There are countless regrets in life that one could dwell upon, but this regret will remain as one of the most unforgettable of my lifetime.
It could be seen as having arrived in time, but in my mind, it was still not fast enough.
After taking care of the knight, with the help of those who had come to our aid, we managed to detain the captives in one place and successfully captured seven horses. After selecting only those horses that were calm enough to ride, the number was reduced to less than half, but considering they were well-trained warhorses, it was still more than enough.
I had the riders who could mount horses equip themselves with the breastplates and helmets we had taken from the cavalry, as well as their lances, before heading back to the evacuation site. Of course, I wouldn’t recklessly drive out the men of the manor. Even if some might have experience handling farming horses, I doubt they could endure the impact of a cavalry charge.
We gathered the capable members of the Sword Friends Association and the vigilante groups who were skilled in horsemanship to hastily form an impromptu cavalry unit. Thanks to the occasional mounted training sessions we conducted with Castor and Polydeuces, there were more capable riders than expected, so the formation went smoothly. Originally conducted with the idea that they might need to handle carriages under guard should the need arise, these trainings unexpectedly proved useful in this moment.
After readying our equipment as quickly as possible, our aim was to drive away the enemy from behind. Despite this preparation, we were still too late.
There were those who had fallen, those who were injured, and some who had become immobile, likely having met their end.
As for why they lost their lives in this gathering for battle—there’s no sense in asking such foolish questions about their demise.
And yet, the fool that I am, I can’t help but think about it.
If only I had arrived five minutes earlier…
To signal the approaching charge of our allies, I blew the horn that the knight had brought. The glorious roar that announced the cavalry charge seemed to pierce through the night sky endlessly.
Both friend and foe halted their movements, and I could sense every face turning towards us.
It was a very dangerous situation. Our allies hadn’t intended to retreat and were fiercely holding their ground at the manor entrance, on the verge of being crushed. Meanwhile, the enemy had abandoned their front guard and was in the process of reorganizing their rear forces, preparing to crush our exhausted fighters.
Some might say we arrived just in time, but had we been three minutes later, the enemy would have completed their decisive charge and easily dismantled our broken ranks. They would have meticulously dismembered us as though peeling the flesh from boiled shrimp.
The sound of the horn made me feel a warmth in my body, as if it were enchanted by some magic, though that is trivial at this point.
We have already played our decisive hand. Now, it’s just a matter of finishing it off.
I drew my sword, and the Sword of Desire transformed into a curved blade with a gentle arc, more suited for wielding on horseback. Its insane cry of carving into the brain and inlaying love into the brainstem with debris could bring joy from the repeated swings, a rare opportunity in a day.
“Charge!!”
Following the command, six cavalry riders followed me. The hooves of our mighty steeds clawed at the ground, thundering through what had once been a functional minefield. As we advanced, our lances jutted outward, ready to deliver a devastating blow with the combination of our horses’ charge and sheer weight.
The enemy’s response was sluggish, as if the intricate mechanisms of their automatons had lost their precision.
They were confused, uncertain whether to rearrange their formation to face us or the new threat on their flank.
“Charge!! Don’t concentrate your forces! Don’t give them time to think!!”
Siegfried discarded his broken sword, picked up a nearby lance, and continued his assault as we pressed on. The enemy could not focus on dealing with us and their rear ranks began to falter.
It’s clear now – while the enemy may be adept at handling the undead, as a commander, they were amateurs or perhaps accustomed only to victories in advantageous situations.
Deliberating further on their response at this stage was their undoing. They were already checkmated.
Cavalry charges lost their edge on battlefields with the advent of densely packed formations of soldiers armed with long spears. Nevertheless, a mere ten or so soldiers could not simply be stopped without artillery or support from a phalanx.
Our warhorses, stout and heavy compared to ordinary swift horses, easily exceeded half a ton in weight, clad in armor and carrying heavily armed men. The combined force of their momentum and weight generated a destructive power akin to a car accident, with hooves that were much more dangerous than tires, capable of slaughtering any human.
What should the enemy have done? They should have accepted the loss up to this point and maximized damage to us by clinging on to the infantry line. In close combat, we would have had no choice but to abandon the charge, dismount, and fight.
Alternatively, they should have at least aimed to kill a few of our cavalry, maintaining a thin but effective wall of lances.
But now, they have no means of victory. And since surrendering is not an option—indeed, unworthy to consider—their only recourse is to inflict further losses.
They overestimated their chances, hesitating to adjust their formation in hopes of a comeback.
What little time remained—meant for avoiding a catastrophic defeat—was crushed under the rhythm of our aligned steel hooves, along with the terror of our charges and the cheers that turned fear into fighting spirit.
Shields were shattered, bodies thrown about, and limbs severed by the downward slashes of swords and the tips of cavalry lances. The enemy abandoned their shields and engaged us in close combat, where our swords dismantled the remnants with one collective effort.
The scene created by the cavalry hammer falling upon the infantry anvil was gut-wrenching and expanded rapidly as corpses mixed with mud became indistinguishable, and the stagnant stench of death lingered in the air.
Just one decisive charge from the cavalry could turn everything upside down. Even in the modern age of cannons and rifled muskets, the cavalry’s terrifying explosive power still holds sway.
We emerged victorious, but I still regret—the extra five minutes that could have saved the day still haunt me.
The charge’s results were tremendous, though not without losses. In the final moments, the rear ranks that were still reorganizing seemed to steel themselves and attempted to resist, felling two of our mounts with spears. One was only lightly wounded and threw its rider in a panic, but the other struggled helplessly, clearly not getting up anytime soon.
Fortunately, none of the riders were killed. Still, the two who fell with their mounts—one was unconscious and groaning, the other likely misjudged his landing as his left forearm was twisted unnaturally and bleeding, indicating a severe open fracture.
There were four to five casualties total—a result that, when considering we faced more than double our numbers, might be celebrated as a great victory. However, as adventurers who operate in smaller groups rather than soldiers, it was too painful a loss. Equaling the destruction of an entire party, it was not a victory I could proudly proclaim, no matter how much we achieved.
Indeed, this is not the moment to lament our lack of ability.
“Not yet! The battle isn’t over!”
I shouted to my subordinates who were celebrating our victory with their weapons raised high, raising my sword to gather their attention.
“We continue the pursuit! Riders! We have one horse free! Those who still have the strength, continue!”
“Eh, pursuit? Master, but… isn’t that enough?”
Etan, who joined the charge as cavalry, looked perplexed, but I called out, pointing my sword towards the dark forest.
“The animators are nearby! They faltered just before the charge; they panicked! That’s not the movement guided by a spell; we need to eliminate the source! Riders, follow me! If you’re hesitant about riding in the night forest, let others take your place!”
It’s understandable that my words damped the joy of our hard-won victory. I too thought this cavalry charge marked the end.
This is ridiculous—a GM would need to ease off if this scene happened in a tabletop game. If it were my old gaming group, I would hide a D4 in the GM’s boots and leave.
“Give me the reins!”
A loud clanging noise sounded, and turning my gaze, I saw Siegfried violently removing his helmet, his face bloodstained without any attempt to clean it, trying to seize the reins of a horse that lost its rider.
He must have pushed himself to his limits during the chaotic final battle; his exposed arms and legs were a mess of lacerations and stab wounds, showing the extent of damage barely short of fatal.
“Siegfried, in your condition…”
“Shut up! Just let me be! Can you imagine leaving after all this?”
He snatched the reins and immediately retrieved two medicine bottles from his pouch, pouring one over his head and drinking the other. Both were healing potions made by Lady Kaya. Her potions enhance the body’s natural regeneration, so drinking a large amount in a short time leads to harsh side effects—exhaustion, hunger, insomnia, and excruciating muscle pain akin to growing pains.
We were advised against taking more than two doses a day, so drinking two at once is clearly excessive.
Thus, I couldn’t tell him to stay quiet and idle. I understood what a man driven this far might become—either a complete break or an outright fight.
“Damn stubborn man. Fine, come along then.”
“I didn’t need to be told! Explanations later! Lead the way! And let me kill that bastard!!”
Siegfried was extraordinarily agitated, but his wild demeanor convinced others of the correctness of pushing forward, causing a calmness among them rather than unrest. This, now, was understandable: leaving the situation unsettled and assigning it for someone else to manage afterward felt even more uncertain.
“Lady Kaya, forgive me, but I must leave this in your capable hands.”
“Yes, Commander, please don’t worry. I’ll tend to all those I can help.”
I would leave this to Lady Kaya. She might even be more popular than me. She will surely handle the aftermath well.
…Though she too seems quite determined. The bottles on her magic-laden potion belt, marked with the dangerous red pigment, appear to be improvised incendiary bombs due to the shortage of proper traps.
If she realizes escape is impossible, she seems prepared to die with the enemy.
With each element confirming our advantage, a sense of relief builds, but simultaneously, an increasing frustration with myself for letting this relief exist.
Siegfried, though you’re quite angry, I, too, have already surpassed my tipping point.
“Leave the spears! They’re useless in the forest! Bring water with you! Don’t stop from here on out, or they’ll escape! Someone, get water into helmets or whatever to hydrate the horses!!”
As we prepared for the pursuit, I dealt my hand without hesitation, cutting cards I’ve never cut before.
“Ursula, Rolo.”
Calling softly, a rustling sound came from my satchel. Upon opening the lid, the rose I carry on me unfurled, and Ursula, with her silver hair shining more brilliantly than usual, appeared. Leaning on the flower’s petals, she smiled as if to say, “I’ve been waiting.”
The pleasant breezes caressing my neck weren’t naturally occurring. Rolo, unable to nestle into my hair because my helmet was still on, was instead running her hand across my body.
The moon was waning, near the new moon, its mouth-like dark circle inching closer to the perfect circle of fullness.
In other words, the fairies are in their prime.
“Here, my love. Did you call?”
“Ugh… it smells like iron, and there’s no fluffiness—”
Ursula was in high spirits, while Rolo was dissatisfied due to the lack of contact with my hair, a stark contrast, yet both were willing to assist me.
Rolo’s investigation of the surrounding area revealed our presence alone in the vicinity and confirmed the presence of a small group stirring within the forest.
“Aah, it’s creepy—human shapes, but they smell like medicine…”
Thank you, Ursula, that confirms it.
I had a few concerns about how we managed to plan such a perfectly-timed and advantageous attack—was there a spy in our manor or was the “controller themselves” hiding nearby?
There were a few suspicious individuals, but for now, I will set that aside. In truth, this concern stems from the traumatic paranoia of an old experience in my previous group.
Even someone like me, though, would notice if a powerful magic user or their terminal capable of controlling undead masses was present. During my time with Lady Agrippina, I had practiced anti-magic combat to the point of nausea. If any strange magical resonance had been present, I would have noticed it.
Had some expert somehow eluded my perception, I was prepared to reinforce all precautions as if strengthening the steel of a bridge. But now, it feels relieving to understand that those precautions were unnecessary.
Composing myself as I asked Ursula for blessings, she pressed her lips gently to my eyelids.
My vision widened with clarity akin to entering a giant’s estate, where the darkness no longer obstructed my sight. Even the sweat of the charging horses during intense movements and the features of my subordinates collapsing after the battle were vivid under an acuity that outmatched even magical dark vision.
With this vision, I fear nothing of the dark forest where the illumination of signal flares cannot reach, and my companions need only follow me to ensure safety.
During that brief interlude hidden in my horse’s shadow, I crushed all uncertainties, leaving only the necessity to proceed.
All that remains now is to charge forward and kill.
My malice is overflowing, my hatred unquenchable, building to a level that could amass wealth enough to purchase an empire.
“Master…”
As we waited for the horses to drink water, I approached a cluster of bodies laid out nearby.
These were not the twitching undead awaiting disposal but the fallen companions wounded and lost in battle.
The ones who lay there couldn’t be left among the casualties. Lady Kaya had laid them respectfully with closed eyes and crossed hands over their chests.
“…Tell me their last moments later.”
Saying this, I knelt, extracting the fairy dagger and gazing upon the faces revealed after their helmets were removed, ensuring I wouldn’t forget them. Then, I cut off a lock of their hair, carefully tying it and placing it in a silk handkerchief from my waist pouch, tucking it away in my breast.
I understand this might merely be sentimental, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave without killing for them.
Nearby, five severely wounded individuals lay who could not rise. Each bore the wounds of warriors who fought beyond measure.
“Everyone, you fought admirably.”
I approached each one to grasp their hands and speak my words. Some were too far gone to even return the gesture. Especially Martin, who struggled to draw breath, his complexion as pale as paper.
He had spoken of earning money to return to his hometown, where he would buy farmland to marry the tenant farmer’s daughter, transforming their family into self-sufficient farmers. We all laughed at how modest his dream seemed, but I remember how he grew fiercely angered at our jest, insisting this was as manly a goal as any.
Lady Kaya shook her head somberly, lowering her gaze.
The result of continuing to move despite the severity of his injuries was too much blood loss. Even the finest magical remedies cannot instantaneously replace the vast quantities of blood lost. Only a miracle bought with one’s own life might reverse this fate.
Magic is not omnipotent. Forcing rapid healing by injecting or generating blood would cause shock and result in death. There is no genuine magic anywhere that can wave a finger and eradicate every tragedy. And we, too, are not monsters who can sustain peak performance until our last breath.
Even among those lying there, how many will survive the night?
I removed my helmet, grabbing a strand of my long hair, cutting it off, and letting it scatter into the night breeze.
“Here’s an offering. It’s not enough, I know, but consider it an earnest token.”
The compensation will surely reach their families, and the heads of our foes will be placed upon their graves.
Please bear with me for now…
【Tips】 The tradition of hair relics exists, where the physical body is buried on-site, and instead, hair that won’t decay is sent to the family alongside other items as mementos. Sometimes, cremated bones, teeth, or even salted hearts are chosen.
Did I mention this was the climax? That was a lie.
What? Didn’t I say that? Or did I? Oh well.
