Chapter 51

The hill was completely silent.

The enemy’s flags had vanished, leaving only the black marks of bonfires.

Remaining on horseback, I advanced onto the now-empty hill. I was accompanied by a small number of escorts, Marc, and the Vice Knight Commander.

The unit’s morale was high. The operation was a success, and the enemy had retreated.

However, not every face was bright. There were some who had desired a decisive frontal battle.

I pretended not to notice. A win is a win.

The enemy had retreated. It was a situation sufficient to make that judgment. I was advancing my horse while receiving reports.

At that moment. The wind howled. No, that was wrong.

Marc shouted.

“Your Highness!”

At the same time, the sound of an impact. An arrow had pierced his arm.

“Enemy attack!”

Someone shouted.

The air on the hill returned to a battlefield in an instant.

The forest was not finished yet.

The one who loosed the arrow was a young soldier.

His beard was still thin. His capture was swift.

He was dragged out from the edge of the forest and forced to his knees on the ground.

His eyes were glaring. Anger, or fear?

He said nothing.

“Dispose of him,”

Someone said.

“Kill me,”

The young soldier said himself. It was a low, dry voice. In that ring, I realized something.

A voice that seemed to hasten death. I announced from horseback.

“Strip him of his armor. Examine his belongings.”

The soldiers removed the youth’s helmet and undid his breastplate.

His armor was equivalent to an ordinary soldier’s. However, on the lining of his sweat-soaked tunic, there was embroidery.

It was made to resemble coarse cloth, but the threads were fine, and the dye was of high quality. On the cuff, a small crest.

Furthermore, I took his sword. The scabbard was plain, but the blade was different. It was masterfully forged. The balance of its weight was different from an ordinary soldier’s.

Seeing that, an accompanying civil official gasped.

“…Could it be.”

He peered into the youth’s face.

“Is he the son… of the Count who retreated to the fortified city?”

For an instant. The youth’s expression changed. The blood drained from his face.

His lips trembled slightly. He did not deny it. That was sufficient.

The wind on the hill blew through coldly.

The gazes of the soldiers changed from murderous intent to calculation.

I said.

“Treat him with courtesy.”

“But…”

“I wish to confirm later.”

That alone was enough. The youth was bound and placed outside the tent. Neither executed nor put in a cell. Half-hearted treatment wears down the mind.

Around the time preparations for the night camp were complete, I headed in front of the youth accompanied by two escort knights.

The light of the bonfire illuminated his profile.

I spoke while remaining standing.

“Your name?”

Silence. I took the youth’s sleeve. With a dagger, I cut out the embroidery on the lining. The threads frayed.

The youth showed agitation for the first time.

“Stop.”

I did not answer. I folded the piece of cloth and attached it to a letter. I dropped sealing wax.

“I will send this tomorrow morning. The contents—only state that you refused to give your name.”

Silence.

The bonfire crackled. The youth’s throat gulped.

I said nothing.

Silence is the cheapest torture.

The next morning, a messenger departed raising a flag.

The Royal Family‘s crest on a white background. Behind it, a clerk and two riders.

Just past noon, they returned. I was waiting in front of the tent.

“How did it go?”

The messenger dismounted.

“The moment he saw the embroidery, his expression changed.”

“Anything else?”

“One phrase. —’Is he alive?’ he asked.”

I nodded. That alone was enough.

Before dawn, a flag was seen again. This time from the other side. The colors of the fortified city. The messenger was a single rider. He presented a letter. The sealing wax bore marks of haste.

I opened it quietly.

The text was concise.

This is not to repudiate the main battle itself.

However, for the purpose of confirming matters regarding the captive, I request a temporary reprieve.

I closed the letter.

The smoke of the bonfire flowed gently.

The war had shifted from swords to brushes.

I wrote a letter to the Count of the fortified city.

I have certainly received your recent letter.

I understand your desire to confirm matters regarding the captive.

The individual in question is currently detained with treatment befitting his status, and we have subjected him to neither humiliation nor neglect.

Therefore, it is possible to freeze the front lines in their current state for a period of three days.

However—during that period, I forbid any act of crossing into our territory for any reason whatsoever.

No exceptions will be granted, extending even to scouts, small units, and supply convoys.

As long as this is upheld, I promise the physical safety of the captive will be maintained.

I, too, have no intention to repudiate the main battle itself.

But useless bloodshed benefits neither side. After three days, dispatch a messenger anew.

I quietly exhaled. Word is that in the Count’s camp, the lights do not go out until late.

He is anxious. Now that the physical custody of his son has reached the ears of the Royal Family, he cannot act rashly.

Behind the scenes, I had investigations conducted. Through merchants. Through monks. Through captives as well. What does the opposing country desire?

Territory? Trade routes? Or the King’s prestige?

And what of our side?

The opposing country’s desires. Our side’s desires.

Can they not be reconciled?

Suddenly, I cast my gaze to the side. Deep inside the tent, on the bed, Marc’s breathing was heavy. The medical officer was applying a cloth to his forehead. He had developed a fever.

I stood still for a while.

The war is on a scale.

But—

The blood is right here.

I clench my fist.

I will end this war.