The young Legion Commander flinched and stepped back.

Whether he did or not, I did not withdraw my gaze.

The information listed above his head pierced right into my eyes.

Malcoy de Marseille, 34 years old.

The last royal of a ruined nation, the Marseille Kingdom.

His physical abilities were merely at the level of an ordinary knight, but his aptitude and talent as a commander—including strategy, tactics, and leadership—made him a capable individual with no shortcomings in leading a massive army of tens of thousands.

The more I looked at him, the more I coveted his talent.

The kingdom had many outstanding knights. However, it lacked a commander capable of actually leading them.

Currently, Marquis Bielefeld was serving as Grand Marshal, but he was not enough.

I also acknowledged that the old marquis's resourcefulness was outstanding.

However, the marquis's abilities stemmed from the wisdom he had accumulated as a great noble and his experience as an administrator, not from military talent.

Vincent, who was at least well-versed in defending a fortress, was tied down at Winter Castle, and the Commander of the Iron Lion Knights was a knight who excelled more in political insight than in military talent.

The rest of the kingdom's knights and nobles were also mostly mediocre.

In such a situation, a talent capable of taking charge of the army appeared right before my eyes.

It would be stranger if I didn't covet him.

Furthermore, the young Legion Commander before me had practically no loyalty to the Empire.

Rather, he harbored hatred for it.

It was enough to make me wonder why such a person had been playing the role of the Empire's Legion Commander.

As long as the justification and compensation were sufficient, persuasion would be entirely possible. I immediately proposed that he join the kingdom's army.

Promising him the treatment of a Legion Commander and appropriate compensation.

And Malcoy de Marseille,

"I refuse."

rejected my proposal flat out.

* * *

Malcoy de Marseille had to watch the destruction of his motherland at the young age of thirteen, and had to live as a prisoner for a staggering 15 years until he met the Second Imperial Prince at the age of twenty-eight.

To him, living as a prisoner in the kingdom was nothing new.

Of course, that didn't mean it wasn't physically grueling.

There was no need to even mention the luxury he had enjoyed after relying on the imperial prince. Even during his time as a prisoner, he had received quite courteous treatment. Not only did he live a luxurious life like any other noble, but his freedom was not restricted either.

However, his life as a prisoner in the kingdom was different.

Far from courteous treatment, the single meal provided each day was terrible, and he could not take a single step out of the harsh prison cell where the only sunlight was a faint ray coming through a narrow window.

He was cold and hungry, and everything was uncomfortable.

But despite that, he considered his current situation to be not half bad.

At the very least, no one here looked at him like an animal in a cage. He did not need to attend unwanted banquets as a victor's spoil and sing praises of the victor's generosity and magnanimity until his mouth hurt.

At the very least, his life in the kingdom was comfortable in mind.

His only concern was whether the low-ranking soldiers, rather than high-ranking figures like himself or his adjutant, were living in even worse conditions than this.

His adjutant, Percival, clicked his tongue, asking if this was the time to worry about others.

"The atmosphere in the citadel is unusual. The military discipline is excessively sharp. It seems the Empire has committed some act to turn the kingdom's insides upside down. They might just take their anger out on us."

Percival's words were true.

Through the knight acting as a guard, he had heard the story that the Imperial Army had launched a surprise attack on The Capital, and in the process, the Queen was sacrificed and countless people died.

As his adjutant said, it was not the time to worry about others.

If the kingdom were to vent its anger, commanders like him would be the first targets.

However, the kingdom did not inflict any harm upon him.

"The kingdom's knights are not so devoid of pride as to take out their anger on prisoners."

The knight, who noticed their inner thoughts, said with a displeased expression.

Just as he was about to sigh in relief at those words, the knight attached an ominous caveat at the end.

"Though I can't speak for His Highness the Crown Prince."

And a short time later, the Crown Prince of the kingdom really did visit.

Malcoy resolved himself.

Since he would suffer hardships anyway, he would not act disgracefully.

While he was steeling his resolve like that, the Crown Prince suddenly mentioned the [Altringen] family.

Even within the legion, only he and the person in question knew of his adjutant's family.

Percival immediately flared with killing intent.

However, the flame Percival ignited quickly cooled down against the frost-like chill raised by the opponent.

It was a surprising turn of events.

His adjutant was a powerhouse with the skill to defeat even the Paladins of the Imperial Family if he set his mind to it. It was just that he never had the chance to show his full strength due to his superior's position.

And yet, for such an adjutant to vomit blood before even drawing his sword.

However, what was even more surprising was something else.

The Crown Prince, who he thought had come to vent his anger, proposed defection.

And it wasn't just any proposal; it was with the promise of the Legion Commander's seat.

It was an exceptional offer. Even the Empire, which boasted of its magnanimity, had only granted him the position of Legion Commander after observing him for 15 years.

He could not understand what this prince of a small kingdom trusted about him to promise the position of a Legion Commander.

However, he had no desire to head into the sickening battlefield once more just to resolve that trivial question.

"I refuse."

He rejected the Crown Prince's proposal right away.

It was from then on.

That the Crown Prince of the Leonberk Kingdom started frequently visiting the prison.

The Crown Prince attempted to persuade him morning, noon, and night.

Sometimes he promised to improve the treatment of the prisoners, and other times he made radical proposals, saying that pardoning the prisoners wasn't impossible if he established appropriate merits.

Malcoy was shaken.

If it was a matter concerning only himself, he intended to endure the life of a prisoner as long as it took, but he didn't want to make others suffer because of his stubbornness.

"If you're reluctant to pledge loyalty to the kingdom right away, you can just serve as a guest commander and provide some advice."

"Just what do you trust about me to make such a proposal? What if I give advice that ends up causing harm to your country?"

"That is for me to worry about."

"Will you really improve the treatment of the other prisoners if I just do that much?"

"Given the circumstances, I won't be able to offer meat and wine for every meal, but I promise it will at least be better than it is now."

After repeated deliberation, Malcoy eventually decided to accept the Crown Prince's proposal.

From that day on, he was released from prison.

Generously, the Crown Prince also released his adjutant.

"I didn't expect that even I would be released."

Percival, who hadn't thought they would so easily release an existence like a Paladin, had a bewildered expression.

The prince even returned Percival's arms and armor to him.

"Is it really okay to do this?"

"You could easily get your hands on some trivial sword and armor if you set your mind to it anyway, couldn't you?"

It was absurd logic, but it was also true. Weapons were scattered all over the citadel, and Percival had the ability to get his hands on them whenever he wanted. Even if they belonged to someone else.

"What should we do?"

"About what?"

"I'm starting to like the Crown Prince of Leonberk more and more, you see?"

When he snapped at him in disbelief, Percival's reply was quite a spectacle.

"Are you jealous? Don't worry. To me, Sir Malcoy is always my top priority."

The adjutant, who had been babbling in a sly tone, added one more thing.

"It's just my thought, but if we can't fight under our motherland's banner anyway, it might be better to stand under the kingdom's banner rather than the Empire's. It's not like fighting endlessly for the Empire will lead to success."

At that question of whether it wasn't better to be the head of a snake than the tail of a dragon, Malcoy snorted.

"Even when an ill-tempered dragon is trying to chew off that precious snake's head?"

"Looking at the citadel's atmosphere, it doesn't seem like they'll give up their head so easily."

"So now you're telling me to actively help the kingdom instead of just giving advice?"

"Well, the Crown Prince is open-minded, so he'll probably treat us well, and I'm just saying it's better than the Empire in many ways."

"I think you'd better stop. I'm starting to get confused. Whether you're my subordinate or the Crown Prince's messenger sent to make me defect."

"Without a doubt, I'm Sir Malcoy's subordinate."

Seeing his adjutant snickering, Malcoy shook his head.

He had no intention of replying anymore to his adjutant, who, then as now, was itching to push his superior out onto the battlefield.

He kept his mouth shut and quietly watched the soldiers and knights in the citadel.

Even after he was released from prison, there had been several attacks from the Imperial Army.

Due to the repeated battles, there was no one without injuries, and no one who wasn't steeped in fatigue.

That sight was both familiar and strange to Malcoy.

The image of the wounded soldiers of the Leonberk Kingdom's army overlapped with the knights and soldiers of his now-ruined motherland.

They, too, had suffered under the Imperial Army's wave-like offensives like this.

Malcoy still clearly remembered that time from decades ago.

A sense of defeat had been rampant in the border fortress that the young crown prince had visited holding his father's hand. The faces of the soldiers and knights clutching spears and swords were lined with deep fatigue, filled with an even deeper despair and fear.

Even at a young age, looking at their faces was enough for him to predict his motherland's defeat.

The Leonberk Kingdom's army was different.

The deep sense of fatigue was the same. However, the emotion filling their haggard faces was not despair and fear, but a hotly burning fighting spirit.

Not a single one of them feared the Empire, and no one thought of the kingdom's defeat.

Had they all gone crazy as a group? Or did they not know the Empire's strength because they were northern country bumpkins?

It was neither.

Although it was only the outer wall, they had suffered the humiliation of a nation's capital being captured. It had been just a short while ago that they lost their country's Queen to the Empire.

It was no exaggeration to say that the nation's fate had reached a state of precarious peril due to the Imperial Army's wave-like offensives happening across the entire border.

They clearly knew that fact as well.

That was why they were holding out so desperately. Because they knew that if they collapsed, the kingdom would collapse.

But despite that, the soldiers were not afraid.

They did not let go of their swords even in situations where their bellies were torn open and their chests were pierced. They would stubbornly embrace the enemy soldiers who thrust blades into their bodies and throw themselves off the citadel walls.

"Long live the kingdom!"

"Long live the Royal House of Leonberk!"

They cried out for the prosperity of their kingdom and the peace of the Royal Family.

Among them, those who were particularly shabby and poorly armed caught Malcoy's eye.

He could tell the moment he saw them.

They were not regular soldiers, but conscripts.

"Long live Queen Margarita!"

"Long live the Royal House of Leonberk!"

Even if the soldiers of the Royal Family were one thing, even those who must have been forcibly dragged here shouted the names of the Queen and the Royal Family instead of their dying screams.

Just what was so different? What difference was there between his ruined motherland and their country to make them so completely different?

No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't understand it.

"Have you heard how the Queen of the Leonberk Kingdom died? Rejecting the path to survival, she remained on the citadel wall to the very end to protect the citizens of the outer wall, and in the final moment, she threw herself off the wall to avoid becoming a prisoner."

He learned of the Queen's final moments through the mouth of his adjutant, Percival, but it didn't serve as a very clear answer.

"Since immediately after the war broke out, the King has never left the front lines, and now his eldest legitimate son is wielding a sword and fighting enemies like a mere knight in the frontline fortress. All the nobles who strut about in this country are fighting at the very front as well. With the higher-ups putting their lives on the line to fight like that, there's naturally no room for complaints."

"All the nobles are fighting on the front lines?"

"Well, they probably didn't all step up voluntarily. There are actually rumors that the Crown Prince threatened to personally behead anyone who leaves the front lines or deserts. Even so, it's amazing that such a threat actually works."

As Malcoy knew the nature of nobles well, it was something he couldn't accept.

The nobles of his motherland had immediately changed their flags to become nobles of the Empire the moment the nation was in danger. And they were now living ostentatiously on the lands of the old Marseille Kingdom, which had become an imperial territory.

Even though countless citizens had been trampled and killed by the Imperial Army, and even though the royals they served had been miserably massacred and the last survivor had been dragged away like a dog, their lives remained nothing but luxurious.

The only change that occurred to them was that the name of the one they served and the name of their country had changed.

That was the breed known as nobles.

The soldiers were not much different either.

When the royal palace was surrounded, the knights and soldiers had turned their blades around.

It was none other than them who personally cut off the heads of the royals and loyal subjects crying out for a fight to the death and offered them to the Imperial Army.

He had no desire to resent them anew now.

They, too, had only wanted to live. That was what war was.

He was just sick and tired of it.

No matter how grandiose a justification was put forward, the essence of war never changed.

Taking and being taken from, killing and dying. All that remained were the victors and the defeated.

And there was nothing more important than living.

The rise and fall of a nation, loyalty and honor, other people's great causes—they weren't worth a penny.

He had lived believing that.

Until he arrived at this cold, remote place.

Looking at his heavily sunken eyes, his adjutant abruptly spoke.

"You may hate to admit it, but Sir Malcoy, you don't loathe war."

"Shut up, Percival. What do you know? I've seen the beginning and the end of war..."

"What Sir Malcoy truly loathes isn't war, but human beings."

At those unexpected words, Malcoy froze in place.

"No, should I say distrust rather than loathing?"

"Shut up. If you wag your tongue any further..."

"Isn't it time you admitted it?"

"I said I wouldn't hold back."

Malcoy drew his sword. Then, he thrust it toward Percival as if to stab him.

Percival snorted and snatched the sword away.

"Stop acting like a spoiled child. Whenever you go on and on about how war is this and that, or how people are this and that, me and the others who came all the way here trusting only you feel like absolute idiots. It completely turns my stomach."

"Percival!"

"Look over there, Malcoy de Marseille. Is their war the same as the ugly war you were talking about?"

The adjutant grabbed his chin and forced him to turn his head.

There were women tending to wounded soldiers. Children far too young to hold spears and swords were carrying rocks and arrows with their tiny hands.

"Go on and say that, as always, they too are participants in the war, just an ugly facet of it."

Malcoy could not do so. So he kept his mouth firmly shut.

A long time passed.

The strong grip of his adjutant, who had been holding his chin, loosened.

"I apologize for being presumptuous. Honestly, it feels refreshing to finally say what I've wanted to say all this time. I will accept whatever punishment you give me. Just please don't kill me."

Taking a step back, his adjutant knelt down and begged for forgiveness. With a face that showed not a hint of remorse.

Even though Malcoy had been about to heavily punish his adjutant just a moment ago, he didn't feel like it now.

His mind was complicated.

The sight of the citadel made him dizzy. His adjutant's voice was completely tangling up his thoughts.

He couldn't organize his thoughts.

His usually extraordinary thinking power and insight were of no help in this very moment.

While he was standing there blankly with such a confused mind, BWOOOOOM, the urgent sound of a horn echoed out.

Step.

At that moment, the presence of someone could be heard from behind.

Turning his head, he saw the face of the Crown Prince.

"The weather was nice, so I was taking in the sun for a bit."

Pointing to the roof right behind him with his chin, the Crown Prince shamelessly chattered.

Malcoy furrowed his brow.

He was in no good mood, thinking that he had ended up letting him hear unnecessary things because of Percival.

"What can we do? We'll have to end up wrestling with the Imperial Army on such a nice day."

Unlike him, his adjutant joked with the Crown Prince in a very friendly tone.

"What do you mean? We'll just finish it up quickly and rest again."

The Crown Prince also played along with the joke as if he were used to it.

Only then could Malcoy figure out where his adjutant had heard about the kingdom's circumstances in such detail. Furthermore, he grew suspicious that perhaps his adjutant had known the Crown Prince was nearby from the very beginning.

"Well, I'm busy, so I'll be off."

The Crown Prince said that and took a step, only to stop again.

"Ah. It wasn't my intention, but since I ended up eavesdropping anyway, I'll just say one thing."

And then he spoke to Malcoy.

"Guys like you, who try to judge everything only with your heads, just look for reasons and justifications. Guys like that could go their whole lives without realizing what a real war is."

"I think I know about war better than Your Highness, at the very least."

The Crown Prince let out a chuckle. It was a clear scoff.

"Do you really think so?"

Malcoy didn't bother replying. Because he didn't feel the need to answer.

"Then follow me."

Whether he did or not, the Crown Prince was acting on his own whims as always.

"I'll show you the difference between a war watched from the outside and a war experienced directly from within."

Without waiting for an answer, the Crown Prince disappeared off into the distance.

Malcoy glared at his adjutant with fierce eyes before following after the Crown Prince.