—Bread had been advancing his forces toward the target location, avoiding the well-maintained highway.
However, just as they neared South Baim, what they saw was over forty thousand enemies, prepared and waiting in position.
The battlefield had turned to day, and the elite troops and hastily gathered soldiers from various lords who had arrived were utterly exhausted. Continuous raids and noise had prevented them from getting proper rest. To make matters worse, their horses had been spirited away, and they'd been forced to carry supplies themselves, further draining their strength.
In this state, Bread looked around him. The two baronets who had approached him at Redant Fortress—and the Knight Barons who had followed—had, under each of their own pretexts, already slipped away from the formation one by one.
The worst part was that they had fled with valuable supplies. In addition to arrows, they'd taken spare weaponry. Still, it wasn't enough to render them incapable of fighting. No, in fact, Bread had the strength to turn this disadvantage on its head.
This was because the elite troops Bread had brought with him were those who had sworn absolute loyalty to Ceres. They were men and women willing to lay down their lives for Ceres.
Even with this disparity in numbers and the unfavorable situation, their piercing power would easily shatter the enemy lines. However, there was one thing Bread could not forgive.
Looking down from a defense fortified with a slope, as if it were a fortress, was Lyle, clad in armor of white and blue.
"...You planned this! Deceiving me like this... you of all people!!"
Bread's fury was immense. Even more than the betrayal of the baronets, he could not forgive being made to dance in the palm of Lyle's hand. For Bread, Lyle was the very embodiment of someone to be despised.
He hated the Walt house simply for being an earldom. And when he heard they were an "incompetent outcast," he had scoffed even more. Yet in the past, they had defeated a Griffon, and had acted as though they had no interest in the credit for it. They had handed over a feat that he and his allies had desperately wanted.
It was as if they were giving away leftovers—no, in reality, Bread had obtained his current position by chance. By chance, he had only managed to stab the knight that Ceres had failed to defeat, from the side.
The black armor was the armor that knight had worn. A brave knight who rode on horseback, wielding a spear—the knight Bread had admired. He had wanted to be closer to that knight, so he had fixed the armor and donned it himself.
Bread, wearing armor of a contrasting hue to Lyle's, reached for the hilt of the sword at his waist. Though exhausted, his elite unit showed no signs of wavering in their fighting spirit as they faced the enemy before them.
"You worthless incompetent! I, the captain of the elite guard—Bread Bumper—will teach you what a true knight is! Charge!!
There was no strategy. Bread had simply chosen the option of charging straight at the enemy before him. It was certainly a foolish move. Yet, for a force possessing elite troops, it was the method with the highest probability of success.
"Raaargh!!"
The medicine everyone had hidden in their bosoms—each person took it out, opened the lid, and every one of them crushed the solidified substance in their teeth and swallowed it whole—
The hastily prepared defensive barrier had already been breached in one place by soldiers who charged through, surpassing arrows, guns, and magic alike.
The sight of over thirty thousand troops charging was overwhelming, but there was no time for that. I stared at the scene and muttered.
"What the… what the hell is going on with these guys!"
Soldiers eagerly surged forward in front of the troops armed with guns. Rear soldiers used those advancing soldiers as shields, pressing against the fence. Even as they were stabbed with spears and slashed with swords, they seemed to think of nothing but breaking through the barrier.
Soldiers who took fatal wounds didn't go down immediately — instead, they lunged at our side's soldiers, creating openings for their allies. In the end, they fought in ways that didn't hesitate to sacrifice even their own comrades.
Their breakthrough power could only be described as abnormal.
"…Do they feel no fear?"
The units we'd positioned in the forward line were being assaulted by enemy troops that broke through the fence while drenched in blood. And they were laughing as they fought.
Inside the Jewel, the Fifth Generation clicked his tongue.
"Tch… Lyle, pull the troops back. These ones are worse than I expected."
Wondering if the danger level exceeded even what the Fifth Generation had anticipated, I decided to pull the troops back. To buy time for that withdrawal, I would deploy two people.
"Gracia, Eliza — I need you two out there. Don't let a single soldier get close! Just blow them away!"
Originally, these two had been saved for deployment when the enemy's advance stalled. Instead, they were being sent in to buy time for the forward units to retreat.
The two mounted on horseback led their respective forces from both flanks, rescuing allies as they went. When magic was unleashed at the enemy, soldiers were sent flying.
But even witnessing that, the enemies didn't stop advancing. They deployed magical shields to minimize the damage, yet showed absolutely no fear of the two's magic that could tear right through them.
Soldiers burned away by Gracia's pale blue flames — their gaps were leaped over, and enemies charged through, running ablaze as they pressed forward.
Enemy soldiers frozen by Eliza's ice were simply shattered by the troops charging from behind, who advanced without a shred of concern.
Facing an enemy force that possessed nothing but the singular will to kill the enemy directly in front of them, I clenched my fists.
The enemy army, which should have been exhausted, didn't stop their charges even as night fell. Under normal circumstances, even with an overwhelmingly advantageous position, we were being pushed to our psychological limits.
Night.
While the front lines still fought, I pulled back slightly and gathered the key members.
Under the canopy, I asked for opinions from the key members who had actually seen the enemy with their own eyes.
"We have the advantage in numbers, and the enemy is taking heavier losses than we are. But psychologically, we're being pushed back. I want to do something about that."
In response to my statement, Maxim crossed his arms.
"I've fought enemy soldiers several times. But those are genuinely death soldiers. An army of over thirty thousand charging with no regard for their own lives... the difference in our numbers may not be enough, and they could even overturn our territorial advantage. The enemy hasn't even taken ten thousand casualties yet, and even if they had, their morale wouldn't break. Before that happens, if we keep taking more losses..."
Maxim didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. Our side's morale would break first. Everyone who had set foot on the battlefield understood that. We had prepared for an army with strong breakthrough power, but we never imagined they would be this abnormal.
Well, being abnormal alone wouldn't be a problem, but every single soldier among them was undeniably an elite with consistent combat ability.
Gracia, who had cut down many of the enemy, also wore a grim expression.
"Are all of Banseim's soldiers like that? It's absurd. They don't even consider the casualties they're taking — they just keep pushing forward..."
Eliza shared the same view.
"I understood that they intend to die here. But the fact that that many of them can actually carry it out is truly abnormal. You said it was Ceres, right? This is seriously dangerous."
Inwardly, I wondered whether Ceres had done something to these elite units. Death soldiers were certainly a threat, but the sheer breakthrough power they displayed was beyond my comprehension.
Just then, Monica entered the tent.
"Pardon the intrusion. Chicken, there's something I need to report."
"What is it?"
I turned my gaze to Monica. She stood up straight, without her usual playful quip.
"...It appears the soldiers on Banseim's side have been drinking a certain kind of drug. Analysis shows it puts them into a state of agitation. Magical analysis isn't my specialty, but according to Professor Damian, there's a possibility it artificially replicates the use of Skills."
Everyone's eyes widened. No one in Baim had ever heard of such a drug existing. And if something that convenient were available, every nation would be clamoring for it.
However, Monica continued.
"At the same time, it appears to carry severe toxicity. The drug's effect is estimated to provide only ten to twenty percent of an actual Skill's power, but after use, the body will inevitably fail to adapt and the user will die. The materials used in the drug very likely include Monster components."
I had heard of drugs being made from Monster materials before. But the tone of Monica's voice made it clear — they were using something that was never meant to be used as medicine, shortening their own lives just to fight this war.
Novem's expression, caught in my field of vision, twisted as she clenched her teeth.
"...How long until death? One day? Two days?"
Monica shook her head.
"No. She said it would take at least three months. Literally, they are soldiers who are already doomed to die."
From within the Jewel, the voices of the Third Generation and Seventh Generation rang out.
"...They really did it. To think they'd go that far. Using their elite forces as disposable."
"To intend to kill nearly thirty thousand soldiers from the very start..."
The Third Generation's voice was lower than usual, and frightening. The Fifth Generation had been deep in thought, but spoke to me.
"Lyle, buy me some time. I'll finish this quickly."
Mireia cried out in surprise.
"Father!"
The Fifth Generation said:
"Don't stop me. Now is the time. ...It seems my way of living has finally found its meaning."
—A ship had arrived from Baim to South Baim.
It was a ship managed by the Trace family, and the ones who boarded it were Roland and Gina. The two, having brought Guild executives from Baim, had come to South Baim seeking aid.
At the Trace residence prepared in South Baim, Fidel and Vera were conducting negotiations with the three visitors.
Facing each other across a desk, they sat in their respective chairs. Roland and Gina had their eyes downcast, while the Guild executive desperately pleaded their case.
"Lord Fidel, please save Baim from its plight. Is not that young lady said to be Lord Lyle's lover? This is a chance for the Trace family to return to Baim!"
They had promised that if Lyle carried out the rescue of Baim, his return and preferential treatment as an adventurer would be restored, along with a massive reward. At the same time, they had offered to lift the Trace family's banishment from Baim.
Vera remained silent. But Fidel was different. He responded with a smile.
"That's fine. If we could return to Baim, it wouldn't compare to before, but they have an even more solid foundation there. It would make doing business easier, I imagine."
Seeing Fidel's smile, the executive's face lit up. But then Fidel turned serious.
"...However, merely restoring the status I lost in Baim would be meaningless. Many of the merchants and clients I had long-standing dealings with have already left. Can you truly bring all of them back?"
"W-well, that would be difficult. But we will do our utmost to—"
"—Of course you'll put in the effort. That goes without saying. And then what? Do you really think you'll be praised for something as basic as that?"
Seeing the other party at a loss, Vera looked at Gina and Roland and spoke up.
"...I've heard the rumors at the port. You two have been given quite the favorable treatment, haven't you? What was it you were trying to accomplish by making the Trace family mid-tier even in Baim?"
Gina turned to Vera.
"I just wanted to be number one! To maintain that, I didn't want to marry someone I didn't love! All I ever wanted was to live with Roland in a merchant house that suited us!"
Vera turned to Gina.
"Can you say those words to the subordinates working for you? You're now in a position where you have to protect the people working in your merchant house!"
"N-now, both of you, that's enough."
The executive tried to calm Gina, then once again turned to Fidel.
"We are running out of time. Please call Lord Lyle back. Baim needs his strength."
Fidel placed both elbows on the table, clasped his hands, and hid his mouth behind them.
"...I'm sorry, but that's impossible."
"Lord Fidel!"
Roland shot to his feet. His eyes seemed to accuse Fidel—how could he be fine with his homeland of Baim being engulfed in flames? But it seemed he retained enough reason not to say that outright.
Fidel snorted dismissively.
"Hmph, I don't have the authority to decide. This isn't Baim. That brat is the one running things here. And right now, the one in charge is his proxy—"
"—Pardon the intrusion."
A woman with pink hair billowing behind her pushed open the door and entered the room, black-haired maids arranged around her. The woman bowed to the three before her.
"My name is Lianne, and I have been entrusted with the management of South Baim. As for my surname... it will eventually be Walt, so there's no point in mentioning it."
Fidel turned toward the Guild executive.
"This place isn't governed the same way as Baim. So no matter how much you ask me, there's nothing I can do. However, I have prepared an opportunity. Why don't you make your request here and now?"
When Fidel and Vera rose from their seats, the Valkyries—dressed in maid outfits—seated Lianne before the three. Lianne smiled, leaning forward eagerly.
"Let's not waste time and get started. So, what exactly are you prepared to offer us?"
The executive, flustered, spoke up.
"Th-that's what we mentioned earlier—Lord Lyle's reinstatement as an adventurer and—"
"—Rejected. I have no interest in the title of adventurer at this point. That's a matter that doesn't even warrant negotiation. Go back and report immediately. ...Surrender everything. Your wealth, your status, your honors, your land, your rights! Surrender it all, and from now on, everything in Baim will kneel before Lyle Walt. Do you understand? Now, go back and deliver the message. We won't be negotiating here. You can either accept the terms or refuse and be destroyed. Choose whichever you prefer. We don't care if Baim is destroyed. In fact, it would be better if it were destroyed. Because... wasn't it you who drove him out?"
Just as the executive tried to speak, Roland addressed Lianne.
"We understand that. That's why Baim is prepared to promise the highest possible treatment—"
Lianne leaned back against her chair.
"—If the 'highest' is only that much, then Baim isn't much of anything. If you can't protect yourselves, then all that's left is destruction. The world is a simple place. If you're weak, you're destroyed. Underestimating those around you and failing to gain their cooperation, being betrayed by former allies—that's all your responsibility. It would be enough for those in charge to simply take responsibility, wouldn't it?"
Facing Lianne's smile, the three abandoned any further negotiations—.