It is not especially difficult for a dragon to infiltrate a royal castle and kill the king. But if such a thing were to happen, the castle knights would swarm in at once like angry bees. As you know, those creatures called knights value their loyalty to the king more than their own lives. If they were to throw their lives away and charge, even a dragon could not be certain of victory. That is because among the royal guards of any halfway decent kingdom, there is sure to be a Sword Master. No matter how hard a dragon’s scales may be, there is one thing they cannot withstand: a Sword Master’s Aura Blade.”
“But dragons have magic, don’t they? Wouldn’t it be enough to kill the king and then escape with teleportation magic?”
“Of course, that method exists as well, but the chances of success would likely be slim. Because humans have beings called mages. Of course, to be honest, it is impossible for a mage to face a dragon in a head-on battle. But it is entirely possible for them to interfere so that the dragon cannot cast magic. In other words, if the mages hold it back while the knights rush in, even a dragon cannot endure it. Especially if high-ranking mages like court mages are mobilized, you should assume the dragon will end up leaving its bones there.”
Even after the explanation ended, Damon did not look particularly convinced.
“But if they launched an attack while accepting the sacrifice of a few, couldn’t they end the war faster?”
“Whose side are you on, exactly? Don’t tell me you’re taking the dragons’ side.”
Seeing Doyle’s eyes go round, Damon gave a bitter smile.
“That’s not it… I was just curious.”
Doyle looked into Damon’s eyes for a moment, then shook his head.
“You brat, that curiosity of yours… Fine. I’ll explain. First of all, dragons do not sacrifice themselves for an organization the way humans do. That is because their way of thinking is markedly different from ours. In a way, it may be because of their pride as the strongest life-forms on the continent. The dragons we are facing now may appear, on the surface, to be obeying the Dragon Lord’s orders. But even they are not blindly obedient. You should think of it as them acting together simply because their goals align.”
“Their goals…”
“Punishment against the race known as humans.”
Since Damon had already heard the general explanation from Shrekheimer, he nodded as though he understood.
“Then, Master, do you believe humans have a chance of winning this war?”
Doyle’s answer came immediately.
“At present, I can only say it looks bleak. The dragons’ power is that overwhelming. However…”
“However?”
“If we can join forces with Arcadia, then humans will certainly be able to win this war.”
As Doyle spoke with certainty, as if he already knew the ending, an incomprehensible darkness lingered around his eyes. Perhaps he was recalling the Sword Master of Arcadia who had captured him during the Dark War. Arcadia’s latent strength was truly formidable. Though they had made him live in darkness for thirty years, he now found himself trapped in the irony of having no choice but to hope for their reinforcements.
Sensing that mood from his master, Damon no longer opened his mouth. He already knew very well that the sea route between Truvenia and Arcadia had been completely blockaded. And he also knew that even if Arcadia learned of Truvenia’s situation, they would be unable to dispatch troops.
After marching for several nights without sleep, the soldiers of the 8th Corps, to which Damon and Doyle belonged, were finally able to arrive at the assembly point. On the Carnatic Plain, great armies gathered from every region had already assembled in full. A vast front line divided the continent of Truvenia into east and west. The forces that had been spread across it, fighting local battles, were continuing to converge on the Carnatic Plain.
In terms of numbers alone, Icarotte’s army was the largest among the forces gathered here. However, refugees were still escaping from the orc-occupied territories, and most of them had been semi-forcibly conscripted, so the troop counts of the other kingdoms could not be underestimated either.
As soon as he arrived at the assembly point, Marquis Hausen stationed his troops in the designated location. After that, he hurried off somewhere with his commanders in tow. It was to meet Sergey, the commander-in-chief in charge of this place. The most urgent task was to meet him, report the state of the forces he possessed, and also grasp how the war situation was unfolding. A large number of knights and mages accompanied him as well. Needless to say, Doyle also went with them. Though he was a black mage, Doyle was still a high-ranking mage with advanced magical skill…
After his master left, Damon had no choice but to spend extremely idle days. He badly wanted to immerse himself in training, but there were too many watching eyes, so he simply could not. Because so many troops had gathered, the assembly point was busy with no room to set foot. It was to the point where one might think every kingdom’s forces in Truvenia had assembled there. Because of that, Damon could not even think of training and had no choice but to focus solely on memorizing magical theory.
That day as well, Damon was leisurely wandering around the encampment while reciting magical theory. Because he was not wearing a helmet, as was his usual habit, his ugly face was plainly exposed, and the soldiers who saw him began gathering in twos and threes to whisper. It was the common reaction of those who saw Damon for the first time. Of course, since the uniform he wore was that of a Guard, equal in rank to a centurion, the soldiers could not speak openly, but Damon’s ears were so sharp that he could still hear them.
“What kind of bastard looks like that? And yet he’s a Guard captain?”
“With the war situation being this bad, they’re dragging in all sorts of freaks.”
Anger surged up in him, but Damon simply pretended not to hear. It was not because he had profound self-discipline, but simply because he found it bothersome. Damon’s usual principle was that if he had time to pick a fight and beat someone up, he might as well recite one more magical theory. Expressionless, he walked among the soldiers who were glancing at him. Just then, a familiar voice suddenly reached his ears.
“H-hold on, aren’t you Damon?”
It was a voice he had heard before, so Damon slowly turned his head.
“What?”
A look of sudden delight appeared on his face. There, a face Damon could never forget was looking at him. It was MacMillan, the senior wall guard who had shown him much consideration back when he had been a defender on the walls of Feldrian.
“MacMillan.”
Though he had become somewhat gaunt, MacMillan’s strong-featured face had not changed at all. Overcome with joy, Damon went over without hesitation and hugged MacMillan tightly. He was a benefactor who had treated him that well.
When Damon had completed the three tests and been assigned as a wall guard, MacMillan had taken great care of him despite the fact that they could not even communicate. It was thanks to his help, more than anything else, that Damon had been able to learn Truvenia’s language so quickly. After Damon was selected as a royal guard, MacMillan and the other members of Guard Squad 57 were immediately conscripted to the battlefield, so they had not even been able to say farewell. For that reason, MacMillan could not have been a more welcome sight to Damon. Given Damon’s nature of never forgetting those who had shown him kindness, the existence called MacMillan had long since been deeply engraved in his mind.
“It’s been so long. Have you been well?”
“Y-yeah…”
From MacMillan’s awkward, faltering manner, Damon suddenly felt something strange. MacMillan seemed somewhat different from before. Damon first looked over his body. Soon, an exclamation filled with shock burst out.
“N-no…”
No wonder something had seemed off. MacMillan’s right arm had been cut off from around the shoulder. Startled, Damon urgently asked again.
“What happened to your arm?”
“Well, I lost it in battle.”
MacMillan lowered his head in embarrassment and turned his severed arm behind him. But Damon had already managed to identify the clothes he was wearing. The outfit MacMillan wore was one Damon knew well: the attire of a Shielder.
Shielder. Ordinarily, it was a term referring to a shield-bearer. But by the definition used here, it could be summed up in one phrase: human shield. It was a branch of service to which crippled soldiers like MacMillan, especially those who had lost the right arm that held a weapon, were assigned, and its role was to block enemy arrows with large wooden shields. Of course, there was no way armor would be issued to them.
Simply put, soldiers who had lost their fighting ability were given nothing but a single wooden shield and driven out as targets for enemy arrows. Whether they died in battle or not did not matter at all. Rather, if they died, a large amount of food and supplies could be saved, so the commanders of each corps were currently making heavy use of Shielders. Of course, for the soldiers assigned as Shielders, there could be no greater misfortune.
At the fact that an old comrade he had met after so long had fallen to the level of mere arrow fodder, Damon was at a loss for words. Damon knew all too well how the fate of Shielders was decided.
MacMillan, too, seemed resentful of his own circumstances and could not speak for a while. In his dispirited figure, there was no trace at all of the confident Feldrian wall guard he had once been.
“Then what about the others?”
“They all died. Hans, Passat… Only I survived, crippled like this. But since I became a Shielder, my fate will soon be over too, won’t it?”
Looking at MacMillan grumbling self-mockingly, Damon’s face twitched. He wanted to comfort him somehow, but the words simply would not come. At that moment, a loud voice suddenly burst out from the side. Its tone was clearly challenging.
“A freak and a cripple, having a fine time together, I see. Hey. We’re in a hurry, so wrap up your reunion here.”
When Damon slowly turned his head, a large man whose entire body was covered in plate mail was staring hard at him. He seemed to flinch slightly after belatedly checking Damon’s attire, but his expression showed little concern. Judging by the insignia on his chest, he appeared to be a centurion.
Seeing the color drain from MacMillan’s face, it seemed that the large man was in a position to control the Shielders. The large man slowly approached the place where the two were standing. Perhaps because he was wearing heavy armor, his gait was exceedingly slow.
Generally, among soldiers of all branches, Shielders could be said to have the harshest discipline. Since they were, in a word, a suicide assault unit, desertions were naturally frequent. Therefore, their discipline had to be maintained strictly through extremely brutal beatings. Of course, because they were soldiers whose fate was already set, cases of Shielders rebelling against their superiors occurred very frequently, and for that reason, the unit leaders who commanded Shielders were all men of imposing physique. And they had no choice but to wear heavy armor as sturdy as a knight’s. If they let their guard down for even a moment, they never knew when they might be sent to the grave, so they always commanded the Shielders with an intimidating attitude. Arriving where the two stood, the large man soon began snarling at MacMillan.
“You damned bastard. What do you think you’re doing leaving the ranks without warning?”
“Y-yes. I-I’ll go now.”
MacMillan tried to hurry away in great panic. The unit he belonged to had already stopped marching and was waiting for him. But the unit leader did not let him off so easily.
Thud.
MacMillan, struck hard in the abdomen, crumpled to the ground. Beside him, the large man rubbed his fist and showed off his bulging muscles to Damon. After holding MacMillan responsible for delaying the march, the unit leader tried to move the unit with a triumphant air. But his words did not continue to the end.
“Everyone, move—Gurk.”
His massive body was lifted clean off the ground. Dangling in midair, the unit leader kicked his legs repeatedly as he choked. But the hand gripping his throat was as immovable as if it were made of steel. At some point, Damon had stepped over and lifted the unit leader’s body into the air. The Power-Up Gauntlet he was already wearing had been filled with an extreme amount of mana.
“Let him go.”
The unit leaders commanding the Shielder units rushed over to help their comrade, but Damon paid them no mind and glared at the large man as he growled.
“Hey! Couldn’t you see I was talking with an old friend? Are those eyes of yours just holes torn open because there wasn’t enough skin?”
The pitiful unit leader could not even answer and merely thrashed about. Of course, since his throat was being held, there was no way words could escape from it. Damon’s figure, lightly holding up a man who seemed more than twice his size, looked grotesque. Damon glanced at the unit leaders who had approached to save their comrade, then hurled the large man straight at them.
“Oof!”
Unable to withstand the weight of the large man in heavy armor, two unit leaders toppled over on the spot. When the helmet knocked off the large man’s head rolled toward him, Damon bent at the waist and picked it up.
“Looks like you haven’t heard the rumors at all. That in Icarotte’s 8th Corps, there is a Guard captain who looks filthy enough, but whose temper is even filthier…”
Having finished speaking, Damon put strength into his hand. The helmet, which looked extremely solid, began to crumple slowly. After becoming able to use magic, Damon could personally infuse mana into the Power-Up Gauntlet, and accordingly, the gauntlet’s power had no choice but to grow even stronger.