Chapter 150 - That Death and Honor Are Not the Same (14)
The 1st and 2nd Platoons of the 2nd Company, led by Ernest, had taken a wide detour across the battlefield and were now waiting to the southwest.
Their position was nothing short of brilliant: they were stationed right in front of the reinforcements that Bertrand had ordered into place.
As the Belliang Army took position, barely thirty paces away, the 2nd Company members could hardly even breathe from the tension.
'This is insane! Completely insane!'
Billim cursed endlessly in his mind.
What they were doing simply made no sense.
There were barely fifty members of the 2nd Company left here, and half of them, unable to even shoot, would have to fight in close quarters with their Balt Guns.
And yet, just ahead of them, more than a hundred Belliang soldiers were forming ranks, aiming loaded muzzles their way.
Without even a Baltracher, what could they possibly hope to accomplish like this?
"This isn't going to work,"
Robert whispered to Ernest, his voice strained from dehydration and a nagging cold.
It seemed that Bertrand, in his thoroughness to overwhelm them with sheer might and numbers, had prepared so carefully that even a surprise attack from the rear would be useless.
"It'll work."
But Ernest was certain.
At the very least, he believed they could reach Bertrand.
He couldn't explain this conviction to Robert or the rest of the company in detail.
If he tried, he wouldn't even know where or how to begin, or just how much talking it would take to convince anyone.
Ernest looked around at the 2nd Company soldiers precariously hidden among the thickets and trees.
When he caught Gustav's eye, he gave a slight nod.
The veteran Non-commissioned Officer, Sergeant Gustav, crawled forward slowly, clutching his rifle tightly as he pressed himself flat against the ground.
"If you raise your head here, you'll see trees shaped like this on your left."
Ernest, also lying flat, whispered as he scratched lines into the dirt with his dagger.
"If you move to the left around this tree, this is the view you'll see. If you slip in between these trees here, you should be able to flank the enemy. Take about ten men with you."
Ernest gave his orders without hesitation, as if he could see the entire terrain perfectly even at that moment. He had only scouted the area once yesterday, but had already memorized the whole arrangement.
"What if we're spotted?"
"Don't force it—fall back and hold your ground. I'll take care of the rest."
"Yes, sir."
Gustav immediately signaled to Sven, Squad Leader of 3rd Squad, 2nd Platoon. Sven looked back at his squad members, jerked his chin, and, still crawling, led them left to follow Gustav.
"Robert, you'll cover the front."
"What about you?"
"I'm going to break into the enemy camp with the 2nd Platoon."
"C-Company Commander…"
"Madsen, if you're scared, you can stay here."
Billim, who had suddenly found himself about to plunge into the middle of the enemy with Ernest, called out to him in a trembling voice.
Ernest, with a cold expression, whispered back,
"I don't have time to worry about you right now. Make your decision and act on it. Will you stay with 1st Platoon, or will you come with me?"
Billim felt like he was about to lose his mind.
If he could follow his heart, he would have liked to stay with 1st Platoon.
No, honestly, he just wanted to turn around and run away right then.
The truth was, Billim was a coward who didn't belong on the battlefield. He knew that about himself better than anyone.
And yet, strangely enough, part of him wanted to follow Ernest and slip into the enemy camp.
It wasn't for honor or glory—he just felt he had to do it, that this was the responsibility he bore as a noble and an officer.
"Do you think we can win?"
Billim asked Ernest, barely clinging to a sliver of hope. Ernest answered him firmly:
"No, we can't win."
"..."
Billim stared blankly at Ernest, his face falling as all hope drained from it. Seeing that look, Ernest gave him a faint, dry smile, his face like a withered tree.
"I'm just doing everything I can to survive, Billim. I have no thoughts of victory. That's all."
The worn-out, exhausted seventeen-year-old Ernest, wearing an expression that reminded Billim of his father, muttered those words and began crawling across the rough forest floor, his rifle in hand.
Ralf and Kol from 2nd Platoon exchanged brief glances, quietly signaling the soldiers to follow. They slipped soundlessly after Ernest. It was only then that Billim realized he stood at a critical crossroads.
"Damn it."
Billim muttered a curse, gripping his rifle tightly with trembling hands, and started crawling after Ernest, low to the ground.
As he crawled, trying to raise his head to look ahead, the weight of his helmet felt like it might snap his neck. To make matters worse, the damned helmet kept sliding down his face—he wanted nothing more than to toss it away. Still, thanks to Bailey's harsh training, Billim had gotten used to crawling through forests, and now he could follow Ernest rather skillfully.
Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat-tat! Waaaaa!
From the other side of the forest came the sounds signaling the start of battle. Ernest paused, taking cover behind a tangle of tree roots, catching his breath. Carefully, he slipped off his conspicuous metal helmet and very slowly lifted his head.
The noise of the battle had distracted the enemy's attention; for a brief moment, Ernest was able to peek out and survey the enemy's positions.
'This is tough.'
The enemy scouts were positioned thickly throughout the area. It would be impossible to infiltrate completely unnoticed. There was no doubt—they would be spotted, and a fight would break out.
'If only we had three Rangers with us.'
Ernest missed the Rangers so much it was driving him crazy. If only he had just three real Rangers, they could slip in swiftly, taking out two or three enemies at a time while blocking their line of sight.
"..."
Ernest looked over at Ralf. Ralf inched closer until he was right beside Ernest.
As Ernest caught his rough breath from crawling on the ground, he whispered into Ralf's ear.
"There are enemies taking cover twenty paces straight ahead. Take only the three fastest men, and when I give the signal, take them out quietly."
"Tsk, yeah… Well, we'll give it a try."
It didn't seem likely to work, but they didn't have any other choice. Ralf picked out three squad members, and they waited, sprawled on the ground.
Meanwhile, Ernest crept off to the right, staying hidden, and set his rifle down.
Very slowly, he drew two daggers—one for each hand. While watching Ralf and waiting for an opportunity amidst the relentless noise of gunfire and shouting, he nodded.
Tap.
All five lowered their bodies and sprinted forward like beasts.
Tat-tat-tat!
Any noise they made was drowned out by the gunfire. It was only possible because they timed their movement precisely during the lull between volleys.
Ralf, along with the three soldiers who had run with him, rushed at two Belliang soldiers who were completely distracted by the gunfire.
"Hup!"
Ralf and his men, who had crawled low across the ground, stabbed forward with their bayonets without hesitation. In situations like this, it was always best to aim for the chest.
Not only was it the most lethal, but stabbing into the lungs also prevented the enemy from screaming, leaving them only able to issue weak groans as the air escaped their chest.
Having gone through hellish close quarters combat in the Bertagne Forest more than once, Ralf and the 1st Squad soldiers of the 2nd Platoon skillfully took down their targets and killed them silently. Of course, if it hadn't been for the covering gunfire, they would have been discovered immediately.
"Huh? What was that?"
Above all, another Belliang soldier taking cover elsewhere caught a glimpse of them rushing past.
However, they moved so quickly and darted between thickets and trees that he couldn't be sure what he'd seen.
Thunk!
Just as the enemy turned his head toward Ralf's position, Ernest—who had been just a bit slower to charge in—drove his dagger into the soldier's neck and used that weight to slow himself.
Thunk!
Pivoting on the body of the man whose throat he'd just stabbed, Ernest swung around and drove his other dagger into the side of another soldier's neck.
Thud.
In the blink of an eye, Ernest had killed two armed soldiers with nothing but two daggers.
Despite his heart pounding in his chest, he lay flat on the ground with an expressionless face and crawled forward to take up a new position.
'Good grief. How did I even do that?'
Ernest was almost frightened by what he'd just done, unable to understand what had come over him.
No matter how much training Ernest had received from Haires, it was impossible for him to kill two people at once by predicting their every move and reaction with such accuracy.
His physical abilities hadn't improved.
In fact, Ernest was barely able to move at all due to dehydration and exhaustion.
What made this possible was that, in Ernest's mind, every action he needed to take had already been calculated.
It was as if he could see everything in the palm of his hand—Ernest was able to anticipate all their reactions, and, in that split second, he computed exactly what he had to do to dispatch them as quickly and safely as possible, then carried it out with precision.
He'd technically been capable of this before, too.
By carefully observing the enemy's movements and picking up on even the slightest habits, then replaying the scenario in his mind again and again before acting, he usually would have failed—but, every so often, it just might work.
In other words, it should have failed.
But it worked, and Ernest felt a surge of fear as he realized he was definitely not in a normal state.
It was as if he was being slowly dragged away to somewhere distant.
Still, the fact remained: there was now a small gap in the enemy's ranks, and the situation was far too urgent to waste time pondering himself. Ernest subtly raised his hand, signaling the 2nd Platoon behind him.
"Damn, how did you do that?" Kol, who had crawled over with Ernest's gun in tow, was so shocked that he ended up cursing at his Company Commander as he demanded an answer.
"I don't know. Don't ask me," Ernest replied.
But he couldn't explain it even if he wanted to—there was just no time. From the sounds coming from the campsite, he could tell the battle was going extremely poorly for the 1st Battalion. They seemed to be holding out for now, but they'd hit their limit soon.
For now, the 2nd Platoon had slipped inside the enemy camp and settled into position.
Along the way, they also seized four loaded powder guns from the enemy.
But now, it was time to fight.
Moving forward without being discovered any longer was impossible, and they couldn't afford to delay any more.
"Damn it, I can't believe I'm doing this again."
Ralf muttered curses under his breath as he struggled to focus on Ernest's signal.
But a cynical smile—almost a smirk—played at his lips. Even though he knew that from this moment on, hell was about to break loose, he couldn't help but laugh.
Maybe that was because Ralf, as a man, had become completely broken by war.
Whoosh!
In a forest dominated by gunshots and shouting, the cheerful call of a bird suddenly rang out.
Those watching Ernest gripped their guns and readied themselves to rush forward.
"Charge!"
"Uraaaaagh!"
At that signal, Robert immediately led the 1st Platoon in a charge. From the Belliang Army's perspective, it was nothing short of a disaster.
They never imagined the 2nd Company could have arrived before them and already taken up position. They assumed that if the enemy attacked, they would see them coming from far away and be able to stop them with their firepower.
But now, the enemy had suddenly sprung up right in front of them and were charging straight at them!
For soldiers who were used to gunfights, the terror of close quarters combat was unimaginably deep and overwhelming.
When they first experienced it, many soldiers hesitated, unwilling to stab and kill an enemy with their own hands, and died because of that hesitation.
Others, shoved together so close they could feel each other's breath, became panicked from the terror of killing and being killed face to face.
In a shootout across the plains, a soldier's level of training doesn't make much of a difference—everyone is more or less the same.
However, in a firefight within the forest, the level of training becomes a clear factor, and when it comes to close quarters combat in the woods, nine times out of ten, the side with more experienced men wins.
The more complex the terrain, and the less advantage advanced weaponry provides, the greater the impact each soldier's training has on the outcome of the battle.
Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat! Bang!
"Argh!"
"Charge! Charge!"
The 1st Platoon didn't get greedy trying to pick off every enemy with their guns; instead, they fired decisively at the areas where the enemy was located, without a moment's hesitation.
Their suppressive fire truly managed to pin down the enemy, and the 1st Platoon raced through the tangled terrain, overwhelming their foes in one swift move.
"Hold."
Gustav remained crouched and motionless, hidden alongside Sven's 3rd Squad.
It simply wasn't their time to move yet.
"It's the enemy!"
"We're under surprise attack! Support our troops!"
"No! Maintain formation! If you rush in, they'll break through our lines!"
The Belliang Army was thrown into chaos by the lightning-fast ambush.
For a brief moment, the commanders were thrown into confusion.
The soldiers split between those who broke formation and those who held their positions, leading to a temporary scattering of their firepower.
"Now!"
Ernest and the veteran non-commissioned officer Gustav, both clearly beyond ordinary, immediately seized that razor-thin opportunity.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
They sprang up and fired at the enemy.
Gustav didn't get greedy; he quickly ducked back behind cover and started to reload.
The enemy, caught off guard by the ambush, was in disarray.
As long as Gustav and the 3rd Squad kept firing from their hiding spot, they could pin down the enemy, if only for a little while.
If they charged recklessly and the enemy realized they were only a handful—barely ten men—their opponents would launch a full-scale attack and everything would fall apart.
"Ralf! Block the enemy on the right!"
"Yes, sir!"
Ernest sent Ralf's 1st Squad to the right, and they raced over without hesitation, quickly taking position to hold back the enemy.
"Follow me!"
"Uraaaagh!"
Shouting with his gun in hand, Ernest took the lead.
Billim, trying to shake off his terror, let out a fierce yell and charged after Ernest.
Kol's 2nd Squad followed close behind with battle cries of their own.
"Die! Die!"
"You bastards!"
"Go back home and have some more of your mother's milk!"
Although not quite on the level of the 2nd Platoon, the 1st Platoon members—hardened veterans who had survived the Bertagne Forest—were overwhelming the Belliang troops blocking their way in close quarters combat.
Fewer than thirty men from 1st Platoon were fiercely driving back more than fifty enemies.
But then the Belliang soldiers, who still had their guns loaded, opened fire and began inflicting heavy casualties.
In the short span since the melee started, over a dozen members of the 1st Platoon fell, shot dead or wounded.
"Behind, behind! Behind you—behind you!"
Because the Belliang soldiers had already emptied their magazines fighting the 1st Platoon in close quarters, most of their shots flew off into the air in panic—some even hit their own allies.
At the height of this confusion, Ernest and the 2nd Squad of the 2nd Platoon, who had been waiting in reserve inside the formation, suddenly attacked from behind.
Despite their numerical advantage, the Belliang soldiers lost their will to fight.
With his bayonet drawn, Ernest hurled himself into the thick of the battlefield.
For a fleeting instant, the world through his eyes spun around him like a storm.
Thunk! Thud!
Ernest rammed his bayonet into an enemy's back, then barreled forward with his shoulder, yanking the blade free in a single motion.
Crack!
"Ugh!"
He smashed another foe on the head with the stock as he drew out his bayonet, then slashed sideways to parry an attack, retreating a step to his left.
"Ah…"
In the midst of this deadly melee, a brief gap opened up.
Ernest pressed in close to block one side, pinning an enemy soldier who was reeling from the blow to the head with his stock.
At the same time, the body of the first soldier Ernest had stabbed collapsed on the other, blocking another path.
The 2nd Squad was charging in from behind.
That meant the only direction from which Ernest could be attacked was from the right, but Ernest stepped left out of the enemy's range.
There were dozens of Belliang soldiers surrounding him, yet not a single one could touch Ernest.
Right now, the only person who could move freely was Ernest himself.
With just a few light attacks and a single step back, he completely controlled the battlefield.
Whoosh!
Ernest flipped his gun and swung it.
The bayonet made a quick arc, slashing the neck of a staggering soldier.
Gripping his rifle short, Ernest protected his body while shoving past the collapsing enemy, forcing his way deeper.
"You crazy—!"
"Waaah!"
Even though the Belliang soldiers lacked close-quarters combat experience, Ernest alone caused their formation to utterly collapse.
Through the gap he'd punched open, the 2nd Squad charged forward with a wild yell, and soon everyone was tangled together in a chaotic melee.
And the more confused the fight became, the greater advantage the experienced 2nd Company had.
Ernest moved, analyzing and comprehending everything within his field of vision.
He assigned priorities to every action and never deviated from them.
Relying on the battle logic he'd learned from Father Haires, he made a clear distinction between what must be done and what must not, what could be done and what couldn't, focusing solely on defending himself and subduing his enemies.
"Ugh... what is that lunatic..."
Robert, who was in lousy shape from dehydration and a fever and was never any help even on a good day, watched everything unfold from the rear.
Seeing his friend—whom he thought he knew well—single-handedly breaking through the enemy with nothing but a bayoneted rifle, collapsing their lines and dominating the battle itself, suddenly made all of this feel completely unreal to him.
Thanks to Ernest's attack on the enemy's rear—completely breaking their formation—the 1st Platoon was able to wipe out the enemy without suffering any further casualties.
It was an unbelievable achievement, yet, unfortunately, the 2nd Company also took heavy losses.
And now, they had to immediately throw themselves into an even fiercer, more dangerous battle.
"Reload!"
"Reload! Reload!"
The 2nd Company began to reload while taking cover.
The situation was urgent, but if they charged at the enemy, who was now on alert, they would be mowed down and annihilated.
"Gustav! I'm leaving it to you!"
"Yes, sir!"
Ernest gave an audacious order to Gustav, who was old enough to be his father, and Gustav responded with strength.
Whenever Ernest was focused on battle, he always issued commands with this kind of unwavering firmness—completely different from his usual politeness—and seeing him like this inspired an inexhaustible trust deep within everyone's hearts.
"Prepare to charge."
"Get ready! Ready! Form up!"
"Prepare to charge!"
At Ernest's decisive command, Robert and Billim relayed the order and helped everyone form up.
Just moments ago, Billim had charged through the enemy lines in close quarters combat right behind Ernest without lifting a finger in fear, carried by a courage that seemed to have come out of nowhere.
However, the situation was grim.
The enemy, even at the cost of sacrificing their own soldiers, chose to maintain their formation, making it impossible to capitalize on the element of surprise.
If they engaged in a frontal clash, even if they managed to break into the enemy camp and reach Bertrand, they would collapse from exhaustion.
"Now."
Ernest muttered.
"It's now! Baltracher!"
At the same time, Ferdinand, who had been standing tall and glaring across the battlefield despite a hail of bullets, shouted in a booming voice.
"Forward!"
"Damn it!"
Bruno ordered the three Baltrachers, who served as his legs, to advance.
Cursing under their breath, they carried Bruno and staggered forward at a breathless pace.
"Ugh!"
But running like that through the forest was no easy feat.
They didn't get far before collapsing, and Bruno—stripped to the waist and strapped with the Balt Battery—rolled across the ground.
"Aaagh!"
The hard Balt Battery thumped painfully against his body, making him wish he could roll across the ground in nothing but his bare skin.
Wincing in real agony, Bruno sprang back up, stumbled forward a few more steps, his joints—hips and knees—banging against the Balt Battery as he lurched on.
"Push them ahead!"
Isaac, who had also scrambled to his feet, shouted to Bruno.
Immediately afterward, a pale Balt Light surged forth like a crashing wave.
BOOM!
Balt poured out from Bruno's body, slamming into the front with all its might.
What Bruno chose was neither the Barrier nor the Balt Wind.
Instead, he used the most basic yet most aggressive form—Balt Psychokinesis—to simply push everything ahead of him with all his strength.
"AAARGH!"
He poured out everything he had in that single instant.
The force was so overwhelming that even the sound seemed to be drowned out by the impact, leaving a ringing emptiness in its wake.
Belliang soldiers toppled in waves, and tree branches whipped wildly as if swept by a storm.
"Ugh…"
Bruno, unable to withstand the dizziness, flailed his arms and collapsed.
Just once.
But that once was enough.
The aftermath of the Balt Psychokinesis spread farther than anyone had expected.
Even Bertrand and the Royal Guard, safely positioned towards the rear, were caught in its effects; the shockwaves rolled all the way through, creating a brief void as if the battle had halted for a moment.
"Sir Estelle!"
Just as Estelle was about to finish off Bruno—who was still draped with Balt Batteries—a desperate voice called her name, making her quickly whip her head around.
Because of the Balt Psychokinesis, the Royal Guard's Shield Wall had collapsed, and in the gap, Jade was shielding Bertrand with his body while looking straight at Estelle.
"Tsk."
Estelle already knew that Bruno still had at least a little strength left in him.
No matter how much energy he poured in, there's always a limit to output.
It's impossible to use up all those Balt Batteries at once.
Even if Bruno had reached his limit, there were still three other Baltrachers right behind him.
Now was the moment to finish them off and eliminate any further variables.
"Charge!"
"Waaaaah!"
But the variable itself—Damn Ernest, Damn Krieger—took advantage of the brief shock from the Balt Psychokinesis and suddenly broke through the rear ranks, charging forward in an instant.
Just how had he done it?
With the chaos and deafening noise on the battlefield, there was no way to exchange signals from the far side, and yet he had perfectly timed the Baltrachers' involvement and the moment to charge.
The force that broke through the lines with Ernest numbered less than ten.
The rest were busy pinning down the enemy in close quarters combat after unleashing a volley of gunfire.
Right in the heart of this madness, Bertrand realized that the place that should have been the safest had become the most dangerous spot on the entire battlefield.
The instant Bertrand spotted a young, helmetless greenhorn among the incoming enemies—with a face as pale as death—he was struck with the sudden, lightning-bolt clarity that this was the bastard who had caused all of this.
Even now, the young man, his face drawn and gaunt like a withered tree, was charging at him with cold, focused eyes.
Bertrand was not so foolish as to think that someone like that could possibly be ordinary.
"Your Excellency!"
BANG!
The very moment their eyes met, Bertrand's knight, Jade, let out a shout as he threw himself over Bertrand, shielding his body.
Two seconds?
Nonsense.
The moment Ernest saw Bertrand exposed behind the collapsed Shield Wall, he aimed and fired in not even the blink of an eye.
It couldn't have taken even a second.
"Sir Jade!"
"…I'm fine. Your Excellency, please stay down."
Jade, who had blocked the bullet flying straight for Bertrand's exposed face with his arm, stood back up without so much as a groan. Thanks to his archaic gauntlet and vambrace, he had kept the bullet from tearing through his arm and shattering Bertrand's face.
With his wounded left hand dangling, Jade drew his pistol with his right and took aim at the approaching Ernest.
The Royal Guard Soldiers hefted their heavy shields, forming a new protective wall around Bertrand.
Bang!
Just before he was hidden behind the shield wall, Jade fired his Balt Pistol at Ernest.
But pain and shock from the gunshot wound slowed his reaction, if only by a fraction of a second.
"You monster bastard!"
In the instant Jade pulled the trigger and the hammer slammed forward, Ernest hurled himself aside.
The bullet grazed his breastplate, scraping past his ribs.
Ernest's mind was working at an unnaturally fast pace, and Jade's injury had left him just a bit dulled—enough to tip the balance.
It was an unbelievable feat, even witnessing it unfold, and for a moment, it made the young Ernest Krieger seem possessed by a power far greater than his own.
Estelle gave up on stopping the 1st Battalion's Baltrachers, focusing all her strength on killing Ernest instead.
He had already fired his shot, and the distance separating them was more than enough.
If it was Estelle, she could easily intercept Ernest—maybe even kill him.
"Guh"
At that moment, Estelle's charging body abruptly halted.
Startled, she whipped around to look behind her.
"..."
Three Baltrachers, having thrown themselves over Bruno's fallen body and clutching him close, were glaring at Estelle.
Unable to tell which battery still had a Balt remaining, they had, with visible disgust, held onto Bruno—who was all but naked—and used their Balt.
"Aaaaargh!"
In that fleeting gap, a handful of 2nd Company members led by Ernest charged forward with all their might, reaching the shield wall that protected Bertrand.
Bang bang bang bang!
But then, the Royal Guard fired their Balt Pistols between the shields, mowing them down in an instant. The only survivors were five soldiers who'd been at the rear, Ernest—who had thrown himself to the side and lagged behind—and Robert, who staggered after them half-dead, wheezing, barely able to keep up.
Ernest wanted to demand of Robert why he had followed them. But there was no time for that.
Because the Royal Guard were holding shields, it took them a moment to reload their Balt Guns. Seizing that brief opening, the 2nd Company members hurled themselves at the shields, clinging desperately.
"Aaaah!"
"..."
They tried with all their strength to pull the shields down and break through, but the Royal Guard barely budged.
Yet even they could not stop Ernest.
"Up!"
As the Royal Guard braced themselves, gripping their large shields, Jade's voice rang out in their ears.
They reflexively ducked their heads.
A dark shadow swept past them.
Thud!
Ernest sprang off the backs and shoulders of the 2nd Company members hanging onto the shields and landed inside the shield wall.
As Jade swung his sword, Ernest blocked it with his bayonet.
Jade tried to overpower Ernest, swinging his leg at him.
"Hmph!"
Having lowered his stance while landing, Ernest didn't try to meet Jade's kick aimed at his head; instead, he leapt backward to dodge it.
As Ernest's indifferent gaze met his own, chills ran down Jade's spine.
Thunk!
As Ernest threw himself backward, he drove his bayonet into the waist of a Royal Guard Soldier.
Then, pressing his back firmly against the Guard's, he used his own body as a pivot to yank the gun sideways, ripping the wound open.
The Royal Guard, unable to wear armor because their shields were so heavy, was disabled by that single strike.
Ernest didn't even have time to pull out his bayonet; he simply let go of the gun and, like drawing a lightning-fast dagger, pulled out his knife to block Jade's sword.
Clang!
"You…!"
"..."
Jade was a knight.
With just a single sword, he could cut down dozens of soldiers in close quarters combat.
Even if his left hand was unusable due to injury, he should have been able to finish off a greenhorn like this in the blink of an eye.
Yet right now, Jade was facing the greatest crisis of his life.
If both his hands had been fine, he could have killed Ernest with his last attack.
But with only one hand, he didn't think he had a chance.
Jade held a long one-handed sword, while Ernest had nothing but a short dagger barely the length of a handspan.
Yet the moment their blades met, Jade could instantly sense that even if both his hands were uninjured, defeating this young man would not be easy.
More than anything else, those calm, steady eyes were driving him into a corner.
Ernest was certain of himself, and so he did not waver.
Jade realized that, to Ernest, everything was already over.
Just how far ahead could he see?
Ernest drew another dagger and attacked Jade.
Who in their right mind would even consider rushing an armored knight wielding a long one-handed sword with only two daggers?
At least, Jade had never once imagined such a thing, not even in his dreams; and yet, to his horror, Ernest wielded both daggers with an uncanny skill, blocking all of Jade's attacks and relentlessly pressing in.
It wasn't a typical dual wielding style like the Rapier and Main-gauche, which clearly divides offense and defense, but rather, each arm moved as if orchestrated by a separate person, acting independently yet still perfectly optimized for combat in ways that didn't violate any martial logic.
Jade realized he could not beat Ernest with only one hand.
Stepping back, he drew his sword in close, his wrist moving smoothly yet with tension, and swiftly swung his blade.
Clang!
Ernest barely blocked it with the dagger in his left hand, and at the moment the blades collided, Jade instantly reversed his swing, hoping to catch Ernest off guard.
Yet even that was blocked by the dagger in Ernest's right hand.
However, the key detail was that both of Ernest's hands were now up, focused on defense.
Jade was skilled enough of a knight to create and control this situation.
When Jade swung his sword the second time, his right foot was already off the ground. If he could just kick Ernest in the stomach and push him away, the tide of the battle could turn.
Thud.
Blocked.
Ernest raised his left foot high and pressed down hard on Jade's thigh. Jade's leg dropped, his balance unsteady.
Recalling the moment he had blocked Yurgen's kick, Ernest defended against Jade's sword with the dagger in his right hand while thrusting forward with the dagger in his left.
He could read Jade's every move as if looking at the palm of his hand—his stance, the shifting of his weight, the look in his eyes, the hesitation and resolve Ernest could feel through their contact.
Clang! Thud!
Ernest blocked Jade's reckless attack—one that ignored his own life and sought only to kill—and then shoved him aside and sent him tumbling away.
When you can read an opponent's intent and see right through their purpose, that alone is enough.
Even though Ernest was wounded, he simply swept aside the formidable knight Jade from before him.
Beyond that, Ernest now charged straight at Bertrand.
"Your Excellency!" Jade cried out.
Even the Royal Guard hadn't expected that the knight Jade could lose a close quarters fight to such a greenhorn, so they turned in shock, breaking their formation and letting the 2nd Company members pour in.
Bertrand retreated, and Ernest reached out to grab him...
"Ah."
Bertrand, stepping on some moss, slipped and fell hard. Startled, Ernest's voice rang out—empty, just like the voice of a bewildered fourteen-year-old suddenly confronted with an unexpected problem.
The tip of Ernest's fingernail scraped across Bertrand's helmet as he fell, catching on an ornament and snapping off.
Even in that moment, Bertrand still hadn't realized he was falling.
For Bertrand, everything that happened in those moments passed by in a blur.
All he could really register was that something was happening.
His ability to perceive movement and react was so sluggish, he couldn't grasp anything except the fact that he was in danger.
Who would ever believe that the only reason Bertrand managed to escape Ernest's grasp—when even Jade had been so easily brushed aside—was because he slipped and fell after stepping on some moss?
"Ahh!"
"Krieger!"
Realizing far too late that he had fallen and that Ernest's attack had barely missed, Bertrand rolled across the ground, letting out a wail.
Right then, the Star of Summer—Estelle Pouarrié—came hurtling toward Ernest like a meteor.
From anyone's perspective, absolutely nothing in this situation was working out properly—no one could predict what would happen next.
This was the true fog of the battlefield, and now even Ernest himself had become blind within it.
Having missed his first and perhaps only golden opportunity, Ernest muttered to himself.
"Shit."
It was a curse he had heard countless times but never used himself—not until now, when everything had gone so awry and exhaustion had finally caught up with him.
This was the worst.