The Extra Wants To Live

A relatively small rock hill stood in an odd location.

For people in the past, the border was a strict and well-defined line surrounded by barbed wire. But here, the border represented an ambiguous gray area.

The land belonged to both Hardion and Tumaria, meaning it also belonged to no one. The Salgarez mercenaries took advantage of this gap. Perhaps, having been employed here for a long time, they had a firm grasp of the boundaries.

"… … Wouldn't it be dangerous to go to the Tumaria garrison right now?" Carl asked.

"I'm sorry, but I can't send you there right now," Govan responded firmly.

Govan of Davron, who had guarded this land for generations, did not trust the vile tribes of Tumaria in the least. If they approached now, the Tumaria people might shower them with arrows and later claim,

'Because it was dark, we thought they were mercenaries.'

This situation itself clearly showed the shady and dirty side of those Tumaria bastards.

Despite Govan's firm refusal, he couldn't help but be amazed at the young prince's reckless bravery.

From what he had heard, it seemed like Carl knew full well that it was dangerous.

But he still intended to go there himself to make a negotiation offer they couldn't refuse, using his position as the prince.

If Carl stepped forward carrying the Emperor's flag, Tumaria could not ignore it. There was no surer way than that right now.

"How about the village that was said to have been plundered?" Carl asked.

"There are not many casualties. They are mainly looting food, horses, and valuables," Govan replied.

"So you're planning to loot enough and then use your mobility to escape across the border?" Carl inquired.

"I think so," Govan affirmed.

Carl's judgment was correct.

Except for Davron, a thin waist of the Celle Mountains, the other borders were almost abandoned due to the mountain ranges.

The plan was to flee to those neglected borders on plundered horses and then flee to Tumaria or another country entirely.

They were thinking about taking a big haul.

"What happened to the residents of the plundered village?" Carl asked.

"Those who wanted were brought into the city," Govan replied.

"… … Even in this situation, are there people left in the village?" Carl asked in disbelief.

Govan quietly looked at Carl, who spoke as if in a state of absurdity, with sunken eyes. He opened his mouth heavily.

"For them, the village is where they were born, where they live, and where they die and are buried."

"… … ."

Carl thought it was foolish.

Once you are alive, you can do anything.

That way, you have life and a future. For such a ridiculous reason, to remain in limbo without any benefit?

Govan closely observed Carl, who was glaring into the darkness.

"… Tomorrow, when the sun rises, we will head to the Tumarian garrison. We will move to avoid the attention of the Salgarez mercenaries. We cannot afford to miss them."

"Okay, I'll get it ready," Govan responded.

"And let's meet the villagers who have entered the castle. Maybe we can give them a little hope," Carl added.

Carl knew that his mere presence as a prince could be of great help to the ignorant commoners.

This was because at Hilpin, he had the experience of encouraging commoner soldiers to follow and support him to an uncomfortable degree.

And the person Carl was looking for might be hiding in that gap.

"… All right. Philaine, please bring Lord Carl there," Govan instructed.

"Yes, father," Philaine replied.

Govan felt that Carl, whom he had met for the first time only a few minutes ago, was very unfamiliar and yet somewhat close to him.

He had thought that the central government, and the royal family at that, were arrogant people who thought the world was theirs.

Yet even in this brief conversation, Carl showed that he knew battle and war, and that he was a man who knew how to care for his subjects.

Even in the face of the powerful Govan, there was no talk of politics or fancy greetings.

Carl focused entirely on the immediate war, learned all he needed to know, and did the best he could within the parameters allowed to him.

To Govan of Davron, who had built his family through wars with Tumaria, Carl did not seem like a bad idea.

Govan had originally heard about the 3rd prince, Neto, and thought he would like to meet him.

However, strangely enough, even though Ias roamed around the empire, he never came near the eastern border, so there was no opportunity to meet him.

As the Marquis of Davron, Govan could not leave his territory.

Even Emperor Azgoth could not call Govan in without permission, as the responsibility that rested on his shoulders was so great.

Govan spoke softly, watching Carl's red cloak flutter in the wind as he descended the ramparts.

"Pay attention. Take special care of the soldiers."

"Yes, Your Excellency," Philaine replied.

If you want to know what kind of commander someone is, just look at his soldiers.

If the commander is very strict, the soldiers may appear disciplined and elite, but they may be exhausted or resentful of the commander.

On the other hand, if the commander is too lenient, the soldiers may like their commander but secretly ignore him, or they may become a rabble with no discipline.

Since they are soldiers of the imperial family, they will adhere to the minimum rules, but even so, they will inevitably be influenced by their commander. It would be a good idea to keep an eye on this.

After ordering the soldiers who had worked hard to take a rest, Carl followed Philaine to a remote corner of the castle village.

It was not possible to receive the commoners who had fled due to an unexpected event in the inner city with utmost care. And because there were so many, they were difficult to manage.

So, they prevented confusion by confining them to one place and designating a zone.

There was a problem, however, which was that it was difficult to control the refugees.

Those who had come to take refuge were living in poor conditions in isolated areas, so it was impossible to know when or where a crime might occur.

Even in case they could turn into a mob, Davron's soldiers were guarding the inside of the isolated area and drawing a firm line to prevent them from leaving.

Under a crude roof made of sticks and cloth, people huddled together, shivering from the cold, silently trying to conserve their strength.

This was a pretty good case.

People who weren't even properly dressed were gathered together on one side, hugging each other and sharing body heat.

It might seem cruel. But from Govan's point of view, he had done everything he could to show the utmost kindness. He was grateful that they didn't kick him out for stealing food.

In the first place, Davron was responsible for providing the food to feed them.

This was 'mercy.' They shouldn't even dare to think about mentioning something that didn't work, like 'welfare.' Because it was a concept that shook the very foundation of an aristocratic society, they might end up hanging yourself while they were really thinking.

'… … Isn't he already dead?' Looking at the horrific sight of the refugees, Carl thought that the reason he had come all the way to the east, that someone so talented that Azgoth himself had chosen to employ, might have been killed by the Salgarez mercenaries.

He was worried that they might have frozen to death in the harsh cold of the night, starved to death due to lack of food, or been killed by other refugees.

He had come all the way to this dangerous place to tell Azgoth that he wanted to go east to get his hands on that one…!

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