Chapter 100. Heroes as Numerous as Crucian Carp
The sounds of slaughter upon Windrest Plain had completely faded, leaving only the mournful wail of the wind.
It swept across the ravaged earth, carrying with it the heavy stench of blood and scorched flesh.
Eli walked silently through the mountains of corpses and seas of blood, the ground beneath his feet soaked through and churned into a foul, muddy mire.
He watched the soldiers, numb yet practiced, separate the bodies of friend and foe.
They stripped the enemy of armor and equipment.
They gathered up the wounded who still had breath left in them, while piling together the lifeless shells of the dead in preparation for burning.
Great funeral pyres were being built. Thin columns of black smoke had already begun to rise here and there, like monuments of shame erected for this victory.
At last, his gaze came to rest upon two bodies laid side by side not far away.
Someone had already roughly cleaned the blood from their faces.
Sabda’s eyes, once full of ambition and malice, were now closed, and there was even a strange trace of peace upon his features.
Eli looked at him quietly, yet there was not the slightest joy of victory in his heart.
The deathly chill brought by Calvin’s earth-shattering final throw still seemed to linger at the side of his neck.
That had been the first time he had ever come so close to death...
and he had been able to do nothing.
Sabda’s hoarse final words before taking his own life—“You didn’t win either...”—
also continued to echo again and again through his mind.
Added to that were the cruelty of war and the fragility of life.
Layer upon layer of pressure weighed down on his not especially strong body.
All that remained within him was boundless heaviness, and a kind of near-numb calm.
Almost unconsciously, he raised his hand and looked at the dried, darkened blood caked on his palm and between his fingers.
Some of it was his own.
More of it belonged to his enemies.
These hands had once held only pens and wine cups.
Now they were already stained with countless lives’ blood.
He found himself wondering whether he was becoming colder and colder.
Otherwise, after witnessing such a tragedy, why was the first thing to rise in his heart not pity—
but a weighing of the cost, and calculations for what came next?
Heh...
He patted his stiff face lightly. Then the sound of footsteps broke his thoughts.
Ron and Captain Buck walked over side by side.
Ron’s face still carried the weariness of fierce battle, but even more than that, it held a joy of victory that he could not quite suppress beneath the weight of it all.
The golden lion-mane crest on his helmet was torn and stained with blood, swaying with each step.
“My lord baron!” Ron’s voice was hoarse from exhaustion, yet still carried a trace of excitement. “It’s over! That old man Calvin... I truly never imagined he would be that strong.
“He was practically a monster! This time, it was all thanks to your plan that we were able to... win.”
Buck, standing beside him, gave a silent nod and continued in his place.
“My lord, the preliminary casualty count is in.
“Our soldiers suffered forty-four dead, thirty-seven seriously wounded, and one hundred thirty lightly wounded.
“The Black Crow Knights lost five men.
“Wolfgang’s wolf-kin warriors suffered no deaths, though several were wounded.
“As the vanguard, Captain Ron’s Golden Lion Knights bore the heaviest pressure. Twenty-one were killed, and as for the rest... nearly every one of them is wounded.”
His voice was low. Every number represented a price as heavy as iron.
Eli listened quietly, his face expressionless.
He merely let his gaze pass over the bodies of the fallen soldiers being carried away in the distance, then gave a slight nod.
He turned to Ron and said, “Captain Ron, the Golden Lion Knights fought with valor and fully lived up to the name of the Western Frontier’s greatest martial force.
“Now that Sabda is dead, until an official order concerning the disposition of his territory is issued from Thorn City—
“Runestone City shall temporarily be entrusted to your care.”
The grief on Ron’s face was instantly replaced by immense astonishment.
He could hardly believe his ears. His eyes fixed on Eli with burning intensity.
“My lord... are you certain?”
Like Lucerne, Runestone City was a complete city with an established foundation.
Its value far surpassed that of a frontier development point like the valley of the Obsidian Territory. It was true spoils of war, and a true symbol of power.
“I am.” Eli’s answer held not the slightest hesitation.
“Take the knights and depart at once. Go and take control of the city first, then stabilize the situation.
“Once everything has settled down, come to the Obsidian Territory and meet us there. We will... set out together for Thorn City.”
“Yes! My lord baron! Ron will never fail the trust you have placed in me!”
“Oh, and those two bodies as well—I leave them to you. Find a good place in Runestone City and bury them together.”
“Yes, my lord!”
Suppressing his excitement by force, Ron struck his right fist heavily against his chest in the most formal knightly salute, then turned and strode away.
Watching Ron’s retreating back, a trace of confusion appeared on Buck’s resolute face.
He stepped forward half a pace and lowered his voice.
“My lord, why...
“Runestone City is also spoils won through our own blood and battle.
“Even if it is to be temporarily garrisoned by the Golden Lion Knights, it ought to be you who first sends men to take possession of it...”
Eli turned around. A bitter smile touched his face, then quickly faded back into calm.
“I am leaving for Thorn City at once, Buck.
“We cannot leave behind the slightest pretext for anyone to accuse us of overstepping our station, or of greed.
“After all, Sir Lucius’s formal order... has yet to say anything at all.”
His gaze turned toward the direction of Thorn City, as though it could pierce the distant horizon and look into the unfathomable eyes of that Governor.
Buck looked at the side of Eli’s face, where the signs of youth had already faded away.
He remained silent for a moment.
He understood the caution and helplessness Eli had left unspoken, and he also saw the weight hidden beneath that calm.
In the end, he merely nodded with quiet approval, and when he spoke, his tone carried a rare gentleness, almost like that of an elder.
“I understand.
“You should go find somewhere to rest for a while. Leave this place to us.”
Eli nodded and tried to force out an easy smile in answer to Buck’s kindness.
But that smile looked stiff and strained.
He cast one final glance over the plain, drenched in death and blood.
Then, in a low voice, he murmured,
“The heroes under heaven truly are as numerous as crucian carp crossing the river...”
With that, he turned and dragged his heavy steps toward the temporary camp tents.
......
At that same moment, in Thorn City, the capital of the Western Frontier, within La Roche Castle—
Sir Lucius sat alone in his study. Outside the window hung the gray, overcast sky above Thorn City.
In his hand was a letter secretly sent out by Sabda through a trusted confidant before launching his final battle.
The handwriting on the page was somewhat hurried.
In it, Sabda went to great lengths to exaggerate the strength of Eli Pendragon’s forces.
He claimed that Eli already commanded more than a thousand elite soldiers, controlled more than five thousand subjects, possessed solid city walls and a mysterious source of wealth, and that the speed of his development was unnaturally fast.
In the letter, Sabda strongly implied that Eli’s ambitions were far from small, that he was fiercely ambitious and would never be content to remain beneath another man for long.
He even hinted darkly that Eli might have ties to certain mysterious forces or hidden secrets.
At the end of the letter, he wrote:
“If this man is not removed, he will inevitably become a mortal threat to the Western Frontier, and may one day prove impossible to restrain.
“For the long-term future of the Western Frontier, Sir, you must make your decision without delay and secretly eliminate him before his wings have fully grown...”
Sir Lucius calmly read every word of the letter.
Not the slightest ripple appeared on his face.
After a long while, he lifted the sheet of paper, rose slowly to his feet, and walked to the hearth.
Then he cast that page, drenched in emotion, with perfect accuracy into the dancing flames.
The orange-red tongues of fire swiftly licked upward, greedily devouring the paper and reducing it to curling black ash.
Sir Lucius watched the whole process in silence until the last flicker of fire died away.
Only then did he slowly turn back around and cast his deep gaze once more out the window.
......
Far away in the Southern Frontier, within the central castle of House Medici, where the climate was warm and humid—
Duke Hackson Medici dismissed all his attendants and sat alone in a magnificent yet cold study.
He too held a letter in his hand.
The paper was of fine quality, but only a single brief line had been written upon it.
He recognized the handwriting.
It belonged to his second son Sabda, the one whose heart had always been higher than the sky, the one who had never known how to yield.
“Sabda Medici died by Eli Pendragon’s hand.”
Duke Hackson’s gaze remained fixed upon that single line for a very long time.
His fingers tightened unconsciously, nearly crushing the tough paper in his grip.
The study was deathly silent. Only the occasional crackle of burning wood from the hearth could be heard.
On that face, long accustomed to authority and majesty, there was not much visible grief.
There was only a fatigue and loneliness too deep to put into words.
“Foolish boy...”
After a long while, within those deep-set eyes, there seemed to flash a trace of moisture—
but it vanished almost at once.
He simply sat there in silence, like a stone statue that had suddenly aged many years.
Staring at the line that declared his son’s death,
he sank into boundless silence.