Following that day, Gael often saw Kike, Prince Benicio’s son, spending time with Bart, a new acquaintance from the Astros Mercenary Group. Bart was the boy with the extraordinary qualities that Gael had noticed earlier, a guest member who had recently joined the mercenaries.
Kike trailed after the mercenary like a chick following a mother hen, probably because there were no other children in the republican camp, and his father, Prince Benicio, was either busy with strategy meetings or drowned in liquor.
The problem seemed to be that Kike’s new friend, despite being younger than most adult mercenaries, acted much older.
“It’s no good to let your frustration lead to self-destructive actions.”
“Do you know? Sometimes you talk really difficult stuff. I don’t always understand what you mean.”
“…It means if you’re tangled, throwing away your weapon recklessly might cause harm.”
The boy sighed as he comforted Kike, sitting on the ground.
Curious about what had happened, Gael approached and saw a deep gash on the child’s shin, bleeding profusely – a result of throwing a dagger in frustration, causing it to bounce back and hit his leg.
“Kike, you should go back to your father’s tent and get this treated…”
As he was speaking, Gael witnessed something unbelievable. Bart’s hand hovered over the wound, and a holy white light emanated from it, healing Kike’s injury instantly.
‘…Divine power?’
Wasn’t this boy supposed to be a swordsman?
While Gael was stunned, Kike seemed unfazed, probably used to such occurrences.
“Thanks, hyung.”
Kike dusted off his trousers and thanked Bart before running energetically towards the camp.
“……”
Left alone with the boy, Gael examined him with renewed curiosity. The more he looked, the more the boy seemed like a collection of incongruous elements.
A noble-like wandering mercenary. An empire-born Ortonan speaker. A swordsman with divine power.
Gael couldn’t help but ask.
“Your skill seems better than the medical priests in the camp. Why didn’t you become a priest?”
Bart, who had been looking at Gael with an unreadable expression, replied with a question of his own.
“The staff here could use your talent in diplomacy. Why didn’t you become a scholar?”
Bart was referring to the occasional external propaganda documents Gael had written, replacing the demoralized staff. Gael himself thought he had done quite well.
But still, asking a swordsman and the youngest Sword Master in the continent why he chose the sword?
“…You’ve read those documents?”
“I have. They were eloquent. If the situation of the republicans was even slightly better, they might have inspired many from the royalist side to switch allegiances.”
“……”
In other words, the republic’s situation was so dire that, despite the eloquence, no one was swayed.
“Quite a pessimistic view. We don’t know how things will turn out yet.”
“Probably no surprises, General. Everyone knows the facts.”
“But many still sympathize with the republic’s cause. Isn’t your Astros Mercenary Group participating in the war with the support of Count Milo?”
“Count Milo is just playing his part. Do you really think he doesn’t know when to withdraw?”
Gael recalled the boy’s words to Kike. Count Milo was on the side of the merchant alliance.
A bitter smile crossed Gael’s face. He had suspected as much.
“Indeed. Anyway, I appreciate the heads-up. I’ll keep it in mind for the future.”
The boy then looked at Gael, observing him silently for a moment before casually placing a hand on the shoulder of the Sword Master.
“……!”
Gael was taken aback by his boldness.
The reason Gael let the boy continue was probably due to a certain confidence that he could respond to any sudden event.
The boy’s actions felt so natural and effortless.
Then, bright light beams erupted from Bart’s hand, enveloping Gael. Instantly, minor headaches and pains disappeared, and his muscles relaxed refreshingly.
For Gael, who hadn’t had much to do with injuries since becoming an aura user, it was a novel experience.
‘Is this what divine power feels like?’
After that day, Gael realized his own physical condition had deteriorated significantly. Engulfed in relentless duties, both on the front lines and in managing some of the staff’s workload, even his Sword Master’s stamina was being pushed to its limits.
Bart withdrew his hand and, turning away, commented, “You’re transforming the excessive pressure into passion for the republic, mistaking it as motivation. No matter how much you try to compensate, your aura can’t reach its potential under such strain.”
“…What do you mean?”
Gael asked, confused.
Kike’s words had at least one thing right: it was hard to understand what the boy meant.
Without turning back, Bart replied with a voice that felt coldly distant, “It means you’re being foolishly stubborn.”
Gael was at a loss for words, taken aback by the unexpected personal attack.
Yet, from the boy’s departing back, he sensed undeniable vibrations of sincerity.
* * *
Arrows rained down from all directions, accompanied by despair-filled screams.
The enemy, holding the high ground, relentlessly showered arrows, leaving the republicans’ archers scrambling for cover rather than returning fire.
“Weren’t they supposed to be retreating for supplies!”
Veteran General Gaspar of the republicans shouted in despair.
The republican forces were falling, one by one, to the senseless attack.
A miscalculation had been made following a scout’s report that the enemy’s main force was preparing to retreat. Despite the geographical disadvantage, the republicans had eagerly advanced with most of their right-wing forces.
Had they faced the enemy near the Castilla Fortress, they would have avoided such casualties.
But Count Castilla had no intention of offering the fortress to the republic’s remnants. He strictly controlled the gates, wary of the republicans.
Eventually, the republicans had to set up their position on the open plains, constantly fending off attacks from the royalist army.
Exhausted by the endless attrition, their attempt at a forced breakthrough was almost inevitable.
“General Gaspar!”
A knight, using a small cart for cover, dashed towards the veteran knight Gaspar during a brief lull in the arrow storm.
“We can’t hold on like this! We need to retreat now!”
“Where to? Where can we retreat?”
The veteran knight’s question made the other knight pause and look towards the southern plains.
The enemy’s main force, which they thought was retreating for supplies, had appeared behind them. Their right wing was now completely cut off from the central camp.
Drum beats echoed, and the royalist cavalry, full of morale, charged towards them.
General Gaspar’s forces had unwittingly walked into a trap, becoming the anvil for the enemy’s hammer.
The veteran knight gritted his teeth.
“Our only chance is to break through the less defended high ground ahead! Otherwise, we will be annihilated!”
“But…”
“Hold on a little longer! Advance even a step more towards the high ground! He will soon come to our aid!”
The knight’s shaky gaze steadied at the old general’s words. He nodded firmly and ran back to reorganize the archers.
Gael Bertrand.
The reason the republicans could hold their ground on the Andres Plains despite the unfavorable odds was due to one factor: the presence of the last sword of the republic.
He always rushed to the weakest point on the front lines, his mere presence deterring the enemy.
As expected, soon there was a disturbance at the rear of the enemy cavalry, just as they were about to collide with Gaspar’s right-wing forces.
With a flash, a long, blue aura blade shimmered, creating wave-like ripples.
“…General Gael!”
The enemy cavalry slowed noticeably. They hesitated, unsure whether to continue their charge towards the isolated republican forces or to turn back and counter the Sword Master’s assault.
Meanwhile, the icy blue sword blade began to slaughter the enemy cavalry from the rear. The swift strikes were so swift that not even screams were heard.
Amidst the chaos of the horses, the Sword Master plowed through in a straight line, cutting down enemies on both sides and slashing through the center of the cavalry.
Finally, a knight with a dignified demeanor arrived in front of General Gaspar, his chest split open.
The greatest swordsman of the East.
After slashing through the enemy cavalry without even breaking his breath, it was clear that Gael was a monster in combat.
“General Gaspar.”
Relieved to have narrowly escaped annihilation, the old general turned to Gael as he spoke calmly.
“The scout who brought the information about the enemy’s retreat was a spy from Castilla. I’ve just executed him and am on my way back from reorganizing the central camp.”
“Count Castilla, that man…”
Gaspar’s eyes blazed with fury.
He should have suspected from the moment the count locked down his territory. Count Castilla had sided with the royalists. He appeased them with small supplies while disrupting their intelligence, hoping for their demise in the Andres Plains!
Gael watched the trembling old general and then gave an order.
“Regroup the troops. A detachment from the center will soon engage the cavalry. We’ll use this opportunity to advance towards the high ground.”
His silver sword, Arjuna, remained unblemished by blood.
Gaspar gazed at the sword, realizing something. Gael had an uncanny ability to identify spies, almost as if he could read people’s minds.
“Ha ha ha ha!”
Suddenly, a boisterous laugh echoed from afar.
The royalist cavalry, which had hesitated upon spotting the Sword Master, was now thrown into chaos again by the central detachment that had followed Gael.
The cavalry formation collapsed in an instant.
Amidst the chaos, a large man wielding a bastard sword appeared, gleefully hammering into the cavalry. Most of the members of this new detachment were from a small mercenary group recently hired by one of their supporters.
Justin, the leader of the Astros Mercenary Group, shouted enthusiastically, “Attack, everyone! This is beyond our contract! No matter the cost, our generous General Gael won’t be stingy!”
“Generous…”
As Gaspar looked at Gael with a dumbfounded expression, Gael subtly averted his gaze.
