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“The main force has arrived at Peril. As expected, the open land precluded any ambushes. No magical traps, either.”
“Go.” Marquis Crombell looked over the neck of his white horse at the man with the crystal ball who had come to report to him and gestured him away.
“I hear and obey.”
The Marquis turned back around. “Thank you for taking this into account. I didn’t even request anything else.”
“This is your battle, so it’s only fair that the Marquis’s knights lead the way,” the Mercenary King replied. “Don’t worry about it.”
“How can I not? We both know you need to distinguish yourself in this battle.” The Marquis smiled. “Our family will never forget your generosity.”
When the Mercenary King nodded casually, Marquis Crombell’s smile widened.
On the outside, it may look like someone foisting gifts on an unwilling recipient, but the reality was different. If all went well, the Mercenary King would become a high-ranking nobleman; he didn’t need to grovel, but showing his respect ahead of time could only benefit the Marquis. He knew just how great a man the Mercenary King was.
“People still talk about the Battle of Pluto,” Crombell whispered to himself. The Kingdom of Hearts had been wracked by a long civil war. The only reason it lasted for so long was because the Mercenary King had massacred all two hundred knights and a thousand troops—practically the Kingdom’s entire army—and then took the head of Duke Desito, their commander, for good measure.
“This energy…” The Mercenary King’s feet suddenly stopped.
Gehor looked up. “What’s happening?”
The Mercenary King squinted at the battle.
“…Aura Force?”
“Wha—”
“Was there someone in the Duke’s house who could use Aura Force…?” The Mercenary King scrunched up his face. “It’s not the Black Knight. His kind can’t use Aura Force… So it must be him. And it doesn’t seem like Aura Cloak….”
Marquis Crombell stared at the mercenary, puzzled by his apparently insane muttering.
“No way.” Someone popped into the Mercenary King’s head. “Is it him? The beardless boy?”
“What are you whispering about?”
“Marquis Crombell.” The Mercenary King turned to him with a sudden intensity. “Did you see him, for real?”
“What are you talking about?”
“That kid named Joshua Sanders.”
The Marquis shook his head, barely containing his rising irritation. “Never met him personally, only heard the rumors. Is he here?”
His answer came from behind him.
“Marquis! Someone just jumped off the walls of Peril Castle. One of their own.”
“What?” His ears perked up.
“The man is running toward our main forces right now. He’ll meet them soon enough.”
“What is this bullshit? That’s at least a few kilometers away! I told them to hold position in case of traps. How exactly did they end up meeting him halfway?!”
“T-They didn’t disobey orders. The enemy is moving so fast it’s hard to believe he’s even huma—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish. A noise washed over them that was so loud it stole the sound from the air.
“I think the rumors might be a bit wrong…”
“What in the world is this?”
“We need to catch up, now.” The Mercenary King eyed the rising plume of dust ahead while Marquis Crombell beat his chest in frustration.
“Summarize the plan for me.”
“Just focus on moving right now. Otherwise…” The Mercenary King’s eyes darkened. “You’ll lose all the knights you’re so proud of.”
“Master, what—?”
“My king…”
The Pontiers couldn’t bear to watch Joshua, their king and master, take on the enemy alone, so they abandoned the walls and flocked to Joshua’s side as fast as their legs would take them. Every step they took, they could feel a strange power filling their body and their minds becoming more and more focused on the fight ahead.
When they reached him, he stole their breath away. A suit of shining white armor, decorated with scintillating golden trim, had mysteriously appeared to gird his body, and his blood-red spear echoed the carnage around him. If it weren’t for the mounds of corpses at his feet, he’d look like a hero straight out of a painting; as it was, it looked like a god had descended.
For a moment, Leo could only shuffle forward in an awed daze.
“In war songs, sometimes the drums beat in time with the heart; sometimes in time with the body,” de Grans recited. “I’ve heard that scholars spent many years studying the way this harmony affects people’s emotions.” A small smile crept onto his lips. “In the end, it looks like their hard work paid off. A song for a broken heart, a song for finding new love; music has more power than you can imagine. But war songs… war songs are a bit special.” He gazed reverently at his king. “War songs make us forget our fears—some hormones creep into our brains that make the pain go away. Music is the perfect tool to pluck our strings, but it has clear flaws as well. Today, when I heard your song for the first time, my heart beat so fast.”1
Indeed, it was ridiculous to think that sound would distinguish between friend and foe. Unless the king perhaps had special powers.
“My king. I don’t think this is the right time to say this, but I don’t think I’ll get another chance, so I hope you’ll forgive me.” All eyes were on Leo as he addressed his liege. “Please don’t hurt yourself. I do wish My Lord would take better care of his body. For the first time in my life, I have a king I truly wish to serve with all my heart. I don’t want to lose this fortune.” His voice was heavy with emotion. “We will protect you, no matter what it costs.”
Joshua’s lips curled into a soft smile. “That won’t be necessary. First of all, the sword won’t be pointed at you. I’ll take your advice, though, since it’s one of my people’s first requests.”
Being described as one of “his people” struck a chord deep in Leo’s heart.
They all felt a vibration under their feet and looked up.
“They’re here.”
The main host of the enemy—10,000 soldiers—was coming, and they had a Superhuman at their head.
Cain clenched his fists and planted himself firmly by Joshua’s side. “Master’s side belongs to me, no matter how much you try.”
Leo de Gran’s eyebrows beetled. Everyone else looked at Cain like he’d gone mad.
“Wanna bet?”
“Bet?” Cain peered at him.
“Whoever takes the most heads will be the one to stand beside the king.”
“Oh?” Cain rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The Mercenary King killed a crap ton of people, so I’d better return the favor.”
“Where does your confidence come from?”
Cain chuckled. “So what happens to the loser?”
“If you lose, I’m your older brother.”
“I don’t want to be your younger brother.”
“We’ll see.”
Cain shook his head. “I guess you don’t know what my nickname is…” He brandished his sword, already infusing mana into the blade. “They call me the First Knight of Sanders.”
With that said, Cain took off running.
“Wha—! This coward!”
Joshua stared at their backs for a moment, shaking his head. Then he ran after them anyways—toward an enemy that outnumbered them a hundredfold.
PR/N: ……I can’t deny I found this part to be slightly cool…. ↩️