From atop the city wall, I gazed at the enemies heading toward Zayin's capital.
Zayin's forces stationed before the main gate numbered twenty thousand.
The mercenaries hadn't joined them. Not only that, they had few siege weapons. Above all, the enemy's morale was terribly low.
"So they're reluctant to draw bows against their homeland, are they?"
Facing the army that had gathered at Zayin's capital on the fourth day, I murmured those words upon seeing the bewildered soldiers.
It was the same on our side. We had succeeded in retaking the city, but our allies had hesitated to aim arrows at their comrades just days ago.
As I touched the Jewel, I reflected on how I hadn't anticipated this outcome.
(I'm glad I avoided a direct confrontation. If we had clashed head-on, the rift between the capital and the provinces would only have deepened within Zayin. Besides, even if we had taken the capital, plenty of soldiers wouldn't have been able to accept it emotionally.)
I had seized control of the temple and won the soldiers over to our side.
Since it was already established that the Holy Maiden was no longer here, they had relatively easily joined our cause. As expected, the Holy Maiden held tremendous significance in this country.
As the morning sun rose, I watched the enemy sitting motionless and turned my thoughts inward.
"So the mercenaries have abandoned them. And if they haven't even assembled their siege weapons—"
A voice came from within the Jewel.
It was the Fourth Generation.
"They don't want to attack their homeland, huh. After invading someone else's country, now they're pulling this — how laughable. On top of that, the money is on our side. Mercenaries are cold to employers who can't pay."
And the Seventh Generation:
"The outcome has already been decided. The capital has already fallen. The enemy doesn't know our exact numbers, and the Holy Maiden has formally declared them to be rebels."
Aura had officially declared herself the Holy Maiden, announced that our Holy Knight Order was the legitimate army, and declared that anyone who did not follow the Sacred Knights were rebels.
This had worked surprisingly well, and the enemy was in disarray.
Whether she's just a figurehead or not, a Holy Maiden is still a Holy Maiden.
That's what the Fifth Generation had said.
*"They don't seriously think they can take us with around six hundred, do they? They probably think we have three thousand. There were opposition factions within the country too."*
Paranoia. They might believe there are traitors hiding within their own ranks.
*(Not entirely wrong, either.)*
As I watched the enemy forces frozen in place, Clara, who had been standing beside me, turned to me.
"Lyle, are we going to keep up this staring contest? It looks like they'll crumble on their own at this rate."
I shook my head.
"Before that, I have an idea."
I turned around, and there were the soldiers' families. Clara gave me a deadpan look when she saw my expression.
"Lyle, you're really going to do this?"
I nodded.
"We are. It's for the best, isn't it? The fewer casualties, the better."
It was the Third Generation who had come up with this dirty trick. But if it created an opening, that was all that mattered. On our side, five hundred soldiers with upgraded equipment—
They were preparing to charge.
"Now, shall we begin?"
—The sun rose, and Zayin's castle gates came clearly into view.
Arman was the one staring at those gates, which looked more fortified than usual. When he donned his armor and stepped out of his tent, the dispirited state of those around him made his blood boil.
"To be thrown off by the ravings of a fake Holy Maiden!"
The soldiers' low morale was plain to see. Even when ordered, they wouldn't lift a finger to assemble the siege weapons.
Even their movements lacked precision. The knights were also being run ragged dealing with the soldiers who had been treated as part of the rebel army and were pressing in.
Most of the soldiers gathered from the provinces had been branded as rebels by the former Holy Maiden Selma and were on the verge of fleeing. This was because Selma had implemented policies that extended her attention to the provinces rather than focusing solely on the capital.
And then there was the outcome — Remis had been defeated.
That was what stung the most.
There was no Holy Maiden who recognized them. As Arman seethed with irritation, the voices of the capital's soldiers reached his ears.
"I can't aim a bow at them. I have a family, you know."
"Same here — my old woman's sickly. If things catch fire, she wouldn't be able to escape."
"What gives? You said it'd be a cakewalk, but the knights are completely useless!"
Arman began to panic. It wasn't just the provincial soldiers — the capital's soldiers' morale had cratered just as badly.
(Calm down. We have twenty thousand. Fifteen thousand, excluding the rear guard. They have three to four thousand at most… otherwise, they wouldn't be avoiding us to head for the capital. We also have siege weapons. If we force the issue and press the attack…)
Just as that thought formed, a voice rang out from atop the city wall. It wasn't a soldier's voice.
Arman frantically looked up at the wall and saw the city's residents standing there.
"Marco, come back home! There's still time if you go now!"
"You — you're really going to attack us?! Get back here and apologize right now!"
"Dad! Please come back!"
The families of the capital's soldiers lined the city walls. And then a man clad head to toe in full armor stepped forward and declared in a booming voice:
"I am Crate, Vice Commander of the Holy Knights! Soldiers — citizens of this city — and soldiers who joined the rebel army! I will not stop you if you wish to fight. But are you going to attack a city where your loved ones live?! Surrender now and lay down your arms, and your crimes for joining the rebels will not be prosecuted! This applies equally to those who came from the provinces! If you refuse to disband and insist on fighting, then we will take you on!"
Arman whispered under his breath.
"Th-they ought to be ashamed! Sending unarmed civilians onto the battlefield! Hey, prepare to attack immediately —"
Arman screamed his orders, but among the soldiers, one had already thrown down his weapon.
"You think I can keep fighting? I'm running! You think I'd point a weapon at my own family? You guys can fight all you want without me!"
A man with short golden hair made a show of throwing down his weapon and walked away. Watching him, Arman thought —
(Could this be Selma's doing —)
Then another one followed. And one after another, soldiers abandoned their weapons and left the main camp the same way.
"W-wait! Don't run! Desertion in the face of the enemy is punishable by death! Don't you dare run!"
As more and more began fleeing, the knights who could no longer be stopped gathered beneath Arman.
"Commander! It's no use! It's already impossible to stop them!"
Watching the soldiers who had started to flee, Arman clenched his fist — blood streamed from it.
"Like this… without even fighting… we lose. All these twenty years… you have no idea what kind of resolve it took to endure…"
Some time after Arman had joined the Holy Knights, the Saintess became Selma. From then on, she had drastically changed the nation's approach — no longer launching invasions into other countries.
She focused on domestic affairs and never created battlefields for them.
"You cowards and spineless wretches! Are those weapons you carry just decorations?!"
He screamed toward the castle gates, and slowly, they began to open. There, mounted knights were prepared to charge —.
The castle gates swung open.
From atop my horse, I removed the Jewel from my neck and gripped it in my right hand.
Before me, soldiers milled about in confusion. The knight corps had spotted us and were scrambling to grab their weapons and mount their horses.
I took a deep breath inside my helmet, and voices came from both sides of me. On my left, Aria, clad in red armor, called out to me.
Spear in hand and mounted on horseback, she looked every bit the knight.
"What's the matter? Getting nervous now?"
On my right, Miranda addressed me in her green armor. She had chosen a conspicuous color to draw attention to us.
"You get tense at the strangest times. It was far more dangerous when we stormed the temple."
Beside me were Crate and the other adventurers who had once been knights—
Behind them stood fully armed soldiers. We had drilled them for a few days, but all they could manage was a charge and a retreat.
There was no putting together complex formations, and on this battlefield it wouldn't have mattered anyway.
I raised my right arm to shoulder height, then brought it straight in front of me. When I gripped the Jewel, a blue light erupted and a silver halberd materialized.
It resembled the one the Sixth Generation had wielded, with the added advantage of requiring less mana. Holding it tucked against my side, I addressed the entire formation.
"Target the Holy Knight Order! Don't waste a glance on the foot soldiers! One head — the enemy knight-commander's. That's all we need to win! — CHARGE!"
I spurred my horse forward and the riders around me followed. The enemy soldiers had largely scattered, letting us crash into the disorganized knight formation without resistance.
A rider came at me with leveled lance as I led from the front. I swept my halberd across in a horizontal arc, slicing through both him and his weapon.
Aria, too, swung her lance from horseback, impaling the knights who had closed in around her.
Miranda parried an incoming lance thrust with the short sword in her right hand, then released a thread from her left that knocked the opponent from his horse.
Soldiers moved in to finish off the enemies who could no longer fight.
Crate was battling mounted opponents as well and holding his own. Whether it was a difference in raw strength or simply his experience fighting as an adventurer, it clearly made a difference.
Still, their coordination was lacking.
*(He's too fixated.)*
I had just turned my gaze toward Crate when a rider burst from my blind spot, lance leveled for a charge. I caught the thrust with the halberd in one arm, then drew my saber with the other and slipped it into a gap in the rider's armor.
Blood sprayed from the opening. I let go of the saber without pulling it free, and as the knight tumbled from his horse, the Fifth Generation's voice rang out.
*"Well done. Not bad for a first time. Now then — there's your target. The supreme commander — the knight-commander himself."*
Drawing my eyes away from the fierce fighting around me at those words, I turned to face the armed leader of the Holy Knight Order — Armand Benal.
One of the Holy Knights had been cleaved down and lay motionless on the ground. When I saw the weapon, my eyes went wide.
Strange as it was, we both happened to be wielding halberds.
When the opponent raised his visor, he shouted at me. Was it resentment, or rage? He stared at me with bloodshot eyes.
"You're the bandit army's commander, are you! Die by my blade! I'll send that woman after you right away!"
I didn't remove my helm. It didn't have a mechanism for opening and closing the visor section. Besides, I had no intention of removing my helm just to exchange words with him.
Then the Third Generation spoke.
*"Lyle, why don't you announce yourself? It's over after this."*
I leveled my halberd.
"The commander of the Holy Knight Order — I am Lyle Walt. You're the commander of the Sacred Knight Order, aren't you? Do me the honor of facing me."
"Y-you brat… How dare you mock me to this extent!"
Hearing my voice, perhaps thinking I was still young, Armand's face flushed even redder. He lowered his visor, and the eyes visible through his helm glared at me as though trying to pierce me through.
A duel between commanders on the battlefield. I never expected a situation like this to come together. After all, the enemy had no archers, nor any soldiers guarding the surroundings.
As the knights of the Sacred Knight Order were cut down one after another, Armand kicked his horse's flanks with his heels, and I spurred mine forward.
Our halberds collided, sending sparks flying.
The Seventh Generation spoke.
*"As expected of a knight-commander — his weapon is quite the masterwork as well. Lyle, strike to your heart's content."*
Armand, who was larger than me, brought his halberd crashing down with tremendous force. When I caught the blow, my horse buckled slightly under the strain.
Then he raised it and began swinging it in every direction — horizontal, vertical, every which way. I caught, deflected, and redirected those strikes, watching my opponent through a shower of sparks.
"What's the matter, boy! Is this all you've got! Is this all?! Twenty years! For twenty years I had to do nothing but endure, and you think you—!"
I parried his attack, deflected it, and gradually began to redirect Armand's blows, disrupting his mounted stance.
When he tried to pull back, I pressed forward, giving him no room to create distance.
The surroundings had gone quiet, perhaps from everyone watching our fight.
I could tell just how much the opponent had honed his techniques. But the reason he wielded them was atrocious.
"Was it really worth going this far to seize it? Were you really that infatuated with war? For what?!"
My words prompted Armand to respond.
"That's what knights do! Nobles are no different, are they?! We fight, we seize, and we earn glory! What's the difference?! A brat like you who doesn't even know war — shut your mouth! Don't get cocky when you don't know a damn thing!"
Armand probably didn't mean it the way it came out, but I felt like he'd just insulted the Sixth Generation. I clenched my back teeth.
Then a voice came from the halberd. No — from the blue-glowing Jewel set in the axe head.
"That's not wrong. We really are the lowest of the low, aren't we."
"Indeed. One step off the mark and we'd be no different from bandits. Utter trash, really."
"But even trash like us has a code! Don't lump us in with rabid dogs like you!"
"Hmph. We're neither knights nor bandits. You lot are trash who think you're in the right — and I won't allow myself to be grouped with you."
The Fifth Generation's tone felt sharper than usual.
(He's angry on behalf of the Sixth Generation…?)
I swept aside a downward strike with a sharp lateral motion, watching my opponent lose his footing and gasp for breath.
"Sure, plenty of nobles are trash! There are tons of awful ones!"
As I seized the offensive, Armand was forced onto the defensive. Sparks flew in great bursts, and his eyes were wide.
"Even so—!"
He raised his halberd high and brought it down. Armand caught the blow but was sent flying backward, horse and all.
"You're not the only ones who take! There are people out there who are worthy and proud!"
I swung the halberd up diagonally, knocking Armand's own halberd skyward and leaving his torso wide open.
I thought I saw the Sixth Generation's form. The Sixth Generation had fought to expand his territory, but there were many events that led him to that point.
He had invaded other territories just like Armand. But there was a reason for it.
(They're not the same! The Sixth Generation is... not the same as you!)
The Fifth Generation had endured, and the Sixth Generation had taken the offensive. To protect. He had concluded that if he kept being invaded, he would never be able to protect his own territory—.
"Don't you dare put us in the same category!"
I shifted my grip and swung the halberd sideways in a sweeping arc.
Armand's armor was slashed open from the side, and blood sprayed out in a massive torrent. Still gripping his halberd on horseback, Armand slumped forward over his horse's neck.
He turned his face toward me, glaring.
"Y-you brat... rot in hell!"
When he said that and I stayed silent, a voice came from the Jewel. It was the Third Generation.
"Lyle, try using Mind. Show him. Show him that we're not the only ones who'll be falling into hell."
I extended my left hand toward Armand.
"Rest assured. I've already steeled myself for that. But do you think you deserve to be forgiven?"
Skills—Mind—a Skill that interferes with the mind.
It was a Skill that unsettled and disturbed the opponent's heart. But it depended on when and where it was used. And by guiding the target—.
"Can't you hear them? The voices of the innocent people who were killed for the sake of your precious honor? Can't you see them? The arms wrapping around you, dragging you down into hell?"
At that, Armand's face drained of all color.
As if remembering something, he began screaming names.
"Zauro! N-no! That was an accident! It was an accident! Uwaaahh!! Don't touch me, don't touch me!"
Blood spurting from his torso, Armand flung away his halberd and thrashed desperately, trying to swat something off of him.
Both allies and enemies alike watched the scene unfold.
"I had no choice! There was nothing I could do! It was an order! This isn't my fault! Stop it! Don't drag me in there! I don't want to! I don't want to go to hell!"
Screaming, his face twisted in terror, Armand hit the ground and breathed his last. The surviving Holy Knights threw down their weapons.
"N-no! It wasn't me!"
"Please forgive me! I was only following orders!"
"I-I don't want to! I don't want to go to hell! I don't want to!"
The enemy knights, thrown into a panic, began surrendering, and our war was coming to an end. Beyond this, a different kind of war awaited.
Miss Aura, now a Saint.
Miss Selma and Sir Gastone, serving as her aides.
And Rolfis's war. Each person's own battle, and the cleanup that followed.
I raised my halberd high and let out a war cry.
"Victory is ours!"
As the soldiers around us roared in triumph, the enemy knights sat slumped on the ground. They wept, cradling their heads in their hands.
The knights and soldiers nearby were looking at me. In their eyes, I could see respect, awe — a whole mix of emotions.
Just then, Aria rode up on horseback.
"Hey, are you seriously some kind of actual Holy Knight or something? I-I mean, you've always been a little weird, but don't tell me you're the real deal?"
She removed her helmet and asked me that with a completely straight face.
(...What is she talking about?)