Chapter 23: Civil War Era - The Battlefield of Lafayette (4)
"These bastards!"
King Louis was incensed.
Ten thousand and five thousand, a force twice the size in disparity.
Additionally, the power the king had scraped from the bottom, his royal guard commander, Stephan d'Artagnan, known as the second greatest swordsman in the kingdom, and his 300 knights.
Facing them were the knights under the 'Blue Knight,' barely numbering 100.
The king had no doubt that it was an unwinnable fight for the Blue Knight, despite his reputation.
However, the gallant charge of the 300 knights and cavalrymen was squarely blocked by the head-on assault of the Blue Knight.
A single knight, overpowering the 300 knights from the front, cutting through the Francia knights known as more than human weapons, as if they were mere foot soldiers.
Those who witnessed this spectacle could hardly believe their eyes.
The enemies had suffered significant losses as well. The knights who charged following the Blue Knight were nearly annihilated in their defense of him, and the cavalry also suffered severe damages.
Yet, the shaken and crumbled knights of his own could not pursue as they watched the Blue Knight calmly turn his horse around and leave.
At the start of the battle, the king's army, with more than twice the forces, lost all their momentum.
For the soldiers, facing the overwhelming knights, it was impossible to maintain morale after seeing the Blue Knight effortlessly cut through their ranks and return unscathed.
The rumor circulating secretly among the troops, that the Blue Knight was not human but a monster and thus unbeatable, completely shattered the king's patience.
"What exactly have you done! I supported you so much, yet you have only added to that cursed Blue Knight's fame!"
"I apologize, Your Majesty...."
Commander Stephan d'Artagnan simply bowed his head deeply in response. He had his excuses.
After all, what knight would not be inspired upon seeing a great knight fearlessly tearing through 300 of their own?
Naturally, the knights under the Duke's command, like moths to a flame, rushed in fearlessly to protect the Blue Knight, and d'Artagnan missed his chance to cross swords with him while dealing with them.
But he, along with the knights now humiliatingly kneeling before the king, had mouths but nothing to say.
Even though they had almost annihilated the knights rushing to protect the Blue Knight, their own casualties were no less significant.
Of the 300 knights the king had proudly deployed, 100 were dead or injured, leaving only 200 kneeling before him now.
King Louis, huffing and puffing, glared with eyes flickering fiercely.
"Most of his knights are dead. This time, bring me the head of the Blue Knight without fail."
"We receive Your Majesty's command."
As d'Artagnan and the knights bowed their heads in unison, the king added another sentence, spitting it out like venom.
"Do not return without his head, even if it means dying alongside that man!"
***
Duke Lafayette.
The Blue Knight, Hubert de Lafayette, opened his eyes in his bed.
Accustomed to feeling warmth next to him when he awoke, its absence now felt strange, and he blinked momentarily before sitting up.
The mistress who had brought him pleasure and satisfied his desires had left the camp during the last battle.
He couldn't recall which number she was, or even her name.
The Duke chuckled and rang a bell.
Those who pledged loyalty and groveled before him always depended not on him, but on his victories and authority.
Even the mistress, who always whispered love and acted coquettishly, would leave him the moment he was in danger.
Even before this incident, he hadn't felt a significant sense of loss over the woman's absence, revealing the shallowness of their relationship.
Soon, a servant entered with a basin of washing water, and the Duke washed his face with the cold water before sending him away.
The Duke slowly rose from his bed and tried a piece of the leftover white bread from last night's meal.
It was hard and cold.
Better than the cold black bread he had often eaten on battlefields in his youth, but still not to his current taste.
With a bitter smile, he spat it out and called a servant to help him don his armor.
The famous deep blue armor, now scratched from the recent battle but still gleaming.
- My son, I may not have been successful enough to leave you a single piece of land. But remember that even without it, you are still better off than the commoners. Be thankful in all things.
His father, a mere knight of the Toulouse count's family, was frugal and honorable, content with what he had. He did not want to live a life of self-justification like a loser.
He had a natural talent, the determination to develop it, and the ambition to do so. With each battle, songs were composed in praise of his valor, and he became an idol to young knights.
The Count of Toulouse, captivated by him, gave him his daughter, and thus, he became a noble and seized the title of Duke.
He gained power and fame beyond what a mere knight could dream of, satisfying all the greed he could not indulge in his youth.
Power, wealth, lust, appetite—he indulged in everything, voraciously consuming them, enjoying a life of victory and pleasure, unlike his father, the loser.
Fully armored, the Duke took a moment before leaving his tent to look over the numerous spoils and rewards he had garnered.
These were the ultimate honors, ample for display, and fitting testimonies of his commendable achievements.
But the trinkets he had seen and flaunted to the point of tedium sparked no particular sentiment in him anymore.
The Duke stepped out of his tent, striding purposefully towards the command tent.
"Greetings to the great 'Blue Knight,' Hubert de Lafayette."
The waiting lords and the few surviving knights from the last battle greeted him with due respect.
The Duke passed them and seated himself at the head of the table.
He scanned the faces of the vassals and retainers who had served the Toulouse County even before the name Duke de Lafayette existed.
This is something that the Duke, once scorned by high nobility as a half-noble of knightly origin and criticized for being ungrateful to the Count's kindness, could never attain in the end.
His intention had buried the name of the Toulouse Count's family under the fame of the Lafayette Dukedom, now a forgotten name, stripped of power and honor.
He recalled the foolish woman who trusted and relied on the man chosen by her father, generously sharing her authority and supporting him.
She must have been a good wife as she tolerated him silently even after seeing him live with mistresses.
Yet, as the Count of Toulouse, she was foolish. What did they see in that name to remain loyal?
Why do they proudly talk about his son being praised by the people, as if it were their own achievement?
What did he fail to attain that they compare the kingdom's greatest knight to his son, branded a disgrace to nobility?
The Duke could never understand them.
Yet, he couldn't claim that all the wealth and pleasures he had achieved were better than whatever intangible thing they held dear.
Now, all that seemed so faint, and he couldn't clearly recall why he had so coveted them.
"Your Excellency, we have only 6 knights remaining, and at best, merely 300 cavalrymen."
"We've requested reinforcements from Duke Lorraine, but even if he sends aid, it will be too late."
The Duke sneered. He had never counted on Duke Lorraine's reinforcements.
Yet, no one mentioned Pierre.
Having gone with 1,000 men to hold back 4,000, it would be fortunate if they weren't utterly defeated.
However.
- So, instead of showing an unbecoming concern for your son, display the might befitting the 'Blue Knight', Your Excellency. Because I am determined to win.
The Duke found it odd to think that his son would not be defeated.
"Apologies, Your Excellency. Even just from your performance in the last battle, your renown will surely resonate throughout the kingdom. It might be wise to retreat for now and plan for the future...."
"Retreat where? Do you suggest we scurry back to our own territories like rats behind walls, each trying to save himself while Duke Lorraine is too preoccupied with his own land?"
No one could respond to the Duke's retort.
The civil war had dragged on so long because both factions boasted nearly equal strength.
While the second prince had superior knights and armies, the first prince had wealthy nobles and the Blue Knight.
But now, King Louis clearly had the upper hand. Retreating would signal to everyone that the outcome was decided, and the situation would only tilt further in the enemy's favor.
"The enemy's morale must have been shattered by my exploits in the last battle. So this time too, we fight."
The Duke declared arrogantly.
- If you fail to do so, Your Excellency, I’ll make sure that when people hear the name Lafayette, they think of me, not the 'Blue Knight'
His son, once unable to even meet his gaze, had grown up and whipped his back with those provocative words.
The Duke was already over 50.
His physical prime had passed, and with time, his fame would only diminish.
He remembered the gaze full of astonishment and jealousy his aging father had once cast upon his younger self.
The Duke couldn’t imagine, nor did he want to imagine, looking at Pierre with such eyes.
Rather.
"Follow me. I will lead you to victory once more."
"We receive Your Excellency's command!"
Ultimately, it is not in wealth or pleasure, but in displaying his own bravery and greatness, that he truly feels alive.
Because that is the only thing that remains in his life.
***
Once again, the vast plains of Nivernais were blanketed by the armies of both sides.
The Duke, donning his distinctive deep blue, the 'Blue Knight's' armor, mounted his horse and took the lead.
Amid the palpable tension in both armies, the Duke raised his spear high in his hand.
In an instant, all eyes on the battlefield were on him.
"Follow me!"
With mana overflowing, he shouted loud enough to echo across the entire battlefield.
"And I shall turn you into legends!"
As he uttered these words, the Duke felt a surge of exhilaration.
There was no need to wait for a response.
At this moment, he was convinced that he was the master of the battlefield.
The Duke kicked his horse and began to charge towards the very heart of the enemy lines.
"Follow the Duke!"
"For the Blue Knight!"
"Charge, commence the charge!"
The Duke glanced briefly at the knights and cavalry fiercely charging behind him, followed by the infantry shouting as they rushed forward. Then, he spurred his steed again, increasing his speed.
Despite the countless riches and pleasures that had left him jaded, an insane vitality coursed through his body.
Despite being overwhelmingly outnumbered and facing certain demise, he thrilled at the obedience of those moths to a flame, believing in and following his legendary valor once more.
The enemy lines rapidly drew closer.
The fools, never imagining such a daring move, were thrown into confusion and dismay.
"Fi-fire, start firing!"
Arrows darkened the sky, raining down.
The Duke heard screams and the sounds of falling horses behind him, but his magic easily repelled the feeble resistance of these insignificant beings.
Even the fireballs launched by the mages split into two and scattered as the Duke, with his magic-infused spear, swung it fiercely.
"Spearmen, forward! Block him, block him somehow!"
In response to the enemy commander's cry filled with terror, the petrified enemy soldiers made futile attempts at resistance, shuffling forward.
Witnessing this, the Duke, with his spear at the ready, gathered his mana and bellowed.
"Who dares to stand against the Blue Knight!"
His thunderous roar tore through the enemy ranks like a storm.
And with that alone, the enemy's formation crumbled.
Soldiers turned pale and collapsed, wetting themselves in fear, while others turned their backs to flee.
Riding through the center of the chaos, the Duke burst into laughter.
"Hahaha, hahaha, hahahaha!"
He channeled all his mana into his spear, which, aided by the momentum of his full-speed charge, swept away dozens of the scrambling, fleeing enemies in a single strike.
The sight of enemy knights attempting to rally, only to be impeded by their fleeing comrades, struck him as ludicrous.
An army of ten thousand was being routed by a single man at the vanguard, clearing a path through them.
"Slay all who flee! Block that man!"
"As commanded!"
In response to the urgent order from Commander Stephan d'Artagnan, finally, 200 knights began trampling and slashing through the fleeing soldiers, advancing towards the Duke.
The Duke, invigorated by the spectacle, charged with even greater ferocity.
"Block him! Stop that man!"
"Who dares to stop me! I am the Blue Knight!"
Every time the Duke swung his spear in fury, knights were torn apart like mere foot soldiers.
"Remember who stood against the armies of the sovereign princes and emperors!"
It was his achievement.
"In those battles you laud as victories, it was I who led the charge, sword in hand, drenched in blood!"
It wasn't the cowardly standing royals behind who had forged these victories.
"That man..."
"Your praised victories are mine!"
Enraged, the Duke's spear finally snapped from the force of his swing, and he promptly drew his sword.
His gaze fixed on the king, obscured by the ranks of knights.
When the Duke aimed his sword towards the distant king, the monarch flinched as if pierced by the blade.
"I am the Blue Knight, the glory of Francia you've all sung praises of!"
"Stop that traitor!"
The shouts of the Duke and d'Artagnan nearly overlapped as they both roared their commands.
The Duke charged fiercely.
He stabbed one knight's helmet with his sword, then sliced through another rushing at him from the side.
As another knight, crying out a comrade's name, charged, the Duke cleaved from shoulder to waist, then flung his bloodied sword, impaling it in another knight's head.
Drawing another sword from his belt, his horse let out a piteous whinny, pierced by a spear. The Duke leaped off and decapitated the knight in front of him, seizing another sword.
Spinning with two swords in hand, he deflected all incoming swords and spears, then threw them, impaling the heads of two knights charging towards him.
The Duke lunged forward, seizing the swords and spears dropped by the fallen knights, wielding them fiercely.
A knight, impaled in the throat, gurgled as he fell, while another, sliced by the Duke's sword, clutched his bleeding arm, screaming.
Blood boiled in his veins, and he felt the pulse in his eyes.
Desperate cries to stop him were unheard.
The sounds of battle and shouting from behind seemed like distant echoes.
Only the screams and pleas of the knights he conquered were like sweet music to his ears.
The fear and shock emanating from those most valiant and arrogant made him feel alive.
In the distance, the king stood with a pale, terrified face firmly in his sights.
With each step the Duke took, the encircling knights hesitated, stepping back.
As he took another step and the knights began to retreat, the Duke surged forward.
Deflecting the countless swords thrust at him, he continued his onslaught.
He severed arms, sliced legs, gouged eyes, decapitated heads, split shoulders, used corpses as shields, hurled broken swords, snatched new spears to wield, and drew fresh swords to strike.
During this relentless mechanical repetition, mountains of corpses and seas of blood formed in his wake, while the Duke himself sustained numerous wounds.
Now, the Duke stood in front of the command tent where the king had just been.
He felt dizzy from the excessive blood loss, and strength began to drain from his arms and legs.
Internally, the Duke lamented that had he been ten years younger, he would have fought even more satisfyingly.
Yet, even greater than his pain was his euphoria; he gathered strength in his legs and pressed forward.
The bodies crushed under his feet burst, spraying blood in all directions, staining the surrounding knights' armor red.
Now, only a handful of knights attempting to surround and block him remained.
The Duke noticed his armor had lost its deep blue hue, completely soaked in blood, and let out a cruel smile.
"A kingdom of knights, and its king runs like a coward from a single knight. Your loyalty is indeed trivial."
"...You defile your own fame and bravery with such dishonorable words."
Finally, Commander Stephan d'Artagnan drew his sword and stepped forward.
"Hmph, a man who couldn't dare to step up while his men were dying turns out to be all talk."
"You...!"
Stephan and the remaining knights, infuriated, aimed their swords at him.
A momentary standoff ensued, and the battered Duke suddenly burst into laughter.
"Ha, haha, hahaha! Hahaha!!!"
"What are you laughing at?"
Instead of answering d'Artagnan's question, the Duke addressed his absent son.
"Can you surpass this battle, make me a forgotten man?"
***
King Louis watched with a face stricken with anxiety and panic as his knights and the commander of his royal guard engaged in combat with the Duke.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it, how can they not kill just that one man...!"
A single knight, cleaving through an army of ten thousand, charging forward.
When King Louis saw the Duke cutting down his 200 knights like mere scarecrows, charging towards him, he was so gripped with terror that he wet himself and fled the scene.
Louis shifted his gaze from the battle between the Duke and his knights to the army approaching from behind the enemy lines.
The army, bearing the flag of the Count of Anjou.
He had scoffed at the declaration of war from the Countess of Aquitaine and the Count of Anjou, among other neutral nobles, just days ago, never imagining their army would arrive so soon.
"We must kill the Blue Knight before they reach us!"
The wet discomfort from his recent accident only fueled his urgency.
The king's courtiers looked at their hysterical monarch with worried eyes.
Just moments ago, the king, in a panic before the Blue Knight, might have fled, ignoring his advisors' pleas, if reinforcements hadn't been on the way.
Thankfully, a force of about 2,000 soldiers, under the banners of the Duke of Brittany and the Count of Mirbo, was approaching from behind.
The reasons for their return from the south were unknown, but in this situation, their arrival was like a welcome rain in a drought.
The specifics could wait until they arrived; there was a possibility that they had unexpectedly prevailed in their campaign, capturing Duke Lafayette's subordinates and returning with part of their forces. This thought allowed the king to regain some composure and maintain his position.
Despite having twice the number of troops, the formation had crumbled due to the Duke's unexpected actions at the start of the battle. If the king had been seen fleeing, they might have already lost the battle.
And then, finally.
After single-handedly breaking through an army of ten thousand, nearly annihilating two hundred knights, and still enduring a prolonged fight against the commander of the royal guard in his battered state, the Blue Knight's body slowly collapsed.
In the ensuing silence, Commander Stephan d'Artagnan approached the fallen Blue Knight and swung his sword.
When the severed head in the deep blue helmet was lifted in his hand, thunderous cheers erupted from all around.
"Ohhh!"
"At last, finally! Congratulations, Your Majesty!"
"Is he, is he really dead? Truly dead?"
King Louis, though still in shock, felt a deep sense of relief.
The royal army was elated, while Lafayette's forces, despite their initial fierce resistance, plummeted into despair.
"Your Majesty, a messenger!"
An unwelcome visitor rushed towards King Louis.
"What is it?"
"A message from Damien de Mirbo, the new Count of Mirbo, Your Majesty. The army sent to the south has been utterly defeated! Duke of Brittany and the former Count of Mirbo both perished in battle!"
"What, what did you say?"
King Louis took a moment to comprehend the situation.
The Duke of Brittany's 4,000-strong army defeated by a mere 1,000 of the Duke? Even the Duke and Count dead? How could that be possible?
But more importantly.
King Louis shifted his creaking gaze to the army bearing the flags of the Duke of Brittany and the Count of Mirbo, approaching their position.
"Then what are those forces?"
And King Louis, galloping furiously, could see a knight rapidly approaching his main force.
All eyes on the battlefield were focused on d'Artagnan, who had raised the severed head of the Blue Knight.
Therefore, nobody, except the king and his courtiers, noticed the rapidly approaching knight who drew a bow from his back, nocking an arrow.
The arrow, released by the knight, traced a graceful arc, soaring and accelerating towards d'Artagnan, who was still holding the Blue Knight's head.
Exhausted from combat with the Blue Knight and lulled into complacency by victory, d'Artagnan was too late in attempting to shield himself with magic.
His belated resistance, drained of magic and divine energy, failed to stop the arrow, aglow with comet-like blue flames.
Before everyone's eyes, d'Artagnan's magical shield shattered, and his body, struck by the intensely condensed energy of the arrow, disintegrated into pieces.
In a moment of stunned silence, when King Louis and everyone who saw the scene were shocked and unable to keep their mouths shut, a powerful, magic-laden shout resonated across the battlefield.
"Soldiers of Lafayette, attack-!"
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