Ivan Petrovich is a man of iron will who endured the pain of the detestable truth serum.
That's how Isabelle decided to remember it.
What mattered wasn't that August had screamed obscenities at her, or that he had grabbed Ivan's arm trying to reveal the knight order's accounting ledgers.
Of course, Isabelle, unable to bear the sight, had promptly struck August across the face.
Only after receiving a lecture about how dangerous it was to hit the head of someone vomiting blood in Ivan's arms did August finally become capable of speaking like a normal person.
"Mama?"
"Hmm."
Ivan examined the well-sutured wound area and made a clear diagnosis.
"He's regressed from the shock. Isabelle. It's your fault for hitting him. Reflect on that."
"I don't think Lord August would agree with that. Can he return to normal?"
"Don't worry. It's a common symptom that will pass with time."
Ivan glanced outside briefly before speaking.
"But he screamed too much and attracted attention. The men lying in ambush up in the mountains will be coming down soon, so we need to prepare."
"What about Lord August?"
"We'll have to carry him."
Ivan stared at Isabelle intently. Isabelle was also looking back at him.
After a moment of silence, Isabelle finally understood Ivan's meaningful glance and asked with a flustered expression.
"You mean me?"
"Yes."
"What about you?"
"I'll fight."
"I can fight too!"
Ivan looked down at Isabelle and shook his head. Her talent was certainly exceptional compared to her peers, but her mental state was not.
Her face had turned pale from just this incident, and her sword hand wouldn't stop trembling.
"I'm sure you can."
"Your words and actions are completely opposite...?"
"You've got that exactly right."
Ivan turned away with a slight smile. Left alone in the compartment, Isabelle soon let out a deep sigh and hoisted Dian onto her back.
He was heavy.
She hadn't become so weak that she couldn't handle an adult man's weight. The training weights she used were heavier than Dian.
But the weight of this injured and weakened man was pressing down on her shoulders.
As she unnecessarily adjusted Dian on her back and walked out, Ivan, who had been standing with his back to the moon, suddenly turned to look at her.
"Your talent isn't bad."
"That's really insulting. Do you know me? How come you're speaking so informally?"
"Your personality takes after your mother, I see."
"Wow, you're really making me want to draw my sword. Is your rudeness inherited from your mother's side or your father's?!"
"Well, I can't remember either of their faces anymore."
"I... see... Right..."
Despite his strangely youthful eyes and skin, she looked at the bushy beard covering Ivan's entire jaw and squeezed her eyes shut.
The war had ended just four years ago.
And that war had lasted for nearly 20 years.
Of course, it wouldn't be strange for someone his age to have lost parents during the war...
She felt somehow wronged. No, what's the big deal about not having parents? Bringing up parents is really impolite! Isn't it in Krasilov? Is this some kind of greeting? (This type of inquiry about parents is considered a friendly greeting in Droan, but not in Krasilov.)
After grumbling for a while, she finally caught the meaning of Ivan's words and was startled.
"Do you know my father?"
"Well..."
Ivan smiled slightly at this youngster's rapidly changing expressions and thought.
Well, could anyone truly claim to "know" Maximillian?
He shrugged and said:
"Gather the survivors. Light a fire, and tear up the train seats to use as blankets. The winter nights in this land are harsher than you think."
"What about attacks if we light a fire?"
"That's not for you to worry about."
"You're going out alone? Without even knowing who we're up against?"
"That, too, is not for you to worry about."
Though it was his first time meeting Maximillian's daughter, Ivan was feeling somewhat unexpected emotions.
Her appearance and talent are exactly like her father's, but her personality is nothing like his.
Maximillian used to boast every night about his "hometown sweetheart" being thoughtful and gentle. She must take after her mother.
This is why love is so dangerous. It prevents you from seeing a person's flaws and weaknesses. Ivan left with a slight smile.
There was a saying in the tactical doctrine Ivan had studied:
Assume the worst, act your best.
It was such an obvious statement that Ivan had scoffed at it back then.
That is, until he had to recall that sentence through actual combat.
The true meaning of that sentence was this:
Assume the worst. That is, the enemy will always attempt to attack in the most difficult way to counter.
Act your best. This means:
If your enemy is the worst opponent for you, then you should rightfully become such an existence for your enemy as well.
Therefore, mimic your opponent's tactics. The worst attack you can think of will be the best offensive you can deliver to your opponent.
So what Ivan needed to do now was crystal clear.
First, assume the worst possible situation.
'Being ambushed while trying to escape after surviving would be the worst. It would get even worse if we were drawn into a delaying action.'
Intermittent raids in the dark night increase fatigue. While Ivan might handle it, it would be fatal for the injured and the young girl.
So assuming the worst, the enemy would certainly anticipate that Ivan and his party would attempt to escape.
Logically, if a train is derailed by someone's attack, one should leave the scene and seek help.
Now he considers the countermeasure.
'Act as if I have time to spare, and leave the target in plain sight. Make them look helpless.'
This forces the unknown enemy to recall the personnel they had deployed for tracking. They need to change tactics from pursuit to encirclement.
This world isn't a strategy simulation game. Unfortunately, it's an academy genre.
Inputting a "command" doesn't immediately result in soldiers "outputting" actions.
In other words, there's a time delay when recalling the pursuit team. From that moment, he gains a tactical advantage.
And encirclement from an offensive position usually comes with psychological comfort. They'll think of their targets as mice trapped in a box. Therefore, the opponent will be more careful in timing their attack.
From the moment they recall their pursuit team, they'll want to deliver an unavoidable strike at the optimal timing to prevent the target from escaping.
This is the second-best option. The "worst attack" the enemy might consider.
So he mimics it. So that the enemy's best becomes their worst. Preparing an ambush, carefully refining the offensive, deploying an encirclement.
"Hoo..."
In the deep forest where night shadows had settled heavily, gripping a cold gun.
Ivan quietly inhaled and briefly exhaled halfway.
Crouching under a tree, holding his breath, slowly raising his hand.
Carefully, so that his shoulder and fingertips formed a straight line. Suppressing hand tremors caused by his biological rhythm as much as possible.
Click.
Slowly, giving the momentum of three breaths to pull the trigger with his index finger caught in the trigger guard, ensuring the aim didn't waver.
Soon.
-BANG—!
Pistol sniping technique. A shooting method designed for Annihilation Squad agents who need to conceal weapons in enemy urban areas but still maintain long-range offensive capabilities with pistols.
Under the moonlight, a silhouette half the size of a fingernail collapsed with a thud.
No need to rush reloading. He hit with the first shot. Soon, an ominous atmosphere pervaded the forest. The enemy had also realized from the gunshot.
That the ambush had begun.
And they would soon realize.
That it was the Annihilation Squad's ambush that had begun.
With a dark night, deep forest, familiar terrain, and suitable weapons in hand.
The Annihilation Squad's ambush allows an individual to encircle a group.
-BANG—!!
When the gunshot echoed from deep in the forest, Isabelle tried to hide her trembling hands while preparing for the enemy's offensive.
It was clearly a sound signaling the start of a battle. Loud enough to startle sleeping birds into flight.
Those gathered around her were shivering in front of the bonfire, looking at her.
"We're all going to die now, aren't we...?"
"I'm scared... I'm so scared... Mom... Mommy..."
The survivors, each suffering at least fractures or worse injuries, were sobbing around her.
Amid confusion, burden, and guilt, Isabelle painfully bowed her head. These were victims caught up because of her. The fact that there were only about a dozen survivors from that large train weighed heavily on her shoulders.
Then, a low voice came from behind her.
"The reason we call a hero a hero is not because they are the strongest, but because they are the most courageous."
"Lord August? Are you conscious?"
August, who was being carried on her back, continued in a somewhat dazed voice.
"Therefore, we must not become heroes. We should not try to become them. Because we must be aware of our own weakness."
"Lord August...?"
"We must stand in the position of the weak and look at those like us through the eyes of the weak. The reason we take up the sword is not because we are brave, nor because we are strong, nor because we are superior to others."
August's voice still lacked rationality.
But strangely, clearly and precisely. As if trying to engrave each word into her heart.
"We take up the sword because it is right. Because it is proper. For the cause that must be protected. Therefore, our taking up the sword is no different from donating to the poor on an ordinary day, or occasionally helping up someone who has fallen. Because it is natural. Because it is right."
"Lord August..."
"So, take up the sword. You, do not try to become a hero. Knight of Tilles. You stand here not with courage but with humility."
Now she could understand what Dian was saying.
This is a very old and extremely traditional knighting process.
Not a knighthood as a "title" bestowed by a monarch to their vassal.
It is the final lesson given by the order of knights as a pilgrim group to their seed.
Dian August was a person from a traditional knightly order, and even now, having lost his rationality, he was reciting the words that remained most deeply impressed in his heart.
"Take up your sword for the cause. Doing good is always trivial and proper. Take up your sword not for your strength, but for your goodwill. Now, your name is Knight."
With those words, Dian fell silent again. Only exhaling weakened breaths.
Isabelle knew Dian's career. This man was a veteran knight who had served since the days of the war against the Demon King's army.
Now she could understand why such clear and undistorted words, which he had probably heard only once some ten years ago, remained so vividly in the mind of this knight. She felt she would never forget this moment either.
She stood up and finally raised her head to look around.
Many were looking at her. Suffering from cold and fear, pain and hunger.
Those driven into this situation because of her.
Guilt still weighed on her shoulders, but now, nevertheless.
"I will do so."
Slowly putting Dian down, Isabelle stood upright before them.
The sword in her hand felt heavier than before, but her hand, which had been trembling until just now, was now steadily gripping the sword's hilt.
In her eyes, the morning star was blazing.