Chapter 280

Why did Markus have to answer the summons to the capital?

“Those damned noble brats—at a time like this, they should be shielding me, acting as a buffer, but instead they’ve made me the perfect scapegoat. Politicking bastards.”

That was straight from Markus’s mouth.

For a moment, Encrid wondered if Markus wasn’t also insulting himself, but this wasn’t the time to point it out.

“From the central government’s point of view, some of the Border Guards and your raising of warhorses and training of archers beyond this point could be seen as signs of rebellion. Why are you gathering power in the North, especially as a noble from a distinguished family in the capital?”

“A distinguished family?”

“My family.”

Encrid didn’t bother asking exactly which family.

The gist of it was this—Markus had intended to reorganize the North with the Border Guards as its center.

But the central government was asking, ‘Why are you gathering strength up there? What are you planning to do with it?’

‘To look after the North properly.’

That was his answer.

‘We don’t think so. Come up and talk. Besides, aren’t you from a family sworn to protect the capital? Come. We’ll make you a central government official.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘Oh? Then maybe you really are planning a rebellion? Refusing like that?’

‘I said it’s not a rebellion.’

‘Then come to the capital. We’ll talk there. Stop harassing neighboring territories, and if you’re only defending, like you claim, then they won’t touch you.’

‘If I leave believing that, they’ll attack. Let me finish this first, then I’ll come.’

‘So it ‘is’ a rebellion. You’re a traitor.’

‘I said it’s not.’

‘Then come.’

Stripped of all the fluff, honorifics, and useless filler, that was the conversation in a nutshell.

Markus resisted, but it was useless.

He was ordered back to the capital.

“This won’t be the end. There will be thieves pulling strings from behind.”

Those were the words of a born politician.

Still, why bother coming to say this in person?

Before Encrid could voice the question, Markus spoke first.

He straightened from the pillar he’d been leaning on and stood tall.

It was like a soldier’s salute, back straight, posture rigid.

It felt as if he drew in the surrounding air for a moment.

He steadied his breath.

“Help Graham defend the territory.”

It wasn’t an order. In Encrid’s ears, it sounded like a request.

“Yes.”

So he answered, and Markus, looking oddly drained, spoke again.

“…Makes my worrying pointless.”

“Sir?”

“Never mind.”

Markus turned away. On his way here, the battalion commander had been mulling over a few things—would Encrid stay in the territory until the end? Would it be better to abandon this place and call him to the capital? Or would he just go his own way?

‘Damn those rotten capital bureaucrats.’

Markus had cursed the corrupt nobles and officials countless times before, but right now he wanted to put a hole in each of their foreheads.

He thought of hiring an assassin famous enough to be mentioned in history books. Someone nicknamed “Red Dot” for leaving a red mark on the forehead before killing.

Or was it “Red Spot”?

Whatever the name, he wanted to cut out the rot.

‘Fine. I’ll go.’

He wasn’t about to trot over and sit quietly because they called.

He’d track down every one of the people who had let the Black Blade Bandits toy with him.

But to wield that kind of power, this place needed to hold. The enemy was set on targeting the Border Guards.

So what could Markus do?

‘What else?’

The same as always—let the fighters handle the fighting, and go do what ‘he’ did best.

Before leaving, Markus decided he needed to write a few more letters. He’d prepare everything he possibly could.

And his thoughts circled back to the biggest potential variable—Encrid.

‘Will he stay?’

Half out of doubt, half for persuasion, he had come here, but the answer came too easily.

Encrid agreed readily. There was no lie in it, nor did it feel like a rigid sense of duty, yet Markus knew he would defend this place.

That was just the kind of man he was.

What fire burned in his chest, Markus couldn’t tell, but it burned steadily and wasn’t easy to see from the outside.

If he truly wanted to be a knight, he should have already gone to the capital, fought to join the royal knights.

Even possessing [Will], he remained here—why?

‘What kind of knight do you want to be?’

Next time they met, Markus wanted to ask him.

For now, he felt reassured. The knot of frustration eased, like a tangled thread coming undone.

He didn’t know why, and he didn’t know exactly what would happen, but—

‘I won’t be taken down easily.’

It was strange—no matter how much Graham, the First Company Commander, bled and struggled, his presence didn’t inspire as much confidence as one word from Encrid.

‘Because of the difference in skill?’

Now he understood—Encrid had become a fearsome swordsman. He was on the path to knighthood. He had awakened [Will].

Was that it?

No—Markus knew instinctively that wasn’t the whole reason.

When he returned to his office, he found Graham waiting.

“Sorry. There won’t be a proper appointment ceremony, and to be honest, I have no idea what the battalion commander at the Green Pearl garrison is thinking. If he’s switched sides, this will be harder.”

“Don’t worry, sir. We won’t lose to the Black Blade.”

Graham was a fine soldier and a man, but—

‘Why doesn’t his answer give me the same trust as that simple “Yes” from you?’

Markus shook his head inwardly and patted Graham on the shoulder.

The situation was turning into a mess, and he had to leave. It left a bitter taste.

It only hardened his resolve—he would take the head of anyone involved in this.

—

“South of Martai, the cultists are on the move!”

This was the talk among traders and travelers coming and going from the territory.

A so-called bishop of the cult had appeared in the south, leading a horde of beasts.

The “Wolf Bishop,” a name of some renown in the cult, was said to be marching with his forces.

And it wasn’t just rumor.

[With winter upon us, to aid those shivering in the cold and hunger, I hereby proclaim this place a holy land.]

The bishop’s words, printed and spread everywhere, reached even the Border Guards.

“Well, isn’t that a load of crap?”

Some soldiers clicked their tongues at the proclamation.

Declaring Martai and the Border Guard lands a holy site for the cult was the same as saying: get out of the way or be slaughtered.

It was a big problem.

With Markus gone, the First Company Commander, now lord and battalion commander, was sweating under the wave of trouble crashing in.

Why had the cultists appeared all of a sudden? The situation was dire enough—limited troops, and now the Black Blade and the cult were pressing from different directions.

“Did Markus run off in fear?”

Baron Tarnin turned his rant up to full blast, subtly moving his troops forward as he did.

The scent of battle was in the air.

“I’ll have to send someone to Count Molsen to request reinforcements.”

Graham took immediate action.

A high-ranking noble’s heir was conveniently present in the territory—surely that would help?

He even let slip that both of the Count’s sons were here.

The reply came.

“The cult is active in the county, and with winter there are too many monsters. Handle it yourself.”

Bang!

The First Company Commander slammed his fist into the wall.

The solid brick didn’t break.

A heavy pain spread from his fingertips, but that wasn’t the point.

“Dammit! We’re next after your territory!”

There was no way Count Molsen could stay indifferent.

The pig Baron Tarnin was the front, but the ones hiding behind him were the Black Blade Bandits.

No, at this point they weren’t even hiding—several known Black Blade swordsmen had shown their faces.

They were committed.

From the south, the cult was advancing. From below, they pressed upward, but they and the Black Blade didn’t cross each other’s lines, as if bound by a non-aggression pact.

It looked staged.

If it looked that way, it probably was.

Would the two groups stop after taking the Border Guards?

Not a chance—they’d only run wilder.

Graham sent messages by crow and pigeon to the capital.

No reply.

Instead, another report arrived.

“Battalion Commander.”

Markus had said he was sorry to pass the command like this. There had been no appointment ceremony, but Graham had intended to solidify his position through this crisis.

But now—

Markus’s parting words came to mind:

“If it’s really hopeless, pull back when you can.”

Was this the time?

The news he’d just received pushed him toward despair. His eyes darkened with gloom.

“Azpen has moved.”

The man who’d once been a reserve battalion commander was stationed in the Green Pearl Plains, training cavalry, opening farmland, and building villages.

He had prioritized fortifying—building barracks and palisades—turning the place from a village into a garrison, and from a garrison into Naurilia’s land.

A messenger came from the Green Pearl—Azpen had broken the agreement, mobilized troops, and crossed the border.

An invasion.

Azpen wasn’t the type to sit quietly forever after losing once.

But why now, of all times?

This was a matter that required support from the capital—it was impossible for the Border Guards alone.

Help would come, eventually. Azpen had moved, after all.

But—

‘Of course, we have to survive until then.’

The newly appointed battalion commander wanted to run away on his first day.

The Black Blade’s schemes had become sharp blades cutting through the Border Guards.

They’d driven Markus out, brought in the cult, and now stirred up Azpen.

The sky was dark, thick with clouds that kept the sunlight away even at midday.

Clouds hung over the territory, too.

—

“So, what now?”

A Black Blade officer chuckled to himself, pouring liquor down his throat and savoring it.

How dare they touch us?

They’d used their connections and poured in gold.

The result was this—

Baron Tarnin and the Black Blade forces.

The cult’s forces to the south of Martai.

And beyond the Green Pearl Plains occupied by the Border Guards, Azpen’s aggression from the east.

Now what would they do?

—

With bad news blowing in from every direction, the feet of traders heading for the territory began to slow.

“They say there’s going to be a war.”

“I heard the cult’s invading.”

“No, no, that’s not it. Word is the unit at Green Pearl’s had a change of heart—why make someone else commander of the Border Guards instead of them?”

“I hear the capital’s washing its hands of this place…”

“And that Count Molsen’s turned his back, too.”

When would the Border Guards fall?

Encrid let the rumors slide by as if they meant nothing.

But not everyone could.

Graham, as commander and new battalion chief, was suffocating.

It felt like someone was holding a blade to his throat.

Hold off Baron Tarnin with the walls, and the south would still be a problem.

The reply from the Green Pearl battalion only made things worse.

“The enemy’s numbers are high. If you don’t want your soldiers massacred, send reinforcements.”

Reinforcements?

Here, they were so short-handed they’d like to raise a ghoul army if they could.

His stubbled chin and bloodshot eyes spoke his mind.

“Dammit, Markus.”

What was there to celebrate in becoming lord and battalion commander when this was the state of things?

And while the territory’s leader had one foot in panic, someone in Encrid’s company was in a similar state.

“Captain, Captain, isn’t it about time we ran?”

What was this?

“You didn’t swear an oath of loyalty to the queen, did you? I mean, I don’t think we can stop the cult, the Black Blade, and Azpen all at once.”

This wasn’t his usual demeanor.

Encrid studied the big-eyed man for a moment.

His legs were jittering, he was about to bite his nails, then spat and blinked repeatedly.

Even now, he blinked three or four times, his pupils trembling visibly.

Not normal.

Encrid didn’t claim to know every detail of his men’s pasts or personalities.

But he knew some things.

Like how Rem hated the cold and Ragna was a lazy, directionless type.

That Jaxson hid a lot and sometimes showed a chill that was hard to pin down.

And he knew Krys’s habits.

This big-eyed friend hadn’t had an easy life.

Then again, who here had?

No one with a peaceful life would have ended up here.

There was a reason this unit had been called troublemakers from the start.

Krys was one of them.

“This is the worst.”

Krys muttered, listing the situations to come.

“Even if we hold the walls against the Black Blade’s assault, what about the cult coming from below? That Wolf Bishop is pretty famous—I dug up some info. He drives around with hundreds of wolf beasts. He’s got a bounty on his head. What does that tell you? It means the kingdom’s abandoned this place, Molsen or not. Whatever they’re getting for it, they’ve gotten it already. This is the queen’s forsaken land now. Look—Azpen’s lined up troops in plain sight, and there’s no reinforcements. Even the knight order should be here. But they’re not. What does that mean? Politics. Did they trade the Green Pearl away? Or make a deal with the cult? At the very least, the Black Blade…”

He was going on too long. Encrid caught half of it and let the rest pass.

He looked around.

He saw the eyes watching him. And he realized—

They would do whatever he said.

If he told them to abandon the territory, they’d all follow.

Rem, Ragna, Audin, Jaxson, Dunbakel, Teresa, and Krys, drowning in anxiety.

Even the panther that had slipped in would be the same.

Eight plus himself.

A force that normally wouldn’t matter if it vanished.

But now?

The last battle had been an easy win because Markus had hidden this company’s true strength.

Krys’s analysis said so.

Encrid agreed.

So what would happen if they pulled out now?

What else—

The whole thing would collapse.