Episode 361

The Clifford soldiers suddenly realized something. Amid the rustling of collars, the clinking of armor as they shifted on their toes, and the chaotic shouts whose owners they couldn’t even identify, they had been oblivious to the reality of their situation.

Though they faced the enemy, their swords aimed at their throats, and the grim necessity that they too must kill someone, it all felt like a mere picture hanging in a frame—something distant and unreal. Even now, with tension taut and noise swelling around them, the Burgos army stationed far off seemed like a phantom.

Though relations were strained, the two neighboring countries had quietly seeped into each other’s lives. Like oil and water, they never fully blended, but each kept watch over the other from their own place.

“Aaaah!”

“Charge!”

“Those who retreat will be severely punished under military law!”

“Lead the way! Cut down the enemy’s necks!”

Who was shouting? Who thirsted for the death of the other? And who would die, and by whose hand? Despite the fierce charge, the soldiers’ minds were blank—empty as a clean slate.

Perhaps moths drawn to flames were like this too?

Knowing they would die, yet unable to fully grasp it, clinging to a baseless arrogance that somehow they would survive, unaware that even the center of the world was but a grain of sand before the vast tide of history.

Clack, clack!

“It’s the Clifford army! Everyone, form up!”

“General! Troops waiting at the wall are rushing forward! The front and rear are in chaos; you should quickly secure one side.”

Evening was darkening.

The report of trouble at the rear came just as the Burgos general removed his armor. A small elite group had suddenly attacked, slipping into the forest, then changing positions and emerging again.

The general immediately realized these were the Clifford soldiers they had clashed with at Baki village. Which meant the Burgos forces left behind in Baki were now unaccounted for—possibly dead or captured.

“A small elite group?”

“Yes. Their numbers are few.”

Small elite. What did that imply?

If there were survivors from the battle, it was natural to be grateful they had returned alive. But these men had crossed the valley of death and plunged into the breach once more.

That meant among them was someone capable of issuing orders to the troops—most likely a high-ranking Clifford figure. Perhaps a general, or even royalty.

“There’s a chance it’s Prince Noah. Any description?”

“Unknown.”

“General!”

At that moment, Timothy burst through the tent flap. He had come seeking guidance on how to handle the sudden crisis.

“It seems the ones attacking the rear are high-ranking Clifford officers. Since the troops guarding the wall are moving, it looks like a diversion.”

“What should we do? Please give orders quickly. The soldiers are unsettled.”

The general eyed Timothy up and down, then tilted his head. King Damon had said placing Timothy at the forefront would minimize losses. Though the exact meaning was unclear, it seemed wise to heed the king’s advice for now.

“We will capture those attacking the rear alive. I’ll send forces that way. Sir Timothy, hold back those coming from the wall. Withdraw slowly, increasing the distance. Just stall them for time.”

“Me? Lead the soldiers?”

“Not exactly lead—think of it as going out there with them to boost morale.”

More soldiers kept pouring into the tent, leaving Timothy no room to protest.

In truth, on the battlefield, a general’s orders were law. Timothy had no real choice but to comply. Above all, he was a man of Burgos, fighting for its glory.

He nodded and accepted the command.

“Understood.”

“I’ll assign subordinates to assist you. Don’t worry.”

“No, please don’t. If it’s for my safety, I decline. I’ve already entrusted my life to King Damon.”

Without hesitation, he turned and stepped outside the tent.

Though the enemy was still visible, the sun was about to set. Soon, it would be difficult to distinguish the Burgos soldiers in their black uniforms. Just as Timothy was about to issue orders—

Boom! Thud!

“Something just fell from the sky!”

“There’s a person! A person in the sky!”

“A mage!”

Closer than the charging Clifford soldiers came an unidentified figure. Timothy shouted:

“Raise your weapons against them!”

Clang!

The soldiers grabbed their swords and arrows, each weapon’s tip forged with amber.

Idgal. King Damon had anticipated the mages’ involvement and thoroughly prepared, distributing Idgal weapons mainly to skilled knights. Even the common soldiers concealed daggers infused with Idgal.

Far more Idgal weapons than Bariel and Clifford had expected. If Bariel’s side learned how many Burgos held, the tide of battle might shift. There was no need to sacrifice mages for the sake of a third country like Clifford.

“We’ll deploy two monsters up front!”

“Hurry!”

Chaos reigned in the Burgos camp. Soldiers fired arrows nonstop at two flying mages, who soared higher to evade attacks with ease. To hit them properly, the tongue of Tiefe was essential.

“Nahaaa!”

Then, a familiar voice echoed from somewhere.

Timothy placed his hand on his sword’s hilt and scanned his surroundings. The laughter sounded somewhat unhinged. At the same moment—

Thud.

Something fell into the center of the formation. Curious who the laughter belonged to, Timothy prioritized identifying what the mages had dropped in the growing darkness.

Then—

Crash! Bang!

Boom!

“I said this clearly!”

Swish!

“I’m here to slay monsters, not human heads! So step aside and you’ll live! Try to stop me, and it’s all good! Welcome!”

“Ahhh!”

“Ugh, ugh!”

Timothy immediately recognized it: the thing the mages dropped from the sky was Beric.

The madman who had fought dozens of thugs in the underground lair, carrying an iron cage on his back. Timothy remembered he was a magic swordsman—no ordinary soldier could handle him. He urged his men:

“Fall back! Do not engage! He’s a magic swordsman!”

“Sir Timothy, what are you doing?”

But someone blocked his order—the general, who was trying to push deep into the rear. He had told them to hold the front line, but now Timothy said not to fight?

Timothy shouted desperately:

“We can’t fight him! He’s a magic swordsman!”

“You knew there’d be mages. No need to panic now. Do as I say! Just because you’re at the front doesn’t mean you share my position!”

Meanwhile, screams of Burgos soldiers being torn apart echoed from all directions. Gritting his teeth, Timothy steeled himself and charged toward the commotion. Seeing this, the general added:

“Not just two monsters—deploy at least that many across the front! The summoner from Astana will hold the rear; the rest move forward!”

“Yes, understood.”

“Let’s hurry before nightfall. We don’t know what might happen after dark.”

Though Burgos’s black uniforms helped conceal them, the terrain’s darkness was a disadvantage. If Clifford surrounded and ambushed them, they could be wiped out without a chance.

Whether front or rear, opening a path was the top priority.

---

“D-dieee!”

“Ah, welcome, guest! You’re getting a knife in the back! Just a little sting!”

“Ahhh!”

“Don’t fight one-on-one! Surround him! All at once! All at once!”

Clack, clack!

Beric charged into the enemy’s midst. Blood dripped from beneath his fiery red hair, trailing down his neck and soaking his collar. At first glance, he looked close to death—if that blood was really his.

“One, two—!”

“Ghah!”

The soldiers surrounded Beric, thrusting their spears simultaneously.

But in an instant, Beric lightly leapt into the air, landing gracefully on the clustered spear tips. He locked eyes with a nearby soldier.

“Good training. Nice coordination. Pass!”

“Ahhh! A monster! A monster!”

“Who’s the monster here? You’re the crazy ones!”

Clang! Clang!

Beric swung his sword; a soldier barely blocked it, tumbling backward. One blade gleamed amber—Beric noticed.

‘Idgal.’

Though not a mage, Beric understood that the principle of wielding magical power to gain superhuman strength was the same. He had to be wary of Idgal.

“Okay, okay, no problem!”

Swish!

Beric stomped on a fallen soldier’s chest and sliced his throat in one motion.

His brutal, merciless slaughter made the watching soldiers hesitate and step back. Why was he showing such madness? Was this really the same man? Trembling, they swallowed hard.

“Beric.”

Timothy pushed through the soldiers and appeared. It had been a while since they’d seen each other, but the setting was far from ideal. Beric waved cheerfully.

“Timothy! Ian was just looking for you!”

“Drop your weapon and surrender. Or you’ll die.”

“A few days ago, when I came to Clifford, you know, I was looking for you then too. Man, it’s so hard to catch a glimpse of your face!”

“I’ll say it again. Drop your weapon and stand down. This fight is between Burgos and Clifford.”

“Ian will be here soon. He’d be thrilled if he caught you.”

Their words just didn’t line up. Timothy had no choice but to draw his sword and face off against Berrick. Berrick wiped the blood dripping down his face and grinned.

“I’m not going to kill you. Ian thinks you might be useful.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Nice joke!”

Swish! Clack!

Clang! Clang!

Timothy, a massive figure, swung his sword with all his might, but Berrick simply parried with ease. Whether he truly meant not to kill or was just holding back, he didn’t strike back recklessly. Instead, he searched for an opening to knock Timothy out in one blow.

As the soldiers hesitated, watching the fight unfold, the officers shouted.

“What are you standing around for, idiots? Watch ahead! The Clifford troops are approaching! Advance!”

“Advance!”

“Ahhh!”

Right, no need to get involved in a fight between non-humans. The soldiers quickly formed ranks and marched toward the Clifford barricade. For a single point between enemies, for the sake of their superiors’ grand cause. They would humbly accept stepping down from the lead role in life to a supporting one.

Berrick glanced at the soldiers rushing past him and pondered. What to do? The mages said to avoid killing humans if possible, but at this rate…

“So, you’re a magic swordsman after all.”

Clang!

“Oh, Timothy, you don’t know? I’m Bariel’s top-ranked. You should feel honored.”

“So beating you means beating Bariel?”

“Ha! You talk nonsense! I’m good at that too!”

“Sir Timothy!”

They kept exchanging blows, but Timothy instinctively realized something. He could never win. Berrick, as if to prove he wouldn’t kill him, held back from attacking recklessly and only blocked the sword strikes—calmly, almost leisurely.

What should he do? Just as Timothy was wrestling with this thought—

“Sir Timothy!”

Boom. Thud.

A voice called from behind. A wave of rotten corpse stench swept over them. Berrick grimaced and gagged. The synthetic monsters were closing in.

“Damn, that smell’s awful!”

Berrick instinctively lowered his sword and pinched his nose.

Timothy seized the moment. But something was even faster.

Shhhiiik!

Shhhik!

“Oof!”

Tief suddenly wrapped his tongue around Berrick’s waist from several meters away in the blink of an eye. It was so fast it was almost unbelievable. By the time Berrick realized what was happening, he was already being dragged away.

Crack.

The lizard swallowed Berrick whole and shut its mouth. His cheeks twitched a few times, but that was all.

His throat bobbed as the lizard clicked its teeth, its rotten eyes shifting about. It was a sign of satisfaction, a primal contentment lingering even in this stitched-together corpse.