Chapter 42: Moral

After the Storm King’s final ultimatum, the agitation among the warriors was beyond imagination.

“This... shouldn’t we run away even now? The Storm King massacres everything in sight.”

“Ah... damn it, this is driving me crazy. We suffered like dogs to get all the way here....”

“Exactly. Where else am I going to get paid this much again? Why did we have to pick a fight with the Storm King of all people.”

They despaired, and they blamed Ransen.

That vague fear they had always harbored toward the Five Kings.

The moment they saw the Storm King’s cavalry, it erupted like an explosion.

Who would have thought horses could leap over fortress walls....

Who would have thought the famed Kalserik would be swatted away like a mere fly....

Of course, not every Ailun White Horse could leap walls.

In truth, only a handful of elite riders, carefully selected from the Storm Cavalry, could pull off such feats. But the soldiers’ thoughts didn’t go that far.

All they felt was fear and resentment.

“Ah, I can’t take this anymore. I need to pack my things.”

“Hey, hey. Just wait a little. It’s not like we’re fighting right away. We’ve got a whole month’s reprieve. The Count might even bow his head.”

“I know that, but... ah, why do I feel so uneasy?”

Thinking rationally, fighting the Storm King now was absurd.

The Storm King’s army, ruling over the five wealthiest cities in Norberju, was so much greater and stronger than Ransen, who had barely managed to seize two border towns.

Wasn’t it the Storm King who had even captured Kinalo City and come up to clutch Kushan’s throat?

And he had even made a generous offer—submit, and he would treat them as brothers and friends.

Then why the unease...?

What came to their minds was that hellish, reckless operation where they had to finish exterminating the demonic beasts in just one week.

Ransen’s brazen stunt of occupying Kashu City all on his own.

“He wouldn’t really say we’re going to fight, would he?”

“No way....”

Though they spoke like that, the warriors shivered at the creeping chill.

*         *         *

Kalserik’s face was grim.

“Lord. The soldiers’ morale has dropped too low. At this rate, they can’t fight. All they think about is running away.”

How should I put it?

It felt as though the whole world itself was crying out to me.

Submit.

You’re not yet a match for the Storm King.

Dreams?

Those can wait.

Survival comes first, doesn’t it?

If I just survive, I can use the Book of Fate to travel through the past and steadily build strength, can’t I?

‘It’s nothing more than a sweet lie whispered in my ear....’

The Empire.

In the end, the dream of us Banroa Clansmen could not help but be tied to the Empire.

To topple the Empire, or at the very least, to gain the strength to survive against it.

The Storm King?

The cavalry of Ailun?

I admitted it.

They were strong.

But that level of power? The Empire had it in abundance.

Was the Banroa Kingdom, once called the Kingdom of Knights, weak?

No. It had phalanxes and knightly orders strong enough to look down even on the Storm Cavalry.

Though it had no Grandmaster, it had four Swordmasters, two of whom were evaluated as masters nearly on par with the Storm King himself.

In fact, Banroa had even achieved glorious victories, defeating Imperial armies on multiple occasions.

But the moment the Empire revealed its true might, all of that crumbled in an instant.

The Swordmasters who defended the kingdom were slaughtered, the kingdom’s proud heavy infantry and knights were crushed into the earth.

And now... if I, if we, were to back down here?

If we broke this fine momentum in the middle of its growth and sat waiting in a worse position for some indefinite tomorrow?

Our dream would drift forever out of reach, never again to be grasped.

‘If we can’t overcome this... then we will never be able to overcome the Empire either.’

I was afraid.

Not of my own death in defeat, but of seeing my younger brothers, Uncle Burson, and all those who had trusted and followed me until now die meaningless deaths.

But hadn’t I already promised?

That even if the worst came, I would keep advancing.

I had to lead my brothers.

“Commander, are you really going to fight the Storm King? If you say so, I’ll trust you and fight alongside you... but honestly, fighting now with morale like this is nothing but suicide.”

Kalserik’s tone was subtle.

At first, it seemed like he was urging me to submit to the Storm King, but if you listened closely, it wasn’t that.

He was pleading. Asking for some countermeasure. Didn’t I have a plan?

There was, in his voice, an expectation lurking.

And to that,

I gladly responded.

“Exactly. The penalty has grown heavier, hasn’t it?”

“Penalty?”

“Yes. From the soldiers’ perspective, the penalty—that they might die—outweighs whatever benefits I can give them. That’s why their morale has fallen.”

“I... guess that’s true?”

“Then it’s simple. Just increase the benefits. Make them big enough to outweigh the penalty.”

“Benefits? How?”

Kalserik kept forgetting.

We had a ridiculous amount of money right now.

“We pour out rewards. After all, we only need to win this one battle. Once they think of that, everyone’s perspective will change. No matter how much we invest, it won’t be a loss.”

Good.

I had made up my mind.

To the still uncertain Kalserik, I issued my command.

“1st Regiment, every single man. Not one is exempt—assemble in the square before the Lord’s Keep. That includes the warriors of Kashu we captured as prisoners. Cavalry, berserkers, elite warriors, Experts—no exceptions. All of them. Assemble.”

Kalserik drew in a deep breath, then exhaled heavily as he answered.

“Yes! Understood.”

On his face, a faint look of relief mixed with a spark of expectation.

*         *         *

I could feel it.

The soldiers’ unease.

Standing on the terrace that jutted out at the heart of the Lord’s Keep, I saw thousands of eyes.

Pupils wavering in hesitation, brows furrowed with worry.

In moments like this, dressing it up with flowery words was the worst approach. Especially with warriors of Roberland.

What was needed now was to beat them over the head with reality—with possibility.

Hoo—

After a short breath, I discarded every prepared preamble and drove straight into the point.

“Three hundred Dallon for ordinary warriors.”

Murmur—

A stir rippled through the crowd.

Of course. Their current monthly pay was twelve Dallon. Three hundred was two full years’ wages.

Enough to buy a fine house inside the Inner City.

“For elite warriors, the ancient armament I promised will be issued immediately, without condition.”

The eyes of the elite warriors widened.

A superior-grade ancient weapon alone sold for 1,500 Dallon, and in truth, it was a treasure you couldn’t obtain even with money.

“In case of death, ordinary warriors’ designated heirs will receive five hundred Dallon. For elite warriors, their heirs will be paid two thousand five hundred immediately.”

By the time I had said that, the atmosphere had already shifted.

The fear and anxiety that had risen to their throats were forgotten for a moment, as they busied themselves punching numbers on the abacus in their heads. Rewards they had never even dared to imagine.

Meanwhile, the Experts’ eyes lit up, eager for what would fall to them.

“For Experts, according to rank, I will grant immediately an ancient weapon of fine to treasure grade. And if they fall, their heirs will receive ten thousand, eighteen thousand, or thirty thousand Dallon, depending on whether they are low, mid, or high-grade Experts.”

Fine-grade ancient weapons were worth six to fifteen thousand Dallon, and treasure-grade reached anywhere from twenty to fifty thousand.

In other words, this was an offer difficult to refuse.

Even if it meant staking their lives, it was the kind of offer that would haunt their thoughts, gleaming before their eyes.

“All of this will be paid as a special allowance for a single battle—delivered immediately once the battle is done.”

At that, the warriors’ reactions split in two.

On one side, astonishment that such vast compensation would be given for a single fight.

On the other, dissatisfaction—since if they lost the battle, none of that money would be theirs.

Yes.

They were anxious still.

If I were to fall in battle against the Storm King, then no matter what I promised, all of it would become nothing more than scraps of paper.

But there was no helping it.

I couldn’t pay them in advance.

What would I trust to give advance pay?

This was Roberland.

A land where you were treated like a fool if you didn’t run after pocketing the advance. That’s the kind of place this was.

So—

I had to persuade them.

“You’re probably thinking right now—if we lose, what good are these promises?”

From this point onward was the most important part.

To keep the incentives I offered from seeming hollow,

I had to persuade them.

With everything I had walked so far, with everything I had shown them.

“But think carefully. Will I really lose? Truly? The difference in numbers isn’t that great. As long as the Sea King is holding the south, the Storm King’s forces can’t go far beyond what we face here.”

Not yet. This much alone wouldn’t convince them.

I saw some lips curl into pouts.

So I stoked the fire of pride in their hearts.

The fuel for it was already piled high within them.

“Are you afraid of the Storm Cavalry? But you can stop them. Who was it that stopped the charge of the demonic beast Deer-Ox? Was it the Experts? No. It was you, with your shields, your spears, your arrows—you stopped it yourselves.”

At those words, a faint light returned to the soldiers’ eyes.

Because it was true.

No matter how terrifying the gallop of the Ailun White Horses was, it couldn’t compare to that of the demonic beast Deer-Ox.

And we had stopped Deer-Ox’s charge. Not just once, but several times.

“Are you afraid of the mounted archers of Ailun? There’s no need. Our Black Bows shoot farther and strike harder.”

That too was fact.

And the archers’ eyes lit up.

They vividly remembered the destructive power of the Black Bows, which had pierced the hide of those stubborn demonic beasts again and again.

And finally...

“I want to ask you—Haarun, the Storm King. Do you think I would lose to someone like him? I, Ransen, who slew Count Kxias and seized Kashu all on my own?!”

In truth, it was nothing special.

‘You think I’d lose?’ Even a brat from the streets could say that.

But if it was me who said it—didn’t it feel a little different?

I had been proving it, showing it, all along.

I had cut down Count Kxias, who once shattered a fortress with a single Aura Blade.

I had subdued four Peak Experts and the Red Warriors in an instant.

I had slain countless massive demonic beasts that even Swordmasters shunned.

I had broken through the joint assault of Experts and the surging waves of Berserkers to seize Kashu City alone.

Could those who had seen such feats right at my side so easily deny my words?

‘Do you think I’d lose?’

Inside that simple phrase, the wager I laid down was my life, and everything I had.

Murmur—

The warriors murmured.

But unlike at first, the tone was different.

Like boiling water rising to a rapid simmer, hot and bubbling, the murmurs spread through the entire square.

The mood was ripe. Time to finish it.

“You will fight. You will win. And you will claim the rewards I promised. I will make it so.”

The warriors’ eyes turned squarely toward me.

Brows lifted, stretched straight with resolve.

I stood firm, like in a contest of stares, meeting those thousands of eyes.

Satisfied.

Because at least now, those eyes were no longer the eyes of frightened losers.

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