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“After all, the answer is a charge. Push with all our strength, penetrate deep into the enemy’s center, and once we cause chaos, their formation will collapse.”

Indeed, the Ferdium forces had often reaped benefits through charges while fighting in the north.

“What’s so difficult about it? My brother and I will just kill them all! Right, that’s all it’ll take.”

Randolph and Zwalter, both highly regarded knights, could say such things with confidence.

There would surely be strong knights on the opposing side as well, but Randolph deliberately pushed that thought out of his mind.

Given that the Ferdium forces were outnumbered, there weren’t many tactical options available. The one and only solution was an all-out charge — no questions asked, just charge.

Although Zwalter usually took command on the battlefield, this time Randolph firmly believed that his strategy would be adopted.

“Where would be the best battlefield? I’ll have to discuss that with my brother. As for the formation….”

While pondering the formation and troop organization, Randolph suddenly thought of the mercenaries under Ghislain’s command.

“At least it’s a relief that the Young Lord is leading the mercenaries.”

In a situation where every soldier counted, the mercenaries commanded by the Young Lord were a significant force.

Even when they scraped together conscripts, their numbers were low, and their combat strength was minimal.

In such a predicament, having several hundred mercenaries with individual combat prowess was like a blessing in disguise.

“No, I can’t let that valuable force go to waste by having them act separately. I need to take command of them and integrate them into the charge.”

There was no way he could let a novice like the Young Lord command such elite troops.

The Young Lord could participate in the battle as a knight, but the mercenaries had to be placed under the supreme commander’s authority.

“I hope that fool listens this time. If not, I’ll have to suggest punishing him for insubordination.”

Randolph hurriedly set out to find Ghislain.

No matter how unruly and reckless Ghislain was, he couldn’t stubbornly stick to his ways with the estate on the brink of destruction.

Desperate to take control of the mercenaries, Randolph frantically searched for him, but Ghislain was nowhere to be found.

“Huh? Where is he? Could he be at the encampment?”

Randolph mounted his horse and quickly exited through the northern gate.

Arriving at the mercenaries’ camp, he looked around and felt a growing sense of unease.

Only laborers occasionally passed by; not a single mercenary was in sight.

The only ones remaining at the camp were Skovan, the guard captain of the Forest of Beasts, his lieutenant Ricardo, and a few soldiers.

“Wh-where are the mercenaries? Where is the Young Lord?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“He came suddenly and took them all with him.”

Skovan, the guard captain, answered with a troubled expression.

He, too, had no idea where the Young Lord had taken the mercenaries.

“Ugh, that bastard. Could it be…?”

Randolph, now in a hurry, rushed back to the castle to find Belinda.

“Belinda! Where is Belinda?”

Belinda was always by Ghislain’s side. If anyone knew where Ghislain was, it would surely be her.

But there was no one at the castle. Belinda, the large man who always accompanied Ghislain, and the one who always slacked off—none of them were there.

It was then that Randolph realized the situation and collapsed onto the ground.

“That bastard… He ran off to save his own skin! Ugh! Ghislain! You son of a bitch!”

He had felt uneasy ever since Ghislain had uncharacteristically suggested defending the castle quietly.

But no matter how one looked at it, how could someone like the Young Lord of the estate sneak away like this?

Randolph’s father and the vassals were preparing for a desperate fight, willing to risk their lives, yet here was the heir of the estate, fleeing like a coward!

“You wretch! I’ll capture you and throw you in prison, no matter what!”

In a fit of rage, Randolph ordered the soldiers to find whoever remained and then went to see Zwalter.

As soon as the vassals gathered, Randolph vented his fury, revealing that the Young Lord had fled.

The already somber atmosphere became even more dismal.

“Ghislain… ran away?” Zwalter asked, as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Yes! He took his entire group and fled!” Randolph screamed, his anger boiling over, stomping furiously.

Baron Homerne tried to calm Randolph down, wiping the sweat that had beaded on his brow.

“Maybe… he just went out on a scouting mission?”

“A scouting mission? Do people take all their men and vanish on a scouting mission?”

At that moment, Albert, recalling something, urgently shouted, “Th-the Runestone! Didn’t we recently mine more Runestones? Let’s check if they’re still there! If they are, then he hasn’t fled.”

Homerne nodded in agreement. “Yes, yes. If he ran, there’s no way he wouldn’t take the money. Check quickly!”

Soon after, soldiers returned from checking Ghislain’s private storage within the estate and delivered their report.

“The storage… is empty.”

Everyone’s faces turned grim.

As unbelievable as the situation was, considering what they knew of Ghislain, it wasn’t entirely out of the question.

One of the vassals hesitated before speaking. “Now that I think about it, the mercenaries had been frequenting the Young Lord’s storage recently. They couldn’t have moved that many Runestones all at once… It seems they’ve been smuggling them out over time.”

More testimonies followed.

“At night, the mercenaries forcibly replaced the soldiers guarding the castle gates. It was probably to cover up their Runestone theft.”

“To think the Young Lord had such intentions all along. I suppose… it does suit him.”

As the vassals continued their testimonies, Zwalter rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.

“So, in the end, that’s all you amounted to. Foolish boy… Without honor, living isn’t living at all… Did you truly lack even a shred of pride?”

Why are nobles called nobles, if not for this?

If one earns honor and enjoys privileges, they must bear the weight of responsibility in equal measure.

A noble who shirks their responsibilities is worse than a slave.

“To think this would be over before we even fought.”

If word spread that the Young Lord had fled before the war even began, the morale of the soldiers would plummet.

It would be akin to declaring that they had no chance of victory.

With their forces already at a disadvantage, how could they hope to win a war when the soldiers wouldn’t risk their lives to fight?

“He must’ve survived like a coward to at least continue the family line. If he was going to abandon his honor, he might as well have taken his brother with him.”

If Ghislain was determined to live without honor, he should have fled with his brother. But, as always, he only cared for himself.

While Zwalter was grinding his teeth in frustration, there was a commotion at the entrance of the grand hall, and someone was dragged in.

“Let go! Do you even know who I am?! How dare you!”

The ones being dragged in were Alfoi, the mages, and Vanessa.

Upon seeing them, Randolph clenched his teeth and approached.

“Ha! So, in your hurry to run, you left a few behind.”

“Wait, hold on a moment.”

Homarne quickly stopped Randolph, knowing full well that if Randolph let his temper get the better of him and started throwing punches, any meaningful conversation would be impossible.

Homarne approached Alfoi and asked him directly.

“You lot! Do you know where the Young Lord has gone?”

Suddenly interrogated, Alfoi snapped in irritation.

“Ugh! Why is everything in this wretched estate so messed up? Do you even know who I am, to treat me so disrespectfully?”

“And who are you supposed to be? Just a lowly mercenary, aren’t you?”

Looking down on him with disdain, Homarne’s words made Alfoi shout angrily.

“I am none other than the greatest in the North—!”

Realizing his mistake mid-sentence, Alfoi quickly clamped his mouth shut.

“I-I am… I…”

He was about to reveal too much and now found himself at a loss, almost losing his mind from frustration.

After stammering a few more times, Alfoi snapped in irritation again.

“You don’t need to know who I am!”

Zwalter and the other vassals sneered with contempt.

“Tsk tsk, there really isn’t a single decent person around him, is there?”

Homarne, shaking his head, pressed Alfoi further.

“We don’t care who you are. Do you know where the Young Lord has fled?”

“What? Fled? Are you saying he ran away?”

“Yes, he got scared when war broke out and ran. Did he give you any indication of where he was going?”

Homarne asked, though not expecting much.

If Ghislain had thought Alfoi was important enough to confide in, he wouldn’t have left him behind.

Alfoi looked around in disbelief.

Judging from the expressions on the lord and vassals’ faces, it seemed Ghislain really had disappeared.

“That bastard ran away? After sucking the life out of the tower and dragging us all here, he just runs?”

Grinding his teeth in anger, Alfoi furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Did he really run?”

Alfoi wasn’t the most worldly, but he wasn’t a fool either.

Based on Ghislain’s past actions, he wasn’t the type to flee out of fear of war.

If anything, he might rush in, heedless of his own safety, but run? That didn’t fit.

“Hah! You lot live in the same estate and still don’t know him? He’s not the type to run. He’s crazy and lives like there’s no tomorrow!”

Alfoi’s loud laugh made the vassals frown.

The Ferdium vassals had long been disillusioned with Ghislain, having witnessed his incompetence for years.

Their preconceptions of him were hard to shake.

But Alfoi didn’t see it that way. If anything, he held a different kind of preconception about Ghislain.

Homarne, seeing no point in further questioning someone as unhinged as Alfoi, turned to Vanessa.

“And you, are you a mercenary too? I’ve heard that the Young Lord brought you to the training grounds every day. Apparently, he valued you quite highly.”

Vanessa, feeling nervous, swallowed dryly before bowing deeply.

“I greet the lord and the Chief Overseer.”

Her respectful attitude caught Homerne slightly off guard. This was the first time he had seen someone so normal among those surrounding the Young Lord.

“Hmm, at least you act like a proper person. So, what exactly do you do while by Ghislain’s side?”

“I… I serve as the Young Lord’s… maid.”

Vanessa couldn’t bring herself to admit that she was Ghislain’s personal mage. She could barely cast even a 1st-circle spell—how could she convince anyone that she was his mage?

However, Homerne frowned and clicked his tongue at her honest response.

“There are already plenty of maids working in the castle… But then again, I suppose not many want to serve the Young Lord.”

“….”

When Vanessa remained silent, Homerne pressed her.

“Well, did the Young Lord tell you anything in particular? If you know anything, speak up.”

“I… I….”

There was something Ghislain often said to her.

— You are the key to victory. With you by my side, I will surely win this war.

“I… I am the promised key to victory….”

“What?”

Vanessa couldn’t bring herself to continue. How could she possibly repeat such an embarrassing line out loud?

So, she only said what she could.

“The Young Lord said that he would surely win this war.”

“Win? That coward? He fled with all the Runestones, didn’t he?”

“The Young Lord isn’t that kind of person!”

“Hey! How dare you raise your voice in front of the lord! Ugh, just like the rest of them.”

Homerne frowned deeply and turned away, muttering to himself that it was no surprise.

After all, these were just the people Ghislain had left behind. Nothing useful was going to come out of interrogating them.

At that moment, a ridiculous thought flashed through Alfoi’s mind. He raised his hand slightly and spoke.

“Could it be that bastard—”

But Zwalter cut him off.

“Enough. They clearly know nothing. Let them go.”

Clicking his tongue, Alfoi withdrew with the other mages.

There was no need to inform them of anything, especially when they didn’t want to listen.

Vanessa, not knowing what to do, bowed repeatedly in apology before turning to leave.

Watching them go, Zwalter let out a deep sigh.

“Ghislain… Since you’ve already run away, I hope you somehow survive.”

* * *

On a low hill, hidden among dense trees, Ghislain and the mercenaries were lined up, ready.

They were all prepared to ride out at any moment.

Unlike the tense mercenaries, Ghislain wore a rather relaxed expression.

Belinda, looking worried, asked Ghislain cautiously.

“Young Master, wouldn’t it be better to fight alongside everyone at the castle to minimize losses? Isn’t this too dangerous?”

“It’s fine. It’s just the supply unit. We need to cut them off first, or they won’t be able to hold out in the castle.”

“But their numbers are more than twice ours… If they’re prepared, it could be a disaster.”

“That’s possible,” Ghislain admitted. “But those fools, they’re so confident in their overwhelming strength that they won’t even consider we might strike.”

The most important factor in preventing an ambush was the awareness of its possibility. But Ghislain was certain the enemy wouldn’t even think of it.

“They probably think we’re holed up in the castle. Shaking in our boots while they laugh at us.”

“Hmm, I suppose… but….”

“They’re confident that we wouldn’t dare attempt anything because if the ambush fails, we’ll lose even more of our already small force. They believe we won’t risk it.”

“Isn’t that true? What if we fail?” Belinda asked with concern.

“We won’t fail. Ambushes work best when the enemy underestimates you.”

Belinda wasn’t worried about the ambush failing; she was just concerned that Ghislain, inexperienced in war, might get hurt in the process.

Ghislain’s expression turned cold as he continued.

“The main force likely doesn’t care about the supply unit at all. Whether it survives or not.”

“What? Why wouldn’t they care?”

“They’re too focused on getting rid of us quickly. They even brought siege weapons. The supply unit’s probably just made up of Digald’s rabble, thrown together to make it look like a proper force. There’s no way they’d be prepared for an ambush.”

A 6,000-strong army was beyond what Digald could field on its own. They must have received reinforcements, and those would be concentrated in the main force.

That meant the supply unit would be manned by Digald’s own troops.

“Anyway, we arrived just in time.”

Off in the distance, the supply unit of Digald’s forces was setting up camp.

Ghislain and his mercenaries had circled around the outskirts of Ferdium and ridden nonstop for a full day.

After spotting the supply unit, they had steadily closed the distance.

Though they had fallen back somewhat to set up the ambush, they were still close enough to catch up quickly once they started riding.

The night deepened, and only the flickering torches illuminated the enemy’s encampment.

With over a thousand soldiers, the number of tents and torches was considerable.

Feeling it was the right time, Ghislain looked up at the sky.

Even the moon was hidden behind the clouds, leaving not a sliver of light.

“Perfect weather for killing,” Ghislain remarked.

The mercenaries began to laugh silently.

Occasionally, Ghislain displayed this strange sense of calm and confidence.

Seeing this, the mercenaries relaxed a little, their tension easing.

“Let’s begin,” Ghislain said.

Belinda wrapped a bandage tightly around his hand, pleading with him one last time.

“Please, be careful. If things get dangerous, pull back.”

“Don’t worry.”

Ghislain clenched and unclenched his bandaged hands a few times, then extended his right hand to the side.

Gillian handed him a massive, double-edged battle axe.

“Nice and heavy,” Ghislain said approvingly.

With the axe in one hand, Ghislain raised the other in the air.

“Prepare yourselves.”

At his command, the heavily armored mercenaries mounted their horses, raising their spears.

Snort!

The horses, sensing the impending battle, stamped their hooves restlessly.

Ghislain spoke again.

“We don’t need any prisoners.”

With a cold, cruel smile spreading across his handsome face, he slowly extended his hand forward.

“Kill them all.”