Chapter 189
True Soul Song for Her (2)
The young legion commander stepped back. I fixed my attention on him, the information listed above his head catching my eye: Malcoy de Marseille, 34 years old. He was the last member of the royal family of the ruined Kingdom of Marseille, a talented person whose physical ability was only on the level of an ordinary knight. However, his aptitude and talent as a commander, his grasp of strategy, tactics, and leadership, was enough to entrust tens of thousands of troops to his command.
The more I looked at him, the more I appreciated just how talented he was. Leonberg had many talented knights, yet there was no great commander to lead them. The Marquis of Bielefeld was currently serving as marshal, but he was not enough. I had to admit that the old man had excellent qualities. However, his ability came from all his years spent as a nobleman and from his experience as an administrator, rather than his military talents.
Vincent was a fitting commander, but he was stuck in Winter Castle. The kingdom’s knights and nobles were placed at high levels of command already, but now a person who could handle Leonberg’s military has appeared before me. It would be very weird if I did not covet his great ability to command. And better still was the fact that the young legion commander before me seemed to have no loyalty toward the Empire. Rather, there was hatred, and I wondered why such a man served as an imperial commander.
Once his justifications and needs became clear to me, convincing him to join our side would be possible. I immediately proposed to him that he be inducted into the Royal Army’s command, promising him that he would be treated reasonably.
“No,” said Malcoy de Marseille, refusing my offer with a single word.
* * *
Malcoy was forced to watch the fall of his motherland at the age of thirteen, spending fifteen years in captivity before meeting the second princeps at the age of twenty-eight.
The life of being a prisoner was nothing new to him. Of course, that didn’t mean that it wasn’t hard on his body. After surrendering to Leonberg, he was not incarcerated in the lap of luxury. At least when he was a prisoner of the Empire, he had been treated quite hospitably, enjoying a measure of freedom, living a life as luxurious as that of any noble.
Life as a prisoner of the Leonberg Kingdom was far different, not hospitable at all. The meals were served only once a day, poor meals. There was no hope of escape from the prison cell, and the sun shone only through a narrow slit in the wall.
He was cold and hungry, and there was no comfort to be had. Nevertheless, Malcoy felt that it wasn’t so bad. At least here, nobody looked at him as if he was an animal in a cage. And as part of the victor’s spoils, he was not forced against his will to attend banquets in praise of the victor’s cause and lands. In that sense, at least, life in the kingdom was comfortable.
His only concern was for the low-ranking soldiers and whether they were being treated worse than the officers. Lieutenant Percival clucked his tongue and asked Malcoy if it was truly the time to be worrying about others.
“The atmosphere of this fortress is unusual. They are all very sharp and eager. It looks like the Empire has done something to upset Leonberg. They can barely keep their anger in check against us,” said Percival, and he spoke true.
Malcoy had learned through the knight guarding them that the Imperial Army had raided Leonberg’s capital. Many people died in the process, and the queen was sacrificed. It was as the lieutenant said: This was not the time to be worrying about others. If the kingdom is outraged, then commanders like Malcoy himself would be executed first.
Yet, the kingdom’s people did nothing to him.
“We knights of Leonberg are not heartless enough to take our anger out on prisoners,” the knight said as he noticed their inner emotions, and he said so with an unhappy face. Just when Malcoy was about to sigh in relief, the knight added an ominous caveat.
“I don’t know whether the prince feels the same way, though.”
And after a while, Leonberg’s Crown Prince came to the prison.
I’m not going to be rude, Malcoy vowed.
As he kept that in mind, the Crown Prince suddenly mentioned the Altringen family. Even within the legion, only Malcoy had known of the lieutenant’s family. Percival looked as if he wished to burn the prince to ash at once, but the flame raised by him was quickly smothered by the frost-like cold unleashed by the prince.
It was amazing.
Malcoy knew his lieutenant had the skill to defeat even imperial paladins if he put his mind to it. However, given his position as an officer, Percival had never taken the opportunity to show his strength. And now the lieutenant had vomited blood without even drawing a blade. Something even more surprising happened next.
Malcoy had thought the prince was angry. Instead, the man suggested a change. And it wasn’t just an offer, but a promise that Malcoy would become a legion commander. It was an unconventional proposal. Even the Empire had only granted Malcoy such a position after scrutinizing him for fifteen years. He couldn’t understand why the prince of a small kingdom so readily trusted him, offering him the command of a legion.
Still, Malcoy didn’t want to return to the horrors of the battlefield just to solve the puzzle.
“No.”
He immediately rejected the prince’s offer. It was from that day on that Leonberg’s prince started visiting the jail from time to time. He even tried to conquer Malcoy’s will by furnishing breakfast, lunch, and dinner. At times he promised to improve the prisoners’ treatment. He made unconventional proposals at other times, saying that it would be impossible for the prisoners to be freed without proper dedication.
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Malcoy was shaken; he was willing to endure prison life on his own, but he did not want others to suffer because of his stubbornness.
“If you’re reluctant to swear allegiance to Leonberg right now, at least give me some counsel and advice from the pit you find yourself in,” urged the prince.
“Why the hell do you believe in me so much to make such an offer?” challenged Malcoy. “What if my advice harms your country?”
“That’s a concern.”
“Will my cooperation really improve the treatment of the other prisoners of war?”
“Under the circumstances, I can’t offer them wine and meat at every meal, but I promise that they will at least be better off.”
Malcoy had repeatedly pondered the prince’s proposal and eventually decided to accept it. He was released from prison on that very day, and the Crown prince freed his lieutenant as well.
“I didn’t know that I would be released,” Percival said in a quaint manner, having thought that he would not be freed due to his paladin-like nature. The prince had even returned Percival’s weapons to him.
“Why would he do this?” Malcoy asked.
“Well, if I set my mind to it, I could get some swords and armor anyway, right?”
The logic of it was absurd, yet still true. The citadel was chock-full of weapons, and Percival could get to them at any time, even if they were under guard.
“You know what?” Percival mused.
“What?” asked Malcoy.
“I’m gradually starting to like this prince of Leonberg.”
It was an embarrassing thing to hear for Malcoy, and Percival noticed the effect his spectacular words had.
“Are you jealous? Do not worry. Your wishes are always my top priority, Malcoy,” the lieutenant said with a smirk, adding, “I reckon, since you can’t fight under the banners of your own country anyway, it would be okay to stand under Leonberg’s flag instead of the Empire’s. And you don’t have to fight a hundred battles to gain your command, like in the Empire.”
When Percival asked if a snake’s head would be better than a dragon’s tail, Malcoy laughed.
“Even if that corrupted dragon chews the head off of the fierce snake and eats it?” he retorted.
“If you look at the atmosphere in this fortress, I don’t think the dragon will have an easy time of it,” Percival noted.
“So, you’re asking me to actively help Leonberg instead of just advising them?”
“Well, the Crown Prince did recruit you, so I think he will treat us well. In many ways, he is better than the Empire.”
“I think you better stop. I’m starting to get confused. Are you my officer, or are you the Crown Prince’s acolyte, sent to convert me?”
“It goes without saying that I am Malcoy’s servant.”
Malcoy shook his head as he watched the giggling lieutenant. He had no intention to respond to Percival’s suggestion, as the lieutenant was anxious to push his commander onto the battlefield and into war. Malcoy shut his mouth and began observing the soldiers and knights in the fortress.
In the days after he had been released from prison, there were several attacks by the Imperial Army. Many of the kingdom’s men were injured, even more of them fatigued.
It was both familiar and unfamiliar to Malcoy. The images of the wounded Leonberg and its soldiers and knights overlapped with those of Malcoy’s now-ruined motherland. The Marseille Kingdom had also suffered from an imperial offensive, and Malcoy still clearly remembered the events, now decades past.
A sense of defeat ran rampant through Marseille’s border fortresses. Malcoy remembers the day well: He, the little prince, was clutching his father’s hand. The soldiers and knights gripped their swords and spears, their faces full of fatigue, and deeper still, despair and fear.
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Even at that young age, Malcoy had expected his country’s defeat when he looked at the warriors’ faces. The Leonberg Royal Army was different.
The heavy fatigue was the same, yet the emotion filling those faces was not fear or despair but a burning desire. None of these soldiers were afraid of the Empire; none of them were thinking about Leonberg being defeated. Was it a group madness? Or perhaps the villagers and peasants of the north are unaware of the Empire’s might? As Malcoy thought about it, he knew that it wasn’t one of those factors.
Even if this was a border fortress, all here had still suffered the shame of their country’s capital falling. It had been but a short while since Leonberg’s queen was lost to the Empire. It was no exaggeration to say that their national pride and anger had reached a point where it expressed itself as a great wind battering against the waves of the imperial forces across the border.
These men also knew it; that is why they were so desperate to endure: Because they know that if they fall, the kingdom falls. And still, with that knowledge in mind, the soldiers were not afraid. They never let go of their swords, even when their stomachs were torn open and their chests pierced. They would grab onto an enemy soldier, stick him with a knife, and throw both themselves and their foe from the walls.
“Leonberg lives forever!”
“Long live the Leonberger royal family!”
They cried out for the prosperity of their kingdom and the well-being of the royal family.
Malcoy noticed that there were some exceptionally shabby and poorly-armed soldiers among them. The moment he saw them, he knew: They were conscripts, not regular soldiers.
“Long live Queen Margarita!”
“Long live the Leonberger royal family!”
Yet even these royal conscripts, forcibly pulled into the war, shouted the names of the queen and her family.
What is so different? What is the difference between my perished motherland and their country?
No matter how much Malcoy thought about it, he couldn’t gain understanding.
It was from the mouth of Lieutenant Percival that Malcoy learned of the queen’s end, and yet the answer became no clearer.
“Have you heard how the queen of the Leonberg kingdom died? She refused to flee, remaining on the wall until the end to protect the people of their outer city. I hear their king has never left the frontline this entire war and that he fought his enemies like a knight, sword in hand as he battled on these walls. I hear even Leonberg’s more gentile nobles are fighting at the forefront.”
“All their nobles are fighting on the front line?” Malcoy asked.
“Well, not all of them voluntarily so. In fact, some rumors say that the Crown Prince has issued a stern threat to all deserters, to all who would leave the front line. I am curious if his threat actually works.”
It all sounded very unconvincing to Malcoy, who was familiar with the nature of the nobility. The nobles of his motherland had immediately changed flags, becoming imperial nobles when Marseille faced great jeopardy. And now, the lands of the old Marseille Kingdom were just another imperial province. The Imperial Army had slain countless people. Yet, the traitor nobles even now lived in extravagance, living while the members of the royal family they had served were miserably slaughtered, with the few survivors dragged off liked chained dogs.
All that changed for the nobles was the name of the liege and the country they served.
And that was the nobility – soldiers were no very different either.
When the palace was besieged, the knights and the soldiers had turned the tips of their swords the other way. It was they who had decapitated the royals and loyalists who had held out to the end, the traitors then dedicating the heads to the Imperial Army.
No… Malcoy held no desire to blame them all over again. They had done what they did to survive; because it was a war. Malcoy was sick of it. No matter how grandiose and noble the cause, the nature of war does not change. Attack and defend, kill and die – all that remains is the victor and the defeated. And nothing is more important than survival. Compared to living, the rise and fall of a country, loyalty and honor, and the cause of others are not worth pennies.
Malcoy had lived his life with that faith in his heart, at least until he came to this cold and desolate realm.
“You hate to admit it, Malcoy, but you don’t hate war,” the lieutenant said as he looked into his commander’s sunken eyes.
“Shut up, Percival. What do you know? I saw the beginning and end of the war-”
“What Malcoy-nim really hates is not war… It’s humans.”
Malcoy stiffened at the unexpected statement.
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“No… I should rather say distrust, instead of hate,” Percival added.
“Shut up. If you open your mouth again-”
“Should you not admit it?”
“I said I would not stand it!” Malcoy cried as he drew his sword, its point aimed at Percival. Percival snorted and pushed the blade aside.
“Don’t be silly. Whenever you talk about how and what war is like, I feel like I – and everyone who came here believing in you – is stupid. It’s very upsetting.”
“Percival!”
“Look here, Malcoy de Marseille. Is their war the same as the ugly war you always talk about?”
The lieutenant grabbed Malcoy’s chin, and forcibly turned his head. Malcoy saw nurses taking care of the wounded soldiers, and children too young to wield spears and swords were carrying stones and bushels of arrows, their small hands toughened by labor.
“Let’s say, as you always say, that they are also participants in the war. That they are just war’s ugly aspects.”
Malcoy couldn’t say that; he could say nothing.
A long time passed, and Percival finally released his grip on Malcoy’s chin.
“I’m sorry for the disrespectful act. Honestly, after I said what I wanted to say, I feel cool inside. I will accept my punishment. Please, don’t kill me, though,” the lieutenant pleaded for his affront to be forgiven as he stepped back and knelt – with a face that didn’t reflect his spoken regret.
Malcoy had felt like punishing his lieutenant a while ago, but now he didn’t like the way he was feeling at all. His head was confused, complicated; the scene of the fortress had disturbed him. Percival’s voice had become entangled in his mind, his now-disorganized mind. His skills of thought and rational insight was of no help to him at the moment.
As he stood there – his mind gripped by confusion – he heard the urgent sounding of a trumpet.
‘Shk,’ and in the next instant came the sound of someone coming to a halt behind him. Malcoy turned his head and looked into the Crown Prince’s face.
“It is such a nice day, so I decided to get some sun for a while,” the prince said in a natural tone as he gestured across the roofs of the citadel. Malcoy frowned. He wasn’t in a good mood because of Percival, and he wasn’t in the mood for useless chatter.
“How are you? Come to look if you can see the Imperial Army on this fine day?” Percival greeted the prince in a friendly tone.
“Is that what it looks like? If a man finishes his work, he can enjoy some rest,” the prince accepted the lieutenant’s greeting in a familiar manner.
Only then did Malcoy realize how Percival knew of the situation of Leonberg in such detail. Moreover, Malcoy suspected that the lieutenant might have known that the Crown Prince was present from the beginning.
“Well, if you’re busy, I am also busy,” the prince said as he took a step back and paused. “Ah. It wasn’t intentional, but I overheard you. I’ll just add a word,” the prince said to Malcoy. “People like you, who try to judge everything with their heads, find only reasons and questions. Even if they live long lives, they don’t realize what real war is.”
“I think, at least, I know war better than your Highness,” stated Malcoy.
The prince laughed in blatant ridicule.
“You really think so?”
Malcoy didn’t dare answer; he didn’t feel the need to answer.
“Then come along,” said the prince, his voice neutral. “I will show you what is different between the war you witnessed from the outside and a war you go through in person.”
Without awaiting an answer, the Crown Prince strode away.
Malcoy shot his lieutenant a fierce glance before following the prince.
This content is taken from lightnovelworld.com
Chapter 189
True Soul Song for Her (2)
The young legion commander stepped back. I fixed my attention on him, the information listed above his head catching my eye: Malcoy de Marseille, 34 years old. He was the last member of the royal family of the ruined Kingdom of Marseille, a talented person whose physical ability was only on the level of an ordinary knight. However, his aptitude and talent as a commander, his grasp of strategy, tactics, and leadership, was enough to entrust tens of thousands of troops to his command.
The more I looked at him, the more I appreciated just how talented he was. Leonberg had many talented knights, yet there was no great commander to lead them. The Marquis of Bielefeld was currently serving as marshal, but he was not enough. I had to admit that the old man had excellent qualities. However, his ability came from all his years spent as a nobleman and from his experience as an administrator, rather than his military talents.
Vincent was a fitting commander, but he was stuck in Winter Castle. The kingdom’s knights and nobles were placed at high levels of command already, but now a person who could handle Leonberg’s military has appeared before me. It would be very weird if I did not covet his great ability to command. And better still was the fact that the young legion commander before me seemed to have no loyalty toward the Empire. Rather, there was hatred, and I wondered why such a man served as an imperial commander.
Once his justifications and needs became clear to me, convincing him to join our side would be possible. I immediately proposed to him that he be inducted into the Royal Army’s command, promising him that he would be treated reasonably.
“No,” said Malcoy de Marseille, refusing my offer with a single word.
* * *
Malcoy was forced to watch the fall of his motherland at the age of thirteen, spending fifteen years in captivity before meeting the second princeps at the age of twenty-eight.
The life of being a prisoner was nothing new to him. Of course, that didn’t mean that it wasn’t hard on his body. After surrendering to Leonberg, he was not incarcerated in the lap of luxury. At least when he was a prisoner of the Empire, he had been treated quite hospitably, enjoying a measure of freedom, living a life as luxurious as that of any noble.
Life as a prisoner of the Leonberg Kingdom was far different, not hospitable at all. The meals were served only once a day, poor meals. There was no hope of escape from the prison cell, and the sun shone only through a narrow slit in the wall.
He was cold and hungry, and there was no comfort to be had. Nevertheless, Malcoy felt that it wasn’t so bad. At least here, nobody looked at him as if he was an animal in a cage. And as part of the victor’s spoils, he was not forced against his will to attend banquets in praise of the victor’s cause and lands. In that sense, at least, life in the kingdom was comfortable.
His only concern was for the low-ranking soldiers and whether they were being treated worse than the officers. Lieutenant Percival clucked his tongue and asked Malcoy if it was truly the time to be worrying about others.
“The atmosphere of this fortress is unusual. They are all very sharp and eager. It looks like the Empire has done something to upset Leonberg. They can barely keep their anger in check against us,” said Percival, and he spoke true.
Malcoy had learned through the knight guarding them that the Imperial Army had raided Leonberg’s capital. Many people died in the process, and the queen was sacrificed. It was as the lieutenant said: This was not the time to be worrying about others. If the kingdom is outraged, then commanders like Malcoy himself would be executed first.
Yet, the kingdom’s people did nothing to him.
“We knights of Leonberg are not heartless enough to take our anger out on prisoners,” the knight said as he noticed their inner emotions, and he said so with an unhappy face. Just when Malcoy was about to sigh in relief, the knight added an ominous caveat.
“I don’t know whether the prince feels the same way, though.”
And after a while, Leonberg’s Crown Prince came to the prison.
I’m not going to be rude, Malcoy vowed.
As he kept that in mind, the Crown Prince suddenly mentioned the Altringen family. Even within the legion, only Malcoy had known of the lieutenant’s family. Percival looked as if he wished to burn the prince to ash at once, but the flame raised by him was quickly smothered by the frost-like cold unleashed by the prince.
It was amazing.
Malcoy knew his lieutenant had the skill to defeat even imperial paladins if he put his mind to it. However, given his position as an officer, Percival had never taken the opportunity to show his strength. And now the lieutenant had vomited blood without even drawing a blade. Something even more surprising happened next.
Malcoy had thought the prince was angry. Instead, the man suggested a change. And it wasn’t just an offer, but a promise that Malcoy would become a legion commander. It was an unconventional proposal. Even the Empire had only granted Malcoy such a position after scrutinizing him for fifteen years. He couldn’t understand why the prince of a small kingdom so readily trusted him, offering him the command of a legion.
Still, Malcoy didn’t want to return to the horrors of the battlefield just to solve the puzzle.
“No.”
He immediately rejected the prince’s offer. It was from that day on that Leonberg’s prince started visiting the jail from time to time. He even tried to conquer Malcoy’s will by furnishing breakfast, lunch, and dinner. At times he promised to improve the prisoners’ treatment. He made unconventional proposals at other times, saying that it would be impossible for the prisoners to be freed without proper dedication.
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Malcoy was shaken; he was willing to endure prison life on his own, but he did not want others to suffer because of his stubbornness.
“If you’re reluctant to swear allegiance to Leonberg right now, at least give me some counsel and advice from the pit you find yourself in,” urged the prince.
“Why the hell do you believe in me so much to make such an offer?” challenged Malcoy. “What if my advice harms your country?”
“That’s a concern.”
“Will my cooperation really improve the treatment of the other prisoners of war?”
“Under the circumstances, I can’t offer them wine and meat at every meal, but I promise that they will at least be better off.”
Malcoy had repeatedly pondered the prince’s proposal and eventually decided to accept it. He was released from prison on that very day, and the Crown prince freed his lieutenant as well.
“I didn’t know that I would be released,” Percival said in a quaint manner, having thought that he would not be freed due to his paladin-like nature. The prince had even returned Percival’s weapons to him.
“Why would he do this?” Malcoy asked.
“Well, if I set my mind to it, I could get some swords and armor anyway, right?”
The logic of it was absurd, yet still true. The citadel was chock-full of weapons, and Percival could get to them at any time, even if they were under guard.
“You know what?” Percival mused.
“What?” asked Malcoy.
“I’m gradually starting to like this prince of Leonberg.”
It was an embarrassing thing to hear for Malcoy, and Percival noticed the effect his spectacular words had.
“Are you jealous? Do not worry. Your wishes are always my top priority, Malcoy,” the lieutenant said with a smirk, adding, “I reckon, since you can’t fight under the banners of your own country anyway, it would be okay to stand under Leonberg’s flag instead of the Empire’s. And you don’t have to fight a hundred battles to gain your command, like in the Empire.”
When Percival asked if a snake’s head would be better than a dragon’s tail, Malcoy laughed.
“Even if that corrupted dragon chews the head off of the fierce snake and eats it?” he retorted.
“If you look at the atmosphere in this fortress, I don’t think the dragon will have an easy time of it,” Percival noted.
“So, you’re asking me to actively help Leonberg instead of just advising them?”
“Well, the Crown Prince did recruit you, so I think he will treat us well. In many ways, he is better than the Empire.”
“I think you better stop. I’m starting to get confused. Are you my officer, or are you the Crown Prince’s acolyte, sent to convert me?”
“It goes without saying that I am Malcoy’s servant.”
Malcoy shook his head as he watched the giggling lieutenant. He had no intention to respond to Percival’s suggestion, as the lieutenant was anxious to push his commander onto the battlefield and into war. Malcoy shut his mouth and began observing the soldiers and knights in the fortress.
In the days after he had been released from prison, there were several attacks by the Imperial Army. Many of the kingdom’s men were injured, even more of them fatigued.
It was both familiar and unfamiliar to Malcoy. The images of the wounded Leonberg and its soldiers and knights overlapped with those of Malcoy’s now-ruined motherland. The Marseille Kingdom had also suffered from an imperial offensive, and Malcoy still clearly remembered the events, now decades past.
A sense of defeat ran rampant through Marseille’s border fortresses. Malcoy remembers the day well: He, the little prince, was clutching his father’s hand. The soldiers and knights gripped their swords and spears, their faces full of fatigue, and deeper still, despair and fear.
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Even at that young age, Malcoy had expected his country’s defeat when he looked at the warriors’ faces. The Leonberg Royal Army was different.
The heavy fatigue was the same, yet the emotion filling those faces was not fear or despair but a burning desire. None of these soldiers were afraid of the Empire; none of them were thinking about Leonberg being defeated. Was it a group madness? Or perhaps the villagers and peasants of the north are unaware of the Empire’s might? As Malcoy thought about it, he knew that it wasn’t one of those factors.
Even if this was a border fortress, all here had still suffered the shame of their country’s capital falling. It had been but a short while since Leonberg’s queen was lost to the Empire. It was no exaggeration to say that their national pride and anger had reached a point where it expressed itself as a great wind battering against the waves of the imperial forces across the border.
These men also knew it; that is why they were so desperate to endure: Because they know that if they fall, the kingdom falls. And still, with that knowledge in mind, the soldiers were not afraid. They never let go of their swords, even when their stomachs were torn open and their chests pierced. They would grab onto an enemy soldier, stick him with a knife, and throw both themselves and their foe from the walls.
“Leonberg lives forever!”
“Long live the Leonberger royal family!”
They cried out for the prosperity of their kingdom and the well-being of the royal family.
Malcoy noticed that there were some exceptionally shabby and poorly-armed soldiers among them. The moment he saw them, he knew: They were conscripts, not regular soldiers.
“Long live Queen Margarita!”
“Long live the Leonberger royal family!”
Yet even these royal conscripts, forcibly pulled into the war, shouted the names of the queen and her family.
What is so different? What is the difference between my perished motherland and their country?
No matter how much Malcoy thought about it, he couldn’t gain understanding.
It was from the mouth of Lieutenant Percival that Malcoy learned of the queen’s end, and yet the answer became no clearer.
“Have you heard how the queen of the Leonberg kingdom died? She refused to flee, remaining on the wall until the end to protect the people of their outer city. I hear their king has never left the frontline this entire war and that he fought his enemies like a knight, sword in hand as he battled on these walls. I hear even Leonberg’s more gentile nobles are fighting at the forefront.”
“All their nobles are fighting on the front line?” Malcoy asked.
“Well, not all of them voluntarily so. In fact, some rumors say that the Crown Prince has issued a stern threat to all deserters, to all who would leave the front line. I am curious if his threat actually works.”
It all sounded very unconvincing to Malcoy, who was familiar with the nature of the nobility. The nobles of his motherland had immediately changed flags, becoming imperial nobles when Marseille faced great jeopardy. And now, the lands of the old Marseille Kingdom were just another imperial province. The Imperial Army had slain countless people. Yet, the traitor nobles even now lived in extravagance, living while the members of the royal family they had served were miserably slaughtered, with the few survivors dragged off liked chained dogs.
All that changed for the nobles was the name of the liege and the country they served.
And that was the nobility – soldiers were no very different either.
When the palace was besieged, the knights and the soldiers had turned the tips of their swords the other way. It was they who had decapitated the royals and loyalists who had held out to the end, the traitors then dedicating the heads to the Imperial Army.
No… Malcoy held no desire to blame them all over again. They had done what they did to survive; because it was a war. Malcoy was sick of it. No matter how grandiose and noble the cause, the nature of war does not change. Attack and defend, kill and die – all that remains is the victor and the defeated. And nothing is more important than survival. Compared to living, the rise and fall of a country, loyalty and honor, and the cause of others are not worth pennies.
Malcoy had lived his life with that faith in his heart, at least until he came to this cold and desolate realm.
“You hate to admit it, Malcoy, but you don’t hate war,” the lieutenant said as he looked into his commander’s sunken eyes.
“Shut up, Percival. What do you know? I saw the beginning and end of the war-”
“What Malcoy-nim really hates is not war… It’s humans.”
Malcoy stiffened at the unexpected statement.
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“No… I should rather say distrust, instead of hate,” Percival added.
“Shut up. If you open your mouth again-”
“Should you not admit it?”
“I said I would not stand it!” Malcoy cried as he drew his sword, its point aimed at Percival. Percival snorted and pushed the blade aside.
“Don’t be silly. Whenever you talk about how and what war is like, I feel like I – and everyone who came here believing in you – is stupid. It’s very upsetting.”
“Percival!”
“Look here, Malcoy de Marseille. Is their war the same as the ugly war you always talk about?”
The lieutenant grabbed Malcoy’s chin, and forcibly turned his head. Malcoy saw nurses taking care of the wounded soldiers, and children too young to wield spears and swords were carrying stones and bushels of arrows, their small hands toughened by labor.
“Let’s say, as you always say, that they are also participants in the war. That they are just war’s ugly aspects.”
Malcoy couldn’t say that; he could say nothing.
A long time passed, and Percival finally released his grip on Malcoy’s chin.
“I’m sorry for the disrespectful act. Honestly, after I said what I wanted to say, I feel cool inside. I will accept my punishment. Please, don’t kill me, though,” the lieutenant pleaded for his affront to be forgiven as he stepped back and knelt – with a face that didn’t reflect his spoken regret.
Malcoy had felt like punishing his lieutenant a while ago, but now he didn’t like the way he was feeling at all. His head was confused, complicated; the scene of the fortress had disturbed him. Percival’s voice had become entangled in his mind, his now-disorganized mind. His skills of thought and rational insight was of no help to him at the moment.
As he stood there – his mind gripped by confusion – he heard the urgent sounding of a trumpet.
‘Shk,’ and in the next instant came the sound of someone coming to a halt behind him. Malcoy turned his head and looked into the Crown Prince’s face.
“It is such a nice day, so I decided to get some sun for a while,” the prince said in a natural tone as he gestured across the roofs of the citadel. Malcoy frowned. He wasn’t in a good mood because of Percival, and he wasn’t in the mood for useless chatter.
“How are you? Come to look if you can see the Imperial Army on this fine day?” Percival greeted the prince in a friendly tone.
“Is that what it looks like? If a man finishes his work, he can enjoy some rest,” the prince accepted the lieutenant’s greeting in a familiar manner.
Only then did Malcoy realize how Percival knew of the situation of Leonberg in such detail. Moreover, Malcoy suspected that the lieutenant might have known that the Crown Prince was present from the beginning.
“Well, if you’re busy, I am also busy,” the prince said as he took a step back and paused. “Ah. It wasn’t intentional, but I overheard you. I’ll just add a word,” the prince said to Malcoy. “People like you, who try to judge everything with their heads, find only reasons and questions. Even if they live long lives, they don’t realize what real war is.”
“I think, at least, I know war better than your Highness,” stated Malcoy.
The prince laughed in blatant ridicule.
“You really think so?”
Malcoy didn’t dare answer; he didn’t feel the need to answer.
“Then come along,” said the prince, his voice neutral. “I will show you what is different between the war you witnessed from the outside and a war you go through in person.”
Without awaiting an answer, the Crown Prince strode away.
Malcoy shot his lieutenant a fierce glance before following the prince.
This content is taken from lightnovelworld.com
