Awakening the Great Bloodline Chapter 158

Chapter 158: The Abandoned Flag

The cold air cut at his cheeks. Darvan Caracal lifted his gaze from the saddle and watched his breath scatter like snowflakes.

Through that pale haze, his father's face rose to the surface. The iron emperor who had cleaved through battlefields, the man before whom all others bowed their heads. Yet rather than reaching out a hand to his son, he had left behind only a retreating back—irresponsible in its absence.

'I did not choose you.'

He had known without being told.

Had his father given any thought to his son's position, he could not have thrown his life away so aninglessly. The imperial house was a hollow shell, the imperial guard had been disbanded, and Darvan had been cast down to a place where he had to prove himself from the very beginning.

It was to such a man that the nobles had drawn near and whispered.

"The throne remains vacant."

"Claim your authority as the firstborn. The justification belongs to you."

Those words had been sweet as poison. Knowing it was impossible, he had clung to a single thread of hope. Of course, he had known it himself.

He did not possess the 'Great Eye' his father had held. Compared to the first neural accelerator, to say nothing of mana or swordsmanship—there was nothing that could stand in comparison. He was, in every sense of the word, a prince in na only.

And the eighteen thousand soldiers arrayed beneath him were already wavering before the battle had even begun. Most had been dragged there against their will—farrs, without even proper armor to their nas.

Even so, Darvan raised the sword in his grip high.

'Even if I die here, I will be rembered as the last emperor of the empire.'

That was his final shred of pride.

* * *

At that sa mont.

Marquis Ashapel, on the opposite end of the battlefield, turned over the scene from the previous night in his mind. When Calix had summoned him, he had felt curiosity rather than fear. What rebuke would be poured out, or would a threat follow? Yet what had co in return was a suffocating silence.

Not a single word had been spoken—every demand had been conveyed through gaze alone. A wordless pressure in place of all demands. In that mont, Ashapel had overlaid the image of his opponent with that of the previous emperor in his youth. He knew it was an illusion, yet it had been an instinctive thought.

The marquis shook his head and murmured.

"……It was a necessary thing."

Now, whoever beca the victor, the next emperor would co from the house of Marquis Ashapel. He had swept aside the shadows and let sunlight fall upon the throne. That was the burden he carried, the cold logic of aristocratic politics.

Darvan Caracal.

The powerless prince would fall, shedding blue blood. He had personally laid the final stage with his own hands, and the curtain was soon to descend.

Marquis Ashapel looked beyond the plain at the man clutching his sword. Even the sight of him raging against death was no more than a step in the process of completing today's stage.

Soon, both armies began advancing toward one another.

Over the windswept plain, the scent of iron and leather hung thick. One side was accustod to it; the other was encountering it for the first ti and showed their fear before anything else. Thus the long columns finished their preparations to collide, and a mont later, the stillness of the eastern land was shattered.

* * *

The forces arrayed on the eastern plain charged without forming so much as a proper defensive formation. The farrs gripping spears showed not fighting spirit in their eyes, but fear and confusion.

Darvan Caracal raised his sword a second ti. He wrung out a voice choked with emotion.

"Advance! For the honor of the imperial house!"

But before the command had even finished, the front line lurched.

Thud!

The mont both sides' infantry collided, the alliance forces' weighted assault ca crashing straight down.

Shields smashed together and a dull impact rang out. The Mountain Rabbits moved as a single mass, and the Silver Shield Legion's very footsteps were uniform. Darvan's forces, having never established any order to begin with, split apart. It was not a problem on one side alone—they had been pushed back all at once in the very first clash.

Screams, wailing, formations crumbling in an instant.

Weapons and shields lost their owners and tumbled across the ground. Darvan let out a roar with bloodshot eyes.

"Don't scatter! Your emperor stands at your side! If you fall back now, you all die!"

But his voice was quickly swallowed by the crash of steel and screaming. The soldiers in the front lines crumbled with ease, and through the gaps, the alliance's blades drove in.

He gritted his teeth and swung his sword, yet he could not even hold onto a handful of farr-soldiers. His commands were aningless; his desperation, hollow.

Calix watched the scene from a distance. The tide of battle had already turned. No—it had been a fight that could never have been won from the start.

"Prepare the cavalry charge."

A short order rang out.

The Mountain Rabbits' finest cavalry, now clad in Niborian barding, moved forward. War horses stamped the dirt, and the earth trembled even before they had broken into a full gallop. Dust surged and scattered thickly over the battle lines.

Calix took his place at the head and gripped the reins.

"Do not pursue those who flee!"

With those words, the cavalry cut across the battlefield and charged.

Rumble—!

With the movent of thousands of riders, the plain shuddered. The thundering of hooves spread like a wave, and the vibration of iron and leather rang out like a song of mourning.

The distance closed, mana stones activated, and the warhorses' power was unleashed. As Calix extended his blade forward, the cavalry following behind lowered themselves into position simultaneously.

The outco was clear.

The enemy forces were busy turning their backs and fleeing. There was not even a need to reach out with a blade.

"Hold them! Stand firm—"

"Aaaaaghh!!"

Only a tiny handful of soldiers raised their spear tips, but the shafts snapped almost imdiately and they were swept away. Crushed beneath the weight and speed of the horses, they were blown apart whole. Those who had curled behind their shields were pressed to death where they crouched; those who had turned to run were reduced to pieces in an instant.

The formation dissolved into chaos. Soone stumbled and fell while fleeing, and comrade after comrade toppled on top of them. The cavalry's hooves ground them all underfoot as they passed.

The enemy commander, anwhile, had been the first to flee. He turned from the rear and slipped away, abandoning the prince in the heart of the battlefield.

And a short while later.

Royce and Marik spread the cavalry to both flanks. The enemy lines were already in ruins. The outco had been decided in under ten minutes.

"Open the way!"

Calix, too, wheeled his reins and carved out space for a path of retreat. He had no intention of fighting an annihilation battle. The enemy soldiers abandoned the imperial banner and scattered in every direction.

"Don't pursue! Regroup!"

He blew his whistle and pulled the cavalry back. After a mont, the rumbling of hooves faded, and the cavalry ca to a halt. What remained on the plain were broken weapons and fallen n.

A battlefield with nothing left but the footprints of those who had fled.

It was then that Adrian approached and spoke.

"Calix, if we're going to march east, we need to secure our rear. While we're fighting the legion commander, there may be those carrying the imperial na who try to shake Niboria."

The Mountain Rabbits, the newly joined knights—all of them turned their eyes to his face. This aningless battlefield had not yet been put to rest.

Adrian drove the point ho.

"Darvan Caracal must die here."

"……."

Vice-captain Marik added in an equally firm voice.

"Leaving him alive will plainly cause problems later. The re fact that Caracal blood runs through his veins could be a significant threat."

Calix looked out over the battlefield as it settled.

The hastily conscripted soldiers had scattered in every direction, and the imperial banner had been driven face-down into the mud. Yet one man alone remained mounted, still resisting.

"I am the firstborn son of the previous emperor! I hold the right of legitimate succession—the throne is mine! Stand down this instant!"

He repeated the sa words over and over in a hoarse voice. As though casting a spell upon himself, he thrashed his sword through the air and raged. He tried to put strength into the hand gripping the sword, but his body would not obey.

Darvan's face had gone chalk-white. Only now did he understand. The army he had led was, from the very beginning, nothing but an illusion.

Now, not a trace of imperial dignity could be found anywhere.

Calix closed his eyes briefly.

'I could look away and call it nothing more than a ga set by the nobles. But the one who decides the end must always be my own hand.'

The knights around him watched him in silence. No one held him back; no one urged him forward. They simply waited for Calix's decision.

He drew his reins and moved forward.

The heart of the battlefield.

At the sound of hooves striking the earth, Darvan snapped his head up. Bloodshot eyes turned toward Calix.

"You traitor! How dare you covet that seat! This body carries imperial bloodline! A bastard rcenary like you—"

Calix neither grew angry nor answered.

One could say the man was a victim too. But there was no aning in weighing right and wrong at this point. The renowned blade Srna slowly slid free from its sheath.

A clear ring of steel cut through the silence.

Darvan's body trembled finely as he spurred his horse forward. He wrung out his last strength and charged at Calix. Mana coiled faintly at the tip of his blade.

Wind's Scar.

For one of noble blood, it was a remarkable level of attainnt. In this mont alone, he seed a true emperor, cloaking himself in blue radiance from head to foot. It was his final act of resistance.

Calix rode forward to et him and extended his sword straight.

For one instant, two warhorses grazed past each other as a ring of steel spread through the air. A trail of blood drew an arc through the sky.

Swish—thud!

Darvan's sword left its owner's hand and buried itself in the dirt. His body collapsed a beat slower, sliding from the saddle.

Thud.

The imperial banner lay down beside him. Where the blue blood had gone was unclear—only red liquid flowed out and mixed with the dust.

The nobles of Niboria exchanged aningful looks. There was no need to exchange words. It had been wrapped up cleanly.

Calix felt their gazes, thick with satisfaction, and made a firm vow within his heart.

'This is as far as it goes. I will not allow them to act as they please any longer.'

* * *

The battlefield gradually recovered its calm. The cries died away, and the dust settled back to earth. What remained was the victors' cheers and a few riderless horses wandering without masters.

The Mountain Rabbits, taken aback by how swiftly it had ended, nonetheless raised their heads and looked to Calix. The one who had claid the throne for himself had fallen, and in his place stood a man who had wanted no part of it.

The alliance soldiers quietly subdued their excitent. Calix surveyed his surroundings with a composed expression. If anything, it was from him that the shadow of a ruler seed to cast.

He looked down at the banner, half-soaked in blood. It bore the crest of the Niborian imperial house. Once a symbol of the empire's authority, it was now nothing more than a useless rag.

He withdrew his gaze, and Helmut Barben approached, carefully venturing a word.

"Shouldn't the banner be…… Raised again? It is, after all, proof of a victory."

Calix slowly shook his head. The banner still lay on the ground, and beside it rested the fallen heir of the imperial house.

That sight was, in itself, a declaration.

'I do not chase what has already crumbled. My path lies elsewhere.'

The soldiers drew awkward breaths, and the nobles averted their eyes with an air of dissatisfaction. They had sought to sway Calix, yet had been unable to bend him to their will.

The Mountain Rabbits, too, were unchanged. Captain Royce turned and saw to the wounded. Vice-captain Marik checked the condition of the warhorses, and Hadiya pondered over how to cross into the east. They were no longer shaken by things of this sort.

Calix gazed at the eastern sky for a mont. In any case, this brought the cleanup to a complete end. A red sunset spread over the plain, veiling the aftermath of the battlefield.

What awaited in that direction would surely be a deeper darkness, and a far greater battlefield.