Chapter 124

Translator: Willia

The forest was both a clean and mysterious place, and at the same time, a gloomy and dangerous one. Perhaps it was because it held both life and death within it.

If one looked closely, a desperate struggle for survival unfolded even among the smallest of creatures. Frogs, snakes, centipedes, ants, mushrooms, leeches, parasites... it was not much different from human life.

In every village, eerie tales were common, like demons living in the forest, or witches. Stories about luring children away and eating them, or deliberately leading people astray. That sort of thing.

And surprisingly, such ghost stories were especially common in the military. Whether it was due to fatigue during dawn watch or because someone had truly experienced something, no one could say for sure.

The problem was, demons and witches actually existed in this world. Of course, very few had seen them firsthand, so whether they were real or not came down to individual belief.

But really, even if one claimed not to believe in demons or ghosts, how firm was that belief? It was hard to ignore the primal fear that whispered from deep inside the heart.

Especially in the dead of night, when thick darkness covered the forest and the stars were silent, it was even more so. In fact, the more one tried to look away, the more vividly fear crept in.

The mercenary standing guard would occasionally meet the glowing green eyes of a beast gleaming in the pitch-black darkness.

It was hard to tell whether it was a rabbit, a rat, or a fox, but locking eyes with that creature brought an undeniable feeling of unease and discomfort.

As he tried to turn away and pretend nothing was wrong, this time he faced something even more alien. A pair of blazing golden lights.

The mercenary furrowed his brow and leaned forward to see what it was. Then, that pair of lights suddenly rushed toward him.

Gasping and taking in a sharp breath in shock lasted only a moment before he felt his entire body tense up.

The world flipped and twisted, and he saw a fountain of blood spraying from a body that had lost its head.

By the time he realized it was his own body, the mercenary lost his grip on consciousness and sank into a darkness deeper than the night.

Ricardt held a burning sword as he looked over the enemy camp thrown into chaos because of him. Though it had been said to be organized, it was crudely erected with columns and tents, looking more like a slum.

Dozens of mercenary banners or flags hung loosely, but it was hard to tell which of them was the leader’s.

Ricardt began walking deep into the enemy camp. The enemies still didn’t realize they had been ambushed by Ricardt.

Whether they were insomniacs or on guard duty, a few mercenaries were sitting by the fire, chatting and joking around, when they suddenly turned to look at Ricardt. Their conversation came to an abrupt stop, and their bodies froze in place.

Ricardt quickly approached, holding the sword in one hand and swinging it widely to the side. One person jumped up, another fell backward on his butt, and another dropped flat onto the ground.

“Eek!”

“Gah!”

If they had tried to dodge awkwardly, they all would have died, but by throwing away any trace of fighting spirit, one of them was lucky enough to survive.

Before part of a corpse with its waist severed even hit the ground, Ricardt gripped the sword with both hands and raised it high above his head. At that moment, the one who had narrowly escaped death shouted.

“The Red Prince!”

Slash!

When Ricardt brought the sword down, it cut through the person without even a hint of resistance, as if not even hard bone could hinder it. But by then, the final cry had already escaped, and the word "Prince" startled the mercenaries from their sleep.

Perhaps due to Ricardt’s previous actions when stealing flags, no one was groggy or dazed.

Everyone scrambled to get up and tried to flee their tents and canopies, but Ricardt kicked them right back inside, then knocked over the bonfire and set the place ablaze.

But soon, like ants who had lost their queen, mercenaries poured out from all directions, and Ricardt quickly dashed between tents and behind poles to take cover.

Then, every enemy he encountered, he slashed, stabbed, and cut down without hesitation. Flashes of light followed the path of his sword, and as the thread follows the needle, a torrent of blood burst forth.

“He’s here!”

“Damn it!”

“Crossbows! Bring the crossbows!”

“Stay back! Don’t get close!”

“We’re killing this asshole for sure tonight!”

Some mercenaries were so terrified their hands trembled, while others were burning with rage from what they had suffered until now.

Even in the chaotic battlefield where it was hard to know what was what, Ricardt instantly grasped the surroundings and charged toward the most vulnerable point, and the one that posed the greatest danger to himself.

Kicking and leaping over leftover rocks and columns from an unfinished fortification, he landed among those frantically winding the coils of their crossbows. Moonlight glinted off the burning tip of his sword.

He cut one mercenary diagonally in half, then used the momentum to plunge forward, wildly swinging his sword. Right, left, then right again, feinting, then left once more, and finally forward.

Whether these movements were improvised or premeditated was unclear, but they were as fluid as flowing water and as fierce as lightning.

"Hey, you asshole! Are you human! Or a demon!"

Some of the braver ones desperately tried to fight back, but Ricardt grabbed one by the face and slammed him into a large stone nearby.

His skull shattered on impact, killing him instantly, and Ricardt hoisted the corpse with one hand and hurled it at the enemies rushing in. Then he quickly moved again.

To the mercenaries, Ricardt was terrifying in and of himself, but once they lost sight of him even briefly, they had no way of knowing where he was.

They darted their eyes around in panic, wide with fear, but he always came from the opposite side, like a tiger pouncing on its prey.

Ricardt clenched his teeth and charged into a cluster of mercenaries, driving his sword like a spear and pushing through, toppling several of them at once.

Then, raising his sword high with both hands, he struck down hard at the fallen and tangled enemies. In a single blow, five or six were hacked to pieces.

He didn’t care whether it was heads, torsos, or arms, he sliced everything indiscriminately.

Those who had come running and witnessed the scene were left speechless, and when Ricardt turned with clenched jaw and blazing eyes, their legs gave out and they collapsed to the ground.

This was neither swordsmanship nor anything else, it was a god of battle, or perhaps a demon of slaughter. This couldn’t be real.

But amidst the chaos, shouts rang out from beyond the swirling battlefield. Many were desperately trying to put out fires, and the mercenaries were each focused on their own tasks.

“Where is he?! Fuck!”

“Throw the net!”

“Bring spears! Spears!”

“Put the fire out first!”

It felt like he had killed a lot, but the number five thousand was far greater than expected. Even if he killed them all one-sidedly, his stamina would run out before he could finish them.

Ricardt’s tactical instinct told him it was time to withdraw. But on the other hand, his instinct urged him to fight until death.

In a previous life, he might have pulled back. After all, maximizing effect while preserving stamina would have been the wiser choice. But now?

Ricardt chose madness over reason on the fine line between calm and fury. Because unlike when he wandered the world alone, now he carried the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

The golden flame burning along the blade flared even more fiercely. Burn more. Even more. Whether it was rage or longing.

Ricardt charged deeper into the heart of the enemy camp, and by now the mercenaries had densely gathered to form layered human walls everywhere.

It wasn’t intentional, it was simply a result of so many people converging on a single point.

But even so, some were still searching, not knowing where Ricardt was, while others had spotted him and kept their distance, waiting for an opening.

As Ricardt boldly plunged into the depths of the enemy camp, some mercenaries thought, Is this bastard crazy? and others were simply stunned.

Ricardt's room for movement was gradually shrinking. His escape route was closing as well.

Then, in front and to his right, a wall of densely packed spears blocked his way like a hedgehog’s quills. Behind that wall were several layers of men, this wasn’t something he could break through with brute force.

Looking back, the rear still seemed in disarray. If he wanted to escape, this was the last chance.

But Ricardt climbed onto a nearby stone, and with eyes burning like hellfire, uncertain whether he was a demon or an angel, he shouted loudly,

“Come at me all at once!”

His spirit and nerve were beyond reason, to the point of seeming insane. He was so strong, it made people wonder if he was half-divine.

The mercenaries, though trembling with fear, swallowed hard and held their ground. That alone was impressive. If they had no combat experience, they would’ve long fled.

Filthy, vulgar, and lowly as they were, they each lived with their own resolve.

But to everyone’s shock, Ricardt suddenly leapt off the stone and hurled himself into the forest of spears. The mercenaries stared blankly as their spears naturally lifted upward, and in that instant, Ricardt swung his sword midair, cutting through the shafts at random.

Then he fell, entangled with the mercenaries. Seizing the moment, the surrounding mercenaries rushed in to grab, stomp, and stab him to death. Or at least, they tried.

The golden burning blade pierced through someone’s body and then shot upward suddenly, cutting a wide arc that sliced through everything nearby. Their grand effort ended in failure.

Slaaaash!

The mercenaries, packed so tightly together there was no room to move, all toppled in a cascade when one side gave way. What just happened? What was that? Did we kill him? No? Didn’t we?

Unfortunately for the mercenaries, Ricardt was not dead. He rose again, drenched head to toe in red blood like someone newly born into this world.

A brief moment, that was all he needed. The golden flame along the blade instantly burned away the sticky blood, and the edge remained as sharp as ever.

The mercenaries couldn’t tell what was going on and remained in shock. Ricardt, like a demon under the moonlight, danced with his sword, and they were helpless to stop the slaughter.

The mercenaries who had been blocking the escape route and those arriving late could only watch in horror at the gruesome scene. It was like watching a scene from hell.

Ricardt, having slashed through them, caught his breath and turned to look back at them. His face and body were so soaked in blood that no other color was visible.

Only a pair of burning eyes stared at the mercenaries. When they met his gaze, it felt like their breath stopped.

Leaving them behind, Ricardt continued sprinting toward the heart of the enemy camp. For a while, no one stood in his way, and he ran unimpeded.

Then a large command tent came into clear view. Anyone could tell, it was the commander’s tent.

And near that tent stood a man draped in a red cloak, commanding the field directly. The red cloak was a tradition for the army's commander.

He turned and saw Ricardt, then recoiled in terror. Drenched in blood, with only his eyes blazing like golden fire, how could that be seen as human?

Without a word, Ricardt charged straight in, stabbed the commander in the abdomen, and pulled his sword upward. Blood gushed out, and warm organs poured forth.

The nearby mercenary captains panicked and fled, but Ricardt didn’t let them escape, he killed most of them.

The mercenaries chasing Ricardt went blank when they witnessed the scene. After all, their commander was dead, and so were their own captains.

Regardless, Ricardt stormed into the commander’s tent, grabbed the chests at the foot of the bed, and ran out the back side.

One chest was so heavy it would normally take two strong adult men to lift it, but Ricardt stacked three and carried them while running.

He escaped the camp and dashed into the forest. Having fought so wildly, he couldn’t tell where he was for a moment. Lester appeared like a ghost and said,

“This way.”

Ricardt followed him, and beyond the darkness, ghost-like rangers escorted Ricardt.

As they exited the forest, the moonlight greeted Ricardt, and the enemy, now in chaos, couldn’t even give chase.

Ricardt was finally hit with the fatigue of battle. His legs and hands trembled, and he felt like he might collapse any moment.

The mana flames burning within him weren’t harming his body, but they seemed to be screaming that it was time to stop. Otherwise, they’d have no choice but to burn his heart.

As Ricardt hurriedly took deep breaths and steadied himself, the flame transformed into a breeze and seemed to seep into his blood vessels, muscles, and organs. It was just a feeling, whether it really seeped in or not, he didn’t know.

In any case, the enemies didn’t seem to be chasing, so he set down the chests and opened one. Under the moonlight, it revealed a pile of silver coins that could make one lose their mind.

“That’s it. This should be enough to lure them in.”

Ricardt said with satisfaction. Mercenaries lived and died by money, so he was sure the plan would work.

When Ricardt returned to the soldiers and showed them the enormous amount of military funds he had seized, everyone’s eyes widened in disbelief, speechless. With this much money, never mind strategy, couldn’t they just hire mercenaries instead?

“This is only the beginning. This money will be used to crush the enemy, so don’t get any ideas. Just remember the plan. When I lure the enemy into the gorge, you’ll be hiding here and push them toward the cliff.”

Ricardt warned the soldiers. Just because things were going well didn’t mean they could afford to let their guard down.

But it wasn’t carelessness, the soldiers were simply too stunned to believe what they were seeing. More shocking than the mountain of money was Ricardt himself. He didn’t seem to realize what he looked like right now.

Everyone already knew Ricardt was strong. But he was still made of flesh and blood, charging into the heart of the enemy, killing the commander, and returning alive? That defied all logic.

Was it divine luck? A miracle from God? Sheer skill? Their heads were spinning.

But the next morning, Ricardt’s plan fell apart. Because things didn’t go as expected.

The mercenaries, having lost both their commander and their funds, simply began to scatter. They gave up on the fight entirely, no trap, no engagement.

Some circled wide to go join Grantz, some just headed straight for Beringen, and some even approached Ricardt, asking him to hire them. Huh? Wait, what were they supposed to do now?

No matter how much of a genius one might be, no matter how experienced, it was impossible to predict everything in the world. Especially in war, where endless variables existed.

And unintentionally, a rumor began to spread across the world.

That there was a man who could take on an entire army alone.

The Red Prince of Adeloron, Ricardt von Caldebern.

Chapter 25 - One Man Army. End.

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