Chapter 538: Turns Out the World Has More Fools Than Expected

If Barnas had managed to drive Ragna to the brink of death with difficulty, Corwin, for his part, had simply run for his life.

"Wow, you really are..."

The voice of a barbarian called out from behind him, but Corwin ignored it and kept running.

He didn’t even glance back.

He had this irrational fear that if he so much as turned his head, some gray monster head would come charging at him with an axe. Like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, or a pheasant hiding its head in a bush.

Of course, whether he looked or didn’t, Rem would chase if he wanted to and let him go if he didn’t.

The only difference between an ostrich, a pheasant, and Corwin—was that Corwin had legs trained to the level of Hardening via Will.

Sure, ostriches have sharp hearing and burying their heads isn’t entirely idiotic.

Pheasants hide their oversized heads while keeping their sharp eyesight on alert—but from the outside, they still looked dumb.

Just like Corwin did now.

He squeezed every last drop of energy and ran like a madman. Even drooled halfway through the run—didn’t even realize it.

He activated Hardening and burned through his Will. Didn’t care if he hit his limit—he used it all. No time to sweat cold.

His balls shrank. He was on the verge of pissing himself.

And as he ran—

Corwin got lucky. What were the odds of running into someone in the same desperate state, on your side no less?

Well, it was less coincidence and more inevitability.

Corwin had instinctively retraced the path he’d taken. Meanwhile, the deputy under Barnas had also been trying to find another knight to latch onto.

Two knights had gone to the same place.

‘If I go to General Frokk, I’m dead.’

There was no way that man would forgive him for abandoning his troops.

So there was only one option.

Escaping the Pen-Hanil Mountains alone wasn’t even on the table.

Their meeting couldn’t be chalked up to mere coincidence.

‘All of this... is to prepare for what's ahead.’

The commander lied to himself.

He needed a psychological crutch—a way to justify abandoning every soldier under his command. That was the excuse he settled on.

‘I need to inform them about the enemy’s strength.’

This wasn’t retreat—it was a strategic withdrawal for the sake of the future.

Of course, that was a lie.

Anyone with sense could see it. Barnas was Azpen’s last hope.

A nation without knights couldn’t survive a war against another country.

Impossible.

Azpen had staked everything on this battle.

Even if only Barnas had died, that alone was a disaster. And the fact remained: Azpen’s most trusted knight had lost.

That meant the rest of the battlefields probably weren’t faring well either.

If his life weren’t on the line—if he hadn’t seen their strongest knight die with his own eyes—maybe he could’ve looked at things more calmly.

Would he still have run if he’d been clear-headed? Who knows. What didn’t happen would never happen.

If he’d changed his mind in that moment, maybe he would’ve shouted for his homeland and charged into battle.

But this was the choice he made.

Time didn’t rewind. Now there was only the present.

And in that present, he saw Corwin.

“Sir Corwin.”

Just the fact Corwin was here was odd. One look at his face, and something was clearly off.

“Why are you here?”

The commander asked.

Corwin looked shell-shocked, but he was still a knight. A solid core of Will still remained inside him.

Though Corwin had become a knight in a rather unorthodox way—his Will was never that remarkable to begin with.

He’d awakened it thanks to his innate foresight since childhood.

But that didn’t mean he hadn’t worked.

Everything Corwin had built felt precious to him. His arrogance, his false pride—they all mattered. He couldn’t afford to die.

“Sir Barnas?”

Corwin asked instead.

The commander bit his lip. His expression twisted like just speaking was agony.

“He has fallen in battle.”

Corwin blinked.

Twice.

Who died?

To Corwin, Barnas was another kind of monster. He’d been taught by him, after all. He knew—the waves that Barnas shaped with his Will weren’t something you could just defend against.

Especially not the first time. No one could block that on the first encounter.

“Fallen...?”

He repeated, disbelief thick in his voice. He was in no state to hide his emotions. They were written all over his face.

“Yes.”

Crack!

The commander grit his teeth. Looked furious.

No—

It looked like he was pretending to look furious. Practicing the expression.

To Corwin, the whole thing felt like a play.

What nonsense was this?

“Why are you alone?”

“I was caught off guard.”

Normally he’d have offered some kind of excuse. But Corwin wasn’t in his right mind.

He’d fled, betraying his honor as a knight—even his Will had been damaged.

He was practically mentally drunk. As if he’d drunk beyond his limit.

“Caught off guard?”

“There was... a monster among them.”

Corwin replied blankly.

“So, you ran?”

A deserter recognized another. Corwin nodded slowly. Yeah. He ran.

“Damn you! And you still call yourself a knight? What the hell did you learn from Sir Barnas!?”

The commander normally would’ve never dared say such things to a knight. But he too had run here in a panic. And deep down, he knew he’d failed.

He needed someone to blame.

And now he had one. A knight. A deserter.

Someone to absorb all the guilt.

“You’d better have a good reason for returning alone. The responsibility for this defeat may fall on you.”

If the commander had been calmer, he wouldn’t have said that now.

It was something to be said later—at a military tribunal.

Why?

Because even though both of them had fled—only one of them had the power to make them one.

Corwin’s unfocused eyes began to regain clarity.

Was it really okay to return like this? To live the rest of his life branded as a coward?

He didn’t need a murderous glare. Just one step forward—

“I should just—return and—” Stab!

Corwin thrust his sword forward with ease.

His body and mind had taken a hit from the retreat, but his sword still moved beautifully.

As long as his opponent wasn’t a knight—his sword was still something to fear.

“Why...”

The commander asked, realizing how /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ stupid he’d been—but that realization changed nothing.

Stab! Stab!

Two more times.

The man grabbed at the blade with his bare hands. Useless.

Corwin made sure to kill him—to silence someone who’d seen him run.

Then he spoke.

“It’s not a defeat... not yet.”

Even if he was going to lose—it couldn’t be like this.

To say the loss was his fault?

Bullshit.

Corwin’s feet now moved with purpose.

He envisioned the map of the Pen-Hanil Mountains in his mind. He was heading for the main camp.

Not the rear—but the frontline, where both armies were still locked in stalemate.

He cut straight through the mountains.

Was delayed by a bear-like beast monster—but whether by good or bad luck, he found his way down.

By the time he reached the main camp, soaked in the black blood of beasts and monsters—two soldiers on watch pointed their spears at him.

“What the hell? Where did you come from?”

“Who the hell is this guy?”

Corwin let out a slow breath—then opened his mouth to speak.

"I am Corwin Eckins of the Royal Knight Order. Take me to the command tent immediately."

"...Huh?"

At the soldier's dumbfounded reaction, Corwin's hand twitched. He wanted to slice the fool’s head off, but he held back.

"Do I need to show you proof?"

Corwin drew his sword.

A knight’s sword was his identity.

He brandished his engraved weapon and shoved his gauntlet into the soldier’s hands, the one bearing his knight order’s emblem.

The soldier wiped away the black blood with dirt, and the symbol emerged.

“Ah.”

“Please, come this way.”

Since those who had gone ahead demanding duels had been utterly defeated, morale had hit rock bottom. The soldiers, just watching from the sidelines, now turned their eyes toward Corwin—though not many did.

Most were focused on the front lines, worried the enemy might seize the chance to advance.

Thanks to that, Corwin made it into the command tent with less fuss than expected.

The general, assigned by Abnaier to hold the position, stood when he saw Corwin.

“Sir Corwin?”

They were familiar.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Corwin’s gaze shifted to the general and the two adjutants standing nearby.

He remembered Abnaier once speaking about these two—one was a fool but dependable, the other clever but self-serving.

‘In other words—ambitious.’

The command tent was spacious, but only three others were present.

There was no immediate fight to plan, and the duels had all ended in defeat. They were just killing time, waiting for good news from the field.

“What in the world...”

The general couldn’t finish his sentence after seeing Corwin’s state.

Did they lose? Was the flanking maneuver defeated? A million thoughts swirled in his head and cut him off.

Before he could say more, Corwin turned to the sharp-eyed adjutant.

"From now on—"

Swish. Swish.

Corwin didn’t finish his sentence with words—he finished it with steel.

A line of black-red blood traced itself across the necks of the general and the loyal adjutant. Their heads rolled to the ground.

“You’re the new commander now.”

“A...”

The remaining adjutant’s lips trembled in fear. He was smart, yes, but not formidable. He lacked the strength to wield his ambition.

“Will you obey my orders?”

If not, he would die. No need to read the air—it was obvious.

The adjutant understood immediately.

“Yes... understood.”

“Good. From this moment, order the army to advance.”

The adjutant gulped.

“Do not stop until we win. We will take the enemy city.”

Normally, you’d say “I’ll lead the charge myself,” but Corwin had no such plans.

Instead, he gave the adjutant the words he needed.

“I’ll be watching from the rear.”

In other words—if you don’t move, I’ll kill you.

There was no illusion. If he gave an order and it wasn’t carried out, a black-red sword would pierce his chest.

‘What do I do?’

The answer came with a plan.

Next to the general’s corpse was a sealed letter from Abnaier. The current battle had been waged under orders from above.

But if someone had authority above Abnaier...?

“I need a dagger. Something symbolic that proves this order came from you.”

“Take it.”

Corwin handed him the knight’s ceremonial dagger—the one each knight receives when inducted into the order, adorned with a gemstone on the hilt.

It was enough.

The adjutant gathered the commanders, making an excuse that the general had been recalled and calling them to meet outside the command tent.

Inside, after all, two corpses were waiting.

“The main army sent urgent orders. The general has returned. We will advance before sunset.”

There were some commanders with enough backbone and brain to question it.

“To where?”

“That place?”

“If we attack now, don’t we have the disadvantage?”

“Are we trying to force a melee?”

The adjutant lacked charisma, but he had the knight’s dagger.

“This is the command of Sir Corwin Eckins of the Royal Knight Order. The knight order has won. We will seize the enemy city.”

It was too late to turn back now.

You can’t un-bake bread back into flour.

‘I don’t even know anymore.’

If they advanced, soldiers would die en masse.

They would kill, and they would be killed.

Would they even break through?

‘Probably not.’

One glance at the enemy formation and their prepared knights told the full story.

“The knight order won? Was there a separate battle on the flank?”

“I don’t know. That’s all I was told.”

It was a lie. No need to say more and show a gap.

“So we have friendly knights hitting their rear?”

“No wonder some units were missing.”

A sharp-minded commander nodded, and the others followed, swayed by the dagger’s authority.

Azpen began readying for a charge.

While all this unfolded—

Corwin went to a nearby lake, rinsed himself off, and began planning his next move.

‘I’ll use the full assault as bait.’

He had no time to worry about the dying.

‘Instead, I’ll take the city lord’s head.’

Even now, his crazed mind wasn’t focused on fighting knights—it was looking for weaker prey.

He set his sights on Graham, the lord of Border Guard.

No logic was guiding him anymore.

Thus, Azpen began to move.

And Kraiss—watching—felt a wave of disbelief.

“What are they doing?”

Morale was shot. The result of the flanking battle hadn’t even come in.

And yet they were launching a frontal assault?

Not even as part of some strategy?

The enemy wasn’t using cavalry to circle the formation. And even if they did, nothing would change. Border Guard was in perfect defensive formation.

So it made even less sense.

“We’ll have to fight, brother.”

Just seeing the enemy’s movement made it clear.

Audin spoke.

Kraiss understood. The enemy had just charged headlong over the line he’d sworn not to let them cross.

“Waaaah!”

Azpen’s assault troops screamed.

There was no bloodlust in it. It sounded like meaningless thrashing.

But to stop that thrashing—Countless lives would have to be taken.

Who knew what the enemy commander was thinking, but it was the worst possible choice.

Kraiss had hoped—but now he was sure.

The world had far more idiots than he thought.

There were those who did things that made no sense—to him, at least.

No, not just some. There were many.

‘If someone high up makes a crazy decision, And everyone just blindly follows it?’

Then even a war with no victor or loser could begin.

“Fucking lunatics.”

Kraiss braced himself for the whirlwind of war.

A bloodbath of slaughter was coming.

And the only way to stop it—was to fight.