"Wow, that's amazing," Carl exclaimed as he surveyed the Arcadian army amassed around them.
"Three thousand infantry and five hundred cavalry; a total force of three thousand five hundred," William reported, having gathered the information from somewhere. Carl looked at William, impressed by his resourcefulness.
"We’re light infantry. Our role is to fight at the very front. And then…" William glanced behind them, where—
"The main attraction of the battlefield, the heavy infantry, will take over from us, the supporting actors," he said.
Heavy infantry was indeed the pride of both Arcadia and Ostberg—central to their military might and valued even more than the cavalry. Typically, the heavy infantry was composed of regular soldiers, professional warriors equipped with high-performance, and standardized gear, commanding respect worldwide.
"Arcadia's armor is white while Ostberg's is black, right?"
"That's right. Once we cross this hill, we'll see them whether we like it or not."
The two were positioned in the middle of the front line. Their ten-man squad was made up of survivors from Laconia, placed here because of their experience.
'Normally, the most inexperienced are placed at the very front. We survived, and many who were more experienced than us are dead, hence our position. Not bad.'
The front line began to stir—likely the enemy army had come into view. Cavalry and scouts leading the way passed by William and Carl. This bustle was characteristic of the battlefield, and William felt a surge of excitement.
'Stay calm, me. Getting heated means defeat. I need to keep a cooler head than anyone else and handle things calmly.'
"Make sure you keep the amulet stone hidden inside your clothes," William reminded himself, partly to stay calm.
"Yeah, to prevent it from being plundered by the enemy, right?" Carl touched the center of his chest, where something precious entrusted by his family was concealed.
"Exactly. And it's not just the enemy who would want that stone. Even our allies might covet it. For now, it's pointless for a common soldier to stand out."
'Though there are times when standing out is necessary.'
While William was deep in thought,
"Ah?!"
A black mass appeared before them. It wasn't close enough to engage, but it wasn't at a comfortable distance either. The once spirited front line had quieted down considerably. Carl was trembling next to him. Such was the imposing presence of an army.
'No good. It’s no good.'
But amidst them,
'No good, right, sis?'
There was one man whose fervor was only increasing.
He had known more pain than anyone here, having lived like a rat in the sewers, slurping muddy water. Scorned as trash, persecuted merely for existing. To live was a sin, and servitude was expected—the young man had been defined this way.
"...William?"
A life of constant loss. Not long ago, he had finally stood on the side of the takers. But it wasn't enough. Nowhere near enough. He had lost his most beloved. His entire life had been taken from him.
"Are you... smiling?"
He was excellent. Strong. And yet, what made him strong had been taken from him. He had to strike back at the world. Anything less than an equivalent to his sister's worth wouldn't balance the scales.
"No, I'm not smiling, Carl. Stay calm, and don't you dare leave my side."
"O-okay!"
Then let's take everything. Everything in this world.
'Ah, sis. The rabble is writhing. Whine, whine, whine, a pack of whiners. A species far inferior to me, who was defined as a slave. But that's not enough. Even all of that isn't enough. Compared to the happiness we were robbed of, their pathetic lives don't even count.'
The most deranged man here was undoubtedly this one. The boy called Al had died, and the freed slave called Al had also died. Now, here was—
'Come on, I'll devour it all!'
The nameless white beast that had even devoured its own name.
For William Livius, this was truly his first battle.
༺༻
"Is this alright, William?!"
"Yes, this is fine."
The battle was in full chaos. A head-on collision between horizontal formations on the plain, a clash without any tricks. The initial collision was a feint by the cavalry, followed by a clash between the light infantry. Now, in the center of both armies, the light infantry were entangled.
Amidst this, William and Carl were fighting leisurely in the middle. Occasionally, they would engage with an enemy who cut through, but William would easily bisect them before they reached Carl. Compared to the previous retreat, this was clearly mild.
"Putting too much effort into the opening battle only leads to death. Not just from the enemy in front, but also from the arrows and javelins of our allies raining down from behind. There's nothing good about being on the front line. For now, it's best to just go with the flow, as long as we don't stand out too much."
Carl was confused, but the risk of standing on the front line wasn't worth the potential gains, especially in the opening battle, which was merely a preliminary skirmish. It was the light infantry who were expended. No valuable heads would emerge from the opening battle.
'So, the opening skirmish is about to end. Who will make the first move?'
William held his position because it allowed him to survey the entire battlefield to some extent. Of course, his visibility wasn't great, but he had enough leeway to sense danger and movements and execute the optimal actions.
'There's no sign of any clever formation like an oblique order from either side. So, will it be a straightforward clash with the heavy infantry, following the usual tactics?'
Enemy soldiers began to arrive at the location in increasing numbers. The front line was mixing, and the melee was starting to spread. If there was a time to act, it was now. Even if it wasn't, it was about time to move the heavy infantry.
"William! There’s something behind us!"
Carl, who was behind William, raised his voice. William also noticed the anomaly belatedly.
"Behind... cavalry?!"
He hadn't heard the sound of hooves. However, the arrows from their side were dulling, and shouts loud enough to reach the front line were coming their way. The heavy infantry hadn't moved. The light infantry was in the midst of a clash, and the horizontal formation was in a state of equilibrium. If the situation behind them was changing, it meant an ambush. And—
'The scouts wouldn't have failed to check the open plains. There were no ambush troops within the range visible from the hill. If there were any, they would be further away. Beyond the hill, in the forest. And to move troops stationed in the forest after the battle had started, and to attack faster than our movements, the speed of cavalry was essential.'
Therefore, the only option left was cavalry. And they were fast and strong.
'Ostberg has the initiative. That's probably settled. So... the next move is also Ostberg's.'
While the front line's gaze turned backward, William glared at the front line.
'They've disrupted our rear. Naturally, the next move is the front!'
William saw the front line begin to retreat. In reality, the enemy's front line was suddenly falling back. But they weren't being pushed. This was a switch, and what came after the switch was—
"Heavy infantry?!"
The black reapers. Ostberg's strongest soldiers.
"Whoa?!"
A light infantry ally hastily threw a spear. It flew straight toward the black armor,
"…"
And was casually swept aside by a shield. The impact was so strong that the wooden spear, though thrown, shattered to pieces.
Without much concern, the heavy infantry easily mowed down the light infantry. They struck with long, gleaming black pikes, overpowered, crushed, and annihilated them.
"Help me!"
"Get back!"
A pike as thick as a tree trunk crushed the head of a trembling light infantryman right in front of them. The head burst like a pomegranate. The front line instantly turned into a death zone. The black reapers, Ostberg's heavy infantry, produced blood, brain matter, and dead flesh.
"I'm gonna do it."
In a voice too low for the trembling Carl to hear, William muttered.
"It's about time to move."
William drew the sword he had sheathed. The released silver caught the eyes of many on the spot. It was the beauty of the sword, and also the beauty of the young man who wielded it.
The atmosphere changed.
"Stay back, Carl. Until a good head comes along, I'll scatter some small fry."
Gone was the listlessness of moments ago. The gaze of a predator with prey in sight. He looked over the black reapers, his prey, as if licking them.
"Small fry, huh? Don't talk big, boy!"
But the heavy infantry were not intimidated. They were seasoned warriors, heroes who had crossed numerous lines of death. The idle talk of a mere light infantryman. Even if the atmosphere was slightly different—
"Stay silent and be mowed down, small fry."
"What?!"
Quick, decisive, a dance of beheading.
"No need to devour. I'll just crush you."
He whispered in a voice too low to be heard behind him. The armor's seams were precisely cut, and the head and torso of a man separated. He was still alive, but already without the function to live. The "function" to understand words was dancing in the air.
"Impossible!!"
The front line was in turmoil. Allies and enemies alike, all eyes were focused on William.
"My name is William Livius! The sword of Carl von Taylor! If you do not fear my master's glory, come at me!"
No one here knew about Carl. Not even the Taylor family would know. But that was fine. This was the beginning. As the shadow and sword of Carl von Taylor, this was the start. The first step to devouring the heavens.
"The movement’s stopped, hasn't it? Heavy infantry, are you trembling?"
"You bastard!"
The black reapers, who had been made a mockery, rushed at the white beast. William, looking down from above, began to move, intending to trample them all, to devour them completely.
The stage was set.
༺༻
"Your Excellency, as planned, our front line is prevailing. It's about time we also make our retreat."
The black cavalry, their hooves thundering across the battlefield, surged forward. Amidst them, a particularly large man removed his helmet, directing his gaze toward the enemy's headquarters.
"Hahaha. As immovable as ever, aren't you, Valdeus?"
Despite the perfectly executed strategy, the large man smiled at the sight of the unflinching, unmoved enemy.
"True to your name, the Unmovable Valdeus. You never resort to tricks, but that makes our strategies harder to implement."
Tricks are just that—tricks. If the enemy is rattled by them and makes a poor move, there's room to act. But if they remain unmoved, the situation is in a delicate balance, despite only a slight advantage and revealing our hand.
"Hmph. It's an old-fashioned way, but I like it. No tricks involved."
The old-school military tactics were straightforward and enjoyable for the large man.
"The greenhorns of Galius have a different history, hahaha."
Unbeknownst to the Arcadian camp, Ostberg had recently been at war with the superpower Galius. It wasn't a grand war to warrant the term, but the conflict, sparked by various reasons, ultimately led to this battle.
"Well, we did find something interesting. For now, let's call it good with this battle."
A long history of warfare, a history so extensive that both sides have lost count of the battles fought, creates a profound battlefield. Not something theoretical, but the real deal.
"The headquarters are atop the hill, a formidable setup. Taking it down would be a tough job."
Contrary to his words, his face was filled with delight.
"Alright, the opening battle is over. Let's pull back."
"Understood!"
The large man, leading his subordinates, withdrew from the chaotic battlefield. The perfect timing of their retreat hinted at the possibility of regrouping. Such give-and-take truly reflected experience and offered a glimpse of a commander's skill.
"...?"
During the retreat, the large man glanced briefly at the front line where both armies clashed. The battlefield, where light and heavy infantry collided, was overwhelmingly dominated by his own, the Ostberg forces. However—
"Ho..."
A small, ordinarily insignificant part of the vast battlefield caught his eye.
"Interesting!"
Something had piqued the large man's interest.
༺༻
"Foolish."
The black-clad heavy infantry crumbled, and the white beast loomed over them.
"Thank you for your efforts."
William danced across the battlefield. Most of the black bodies lying around were the result of William's solo efforts. Both enemy and ally hesitated to move carelessly. Though it was just a small part, William dominated that section of the battlefield.
"Damn you! How dare you—"
The man who had just fallen was a decurion of the Ostberg heavy infantry. Among the regular soldiers of the heavy infantry, a decurion was not a low rank—though not low, it was—
'Not enough.'
William was currently taking a significant risk. Fighting on the front line, standing out alone, was a considerable risk. There was the danger of being surrounded and trampled, and friendly fire from behind was also a real possibility. It was a risky situation.
'Risks should be avoided as much as possible. Move only when necessary. Now is the time. But I need one more push. It's not worth it otherwise.'
It was almost time to retreat. The overall front line was on the verge of collapse, and more importantly, it was almost time for Arcadia's prized heavy infantry to take the stage. William's role was nearing its limit.
'Come on, come on, come on!'
William prayed. Even with all his efforts, only the evaluations of the surrounding foot soldiers would remain. That wouldn't reach the higher-ups. He needed something that would undoubtedly spread his name. Something solid that couldn't be obtained by killing mere foot soldiers.
'I need it!'
He needed a bigger fish.
"Hey, hey, looks like you've been roughing up my men quite a bit."
The atmosphere shifted dramatically.
"William!"
Carl's voice carried a warning.
'I know. Finally, I've drawn him out. A centurion!'
A centurion. If there was one thing common between Arcadia and Ostberg, it was that heavy infantry formed their core. And the backbone that supported that core was the centurion, the one who led them. The star of stars. Taking his head would surely raise William's name.
"Fancy hair you've got there, kid. Is it dyed?"
A mass of confidence. But certainly—
'He's no paper tiger.'
It wasn't a bluff. Until now, the opponents had been merely parts of the strong collective known as the heavy infantry. But the man before him, this one man, was different. He led the strong collective, shaping the group with his strength.
"Ostberg heavy infantry centurion, Hyen von Croccus."
"Sword of Carl von Taylor of the Arcadian light infantry, William Livius."
The two introduced themselves. There was an overwhelming gap in their status. Hyen, who commanded the black reapers, and William, just another foot soldier. To an onlooker, it might seem a ludicrous scene.
"Good spirit. Come at me."
A heavy, oppressive atmosphere surrounded Hyen.
'Not this again.'
A chilling sensation assaulted William. The same feeling he had when facing Kyle. And though different in nature, it was similar to the aura of Lord Taylor and that noble district.
"I really can't understand it."
William let out a breath that was neither a sigh nor a respiration.
"Aren't you coming?"
"I'm on my way."
William had etched Kyle's warning into his mind. Don't fight an opponent who gives off this chill. But—
'If I don't take the risk... I won't make it up there!'
William couldn't afford to stop. His heart screamed to move forward. His belly burned with passion. Devour, devour, devour. Something within him was screaming madly.
"Hyuh!"
'And besides, I don't feel as much chill as I did with Kyle! No disadvantage in physique, technique, nothing. I can win!'
Therefore, William advanced. As usual, he aimed for the seams in the armor, targeting the neck.
"You're light, white hair brat."
"What?!"
Hyen easily, far too easily, caught William's deadly strike. Rational, direct, and therefore the fastest. William's sword, a culmination of vast knowledge and training, was blocked.
"Take this!"
Hyen, still in a bind, forced his way through with brute strength, swinging his large sword.
William's eyes widened. They were locked in a clash, but William had the upper hand in posture. Although slightly smaller in stature, there wasn't much difference in weight. And in strength, William, who trained hard, wouldn't fall behind so easily.
"Didn't I tell you? You're light.'"
And yet, William was lifted off the ground. Disregarding the disadvantageous position, rationality, everything, William was raised and flung through the air.
'Wait a minute... what?'
William couldn't comprehend what had happened. That lag—
"You don't have the luxury to space out!"
Creating disadvantages where none are given, a textbook diagonal slash. Even amidst the panic, William firmly supported his sword with both arms, protecting his neck. He caught and countered—
"Gaah?!"
That was the intention. However, the result was a mere scratch on the neck, and his body was sent flying. Despite the disadvantageous position, the blow he was fully prepared to receive was far too heavy.
'That's ridiculous!!'
It didn't seem like there was a difference in sheer strength. Nor did it seem like there was a difference in muscle mass. And yet—
'Why does it feel so massive?!'
On the defensive, William gritted his teeth. This wasn't his intention. He intended to win, to gain confidence in his own excellence. He was strong. That was supposed to be the battle to confirm it, but—
"Don't you get it? You probably don't, huh? Your sword is light. Your very existence is light. Because you've built up nothing, see?"
Life is light.
"That's enough posturing. Sure, you're excellent. Your swordplay is beautiful, and your movements are wonderful. Your physique isn't bad either. But that's all. You're not 'strong'!"
While catching the sword, William looked down to the ground.
Thump, his heart felt like it was bursting.
Could he forgive what the man before him had spouted? He had lived through the gutter, lost his sister, and lived for revenge. He had also desperately accumulated knowledge, and behind the scenes, he had trained his body too. He was confident that he had lived the best he could. Proud that he had lived the shortest path.
"You're superficial, white brat!"
He must be more excellent, more superior than this man. That was only reasonable.
Catching the descending sword, Hyen felt a strange resistance.
"…Rare."
He was excellent. It didn't matter if he wasn’t a genius. It was fine even if he wasn’t a prodigy. Being an ordinary person was enough. Just a slave who built up everything to aim for the heavens. Desperately, without wasting a single second. Madly, spending everything to elevate himself. That "self"—
"Shut up!"
There was no way he was inferior to the man before him.
"What now?! You've been hiding that face?!"
An expression unseen by allies. Hyen didn’t know what stood before him.
"I'm amazing, aren't I, big sis? I'm more excellent than anyone! So, watch me."
"Don't mess with me! How can someone like this, someone like you be here?!"
The sword was pushed back, the exact opposite of what happened before. The surroundings couldn’t understand what was happening, and no voice reached them. But they understood that William was pushing. Understood, yet no one could move.
In the clash, Hyen's neck was adorned with a sword, yet he couldn’t move.
Fear enveloped the battlefield. A burning passion. The heavy pressure that Hyen exuded was being painted over.
"Iiiit's toooo laaate for youuuu."
Despair settled on Hyen's face. As he was pushed back, the blade bit into the neck, flesh audibly tearing apart. Slowly, surely, resistance was futile—
"Stop!!! H-help me!!"
Blood stained them both. The white beast was dyed red. Red, crimson, a beautiful beast.
"See, I was excellent after all."
His allies couldn't see his expression. But the enemy, the soldiers of Ostberg, saw it.
They swallowed hard at the sight, so beautiful yet terrifying. They couldn't recognize "it" as the same person, bathed in blood with an ecstatic expression. Maddeningly beautiful—
The white beast stood alone on the battlefield.
"Uh, William?"
Carl tentatively called out. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he vaguely grasped that the situation was abnormal. But,
"Hm? What's wrong, Lord Carl?"
William turned around, his expression the same as usual. His hair and clothes were stained red-black, but it was the same William as always.
"Please, take this."
William neatly severed Hyen's head again and skillfully sent it flying into Carl's hands. Carl hurriedly caught it. The dead face with bulging eyes made Carl feel nauseous.
"What's happening?"
The Arcadian heavy infantry, who had only now come to the front lines, wore puzzled expressions at the strange atmosphere.
William grins.
"Carl von Taylor has slain the enemy's centurion, Hyen von Croccus!"
His clear voice resonated across the battlefield. It was only a small part of the whole, but everyone there etched Carl von Taylor's name into their memory. Such was the allure and irresistible charm of that voice.
"Wait, William?! It wasn't me, it was you—"
Carl tries to correct him, but it's too late—
"Wooooooah!"
A great cheer rises. William pulls out Carl's sword and stabs it into Hyen's head. Once he confirmed that it was properly placed, he had Carl hold it up.
The exploding cheers are further enhanced.
"A light infantry like you slaying a heavy infantry centurion?"
The white heavy infantry raised a question. William stands before Carl.
"This man is the son of a baron, do not equate him with common light infantry. Such disrespect will not be tolerated by me, William Livius."
The son of a baron. A noble. Most heavy infantry are regular soldiers and citizens. Carl's rank may be low, but in the national hierarchy, he is overwhelmingly higher.
"Why would the son of a noble become light infantry?"
The opponent suddenly lowers his stance, and William looks down on him.
"There's no need for you to know. Let's withdraw, Lord Carl."
William extends his hand. Carl is flustered.
"Uh, no, you can't just move on your own—"
"When heavy infantry clash, light infantry should fall back. Or are you still saying that light infantry should support the battlefield?"
An irrefutable argument. The delay in the switch was a mistake in the rear. Even so, William shouldn't have been able to speak out. But now, with the feat of killing a centurion and with the support of Carl—a noble, it passes.
"Let's go, then."
"Uh, okay."
William and Carl withdrew leisurely. Not only the Ostberg, who had their commander slain, but the Arcadian allies were also stunned. Such was the vivid duel. And the victory. It was as if the battlefield itself had won, with the cheers continuing.
Unintentionally, the reserved heavy infantry clashed, and the waning Ostberg forces were pushed back. The heavy infantry spurred to recover from the initial blunder, divided the Ostberg army from the center that had not been completely pushed back. They succeeded in breaking through the center.
At this point, the trend of the field battle was decided.
For William and Carl, their first battle ended with a victory, overturning the initial disadvantage.