Shadowed Gaze: The Highserk War Saga - Chapter 53

The gates of the castle remained open, with repairs continuously underway.

With the slogan “Dig the moat one millimeter deeper, raise the earthen ramparts one millimeter higher,” everyone, including the militia, was pressed into labor. Even women and children who couldn’t withstand the heavy workload were driven to collect stones, gravel, and soil.

In the outer edges, small units were busy killing any approaching monsters, as it was necessary to eliminate as many of them as possible before they could disperse and penetrate deeper.

Monsters with edible parts were dragged into the castle to be used in communal cooking. Walm, who had been killing monsters without much thought until now, had learned the value of their edible parts and materials for weapons.

In addition to the soldiers guarding the gate, there were also soldiers counting the people who fled into the castle. They were classified into three categories: combatants, laborers, and non-laborers. Age and gender were irrelevant.

The people of Mayard who had reached Dandurg Castle were all filthy and exhausted to the brink. A family passing before Walm’s eyes had the father carrying loads and the mother holding a young child.

When their eyes met, the family awkwardly bowed their heads to Walm. Walm pointed to a corner inside the castle.

“There’s the communal cooking area.”

Seeing the smoke from cooking, the family expressed their gratitude again and relaxed their faces in relief. Walm’s expression clouded. Ideally, he should have warned them to ignore the ominous castle and escape it immediately.

A mere soldier shouldn’t be giving orders. Moreover, there was no concrete evidence. Officially, the word was that Mayard’s main roads at three locations were being prepared to withstand a great rampage.

As Walm shifted his gaze, he could see a group of about 100 people. In the midst of the sparse evacuees, such a large group was rare.

After all, groups without combat capabilities were like moving feasts for the monsters.

Looking closely, Walm noticed that the group was fully armed, with villagers holding weapons and farm tools.

Judging from the bloodstains, it was clear they had fought off significant numbers of monsters to get here. Intrigued, Walm focused his eyes and felt a familiar presence.

“Knight, where are you going?”

A soldier guarding the gate noticed the change in Walm’s expression.

“I’m curious about something. I’ll be back shortly.”

As Walm approached the group, their tension heightened. Within four or five steps, he was close enough to reach them. Walm realized his intuition was not wrong.

“Stop.”

There, among the adventurers and the remnants of Mayard’s soldiers who had once threatened their supply routes and harmed Highserk soldiers, was a familiar face.

“What brings you here?”

The blue-haired adventurer at the front grimaced as if he had bitten into a bitter bug. He seemed to recognize Walm as well.

“I know it’s convenient for me to say this… but I need help.”

They had escaped the rampage and made their way to Dandurg Castle. It was the answer Walm had expected. He deliberately tapped the surface of his longsword at his waist.

“What happened to the pride of the people of Mayard? You rose up against Highserk soldiers from behind, driven by concern for your country. Now you seek shelter with Highserk because you’re on the brink of death?”

Walm wouldn’t have blamed ordinary Mayard soldiers or prisoners. But the adventurer and the remnants before him had attacked Highserk soldiers with a firm intention.

Walm didn’t deny those who were inspired by hometown love or patriotism. He understood them. But he couldn’t accept their sudden change of heart, just because they had lost their place in the rampage.

“At that time, there was still a chance of victory. Now, the situation is different. Mayard has… completely lost.”

“Your patriotism seems rather shallow.”

Walm then remembered the environment of the northern countries. Surrounded by unstable demonic territories, where rulers frequently changed. Although an exile government had been established on a peninsula jutting into Lake Selta, if the nation was destroyed, allegiances could change quickly.

Especially in the Highserk Empire, which promoted assimilation policies, it was common to just replace the leaders and incorporate the territory. Occasional rebellions or resistances were easily suppressed with overwhelming military force.

“Do you think you’ll be forgiven just by bowing your head?”

Walm’s familiar comrades had not died in battle, but still, soldiers he had merely spoken with had perished.

“What should I do?”

Walm smiled and said.

“Maybe I should take your head.”

The killing intent of the group swelled, which Walm sensed. Returning to a serious expression, he scanned them from end to end.

“Another fight, then? If you don’t like it, go somewhere else. I am a knight entrusted with this gate. Villagers supporting the remnants while pretending to be humble, adventurers who attack from behind—I can’t trust any of them.”

“We have no homeland to rely on, were chased by the rampage, and inside the castle only armed Highserk soldiers wait for us—it’d be foolish for us to try anything.”

The archer adventurer expressed his plight to Walm, but there was no nod of approval.

“Is nothing but his head acceptable price?”

The man holding the large shield approached Walm, inquiring if there was any alternative plan.

“We need to settle this matter,” Walm said, though his answer was not explicit.

“I can’t accept…handing over Al’s head like this,” interjected the bow-wielding woman who had joined them from the side.

“Stay out of this, woman, I am talking to him,” Walm retorted, his tone becoming harsher.

“Amy, wait a moment,” said Al, the adventurer referred to. He frowned deeply, remaining silent for a few seconds before resigning himself to speak.

“Alright… I’ll give my head.”

“Al, don’t say something so foolish,” the woman said, grabbing his shoulder, but the blue-haired adventurer shook her off.

“There’s no other way.”

“Why not mine? Al and Amy are essential for the village. They can’t be allowed to die,” interjected the large shield bearer who had been fighting with Squad Leader Duwey.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Now you too, Fleck? What are you saying?”

“I was the one named specifically. There’s no need for you to die.”

To Walm’s annoyance, the three began arguing among themselves, leaving him out of the conversation as they debated whose head should be offered.

“Hah, what about the others? Just bystanders? This is getting us nowhere. At this rate, any of your heads will do,” Walm asked listlessly, but they just exchanged looks without volunteering.

“All the fallen Mayard soldiers were brave,” Walm taunted, but still no one responded, keeping their gazes averted.

In a sense, Walm felt a sense of relief and satisfaction at this show of typical human reaction. However, the farce unfolding among the three was like a bad play, and he was already feeling sick of their bickering.

If this had been a command from his company or battalion, Walm would have taken a head without hesitation. But he wasn’t really intent on taking anyone’s head now.

Despite their reputations, Walm didn’t want to kill skilled adventurers during an emergency and reduce their fighting strength. Besides, creating more animosity could lead to getting stabbed in the back during battle.

Nevertheless, something had to be done.

“Quiet, all of you. Now, line up there… and don’t worry. I won’t be beheading the three of you.”

Reluctantly, the three adventurers lined up side by side.

“Alright, let’s share the pain of the beheading,” Walm proposed.

“What do you mean by that?” Al asked, puzzled.

“I’ll beat you all until I feel satisfied. No, I’ll beat everyone. Well, I don’t think you’ll die from it anyway.”

Walm took a short run-up and punched Al in the face. Al’s prominent, high nose bent under the blow, and blood spurted from it.

“Stand up,” Walm commanded.

The blue-haired adventurer stood up silently. Walm grabbed his hair and delivered a knee strike, twisting his nose even more.

“Ah, that’s better.”

The large shield bearer stepped forward voluntarily. Good spirit. Walm’s full-strength blow hit the man’s cheek. He continued to punch the man’s face repeatedly, swelling it up until the man’s jaw shook and he collapsed.

The bow-wielding woman stood quietly upright. Walm, instead of aiming for her face, suddenly punched her in the ribcage. Struck in the liver, she twisted her face in pain.

As she bravely endured, Walm delivered a second and third blow, causing her to vomit stomach fluids and writhe on the ground.

The three adventurers continued to stand silently. After three rounds, their faces were swollen as if stung by countless bees.

“The rest of you, line up. For their sake, I’ll limit it to three times,” Walm said.

The remaining defeated soldiers gritted their teeth and lined up. By the end, the ground was stained with spouted blood and expelled vomit.

“There won’t be a second time. If you betray me, I’ll cut the tendons in your hands and feet and throw each of you from the castle walls. This applies to everyone, regardless of age or gender.”

Walm cut his speech short, giving them time to chew over his words, and then concluded.

“That’s enough for a reunion. Welcome to the end of Mayard, to Dandurg Castle,” Walm said, shaking the blood off his fists as he smiled at the villagers. Unfortunately, there was no warm applause or energetic response.