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Chapter 8
The declaration of war from Marquis Hardion.
My father’s response to it was, from my perspective, quite unorthodox.
“Is it really okay to kill the messenger like that?”
[It’s not a very good act. But enduring such an insult would also be ridiculous. The lord’s authority would fall to the ground, and the name of Palaon would be tarnished.]
In other words, he had crossed a line.
But doesn’t that make our own messengers vulnerable?
I had that doubt, but perhaps anticipating it, Father sent knights along.
Messing with knights, apparently, was truly unforgivable.
According to the knights who went as messengers, Marquis Hardion was extremely enraged.
“His face turned bright red, and he was huffing and puffing—it was quite a sight!”
“He tried to save face in front of us, which made it even more ridiculous.”
They nearly died trying to suppress their laughter in front of him.
After that day, several more messengers went back and forth between Palaon and Hardion, setting the exact dates and rules for the territory war.
How many days passed like that?
Father summoned me.
“The exact date and rules for the territory war have been decided.”
The date was two weeks from now.
“The battle format will be a ‘restricted battle.’”
“A restricted battle?”
What was that?
I glanced at my ancestor, who shrugged.
[In my time, there was nothing like that. We just had an unspoken understanding: ‘Let’s not cross these lines.’]
It seemed to be a rule that emerged after my ancestor’s era.
The one who explained it to me was Sir Balt.
“If we go all out, both sides will suffer massive losses, so we limit each other’s forces. Usually, they exclude ‘bloodline knights’ and ‘territory mages.’”
Makes sense. In a world where even a single superhuman is treated as a strategic weapon, such restrictions were natural.
But wait.
“Wouldn’t this put us at a disadvantage? Didn’t Father fight in some large wars before?”
“Not necessarily. They have mages too. Even if we win, the losses could be unmanageable.”
“Hmm.”
I see.
In any case, we were preparing in our own way.
The standing army intensified their training, and the knights trained the conscripted soldiers diligently.
Yet, at the daily meetings, the knights’ predictions weren’t very optimistic.
“Hardion’s side has a larger population. We can’t avoid being outnumbered.”
“Then why not recruit more conscripts?”
“The villages I oversee still have capacity.”
Even the manor knights managing the villages pleaded with Father to increase the troops.
But Father shook his head firmly.
“The farming season is coming. If too many men die, victory is meaningless. This is sufficient. Besides, we have Sir Balt and my son, Ktun.”
“Hmm, with Sir Balt, yes…”
“Also, I saw young Lord Ktun’s training earlier. His skill is remarkable. He can easily match ten regular soldiers.”
“Ah! I’m not the only one who thought so! Lord Ktun really is…”
In the sudden praise session, Father couldn’t hide a satisfied smile.
And it was understandable.
‘Do you know the genius stolen by the art of command?’
[There’s no such thing.]
There actually is, though.
Anyway, our forces were as follows:
-
12 knights (including Sir Balt)
-
132 standing soldiers
-
300 conscripts
Including the knights, that’s 444 people.
Despite all the talk about armies of millions, it wasn’t a small number at all.
Think about it. Around 400 people is like an entire school year’s worth of students, all holding spears and swords, ready to fight.
Some people might still not find it satisfactory.
[Is this truly Palaon’s strength? No wonder being a noble is so prestigious.]
‘Father even revived this from his generation.’
[Really… it’s incredible.]
So impressive?
[You might as well suggest hiring mercenaries.]
‘We don’t have the money.’
[Ugh…]
Money aside, the time was short.
It was surprisingly difficult to find mercenaries in the southern Heoron Kingdom where Palaon was, because it was relatively peaceful.
Father seemed to share the concern about insufficient troops.
He spoke confidently in front of the retainers, but occasionally, when he was lost in thought alone, I could sense his worry.
I, too, felt uneasy.
‘Is this really war?’
[It is real, not fake.]
‘…’
As the day of the territory war approached, I had to admit it.
That I was trembling with fear.
Territory War.
A war fought between territories.
War is, at its core, people killing people.
The justification is varied and complex, making value judgments difficult, but few would deny that war is a horrific act.
And I was going to take part in it.
With sword and shield in hand.
When that truth hit me, I felt nauseous.
[What’s wrong all of a sudden?]
“Just a moment.”
I set down my shield and took a deep breath.
My mind was tangled.
How to explain…
My mental state and feelings shifted several times per second, leaving my head in chaos.
I braced myself on my knees, trying to calm my breathing.
Through my downward gaze, I saw my ancestor’s feet.
[Are you alright?]
“Hmm…”
[If your body feels off, speak up. Pushing yourself could be worse than not training at all.]
I hesitated briefly before answering.
“My body’s fine.”
[You say your body is fine… but to me, it sounds like something else isn’t.]
As expected of my ancestor. Sharp as ever.
For a moment, I wanted to confess everything to my ancestor:
That I was scared of war, that I wanted to run away immediately.
For 33-year-old Kim Kangmin or 15-year-old Ktun, fear of war is the same.
But how could I reveal such cowardly thoughts to a brave ancestor?
No, not just my ancestor—my father couldn’t know either.
Palaon must be brave.
So I forced down my rising words. My ancestor sat on the ground and looked at me.
[Sit down.]
“Yes.”
Since no one else was on the training ground, I replied aloud. My ancestor studied me quietly before speaking.
[Your voice is trembling.]
“….”
[Your pupils are trembling too. That shows your heart is shaken. Are you afraid?]
“Of what?”
[Of war.]
“….”
I didn’t answer, only awkwardly smiled.
But seeing my expression change seemed to be enough for my ancestor.
A quiet silence followed.
The only sound was Golgoli swinging a sword in one corner of the training ground.
After a while, my ancestor spoke again.
[Fear is not a shameful emotion.]
“Excuse me?”
[There’s no need to be ashamed of fear.]
I was momentarily speechless at this unexpected encouragement.
But my ancestor continued, calmly and firmly.
[Everyone feels fear at times. Sometimes, we cannot overcome it. I was no different. My heart raced when facing the Radiant Dragon. Was that the only time?]
The first time holding a sword against thieves.
Facing a renowned knight in an unavoidable duel.
Other times too, fear came unbidden.
Even as a young person, I experienced moments of fear and defeat.
[But I did not break. Or rather, I learned to rise again.]
I waited silently. My ancestor continued.
[Acknowledge your fear. Do not deny it. Understand what makes you afraid. Are you afraid of defeat? No—few fear defeat itself. Most fear the consequences it brings. The human mind is so complex that even one’s own self cannot fully understand it.]
In other words: figure out what exactly I was afraid of.
But no matter how I thought about it, I was afraid of war itself.
Or more precisely, situations where I might harm someone—or be harmed myself.
I calmly confessed this, and my ancestor listened in silence.
When I finished, he spoke.
[You are a coward.]
“Hmm.”
True enough.
Yet, somehow, the corner of his mouth curved in a gentle smile.
[Facing what you are not afraid of is not courage. Being fearful means you can be braver than anyone.]
My ancestor said this while looking up at the sky.
At the same time, a wind tousled my hair.
Why?
I hadn’t been given a solution, nor had my fear disappeared—yet I felt lighter.
Then my ancestor said:
[If it’s too difficult, create a brave version of yourself in your mind. Every time you are afraid, your brave self protects you.]
A brave version of myself…
I slowly mulled over those words and stood up, picking up my shield.
“There is no fear for a warrior of Valhalla.”
[…? What’s that?]
“There is! Golgoli—!”
Golgoli?!
I called Golgoli again and resumed training.
“Valhaaaallaaa—!”
A loud shout to cast away fear!
[Descendant, I didn’t say to lose your mind. Huh? Why no response? Descendant?]
Ancestor, I am only following your advice.
…Anyway, time passed until the long-awaited day of the territory war.
“All troops, halt!”
At Father’s command from atop a magnificent horse, the soldiers froze.
Well, aside from the standing army, most were a ragtag bunch barely deserving the name ‘soldiers.’
“Has Marquis Hardion arrived?”
“Yes, it seems not yet.”
“Hm.”
Father focused on the distance ahead.
Meanwhile, I checked on Golgoli, cloaked in a robe.
[Are you really okay?]
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m not afraid at all now.”
[No, I meant your mind.]
Ah, still worried.
Fortunately, my mind was fine. And as I said, I felt no fear—after all, a warrior of Valhalla knows no fear.
How long did we wait?
“There, they’re coming.”
“Hmm.”
In the distance, a group emerged through the fog.
The one in splendid armor was probably Marquis Hardion.
Seeing the troops behind him, Father’s eyes twitched slightly.
Mine too.
‘Hmm, this isn’t good.’
Hardion’s knights numbered twenty.
But the real problem was the number of soldiers behind them.
Approximately… six hundred? Seven hundred?
Regardless, definitely more than ours.
“Baron of Palaon!”
Hardion called out to Father. Father responded.
“Speak!”
“Your resolve remains unchanged!”
“Ask your father!”
“Why suddenly bring up my father?! Anyway, it seems your resolve remains! Fine! Any further discussion is useless!”
Hardion said that, then withdrew.
Immediately after:
Brr, buuu—!
He even brought a horn?
As soon as the horn sounded, a barrage of penetrating sounds echoed.
Pitt, pit-pit-pit—!
Arrows… Yes, arrows.
Cowardly enough to use arrows?
Anger boiled deep within me.
