Vol. 1 - Ch. 30 - The Battle of Flanders (11): A Rising Star

"Quite the view, huh? White Mask!" Volf shouted, gazing down at the enemy headquarters and the broader battlefield from an advantageous position. His strategic gamble had paid off. If he were to attack, this would be the ideal spot, offering both a vantage point and strategic oversight. Any commander, even Volf himself, would choose such a location.

"Impressive speed, Mountain Dog. I never thought you'd actually make it here in time. I'm speechless," William replied, slightly awed. The distance from the critical position to here was vast, especially considering the endgame of this mountain battle. The battlefield had become focused and smaller in scale, yet leading a group of ten, fully equipped, to catch up was unthinkable.

"Cut the crap. You knew I'd catch up," Volf retorted.

"Yeah, and you knew I'd be here too," William acknowledged.

Both men had exerted all their might in this strategic duel, understanding and predicting each other's moves with a mutual trust born from their rivalry.

The White and the Black stared each other down.

"Our thought processes might be different, but we always reach the same conclusion," Volf noted.

"That's where our pieces, conditions, and strategies differ, and where I surpass you," William countered with a smile, which wiped the grin off Volf's face.

"You've still got something hidden? Don't kid me. After this long battle, there's no way you have any cards left unplayed. You've already used Anselm, Gregor, Gilbert, and yourself. What else could there be?" Volf said, frustration creeping into his voice.

"Gilbert hasn't shown himself yet, has he?" William chuckled, that infuriatingly confident smile returning. Volf had only seen that expression once before, obscured by the setting sun, but it had stuck with him.

"The key defense must be Gilbert. No one else can match Yuwain when he’s at full strength. Even then, Gilbert would be outmatched, but he's the best you have," Volf reasoned.

Indeed, only Anselm, Gilbert, or William himself could potentially stop Yuwain. Anselm was the least likely choice. In this decisive moment, the lion’s fangs would shine brightest, and Anselm wouldn’t last long against Yuwain’s full might. Not even an army of corpses could stop a king.

"I know. Even I might get devoured by the lion. Anselm or Gilbert doesn't stand a chance. Yuwain is a beast, embodying both intellect and strength. Still stronger than you," Volf admitted.

"Of course, more than you, at least," William agreed.

Thus, Yuwain was the perfect final move. In a decisive battle, the awakened lion was on another level, unstoppable. Only a king could face another king.

"I knew this would happen. If I stopped Yuwain, you’d run wild, and we'd lose. This outcome was inevitable," Volf declared, confident in his plan.

His pieces were superior, and Volf would secure victory. The Black Mercenaries would dominate the battlefield.

"I've watched carefully. I’ve seen your strength throughout this long campaign," William acknowledged, understanding the strength and cunning of the Black Mercenaries, superior to any other enemy he had faced.

"Yeah, well, you were close too. But next time—"

"That's why," William interrupted, spreading his arms wide.

"I had to take a gamble to win," William announced.

Volf's eyes widened in shock.

"My victory, Mountain Dog," William declared as flames erupted from the Nederkus headquarters. The stronghold had fallen, signifying Arcadia's control over the mountain battle.

"Impossible," Volf's face drained of color.

༺༻

Gilbert had seized the center.

Leading his cavalry, Gilbert charged straight at the enemy headquarters, moving with unmatched speed.

"I will not let you pass, even if it costs my life!" Anatole roared, positioning himself defiantly. Gilbert, however, wore a cold expression, signaled to his men to hold his reins, and dismounted mid-charge. Rolling forward, he drew his sword.

"A sword cannot defeat a spear! Die!" Anatole screamed, his killing intent palpable. Despite his missing arm, his spear moved with deadly precision, embodying death itself.

Anatole’s spear, a blur of lethal speed, struck with a reach far exceeding that of a sword—

"That applies to commoners. Step aside, fool," Gilbert calmly stated.

Slash.

"Bastard," Anatole gasped.

In a blink, Gilbert had sliced through the spear and Anatole himself. The Weeping Spear fell, and with it, the spirit of the Nederkus army.

"Well done, sir," a subordinate praised as they brought Gilbert’s horse alongside him. Without a word, Gilbert remounted.

"Don't praise me for this. It's nothing," he replied, his eyes fixed on the Nederkus headquarters. Speed was of the essence; he had to end the battle quickly since he wasn’t defending the key position.

'Stopping that lion, huh…? Compared to that, this is nothing. Just taking a headquarters.'

Gilbert briefly glanced toward the position he was supposed to defend. No smoke. It meant it was still holding. There was still time.

"Quickly, to victory! Follow me!" he commanded.

With Gilbert’s entry, the center of the battlefield shifted rapidly.

༺༻

Gilbert had cut through the center. Indeed, an impressive display of power. The 'Wailing Spear' did not stand a chance against him.

Volfe was not watching the center. He had not even heard William's words. They still needed a bit more of a push to take the center. He understood that. And the only ones capable of doing that were William and Gilbert. As long as William was here, Gilbert was the one in the center.

"How's it going?"

What he did not understand was—

"Don't make that face, you mongrel. Why don't you smile like you did earlier?"

What he couldn't comprehend was—

"Why hasn't that place fallen yet?"

In contrast to the Nederkus headquarters, the bastion in the center still had no sign of fire. This was an impossible situation. The one leading the charge there was no ordinary general, but the 'Lion Marquis' Yuwain. Besides William, Gilbert, Anselm, and Gregor, who else could possibly stop Yuwain?

"That's what I told you, didn't I? It was a gamble. I honestly didn't have much confidence either. I thought I had been steadily improving it, but I still felt it was too early. But it seems the result has worked out well."

William gave a gentle smile.

"Look at that, the young master has finally become useful."

༺༻

Everyone knew his name. The name of that young man. He had never lost a single battle. His presence on the battlefield was mystical. But as the White Mask became more famous, the young man's reputation began to shift. After all, isn't it the White Mask's achievements?

The young man had grown up since childhood without anyone's expectations. His parents' kindness hurt. He hated himself for not being able to replace his brother. He had no business acumen, and though he tried to enter a military school to earn military honors, he couldn't even get in. There were no expectations placed on him.

"Is it ready yet?"

The young man was a bundle of inferiority. He had never won a single battle in his life and had nothing he had grasped with his own hands. A parasite living off his parents' money. That's how he saw himself.

"Just a little bit more! Gilbert should be coming in any moment now to just devastate everything!"

"It's all about that fighting spirit!"

One day, the young man encountered a light. It was more dazzling than any light he had ever seen and more beautiful. The young man was captivated. Surely the owner of that light must possess what he himself lacked. That's what he thought.

"Everyone, do your best! I'll do my best too!"

Certainly, the owner of the light did possess what the young man lacked. But it was not the glamorous thing the young man had imagined. It was a dirty, life-or-death gift. He had been thinking about nothing but constantly improving himself. A chosen existence that shone brightly, different from himself. It was the crystallization of daily effort.

The young man realized.

"Uh, if Carl uses the bow, the arrows will just be wasted, you know."

"Aw, come on, Ignatz, that's mean."

Carl von Taylor realized.

That's why Carl tried. To get just a little bit closer to him. To shine even just a little bit. For the friend who told him he could do it, who believed in him.

"Well then, what am I supposed to do?"

"Please just stand there."

"...You two are both pretty harsh, aren't you?"

Carl von Taylor was the defender of the bastion.

༺༻

Yuwain was dumbfounded. This was a first-time experience for him. On this small battlefield, just to guard a single defensive position,

"Why won't the arrows stop!? How long will this rain continue!?"

Yuwain couldn't recall a battlefield where such a massive amount of arrows were being unleashed. No, it may not have even existed in the annals of history. At least, not on this scale of a mountain battle.

"Yuwain. When are we supposed to attack?"

"Ever since that first charge was repelled, the whole time, right? If we get close, it's just like a stupid rain of arrows. We've tried probing attacks, but no matter how many we unleash, the arrows don't stop."

Yuwain could only remain silent. The only time to attack would be when the enemy's arrows ran out, or at least when they had diminished. But that situation never materialized.

The arrows never stopped. The momentum did not wane.

"It's like a whole field of arrow grass around here. I wonder how much this is all costing?"

The cost-effectiveness was too abysmal. This absurdity couldn't be real.

'Even if he is the 'Lion Marquis', in this situation, there's nothing he can do. What a ridiculous affair this is.'

In this state, the heroic legend means nothing.

Just a forceful push driven by money. But this absurd feat was possible for only one person - Carl. The Taylor family was among the wealthiest in Arcadia. Yet with few family members, the accumulated wealth was unimaginable. In terms of assets alone, even Oswald or Krueger couldn't compete with this wealthy clan, the Taylor family. The successor to the Jewel King, Lord Taylor.

"But the only thing I can do now is this."

The strategy William presented. Carl was the final piece. He was so happy. Finally, he was truly needed. Even if it was for the sake of money, if he could be useful, that was the very meaning of Carl being on this battlefield.

"If a mere wealthy man like me can be of use to everyone—"

The wind blew. An azure wind. Refreshing and gentle, seeping into the soldiers. It gave them a sense of calm and reassurance. Even against the Lion, they could fight with such tranquility, composure, and solid battle prowess.

"I'll pay as much as needed. If that means being able to fulfill someone's expectations—it's a small price to pay."

Carl von Taylor. The final hidden card that had been dormant now shone brightly.

༺༻

Volf was trembling. The deadly move should have been Yuwain's. In terms of battlefield prowess, he was still superior to Volf. He was supposed to be the strongest card in this mountain battle.

However, the result was that the card he had dismissed as a mere commoner, Carl, had sealed his fate.

"...Did you raise him?"

With great effort, Volf managed to squeeze out those words. Hearing that, William smiled.

"Ah, he was a forgetful fellow, but he had an obedient nature. As a student, he was just about passing, I'd say."

Hearing William's response, Volf felt a pang of anguish.

Volf didn't think of training a commoner. If he was going to train someone, he'd rather hire an excellent person from the start. That was about as far as his thinking went. That's why in the Black Mercenary Corps, especially in the core, there were no commoners. Only the excellent personnel selected by Volf were there.

"It's not just a massive money-driven attack, you know? You can't entrust the most important mission to personnel bought with just money."

"The formation was your doing, wasn't it? Or perhaps Anselm's?"

"Unfortunately, the formation Anselm made was incomplete. It was Carl who refined it into the current one. And you've already faced off against Carl, haven't you?"

Volf pondered for a moment, but he had no such memory. He had seen Carl only when he first confronted William, as one of the commoners who had rushed to the scene. That was the extent of his recognition.

"Or rather, in the latter half of the battle, the command of my hundred-man unit was entirely in Carl's hands. Wouldn't that surprise you a bit, Mountain Dog?"

Volf's eyes widened.

"That's impossible! Unbelievable!"

William chuckled.

"Come on, I'm the squad leader of Carl's hundred-man unit. It's only natural that Carl would be the one in command."

William's revelation left Volf stunned. It's understandable that he would find it hard to believe. Knowing that the one he had been fiercely fighting against was a person he had never even noticed, he wouldn't want to accept it.

"Well, don't make that face. I drilled defensive tactics into him thoroughly. Compared to offense, defense relies more on knowledge and effort than talent. With that foundation, he can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with you or me when it comes to defensive tactics alone."

It was William who had trained Carl. He had molded the commoner, who was originally just a pawn, into a first-class commander. He had transformed the ordinary man into someone capable of holding off a lion.

"And he's not lacking in talent, either. Can't you feel it? This breeze."

The gentle, azure wind. Calming and reassuring. Sensing where this atmosphere was emanating from, Volf understood.

"Haha. The key for a defensive commander is stability. I see, no wonder he's well-liked."

Comprehending the source of his own defeat and the true nature of the new piece.

"Right? You and I can lead, but to hold the line, you need a certain finesse. And he has that natural ability to be liked by people."

William and Volf had led by demonstrating their power. But Carl was different. He lacked the kind of power they could display. Yet he was able to function as a commander because he was liked by his subordinates. There was something he possessed that even William and Volf lacked - the ability to inspire his men to want to support him.

"Inadvertently, it ended up in the same form as the initial battle. You, who knew us, and me, who didn't know you. You slipped through the opening I left by being lured out and took my head. This time, it's the reverse. You've been lured out, and Gilbert has struck the opening."

"But you understand, don't you? Today's main star is—"

"Carl von Taylor. I'll carve that name into my memory. Well, even if I don't, I won't be able to forget it."

Surprisingly, there was no murky feeling within Volf. What he gained from today's defeat was substantial. There was so much to learn. He even felt a touch of gratitude.

"Ah, but I'm still frustrated. With everything piled up, I'm just plain pissed. At myself, at your smirking, and even at that damn mask of yours."

Losing was certainly frustrating. But this time, there was just too much to learn. The one who provided this learning opportunity was a peer and someone Volf had unilaterally considered a rival. Various emotions welled up within him. Swallowing them down—

Volf laughed.

"And you know, to be honest, my job isn't really about winning battles."

Volf took a deep breath. Of course, he had been determined to win. He had envisioned accomplishing his job by winning and had been intoxicated by his own coolness in doing so. Well, it was arrogance. He had been on the verge of extreme arrogance, only to be crushed by Strurkess, and then his arrogance had swelled up again, only to be crushed by William (and Carl). But the wolf learns much from defeat. To never lose again. To devour even defeat itself.

And most importantly, the greatest goal for today was not to win.

"Oh? So a mercenary has tasks other than winning battles?"

William's expression became full of aggression, eager to hear any excuses.

But—

"Yeah, I do."

Swelling murderous intent. Before him stood the grinning black wolf. Facing today's main course, the wounded wolf smiled.

"And that task is to take your head!"

William's eyes widened in surprise.

"Ridiculous. Who would ask for such a crazy thing—"

"Rudolph le Habsbourg, the heir to the Archduke's household. You've heard of him, haven't you?"

Comprehending the situation, William swallowed hard.

The Habsbourg family. Their immensity was known even when they were mere slaves. It is said that they are involved in approximately half of Nederklus's wealth. Even the royal family of Nederklus cannot defy a Habsbourg. They are an existence beyond the law. That is the Habsbourg family.

"Why would someone I've never even met want me?""Who knows? But I guess it's because you're dangerous. You're aware of it, aren't you? Both you and I are trying to destroy the world, just in different ways."

Volf swept his hair back. From here on, it was serious mode.

"I took quite a beating this time. The fact that I was hired means I was seen as more troublesome than you, right? Well, whatever. I've been pissed at you from the start. Because you guys took our 'feelings' lightly. That's something I can't compromise on."

The rocket shining on Volf's chest, that was the driving force propelling the wolf forward.

"Devouring the world is my role, not yours. I am the one who will grasp the heavens!"

Silently, William drew his sword. Volf also responded by unsheathing his own.

White and black glared at each other. Clashing. Unseen sparks flew between the two.

Kindred spirits. Because they understood each other, neither could back down.

"It's not like we're both pristine, you know? Let's expose our ugly true natures!"

Volf launched the attack. In an instant, he closed the distance and swung his sword at William.

"Fine, but be prepared."

William stood firm, unflinching and glared at Volf.

"I'm not satisfied with this battle either. I at least have to take your head to settle my stomach!"

He forcefully swung his sword, repelling Volf.

"That's mutual. I don't feel like I lost at all. Killing you here will at least fulfill the minimum of my job. Otherwise, it won't be worth it!"

The two charged at each other simultaneously. Their swords clashed violently.

"Mountain Dog!"

"White Mask!"

The White Mask and the Black Wolf. The two began to fight in a hidden corner of the battlefield, determined to settle the score.

The White Death clashed with the Black Wolf.

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