Episode 127 Recycling - The Saga of Lioncourt

As the army advanced northward, the first target—a castle—came into view. It wasn't much of a castle. Situated on a slightly elevated spot, it was a small fortress with earthen walls and wooden palisades. Its military strength was unlikely significant. At the bottom of the slope leading to the gate was a settlement, scarcely worthy of being called a castle town. It consisted of several dozen wooden buildings with thatched roofs lining the area. "They've noticed us." Rolo pointed toward the castle's watchtower, where soldiers were seen frantically shouting orders. To them, an unidentified, massive army had suddenly appeared. Soon after, the sound of a horn echoed from the castle. "Hmph, as expected of the rebels. They seem to be on guard." "Haha, well, this place is the frontline from Poussin Castle's perspective." Jean observed the enemy's reaction with visible delight. He genuinely enjoyed the prospect of battle. Watching him like this, I couldn't help but chuckle. "What's so funny?" "Nothing—I'm just happy. Let's go at once. Don't fall behind, Jean." Grabbing a spear as if snatching it from a spearman, I spurred my horse forward and shouted, "Charge!!" "The king's charging!?" "Don't let His Majesty die! Keep going!!" "Cavalry, advance ahead!" Voices of my startled subordinates echoed behind, but Rolo and Jean were accustomed to this. They clung closely to my rear. Behind them followed the brethren. "Is it okay for Jean to leave the troops like this?" "Haha, it's fine." Rolo and Jean conversed leisurely while galloping. Their calmness hardly seemed fitting for the prelude to battle. But I couldn't quite share their ease. I was driven by an overwhelming sense of excitement and a strong impulse. "Cavalry's coming out of the castle! Envoys! Let's trample them down!!" As I rode forth, I pointed my spear at the approaching envoys. Presumably, they were sent to gauge the unknown army. Their number was two, one less than ours. "Feels just like old times!" "Three hunters and two prey... first come, first serve!!" Rolo spurred his horse, accelerating as if to challenge us. "Alright, then it's a race!" Not to be outdone, Jean accelerated as well. It felt like children competing in a footrace. As I watched the two race ahead, memories of those days when we all practiced horseback riding as children resurfaced. Ahead, at a point slightly separated from the castle, the envoys halted, observing us. They might have mistaken us for envoys as well. They shouted something towards us, though normally one might announce themselves before a castle assault; such customs meant nothing to us. We swiftly closed the distance towards the surprised envoys. "Haha, gotcha!" Jean charged with his spear, slaying the rider resembling one of the envoys, while Rolo knocked another off his horse with his sword. ...Damn, I hesitated... With a light click of my tongue, I dashed past my friends. "He who kills the most wins! I'll be the first into the village!" The two childhood friends were skilled horsemen. If I didn’t seize the opportunity, I'd lose. Spurring my black horse, Noir, I sped towards the village. The sound of the wind drowned out Jean's protests. ...Fast, so fast, this is incredible... Noir was a massive horse with unmatched horsepower. Once it accelerated, no one could catch up. ...Apologies, Jean... "This is what strategy looks like!! Woo-hoo!!" My thoughts slipped out. The villagers, sensing the imminent threat, began fleeing towards the castle, but it was too late. I rode into their midst, spearing an elderly woman's back with my lance. Panic-stricken screams erupted as fleeing villagers fell under Noir's hooves. "Flee, flee!! Or I'll kill you all!!" I coursed Noir in a circle, scattering villagers anew. Some rushed toward the castle, others fled wildly in the wrong direction, and some simply collapsed in surrender. With the villagers scattered, the castle couldn’t freely fire arrows. No one would survive in a small village if accused of mistakenly shooting someone’s family member. After a short interval, Jean and Rolo, along with the brethren, caught up. "That's unfair! Aren't you the king!?" "Haha, I'm the king indeed!!" I swung my lance, slicing through a farmer's back. To be honest, I was a bit worried about fighting with one eye now, but it didn't seem to matter. The targets were large, after all. "Look! The castle gate's still open!! Charge!!" I commanded the brethren and headed for the gate myself. The villagers' escape was incomplete, leaving the castle gate wide open—they couldn't close it. "Break into the castle! Charge, Charr-Jou!!" Scattering villagers, I charged. It was exhilarating, overwhelmingly so. Eventually, the opponent became soldiers, but with Noir, I entered the castle courtyard, wielding my lance. There were few soldiers, and our forces quickly overwhelmed and subdued them. The battle was soon over. The enemy surrendered. The castle, it seemed, had never been heavily fortified. They likely concentrated their forces elsewhere, as part of the Clément faction. The defense here was inadequate, likely poised more against Duke D’Armond’s brother Charlot than their non-present leader outside the domain. In truth, this attack was a complete surprise. It was a splendidly swift victory but left me feeling somewhat unsatisfied as a battle. As I glanced over the scattered bodies, a sense of melancholy stirred within me at their sparse numbers. How ephemeral are the moments of joy? The aftermath of a festival always feels strangely sorrowful. ……………… We waited a while for the rest of the army to arrive. Once everyone gathered, it was time for plunder. The soldiers ran around, shouting in excitement. Both those gathered to women and those ransacking homes seemed to be having a grand time. "Destroy the castle walls and buildings! Show them the terror of Lioncourt!" I wandered around, observing and offering guidance like a teacher. The troublesome prisoners—those who acted high and mighty—were thrown into the castle's warehouse together with the men. The rest were roughly corralled, but it was truly haphazard. The soldiers even casually led away young women on their own accord. ...Hmm, it might be best to kill all the knights and squires. It would make things easier at D’Armond Castle later… Destroying one castle utterly simplifies things. Other castles tend to surrender out of fear. But then, I recalled the Count's words. 'In villages and cities, refrain from any plunder beyond resupply.' And so I surveyed the situation once more. ...Wait, isn’t this bad? No, the castle town should be just barely safe... The castle town was part of the castle's facilities. I hadn’t attacked the village. This should be safe. ...Ah, surrender isn't a valid option here. Was it annihilation? What a bother... Maybe I should just set fire to the warehouse with the prisoners in it later... As I muttered to myself, surveying the scene, a particularly high-pitched scream rang out. It seemed a well-dressed young woman, likely related to a knight, had been assaulted by a foot soldier. The surrounding soldiers cheered and jeered, evidently thrilled by the spectacle. ...They're certainly enjoying themselves... It'd be wrong to interrupt their fun—whatever comes of this can wait until tomorrow... For now, it was a lively feast. It wouldn't do to put a damper on their revelry. In the corner of my vision, a merchant who had accompanied the army was busy buying up the spoils of war, working tirelessly. ................... The following day We gathered in the great hall to interrogate the prisoners. After a day of plunder, soldiers tend to become complacent, but the senior retainers of the Lioncourt, being disciplined, displayed no such negligence. There were no late arrivals, and everyone began acting according to my guidance (refer to chapter 126). As the prisoners were brought out amidst the leaders of Lioncourt, there were six in number. Not all of them were knights, but they wore decent armor and held themselves with some dignity. Deprived of any weapons, they were nonetheless unbound. The prisoners anxiously surveyed their surroundings, trying to gauge the situation. Kou, standing next to them, idly swung a chain and let out an eerie chuckle, heightening their fear. ...Well done... I silently applauded Kou's performance in my heart. "Are you of Lioncourt!? What is the meaning of this...?" One of the sturdier prisoners managed to voice a protest. He had considerable nerve—it was likely he was a knight. However, no one answered the knight's questions. "Clément, Auger, where they?" Feigning to roll my eyes back, I asked clumsily about the whereabouts of Clément and Auger. The prisoners visibly flinched at my words. I had no plans to negotiate ransom, nor did I inquire about their names or statuses. I cut straight to the heart of the matter. "What are you waiting for? Quickly, answer His Majesty." Pierre, in an affected manner, urged the knight to respond. However, he seemed somewhat embarrassed, as if stifling a smile—1 point off for that. The robust prisoner maintained his silence, refusing to answer the question. Yet, his agitation was apparent, his bravado transparent. "Ah, this is tiresome." Jean, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "Enough with this nonsense, kill him." At Jean's abrupt command, his retainers instantly wrestled the sturdy prisoner to the ground and executed him. Their swiftness left no room for a sound of protest. Jean's company of squires was indeed skilled, executing his orders with the precision of seasoned artisans, without hesitation. "He killed him? Really?" "What the hell?" "He's a prisoner!" The remaining prisoners, agitated by Jean's violent act, began trembling. Normally, those of knightly rank wouldn't be killed as captives. They'd typically pay a ransom and be released, barring exceptional circumstances. Yet, this one was slain without a single word exchanged. Jean's actions flagrantly disregarded the unspoken code among nobles. While I tend to kill prisoners myself, this is quite rare in the broader world. "Shut it! If anyone speaks without permission, I'll kill them." At Jean's menacing growl, the prisoners fell silent. Jean's declaration to kill was no mere bluff. The lethal intent behind his words ensured they understood. "Hold this one down." Jean ordered his retainers to restrain a high-ranking prisoner and lightly jabbed him in the stomach with a knife. The prisoner whimpered from the pain and fear, gritting his teeth to suppress a scream, knowing speaking without permission would mean his death. "Listen up. If you speak straightforwardly, I’ll remove the knife and treat you. But lie, and I’ll carve you up." The prisoner, nodding desperately, began to divulge information about the Clément faction. It seemed Clément and Auger were at Castle D’Armond with the army, pressuring the Charlot faction. "Repeat it again. If you make even the slightest mistake, I’ll kill you." Jean remained ruthlessly cold. His reasoning seemed to be that if it were the truth, one could repeat it endlessly—a rather unreasonable notion. Most people struggle to recount the same story perfectly each time. Typically, one would threaten by saying "I’ll stab you," but Jean began by stabbing and confirmed the truth by forcing repetition. It was an intimidating interrogation method. "Jean, I appreciate your help, but... everyone worked hard to practice. Let them handle it." Feigning a sigh, I dramatically addressed Pierre and Nels. "Ah, well, I'm not really..." "Can we stop now?" Pierre and Nels had already returned to their usual selves, abandoning the act I diligently concocted—those scoundrels. "Oh well, do as you like! But you’re terrible, you know that? Execute these prisoners." I stood up and exited the castle. Outside, the soldiers were busy dismantling the earthen walls and fences, the clamor of construction—comfortable to the ears—filling the air. This castle was to be utterly demolished, hence the work. Yet, it wasn’t just destruction for its own sake. The dismantled fences and buildings would be repurposed as firewood, and the residents sold into slavery. Even nails and scraps of iron could be melted down to forge new swords and farming tools. Nothing useful should be casually discarded. This was, precisely, recycling—as an eco-conscious military, Lioncourt excelled in such resourcefulness. "Don’t sulk now. Want some jerky?" Having caught up with me, Rolo offered some dried meat. Accepting it, I chewed, and soon felt calmer... It seemed hunger had been my true adversary. "What next, I wonder... Attack Castle D’Armond, or bypass it to target West Auger Castle?" "With forces stationed at Castle D’Armond, it would be prudent to strike there first." Rolo smoothly continued the conversation, despite my abrupt change of subject. Years of camaraderie had forged our understanding, clearly. Rolo’s words set our next target. Indeed, we wouldn’t want our advance disrupted by idle forces while conquering a stronghold. "Alright, back to the great hall." With renewed purpose, I returned to the hall. Next up was Castle D’Armond, and the annihilation of those forces. In the great hall, the decapitated heads of those prisoners welcomed me. Their horrified expressions, left on display, would serve to further advertise the terror of Lioncourt. A fittingly relentless form of recycling, wouldn’t you say?