Chapter 45

"It's not good. Indeed, it's not good at all."

A man walked past the assembled soldiers, lamenting. His frame was so thin and long that it was visible even through his armor, and his skin color was far from healthy. In stark contrast to his frail body, his ornate armor looked more ceremonial, and the mismatch made him resemble a saintly cleric who valued poverty.

To put it harshly, he was a fragile noble or cleric who knew little of conflict. He should have been despised by those who made the battlefield their workplace. However, with the unmistakable stains of fresh blood on his resplendent armor, no one could mock him. Rather, the tension in the air was so thick that it made swallowing difficult. It was no wonder. The crest of the Rehazen Knights was engraved on his breastplate.

"You were so full of energy during the looting along the way, weren't you?"

He was not just any member of the group. The deputy commander, one of the top knights, was walking around, worried about the battle situation. The Rehazen Knights were the violent apparatus that the Kingdom of Creist used to deal with internal and external threats, and this was the impression that people from other countries had of them. Even among the old Felius residents and Creist citizens who were collectively called militia, only the soldiers they led were called regular troops.

In the Kingdom of Creist, only those who possessed blue blood and had endured the selection process of education and training from childhood were called knights. The chivalric ideals of the knightly order, which upheld noblesse oblige, seemed extremely radical to the common people and peasants. Unaware of the concerns of the old Felius soldiers, or perhaps aware, the deputy commander of the Rehazen Knights, Cyriance, addressed the militia.

"Your fallen comrades and commanders on the battlefield were excellent men. Their loss is lamentable. We have lost precious people. It pains my heart. In contrast, what are you doing?"

No one answered, but it didn't matter to Cyriance.

"You are making no effort to pressure the pass, citing reorganization as an excuse. What can you achieve with such hesitation?"

Cyriance listed the facts to the few remaining officers.

"Even if it's limited, you are inviting the enemy's offensive. Allowing them to return to the pass so easily is nothing but negligence. It's truly lamentable."

Merely blaming them would not lead to improvement. Cyriance had come to reorganize the attack on Orzeka. It was also his duty to offer help in a way that the soldiers could understand.

"However, many officers and non-commissioned officers, including the chief centurion Paramus, have been killed. The Oni-bi users guarding the pass are incredibly powerful. Many of our comrades have also fallen at the Sarejevo fortress. It's understandable that you are hesitant. I will not punish you for one defeat or a lack of aggressive action."

Cyriance showed leniency and even offered words of comfort to those who had fought. The soldiers, relieved, began to relax. Then, a dry sound of clapping echoed. It was undoubtedly from the deputy commander.

"But there is one thing that concerns me. Who are these people? Can you tell me?"

Cyriance, who had suddenly returned to a serious expression, asked for an explanation. The three soldiers, bound behind their backs, were sitting on the ground, their faces so swollen from beatings that no part was left unscathed. The only remaining centurion, with a sense of shame, revealed who they were.

"…They are deserters. My leadership was too lenient."

"Unbelievable. Do you have any defense, men?"

Cyriance knelt and leaned forward, addressing them. The deserters spoke in unison.

"My family, my family is in my hometown!!"

"It was a momentary lapse. When I saw the blue flames, my legs trembled."

"Please, have mercy."

Cyriance listened carefully, chewed over their words, and nodded several times.

"I see, I see. I understand your reasons. But? Your comrades, the enemy, and I all have families. We all fear the blue flames. Is there anything else? Is there a mission that justifies abandoning your comrades? Can you tell me?"

Cyriance did not get the response he hoped for. Only groans and meaningless words came out. Why are people so foolish and weak? An overwhelming sense of sadness and disappointment welled up inside him.

"Is there nothing? Just prioritizing personal feelings… You have shamefully betrayed your unit, your country, and placed an unreasonable burden on your comrades. Those who cannot work for the community are no different from monsters that should be eliminated."

"No, no, I don't want to, I don't want to!!"

"Give us one more chance, we can fight! We can fight!!"

"You are mistaken. We showed you mercy as a perch when you lost your country. There will be no second chance. Never. Now, proceed."

At Cyriance's signal, the soldiers designated to carry out the execution restrained the deserters and tied ropes around their necks. The other end of the ropes was tied to a large tree that had lost its branches in the war and was withering like a dead log.

"Hang them. Slowly and respectfully, do not break their necks."

High hanging was a merciful method of execution. The crushing of the cervical vertebrae, the instantaneous loss of consciousness. It was very humane. But for the defeatists before him, it was an excessive punishment. They had to perform their final task before they could die. The bodies being lifted gradually rose higher and higher, their feet completely off the ground. Their flailing legs caught nothing.

"Guh, ugh!!?"

Their bloodshot eyes glared hatefully at the deputy commander. Their final attempt to do their duty was admirable. They stood straight, meeting his gaze without blinking. It was a pity that their gaze wavered halfway. They were still half-measures. Cyriance wanted to acknowledge and praise their final service with his eyes.

Cyriance counted his breaths to two hundred until the deserters' consciousness and life completely faded. The bodies, swinging like pendulums, gradually slowed, and the sound of droplets of excrement hitting the ground echoed. The only sounds were the creaking of the ropes and the suppressed breathing. There was only the managed silence.

"Excellent. That's what it means to be human."

Having witnessed the end of the defeatists, Cyriance turned around. There was the beloved order. The soldiers' slouching postures and attitudes were corrected, and they were focused, not missing a single word or whisper. They had given their final lesson with their lives. They had served the community in death.

"Take them down and bury them respectfully."

Cyriance moved on to the final touches while the heat was still there.

"I do not intend to order you to die. I will go with you. Moreover, Commander Gran has made all the necessary preparations for the imperial knights. I promise you appropriate reinforcements."

The soldiers had shown him. With respect and determination in his heart, Cyriance had to respond. With his whole body and soul, to the very last breath. That was noblesse oblige, the duty of those who stood above others.

"Then, my fellow soldiers, let us wage war again."