"…Am I really seeing this?"
Raymond blankly recalled what had happened three days earlier.
After a fierce clash with Tristan, Lucian led the mercenaries toward the city of Greve.
"We've received intel that the enemy may raid Greve City as part of a diversionary tactic. Everyone assemble and move out!"
The mercenaries, who hadn't even had the chance to properly admire the platinum coins, grumbled but obeyed without resistance.
They had already seen Lucian's abilities with their own eyes, and they also knew he would reliably pay additional compensation if things went south.
Raymond couldn't help but admire how effortlessly Lucian handled the mercenaries—but the real problem came after that.
"If the enemy actually attacks, I'll tell you where to move. If there's no attack, just take turns standing watch at a reasonable level."
The orders were not just relaxed, but excessively lax.
Raymond, who had naturally assumed they would prepare for an enemy assault, was taken aback.
With this, what was the point of bringing the mercenaries at all?
"Third Young Master, even if we're not making full defensive preparations, shouldn't we at least strengthen the watch compared to now?"
"I already strengthened it."
"That's not what I mean. I'm talking about proper military deployment. Isn't the attack date only three days away?"
At Raymond's appeal, Lucian let out a soft snort of laughter as he replied.
"They're mercenaries broken up into small groups of a dozen or so. Even if we try to force them into formation, they won't move in sync. It's better to set only the minimum rules so they don't clash with each other in an emergency than to have accidents from needless friction. Besides, that's what mercenaries are used to anyway."
"That only applies when you can control the mercenaries on the spot. As far as I know, Third Young Master, you have no experience personally taking the field."
"Everyone has a first time. Mine just happens to be now."
At Lucian's confident words, Raymond let out a sigh.
It was true that Lucian always had a plan, along with the nerve and decisiveness to carry it out.
But commanding soldiers on a battlefield where blood and flesh flew was an entirely different matter.
People aren't pieces on a game board. Even elite troops hardened by brutal training sometimes fail to follow orders—how much more so mercenaries.
Expecting common soldiers to remain calm in the face of death just because their commander was was far too much to ask.
An army's morale depended on how much training it had undergone in peacetime, how deeply soldiers trusted the comrades beside them, and how confident they were of victory.
Unfortunately, the mercenaries under Lucian satisfied none of those conditions.
They've never trained together, they split at the slightest dispute over money, and they know nothing about the enemy attacking them. If things go wrong, they could fall into chaos and destroy themselves.
The one saving grace was that the mercenaries couldn't simply abandon Lucian and flee.
If Lucian were to die as a result of their desertion, Grand Duke Sigmund would undoubtedly hunt down everyone present and tear them apart.
The mercenaries would know that full well, so even if they panicked, they wouldn't run.
If it comes to that, I'll have no choice but to take over command and stabilize the situation. It'll be an expensive lesson for the Third Young Master.
Fortunately, the black magician did not know that the mercenaries had moved to Greve City.
Assuming the city was defenseless, he would send monsters to raid it—and their numbers likely wouldn't be too large.
As long as the forces didn't scatter, it should be possible to hold them off somehow.
That was what Raymond thought as he waited.
But then—
"You blockheaded idiots! What are you standing around spacing out for?! If you don't want to die, move it—now!"
"I told you not to leave too much space between you and the man next to you! You want a hole punched through your gut?!"
"Do I have to kick your ass before you'll move?! If a section starts collapsing, get over there and support it!"
As if all his worries had been pointless, Lucian was racing around in every direction, commanding the mercenaries.
***
Individually, their abilities might have been passable, but as a group they were unmistakably a rabble.
Yet Lucian was handling that rabble as if they were his own hands and feet.
At the rapid-fire stream of orders, the mercenaries moved almost reflexively, bewildered but obedient.
Incredible. Even if this is an emergency, those rough mercenaries aren't able to utter a single complaint—they're just following him.
Hugo, mixed in among the mercenaries, silently marveled at his master's skill.
Lucian kept up relentless pressure, leaving no room for stray thoughts, while personally stepping onto the front line to verify and issue orders in real time.
With things like this, the mercenaries had no chance to even consider defying their employer's commands—they were dragged along regardless.
And that wasn't all.
"Grrrk!"
"Oh, it's climbing up—!"
Thwack.
"You idiot! I told you not to let your hands rest!"
The moment a gnoll climbed up the low city wall, Lucian's sword flew.
As soon as he confirmed the gnoll with its chest split open falling back down, Lucian immediately slapped the mercenary across the face.
Smack.
"You moron! I told you to stay sharp! Do you want to die?!"
"S-s-sorry…!"
"Shut up and hold the line! There's no second stroke of luck!"
Lucian shoved the mercenary back into position after sealing the breach that had been on the verge of breaking through.
Similar incidents had already happened several times.
Whenever a spot looked even slightly dangerous, he would sprint there immediately and step in at precisely the right moment to provide support.
There was so little slack that the Black Lions, who were spread out nearby to plug any gaps, couldn't even find an opening to intervene.
Is he overseeing the entire battlefield? In this chaos, can he really see which sections are soft, and what kind of support is needed—everything?
"Graaah!"
"Hah!"
Hugo flinched at the shrill cry of a kobold suddenly rising up from below and swung his sword.
The kobold, its chest split open, shrieked as it slammed into the ground.
If he'd been even a beat slower, Hugo might have been the one injured instead.
I only looked away for a moment and I almost ended up like this…?
His heart pounded wildly.
He had grown sick to death of killing and being killed in the underworld, but a battlefield he was experiencing for the first time still sent chills down his spine.
This was not killing driven by rage or hatred, but a storm of chaos where the only thing that mattered was killing whatever enemy appeared before you.
If he didn't keep a tight grip on his senses, even Hugo felt like he could be swallowed by the chaos in the blink of an eye.
"Hugo! You still alive?! You didn't piss your pants, did you?!"
Suddenly, Lucian's voice reached Hugo's ears.
At the absurdly lighthearted tone, Hugo let out an unthinking laugh.
"Yes! I'm fine! I can keep fighting for a long while yet!"
"Good. If you become a knight, it's a sight you'll see until you're sick of it—might as well get used to it now!"
"Hearing you say that, I already feel like I've gotten used to it!"
"Just don't get yourself killed showing off! Watch yourself while you fight like your life depends on it!"
"Isn't there something wrong with how that's phrased?!"
"Wahaha!"
Laughter burst out among the mercenaries at the exchange between the two.
Startled by the sudden wave of laughter, Hugo finally realized that the tide of the battle had completely turned.
There were still monsters left, but most of them were already lying around as corpses, and the remaining ones were few enough to count on one hand.
Even those had lost their reason and were simply charging forward blindly.
With room to breathe, the mercenaries finished off the rest with ease.
Thud.
"Grrrgh…!"
A spear buried itself into the nape of the last remaining gnoll.
The gnoll, which had been twitching, soon went limp and fell with a wet slap onto the top of the pile of corpses.
"Huff… huff!"
Is it over…?
The mercenaries wiped the sweat from their brows and looked at one another.
It had crashed over them like a storm—and now it was really over.
All eyes turned at once to their leader, Lucian.
Smiling, Lucian shouted out to everyone.
"Men!"
"Rejoice! This is our victory!"
After a brief moment of silence,
a thunderous cheer shook the entirety of Greve City.
— WAAAAAAAH!
The black magician Jude bit down on his thumbnail as the roar reached him from afar.
Where had things gone so wrong?
He had come to secure sacrifices, only to lose even the creatures he'd painstakingly tamed.
The bitterness burned so badly it felt like it was about to eat a hole straight through his stomach.
"…Sir Jude, shouldn't we fire off a big one now, at least?"
"A big one my ass, at this point!"
Jude snapped at Colin's clueless voice.
Maybe it would've mattered before the attack on Greve City, but now that the fighting was already over, it would accomplish nothing.
Even if they managed to damage the enemy, what benefit was there when securing sacrifices had already become impossible?
"If you want to use it, go ahead and do it yourself! I'm sure they'll just love it!"
"Is that so? Then I suppose I will."
KRAAASH—!
In that instant, lightning cracked beside him and a blinding flash filled the air.
Jude shrieked in shock and tried to shout something, but the light shot out faster than he could react.
At the same time, a crushing impact slammed into his entire body, followed by searing pain.
Only afterward did Jude realize he had fallen.
His mouth fell open in stunned disbelief.
"Ghk—!"
Instead of a voice, bloody foam spilled from his mouth.
He tried, somehow, to recite a spell and form a hand seal, but his hands wouldn't move.
Mustering every last ounce of strength, he managed to raise a single right hand—but the sight of it was horrifying.
The skin looked as though it had been roasted, and it was twitching so violently he couldn't possibly control it.
"You told me to use it as I pleased. A fine order indeed. So I used it my way—and it turned out much more thoroughly roasted than I expected."
"Grrrk! Nehenoom!"
"That's why you should have been more careful when you made your pact. When there are this many holes in it, it's hard not to exploit them, wouldn't you say? I hope this serves as a lesson."
Of course, it was already far too late.
Colin sneered as he mocked the dying Jude.
Jude, barely managing to form a hand seal with his right hand, tried to lash back with a retort—but it was useless.
His half-burned lungs could no longer even manage a single coherent spell.
After a few dozen seconds of pathetic, desperate struggle, the black magician Jude was cooked to a crisp and met his end.
"Tch. A filthy black magician, daring to think he could use someone."
Colin spat at Jude's corpse, then soon let out a sigh.
Once the brief exhilaration of victory faded, what remained was anxiety about the bleak road ahead.
Colin himself had merely been manipulated by the black magician, but the Imperial Liberation Front would not see it that way.
"Once they realize things went wrong, they'll lump me together with the dead bastard and kill me too. Looks like I'll have to find another place to throw myself at."
How many times had he already taken to the road like this?
His master had died leaving him with a mountain of unfinished tasks, yet he had neither the time to research nor even a place where he could rest in peace—it was enough to drive him mad.
Cursing his own fate, Colin dusted off his robe and was just rising to his feet when—
— Waaaah! Hooray! Hooray!
"…Don't those guys ever get tired? Well, I suppose anyone would be happy after stopping a horde like that so cleanly."
A hollow chuckle escaped him as the mercenaries continued shouting in celebration.
They were mercenaries who, unless rigorously trained as elite troops, were usually next to useless in large-scale engagements.
Yet to think they had repelled a monster horde of that size while leading such a motley bunch—without significant losses.
I don't know who that commander is, but he's something else. If possible, I should find someone like that to attach myself to.
As if shaking off the fleeting thought, Colin slowly shook his head.
In all his life, he had never once encountered someone who truly lived up to his expectations.
In his experience, those with ability lacked status, and those with status lacked ability—that was simply how the world worked.
The heavens are truly unfair. To grant someone talent like that, only to have them stuck guarding a city…
Pitying the city guard commander he had never even seen, Colin departed from the Yellow Forest.
Hoping that wherever he ended up next, he might at least be able to live with a little breathing room.
At the now-quiet boundary of the Yellow Forest, only the corpse of a black magician, charred by lightning, remained behind.
***
"What? Fifteen lightly wounded and no fatalities?"
"Yes. A decisive victory."
"This is absurd…!"
Tristan crumpled the document in his hand, his face flushed bright red.
Aside from a single, pitifully low wall, Greve City had no proper defensive facilities to speak of.
And yet they had repelled a monster horde numbering well over a hundred—from Greve City, of all places?
Leading a band of mercenaries who had never even tried to work together—
"Isn't something wrong here? No matter how you look at it, these results don't make sense!"
"I had my doubts at first as well, but it turns out the report was written directly by the Black Lions."
If the report had been authored by the Black Lions, then it would be submitted to Grand Duke Sigmund exactly as written.
Unless they had lost their minds, there was no reason for them to fabricate the contents.
With trembling hands, Tristan smoothed out the report he had just crumpled.
— Fifteen lightly wounded. No fatalities. Approximately 140 gnolls and kobolds repelled. No civilian casualties. Minor damage to the city walls and gate.
Each time he read it, his head began to spin.
The achievements were staggering—and yet there was no mention of a magician anywhere in the report.
They had concealed what needed to be concealed, while at the same time ensuring that no one had been sacrificed.
That fact alone made Tristan feel even more miserable.
If there were no sacrifices, then what was my scale ever meant to weigh? All the decisions I've made until now…
He had believed that sacrificing the few for the sake of the many was the right course.
But if there had never been any need to sacrifice those few in the first place, then what meaning did that sacrifice have?
Had blood that never needed to be spilled been wasted because of a foolish leader's decision?
"Ghk—!"
"Y-young master!"
"First Young Master!"
"I'm fine—stand back!"
Tristan waved away the servants rushing toward him and clutched at his hair.
Without pain like this, it felt as though his head might burst apart.
It was after Tristan had been tearing at his hair for quite some time, enough that a whole clump of it had been ripped out and lay scattered on the floor.
"…Prepare to withdraw. We're returning to Kelheim."
Tristan issued the order in a lifeless voice.
The monsters the enemy had intended to use in place of soldiers had been completely wiped out, and internal strife had broken out due to the black magician's betrayal.
Even if the magic capable of destroying city walls was still intact, it could no longer be used.
With the enemy's forces gone and no reason left to employ mercenaries, there was likewise no reason for either Tristan or Lucian to remain here any longer.
What a bitter homecoming.
It was the home he had longed to return to so desperately, yet he felt not the slightest bit of joy.
The moment they returned, the standing of Lucian and Tristan would be utterly different from before.
Of course, a single incident like this wouldn't immediately reverse their respective positions.
But it was close enough that one could say Lucian was now within striking distance—near enough to seize an opportunity to overtake him at any time.
"So cold…"
At the chill crawling up his spine, Tristan absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck.
Though he hadn't consciously felt it, his hand came away slick with cold sweat.
It was as if his body itself was telling him that the time when he could naturally regard the position of family head as his own had come to an end.
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