Chapter 42: Revolution Era - Foreword (2)
“Fire!”
The artilleryman lit the fuse with a firing stick and stepped back with his
ears covered, as the cannon recoiled with a thunderous noise.
Through my telescope, I watched the cannonball soar and strike the fortress
wall with immense force.
“Ughh...”
The cannon, pushed back by the force, was laboriously moved forward again by
the artillerymen, who then cooled and cleaned the heated muzzle with rods.
After preparing for another shot with powder and wadding, they groaned as they
pushed the cannonball into place.
“Fire!”
Once more, the artillerymen lit the fuse and stepped back, and the cannon,
with a loud roar, recoiled and launched the cannonball.
The slow and repetitive, yet incredibly strenuous task of the artillerymen
visibly wore them down.
I lifted my telescope again to see the cannonball hit the fortress wall,
causing fragments to fall from the partially cracked structure.
The villages under Count Lionel’s domain mostly surrendered without much
resistance, and the Count was preparing to defend at the capital fortress of
his territory.
We had been besieging the fortress for six days, and the lack of any sign of
surrender was proof of the Count’s respect as a lord.
Recalling his decent performance at the last strategy meeting left a bitter
taste in my mouth.
As I was lost in thought, the cannon fired again, and soon after, with a
rumbling sound, a section of the wall collapsed, kicking up clouds of dust.
I sighed lightly and handed the telescope to my aide, turning my horse around.
“Prepare for the assault.”
“Yes, preparing for the assault!”
***
Dressed in the uniformed attire of the unified revolutionary army, soldiers
with muskets slung over their shoulders marched on, followed by irregularly
clothed conscripts from the western regions.
The plains surrounding the fortress echoed with the mechanical cadence of the
soldiers’ footsteps, blended with the sound of fifes and drums.
As we approached the breached walls.
“Fire!”
Arrows flew from the archers who stood atop the still-intact sections of the
walls on either side.
“Ugh!”
“Aaah!”
I drew my sword swiftly to deflect the incoming arrows, but the front-line
riflemen, struck by the arrows, screamed and fell.
“Aim!”
But those who had undergone intense training in such a short period were not
easily shaken.
Even as comrades fell beside them or in front, they mechanically raised their
muskets, poured powder from their pouches into the barrel, and pushed bullets
down the muzzle, maintaining formation all the while.
“Fire!”
Soon, a volley of gunfire sounded off, and the distinctive white smoke of
black powder thickly filled the air before us.
This time, screams erupted from atop the walls, and several unlucky soldiers
tumbled down the ramparts, flailing and screaming.
The exchange of fire between the enemies on the walls and our marksmen, taking
turns in a seemingly fair game-like manner, repeated several times.
Falling is not a mere game piece move, and there is no revival once the game
is over.
At the end of this unjust game, marked by only that difference, silence fell
over the walls, and upon my command, the spearmen and swordsmen advanced.
Dismounting, I stood before them and chanted.
“Prepare.”
I glanced briefly at the soldiers, some clutching cold steel, others hurriedly
fixing bayonets to their muskets, tension written all over their faces.
“Charge!”
“Arrrrrgh!”
Leading the charge with my sword drawn, the troops followed, their cries
drowning out the screams of those who fell to the few arrows that flew from
the surviving soldiers atop the walls.
“Hold them! Block the way!”
Soldiers wielding spears emerged from the gaps in the debris of the crumbled
wall, attempting to block our path.
“Ha!”
But as I took the lead and cut through their spears, their resistance quickly
became futile.
“Follow the Duke!”
“For the Republic!”
As the spearman lost their footing, our soldiers surged forward, screams
erupting and blood splattering.
“Aaagh!”
I swung my sword, slicing through one soldier’s chest and twisting it into
another’s neck before yanking it out.
“Hi, hiik-!”
“Urk-”
I kicked an awkwardly standing enemy to the ground and, with a horizontal
slash, the soldier who belatedly rushed in from behind clutched his throat,
foaming at the mouth as he fell.
“You there!”
As the soldiers began to hesitate and step back to avoid me, a knight clad in
clanking armor charged towards me.
In contrast to me, wearing only a light cuirass over my military uniform, he
was heavily armored, a sight that would have been utterly commonplace just a
year ago.
“Lafayette! Traitor to the nobility!”
As the charging knight thrust his spear, I dodged by twisting my body and
thrust my magic-infused sword into him.
The magic that the knight hastily wrapped around himself to protect his body
shattered futilely against my sword.
“Gah, ack...!”
The armor, which did nothing to stop a direct bullet hit and only restricted
movement, failed to protect its wearer when the magic-infused sword pierced
its joints.
“Count Lionel... ugh, ughhh...ahhh!”
Even as he was impaled by my sword, the knight attempted a desperate struggle,
reaching for the sword at his waist, but as I twisted and withdrew my blade,
he collapsed to the ground, spilling blood and devoid of strength.
His body twitched in a futile attempt to rise before it finally went limp.
“Gasps, Baron Gasly!”
“This can’t be...!”
The enemy ranks became visibly shaken, suggesting the knight I had slain was a
commander.
Was this man like Baron Dumont to Count Lionel?
No, that portly gentleman couldn’t possibly undertake such a deed.
I let out a bitter chuckle as I surveyed the battlefield.
By now, the enemies were retreating towards the inner fortifications, leaving
behind only our triumphant troops and those scattered about, groaning in pain.
I noticed Eris arriving at the inner fortifications belatedly.
As she was about to kneel and use her healing powers right there, I quickly
approached and lifted her by the shoulders.
“Eris.”
“Duke?”
“You’re not planning to indiscriminately heal everyone, friend and foe alike,
are you?”
“That’s...”
“Only treat our confirmed wounded and those enemies who have surrendered.”
Her face was hidden behind a veil, but I could tell she was flustered.
“But if we take the time to individually treat them, people will die...”
“And what guarantee is there that an enemy you’ve healed won’t harm an ally
beside them?”
It might be harsh for this saintly figure, but having decided to accompany the
troops, she must be made aware of her position.
“What if you heal everyone without distinction, and while you’re exhausted,
the enemy launches a surprise attack? What if I, as the commander, get struck
by a stray arrow then?”
After a moment of silence, Eris nodded.
“...Understood, Duke. I’ll follow your orders.”
“Thank you, Saint. I’ll leave the rest to you.”
“...I’m sorry.”
Her voice was uncharacteristically weak, drawing a wry smile from me.
“What’s wrong with a saint wanting to save people? It’s those who decide who
to save and who to kill that are the problem.”
I turned away from her, adding,
“...So, leave the responsibility to me.”
***
Upon reorganizing the troops and reaching the inner fortifications, I was met
by a familiar middle-aged man standing before the castle gates.
“...Count Lionel.”
The lightly armored Count, holding a sword and shield, pointed his sword at
me.
“Duke Pierre de Lafayette, I, Leo de Lionel, challenge you to an honorable
duel.”
A duel, then.
I sighed softly.
“And why should I accept this duel?”
“If you win, my vassals and soldiers will no longer shed blood and will
surrender without delay.”
“Regrettably, Count, even without this duel, Lionel’s defeat is certain. It
seems unnecessary for me to risk my life. Soldiers of Lionel, your defeat is
already decided. Those who surrender will not be held accountable.”
Despite my words, the resolve of those watching from the walls did not waver.
Indeed, these were loyal men, standing by their lord despite being besieged
and isolated after enduring a civil war.
If only Count Lionel had been a traitor like Duke Lorraine.
As I inwardly clicked my tongue, Count Lionel spoke again.
“I understand that there’s an ongoing war against foreign forces in the North.
Aren’t the lives of your soldiers and time both crucial to you? Yet, if you
choose the path of a coward, one who disregards honor, it would simply prove
that a turncoat of the nobility, a lackey of the Republic, has his limits.”
“Ha...”
“Duke...”
As if I wasn’t already troubled enough after receiving news from a messenger
during the siege that the southern army was engaged with Duke Leopold, he
seems to know my situation all too well.
“What choice do I have? I have to get along.”
As I drew my sword and stepped forward, cries erupted from both my soldiers
and those of Lionel, without one side outdoing the other.
The whole situation felt like a farce, prompting a wry smile from me.
It seems I’m prone to bitter smiles on this battlefield.
“Count Lionel, who has shown bravery on the battlefield just like the former
Duke, I trust you will uphold the promise you made with the honor of a
knight.”
“...I pay my respects to the Duke who steps into the duel for the honor of his
knights and the lives of his men. On my honor, the promise will be fulfilled.”
A brief exchange of words followed by a moment of silence.
Despite holding a sword and shield, Count Lionel charged at me with surprising
speed.
“Tsk!”
No sooner had I parried his sword with mine than his shield, with a
threatening whoosh, pushed me back.
But I quickly leaped back to avoid it.
“Woooah!”
Count Lionel charged forward with a battle cry, his shield leading the way.
“Damn it.”
As soon as I grabbed the shield with my magic-encrusted left arm, my arm
creaked and I screamed, and before I could even frown at the pain, my sword
collided with the sword that Count Lionel swung at my neck.
“Knowing full well that there’s a war against foreign invaders in the North,
did you incite a peasant uprising?”
Count Lionel’s mustache twitched as he furrowed his brows.
Even as my left arm screamed in pain, I kicked his shield to create some
distance.
The Count regained his stance and spoke.
“Was there any other way?”
His sword pointed at me.
“Was I to sit idly by and await my doom, knowing that these rebels would one
day come for me and my house?”
“I offered a path alongside the Republic. Countess of Aquitaine and I, along
with the lords who joined us, are proof that it’s possible to stand with
them.”
“Haah!”
Count Lionel charged once more, with his shield in front of him.
Shield in the left hand, sword in the right.
Instead of retreating, I charged towards him, narrowly dodging his shield to
thrust my sword into his flank.
“Huh?!”
My sword pierced through Count Lionel’s magic and slightly into his chest, but
with the brief resistance provided by his magic, he quickly twisted his body
and deflected my thrust.
Too shallow.
As we both caught our breath, the Count spoke again.
“Perhaps you’re content siding with them. But what was all the bloodshed in
the civil war for?”
Blood spread across the Count’s chest, yet he stood resilient.
Unlike other knights, his veteran experience made him a formidable opponent.
“All through that long civil war, we lost too many loyal vassals, knights, and
soldiers. What was the fight for? Loyalty to a prince? No! It was a fight for
Lionel’s domain, for Lionel’s honor.”
Count Lionel glared at me with fiery eyes.
“Duke, long before you first stepped onto a battlefield, I’ve fought to
protect this land and name passed down from my ancestors! What meaning is
there in a life that survives by rendering all those sacrifices worthless?”
“...Even if countless others who needn’t have died perish for the legacy you
wish to leave, does that grant salvation to those who died for you, Count?”
Count Lionel bit his lip but soon responded with conviction.
“I am the lord of Lionel. Should I forsake the land built upon the tears and
blood of Lionel to spare others from bleeding? Duke, the hero of the Republic,
revered by rebels and peasants alike. Are you not ashamed as the lord of
Lafayette, of Toulouse?”
“...At least I am not ashamed. They may have lost what was built in the past
because of me, but in its place, they are building something new.”
“Indeed, Duke. It seems we are incapable of understanding each other.”
The Count’s eyes remained unyielding. Words would not bridge the gap. I do not
wish to deny his resolve as misguided.
For him, given his circumstances and those within his realm, this path might
have been the best choice.
Perhaps the gap between him and me is just a difference caused by an
impossible opportunity called regression.
I steadied my breath and adjusted my grip on the sword.
For a brief moment, the Count’s gaze brushed over my right hand holding the
sword, and then both of us kicked off the ground.
“Lafayette!”
As the Count’s shield surged towards me, I switched the sword to my left hand
and drew the dagger from my waist with my right.
Feinting a move to the right—
“Haaah!”
I dodged the incoming shield by diving to the left instead.
“Huh?!”
The Count’s sword clashed with mine, causing a fierce vibration.
As both of us flinched from the numbness in our arms, the dagger I had thrown
with my right hand buried itself into the Count’s chest, where my sword had
struck just moments before.
Even with magic infused in the dagger, it could not fully penetrate the
Count’s magical protection and his robust physique.
“Kr, aah! Not like this-!”
As the dagger embedded halfway into his chest and the Count screamed in
defiance, attempting to resist.
I kicked the hilt of the dagger lodged in his chest.
“Kraaack!”
The sensation of the sharp blade tearing through tough muscle and flesh
transmitted up my leg as the Count dropped his sword and shield and fell to
his knees.
“My lord, the Count!”
“Save the Count!”
As the enemies atop the walls cried out in panic, ready to rush forward.
“Would you tarnish even my last shred of honor!”
An immense roar, unbelievable from a man so gravely wounded, silenced the
battlefield’s clamor.
In the quiet of the battlefield, the knight, once radiant with fighting spirit
and will, lamented in the weary voice of an old man.
“So this is the end of our long struggle.”
The Count, with a look of resignation, coughed and gazed at the blood flowing
from his chest, staining the ground.
After a moment of silence, he spoke again.
“My son, Gilles. He... opposed my plans. ...He left this place.”
“Is that so?”
“...The lands and honor of Lionel shall remain with me, but the seed of
Lionel... to that child...”
The Count looked at me powerlessly, his plea laden with desperation.
“Would you turn a blind eye to that child?”
“If he leaves this land and ensures no more blood is shed, I will gladly do
so.”
“...I ask of you. My ancestors, forgive my disgrace...”
The Count’s words trailed off.
As the castle gates opened and those bearing white flags rushed out, I slowly
reached out and closed his eyes.
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