Vol. 1 - Ch. 31 - The Battle of Flanders (12): The Black Reaper

After taking down the enemy lines, Gilbert and his men set out towards Flanders. More precisely, the ground forces that had been coordinating with the mountain troops should have already advanced this far. Even if not, by striking at the enemy's rear, the main force would be able to move more easily.

"My, how impressive! As expected of Lord Gilbert. The blood of the Sword Saint is not to be trifled with."

"Indeed! Your father would surely be delighted."

However, this was a false hope. The Nederkus army, who had not expected the entire force to suddenly spring into action, was taken by surprise and thrown into disarray by Arcadia's all-out assault, resulting in a victory far exceeding the difference in military strength. And the two who made this possible were also Gilbert's mentors.

"I am grateful for the assistance of Generals Villibrand and Christoph."

Seeing Gilbert's polite words, the two burst into laughter.

"The battlefield is quite something, isn't it, Christoph? The young master is using honorifics with us."

"It's so unfamiliar that it's giving me goosebumps. Well, you'll soon be on our level, but until then, please bear with us, Captain Oswalt."

"I understand..."

"Ha ha ha ha ha!"

The two had taught Gilbert the essence of war. It would not be an exaggeration to say that they had taught him everything except the sword. Gilbert, who had yet to surpass them even in theory, was truly no match for their mastery of warfare.

Knowledge, experience, strength, and youth - the two possessed all these qualities, and they were poised to become the pillars supporting Gilbert.

"However, the Nederkus army was not without resilience. The moment the flames were lit, they crumbled all at once."

"I can understand the sentiment, but considering that Flanders lies right behind them, it seems a bit foolish. The pride of the Seven Kingdoms has taken a hit."

"I see. Then, are you planning to launch a full-scale assault on Flanders immediately?"

"Of course. Having come this far, it would be the height of shame for a knight to let the laid table escape. Let us take Flanders."

It would be a feat worthy of entering the history books. An unparalleled opportunity to accomplish this. They had no intention of letting it slip away.

"Lord Gilbert, you must be weary. Please remain here."

Gilbert made a dissatisfied face, which drew a wry smile from the two.

"You have already accomplished more than enough feats of valor. Please leave the rest to us."

In this decisive battle, they had claimed the heads of enemy generals. Gilbert's contribution this time was virtually certain to earn him a promotion. Given the current momentum, there was no need to be greedy.

"Understood. I'll leave the rest to you two."

With a sullen expression, Gilbert returned to his own forces to inform them that he would be on standby in the rear.

The expressions of the two watching his retreating back were bright.

"The House of Osvalt will be secured."

"That man understands that he is the sword. While the jealousy of his brother may be formidable, he can surely brush it aside with the acumen he possesses."

"Indeed. Then, we must demonstrate the power of being his right arm."

In their line of sight lay Flanders. Throughout Arcadia's history, they had crossed the Rulya River but had never conquered Flanders. However, with the defenses weakened, the two believed there was a high possibility of swiftly capturing it.

"Shall we go, Christoph?"

"Of course, Villibrand."

Today, the two would leave their mark on history. And eventually, Gilbert would surpass even that, standing tall as the pillar supporting Arcadia. Such a future lay before them.

༺༻

In Flanders, Rudolph could be seen hastily preparing to leave. Of course, it was his maids (breasts) who were actually packing the luggage, while Rudolph himself lay on the bed, occasionally groping the passing breasts to pass the time.

"The Arcadian army is advancing right here. Please depart, young master."

When Rainberka entered the room without reading the atmosphere, Rudolph's expression became openly displeased.

"Eh? So we're losing? Noooo, noooo, noooo!"

Rudolph threw a tantrum, the breasts he was grasping shaking rapidly. Rainberka held her head in her hands.

"Of course, we are still organizing our defenses to the very end to protect Flanders, but its fall is only a matter of time. Lingering is unnecessary."

"Boo~ boo~ Oh my, Volf! You have to win properly, you know?"

While the Nederkus side had lost the momentum of victory, for Rudolph, the result was everything. And he had been given time to build a good relationship with the Nederkus army. Even if he lost the command, that was a small matter. It was part of the general's ability.

"Oh, and I don't need Flanders anymore. And I hate losing. Understand?"

Sensing something, Rainberka's face turned pale.

Rudolph continued to grope the breasts without a care, his face blissful. No matter how much he squeezed, he never tired of breasts.

"Understood."

Rainberka left the room, her face downcast.

"Alright, let's hurry up and pack our things to go back! I'm so done with this far eastern place. Let's go back and have some fun in the big bubble bath at the palace!"

Rudolph continued to fondle the breasts, oblivious to Rainberka's reaction. The maids' packing was not completed until quite some time later.

༺༻

Carl sank down with a "Hm" on his lips. The commanding demeanor he had shown earlier had vanished, and the ever-flustered Carl von Taylor was there instead.

"Whoa, I didn't actually think I could drive them back, you know."

"Well done, Lord Carl," Ignatz and Frank said, surprised by the situation. That Carl had managed to repel the 'Lion Candidate' was remarkable. The merchant houses had seen Carl as a burden to the Taylor family, but as a century captain, he had accomplished a great feat. A non-warrior had achieved more than the warrior class.

"I wonder how much this will fetch? I'll get in trouble with Father."

Looking around at the ground covered in arrows, Carl made a troubled face.

"But Lord Roland offered twice the amount you proposed, didn't he?"

"And before that, Lord Carl had said he would bid ten times what William offered."

What a child he was, with regards to money - how and when to use it, and how much. But then, Carl too was of the Taylor bloodline.

"Anyway, the arrow stock is still abundant. This is all inventory, you know."

"Well, William did say he wanted to deal in weapons at his own company."

"Your voice is trembling, Lord Carl."

There are still uncertain aspects to him, but Carl is steadily growing. As his subordinates and those who have known him since childhood, they can see his progress. The leaps and bounds Carl von Taylor is making -

༺༻

Villebrand and Christoph easily conquered the walls of Flanders. The young men watching from a distance were simply amazed at their efficiency. Their own skills were still lacking. To lead, they would need to surpass these two.

"Shall we press on to a convenient stopping point?"

"I agree. Though it's a bit anti-climactic that there's been no real resistance so far."

"Well, that's how it goes with easy victories."

Inviting their own troops into Flanders and freely roaming the streets still inhabited by the locals, Villebrand and Christoph were aware of the significance. Flanders, the bridgehead against the Seven Kingdoms of Nederkus, was a crucial objective. From here, the war between Arcadia and Nederkus would escalate - battles and counterattacks, an era of warfare was coming.

Only by shining through in such times could one become a hero, a remarkable figure to be remembered in history.

"The times are changing. And we, along with Lord Gilbert, are at the center of it."

"How exciting, this new era -"

Christoph broke off as they encountered a dark group blocking the main street. Their ominous presence and out-of-place appearance made the two frown.

"..."

At the center stood a monster in jet-black armor. Sharply sinister and evil, a personification of malice. With a full-face helm, no expression could be seen.

And in its hand, it gripped—

"What a huge scythe. You could mow a whole lot of grass with that thing."

A scythe that was nearly as tall as a man, its blade and shaft black as well.

The whole ensemble was far from practical or functional. Suitable perhaps for rituals or ceremonies, but this was a battlefield. To stand there in such attire was tantamount to suicide.

"But this is a battlefield, not a meadow."

Christoph drew his sword, and Villebrand followed suit. At that moment, the atmosphere shifted palpably. Battle intent filled the air, their warrior spirits swelling. As generals and swordsmen, they were perfectly equipped for what was needed.

"...Kill."

On the battlefield, they were undefeated.

"Hm? Did you say something?"

They had faced many one-on-one duels before, emerging victorious each time. In group battles, they had never even struggled.

Their path had been that of battlefield heroes.

But -

"...Kill."

This was not a battlefield.

༺༻

"Hey, old man. You're awake."

Anatole was surprised to find himself alive. Grasping the situation, his expression became complex.

"We lost, didn't we."

The devastated headquarters. The fluttering white flag of Arcadia. The burning azure flag of Nederkus.

The outcome of the mountain battle had been decided.

Anatole quietly closed his eyes.

"Yeah, we lost. When you got cut down, I could see we were done for, so I ran for it with everything I had. I saved you since you'd helped me before, so we're even now."

Concisely, Nika stated it plainly, kicking a pebble with a pout.

"I'm sorry. It was a battle we should have won. The fault is ours alone, not yours."

"Eh, I don't really care. I don't get it all that well anyway. And I know Volf wouldn't blame anyone else for his loss. If we lost, it's just 'cause the boss Volf lost. So don't worry about it, old man."

"...I see."

A moment of silence. A pleasant wind blew.

Soon, more members of the black mercenary band began to gather.

"Welcome back, criminal."

"...I can't even argue with that, much as I'd like to."

Yuwain had returned. In the end, he had been completely shut out by Carl. Not once had he managed to penetrate the enemy's lines, succumbing to the unrelenting rain of arrows. However, this time it likely wouldn't have mattered who it was - the preparations had been that thorough. A strategy to slay heroes.

"But y'know, there's been this real creepy vibe around here."

Nika looked towards Flanders. The unpleasant feeling that had been lingering.

Yuwain also seemed to sense something, frowning.

"It is not a warrior. Something more alien, something I do not wish to acknowledge."

There was a clear distaste in Yuwain's expression.

"...They've made their move. Then the battle is over."

Anatole gazed towards Flanders in the distance.

Shimmering in the setting sun, the haze wavered. The rising smoke grew thicker and thicker.

Flanders was burning.

"The accursed lineage of Nederkus, whose scion bears the mantle of Death. We cannot fight them. This is no mere battle - against the divine, mortal men have no chance."

Only Anatole understood what was unfolding there.

༺༻

Villibrand didn't even realize that he was urinating. The only thing he remembered was the sight of his subordinates being cut down like the grass growing around them. And the gruesome image of Christoph being split vertically despite his resistance. Recalling this, Villibrand felt like he might vomit. The horse he was riding had probably been already dismantled by then.

In any case, Villibrand was fleeing. He had abandoned all sense of shame and propriety, drooling, crying, and with a runny nose. He was running with a terrifying expression.

"I don't want to die. I don't want to die."

He was afraid of death. To be precise, he was afraid of being killed by that monster. When he went to the battlefield, he was prepared to risk his life as a knight.

He should have had that resolve. But this was not a battlefield. The opponent was not a knight or a soldier, and it was unclear whether it was even human.

"...ll!"

Villibrand flinched. He could hear that voice. The voice of that terror.

"...ll!"

The dreadful voice of death. Resounding were the sounds of bones breaking and flesh tearing.

It was still distant. The voice was fading away.

When the voice disappeared, Villibrand felt relieved.

"Phew. Ah, ha, ha, ha."

A sense of relief welled up. The image of Christoph's vertically split corpse still flashed in his eyes. It was an outrageous sight. The two swordsmen, who were considered the cream of the crop of the Osuvalt lineage of the Sword Clan, were completely powerless against it. With each exchange of blows, their blades chipped away. It was a harbinger of death.

The overwhelming power and speed, and above all, the most terrifying thing was―

"Damn it, that monster."

Villibrand finally regained his composure. The task at hand was simple and straightforward. To avenge Christoph. Even if he couldn't defeat it alone, he could with the military. Yes, Villibrand thought, he could kill that monster.

"I'll kill it before it kills me. Don't underestimate me."

He joined the military. The earlier lapse was because he had set out with only a small number, letting his guard down. By quickly forming an encirclement and raining arrows, he could kill it as long as it was human. That was the rational course of action.

"I am the general of the army of this country, a knight, and a nobleman!"

Villibrand staggered as he ran. Now that his purpose was clear, by directing his mind and body towards it, Villibrand maintained his composure.

"I won't lose in battle. Isn't that right, Christoph?"

He would avenge his comrade. Even if he couldn't do it alone, he could with a collective force.

He ran. Towards his own camp, towards Arcadia. If he kept advancing, he should be able to link up with the main force soon. Combining the distance he had fled and the distance he had just covered―

"The view is clearing up. It should be just a little further."

There were only limited places where he could deploy a large force. Villibrand had investigated Flanders beforehand. He had a rough grasp of the geography. Once he crossed this point, there would be a detachment or the main force deployed. Joining them, he could shift to a counterattack.

"If I turn that corner... I've won!"

Villibrand turned the corner, and then―

He saw a square strewn with crimson-dyed corpses.

Villibrand's knees buckled in despair. The flames licked Villibrand's cheeks. A foul odor tore at his nose. It was clear what the source of the stench was. Burning bodies.

"Ah, ah, ah."

Standing in the center of the carnage was a solitary monster. At that moment, everything else had vanished from Villibrand's mind except for one thing. The chivalry that had been drilled into him since childhood, the swordsmanship that had been similarly ingrained, all the experience he had accumulated―all of it had become meaningless.

"...ill."

The monster was clad in black armor. Countless drops of blood dripped from the large scythe, and as they touched the scorched ground, they evaporated, causing a wavering mirage to rise.

There was only 'death' there.

"Ah, ah, ah, what?"

But ironically, that despair ignited a flame in Villibrand's eyes.

"Ha, ha, if it were just my troops, perhaps, but to kill even the citizens?"

Nothing but laughter came to him now.

Looking closer, the corpses were not only in military uniforms but also in ordinary clothes. It was unthinkable that they were Arcadian citizens. This was Flanders, part of Nederkus. If there were people in civilian attire, they could only be Flemish citizens.

"...kill you."

It had gone mad. The opponent before him was not a soldier.

"Don't fuck with me."

It was not a knight.

"Don't fuck with meeeeeee!"

This was righteous indignation. The chivalry that he had thought lost, the pride as a warrior that had been extinguished, reignited in this abyss of despair. He could not allow this sight. He could not condone such a massacre. War was to be waged on the basis of the beliefs of knights and the pride of warriors. To permit mere slaughter―

"Die, monster!"

The betrayal of knighthood.

Villibrand dashed across the bodies, heedless of the scorching flesh, charging towards the embodiment of despair. To slay it was the sword saint's legacy of Arcadia. The overwhelming aura was far beyond what it had been before. It was the very essence of war that had been trampled upon, Villibrand's desperate final charge, risking his life.

"Don't underestimate a warrior!"

Justice is on my―

"I'll kill you."

―side.

The knight, who had burned with the fire of a warrior, repeatedly engaged in battles and risked his life, was now bisected.

The opponent was―

"A monster."

No, the 'Grim Reaper'.

"I'll kill you."

Discarding the large scythe swung with one hand, it thrust its left hand into the severed upper half of Villibrand. Squelch, squelch. It stirred the contents.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

At Villibrand's agonizing scream, the Grim Reaper's lips curled into a smile. An utterly gruesome sight. A horrific, unforgiving journey to death. Dragging out the intestines, tearing them apart, and splattering them. Blood and feces mingled in this hell, and the Grim Reaper laughed.

"I'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyouI'llkillyou!"

The Grim Reaper was toying with Villibrand. Crushing his heart, listening to Villibrand's voiceless cries, and savoring the delight. Gouging out his eyes, it forcefully shoved them back into the eye sockets. The skull shattered, and the Grim Reaper split the head, brain and all. The scattered brain matter made the Grim Reaper tremble.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

After finishing its plaything, the Grim Reaper tossed it into the flames and enjoyed watching it burn. But it still hadn't killed enough. It needed to kill more and more.

"KillkillI'llkillI'llkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkill!"

The god who toys with death. That is what this monster is. Born, nurtured, and separated from all else in the cycle of death. The pure, honed manifestation of the human facet was taken to its extreme. The concentrated essence of death easily unleashes a power that exceeds its own.

The black Grim Reaper that embodied the legend of Nederkus. That is this monster.

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