Shadowed Gaze: The Highserk War Saga - Chapter 39

The four nation alliance had lost a lot. Over ten thousand troops, their leading commanders, and the supplies that supported them. Hugo, the foreign minister of Libertoa, bearing the weight of his nation’s diplomacy on his shoulders, looked up disdainfully at the burning encampment. The detestable blue flames spread, illuminating the swarming Highserk soldiers in the darkness.

The old scar on his cheek, now a burn wound extending to his head, throbbed with pain. Hugo, while grimacing, managed a smile. Libertoa had suffered a significant blow, but the damage to Crest was even more substantial. Though unconfirmed, the loss of the knight order members was significant. Two of the Three Heroes were defeated, and one was captured.

“What a sloppy bunch. To be burned to death by ghosts.”

Originally a civil officer, Hugo had no necessity to be on the front lines. Yet, there were sights only visible from the frontline. The tent was like a storm, with people coming and going, and abandoned chairs and tables scattered around, resembling a house ransacked by burglars.

“Lord Hugo, we will move you and the headquarters to the rear. The Four Nation Alliance is being pincered and is collapsing. We cannot hold this position for long. One of our battalions stationed at the front line has been annihilated.”

“It’s regrettable, but unavoidable.”

The loss of the valuable citizens, failing to fulfill their function and perishing, was intolerable for Hugo. At the same time, the fragility of the Four Nation Alliance and the heinousness of the Highserk Empire were beyond words. The limited number of generals, Hugo’s hands and feet, were burned to death in a surprise attack during a military council. This was done by a single soldier known as a demon fire user. Hugo learned that this soldier was a survivor of the annihilated Reglia Battalion, who had devotedly hidden in the camp for a week, buried among corpses.

Hugo lamented the absence in Libertoa of symbols of martial prowess like Highserk’s Jeyf Cavalry and Crest’s Three Heroes and the Rehazen Knight Order. That said, the Libertoa troops were not fragile. Their well-maintained equipment and trained readiness spoke volumes. While leading the troops of other nations, who had developed a habit of losing, they were planning a retreat from the fortifications.

“Commander Emrid has secured our retreat.”

“An admirable feat under these circumstances.”

Hugo sincerely praised him, with neither flattery nor sarcasm. Even without outstanding heroes or champions, the soldiers worked desperately to compensate. Libertoa was not to be underestimated.

“They are a unit forged on the border with the Highserk homeland. They possess flexibility and tenacity.”

“We must ensure their efforts are not in vain.”

Surrounded by his guards, Hugo left the encampment.

◆

Heavy eyelids lifted, and Walm surveyed his surroundings. It was a room unlike the last memory he had – no scattered innards or charred limbs lay about.

“Awake, are you?”

A soldier, deeply seated in a chair, called out to Walm.

“Is this Sarajevo Fortress? What’s happening here?”

“Battle? A day has passed since then. A grand victory for the Highserk Empire’s army. While we lost two battalions, the enemy suffered far greater, losing well over ten thousand soldiers and supplies. Now, they’ve set up camp at a distance, and it seems we’re back to square one.”

Including the defense battle at the rampart, the enemy’s death toll had surpassed 20,000. Although about 30,000 soldiers remained, they were a multinational gathering, and no one seemed eager to draw the short straw, especially since they hadn’t even begun to touch the city walls.

In addition to the Felius front army, to which Walm belonged, there were also troops left in the homeland and in Mayard. Even if they managed to breach the fortress, Walm doubted that the Four Nation Alliance still had the strength to fight back.

“A victory?”

Walm uttered the sweet word.

“Yes, but we can’t be complacent. I’ll go report that you’ve woken up. You’ve earned the greatest military honors in this battle. We can’t afford to lose you. Rest in this room; there’s water and food on the shelf. Help yourself.”

With those words, the soldier left the room. Left alone, Walm got up from his bed. There was no discomfort in his body. The only issue was his eyes. His left eye, reflected in the mirror, remained clouded over. He moved towards the only window in the room and looked outside. Numerous soldiers were busy with their tasks, but the heavy, hectic air from right before the battle was gone. The bloody, relentless fighting that had been there until yesterday seemed like a lie.

“I may have survived, but I’m the only one left.”

The feeling was unreal, as he had lost consciousness several times. Walm reached out, pouring water into a glass. His body, craving hydration, absorbed the water. His mood didn’t lighten. There was fatigue, too. Yet he couldn’t help but smirk at his body’s honest needs. He had never intended to be killed, yet here he was, unable to die, unable to go mad, clinging to life.

He picked a red fruit from the basket, turning it in his hand. An easy-to-hold spherical shape, glossy vermilion color, a sweet fruit that everyone desired. Walm suddenly opened his mouth and bit into the fruit. Juice overflowed from the bitten edge, seeping into his mouth. It was a stimulating taste for his hungry tongue and stomach, with a rich sweetness followed by a spreading sourness.