“This is bad. Really, this is very bad.”

A man passed in front of the soldiers standing in formation, lamenting as he walked. Even through his armor, his frame appeared thin and elongated, his complexion far from healthy. In contrast to his frail body, his ornate armor looked almost ceremonial, creating a mismatch that made him resemble a modest, self-denying preacher.

Put less kindly, he looked like the sort of frail noble or priest who knew nothing of real battle. To those who made the battlefield their workplace, he should have been the kind of man they despised.

But when that brilliant armor was stained with layers of dark, unwashed blood, there was no one who could laugh at him. If anything, the tension hanging about him was so intense that it made even swallowing feel forbidden. It was no wonder, as engraved on his breastplate was the emblem of the Rehazen Knight Order.

“And yet, when it came to plundering along the way, you were all so full of spirit.”

He wasn’t an ordinary knight of the order. One of the men standing at the very summit of knighthood, the vice commander himself, was walking among them while lamenting the state of the battle. The Rehazen Knight Order was the kingdom of Crest’s instrument of violence, created to deal with both internal and external threats. That was the impression people of foreign lands held of them. Even the people of the former Felius lineage and the citizens of Crest were broadly lumped together and called militia, but only those led by the knights were recognized as standing troops.

In the kingdom of Crest, only those of noble birth with blue blood in their veins, who endured the education and training selection that began in childhood, were called knights. Even the ideals of the order, which upheld noblesse oblige, had become horrifically radicalized in the eyes of ordinary townsfolk and peasants. Whether aware of the unease such thoughts stirred among the soldiers of former Felius descent or not, vice commander Cylance of the Rehazen Knight Order addressed the militiamen.

“The comrades and officers you lost on the plain were excellent men. Their loss is truly regrettable. We have lost people of great worth, and my heart aches for them. And yet… compared to them, what are you doing?”
No one answered, but Cylance didn’t care either way.

“Using reorganization as an excuse, you have made no real effort to apply pressure on the pass. With such cowardice, what do you think you can accomplish?”

Turning his gaze toward the dwindling number of officers, Cylance began listing facts to the dwindling number of commanders.

“Despite everything, you have even allowed the enemy to launch limited offensives. Worse still, you let them withdraw back through the pass at their leisure. That can only be called negligence. It is nothing short of disgraceful.”

Just blaming them would change nothing. Cylance had come to restore the offensive route at Orzelika. It was also his duty to offer guidance in a way the soldiers could understand.

“That said, beginning with Parumast, your chief 100-man commander, many officers and leaders have fallen in battle. The Demon Fire user guarding the cut is exceptionally powerful. Many of our brethren were also cut down at Sarajevo Fortress. It’s no wonder you have struggled. I will overlook a single defeat, and even a cowardly offensive.”

Having shown leniency, Cylance offered words of acknowledgment to those who had fought. The air around the soldiers began to loosen with relief. Then a dry clap rang out. Needless to say, it came from the vice commander.

“But… there is one thing that concerns me. What are these men? Would someone care to explain?”

His expression turned blank again. As though unable to comprehend what he saw, Cylance sought instruction. At the end of his scrutinizing gaze sat three soldiers bound with their hands behind their backs. Their faces had been beaten so badly they were barely recognizable, and there wasn’t a single spot left untouched. The only remaining 100-man commander answered, his voice heavy with bitter shame.

“…Deserters. My command… was lacking.”

“Hard to believe. You there, do you have anything to say in your defense?”

Cylance folded his knees and lowered himself, speaking to them at eye level. The deserters all began babbling at once.

“My family… my family is back home!”

“I lost my head, that’s all! Every time I see the blue flames, my legs start shaking!”

“P-please, show mercy!”

Cylance listened intently, nodding several times as he carefully considered their pleas.

“I see, I see. I understand your position. And then? Your comrades have families, your enemies have families, and I, too, have family. We all fear the blue flames. So what else is there? Do you have some duty that justifies abandoning your comrades and fleeing? Please, enlighten me.”

He didn’t receive the response he had hoped for. All that came from them were groans and words that meant nothing. Why were people so foolish, so weak? An overwhelming sense of sorrow and disappointment welled up within him.

“Surely… you don’t mean to say there is nothing? That you simply prioritized your own feelings? You shamelessly betrayed your unit, betrayed the nation, and imposed an unreasonable burden upon your comrades. A thing that can’t labor for the sake of the community is no different from a monster that ought to be exterminated.”

“N-no… nooo!”

“Give us another chance! We can fight, we will fight!”

“You misunderstand. We showed mercy to you, who had lost your homeland, and gave you a branch to rest upon. There will not be a second time. Never. Now then… proceed.”

At Cylance’s signal, the soldiers assigned as executioners pinned the deserters down and looped ropes around their necks. The other end of each rope was tied to a great tree, its branches long since burned away by the flames of war, now withered and decaying like a dead husk.

“Hang them. Slowly, and with care. Don’t break their necks.”

Strangulation from a height was considered a merciful method of execution. A shattered cervical spine and consciousness was lost in an instant. Humane, in its own way.

But such a death was too generous for the ones before him. Before they were allowed the comfort of an easy end, they would perform one final duty. Their bodies were lifted higher and higher until the soles of their boots lost all contact with the ground. Their legs kicked desperately, finding nothing to grasp.

“Gghk… ghuuugh?!”

With bloodshot eyes, they glared resentfully at the vice commander. Even so, the way they now struggled to fulfill their “duty” was, in its own way, admirable. Without blinking, Cylance stood perfectly still, meeting their gaze head-on. It was a pity that their eyes eventually faltered and turned away. In the end, they were half-hearted even to the last second. Cylance had wanted to commend their final service, to convey his praise through his eyes.

Until the deserters’ consciousness and lives had fully faded, Cylance had counted two hundred breaths. The bodies that had swung like pendulums gradually slowed, until only the sound of dripping piss and shit striking the ground remained. The creak of the ropes, the faint, strangled breaths… nothing else remained. Only a controlled, absolute silence.

“Splendid. That is what it means to be human.”

Having witnessed the end of the defeatists, Cylance turned back around.

There, in front of him, was the order he so loved. The soldiers’ slack postures and attitudes had been corrected, and now they leaned in, intent on not missing even a whisper of his words. In death, those men had delivered a final lesson. By dying, they had served the community.

“Take them down and bury them with care.”

Before the heat of the moment cooled, Cylance moved on to the next stage.

“I have no intention of ordering you all to die. I shall advance with you myself. Furthermore, commander Gran has made thorough preparations against the imperial knight. I promise you proper reinforcements.”

The soldiers had shown him something. With respect and resolve held in his mind, Cylance had to answer them. With his body, his soul, and every last fragment of his life. That was noblesse oblige. That was the duty of those who stood above others.

“Now then, gentlemen… let us wage war once more.”

Translator – Lyxxna