"L-lying?! H-how could I dare lie to you, my lord…! P-please, spare me!"
At Lucian's words, the village chief went deathly pale and threw himself flat on the ground.
He looked like someone terrified of being accused of wrongdoing.
But Lucian continued calmly.
"When war breaks out, it's not unusual to evacuate only the children. Leaving one's home isn't easy, but people at least try to save the children, just in case."
"Y-yes! That's exactly why we—!"
"But that's only something people with some leeway can do, or those who have relatives in other villages. Normally, there are only two choices: either everyone leaves the village, or everyone stays. Do you know why?"
"P-pardon?"
"Because evacuating one's family is an idea reserved for people who can afford to think that way. In backwater villages like this, people are usually too busy just surviving from one day to the next to worry about evacuation at all."
The trembling village chief froze in place.
It was as if he had forgotten, even unconsciously, that he was supposed to keep shaking.
Lucian once again swept his gaze across the villagers.
"More than that, the distinction between 'children' and 'adults' is something that applies in cities or wealthy towns. In the countryside, there's no such luxury—kids or not, they're put to work immediately. If they're old enough to control their bowels, they're treated as full laborers, and the age of marriage is early, too."
"So anyone at least thirteen years old wouldn't be evacuated—they'd be counted among the adults here, helping entertain us. And yet, no matter how I look at this place…"
Lucian paused for a moment, then let out a cold smile as he finished,
"…there are far too few people."
"They all look at least twenty. How very strange. Are there no thirteen-year-old newlyweds? In a backwater like this, someone that age would already be considered grown enough to be dragged along on a hunt if a beast appeared."
When Lucian finished speaking, silence rippled through the area.
The lords and knights, unfamiliar with rural life, had no immediate retort and merely exchanged glances.
A few soldiers who themselves came from remote villages nodded as they thought it over—that's true.
Everyone fell quiet, waiting only for the village chief's reply.
"Heh heh."
Instead of an answer, a hollow chuckle slipped from the chief's mouth.
At the same time, his previously guileless eyes sharpened, filling with killing intent.
Thunk.
"Ghk!"
In a flash of steel, the village chief was flung backward.
Blood poured from an arm that had been cleanly severed.
He had lunged at Lucian with a dagger—only to be cut down by Raymond.
Raymond flicked the blood from his blade and glared coldly.
"You filthy worm—how dare you!"
"Kill him!"
Grinding his teeth, the man—no longer merely a village chief, but an assassin in disguise—shouted the order.
The instant it was given, the villagers with their innocent faces all drew daggers at once and charged.
Caught off guard by the villagers' sudden transformation, the allied troops faltered for a brief moment—
then responded with disciplined precision.
"Enemy attack! All units, spears up! Thrust in unison!"
"Smash them with shields! Once they're down, kill them immediately!"
The assassins raged noisily, but they failed to inflict any real damage and fell one by one.
The army had not yet settled in to rest and was still maintaining a solid formation.
What was more, every soldier present was an elite drawn from the standing army—there was simply no way for a handful of assassins to prevail.
Thud—
"Guhk!"
Five spears pierced the body of the final assassin aside from the village chief.
His body trembled violently before his head finally slumped forward.
When all the assassins had been dealt with, the arm-severed chief laughed with a face like a demon's.
"Puhahaha. To think we'd be found out by a greenhorn like this, not even some battle-hardened veteran."
"You're laughing? Do you have any idea what you've just done?!"
"Of course I do. We've broken that rotten old Grand Accord. Isn't this a truly historic moment?"
"You lunatics!"
Jürgen cursed without realizing it.
Did they really understand what breaking the Grand Accord meant and still do this?
It was absurd—but the village chief's face looked utterly refreshed.
"Yes, that oh-so-glorious Grand Accord. A pact saying that instead of cutting throats and gutting bellies, we should slap cheeks and kick people around. It was nauseating—but at last, it's gone."
"Have you lost your mind? The ones who benefited most from the Grand Accord were you!"
"No! It was a law made for you!"
The chief barked the words as he glared at Jürgen.
The force of it was such that even the other lords flinched.
"Because of the Grand Accord, we never once took up blades! We always had to raise our fists instead, tailoring ourselves to you—and we were beaten one-sidedly by an Empire several times our size! Do you know what it's like to live a life where you're trampled and kicked, but only just enough not to die?!"
Splurt.
Blood gushed from the severed arm's stump.
In his attempt to stanch the bleeding, he had instead clenched down on it with his hand.
Yet it seemed the village chief felt no pain at all—if anything, he shouted even louder.
"Simply because we were a tributary state, everything in Krepfeld was treated as inferior to the Empire! Goods, people, even our nobles and our king! Imperial beggars looked down on Krepfeld's farmers as their natural inferiors, and a mere viscount would sneer at a marquis just because he came from a vassal state! Under that oppression, we didn't even dare to squirm!"
Krepfeld's land was already flat, and its climate mild—offering almost no geographical advantages for war.
Fighting the Empire while abiding by the Grand Accord and actually winning was close to impossible.
Yet they also could not resort to dirty methods just to win once.
Perhaps they might succeed once or twice—but it was obvious the Empire would invade again and again until Krepfeld was annihilated.
"For countless years of humiliation and disgrace, we endured. And endured again. We never drew the daggers hidden in our chests—we only sharpened them in secret. But not anymore."
Letting out a laugh tinged with madness, the village chief fixed his gaze on the First Prince.
The killing intent pouring from his eyes made the Prince flinch and instinctively take a step back.
"A single victory is enough. Proving that the Empire is no longer invincible is enough. Your karma has piled up beyond measure, and countless people long for your downfall. The only reason they endure is because they lack certainty."
"…So that's why you broke the Grand Accord? To burn Krepfeld to the ground just to gain one single victory?"
"Who knows? I wonder whether you'll even have the leeway to do that once this war is over. No matter how large a palm may be, a human cannot blot out the sky."
Having finished speaking, the village chief wiped the smile from his face and drew another dagger from his clothes.
Raymond hurriedly stepped in front of Lucian, but the blade turned instead toward the chief's own throat.
Do your best. Your hell begins now.
Splurt.
As the dagger slashed sideways, blood poured from his cut throat.
With a look of grim satisfaction, the village chief collapsed face-first into the pool of blood he himself had made.
"…."
Even after everything was over, no one could bring themselves to move for a long while.
They could all feel it—that an immense, invisible barrier had just completely collapsed.
It was Lucian who finally broke the long, oppressive silence.
"First, we need to check the drinking water."
"…Very well."
Marquis Bernhardt nodded heavily.
There was no one left who laughed at Lucian's concerns now.
The allied army immediately summoned the military physicians to check whether the well had been contaminated.
It looked fine at a glance, but they could not afford to take even a single chance.
Sure enough, before long, a physician entered the tent with a grim expression and made his report.
"We have confirmed that poison has been mixed into the well water. It is not immediately lethal, but if consumed, it causes severe abdominal pain and vomiting after two to three days."
"So drinking it won't kill us outright?"
"That is correct. However, it causes severe dehydration for about half a month. If left unattended for an extended period without care, it could still prove fatal. More importantly—"
The physician paused mid-sentence, hesitating for quite some time.
He seemed unsure whether it was even appropriate to voice what came next.
When no answer followed, an angry shout burst from the First Prince's mouth.
"Speak! If it's not immediately fatal, then what exactly is the problem?!"
"…Even if it doesn't kill, this is a poison most commonly used to incapacitate people. It is rarely used for good reasons. When such a poison is employed, it's usually because the intent is to keep the victims alive—for something afterward."
At the military physician's words, everyone fell silent.
Once again, the assassin's bitter, hate-filled outburst—disguised as the village chief—came to mind.
These were people who bore a grudge against the Empire deep enough to do this.
What had they intended to do with captured lords and soldiers, taken alive?
The mere thought sent a chill down their spines.
"Is an antidote possible?"
"It is possible, but it requires several kinds of medicinal herbs."
"Which means it's difficult in the middle of a campaign. Understood."
Having finished his report, the physician bowed and left the tent.
The First Prince—his earlier confidence nowhere to be found—looked pale as he turned to the assembled lords.
"So… what are we to do now?"
The lords all lowered their heads and kept their mouths shut.
The very premise that the enemy would abide by the Grand Accord had collapsed—what could they do?
This was the first such case in hundreds of years; even seasoned knights were at a loss.
If the enemy doesn't uphold the Grand Accord, their range of options expands dramatically. Meanwhile, we have no preparations at all.
Just as Duke Lucian predicted—by contaminating the water source alone, our advance is brought to a halt. Where are we supposed to get water?
Even if we somehow solve the water issue, they'll harass us using every method that hasn't been used for centuries. What are we supposed to do about that?
As the silence dragged on, the First Prince turned an uneasy gaze toward the Marquis.
Since he had been the one to propose the swift, decisive strategy in the first place, there was a faint hope that he might have some alternative plan.
"Marquis, is there truly no other way? You were the one who proposed the initial policy—surely you must have had some contingency in mind for when things went wrong."
"My apologies. This is my first time encountering something like this as well…"
Marquis Bernhardt avoided the First Prince's gaze and trailed off.
To be honest, it wasn't that there was absolutely no method—but it was nothing he could bring himself to voice aloud.
When even the Marquis, their last hope, fell silent, the First Prince squeezed his eyes shut.
"…Duke Lucian, is there truly no solution?"
Though his tone was desperate, the First Prince's body trembled with humiliation.
It was clearly shameful to bend the knee to someone he had insulted only moments ago.
Lucian looked at the First Prince briefly, then nodded.
"There is one way."
"There's a way!?"
The First Prince leapt to his feet and shouted without realizing it.
If there truly was a way out of this situation, he was prepared to grant any demand.
But the solution that came from Lucian's mouth shattered the Prince's expectations to pieces.
"First, withdraw to the Empire and reorganize the army. Since the enemy has broken the Grand Accord, you should assemble forces and countermeasures appropriate to that reality, then return to suppress the rebellion."
"…Are you mocking me right now?! You're saying we should run away without even fighting? That would make my name a laughingstock!"
"Even so, it is the method that incurs the least loss. Withdrawing of your own accord is preferable to fighting and being defeated, then retreating in disgrace."
"Do not speak of defeat like a coward when we haven't even fought! We have not lost yet!"
"You haven't lost—but you are about to fight under severely unfavorable conditions. Your Highness, I regret to say this, but there is no miraculous stratagem that overturns everything in a single stroke."
Lucian spoke firmly as he looked at the protesting First Prince.
"If you fall into the enemy's trap, you will be forced to keep fighting from a disadvantaged position. Once you lose the initiative, you will be dragged along by the enemy's movements. That is inevitable. Contingency plans are made in advance precisely to prevent that outcome."
"So you're saying that because I failed to prepare, we've ended up like this? That since it's turned into the worst possible situation, we should simply run away?"
"Yes. The allied army's preparations were insufficient, and from now on we will be continually toyed with by the enemy. The only way to escape from here is to withdraw, overturn the board, and start anew. I beg you to make the decision while the losses are still minimal."
The Marquis almost nodded without realizing it.
Every word was right.
If they withdrew here, the losses would be enormous—
the costs of mobilizing troops, the Empire's prestige, the reputations of the gathered lords, and the First Prince's own name.
But they have no choice but to endure it. If you refuse to cut off a rotting finger, you'll end up having to cut off the whole arm.
There are times when a decision must be made, even if it means shedding tears of blood.
Lucian's judgment was not merely accurate—it was the only viable option.
Yet the First Prince's face twisted violently as he shouted,
"No, I can't accept that! Run away without even fighting? At the very least, we'll return after securing one victory! If the enemy frightens you so much, then you can rest comfortably in the rear!"
"Y-Your Highness!"
"First Prince!"
"Silence! I've already made my decision—there will be no more arguing!"
As if unwilling to hear another word, the First Prince stormed out of the tent.
The lords left behind stared at one another, faces drained of color.
In a situation this uncertain, he was pulling out a full thousand elite troops?
Wouldn't that mean House Valdeck preserved its forces while everyone else was ground down?
Marquis Bernhardt's complexion, in particular, grew so pale it was nearly white.
This is bad.
The vanguard was indeed a position where merit was easy to earn—but once things turned unfavorable, it was also the position most exposed to the enemy.
And now, in this situation, the vanguard would be entrusted solely to House Logran, without the Grand Ducal House of Valdeck at its side?
There was no doubt that, when things went wrong, the damage would not be spread out—House Logran alone would be ground to pieces.
"H-hold on. No—Duke Lucian."
The Marquis hurriedly addressed Lucian formally, switching his tone mid-sentence.
Pride and dignity no longer mattered.
He had to change Lucian's mind somehow and make him stand in the vanguard together with him.
"I'll speak to His Highness the First Prince—let's go together. I'm sure he'll reconsider. There's no need to accept such dishonor. It makes no sense for the Grand Ducal House of Valdeck to be absent from the vanguard—"
"No, that won't be necessary."
Lucian shook his head before the Marquis could even finish speaking.
Then, with a face utterly free of resentment, he broke into a bright smile.
"How could I disobey the commander-in-chief's orders? I'll remain in the rear and reflect on my conduct. Please go forth with His Highness and seize glory. I'll await the news of your victory."
At Lucian's smiling face, Marquis Bernhardt felt his mind go blank.
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