Chapter 151

Blue Blood (5)

More than two hundred soldiers were climbing the steep cliffs of the Tooth Mountain Range.

Fortunately, the blizzard had stopped, but the sky was still filled with snow clouds.

Winter fog enveloped them, and the cold seeped through the gaps in their armor.

“Watch your footing! It’s slippery!”

“Aaaagh—!”

The moment one of the soldiers shouted, another lost his footing and plunged off the cliff.

“Gah!”

As soon as he fell, his body suddenly floated in midair before landing safely near a rock he could grab onto.

“Gasp, gasp... Th-thank you, Your Excellency.”

“Be careful.”

Count Goethe replied indifferently.

He had sent the soldiers ahead to climb the cliff while he followed from the very bottom.

Whenever one of the soldiers above fell, he caught them with spatial displacement magic.

“Are we really doing the right thing?”

Suddenly, Berkheim asked.

He kept his eyes fixed on the sky, deliberately avoiding looking down.

Understandably so.

He himself was floating in midair.

That, too, was the Count’s magic.

“Just endure it a little longer.”

“No, I mean, thanks to you, Your Excellency, I’m traveling comfortably, but...”

Berkheim stared at the Count in disbelief.

The man was levitating someone of comparable weight to himself with magic while simultaneously catching every falling soldier without missing a single one.

And on top of that, he was scaling the cliff without any special equipment and without showing the slightest sign of fatigue.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“If I don’t put in at least this much effort, how could I call myself a count?”

“If the nobles in the royal capital heard that, they’d be horrified.”

“Whether they’re horrified or mock me, it makes no difference.”

The Count stretched one hand upward again.

“If you had used aura instead of magic, Your Excellency, you would’ve become a Swordmaster.”

“There’s no point in making assumptions about the past.”

“Didn’t you once say we should learn from history?”

“Have you recovered enough strength already? Would you like to climb on your own?”

“No. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“A wise decision.”

The Count lifted one leg and wedged his foot into a crack in the cliff.

Then he pushed off once more and raised himself higher.

“But...”

“Changed your mind already?”

“No, I figured it’s fine as long as I’m not talking nonsense. It must be boring for you.”

“Go ahead. If it’s nonsense, be prepared to climb yourself.”

“Have you climbed mountains like this before? You seem pretty skilled.”

“Have you forgotten where I married into?”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“To marry the daughter of the Granak chieftain, I had to undergo the tribe’s coming-of-age ceremony. Climbing a cliff like this was nothing.”

A puff of breath escaped the Count’s lips.

In the freezing temperature, it scattered like white smoke.

“You’ve certainly lived quite a life.”

“Who hasn’t? Only a god can become himself entirely on his own.”

The Count answered without even smiling.

Frost had gathered in both men’s beards.

“This really isn’t the situation for philosophical talk. Seriously, are we going to be alright?”

Berkheim looked down below the cliff.

“Ugh...”

His knees weakened involuntarily.

Without his trust in the Count, he probably would have wet himself by now.

Through the winter fog, he could faintly make out the scenery of Winterband.

The eastern inner wall.

It was far too distant to tell what was happening there.

Only scattered lights flickered here and there.

The wind howling around the cliff sounded almost like screams.

“With the abilities those fools have, they’re obviously going to get breached. It may have happened already.”

“Most likely.”

“It’s too much of a gamble.”

“It was the best gamble available.”

“Honestly... did this really come from the head of a twelve-year-old brat... no, Baron Vinfelt? If I told this story over drinks, people would laugh me out of the room.”

“I had considered the possibility myself. But that child took it one step further.”

The Count tapped the rocky ledge he was holding with his index finger.

It was a bold plan.

—

“Abandon Winterband.”

“I’d already considered that much. Botmer won’t be able to stand against the demonic beasts. They lack experience. Once fear takes hold and they begin to rout, the beasts will hunt them down.”

“No. That’s not what I mean. I’m saying you should completely abandon Winterband. At least until the First Prince inherits the throne and the royal family stabilizes.”

“...What?”

“That’s the only way to prevent a civil war. Neither the Royalist faction nor the Parliamentary faction will have the luxury of entertaining foolish ambitions while dealing with demonic beasts.”

“Do you understand what you’re saying? Do you realize what will happen to Goethe and the kingdom if we do that?”

“Father. I fear people more than demonic beasts. The blood spilled because of demonic beasts will be nothing compared to the blood spilled because of people.”

—

When the Count heard those words through the long-distance communication device,

a chill ran down his spine.

Because the implications behind Isaac’s argument unfolded before him with inexorable logic.

Botmer, having failed to defend Winterband after starting a war out of ambition, would be ruined beyond recovery.

As damage spread across the land, the public’s anger would inevitably be directed at Botmer.

The demonic beasts would move south after passing through Goethe territory, and the royal capital would finally realize the importance of Goethe and the northern frontier.

More and more people would seek Goethe’s support.

It would become difficult even for the Second Prince, Duke of the North, to manipulate Goethe merely because it technically lay within his duchy.

Goethe would achieve not nominal autonomy, but true autonomy.

For if Goethe survived, the north would remain protected, and the territories below it would be spared devastation by demonic beasts.

The southern nobles would be forced to remember a truth they had long forgotten.

Whether they belonged to the Royalist faction or the Parliamentary faction.

Regardless of who inherited the throne.

Their political struggles were only possible if the kingdom itself continued to exist.

Isaac’s judgment was even colder and more ruthless than the Count had imagined.

“The entire Goethe territory will become infested with demonic beasts, and the number of victims will be enormous.”

“Then after the war ends, we’ll work hard to exterminate them.”

“Haa... Just what exactly goes on inside the heads of Goethe people?”

Berkheim sighed and shook his head.

Before the siege had even begun, the residents had already been sent through the western passage toward Bern City.

A letter had been dispatched to Mayor Venders of Bern City, requesting that he take good care of them.

The damage had been far worse than expected.

They had never imagined Botmer’s side would launch such an attack before all the residents could be evacuated.

To use a drug that drove people into a frenzy.

It was a method frequently employed by the Empire.

Of course, such drugs had little effect on most soldiers.

These were men whose senses had already been dulled by facing extreme terror day after day, not mere death.

The ones who suffered were the civilians who lost their reason.

The residents who inhaled the drug carried by the smoke were ultimately put down by the soldiers.

“Botmer will pay the price for this. Hup—”

The Count crouched before leaping upward.

Had there been nothing to grab, it would have been an action that led directly to a fatal fall.

Yet as if it were the most natural thing in the world, the Count caught a protruding rock face with one hand and dangled from it.

Not the slightest trace of tension appeared on his face.

“...Phew. He’s practically a mountain goat.”

Berkheim, whose heart had nearly stopped, let out another breath and shook his head.

“Your Excellency! Your Excellency!”

The soldiers who had reached the top of the cliff first shouted down.

“You need to come up quickly!”

“What’s happening up there!?”

Berkheim shouted back.

“Someone’s here! Someone’s here!”

“Who is it!? A demonic beast? One of those horned bastards!?”

“We don’t know! They’re coming this way!”

The soldier shouted urgently.

“We should hurry up, shouldn’t we?”

Berkheim urged.

“So they’ve arrived.”

The Count replied leisurely.

Only after every Winterband soldier had climbed up did the Count finally ascend the cliff himself.

The area above the cliff was surprisingly spacious.

More than two hundred Winterband soldiers were gathered around the snow-covered precipice.

A slight shove would have been enough to send the men at the back tumbling to their deaths.

“Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve stood on solid ground.”

Leaving Berkheim, who was delighted to have his feet on the earth again, the Count slowly pushed through the crowd of soldiers.

“What in the world is happening up front?”

“Who’s there that nobody’s moving?”

“Your Excellency.”

“What is it?”

After making his way through the crowd of more than two hundred men to the very front, he found Lucas standing there.

“I believe they’re members of the Granak tribe. And that person over there... their aura is extraordinary. I have no idea who they are.”

Lucas was right.

The number of people blocking the soldiers’ path was less than twenty.

Yet there was a reason more than two hundred soldiers had hesitated.

“Helmut.”

“Lady Asra.”

“Mother-in-law.”

“Lady Asra. It’s good to see you again.”

“I told you to call me Mother-in-law. Honestly, my son-in-law has no sense of affection.”

Snow had piled up on Asra Valdrun’s head and shoulders.

She looked like a giant stone statue standing motionless.

White breath emerged from her nose with every exhale, yet she seemed entirely unaffected by the freezing weather.

The soldiers had not hesitated simply because of Asra’s enormous size.

It was because of the aura she radiated.

An aura comparable to, or even greater than, that of a demonic beast.

It was intentional.

She had no desire to shed blood with Helmut’s soldiers.

By releasing her aura, she had ensured the soldiers would not recklessly attack.

“Your soldiers are trained quite well.”

“They’re men who’ve survived in a place that was never easy to live in.”

“I see. If they had charged in without thinking, at least three or four bones would already be broken.”

“Thank you for your consideration. And...”

The Count’s gaze shifted to the man standing beside Asra.

Black hair.

Dark amber eyes.

Features that somehow seemed slightly mismatched.

Yet he was a man with an otherwise ordinary appearance.

He wore a wool tunic and a cloak lined with expensive fur.

“You’re still as healthy as ever, Sir Johan.”

“Haha, you still remember that name.”

“It’s an honor to see you. The journey to this frozen land must have been difficult, but I’m relieved you arrived safely.”

“I didn’t come by a route as dangerous as yours, Count. Hearing that makes me feel embarrassed.”

The soldiers began whispering among themselves.

They had never seen the Count speak so respectfully to anyone.

Asra was one thing, but his attitude toward the man named Johan was exceptionally courteous.

Even Lucas looked puzzled.

However, the atmosphere made it impossible to interrupt or ask questions, so everyone remained silent and waited.

“Master Reich.”

“Helmut. I still don’t know whether this plan is truly the right one.”

Reich, standing beside Johan, exchanged greetings with Helmut.

The elderly headmaster of the Royal Academy looked considerably more haggard than before.

“I still can’t believe all of this started because of a single remark from that little baron. Let’s have a drink later. The north is colder than I expected. My bones are aching.”

Johan spoke.

Fewer than five hundred soldiers were setting up camp and preparing to spend the night.

Campfires and bonfires burned throughout the encampment, while supply troops and cooks busied themselves preparing meals.

Elsewhere, allied corpses were being gathered for burial, and spoils of war were being collected.

The atmosphere in the camp was positive after their first engagement had ended in victory.

Songs and humming drifted from every direction, and soldiers still full of vigor wrestled or sparred with one another.

Isaac gathered the commanders leading the various forces and convened a council.

Though they had won the first battle, it was not a victory worthy of pure celebration.

The largest mercenary company, Black Eyes, had been annihilated.

The remaining mercenary groups had each suffered losses approaching half their numbers, and every veteran mercenary captain who had fought on the front line had been killed.

Among the soldiers recruited from Vinfelt’s tribesmen, nearly twenty had become casualties.

More than thirty Granak warriors had also died.

There were no wounded among them.

Or if there were, their injuries were only minor.

They were never rendered incapable of fighting.

For them, there were only two outcomes.

Live or die.

The force that had once numbered more than seven hundred had been reduced to just under five hundred.

Without the contributions of the Granak warriors, the casualties would have been even greater, or victory itself might not have been possible.

Perhaps because of that, the mood of the council was not particularly light.

One by one, the commanders reported the numbers of wounded and dead, as well as losses among key combat forces.

Bill and Beltran reported how many more days food supplies could be maintained.

Then the council began discussing their next course of action in earnest.

The first objections arose not long after the meeting began.

“You’re saying we’re not going to defend Winterband?”

“We’ll wait here.”

“What?”

Besimer and Carlson openly questioned Isaac’s decision.

Carlson’s expression, in particular, had visibly darkened.

For a man whose face rarely changed, it was an unusual sight.

“Trust me. Viscount Botmer is coming here.”

Isaac declared with certainty.

“We just have to wait.”