One week later, the battlefield outside the Black Wood Forest Outpost was wreathed in smoke, the ground littered with corpses.
Duke Douglas, clad in Fine Steel Armor, stood on a hastily constructed command platform.
The handso, middle-aged general maintained a ramrod-straight posture. He gazed at the distant Rosenia army’s formation, then brought his arm down in a steady motion. "Full assault!"
The cavalry of the Vilt Kingdom charged the enemy lines like a torrent of steel, their warhorses’ hooves thundering across the early autumn grass and kicking up clouds of dust.
Leading the charge was the Duke’s Knight Corps. They carried banners emblazoned with the sigil of a deep black river, the emblem shimring with a dark luster in the sunlight.
"For the God of Truth!" The soldiers’ roars shook the heavens.
The Rosenia army responded swiftly.
Prince Vladimir was draped in a heavy, black bearskin cloak, his thick beard obscuring most of his face.
He raised a gem-encrusted Longsword, his voice hoarse. "Warriors! Show these heretics the might of the Northern Warriors!"
The battle raged from dawn until dusk, with both sides locked in a seesaw struggle within the narrow valley.
Vilt’s heavy cavalry broke through Rosenia’s left flank at one point, but just as they were about to encircle the enemy, they t with staunch resistance from Rosenia’s infantry phalanxes.
"Lord Duke! The right flank requests reinforcents!" a blood-soaked ssenger reported, kneeling on one knee.
Duke Douglas narrowed his eyes, studying the stalemate. "Tell Count Peric to hold on for another hour."
anwhile, at the rear of the battlefield, Baron Belede was leading his Black Rock Cavalry in an attempt to outflank the enemy.
The rugged Baron swung his War Axe, each chop carrying a vicious gust of wind. "Break their formation!"
However, the Rosenia commander had already anticipated this move and had positioned a phalanx of spearn on the flank.
Under the command of the Ice Eagle Lord, the Vilt cavalry suffered heavy losses against the dense spear formation. Baron Belede’s warhorse was impaled on a spear, and he himself was killed in the chaos of battle.
By the third day of battle, both sides were utterly exhausted.
Duke Douglas summoned his generals in his tent; exhaustion was etched on every face.
"We can’t keep fighting like this," Count Peric said, his expression grim and his tone heavy. "Our casualties have already exceeded thirty percent."
Duke Douglas was silent for a long ti before finally speaking. "We will fight one more day. If we still cannot break through, we will prepare to withdraw."
The fighting on the fourth day was even more brutal.
Prince Vladimir personally led a suicide squad to storm Vilt’s central command, and the two sides engaged in a bloody lee before the command platform.
The captain of Duke Douglas’s personal guard was killed, and the Duke himself was nearly wounded by a stray arrow.
"Your Highness! The Vilt People’s reinforcents have arrived!" a Rosenia ssenger reported in a panic.
Vladimir looked toward the Vilt banners fluttering in the distance, a trace of unwillingness flashing across his weather-beaten face. "Give the order. Retreat."
However, Vilt’s reinforcents were also a spent force.
As night fell, both sides tacitly ceased their slaughter.
On the morning of the seventh day, Duke Douglas gazed out at the devastated battlefield and finally gave the order to retreat.
...
"Is it over just like that?" a young Laine asked, his voice tinged with frustration as he watched the army pack up.
He had just arrived at the border, hoping to make a fortune from the war. He never expected it to end so quickly.
Although he had taken a beating for ddling in things that weren’t his business, he still wished he could stay a while longer.
’After all, what better business is there than war right now?’
Besides, influenced by the Church Court’s propaganda, he genuinely couldn’t stand the Rosenia People, who were called "heretical Barbarians."
The old rchant, Hawke, saw through his thoughts and clapped him on the shoulder. "That’s war for you, kid. There are no winners, only survivors." He lowered his voice and added, "Be extra careful during the retreat. These defeated soldiers are holding in a lot of anger and are looking for a place to vent it."
Just then, a commotion erupted at the other end of the street.
Several retreating soldiers had surrounded a local farr and were roughly snatching a cloth sack from his shoulder.
"This is my grain for the winter!" the old farr cried, clutching the sack for dear life. His thick, local accent was particularly noticeable amid the noise. "Please, sirs, have rcy! Leave a way to live!"
"Get lost! You think we don’t know how much grain you locals have stashed away?" The lead soldier kicked the old man away, a sneer on his face. "I heard you all lived quite well when this was still the Duval Territory. You had more charcoal than you could burn in the winter, while we were risking our lives on the front lines and couldn’t even get a mouthful of hot soup! We put our lives on the line, and you lot? You just hide back here and enjoy yourselves!"
Laine watched the scene coldly.
A month ago, he would have charged in, hot-headed, to argue with them.
But now, he had learned to be indifferent. He only clenched his fists silently, not stepping forward.
At that mont, a young, blond-haired man slowly erged from around the corner.
He wore a deep blue velvet coat with exquisite silver embroidery at the collar, and the hilt of the sword at his waist was inlaid with a Sapphire.
Laine recognized him as the husband from the young noble couple he had seen in the rchant caravan.
’Looking at his lavish attire now, he’s like a completely different person from the one in the simple linen traveling clothes a month ago. He must have already established connections with the local dignitaries and plans to put down roots here.’
’Back when I was getting beaten, this noble was standing right there, but he just watched coldly. He clearly thought what was happening was a matter of course.’
’But that’s normal. That’s just how nobles in this world are.’
’Always high and mighty.’
To Laine’s surprise, however, the young noble stepped forward and shouted, "Stop. The God of Truth teaches clearly in the Holy Scripture: ’You shall not wrong a sojourner or oppress him... You shall not mistreat any widow or fatherless child. If you do mistreat them, and they cry out to , I will surely hear their cry.’ What you are doing is blaspheming the teachings of a Divine Spirit."
The soldiers froze on the spot.
A flash of disdain crossed the lead soldier’s face, clearly unimpressed by the sermon, but when he got a clear look at the young man’s expensive clothes and the sword at his waist that signified his noble status, his expression imdiately changed to one of terror.
"M-My lord, forgive us!" The soldier hurriedly let go of the old man and backed away repeatedly. "We’ll leave now, we’ll leave now..."
The blond young man watched them coldly. "Rember, God is watching your actions today."
As if granted a pardon, the soldiers scrambled away from the scene.
The old farr shakily got to his feet, thanking him profusely. "Thank you, my lord! Thank you, my lord!"
Laine stared in astonishnt, unconsciously unclenching his fists.
He had thought this blond noble was just like the others, turning a blind eye to the suffering of commoners.
He never expected him to actually stand up for a farr he didn’t even know.
The blond young man seed to notice Laine’s gaze. He gave him a slight nod, then turned and left, leaving Laine standing there with an indescribable doubt welling up in his heart.
’Does a noble like that really exist in this world?’
’Even the high-ranking figures from the Church Court he’d seen over the past month, who spouted doctrine all day long—didn’t they all cast aside the sacred teachings when faced with their own interests?’
’But what about what happened a month ago?’
’He clearly didn’t intervene back then.’
The autumn wind swept up fallen leaves at the street corner. As Laine watched the retreating figure, his understanding of the world’s rules was overturned once again, just as it had been a month ago.
...
Inside Monte Castle, Murphy sat on the edge of the bed in his old bedroom, eyes gently closed, his aura as still as water.
The door opened silently, and Margaret strode in.
She looked like a completely different person from the one who used to wear a simple white robe.
She wore a silver coronet inlaid with Moonstone and Pearl, a dark green damask gown woven with gold thread, and pearl-white silk stockings with silver-embroidered white high heels. Every detail proclaid the dignity and majesty of the Royal Family.
"Kneel," Murphy said without opening his eyes, his voice filled with unquestionable authority.
Margaret dropped to her knees. Her dark green skirt spread out across the stone floor like a water lily blooming in the night.
She tilted up her delicate face, her eyes shimring with a devout light.
"You lied to ." Murphy slowly opened his eyes, his gaze as sharp as ice. "The people under my rule are not doing well at all."
Margaret’s eyelashes trembled, but her voice remained elegant. "Master, suffering is relative. Compared to the people of other border territories who are also suffering from war taxes and the chaos of battle, the Duval Territory at least has so prosperity in its markets, thanks to the garrisoned army. Moreover..."
She paused briefly. "If I were to exert more influence, my actions would be questioned. Forcibly accelerating the war’s progress has already drawn considerable criticism, and that was only because I took advantage of the war’s end. If you had arrived half a year earlier, Master, it would have been difficult for to do even this much without arousing suspicion... and all of this would affect your supply of the Great Knight’s Secret dicine..."
"Silence," Murphy interrupted, his voice cold. "When you do sothing wrong, you must accept punishnt."
A feverish blush imdiately appeared on Margaret’s face, and her eyes glinted with anticipation.
She eagerly crawled forward on her knees, stopping before Murphy, her upturned face filled with obsession.
Murphy reached out and grabbed her long hair forcefully, allowing her to draw close.
’How could he not know that Margaret was telling the truth?’
’In this world, many things truly don’t go as one wishes.’
’Although he wasn’t one to vent his emotions carelessly, always preferring to resolve his frustrations internally.’
’But it was different with Margaret.’
’This Witch, obsessed with being dominated, craved his punishnt.’
’Since that was the case, Murphy didn’t mind indulging her desire, using it as an opportunity to release his own pent-up frustrations.’
’More importantly, he needed to instill the nature of [Control Human] into her very being. Even if the Magic were to be dispelled in the future, it would leave an eternal brand deep in her soul, ensuring she could never escape his control.’
Margaret let out a whimper at Murphy’s action.
"This is your punishnt for deceiving your master," Murphy said, tightening his grip.
Margaret tilted her head back. "Thank you, Master... Maggie knows she was wrong..."
The punishnt lasted for half an hour.
Margaret remained kneeling, her magnificent dress slightly disheveled, but the look on her face was one of extraordinary satisfaction.
"In one month," Murphy said, sitting back down on the edge of the bed, his voice returning to its usual calm, "once the territory has returned to normal, help arrange a wedding."
Margaret was taken aback for a mont, then broke into a sweet smile. "Is it for Miss Aurora? Maggie will be sure to prepare the most perfect wedding for you, Master."
As twilight deepened, only the sound of their heavy breathing remained in the room.
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