Chapter 106

Spoils of War

Günter went around personally ending the lives of severely wounded enemy soldiers.

To reach proper medical facilities, they would have to go all the way to Bern City—and most would die on the way.
There was no one willing to expend that kind of effort.

The only option was to release them from their suffering.

“Where the hell did all these crows come from…?”

Hans looked up at the sky with a pale face.

A massive flock of crows circled overhead, blackening the sky.
Hundreds had already descended, feasting on the corpses scattered across the field.

Caw—!
Caw, caw—!

Whenever Vinfelt’s soldiers tried to collect spoils, the crows screeched sharply and took flight.
Once the soldiers passed, they returned to the stripped bodies and resumed feeding.

Crows weren’t the only ones after human flesh.

Eagles and kites soared above, waiting for their chance.

“Usually, a full-grown human yields about fifty to seventy pounds of meat.”

Günter spoke as he wiped blood from his dagger’s hilt with a cloth.

“For the beasts, it’s a feast. By nightfall, wild dogs and wolf packs will come too. We need to burn them quickly.”

“…Ugh.”

Hans couldn’t hold it in anymore and vomited.

He didn’t want to know how Günter knew such things.

If he had lost the duel, he would have ended up the same way.

“Don’t worry. If you had died, the lord would have buried you first.”

Günter said it as if he had read Hans’s thoughts.

It wasn’t comforting at all.

Hans held his breath as he stripped armor from the corpses.

—

The casualties were both few and many, depending on how one looked at it.

On Vinfelt’s side:
8 dead, 7 critically wounded, 5 lightly injured.
And 2 Hell Wolves had died.

On Botmer’s side:
37 dead, 23 lightly injured.
No critically wounded.

Those beyond saving had all been put down.

That brought Botmer’s total dead to 53.

War was a troublesome thing.

They had to collect spoils, tend to the wounded, bury Vinfelt’s fallen and the Hell Wolves, and butcher the dead horses.

Botmer’s dead, however, were gathered in one place and burned without burial.
Left alone, they would rot, attracting beasts and monsters—and possibly disease.

Before the blazing pit, Bishop Alquin made the sign of the cross and recited prayers.

Only he was granted the right to honor the dead.

—

“Next.”

The remaining Botmer soldiers—excluding those who had fled—were sorted.

All weapons were confiscated, and their backgrounds identified.

“Eckhardt von Kaltendorf. I serve Viscount Botmer.”
“Inside.”

In small groups, Botmer soldiers stepped forward to the table at the camp entrance.

Isaac sat behind it, asking each name.

Nobles were sent inside the camp.
Commoners were made to wait outside.

There were about 150 Botmer prisoners.
Meanwhile, Vinfelt’s remaining forces numbered barely thirty.

Even so, the Botmer soldiers had no choice but to obey.

Grrrr…

The Hell Wolves stationed throughout the area ensured that.

It had taken dozens of elite soldiers just to kill two of them—
and even that hadn’t been easy.

Those massive wolves had seemed like creatures straight out of hell.
Solid plate armor and helmets had been torn apart or crushed like paper.

Even as they died, those two Hell Wolves had caused over twenty casualties—
most of them elite troops.

And now, there weren’t just one or two—
but over a dozen such monsters scattered around.

What shocked them even more was the behavior of the tribespeople.

The children, especially, treated the Hell Wolves without fear.

They climbed onto their backs, laughed, and tried to grab their tails.

Some even touched their snouts or noses.
One child had fallen asleep leaning against a resting Hell Wolf.

And yet, the beasts did nothing.

At most, they snorted or let out low growls.

But that didn’t change what they were.

Monsters.

One prisoner tried to escape.

He didn’t make it more than a few steps before a Hell Wolf caught him.

The beast didn’t kill him on the spot.

Instead, it dragged him far away—out of sight of the children—and returned alone.

Its snout was covered in blood and flesh.

Then, as if nothing had happened, it lay down in a corner and went to sleep.

To the Botmer soldiers, it was impossible to tell whether this place was purgatory or hell.

—

“Finally done.”

Isaac stretched.

Dusk had fallen.

The duel and battle that began in the morning now felt like something from long ago.

Among the remaining Botmer soldiers were fourteen nobles, including a baronet.
The rest were commoners.

Isaac stood.

Outside the camp, the defeated soldiers sat in despair.

Their armor and weapons had been taken.
Their arms were bound behind their backs.

They sat there, dazed.

At worst, they would be executed one by one.

That burning pit—where corpses were being thrown—could become their end.

That was how war usually went.

Nobles, who could be ransomed, were treated decently even as prisoners.
But others were simply killed.

Reorganizing defeated soldiers was risky,
and keeping them was too costly.

So killing and burning them was the cheapest solution.

And Baron Vinfelt was a notorious madman.

This war itself had started because he arbitrarily executed a servant of Botmer.

No matter how one looked at it, the future of Botmer’s common soldiers was obvious.

“Shall we deal with them?”

Bill, who had been assisting with sorting, asked.

At that, Vinfelt’s soldiers instinctively placed their hands on their weapons.

To them, the Botmer soldiers were enemies who had killed their comrades.

“Let them go.”

Isaac’s answer was unexpected.

“…What?”
“I said let them go.”

Isaac spoke indifferently.

As the Vinfelt soldiers stood in confusion, Isaac took a dagger from one of them.

He approached a prisoner.

The man’s face had turned ashen.
He only hoped his end wouldn’t be painful.

But instead of killing him, Isaac cut the ropes binding him.

“Go.”

“…?”

The prisoner looked around in disbelief.

“I said go.”

“…You’re really letting me go?”
“Want to stay?”

At that, the prisoner bolted—running as fast as he could away from the camp.

“All prisoners are to be released. Soldiers of Botmer, listen! If you wish to fight, then fight—we will kill you without fail. But if you return, no one will stop you from going home.”

Isaac raised his voice.

It was the voice of a young boy who hadn’t even gone through puberty.

Yet no one could ignore it.

To the Botmer soldiers, he was a commander who controlled monstrous wolves.
To the Vinfelt soldiers, he was the lord who had saved them from those same beasts.
And—

he was the warrior who had defeated Besimer.

One by one, the prisoners had their bindings removed and drifted away—beyond the firelight of the camp, into the darkness.

An uneasy, subtle silence followed.

Within it, only the occasional biting wind, the dragging footsteps of departing prisoners, and the crackling of burning corpses could be heard.

Isaac had already anticipated Rutger’s movements.

From the moment the impatient Rutger chose the Black Forest as his route to hasten his advance, the outcome had been decided.

Through his shared senses with the Hell Wolves, Isaac could monitor their every move.

The Black Forest was not merely dense—it was suffocatingly thick with coniferous trees.
It was practically the Hell Wolves’ home and playground.

An environment overwhelmingly advantageous to them.

If he had wished, Isaac could have inflicted near-annihilation upon Rutger’s forces.

But in doing so, the Hell Wolves would not have survived either.
Even attacking the supply train at the rear and destroying provisions had cost three Hell Wolves.

Isaac’s goal was neither extermination nor massacre.

It was to secure a strategic advantage in the coming war.

That was why he did not launch night raids, nor assassinate Rutger or his officers with magic.

He simply waited—

for Rutger to make a mistake,
for Botmer’s side to lose its justification.

Thanks to the legacy of the Wolf King, Isaac’s hearing was so sharp that even on a storm-swept plain, he could hear voices from a hundred paces away.

Rutger had practically revealed his own plan without realizing it.

All Isaac had to do was respond.

End the war quickly enough that numbers no longer mattered.

—

With this, Botmer suffered not only defeat—but disgrace.

They had proposed a duel, only to abandon its sanctity and provoke full-scale war when it turned unfavorable.

Despite overwhelming numerical superiority, they lost—

to none other than the “mad brat of Goethe.”

All supplies were seized.

Fourteen nobles, including Botmer’s second son and the bishop, were captured.

It was quite the haul.

—

“Not eating again today?”

Isaac asked, tearing off a piece of bread.

Bishop Alquin and Rutger stared silently at the food laid before them.

Their eyes were unfocused.

The setting was the same as yesterday’s lunch—only now it was inside Vinfelt’s command tent.

But the positions of Isaac and Rutger had completely reversed.

“Bishop, when will the letter be finished?”
“It will be done by tomorrow.”

The bishop answered reluctantly.

“How high-ranking a figure can you summon? A papal envoy? An ambassador? At least a regional bishop should come, right?”

“…That I cannot say. The scale of the conflict wasn’t very large, so it may be difficult for high-ranking clergy to come.”

“Really? Maybe I should’ve killed more. Releasing the prisoners might’ve been a mistake.”

Isaac muttered deliberately loud enough to be heard.

He had already instructed Bishop Alquin to testify to the Church that Botmer had violated the rules of the duel.

Once the letter was sent, the Church would dispatch investigators—and Rutger’s dishonorable conduct would become an official fact.

“But you two… aren’t you hungry? I’ve been fighting duels, waging war, and cleaning up since morning—I skipped meals, but now I can’t stop eating. Must be because I’m still growing.”

Isaac casually spooned up his soup.

“We might have to stay here for quite a while. Not eating would be a problem.”
“I would rather die.”

Rutger bit his lip until it bled.

“You’re a valuable prisoner. You can’t die. Eat. Sometimes, life throws you something decent. Really.”

Isaac pushed the bowl of soup toward him.

He meant it sincerely—but it carried no weight.

Isaac was barely twelve.
Rutger was long past twenty.

“Well, starve to death or kill yourself—it doesn’t matter to me. But if that happens, Botmer’s reputation will fall even further.”

“…You bastard.”

Rutger’s eyes were bloodshot.

The formal speech was gone.

In just a single day, he looked as if he had aged years.

“…Did you know from the start that I would choose full-scale battle?”
“You came fully armed with your entire force. How could I not?”
“In the Black Forest… was it you who set those monster wolves upon us?”
“What do you think?”

Isaac popped an almond into his mouth.

His demeanor was light—completely at odds with Rutger’s heavy expression.

“It puzzled me. The bodies of the fallen soldiers were damaged… but not eaten.”
“Yeah?”
“Magical beasts are intelligent. They don’t attack armies lightly—unless they’re starving.”
“You know quite a bit about them.”
“I have to. Someday, Winterband will belong to Botmer. To serve as the kingdom’s new shield, it must fulfill its role.”

“What an ambitious dream.”

At Rutger’s bitter remark, Isaac smiled.

“So the attack in the Black Forest was meant to instill fear.”
“Not wrong.”

Isaac took a sip of lukewarm beer.

“How did you tame those monsters?”
“They’re just big animals. More violent, a bit smarter—but still animals. Give them good food, and they follow.”
“You expect me to believe you tamed dozens of those wolves that way? Are you joking?”

Rutger snapped.

“Hundreds, thousands of humans are tamed the same way, aren’t they? Nothing new about it. If you don’t believe it, that’s your problem.”

“…Was this planned from the beginning? From the moment you killed Emil?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Emil was a servant I had known since childhood. I swore I would avenge him.”
“That’s unfortunate. How things turned out.”
“You… you’re no madman.”
“Depends on how you see it. From now on, I plan to properly act like one—for your family.”

Isaac’s smile deepened.