The Village ·

"How many men are left?"

"316, my lord. There are still some stragglers."

Tesolys held the reins lightly. His warhorse circled restlessly on the spot, making his armor skirt rustle. The heavy horse armor, weighing more than 100 kilograms, would slow them down considerably. On his orders, all the cavalrymen's horse armor had been gathered together. They had found a hidden cave in the dense forest, dry, cool, and shaded, and put it all inside.

Before leaving, they had sealed it completely with heavy stones, then covered it with layers of earth. In just a few days, no trace would remain. The precious armor could thus be preserved.

The wound on Tesolys's forehead twitched faintly with pain. A heavy curved sword had struck him hard across the forehead. Had he not dodged in time, his whole head would have been split open.

Through the gaping flesh, the white bone was still visible, streaked with blood. The flesh around the wound had also turned pale. It did not look promising.

That blade had passed almost against his eyeball. Even his eyelid had been sliced in two. A fraction farther, and he would have lost the sight in his right eye. Most of the other wounds, large and small, had only just grazed his flesh. The exception was one ear, half of which a spear had taken off.

Only now did he have time to bandage his wounds properly. Before, he had simply torn strips from the hem of his clothing and pressed the bloodstained cloth against the wounds to stop the bleeding.

Though pain kept coming from the wounds all over his body, none of it brought any unusual expression to his face. An intense emotion filled his heart, making him disregard every bit of suffering...

When they had charged from that hillside, there had been exactly 1,132 cataphracts. Every one was an elite with years of training. Every one could handle his warhorse expertly. The equipment each man possessed was enough to bankrupt several middle-class households.

Whenever they appeared on a battlefield, enemy morale suffered a devastating blow. Their comrades' spirits soared, spurring them to attack courageously.

Yet such noble, courageous cavalrymen had been pointlessly abandoned amid the encircling enemy, all because of certain people's filthy desires. Their losses had been so grievous that only about forty percent had escaped...

As the man to whom those riders had entrusted their lives, he could not contain his fury.

In the short span from yesterday to today, it was as though he had lived through a terrible nightmare... Yet he had adapted so naturally. Alone in the quiet of the night, he had thought about it...

What had happened to him was far from normal. He was like a general who had fought wars for more than a decade. He could lead his cavalry against the enemy with ease and, even in such a hopeless situation, bring out the riders who trusted him...

These were things Xu Ning, an ordinary university graduate, could never have done. Only Tesolys Gaius Yarneus could have done them. He bore the glorious black double-headed eagle standard. He was a general of the Golden Legion, which served directly under the emperor, and the Empire's foremost champion warrior...

He had learned all of this after breaking out, continually gathering information through indirect questions... He did not know who he really was now. The face reflected in the pool was unmistakably his own, yet every soldier around him called him Tesolys.

The affection, respect, and admiration in their eyes could not be faked. Especially not after he, their general, had led them out of an encirclement of more than ten thousand enemy troops.

He seemed to be that very champion warrior. Leading all the cavalry, he had been the first to charge into that dense forest of spears, yet he had survived with only minor wounds. In yesterday's brief engagement alone, more than a hundred Hols had died by his hand. Killing a fully armed and armored heavy infantryman was no harder for him than killing another chicken.

He knew exactly how to thrust his spear to rip through the weak points in an opponent's armor. He knew even better how to swing his iron mace to make the most of the added force from his warhorse's speed... It was as though he were a born warrior, born to be strong.

His personality had also changed subtly. However bloody and horrifying a sight appeared before him, it drew no more of his attention than a stone by the roadside. He could ride over mutilated corpses without changing expression. Even with entrails splashing onto his face, he could calmly swing his blade and cut off an enemy's head...

He was aware of every bit of this, and he regarded his own changes with a kind of calm detachment.

Yet that very attitude troubled and bewildered him. He simply kept those feelings suppressed deep inside, letting not the slightest trace show... He also understood perfectly well that a leader must never display such emotions before his soldiers.

* * *

"Alka, the general's wound has to be treated as soon as possible... The air here is so damp that it'll start rotting in just a few days!"

Alka finally removed his helmet, revealing the square face one would have expected. A long scar ran from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. His features were hard and sharply defined. His hair was cropped very short, no more than a thin layer of stubble, and two thick eyebrows gave him an imposing look.

The man making the suggestion was Marcus. He no longer looked young, with a thick mustache above his upper lip and a large goatee. He had the appearance of a very steady, reliable middle-aged man.

"Of course I know that. But where are we supposed to find a physician out here?! Without one, who would dare treat a wound to the eye? You?!"

Alka was extremely agitated. The standard guard's right hand was tightly wrapped in white strips of cloth, but glaring red still showed through. As the standard guard who followed the general, he had naturally come under more attacks as well. Yet that glorious black standard had not fallen once throughout the battle.

Even now, marching through the forest, he had carefully rolled it up and stowed it in the cowhide tube on his back.

The retort silenced Marcus completely. Of course, he had no solution either. He had merely been worrying without being able to help.

They were taking a short rest in the forest, waiting for the stragglers to catch up. They could not rest for long. Their supplies were nearly exhausted, and they had to reach a known human town as quickly as possible. Otherwise, these cataphracts, who knew next to nothing about hunting, would probably starve to death in the forest.

Helpless, they could only lead their warhorses over to Tesolys and wait for their commander to give the next order. They had already sent scouts ahead to reconnoiter the route. Unless something went wrong, the men should be back soon...

Hurried hoofbeats rang out. A cavalryman wearing only his mail for armor leaped from his horse.

"My lord, there are no troops lying in ambush ahead. And we've found a village."

Everyone's spirits lifted.

"It's a Hols village..."

...

As his next words fell, the atmosphere began to turn grim and murderous.