Chapter 177: For Victory

Arrows rained down. Demons, caught off guard while hauling dirt, panicked and descended into chaos. Seizing the opportunity, a knight order charged out from the subtly opened city gates on horseback.

Hooves churned the soft earth as they charged towards the defenseless demons. Despite facing demons, not humans, they attacked with unrestrained ferocity, like unleashed beasts descending upon prey—

Thump. Slice.

Their confidence was well-placed.

A demon’s head tumbled and rolled across the dirt.

…

Ever since leaving the Demon King’s castle, the nightmares returned. My already meager sleep became even more scarce.

‘Perhaps that’s why I’ve been coughing up blood again, though rarely.’

The frequency has lessened to the point where it’s almost negligible now.

‘Sleep deprivation seems to be the root cause. I tried to rest, even for a moment, but…’

He leisurely folded the black handkerchief, tucked it into his pocket, and looked up. In that brief moment, the scene had turned gruesome. Deon, looking dumbfounded, crossed his arms and chuckled humorlessly.

“Can’t even take my eyes off things for a moment. No wonder I can’t get a proper rest.”

“…My apologies.”

“What were the sentries doing? Anyone could see them aiming arrows from the city walls, even without focusing.”

“He performed his duty, sir.”

The sentry diligently reported enemies aiming arrows from the city walls. The problem lay in the response afterward.

Deon sighed heavily after hearing the full explanation.

“I hardly know where to begin with the criticisms.”

I understand some losses are expected; building earthen mounds is new to them, and those working are vulnerable.

Furthermore, from what I gather, the knights who launched the surprise attack were from Stigma Primiero’s order. Being caught off guard by them isn’t entirely surprising, but…

‘Even so, I specifically instructed them to position guards around the mound-building teams to prevent such ambushes.’

Despite a litany of issues to address, Deon chose to focus on the most crucial one.

“You don’t necessarily need to be building these mounds yourselves.”

“Huh?”

“We have prisoners, remember?”

If arrows and attacks are the problem, prevent them.

Conveniently, we have prisoners captured by the carnivorous plants. They looked quite fit, as expected from those forest-dwelling fools.

Why not use them to build the mounds?

‘Could they really shoot arrows at their own comrades? Or, before that, could Tender Amiable even bring himself to order his men to fire?’

Deon recalled Margrave Amiable’s heated debate with Stigma during the hunting competition, where he impressively defended the Barbai as fellow humans. Could such a man truly order the deaths of his own Imperial soldiers?

‘Whether they kill them or not, we don’t lose anything.’

If they kill them, fine. If not, we can still exploit them.

‘Building the mounds will take time, but…’

No better ideas come to mind. What else can I do?

Well, it’s fine. I’ve lived bumping into my limits since birth; nothing new here. Instead of lamenting my brain’s limitations, Deon issued the order.

***

Mounds of earth rose before the city walls.

But this time, demons weren’t building them.

“Those are…”

“Those are…” Someone groaned. Their former comrades were down there. Soldiers, who had been nocking arrows, ready to resume firing on mound builders, now looked up at their commander, stunned.

Margrave Amiable gritted his teeth under the pleading gazes that sought answers.

‘Damn it.’

How could he even conceive of such a plan, let alone execute it?

He stared at the men forced to build the mounds, knowing they moved only under threat of death. In a world rife with sin, this was hardly even a transgression, yet…

‘They must be stopped.’

He couldn’t simply stand by and watch the mounds rise. Stopping them was the only option. He had a duty to fulfill the Emperor’s command.

His hesitation was brief. Though compassionate, he was Margrave, responsible for the border. He suppressed his gut-wrenching emotions and issued a cold command.

An order for his men to kill their former comrades.

“Draw your bows.”

…!

A ripple of dissent spread through the ranks.

Most soldiers, shocked, turned to their commander. Some glanced down with trembling eyes. Only a handful hesitantly raised their bows.

Tender Amiable, witnessing this, raised his voice.

“Draw your bows!”

Some who had been staring at their commander now turned to look below. Sensing their hesitation, he continued, voice rising.

“If you don’t stop them, the demons will breach these walls! Your wives, your children, your loved ones—they’ll be trampled, violated by those monsters!”

Gazes turned away from the commander, one by one. More eyes turned downward, and more bows were raised than before.

“If we fall, countless lives will be lost! Not just the people of this territory. His Majesty has designated this place as the final bastion before the capital! If the demons break through, more people will die than you can imagine—far more than those you hesitate to target!”

Now nearly every soldier held a bow. Their eyes hardened, gripping their weapons.

“We must hold this line! At the very least, we must buy time! Draw your bows! Aim!”

The initial confusion faded, replaced by grim resolve. Soldiers, their minds made up, nocked arrows and drew back their bowstrings. Some hands still trembled as they aimed, but many were steady.

Just as arrows were trained on their former comrades, booming laughter echoed across the field.

Tender Amiable fell silent.

‘…Magic should be impossible near the city walls with the barrier in place.’

Perhaps direct magic is blocked, but enchanted items are exempt. That must be why communication stones still work.

Tense eyes fixed on a single point.

From the demon lines, a white-haired man stood, maniacally laughing and holding a mana stone that seemed enchanted for amplification. The tension ratcheted higher. Gradually, his laughter subsided. Red eyes glinting with cruel amusement, he brought the mana stone to his lips.

“I knew it. You hypocrite.”

…

“Not even common Imperial citizens—aren’t you going a bit far abandoning soldiers who fought so hard?”

How to describe this feeling? Disappointment, perhaps.

I had held some hope. He’d stood up to Stigma for the sake of other humans, defended other races. Yet, in the end, he chooses to sacrifice his own men.

Rationally speaking, it’s the correct call. To remain composed and choose the optimal path in this situation—truly the mark of an excellent commander.

‘But would his soldiers see it that way?’

He glanced at the men coerced into building the mounds.

Their faces were masks of shock. Deon instantly grasped the situation. He needed to turn the soldiers on the walls against their commander.

Even before he could formulate a plan, a voice cut through the silence.

“From the moment they started building those mounds, they became traitors.”

It wasn’t shouted, but the unnatural silence carried the words clearly, even to Deon, despite the distance.

‘Oh, dear.’

Wrong move. A smirk tugged at his lips.

‘Instead of branding them as traitors, he should have glorified their deaths as honorable sacrifices.’

What harm is there in offering a little honor?

He simply laughed. Truthfully, he hadn’t felt genuinely amused yet, but he needed to project an image of power.

His voice, still laced with laughter, seized the Margrave—once a figure of such steadfast command—by the collar and dragged his reputation into the mud.

“You can’t possibly believe they’re doing this willingly. Not only are you ordering your own men killed, but now you’re dragging their honor through the dirt.”

…!

With this kind of leadership, who would willingly risk their life?

One by one, soldiers on the wall slowly lowered their bows. Margrave Amiable, belatedly realizing his blunder, scowled.

‘Well, what now?’

Would he execute someone for insubordination? Even if he could, he couldn’t execute them all. Force would be counterproductive in the long run.

Deon watched with keen interest, waiting to see what would happen next.

…

Ironically, this single crack was enough to shatter the fortress.

Tender Amiable, in black and white terms, leaned towards the “good” side. A virtue personally, but a potential flaw for a commander.

He himself recoiled at ordering his men to fire on their comrades. What could he do when his soldiers clearly shared that revulsion and refused to obey?

‘Still, for a soft commander, he was surprisingly resourceful.’

Tender Amiable didn’t just freeze up and collapse into incompetence.

He shifted tactics. Instead of trying to stop the mounds, he let them be built, and as they neared completion, he used pre-positioned planks to bridge the gap and launch a counter-attack.

Just as I thought, “Just a little more to go,” a massive thud echoed, and soldiers poured into our lines! I was caught completely off guard.

Seeing the Primiero Knights smashing through the demon lines and surging forward, I almost thought it was a dream.

‘We almost got outmaneuvered.’

Their passive resistance was easily explained by the presence of the prisoners. And who would have suspected they were preparing planks behind the unseen city walls?

Troops had gathered near the walls as the mounds neared completion, but most kept low, out of sight. Those visible seemed merely preparing to defend against the expected demon assault, so we paid little attention.

‘If the troop presence had been normal, or even less, I might have been more suspicious.’

Subtly increasing the number of troops on standby—crafty.

In a human-versus-human conflict, or even without the 0th Legion here, we would have certainly been defeated.

Even if our own soldiers, not prisoners, had been building the mounds, we’d have been caught. It would have been a surprise attack against exhausted troops.

So, I commend you. You aimed to buy time if you couldn’t prevent the breach, and you did hold me up here for a significant time.

‘Now I understand why you were stalling for time.’

Upon entering the fortress, I found no civilians, only soldiers. They must have been buying time for civilian evacuation.

Deon stared down at the dead Margrave, eyes open, sword still in hand, as if to burn the image into his memory. Then, he lifted his head and moved on.

With each step, his foot nudged against another corpse.

‘The Primiero Knights… well, my senior will understand.’

Time to move again.

***

“Is something wrong with the food, Your Majesty?”

At the hushed voice, the Emperor, who had been staring at the meat on his plate, looked up. His gaze met the Crown Prince’s, filled with concern.

“I have no appetite. Didn’t I tell you to dine with Aletea alone?”

He placed his utensils on the table. Following his gesture, the Crown Prince’s eyes fell on the untouched meat on his plate.

Across from the Crown Prince, the Princess, who had been cutting her meat, also glanced at the Emperor’s plate, a worried look in her eyes. But sensing his desire to dismiss the matter, she pretended not to notice and focused on her own meal.

But the Crown Prince didn’t let it drop. A stiff, formal tone filled the spacious room occupied by only the three of them.

…I’ve heard you haven’t been eating well lately, Your Majesty.

…

Almost starving yourself, they say.

It was almost an accusation, but the Emperor didn’t react with anger.

He knew it stemmed from concern. Relieved he’d dismissed the servants, he nonchalantly lowered his gaze, feigning indifference.

Usually, this tactic worked. They’d push back initially, but eventually relent. This time, however, was different.

“Has… the hallucination worsened, Your Majesty?”

The blunt question, heavy with implication, made the Princess flinch. Her knife scraped against her plate, a jarring sound in the tense silence.

Sensing escape was impossible, the Emperor slowly moved his lips.

…Of course not.

The black specters clouding my vision have actually lessened. Instead—

The Emperor glanced down.

It’s just…

…

…The metallic stench of blood lingers in my nostrils. It spoils my appetite.