# Enhanced Translation
Considering the gravity of the situation, Ivan should have employed numerous methods to "extract the truth," but he restrained himself from reaching out.
This would be too emotional a reaction.
The man before him was a soldier who had fought dragons alongside Gil Bert, risking his life. Given the sensitivity of the information, this man had likely prepared himself for death just by speaking these words.
The Hero killed the Guardian Duke.
This statement, regardless of its truth, was information that could unleash a bloodbath.
Ivan steadied his rapid breathing. He surveyed his surroundings. He had already dismissed everyone nearby, and even after taking more time to detect any presence, the area remained completely silent.
No matter how exhausted from battle fatigue and injuries, a trained superhuman can detect even the breath of a passing field mouse.
There's no one around. Ivan nodded calmly and spoke.
"From the beginning. Can you explain everything from the beginning?"
"Yes, I'll explain everything from after Your Lordship descended the mountain."
The soldier swallowed nervously as he carefully began his account.
It happened two weeks ago.
This man's name was Henri. A commoner without a surname who had remarkably risen to the Capital Defense Force.
This was nothing short of proof of his skill and loyalty. Therefore, it would be fair to say that this man possessed military discipline beyond that of an ordinary conscript.
-CRASH—!!
"Block it! Block it, damn it! Martin! No!!"
"Michel, we need to retreat!! We must retreat—!!"
Such things held no meaning that day at the summit of the Bernini Mountains.
Noble-born, wealthy landowners' children, even knights—all were burning equally.
"Aaah—. Aaah—!!"
When the dragon devoured his squad leader, and most of his comrades turned to ashes in the blazing flames, this ordinary man dropped his weapon.
His panic-stricken vision was filled with red flames. Regardless of rank or title, everyone visible became fuel, not even leaving remains behind.
"Don't retreat!! Raise your shields!!"
The knight who shouted this, clad in splendid armor, beheaded one dragon before disappearing into the darkness, caught in the jaws of another dragon lurking behind the wing of the first.
A scream echoed from above, then abruptly cut off. Almost simultaneously with the end of the scream, a thick forearm fell before Henri's eyes.
It was a forearm still wearing a gauntlet, blood still seeping from it. It belonged to the knight from just moments ago.
"Run, run— Everyone run awaaagh!!"
Henri's final act of will was a cry to save his comrades. And that was the end. He lost all will to continue fighting.
He broke away from the front line. Mindlessly, ignoring all the noise around him.
The dragons didn't particularly target him. Rather than one human hiding and crawling in the darkness, there were more appetizing prey clustered together opposing them.
Away from the flames, blindly downward. With his mind blank, downward.
"Huff, huff— Gasp!!"
How much time had passed? He was rolling on the ground, face planted in the dirt. When he came to his senses, the sun was rising. No more screams or flames were visible.
As he steadied himself with trembling hands, he finally realized his left arm was gone below the forearm. The wound had been cauterized by the flames.
The dragon's breath had taken more than just his comrades.
"Hnngh—. Hic—!!"
Foaming at the mouth, he got up again and continued downward. Beyond the mountain range, in a direction he couldn't tell was east or west. When the forest continued and he was no longer on the mountainside.
At that moment, he was finally looking at the eastern plains of the Bernini Mountains.
The eastern plains under the midday sun had vast wheat fields spread wide for the farming season.
"Ah... Aah...."
So many people had died. Dragons had devoured that mountain range. Would the Guardian Duke be safe? In a situation where they had lost the majority of their forces and suffered a surprise attack, could even someone like him find a way to overcome this?
It's impossible to know. But if, just if...
If they were defeated due to the absence of that one person, if the dragons of the Bernini Mountains were finally unleashed.
"Jean, Philippe, Simon, Thibault..."
Muttering the names of the comrades he had left behind, Henri stretched out his legs. A path stretched before him. Ahead, not far away, was a village.
A small slash-and-burn farming village. So deep in the mountains it wouldn't even have a name on a map.
So many people had died.
-You shall live for Tilles.
-Your death shall become the cornerstone of Tilles.
The oath he had taken upon enlistment came to mind. When he entered military service, how proud he had been reciting those lines. A poor villager's son now able to wear the fine uniform of the Capital Defense.
It was an unprecedented success for his entire village. His salary alone could support his entire family.
He came from such a poor farming village. Just like the one before his eyes now.
Truly, so many people had died.
Those who had gathered to protect landscapes like this wheat field.
Those who had stepped forward to protect this scenery, dying nameless.
If that one person's absence had brought defeat. If they could no longer stop the dragons of the Bernini Mountains. If this entire country would burn like the summit of that mountain range.
Then, how would I live? How would I die?
When he came to his senses, Henri was climbing up the mountainside. The ordinary man, having lost both weapon and armor, was rolling in the dirt, gasping.
How much further did he go? Darkness had already fallen. Though terrified whenever animal cries echoed from a distance, he took one step after another, until finally.
Finally, he reached the summit.
"Ah—."
The battle was over.
"Your Grace... Your Highness...."
Corpses were piled like mountains.
"You, you did it..."
Dragon corpses filled the collapsed ravine.
The cursed valley from which the dragons had poured was filled with the corpses of those demons. A hill made of scaly corpses stood at the summit.
Above it, fully bathed in moonlight. A massive, half-charred military banner fluttered.
The banner of Etakrihi, with antlers intertwined with sword and shield.
There were no other moving beings. The battle was over. All troops had been annihilated, all enemy forces exterminated. A mutual destruction that would become legend.
Three thousand infantry, two hundred knights, and one hero.
That handful of forces had protected Tilles.
The banner waved. Though charred and tattered, it caught the moonlight. Unbending, above the dragons' corpses.
Henri sobbed as he ran forward, rolling on the ground. He clutched the dirt and crawled toward the dragon corpses.
A man sat atop them with his sword planted upside down.
"Who goes there?"
"Henri... I am Henri..."
"Ah, from the 7th Infantry Division of the Guard. Henri of Rollen. Excellent. You survived."
"You, you knew me?"
"The Guard Infantry and... *cough*! The Eastern Knights Order were all personally selected by me. *cough*!"
Gil Bert sat down with a rough cough.
The banner fluttered in the wind, and moonlight fell on his body. Only then could his condition be seen.
"Your Grace...!!"
He had lost an arm, with injuries so deep his internal organs were exposed. His helmet was nowhere to be seen, and deep burns extended down to his neck beneath his charred hair on one side.
Parts of his armor had melted from the flames.
Gil Bert looked at the sobbing Henri and smiled wryly.
"Quiet. I've been through worse. You seem to have left a hand somewhere too."
Come closer. At Gil Bert's gesture, Henri approached trembling, head bowed. Kneeling, he murmured:
"I betrayed Your Grace... I didn't survive... I fled the battlefield. Please, do not forgive me."
"But you returned, didn't you?"
"...Pardon?"
"Without weapons or armor, you still returned. Intending to face dragons with bare hands. With soldiers like you in this country, it's no wonder our nation stands so firmly."
Gil Bert raised his sword to the moonlight. The tip trembled slightly.
The sword slowly descended. The flat of the blade gently pressed against Henri's shoulder. The cold edge felt chilling near Henri's neck.
But its trajectory was so careful that sadness arose before fear.
"Protect the weak, be loyal to your lord, devote yourself to the nation, and revere... revere only justice."
"What...?"
"A battlefield promotion. Henri of Rollen. You survived until the end, so you must be stronger than these beasts. The Eastern Knights Order has always been an assembly of the strongest knights, so you. Henri, do you swear?"
"...Your Grace.... I, I cannot... I am not worthy..."
"If I had it, why wouldn't you? In this world, no one except the Hero has the right to claim strength. We can only believe."
Not truly claiming to be strong, but merely believing in one's own strength.
And with that strength, standing from the perspective of the weak and devoting oneself to them.
Always revering justice, only justice. Even in valleys of fear, despair, and death, moving forward with only one's own righteousness as a guiding light.
That is what it means to be a knight. Will you take the oath?
Listening to Gil Bert's words, Henri nodded while sobbing.
Gil Bert smiled and tapped his crown with the flat of the sword.
"Now your name is Knight. Take my sword...."
-Whoosh....
The wind blew. The banner fluttered tightly, casting a long shadow again. The moonlight was obscured. Clouds were rolling in, covering the sky.
Gil Bert paused and looked up at the sky briefly. He reversed his grip on the sword and placed it in Henri's hand.
Closing his eyes tightly, steadying his rough breathing.
"Run."
When he opened his eyes again, the Guardian Duke was staring sharply at something beyond the forest.
Under the pressure that felt like it was cutting into his flesh, Henri got up gasping and fled, almost crawling.
"Your Grace... Your Highness...."
The last scene he witnessed was a man walking from the edge of the forest, bending over Gil Bert.
After murmuring briefly, he raised his sword and brought it down.
And in the moonlight that shone again, brilliantly gleaming golden hair, just as it appeared in statues throughout Tilles, completely untouched by time, exactly as he had been then.
Maximillian de Etoile, once the hope of this country, the United Kingdom, and humanity, stood there.
"I've heard enough. Thank you."
"What, what will happen to me now...?"
"Don't speak of this to anyone. Gil Bert must be remembered as having sacrificed himself after saving this country from the clutches of demons and dragons."
If word spreads that the Hero killed the Guardian Duke, even if it's just a rumor, this country has no future.
Does it have one even now? Well, if that happens, this country is truly finished.
Only the belief that the Hero, secluded somewhere, is still protecting this country gives strength to the crumbling Tilles.
At this point when the King has executed his own children and transferred the throne to the First Prince. At this time when all the Grand Dukes of Tilles have been executed and the baronies are in turmoil.
At this moment when Etakrihi has become legend and barely maintains royal authority, the Hero's actions could turn into poison. The poison that this country no longer has a future.
Killing this man now would be the safest way to avoid that outcome.
But this man is the last soldier Gil Bert saved in his final moments. Ivan could never bring himself to cut down this man.
"Just for having heard Gil Bert's final wishes, you deserve respect. As long as your loyalty remains with Tilles, you will never be judged."
"Lord Yeremov... thank, thank you...."
Leaving the sobbing Henri behind, Ivan turned and left the infirmary.
The quest stated that among the secondary objectives, two were important.
Gil Bert's 'survival' and an 'encounter' with Maximillian.
This probably meant being able to meet both men in one place. If the true goal of the quest was to face Maximillian alongside Gil Bert...
'How to save the royal family of Tilles....'
At that moment, Ivan's eye twitched. He clenched his fist and trembled slightly.
I see. The reason it said to protect the royal family, not the king.
If it didn't matter who succeeded to the throne, as long as the royal bloodline of Tilles continued—
'Odelia was of royal blood.'
To survive against Maximillian alongside Gil Bert, rebuild the burned Tilles in Gil Bert's name to establish a new royal family... but still one that continues the bloodline of Tilles.
That was supposedly the only way to extend the existence of the United Kingdom by 10 years.
But isn't that too malicious? Gil Bert would never volunteer himself for the throne. That stubborn man would never act for honor.
This world is not kind to humans.
As if some great current exists, separate from individual human will or intention.
'I should return.'
Though Tilles' story ended with only half a victory, his page is not yet finished.
So he must prepare.
To ensure that what happened in Tilles never repeats. No matter what happens, absolutely. If the world is not kind, then by tearing down the hostility of this cursed pre-modern fantasy world with his own hands.
Gil Bert. I will surely carry on your will.
I will open the path for the Hero Party. Without fail, no matter what happens.
Ivan walked with lowered eyes. It was time to return to Krasilov.
Ep25. Funeral.
Epilogue. Hope.
Gil Bert glanced at Henri's retreating figure before turning his gaze.
A man was slowly walking out of the darkness of the forest.
With a clanking sound, chains appeared. A staff that tapped, tap, tap, against the ground. And a blindfold covering both eyes.
Below that, a smile drawn as if from a picture.
He knew the name of the man approaching in tattered rags with a smile. Yet he still found it difficult to judge whether he should call this man by the name he knew from those days.
"Max."
"Bert."
The man approached with a light greeting. Under the dark clouds, he smiled mournfully.
"Have you become a god?"
"I'm holding back."
"How much time do you have left?"
"Well, how many years? Or perhaps months? Even I find it difficult to be certain."
"Hold out as long as you can. Until the current generation is sufficiently prepared."
The man slowly approached and stood before Gil Bert. He lowered his blindfolded face to look at the fallen Gil Bert.
"Bert, can you move?"
"That would be difficult."
Gil Bert laughed, coughing up blood. Maximillian looked at him and spoke in a subdued voice.
"You should have been the hope that rose from the ashes after this country burned once. You weren't the one who was supposed to die here."
"If someone must die, the old should go first."
"Your stubbornness has changed fate. I can only hope it's the right path."
Maximillian shook his head, smiling quietly. Watching him, Gil Bert suddenly spoke.
"Let me ask one thing. I understand the Seven Dragon Generals, but I could never figure out the Demon King. What did you lose by killing him?"
"Hope."
"Ha.... So that's it. Was he despair? Fitting, I suppose."
Gil Bert coughed up blood. He soon nodded.
"Make it easy for me. I'm glad you're the last one I see."
"Any last words?"
"Tilles... Odelia.... And, hope. What we lost, but surely left behind."
"I'll remember. Rest easy, my old friend."
-Crunch.
The sensation of a friend's final breath being cut off was nothing more or less than the impact of a dull severing.
Now no emotion could make his hand tremble.
Thirty years have passed since the prologue.
Part 1 (End)