sucks. Yeah.”

So that the enemies could ‘underestimate’ the strength of their country.

So that Elrsos could advance deeper into the territory without any caution.

While throwing them a minor public achievement, they could appear as a peace-weary victim.

“Sir Cabalcanti, there’s no need for you to take action yourself.”

A young knight, looking at him with a serious expression, spoke up. He was a young one who had not been formally appointed for long.

“I can go. Heck, anyone can go. As long as they are suited up in armor, how will they know if that person belongs to the Royal Knight Order?”

What the enemy needed was an achievement, not verification of facts. They needed to claim that the enemy they killed was a noble and, moreover, should claim the achievement of being from the Royal Knight Order, but the Royal Knight Order didn’t necessarily have to sacrifice themselves directly.

They had not trained their swords for sacrifice. They honed their skills solely for honorable combat, dedicating their lives to honor.

To receive a command to die helplessly, is that not too dishonorable?

Cabalcanti chuckled and patted the young knight’s shoulder.

“Do you mean to say I should dress a peasant in my armor?”

“If it means you can live to fight another day. You can achieve greater feats on a better battlefield, sir.”

“Hahaha, Roberto. What’s the point of living just to survive?”

“Is it honorable to preserve one’s life at the cost of the weak?”

“But, sir…!”

“Did we not swear to be the shields of this country? Did we not pledge to protect the weak and die honorably?”

“There’s no greater dishonor!”

“Do not seek honor in achievements. This is my final teaching. Roberto, honor must be the last torch you carry within yourself. Seek honor not in the lives you take, but in the lives you save by protecting someone.”

He smiled faintly and lowered his visor, the sound of metal clanking as he fully donned his armor. The knight, now fully armored, rose grandly.

“Bring me the banner. Open the gates. Cavalry, follow me.”

“Sir…!”

“You shall go to the western front and deliver my message. Riccardo de Cabalcanti has begun the operation.”

He said no more, descending from the walls to mount his horse. A soldier approached and handed him the banner. The emblem of an eagle gripping a sword, the banner symbolizing the Royal Guards, fluttered over his shoulder.

Raising one hand to hold the banner and the other to wield his cavalry spear, the gates opened with a loud noise.

“Cavalry!”

“For Equitania!”

“For the eternal glory of the House of della Torre!!”

The cavalry saluted in unison, raising their spears. Trumpets blared as those cavalry, fading away in the age of trains and artillery, raised their weapons high.

“O shield of Equitania!!”

At the front, the horse raised the banner straight. The eagle emblem flapped grandly, casting a long shadow.

“Let’s march into battle!!”

Clang, clang. A group of cavalry burst through the open gates.

The young knight, watching his last moments, whispered while crossing himself.

“Even if the Lord does not watch over us, your righteousness will be passed on. Teacher.”

The knight then mounted his horse and galloped in the opposite direction.

*

The people of Portabella and all nearby were completely introduced.

The time needed to guide them back to the final defense line, planned as a ‘defensive zone’, matched the time spent by the high knights of the Royal Knight Order.

In the northeast region of Equitania, scorched-earth tactics began, vast agricultural lands burned, and the city offered no resistance.

Many knights had to die.

In doing so, many civilians could fully escape the area without significant damage.

*

“Urgent news from Portabella. Sir Riccardo de Cabalcanti has begun the engagement!”

“We shall remember that name.”

Ivan responded to the soldier’s words as he scanned the crowd. Some knights glared at him in discontent, while a terrified mage was also present. The edge of a military map was spread out on the supply table, and his entourage gathered around it.

Ivan looked at his comrades and spoke.

“Remember all the names possible in this place, and in the east.”

Prayers for the departed were always meaningless. A thousand flowers offered for the dead would be more worthless than a single smile formed by the one who lived.

However, those who live on behalf of someone must undoubtedly carry the names of those who have left. Especially if they are heroes.

Ivan briefly finished his words and looked around at those who were gazing at him. There was no commander in this place. Tactical command was not his role.

His role, as always, was not to command but to act. He could even say he suited more as a cavalry captain than a field commander.

He couldn’t teach anyone great strategies or brilliant tactics. How nice it would be if he had possessed the knowledge of strategy games in his possession. Sometimes, he merely wished for that.

Yet, even so, there were still things he could do. As always, it was not to save someone but to kill someone.

And to lead his comrades in battle toward that death.

“Revenge.”

Ivan was not skilled in oratory. He rose, placing his hand on the map.

The eastern cities, Portabella, Castello, Biarlato, Lucabella, Palazzone. The territories he would gradually take, and the knights who would perish on behalf of the people above them.

“Revenge.”

He lightly tapped the table again. Thud, the sound of his steel-gloved hand striking the wooden table echoed. The smell of iron and blood filled the air.

There is an aura that only those who have concentrated on one field for a long time can emit. The scent of paper from scholars, the acrid smell of soot from blacksmiths, the odor of manure from farmers, and so on.

An aura that represents the person itself, including the smell, the atmosphere, the gaze, the posture, and the spirit.

If such a thing truly exists, then the aura Ivan possessed symbolized only one thing.

War.

Throughout his life, even thirty years after falling into this world.

Starting as a young peasant soldier in his early teens and to this point.

The aura emitted by someone who has lived solely for war is thus dark, dense, and sinister.

The smell resembling iron and blood, the growling voice as if metal were clashing, and the cold gaze and straight posture that overwhelmed the crowd.

“Revenge.”

Ivan’s voice swept over the silent crowd. On this dark night, those gathered here held torches in their hearts. Revenge for the fallen heroes.

Meaningless yet.

For those who had died meaninglessly, it would be hard to find a tribute more fitting than this.

““Revenge!””

The crowd responded to Ivan’s words. Thud, thud, thud. Each person struck the table and stomped their feet, shouting until their murmurs turned into booming roars.

““Revenge!!!””

For revenge, let’s go.

Ivan concluded his speech, lifting and donning his helmet. Along with him, everyone put on their helmets and armed themselves. The tent opened, and the waiting forces began to gear up.

Northwestern front. Albina-Equitania border. Argent.

Equitania launched a surprising preemptive strike, targeting the crusading forces of Albina, which were still in the process of gathering.

*

“Are they all out of their minds?!”

King Domenico della Visale of Albina exclaimed in shock, looking at his ministers after hearing the urgent report from the front line the next morning.

“Preemptive strike? They ignited the spark of war that was scheduled to be delayed at least until summer?”

“Lead the military, Your Majesty! We must show them a lesson against heretics!”

“Send me to the front lines! I shall honor the souls of the fallen soldiers with the blood of heretics!!”

The ministers, furious, each tried to prove their loyalty. The king sat on his throne, lost in thought.

No matter how unprepared the army was, the damage should not be that heavy. They couldn’t advance beyond a certain point and had merely destroyed a few camps at most.

That was to be expected. Equitania’s war would inevitably focus on defense. After all, this was not a country with enough resources to lavishly waste on offense while turning all of the Southern Six Nations into enemies.

But what was this? What is this uneasy feeling?

Could they dare to strike? A country so incapable that it could not survive the summer even when pouring all its capabilities into defense?

In the king’s silence, another urgent messenger arrived at the court and knelt, shouting.

“Your Majesty! Urgent news from Elrsos! They crossed the Equitania border and captured Portabella! They’re advancing south!”

“Isn’t that the Papal Enclave’s support still lacking?”

“According to the report… It’s enough with their own resources…”

“Utter nonsense!”

The king shouted in exasperation.

“If they struck the fortress, they cannot cross the border this quickly! If they engaged, at least two rotations should have been required, and they must have been stuck for at least another ten days!”

“If Equitania is more incompetent than initially expected…”

“Do you want to move the military based on the enemy’s incompetence? Strategy is always established on the premises of a capable enemy! And if the enemy was that incompetent, does it mean our soldiers advancing on the southern front are even more incompetent?”

Under the king’s wrath, the ministers quietly bowed their heads. The king shouted, exasperated.

“Relay the message to the southern corps. Do not delay any further and begin the advance! If we are slower than those weaklings of Elrsos, it means we are more incompetent…!”

The king’s face twisted as he finished his words.

“Or it means someone else has already received support that we did not.”

   

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