# Winter's Approach
"Huff—. Huff—."
Oskar stood hunched over, gripping his halberd, gasping for breath. His shield and sword were already more than half destroyed, their forms barely recognizable.
Beside him, Isabelle was bleeding, driving her sword into the ground in reverse as she took deep breaths. Her forehead had been deeply gashed by a spear tip that had glanced off her helmet, leaving her face covered in blood.
"Is everyone alright...? Heal, I need to heal..."
"Save your strength. Not yet."
Yu-jin raised his trembling arm, then lowered it again. Elfihera pushed his arm down while drawing up her magical energy.
In front of them, Asidis stood holding two maces and asked:
"Since I'm too stupid to know, does anyone have a plan?"
"...I don't."
"Me neither."
They had killed the Red Baron. That much was the best they could have done. Ramond was an initiate knight of the Eastern Knight Order.
They were among the few elite warriors from the Eastern Knight Order, already known as the most powerful knight order in the country. It was quite an achievement to have defeated such a person while being mere university students.
But this situation couldn't be resolved with just his life.
"What do we do now...?"
"Change of plans. I'm sorry, everyone."
"What's the new plan?"
"Fight as hard as we can until we die."
Oskar stepped forward, tightly gripping his broken sword. The soldiers and knights stared at him blankly.
Although the duel had ended with the commander's death, the enemy forces had plenty to spare. The siege on the Palais Royal was already proceeding according to plan, so this was merely a small amusement.
They had cornered an already exhausted enemy force in the middle of hundreds or thousands of soldiers. Moreover, the enemy was identified as the commander of the inner fortress.
Capturing them as prisoners would give them tremendous influence in post-war merit evaluations. Greed gleamed in the knights' eyes. Why force the issue with such fragile treasures?
If they brought them back alive, they would receive enormous rewards from Count Etoile, no—from King Grandmartel.
"I stake my name, my house, my country, and my lord's name."
Oskar glared at the knights with tired eyes as he firmly tied his hair back.
"Today, in this place, I may give my life... but I swear on what honor I have left."
The knights remained silent. It was a famous tale. He was reenacting the hero's tale of how Gil Berg allegedly faced thousands of Taurus warriors alone.
"From this point forward, I will certainly kill one hundred."
There was no determination in his voice. Just a calm statement. Legend had it that Gil Berg had proudly proclaimed this at the time, but there was no such bravado here.
Only the calm last words of a man prepared to die.
*Scraaape—!!*
The broken sword scraped against the ground. A long scratch appeared on the well-paved road of Saint Matilenne.
Standing straight behind it, Oskar took his stance with the broken sword.
"Then I'll take one hundred and fifty."
"I'll take two hundred."
"I'll humbly go with seventy."
"Come on, you should at least outbid to look impressive. What kind of number is that?"
"I'm just being honest."
The group stood beside Oskar. They all raised their weapons with weary faces. Among them, Oskar looked around in momentary confusion before breaking into a smile.
"Let's say we'll take about a thousand altogether."
"Sounds good. A joint funeral. How grand."
"If it's a joint funeral, I'd like to have mine with my uncle."
"I'm shocked. Do they still practice human sacrifice in Droan? Poor Lord Yeremov."
"'Till death do us part,' haven't you heard? It's common knowledge."
"In my country's common sense, death gets postponed for about a thousand years. Humans wouldn't know since they live such short lives."
Oskar chuckled and shook his head at his companions' banter. It was ruining the solemn atmosphere he'd tried to create.
But it wasn't bad. These were people who suited hopeful smiles rather than the solemnity of facing despair.
A hero should never despair, no matter the circumstances.
Sixty became thirty after the first charge.
When they broke through the rear infantry and pressed forward, fewer than ten remained.
And when they clashed with the next cavalry unit, only one person was left charging.
"He's fallen from his horse!!"
Even as his horse finally buckled and collapsed, the man took a proper falling stance, bounced back up, and cut down two men's necks.
Truly a man like a demon. Everywhere he passed was drenched in blood. He was marching toward Etoile, paving his path with corpses.
But that was the end. At the point where he had cut through half the forces, his charge completely lost its momentum.
"Half, half he says..."
Etoile almost wanted to laugh. Thirty thousand, and excluding those who had entered the fortress, still twenty thousand.
If you added all the non-combat personnel—the follow-up units, supply units, support units—it would be an enormous number between forty-five and seventy thousand.
Half of that meant that a barrier of at least twenty thousand infantry was needed to stop that man's breakthrough.
He hadn't killed all of them. He had merely charged through for a deep penetration, so he had directly faced perhaps a few hundred.
But numbers don't work that way. Even if you don't face them head-on, the people surrounding you don't just disappear.
"He faced an entire army corps alone."
All the nobles in the command post who watched the man's advance groaned softly. Even knowing he wouldn't reach them, they couldn't ignore the shiver of fear.
He had two spear shafts embedded in his abdomen, and the armor on both arms was completely shattered.
Under the broken armor, his left arm hung limp and broken, while his right hand used his sword to prop himself up against the ground.
Five arrows could be seen in his back. He must have had line-of-fire detection, which meant he detected them but lacked the energy to dodge.
His thigh had been deeply cut, with blood overflowing onto his armor. He was already struggling just to walk.
Yet under his helmet, his eyes still burned with a fierce blue light. With only the will to kill his opponent.
"How can a human be like that?"
"..."
No one answered Etoile's question. Without waiting for an answer, he drove his horse toward the man.
Knights and nobles moved with him in unison, toward the man who was completely incapacitated, kneeling with spears pointed at him.
Even as they approached, they couldn't shake the fear that grew with each moment. He was like a wild beast.
Even in a zoo, behind safe iron bars, the fierce gaze of a predator could chill people's hearts.
"Remove your helmet."
"..."
The man did not answer Etoile's command. He continued to look up at Etoile, breathing heavily.
"I admire your valor. Kiss my hand now. Not only will I spare your life, but I will also embrace your family, vassals, and all your people as the highest nobles in this country."
"...Your..."
A small voice was heard from under the helmet. Etoile frowned and waved his hand.
One of the soldiers pointing a spear at him carefully approached and removed his helmet.
Blood had pooled under the helmet. It was evidence of having coughed up blood. A man with a long beard stained red revealed himself.
He spoke in a fading voice:
"Your loyalty is convenient."
"You would die for a dead royal family?"
"Always have."
Etoile gave a bitter smile at Ivan's words.
"Bring me a sword. I will personally behead this country's last loyal subject and plant my banner over him."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
A knight approached and handed him a sword. The sound of the blade leaving its scabbard was desolate.
What a simple final sound to hear in life. Ivan stared at the blade gleaming in the sunlight with a dazed mind.
What lies beyond death? Is there an eternally happy heaven as taught in the Bible? Would the late king be there too?
Even if only hell awaited, it wouldn't be so bad. Whether heaven or hell, there would be no shortage of familiar faces.
Finally.
Kim Seon-woo whispered softly. Ivan nodded. Even if he couldn't return home, what did it matter? His home was—.
*Wheeeeee—*
Just then, a familiar sound reached his ears.
"...Harvester shells?"
Ivan muttered involuntarily.
*Wheeeeee—*
*Wheeeeeeee... Wheeeeee—*
A noise like signal flares being launched, but even more intense, filled the sky. Etoile holding the sword, the nobles at the command post, even the lowest-ranking soldiers suddenly looked up at the sky.
Black trajectories were flying in from one corner of the sky. What at first appeared as small dots gradually grew larger.
When they reached a certain altitude, suddenly the black dots erupted in flames. Etoile shouted involuntarily:
"Artillery fire!!"
"Artillery...? W-w-where... who...?"
"Kalion...? Have aerial battleships appeared?"
"No, you fools! This is—!!"
*Boooooom—!!*
From far to the north, the faint sound of war horns could be heard.
Simultaneously, the first shells struck the soldiers. *Kwang, kwang.* Screams erupted from all directions as the shells buried themselves in the ground.
*Boooooom—!!*
The horn sounds continued. *Thud, thud, thud.* The ground shook. The eyes of terrified soldiers turned toward the northern hillside.
At its peak, a small piece of cloth rose.
The emblem of a bear and lily, fluttering in the strong wind.
More and more, covering the entire hillside, becoming a massive wall.
The wind blows.
*Even in the winter winds, we raise our banners.*
*My comrades.*
*Our homeland, our homes, even our songs have stood firm.*
*My comrades.*
*If winter should come once more.*
*My comrades.*
"Raise the banners again. The motherland is with us."
Ivan muttered softly.
*My comrades.*
Because he heard the familiar military song.
"Krasilov...!!"
Count Etoile let out a low scream. At the highest point of the hill, a woman on a white horse was looking down at them.
Now at midday, facing the noon sun with her whole body while gripping her sword.
Perhaps she had cast an amplification spell, as her voice shot through the distance into everyone's ears.
"Most excellent men of mine—!!"
From the far north, winter comes.
"Show them why the United Kingdom bears the name 'United'—!!"
Krasilov had arrived.
Episode 23. Awaiting Winter.