The Warrior’s Ballad

Translator: Willia

The world after the rain looked exceptionally clear and clean. The moisture-laden grass was fresher than usual, and breathing in the cool air felt like it opened up one's chest.

Clouds drifting over the sea stretched out in long tears, and sunlight fell through the gaps between them. The waves that had been crashing fiercely now seemed to catch their breath, becoming calm.

Ricardt, on horseback, gazed at the magnificent spectacle created by nature with a calm expression.

The clouds moved somewhat quickly, and accordingly, the sunlight falling in straight lines grew thin and thick, became obscured, and then pierced the sea again. It was like a shimmering curtain of light.

Unlike the majestic and tranquil scenery, the surroundings were somewhat noisy, because of the troops preparing to move.

For a while, that noise did not enter his ears, but suddenly it caught Ricardt’s attention. Ricardt turned his head and gave an order.

“Let’s go.”

At that, Raimund, who had been watching only Ricardt from beside him, spun his hand upward in a circular motion and sent a hand signal.

Seeing that signal, someone shouted loudly.

"First unit! Move ouuuut!"

Then the first unit that had been standing by in advance walked forward, each with weapons like spears resting against their shoulders. They headed straight north along the coast, with knights guarding the flanks.

An army’s march was not done haphazardly. The strongest units, weaker units, veterans, recruits, and different troop types had to be carefully arranged into formations such as the vanguard, center, rear, and flanks.

These small bits of know how gathered together and manifested as combat power. Swinging weapons at enemies might not even be that important.

If I could strike exhausted enemies while remaining fresh, if I could attack them at unexpected moments. Creating such situations was precisely the essence of winning a battle.

The troops borrowed from King Santonio, and the knights and auxiliary soldiers of the Order of the Flame Knights, all possessed outstanding experience and knowledge regarding combat.

And the very experience of defeating enemies three times their number was their greatest asset. Confidence in victory, and trust. Those were things that could not be bought with money nor filled through training.

Ricardt was confident that he could fight and win. However, he was agonizing until the very last moment. Whether he truly had to fight.

“Accept the pain and think beyond it.”

Hashim, riding a horse beside Ricardt, spoke. Ricardt nodded his head.

Then, after watching the units begin their march by formation, he galloped across the field beside the beach with only a small number of knights accompanying him.

The moisture soaked field had short grass growing, so it was not muddy.

The dull thud thud of the horse hooves sounded like the drums of a battlefield, and it seemed to echo toward Vilter’s army advancing south from the far north.

They departed in the morning, and by late afternoon, the scouts who had gone ahead while diligently changing horses brought some news.

The cool breeze after the rain was still blowing, and the clouds that covered half the sky moved quickly, as if they were in a great hurry to go somewhere.

“They are at a half day’s distance to the northwest. Their numbers are roughly around four thousand, and there are many knights. We have not yet determined whether there is an ambush.”

The size of Vilter’s forces had been known for quite some time. About eight hundred knights and three thousand auxiliary soldiers.

Ricardt, who had received the king’s support, had more troops. Six thousand versus four thousand. Based on numbers alone, it was difficult to guarantee victory. One had to consider momentum, terrain, weather, and time. And the number of knights was greater on Vilter’s side.

"Halt the march."

Ricardt gave the order. As the command was relayed, the unit at the very front stopped its steps.

It was already late afternoon, so unless they planned a night battle, it was right to set up camp now. The skilled scouts knew this, so they had explored the surrounding area in advance.

The level of an army was revealed starting from the level of its scouts. Their eye for reading terrain, and their ability to respond when encountering enemy scouts.

Sure enough, a skirmish broke out between scouts in the field.

From where Ricardt was now, it could not be seen, but it was clear that fighting had broken out somewhere far away.

One could tell by the sight of riderless horses running off on their own, and scouts rushing back in haste while carrying the wounded.

“Potion! Potiooon!”

A scout shouted as he hurried over, carrying someone whose arm was smashed and dangling.

Potions were rarely issued unless individuals prepared them themselves, but Valencia had plenty of money, and at Ricardt’s special instruction they were provided free of charge to the scouts.

“If you go about an hour west, there is a hill mixed with rocky mountains nearby. The ground near the hill has no grass and is muddy.”

“It seems the enemies are organizing a separate detachment composed of knights. There may be a night raid or an ambush.”

“The area where the enemy is located has a river formed by the rainy season flowing to the west, and rocky mountains to the east.”

Even while scouts were being injured somewhere, other scouts continued to submit reports without pause.

One of the difficult aspects of being a commander was having to compile these reports and make the most appropriate judgment. There were often cases where reports differed from reality, and all of that had to be taken into account.

After mobilizing all his experience and knowledge to make a judgment, Ricardt gave his orders.

“We set up the camp here. Since the beach is right beside us, it will be enough to guard only the north and west. Divide the forces into the Order of the Flame Knights and King Sancho’s army. Place the king’s army in front, and put the knight order in the rear to conceal them. And tell the scouts not to overexert themselves.”

They were specific, simple, and reasonable orders. If one issued strange commands just to try something special, the soldiers could suffer needlessly.

Above all, the battlefield he had confirmed with his own eyes was better. There was not enough time to move now and set up camp elsewhere, and doing so would inevitably slow their response to the opponent’s movements.

Once the orders were given, the soldiers who had been marching while carrying heavy stakes began driving them into the ground.

Though crude beyond measure, they were effective in stopping a sudden knight charge. The difference between having them and not having them was significant.

Detailed instructions were given by the frontline commanders. They adopted a formation that left a retreat route to the south, faced the beach to the east, and defended the north and west.

Pulling the knight order to the rear was because if they did not catch the enemy’s eye, the enemy also could not rashly provoke them.

Thus, with a calm mind, Ricardt prepared for battle.

However, it was when the sun was slanting and, far away at the edge of the land, the sunset was burning the clouds red. An enemy knight carrying a white flag came and delivered a message.

“Our commander requests a meeting. Bring all the Flame Knights. We will do the same.”

After delivering only that message, he turned his horse’s head and simply left.

“He is not someone who would resort to cowardly tricks......”

Because it was a strange request no matter who heard it, Raimund muttered.

The Order of the Flame Knights, excluding auxiliary troops, numbered about one thousand knights. At present, Ricardt had the larger total force, but among those one thousand knights, Ricardt had two hundred and Vilter had eight hundred.

It was so blatant that it was baffling to suggest that only the knights meet separately. However, there was a certain peculiarity to the current situation.

Ricardt did not think long before making his decision.

“We go. Tell the knights to prepare everything.”

At that, the knights who had finally removed their helmets and equipment to rest after marching all day put everything back on again.

“If something happens, do not come to rescue us, and guard the camp thoroughly. We will return on our own.”

After giving instructions to the person commanding the king’s army, Ricardt advanced into the plain together with the Flame Knights.

The speed at which the clouds drifted was still fast. The brilliant yet gentle sunset illuminated Ricardt and the knights from the side, and the horse hooves pounded the earth.

Dudududududududu.

Before long, eight hundred knights all mounted on horseback came into view. They wore chain mail and identical surcoats. The same was true of Ricardt’s Flame Knights.

Vilter came into sight. He was on an ash gray horse. His helmet was tied to the saddle, and his blond hair was somewhat wet. He seemed to be talking with nearby companions, then turned his head and looked at Ricardt.

Ricardt, clad in golden armor with a red surcoat and a Red Cloak, faced Vilter while riding the ‘Red Comet’, a name he himself had not given. Their gazes met in the middle.

Then cracks began to form in his carefully steadied mind. His heart thumped violently. He could not tell what emotion it was because of.

If this unprecedented hero had a single weakness, it was family. His usual easygoing temperament, and even his valor on battlefields where blades flew, collapsed with absurd ease before his family.

Billy, are you truly not of the same heart as me? He wanted to ask that.

However, Vilter merely approached at a slow pace. Ricardt also forced himself to swallow his emotions and guided his horse slowly.

All the knights followed their respective leaders. A rumbling sound echoed across the moisture soaked field. Since the ground was wet from the rain, no dust rose.

When they were close enough to clearly see each other’s eyes, noses, and mouths, Vilter raised his hand and halted the following knights. Ricardt did the same.

The red glow of the sunset clung to the dew hanging from the tips of the leaves. Countless red beads shimmered across the field, so beautiful that it made one dizzy at the splendor created by nature.

However, among all the men standing there, not a single one turned to look at that beauty.

The red sunset was reflected in Vilter’s blue eyes as well. Yet the light in his gaze toward his younger brother was like fire, and the shape of his eyes was cold as ice.

On the other hand, the expressions of the Flame Knights lined up tightly at the side, facing one another, appeared blunt on the surface, but their complicated and troubled emotions were revealed in their eyes.

Although their opinions had split sharply and torn them apart, that had been only a short time ago.

In contrast, how many years had it been since they had saved each other’s lives in dangerous battles, relied on one another and been relied upon, and endured the harsh life of a knight order together.

There were more than a few who had grown up together since their days as squires. Seniors and juniors, no, quite literally brothers.

It felt as though if they just stepped one pace closer, if they simply reached out a hand, they could grasp one another, yet the two brothers standing at opposite ends of all these brothers could not.

Vilter spoke first.

“Dragging outsiders into a family dispute is a disgraceful act, Ricky.”

A family dispute, a phrase loaded with many meanings. Ricardt and Vilter, the Order of the Flame Knights, King Santonio and his brother’s conflict, the Sinatria civil war.

Vilter’s words referred to borrowing the king’s army.

“I want to sneer, but I will restrain myself. The king’s army will fight following me.”

“Hmph, do you think I am saying this because I am simply afraid that you have more troops? I have won countless times against enemies more numerous than my allies. What I am saying is that there is no need for brothers to spill so much blood. Let each side choose seven men and decide the outcome. If you are not a coward, accept it.”

“You are the only one who calls me a coward, Billy.”

"Then have you decided?"

Ricardt glanced once over Raimund and the knights, then spoke to Vilter the words he had long agonized over.

“Before that, if you come to Adeloron, I can give you a place to settle. Let us end the civil war together. If you want to be king, then do it. I will help you to the end. We can divide territories among the knights, or assign them new duties. Doing this because you feel abandoned by emperors and kings is neither just nor honorable.”

Ricardt was truly prepared to give up everything except family and friends.

He had never coveted a throne in the first place, so he could help him achieve it, and he could truly provide a new foundation for life as well.

But Vilter let out a scornful chuckle, as if it were ridiculous.

“Do you think I am doing this because I fear emperors or kings? Do you think I desire power or comfort? There are things our ancestors protected, and things we, that I, have lived protecting. Defending the borders of the Empire like iron walls. Now it does not even have to be the Empire. As it has long been, at the boundary between life and death, we simply bury our bones.”

When it became clear that there was no understanding to be had, Ricardt felt something boil up inside him. Yet, conversely, a cold smile formed on his face. Was it pointless defiance. Was it because he was the younger brother.

"......That sounds like a bizarre excuse."

“An excuse?”

“Yes. Is it not just venting your anger? To me, it looks like a dog abandoned by its master, wandering around with nowhere to go. Talking about founding a nation or protecting honor is all bullshit! Shall I tell you one more thing!? Billy, you do not actually want to do this, but you are forcing yourself! You are the real coward!”

In the middle of speaking, Ricardt’s emotions flared up and his voice rose. When he thought of his brother from afar, he had felt sorrow, but when he actually saw him before his eyes, frustration made anger surge up.

What made it even more maddening was the fact that the moment he spat out the words, a corner of his heart was already filled with regret. He could have spoken more kindly.

But words already spoken could not be taken back.

Vilter clenched his molars tightly, trembling as he glared at Ricardt. Then he too uttered words that should never have been said.

“Our mother died because of you, Ricky. After giving birth to you, she grew frail. The truth is, I never once thought of you as my younger brother. If it were not for you, mother would still be alive! Father and my elder brother would have taken in at least one of us! Everything turned out this way because of you!”

As their emotions escalated, it felt like a childish quarrel, like any ordinary siblings might have. Yet those childish words, precisely because they were brothers, became daggers that mercilessly stabbed into each other’s chests. It was as if their hearts were being slashed apart with sharp blades.

When Vilter spewed such harsh words, even invoking their mother, Ricardt trembled in shock. Of all people, you, how could you say something like that. His eyes reddened.

Ricardt clenched his teeth and, with a hand shaking from rage, pointed at his brother and spat out the words as if chewing them.

“There is no need to fight seven times. You come out first. Let us end this with just the two of us.”

The moment those words fell, Vilter wrenched the reins sharply to the side and galloped away.

Nearly a thousand Flame Knights stood lined up facing one another, and Vilter, who had broken off to the side, returned straight to his own camp. Eight hundred knights surged after their commander.

Before they realized it, the sunset had faded and darkness began to fall. Ricardt stood there, having done nothing, struggling to steady his roughened breathing. No matter how many times he took deep breaths, he did not return to normal.

The sarcastic words he himself had spoken, and the sharp words Vilter had hurled, replayed in his mind as if engraved there. The storm of emotions raging in his chest would not easily subside.

Meanwhile, the Flame Knights who had witnessed the brothers’ clash felt unsettled. Though they were called machines of war, in truth they were not machines.

If only they could take one more step, just one step closer......

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