# Ep 22. The Rebellion of the Three Counts
Ivan, who had been dozing by the campfire, quickly circulated magical power throughout his body. Fatigue was fundamentally a matter of the nervous system, and the technique of forcibly awakening the nerves typically helped one quickly forget fatigue.
Of course, it wasn't a fundamental solution. Naturally, the human body couldn't fully recover its condition with magical power alone. Proper rest and caloric intake were essential.
But not now. Now was not yet the time to rest.
"Are you... alright?"
"For now."
Serte, who was terrified, barely let go of his sword hilt as he asked. Ivan nodded in his blurry vision.
Three days.
The battle with the Taurus vanguard had continued for three days. To slaughter a thousand Taurus within three days meant killing one every four minutes. And that while single-handedly withstanding the charge of a thousand Taurus head-on.
Whenever he sustained even a slight injury during the battle, his combat endurance decreased moment by moment. With no way to rest, all he could do was grit his teeth and fight.
Ivan tried to hide his trembling hands as he tore off the cap of a Healing Potion. Once again, the potion poured over all kinds of long, torn wounds.
Flesh filled the wounds like crudely stitched cloth. It was essentially no different from cauterizing the wound area to stop bleeding. Because there wasn't even enough minimum calories needed for wound healing.
But this pain helped ward off fatigue. It was still okay. His arms and legs could still move.
He shifted his gaze with his parched face. He saw a familiar knight. It was the knight who had handed him a sword a few days ago.
"I can't return your sword. It broke."
"How many did you cut down with it?"
"At least fifty."
"A legend will remain. It's an honor."
The knight nodded toward Ivan and then gestured to call his attendant. Taking out a longsword from the attendant's luggage, the knight approached Ivan.
"Forgive my rudeness, as I cannot kneel before anyone except my lord and country?"
"Rudeness?"
"Because my honor cannot be heavier than your dedication."
The knight presented the longsword with the most respectful military salute possible. It was a cavalry sword with no special decoration, but forged with good quality steel and excellently maintained.
As Ivan received the sword, the barons approached.
"I'm returning to my domain. Would you accompany me? I need to hold a festival and comfort my people."
"No, that would be difficult."
"You're busy, I see? Yes, I suppose Duke Etakrihi's orders weren't limited to just this."
"That's true, but you too aren't yet at a time to rest."
Ivan looked over the barons and continued.
"Do you remember what I said before? That your life should be used for something more valuable."
"Yes. But what could be more valuable...?"
"You must save your lord. There can't be a battlefield worth risking your life for that's merely demons."
They needed to organize an army in the name of Duke Etakrihi and save Matilenne. It was essential to organize all the chaos that would occur after the civil war under the name of Gil Ber.
As a foreigner, he couldn't resolve this country's complicated political situation at once. Even in Krasilov, it was barely accomplished under the absolute support of the princess and the desperate efforts of the entire counterintelligence headquarters.
The administrative vacuum and resulting chaos that would follow was something a foreigner couldn't even touch. It could be seen as interference in internal affairs.
Therefore, Gil Ber's name was necessary. He needed to become a hero. As he was now, but even more so in the future.
'To be so firmly established that no one could oppose direct intervention in royal succession.'
Etakrihi saves this country. This must be accomplished not in the name of Ivan, who is merely a foreigner, but solely in the name of Gil Ber.
"...Our lord? What do you mean?"
"Upper Matilenne is under attack. As vassals, shouldn't you rightfully take up your swords?"
"Didn't you say Duke Etakrihi was holding back the demons?"
"What do you think was the reason demons dared to cross the eastern front in this situation?"
Ivan mounted a horse handed by an attendant and adjusted his posture. He wore the sword and looked over the barons watching him.
"The nobles of this country have conspired with demons to raise an army. Now that Duke Etakrihi has left the capital, where do you think they will turn their horses?"
"Is that true...? Ha, but how dare they...? If they've joined hands with demons, who would possibly sanction their usurpation of royal authority? Would the Alliance really condone this, let alone the patriots of this country?"
"Well, we'll have to see if they have more plans..."
If they usurped royal authority through collusion with demons, would the Alliance condone it? Of course not. This was an unacceptable betrayal.
Obviously, they must have countermeasures for this as well. What they plan to do after the coup succeeds is something we may not know right now, or perhaps ever.
Because their rebellion must end in failure.
At that moment, a cavalryman from the rear rushed forward with a panicked face. He immediately approached the baron and bowed his head.
"Troops are approaching from the rear!!"
"What? Where? Has troop mobilization already finished? I thought it would take a few more days."
"No! No! Your Excellency, they're not our troops...!"
Not a gentleman, I see. Ivan smiled slightly as he waited for the cavalryman's words.
"They're Count Guillaume's private soldiers...! It's the Orléans County family banner!"
"How many? How many has he brought?"
"Not exactly, but about four thousand infantry... I couldn't count the cavalry!"
"They're not coming with good intentions."
Even if they had prior knowledge of the demon vanguard's infiltration, that level of military force is clearly excessive.
Four thousand infantry, and assuming the cavalry is distributed according to Tilles standard doctrine, at least 400 mounted troops. Considering the cost of mobilizing such forces, even more so.
Even if they were marching to support the eastern front rather than dealing with the current Taurus situation, it would be even more suspicious. There would be no reason to divert troops in this direction.
The fact that they were marching precisely toward the Bertomont domain meant that the opponent was already aware of the demon army's existence and had another ulterior motive.
"Does the military force that joined hands with demons refer to Count Orléans?"
"Him and two other counts."
"All of Bermontfort and Grandmartel as well?"
"Yes."
Baron Serte sighed and rubbed his dry face. Considering the troop mobilization capabilities of those three great nobles, this was like hitting a rock with an egg.
Right now, there are five barons gathered here. Even considering these rural domains, the maximum force gathered—including all tenant farmers during the farming season—is less than the army of Count Orléans that just appeared.
That's the position of a grand count. Moreover, their forces would consist not of tenant farmers but professionally trained standing armies.
Even with full strength, it would be difficult to face just Count Orléans right in front of them.
"Perhaps Duke Etakrihi has prepared another military strategy? More reinforcements...?"
"No, not that I know of."
"Then this country is truly finished. It survived that war, yet so futilely in my generation."
"It's too early to give up."
Ivan rode his horse toward the barons. A deep sense of despair was weighing heavily among them.
Strategy is meaningless in the face of a certain level of military disparity. Especially before superior quality and composition of enemy forces, overwhelming supply capacity, and massive scale.
This is the problem with civil war.
But still, it's too early to give up. As long as one is alive, one should not stop fighting. A trained agent only stops the operation in the face of death.
If there's a situation where one can fight, at any moment, the word "impossible" cannot be a reason to abandon the operation.
So, Ivan drew his pistol instead. Holding the sword he had received earlier, he addressed the barons.
"As long as the eastern front forces can hold out, until Duke Etakrihi returns, if Upper Matilenne can just hold out, we haven't lost yet."
No. We don't know if Gil Ber can return alive, the eastern front won't hold, and the capital defense forces have already been incinerated in the dragons' jaws.
But the truth isn't important. Only hope is needed.
"If we fight, we will surely die. If you take up swords and ride with me now, more than half of you won't survive."
Ivan isn't particularly eloquent. He knows this well himself.
But he had many excellent teachers. The late king was a master of eloquence. Having always attended the king at his side, he could, however vaguely, imitate him.
Therefore, Ivan looked over the knights and barons weighed down by despair and continued.
"But if you give up, there is no possibility that your country will survive."
"Even if we fight, is there any chance?"
"At least there isn't none."
"Even if it ends in meaningless struggle?"
"Then you will be buried with this country."
The barons' expressions grew increasingly rigid. But Ivan still spoke calmly.
"But if we succeed, even if it's a thread-like possibility, if we succeed. Your country will be able to remember your sacrifice. As it has endured for the past thousand years, it will endure for the next thousand."
"..."
"Will you take up your sword for a war where you will surely die? Or will you put down your sword and leave to live as tenant farmers? Commemorating the anniversary of a country that died on this day for the rest of your lives?"
"It will be a difficult fight for you to survive as well."
"Wasn't it already?"
Ivan gestured to the Taurus corpses strewn everywhere. At his words, the barons closed their mouths and bowed their heads.
If one were to face a thousand Taurus alone, one would naturally be prepared to die. But why is this foreigner so dedicated to Tilles?
And when such a foreigner still raises the banner of struggle, can the vassals of this country let their sword hands drop?
The knights bit their lips as they looked at Ivan. The sun was beginning to set. The sunset was hanging at the edge of the sky, dyeing the horizon red.
Ivan drew his sword, looked around at the knights, and asked.
"Which of us can live forever? But everyone who holds a sword must choose. No matter whose hands you die by, that death must take place under your own decision. If you have no intention of fighting with your own arms, go back. But if not..."
He turned toward the sunset. With his back to the vast battlefield leading to the eastern front, facing the direction where Upper Matilenne would be at the western end.
"Let's go, Knights of Tilles. Let's go to die with your country, or to die for your country."
The sunset was burning red behind Ivan's back. A sunset is the most majestic light where the end of the day is visible.
Soon night will come. A deep, dark, cold night. But doesn't a night imply the sunrise of the next day?
-Ching!
-Shing...
-Clang!
The knights drew their swords as soon as Ivan finished speaking. They pressed down their helmet visors deeply, caught their breath, or kissed their sword blades while making the sign of the cross.
Baron Noir rode his horse forward in front of the knights who were waiting silently and addressed Ivan.
"Lead the way. We will follow."
Tilles is a country of knights. It was a nation that revered not individual valor but goodness, virtue, and knightly duty.
But paradoxically, a hero appeared in Tilles. Proving himself through individual valor, but simultaneously through goodness and virtue.
The knights quietly rendered military salutes. Toward the sunset. Toward Upper Matilenne far away. Also, toward Ivan's back who was walking ahead in that place.
A hero doesn't mean the strongest person.
The most valiant person is called a hero. One who never stops at any moment, who doesn't break before any duty.
A symbol of hope.
The horses run. Slowly at a walk. Soon kicking the ground at a trot, then a canter, gaining speed.
Then at a gallop. With all their might.
Toward their capital. Toward Upper Matilenne. So that the hope leading them could reach that place.
In those days, it was said that the gallop of Tilles knights wouldn't stop unless their rider died. It would be no different now.
Only death could stop their gallop.
And finally at that moment, Isabelle's party arrived at Upper Matilenne.
It was the fifth day since departing from the Bernini Mountains, and less than three days before Etienne de Grandmartel's rebel army would arrive at the capital border area.
Etienne's forces, consisting of twenty thousand troops, had subjugated all domains along their route during their march to the capital.
The approaching forces now totaled thirty-seven thousand, marching while breaking the maximum capacity record of the eastern corps.
This was the largest single corps Tilles possessed at this point.
In contrast, Upper Matilenne's garrison consisted of 2,500 regular troops and 2,000 remaining capital defense forces.