The full moon set, and the Erdtree once again radiated its brilliant splendor. As the sky gradually brightened, dozens of Carian soldiers stood on the shallows behind the manor, gazes fixed on the horizon. The commotion from the night before had been visible even from miles away, but with the Cuckoo camp blocking the path, the besieged soldiers could do nothing but offer silent prayers.
"They're here! They're here!"
Someone shouted, and the crowd turned toward the lake. A small skiff cut through the ethereal mist, heading toward them. Blaidd the Half-Wolf stood at the bow, his greatsword and fur cape cutting an imposing figure.
"Glory to Caria!"
Cheers erupted one after another. The returning boat acted as a shot of adrenaline for the men. Since the start of the war, the Carian Royals had been in constant retreat, cornered into this final stronghold. This was their first proactive strike. Regardless of the tactical outcome, the mere feat of returning from the heart of enemy territory was a triumph.
The skiff docked amidst the cheering. Don remained low-key, sitting at the stern like a common tag-along, but the cheers stirred faint memories within him.
Blade stained with blood, a severed head in hand, and the thunderous roar of "Victory!" ringing in his ears. To be the center of ten thousand eyes—that was a hero's lot.
I'll use this momentum to take my own first step.
He smiled slightly, stepping onto the shore behind Blaidd. Others moved to carry away the fallen soldier. The Wolf remained cold and aloof, skipping any morale-boosting speeches. He spoke only of the body count and the supplies burned, warning that the Cuckoos would surely retaliate.
Invisible flexing is the deadliest kind, Don joked internally. He understood the deeper meaning behind the raid through Blaidd's brief report. Caria was provoking the Cuckoos to attack, intending to turn the manor's grounds into a slaughterhouse.
The Shattering outside notwithstanding, Liurnia was a mess of complex power struggles. On the surface, it was the Carian Royals against the Academy, but the Cuckoo Knights and their employers were already drifting apart. The current stalemate favored the Academy. Caria had to break the Cuckoos' fighting strength; once the mercenaries were bled dry, the cowardly sorcerers of Raya Lucaria would likely seal their gates and choose to "lay flat."
Is the great battle beginning?
A veteran of a hundred wars, Don could practically smell the smoke. As he pondered his future, a heavy hand slammed onto his shoulder.
"Yo! I didn't think you'd make it back without a scratch." Arno approached with a wide grin, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he hadn't slept a wink.
"I took a punch, but it's fine." Don rubbed his chest. Even though he'd parried most of the force from the Cuckoo Knight's blow, it still ached.
"Should I find a medic to look at it?"
"No need. A small injury like this is nothing." Don thought to himself that he'd once fought for half a day with a severed arm; what was a minor bone crack compared to that?
Arno stared at him suspiciously, his brown eyes filled with confusion. He remembered back in the village, this old friend would whine for ages if he so much as cut his finger. How had he suddenly become such a hard-ass?
"If I hadn't been staying with you every day, I'd think you'd been replaced by an imposter."
"Look at this place." Don didn't answer directly. He pointed toward their surroundings. The small manor was crammed with soldiers. The front wall bore a massive breach from a trebuchet strike the night before. Several bodies covered in white cloth lay in the clearing, their friends kneeling beside them in quiet grief.
Grim, somber, and cold—the demon of slaughter resided in everyone's heart, waiting for the moment of release.
"It's either death or madness. I choose the latter." Don patted his friend's shoulder and walked away with a tired stride.
Arno nodded instinctively. He had once been a simple villager, but he had already taken several lives. In a hellhole like this, only the mad survived until the end. He looked at the receding back of his friend and hurried to catch up.
"Hey! Give me back my sword!"
Over the next two days, Don slowly integrated into the life of the Lands Between. He volunteered for two patrol missions and cut down several Cuckoo scouts attempting to infiltrate. It wasn't that he'd suddenly become a model soldier; he simply needed "data" to understand the effects of his mutated Dragon Heritage.
I can only plunder about a fifth of the original target's strength, and it scales based on the enemy's power.
Don stood atop the wall, gazing at the distant enemy camp, his right hand tracing the edge of a borrowed straight sword.
The efficiency is lower than a Tarnished's, but the advantage is that I don't need a Maiden to use it. Unfortunately, I can't see a stat menu; I have to rely on my own intuition.
Lacking a status screen didn't hinder him. Based on experience, he could tell the attributes were being funneled into his physical stats: Strength, Dexterity, and Vigor. This raised a question: would slaying a sorcerer increase his Intelligence?
He glanced at the masked figures atop the watchtower but stayed his hand. A true man knows what to do and what not to do; Don wasn't mad enough to hunt his own allies.
"Seeking the Way through slaughter... it suits my palate."
If the efficiency was low, he would make up for it with quality. At least for now, he hadn't hit a bottleneck. Though he knew he couldn't "snowball" off common soldiers forever; otherwise, he could kill a few thousand Cuckoos and go toe-to-toe with Radagon. That would be too fast a completion. He had to play it safe, seeking out enemies gradually and filling in his weaknesses to build a "quality" build.
Ring—Ring—Ring—
The sound of the bell interrupted Don's thoughts. It was time for the shift change. The Cuckoo camp a bit over a mile away still showed no major movement, though they were hauling in massive amounts of siege equipment daily. Blaidd sent out harrassing parties at irregular intervals, keeping the enemy in a state of constant agitation.
"It should be soon."
Don, now wearing a chainmail vest over his sorcerer's robes, walked down the stone stairs. His look—mail over robes—drew quite a few eyes, but he didn't care.
Did tradition or "fashion" stop a projectile? If he weren't a Dexterity build, he'd have stacked ten layers of heavy plate and stayed in the back casting spells.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and grabbed a tray for rations. Since Arno was stationed at the lakeshore today, Don enjoyed the quiet. The cook plopped two slices of black bread and a bowl of vegetable soup onto his plate, making Don't's brow furrow.
The food was getting worse.
The Carian Royal territory was built against the mountains; there wasn't much land for farming. The fish and crabs near the shore had already been mostly eaten.
No wonder Blaidd wanted to strike. Don said nothing, picked up a piece of fruit, and found a corner of the wall to sit down. He wasn't antisocial; it was just that the original owner of this body had such poor relationships that Don didn't feel like bothering with new friends.
He was halfway through his bread when the sound of metal scraping metal reached him. Don looked up to see a blonde man in blue-grey armor approaching. The pauldrons were encrusted with gemstones, looking incredibly ornate.
"Lord Alayn."
Don put down his tray and stood to salute the manor's commander—the peerless Carian Knight. The handsome blonde knight waved for him to sit back down.
"Don Wright. I have seen your merits during this period." Alayn didn't have Blaidd's coldness; he wore a warm, charismatic smile. "The fate of Caria rests in the hands of everyone here. I am glad to have a capable subordinate."
Though he looked down on the mediocre Cuckoo Knights, he couldn't treat a magic apprentice who had slain a knight like a common soldier.
"Thank you for the praise, my lord," Don replied modestly. He had risen from the ranks of common soldiers before; he knew how to maintain good relations with superiors.
"It is earned. But why didn't you attend the reward ceremony yesterday?"
Yesterday, the manor had held a "bonfire gathering" where those with great merit were given a ration of meat. Don thought for a moment and gave a cautious answer:
"I believe those who keep a low profile tend to live longer."
A flash of surprise crossed Alayn's eyes, followed by an appreciative nod. He had seen many brave men, but cool-headed ones were rare. He could only conclude that the boy's background as an apprentice made his mind sharper.
"The things Blaidd is doing won't change the grand scheme. Do you know why Caria is at a disadvantage?"
"Because we lack manpower, and the Academy's betrayal was a shameless stab in the back," Don answered immediately. Queen Rennala was literally under house arrest; one would need thick skin to claim the advantage.
"Correct. Caria conquered the descendants of the astrologers, but we lost the power to suppress them." Alayn gave a bitter smile, his face filled with nostalgia as if telling an ancient tale. "Long ago, Caria was prosperous. Knights like me numbered twenty—enough to rule all of Liurnia!"
Twenty Carian Knights might not sound like many, but in a high-magic world, such "hero units" were rare.
"And then the Royal Capital's army came?" Don interjected.
"Yes. It is no secret. During the Erdtree's expansion, the Golden Army struck down the ancient dragons and exterminated the giants. Their blade was pointed directly at Liurnia. It was the Queen who led our counter-attack. Two great wars left mountains of corpses, eventually ending with the 'Golden Hero' Radagon entering the Royal family as a consort." The knight gripped his sword, his chest swelling with pride, as if the epic had happened only yesterday.
Through the knight's calm tone, Don could see the tapestry of war: knights clashing, countless sorceries and incantations tearing the plains apart. Caria had ultimately been no match for the Erdtree, which offered a graceful exit that Caria was forced to take.
"Too many towns were leveled, too many heroes lost. The result was that we, too, accepted the Grace." Alayn pointed to the golden light in his brown eyes—the brand of conquest. Two minor Erdtrees were rooted deep in the soil of Liurnia.
It sounds like these warriors are far from satisfied, Don thought, feeling a sense of empathy. Aside from the ending, this was no different from the Interior Ministry attacking Ashina.
"If both sides were wounded, why didn't the Academy rebel back then?"
"Did they dare?!" Alayn laughed mockingly, pointing toward the massive structure across the lake. "Under the protection of the Erdtree, they didn't dare make a sound. Until that man betrayed us!"
The knight clenched his fists, his words dripping with hatred. He swallowed the more venomous insults.
But Don already knew what happened next. Radagon had packed up and left, leaving Queen Rennala mentally broken. When the Shattering began and the Erdtree's factions began slaughtering each other for Great Runes, the Academy rebelled instantly. Caria, which had never recovered from the two great wars and was now leaderless, was lucky not to have been exterminated.
"Justice resides in the hearts of the people. With Princess Ranni here, Caria will never perish," Don said softly, his voice firm with conviction.
If Caria fell, where would he go?
"Yes. At least we have Princess Ranni." Alayn smiled freely, looking at Don with admiration. "The only knights left are me and that idiot Bollus. For the future of Caria, we must look to people like you. Come with me; someone wishes to see you."
Don, who had been content just listening to stories, was taken aback. "Who wants to see me?"
The knight stood up and winked at him with a smile:
"Our liege, Princess Ranni!"
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