After the battle, Alistair tended to his horse in a field.
Alistair stroked the horse's head, using his mana to check on her condition at the same time.
"Good girl. You've grown even stronger," he whispered.
The horse neighed softly, nudging the Count with her head. "Nope, I've run out of carrots. You just ate the last one. If you want more, you'll have to wait."
“Gramps,” Albert called out as he approached the Count, a young man following slightly behind him. While the Count was dirty, with mud and blood splattered on his clothes, Albert’s attire was far more drenched in blood. This wasn’t because he fought more—it was due to his fighting style. Alistair might be the strongest warrior in the world, but everyone in the land also knew the name Albert Roettger, famous for his swordsmanship, wielding a zweihänder like a one-handed sword.
The young man trailing him was as large as Albert. He also wore the blue armor of an Aenduil knight, signifying House Roettger, with the family symbol displayed on his chest, marking him as a member of the main family. His blonde, shoulder-length curly hair was tied back, and his face resembled Albert’s, though it lacked the warmth, hinting at how handsome Albert must have been in his youth. He carried a shield on his back and a custom sword at his hip, slightly larger than a typical sword.
Alistair gestured for the two large men to follow him. They began walking toward the center of the field, the horse trailing behind them silently.
Alistair glanced at the young man. "How are you finding the battle, Fergus? This is your third, right?" His tone was the same as when he addressed Albert in private.
"Yes, sir. This is my third one. I’ve grown accustomed to battle and its aftermath... though I still struggle with..." Fergus hesitated, his eyes shifting to the bodies scattered across the battlefield. The process of clearing the dead had already begun, with some members of the alliance army removing the fallen.
“The smell? Yeah, that’ll take longer to get used to.” Alistair glanced at the young man again, noticing the battle scar on his armor and shield. “How is your progress?”
“I’m still a master, sir. But if everything goes according to plan, I should be a grand master by the end of the year,” Fergus replied, a hint of pride evident on his face.
Both Alistair and Albert smiled warmly at the boy’s response. Alistair addressed Fergus once more. “That’s very good, Fergus. I’m glad you’re here; our family’s future is safe with you.”
Fergus started to scratch his head and lowered it, his face turning a bit red. Alistair chuckled at the sight. He then turned his gaze toward Albert, their eyes meeting.
“Situation report, right. The number of casualties is very minimal. We lost around 300 soldiers, most of them from Hammond’s force. The enemy, on the other hand, suffered significant losses.
“Most of their unclassed routed when you obliterated their rear force. We managed to round up most of them. We estimate around 7,000 dead, with 10,000 managing to escape. We’ve been using them to clean up the field; it should be done by tomorrow. After that, we’ll hold them here for a while. We’re planning to use their old base camp as a prison camp while our diplomat conducts the negotiations.”
“As for the classed ones, most of them survived. The moment they realized the battle was lost and how difficult it was to run past you, they simply surrendered. Except for the grand masters, most of them died; you made sure of it. We’ll hold the survivors with the rest of the unclassed.”
As they spoke, they arrived at a small tent in the middle of the field. Alistair gestured to one of the soldiers to take care of the horse. He then turned to Albert. “The person inside the tent—I assume he’s one of the grand master survivors?”
“Yeah, he’s one of the four survivors. The other two you brought back died, succumbing to their wounds before our healer could reach them. So be gentle; we only have four left.”
“Don’t worry, I only need one.”
“Suuuureeee…” Albert replied half-heartedly, staring at the Count.
Giving the big man an exasperated look, Alistair said again, “Why don’t you go deal with our prisoners?” He gestured for Albert to leave.
“Yes, sir!” Albert responded, saluting the Count. He winked and then turned around, dragging the young Fergus with him.
Alistair could only shake his head as he watched their departing figures. His expression then turned serious as he entered the small tent.
Inside the tent sat a man in a chair. It was the grand master who had raised his voice against Edith. He looked very tired; his clothes were torn, exposing half of his chest and one arm. There were no wounds, though; the healers had patched him up well. Two knights holding spears flanked the man, the same two who had accompanied Alistair during the battle.
The moment Alistair entered the tent, the man looked up. When he saw the Count’s face, he was startled and jumped up from his chair. However, one of the knights at his side caught his shoulder and pushed him back into the chair.
Alistair looked at the man for a moment before ordering the knights, “Leave us alone. Don’t let anybody enter the tent.” The two knights saluted the Count without answering and walked out of the tent.
Alistair propped his spear against the nearby table, then grabbed a chair and dragged it to the front of the man. During this, Alistair’s spear remained within the man’s reach, but the man himself had no intention of doing anything foolish.
Alistair sat in front of the man. “Do you know who I am?”
“…yes, sir.” The man answered weakly. “You’re the Count of Eulstan.” He glanced at the spear leaning against the table. “You used that piece of wood to massacre us.” He turned his gaze back to the Count. “I thought you used a spear made of some kind of special steel. That looks like a normal spear.” The question was asked without any hint of curiosity; the man seemed lifeless.
“It’s the standard-issue spear for House Roettger’s soldiers. Is that what you heard? The one I heard was that my spear was actually made from dark gold.” Alistair leaned back in his chair; he wasn’t particularly in a hurry. The man in front of him had already hit rock bottom; there was no need to pressure him for now.
“Huh, is that so?” The man spoke without any energy in his voice. He remained silent for a moment, and the Count allowed him the space to gather his thoughts. “The two men from before—are they your personal guards?” he asked again. Alistair nodded in response.
“Ha… ha… ha… you have ascendeds as your personal guards?” The man’s voice remained low, but his eyes began to redden.
“Not everyone, but yes, some of my personal guards are ascended,” Alistair replied, giving a straightforward answer.
Pain manifested once again on the man’s face as he lowered his head, covering his eyes with his hand. There was no sound, but he was crying. After a while, he lifted his head again.
“That was an exercise in futility, huh? You must have been laughing at us all along… Sir, what am I doing here?”
Alistair sat up in his chair. He liked the man; he was straight to the point. “I have some questions I was hoping you could help me with.”
“…If I answer them, are you going to let me go?”
“No, we’re going to kill you after this,” Alistair replied with a straight face. The man’s eyes widened, and he tried to say something but fell silent. After a moment, he asked again.
“Why?”
“Because you lot invaded us, we need to make an example out of you. Killing all the grand masters seems like a good start.”
“…I see. Thank you for being honest.”
“It’s okay. What’s your name?”
“Roland Mort— I’m Roland, from Crilia, sir.”
“Okay, Roland. How much do you know about this operation? Do you know anything about the hidden second army?”
“I don’t know much. But I heard rumors about the second army. The only thing I can tell you is that none of the Crilia soldiers are in that second army. We have accounted for every Crilia soldier. As a matter of fact, I’ve talked with some of my—compatriots from other kingdoms, and none of them knew about it either. They also believe that none of the soldiers from the five kingdoms are in it.”
Considering the man’s answer for a moment, Alistair asked another question. “Do you know the significance of this battle?”
“No. Edith—our commander—did say that we were supposed to stall for time, as much as possible.” Roland tried to gauge Alistair’s reaction, but the Count merely had a blank stare. “I’m sorry, sir, but I really don’t know much.”
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“That’s fine; I don’t really expect much. I know there’s no way they’re going to let someone with information participate in this battle. But you did help me, so thank you for that.”
Alistair smiled at the man, nodded, and then stood up. He grabbed his spear.
“Sir, would you let me talk to—” Crunch. Without warning, the Count’s spear tore through Roland’s head. The man’s body went limp as Alistair pulled the spear free, and Roland fell to the ground.
Alistair felt tired. The man had provided some information: the second army wasn’t from any of the five kingdoms. From the Empire, maybe? No, there was no way they could move an army that far without making any noise. He began to doubt the existence of that army, but Roland had just confirmed it.
He realized something: he would have to interrogate the other three grandmasters. The thought of Albert's expression when he broke the news brought a slight smile to his face. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. It was going to be a long month.
____________________________________
Two weeks had passed since the battle. Nothing significant happened during that time. After the destruction of the alliance army, both sides had started peace negotiations. Being on the winning side, Aenduil was able to demand war reparations. With the number of prisoners of war they had, they could also demand ransoms.
While all of this was happening, Alistair worked quietly, without drawing attention, to mobilize several of Roettger’s companies around the border in search of clues about the second army. So far, nothing had been found.
Alistair woke up with a slight headache. Great, he was starting the day in a bad mood. He was inside a small encampment with the 6th Company, currently camped at the foot of a mountain in northern Brahdeun. They had received information about some movement in the area, so they were checking it out. So far, nothing.
When he stepped out of his tent, Fergus was there, standing and waiting. The boy gave him a wide smile upon noticing him. At least he got to spend some time with Fergus. The boy had been a source of comfort for the Count. While the scouts were scouring the area, Alistair had been spending his days with the boy, who seemed to enjoy their conversations. The Count had been training Fergus every day, and he was happy to confirm once again how talented the boy was.
“The men found some wild boars; today’s breakfast is boar stew,” the young man informed the Count with a broad smile.
“Well then, lead the way.” Alistair’s day had just improved. They walked together to the mess tent. Alistair usually ate in his own tent, but Fergus had been inviting him to join the rest of the men in the mess. Alistair didn’t have any problem with that; it also allowed him to get to know some of the men in the Company.
While eating, Fergus kept asking the Count many questions about his past, his secret to becoming the strongest, and whether he had any secret techniques or skills that could help with that.
“There are no secrets, no shortcuts. You just have to keep practicing,” Alistair said with a chuckle. Then he suddenly froze, placing his spoon down as he looked around.
Noticing this, Fergus asked, “Is everything all right?” Alistair responded with a simple nod but then paused again, this time closing his eyes.
“Ummm, sir?” After a moment, Fergus tried to speak to the Count once more. Alistair opened his eyes and looked straight at Fergus. “Call the cook here,” he said.
Seeing how serious the Count looked, Fergus didn’t dare ask any further questions. “Yes, sir.” He then called one of the men to bring the cook to the table. By this time, everyone in the tent had noticed that something was wrong, and all eyes were on the Count.
The cook approached the table, removing his cooking hat and presenting himself to the Count.
“My lord, I’m Erik. I’m the cook for the 6th Company,” he introduced himself.
Alistair looked at the cook. “How long have you been a cook for the Company?”
“It should be around four years, my lord.”
“I see.”
“Is there something wrong with the food, my lord? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes. Where is my personal cook?”
“Your cook, my lord?”
“Yes, Ewan. He’s the one who usually prepares my food. I noticed the food tasted different this morning, so I was wondering if he changed anything.”
“I—wouldn’t know, my lord. I’ve been cooking only with my men this morning. Perhaps he fell sick, my lord?”
Alistair stood up from where he was sitting, and before anyone could react, the cook’s head hit the table.
Bam! Alistair’s hand was on the back of the cook’s neck, blood gushing from his broken nose.
“You see, Ewan is my personal cook. Wherever I go, he goes, and he takes over any kitchen where I’m staying. He makes sure to process everything in my meals.
“Ewan, besides being my personal cook, is also my personal physician. He’s a master healer who can detect poison and heal any ailment caused by it. That also means he doesn’t get sick at all.
“So, I’m going to ask you again. Is Ewan still alive, or is he dead?”
“My lord! I really don’t know anything about— ARGH!!!" The cook tried to defend himself before he suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs. His face turned dark, and the veins in his neck bulged bright red.
“It’s only going to get more painful from this point on. Just answer the question.”
“DEAD! He’s dead! His body was buried 100 meters from here! Please! STOP IT!”
Hearing the confession, Alistair's face turned solemn. He pressed down on the cook’s neck and added more mana to his palm.
“Wait! PLEASE! I WAS ORDERED—” POP. Both of the cook’s eyes burst, and blood started flowing from all his orifices. The scream stopped, and the cook’s body went limp.
Alistair pushed the dead body off the table and returned to his seat. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath.
“What did you do to him?” Fergus suddenly asked, taking a few steps back when the commotion happened.
Without turning to Fergus, Alistair answered, “I poured mana into his mana channel. It’s simple, but you need to be sensitive enough to feel the target’s mana channel. Once my mana is in his channel, any disturbance I cause will result in immense pain.”
“…What’s a mana channel?” Fergus asked again.
“It’s something like veins, but instead of blood, it carries mana. Everybody has a different name for it; I just call it a mana channel. Don’t worry about it. It’s not something you need to be concerned about until you become an ascended.
“Rather than that, I’m curious,” Alistair finally turned his head toward Fergus. “How did you do it?”
“How I did it? Well, which one?” Fergus was smiling, but this time, it was a sinister smile.
“Well, would you look at that.” Alistair said after seeing Fergus doesn’t even try to hide it. “Both of my personal guards. How did you get rid of them? There’s no way you could do anything harmful to them; everyone here could gang up on them, and you’d still lose. Not poison, either—too much commotion to do it without attracting my attention. So what did you do to them?”
At this point, all the soldiers inside the tent had drawn their weapons and were pointing them at the Count. More soldiers were arriving, some guarding the outside of the tent.
“Hahaha, of course not! There’s nothing we can do against a pair of ascended like that. So I just sent them away. I sent one to my father while the other is running ‘errands’ for you in the nearby town. It’s freaking easy! I’ve been hanging out with you, so you’ve been using me to convey messages and orders to them. I just used your stationery to write bogus orders, and off they went.
“What else do you want to know? The poison? How we get you to eat it without you knowing?” His smile widened.
“Nah, I think I know how you poisoned me. You gassed me. That’s what I felt this morning. I recognize some poisons like this. Nothing from near here. I assume it’s some kind of mana dissipation gas—perfectly harmless to the unclassed but highly lethal to any awakened. And a potent one, too. It lays dormant inside my body until I use mana, and then it ignites when I use my mana. That’s what the poison in the food was for. The moment I realized I was poisoned, I would try to use my mana to expel the poison from my body, but as soon as I did, I would ignite the mana dissipation gas inside me. That would’ve been messy…”
“WOOOOW!” Fergus’s eyes were wide open. “You’re really something else! You actually figure that out? I’m seriously impressed. I’m also impressed that you can maintain your expression like that, considering you just told us the poison inside your body is still wreaking havoc. It’s poison from the Ember frog, you know. And I saw you using mana with Erik—how did you do that? Did you use mana residue inside your arm without actually pulling any mana from your mana heart? That’s so fucking cool, man.
“So what’s the summary here? You’re full of poison, you can’t use your mana, and your guards are nowhere near here. Wow, it’s quite the predicament, isn’t it?”
Alistair could only sigh. “It is quite the predicament.” He stared at all the soldiers wearing the emblem of House Roettger, who now had bloodlust for the lord of the house.
“I’ve spent weeks looking for the second army, yet here they are all along, right under my nose. So what’s your plan here?”
“To kill you, of course, you silly goose.” Fergus gestured to his men, and three of the closest soldiers charged at the Count, all wielding swords.
Alistair grabbed a spoon from the table and threw it toward the farthest man. The spoon pierced through his neck and continued to travel outside the tent, embedding itself in a boulder.
The closest swordsman lunged at Alistair’s head. Alistair dodged the stab slightly and grabbed the blade with his right hand while his right foot kicked the swordsman in the solar plexus. The man flew back and bounced a few times on the ground before stopping, no longer breathing.
The last swordsman slashed down at Alistair from above. Alistair stepped to the right to avoid the strike while spinning his body. As the swordsman’s blade struck the ground, Alistair’s right hand, still holding the blade, slashed open the man’s neck.
Silence fell over the tent. The only sounds were the blood gushing from the swordsman’s neck and the gurgling of the first man with a hole in his throat.
Alistair stared at the remaining soldiers, who instinctively took a step back. He flipped the sword in his hand and caught the hilt.
“I know you’re planning to kill me. But what’s your plan after you kill me?” Alistair asked, locking eyes with Fergus, who had stopped smiling some time ago.
After a moment of silence, Fergus finally answered. “Nothing fancy. I’m going to report that we got ambushed by a detached unit—the one with a bunch of ascended. You fought bravely but ultimately fell in combat. And—”
“And the Empire would pay you handsomely, right? Grand Master Fergus?” Alistair interjected.
“…How did you know that?” Fergus glared at the Count.
“Which part? The fact that you’re already a grand master? Both your father and I have known you broke through to grand master months ago. We just didn’t mention it because we thought you were preparing some kind of surprise announcement. Well, it turned out to be a surprise after all.
“The Empire? It’s the poison, you dumbass. These kinds of poisons can only come from the Empire. Combine that with the fact that you’ve been hiding your breakthrough, and the answer becomes clear. They’ve been helping you level up and promised you even more for killing me, right?”
“You knew about that too?”
“You need to stop underestimating House Roettger, boy. Of course we know. Ugh, your father is going to be very disappointed. It turns out it wasn’t talent.”
Fergus’s face turned red at the mention of his talent. “Heh, so what? The only thing he gave me was this body. The rest comes from my mother’s side—my wisdom and wit.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You may be different from your father, but you’re actually quite similar to your uncle,” Alistair replied.
“What the hell? I see the poison is already working; you’ve lost your senses, old man. My father is an only child; I don’t have any uncles.”
“I see…” Alistair suddenly shifted his body to the left. A spear stabbed through the tent wall at the spot where he had just been standing. He spun around and threw the sword out through the hole. A short scream echoed from outside the tent. Alistair then walked slowly and picked up the spear.
Fergus’s face changed when he saw Alistair holding the spear. “Fucking idiots! I told them no spears!”
"It doesn’t matter—spear, sword, even bare hands. Without using my mana, I can still kill every one of you," Alistair said, his gaze fixed on the soldiers in the tent. The confidence that had once filled them evaporated; now, they felt as though they were the ones trapped.
Suddenly, a voice boomed from outside. “What’s stopping you, then!?”
Following the voice, a violent wind surged and sucked up the tent, startling everyone inside. As the wind subsided, a group of twelve people appeared. Alistair stared at them: two masters, three grand masters, and seven ascended.
The elite detachment unit had arrived.