“Get the horses ready!” The golden-haired man’s early morning order threw the manor into chaos, shaking it so violently that it seemed to strip every leaf of its morning dew.
Just the night after the funeral, as everyone was preparing to gather and discuss the next course of action, this declaration left everyone scrambling to catch up.
Still, his words carried an inexplicable persuasive power and an almost irresistible force. If it had only been pressure, objections might have arisen, but his commands inspired a peculiar sense of relief, a feeling that it was better to comply, and so everyone followed without protest.
The gravity of the situation—if they had only been operating within usual defensive parameters, all the residents of the manor would likely have been wiped out—gave the man’s directions an unusual weight.
Following the golden-haired man’s instructions, preparations were swiftly made for the captured warhorses. He commanded that ten horses, almost all of them, be prepared, and that five be left unburdened while the other five carry provisions and food. It was clearly preparation for a forced march, distributing loads between packhorses and riding horses to minimize strain and maximize speed.
Under normal circumstances, even with swift horses, a full day’s travel could take half that time if horses were used extravagantly as messengers would do, bringing news under urgent circumstances.
The golden-haired man declared his intent to send a messenger to a town, though he did not disclose the why or what. Despite this lack of detail, no one doubted that something worth heading toward was occurring.
The number of those going was reduced to the bare minimum of five individuals. The manor’s defense was left in the hands of Etan, with overall command passed to the captain of the local militia.
This man said they needed the best combatants available. Ergo, Siegfried, whose knowledge of battlefield coordination was unmatched, and Kaya, with her magic, could not be spared. Even though Kaya was less skilled at handling horses, her exclusion was deemed infeasible.
The remaining two members were selected by lot from among the skilled swordsmen of the Sword Friends Association. Initially, Etan tried to volunteer, but with the manor’s defense already lacking manpower, he was assigned to remain behind and manage the defenses.
Etan, while not exceptional in pure martial skill compared to some of the others within the Sword Friends Association, possessed a massive physique and terrifying strength, which allowed him to overwhelm opponents who might technically be more skilled.
Skill is, of course, typically the territory of the smaller and less physically powerful to compete with larger opponents. However, when the larger opponent has mastered the same skills, raw strength often becomes the deciding factor.
During the battle, Etan leveraged his immense stature to rescue weakened elders, children, and pregnant women who would have otherwise been left behind and considered casualties beyond help. This act earned him the trust of the manor’s residents, the purpose of which was to alleviate their anxieties while he remained behind in a leadership capacity.
When presented with such a request, it seemed Etan, the adventurer with a bull-like build, had no choice but to accept this unappealing assignment. Since he himself was one of the key figures of the Sword Friends Association, there was no opposition.
The head of the manor sought some explanation from the golden-haired man but instead received a letter. After carefully reading its contents in private, his pale skin flushed with excitement, and his eyes flitted back and forth between the messenger and the letter multiple times.
Then, seemingly coming to an understanding, he accepted it all and turned his attention to calming the people of the manor…
【Tip】 By distributing loads between horses, the burden on each is reduced, allowing for greater speed and distance. Therefore, couriers on urgent missions may take with them three or even four horses.
“So, what’s your plan?”
While checking the saddle on a horse, Siegfried leaned in and quietly inquired. Clearly suspicious, he was finishing up his travel preparations, with his precious small-plate armor carefully packed in his baggage, yet something seemed to be on his mind.
Of course it was understandable. With the decision to wait and gather information only made yesterday, it was natural to wonder if some divine revelation had urged him to act, or if disturbing dreams were influencing decisions.
If I were in his place, I’d first offer him a cool drink, advising him to take a moment to settle down.
Using mental communication, I spoke softly so that only Siegfried could hear: “I realized last night that we must use every resource at our disposal, without regard to preference. Reflecting on how things could have gone better if I hadn’t initially hesitated on means.”
“Did it hit you at the funeral?”
“Partially. …I reached out to a former employer.”
“Wha…!? A noble!?”
Nodding silently at his exclamation, Siegfried covered his eyes and looked up to the heavens.
He knows the implications. As commoners, we shouldn’t casually rely on nobility. Moreover, if we cling to them for help with such a massive problem, we may end up owing a heavy price later.
However, rest assured. All will be achieved through our efforts, ensuring her purposes are met. There won’t be any foolish post-action demands about money—I can guarantee that.
…Though, involving ourselves in deeper complications is a possibility.
Frankly, Lady Agrippina is too potent a force. Like a drug with a threshold so delicate that merely miscalculating by a few milligrams could result in death—a substance so finicky that the slightest tremor in the measuring spoon turns it into poison. It wasn’t out of preference that I partook.
Still, I wanted to resolve it properly and swiftly.
If the frontier continues to burn, not just Mottenheim but Marsheim’s people, and even ourselves, will inevitably be affected. We’ve already been showered with enough embers, but having molten iron splashed at us is intolerable.
“…And what did this noble have to say?”
“Rejoice. They told us where the one we’ve been eager to kill is located. Oddly enough, it’s nearby.”
“Ah…?”
His voice low, eyes slightly narrowed, his gaze not directed at me but someplace far-off. After mentally weighing his options, he turned away, his expression grim yet silent, moving toward the horse allocated for him.
At least, if not entirely, I think he’s come to accept correctly.
“This is the prelude to battle. We’ll swiftly kill and conclude this.”
“Pre-battle, huh… Frustrating. Would they really just burn down a village like this? Even using those undead things? Aren’t they supposed to be their own people if they win?”
“Rulers who use civilians to wage war are the worst sort. They exploit every advantage to achieve victory.”
Above all, to many local lords, the imperial authorities are viewed as collaborators. While I don’t know the atmosphere in their directly-administered territories, I haven’t observed any aversion to the empire in the properly-managed estates I’ve seen.
It’s likely all part of the empire’s governance plan.
They pamper occupied territories. It’s not about lax governance but rather systematically favoring the populace in taxation and public works.
It’s standard practice for the empire to go years without collecting taxes, anticipating no profit initially, and meticulously developing roads and infrastructure for water supply and drainage. For underground dwellers, their environment is made as livable as possible.
For those whose parents or even themselves were slaughtered, grudges and resentment may build. But consider what happens over two or three generations under peaceful governance.
People stop thinking about resistance. The idea of spilling blood in battle seems unnecessary.
Unless you are the nobility who lost their power, the commoners swept into war see things differently. Promises of independence or nostalgic claims about old masters fade easily when tomorrow’s meal is guaranteed. Even the benevolence of a lord seems trivial if the new rulers impose no additional taxes or labor.
At this juncture, local lords are already losing. We’ll soon see just how many manors and powerful local figures are cooperating. If they had established an independent governance system, things might have been different. Instead, by infiltrating like a worm within the lion, they’ve lost their edge against the empire.
And through popular support, they keep losing potential gains.
For the Threefold Empire, this situation is manageable. Though the lands may suffer, the eventual recovery will bring an era of unencumbered internal governance and prosperity.
Still, we dwellers of the underground, standing on the losing side, want to minimize our losses.
The best scenario is to quell this disruptive racket swiftly.
Lady Agrippina informed me—enemies are massing near the largest nearby city, a place ruled by a minor noble who manages tax collection from dozens of manors, close even to where Margit is heading.
From here, it’s one day’s travel by a swift horse. Considering Margit’s group left four days ago, something is likely happening on their side as well.
Even accounting for the time needed to gather intelligence and return safely within five days, the waiting is now unbearable. The neighboring manors must be suffering similarly—we can’t let everyone be wiped out strategically.
If they diverge, it’s better than staying here while the situation worsens. Margit excels in direct combat. But against the undead, she might find herself struggling, so we must prepare for the worst with the current lineup.
Since Margit left, I’ve been feeling an unbearable sense of void in my back. Now, I’m reminded of how blind we truly are. Even with the ability to use far-sight, allowing me a panoramic view and virtually eliminating blind spots, it cannot replace consciousness or a partner’s presence.
In pursuit of regaining the heat from her back, I called out on my trusted steed.
“Let’s go! No need to worry about the rear!”
At this point, there’s no need for complex thought.
Only speed and violence remain. Violence solves everything. Let’s feast on the meager proficiency and ‘slight advice’ bestowed on us…
【Tip】 A commoner’s plea to the nobility is an act made with a preparedness to die. Direct appeal rights are only granted to one’s immediate ruler—be it the local official or lord. Bypassing this hierarchy and appealing directly to a noble constitutes an inappropriate act.
However, while uncodified, there exists a tradition where such pleas, made with potential sacrifice, are taken seriously, even if the petitioner is ultimately held accountable and required to commit suicide.
The hunter, with childlike features, exhaled deeply, resting his chin on the breastwork.
Would it be pleasant to light a cigarette like my companion in moments like this? He pondered.
But in lieu of that, a deep breath only brought the unbearable stench of decay, the unmistakable and sickening smell of human corpses rotting.
“Stack them over there. How are preparations for the firewood coming along?”
“We’re out of decent material! Most of the destroyable furniture has already been broken down!”
“We lack oil too! Are there any reserves left!?”
From beneath the breastwork, the putrid smell rose from the corpses of defeated enemies and allies, their armor stripped off and now piled high outside for burning as part of the sanitation efforts. This task was proving just as challenging.
Margit pitied the deputy’s subordinates, the adventurers of the Sword Friends Association forced into the situation, and even the men from nearby manors who had fled for refuge. She could see the bleakness of their work from her post atop the castle wall, her sharp eyes and excellent archery skills keeping her there as a lookout. It wasn’t an enviable task, for any of them.
The deputy’s residence in the empire exists in two forms.
When the deputy is also a small landowner or ruler of a single manor, it’s common to find their residence within the city. In these cases, the cities often have protective walls and host populations exceeding a thousand, serving as a hub for both civilians and the military for resupply and strategic gathering.
Alternately, some deputy halls double as military forts or castles. In these cases, the military fort itself often has a town growing around it, though without walls. These deputy halls not only manage the administration of surrounding manors but also act as patrol bases for inspectors and as secondary defensive outposts for larger cities.
The residence of the Mottenheim ruler fell into the latter category. Built on one of the rare hills in an otherwise flat area—not steep enough to impede cavalry—it had served as a secondary castle in times when imperial control was weaker. With its main hall integrated into one side of the five-sided walls and supported by four bell towers, this small but well-protected fortress, though centuries old, remains functional for military use.
Now largely ruined, the surrounding houses have disappeared due to fires or were dismantled for the defensive earthworks, which once housed livestock farmers in these flatlands. It was an otherwise unremarkable deputy’s hall in the empire.
Who would have imagined this place could transform into such a scene of hell?
Margit idly moved to the top of a bell tower from the breastwork. With the agile climbing speed characteristic of her spider-like kind, she reached the top without disturbing even the moss on the walls.
“My, what a mess indeed.”
Beneath her, in the wind carrying the smell of earth and battle, lay a pitiful sight.
The collapsed houses, the numerous corpses lying where they fell, and the makeshift defensive structures abandoned mid-use all bore witness to the former life of the settlement, now hard to imagine.
Her group’s initial misfortune mirrored that of Mottenheim’s defenders. A day’s journey was originally planned, but with threats lurking in the shadows, progress slowed to last two and a half days. When they finally reached the deputy hall at dusk, it was locked in combat with the enemy. Compelled by circumstances, they tumbled in.
Inside, refugees were packed in uncomfortably tight. Every manor within a half-day’s walk had apparently sought protection inside, overcrowding the place beyond its capacity.
Others were amazed the city could hold so many, but Margit recognized the coercion. Sometime before, she had shared a drink with her companion, Erich, while listening to an epic poem about military strategy. As Erich picked apart a roasted bird, he explained how sometimes besiegers have the advantage by forcing their opponents into defense, citing examples from the board games they were playing.
Ordinarily, city sieges are heavily disadvantageous to the besieging force and are thus avoided. If a ratio of five-to-one isn’t achieved, the defending force might survive, and even when the besiegers win, their losses can be heavier than in field battles. Most importantly, sieges require a great deal of time—far more than the battles themselves.
Hence, clever tactics to take a city without a fight, through surprise or betrayal, are often celebrated, and sometimes enemy forces are taunted in a bid to draw them into the open.
That’s how difficult and painful holding a siege can be for besieging forces. Of course, it’s hard on the defenders too, but it’s the ones outside the walls who suffer more.
Yet, there is an exception to every rule.
Erich had explained, licking bird fat off his fingers, how sometimes enemies are allowed inside to drain resources. When civilians seek refuge inside the walls, they consume supplies but can’t be left outside since their protection is the deputy’s responsibility, especially for future administrative stability.
More people mean more mouths to feed and waste to manage, even requiring heating in certain seasons. This accelerates the consumption of supplies, drastically shortening the time defenders can hold out.
This is the precise strategy, he further explained, where nearby manors are attacked beforehand, forcing the overflow of refugees to strain internal defenses.
The enemy plan worked. Even to the untrained eye, morale inside the city was low. The meager rations distributed were leaving many clutching their stomachs, water wells had limitations and rationing measures were in place, even soldiers couldn’t clean themselves.
If hunger strikes, soldiers, no matter how trained, can’t maintain their strength. Bread and water can’t fuel a soldier forever, Erich would joke after eating his plate clean.
And now, this was happening. No negotiation could end this chaos, and Margit’s group was drafted temporarily as soldiers for the defense.
For two days, Margit endlessly roamed the walls and towers with a bow in hand, her skin torn and fingers bloody from repeatedly drawing the bow. Her precision in striking joints and pressure points earned her an influx of arrows from fellow archers who were struggling.
During these two days, she fired over five hundred arrows. She stopped counting early on, continuing relentlessly even as her back cramped, and her bow ran out of arrows, drawing the string by hand despite peeling skin and lost fingernails.
Even now, the wounds still ache, but her inner mother figure reminded her:
Does it matter? Will the kind enemy patiently wait while you cry about your fingers and nails?
Enemies are neither mother nor friend. Should you protest pain, they’ll just smile and come to kill you.
That two days of painful dedication ended abruptly one night. The odd army that had been attacking without much flame from bonfires suddenly stopped and became lifeless, like puppets cut from their strings.
Seeing this as the perfect opportunity, the deputy launched a decisive counter-attack. Opening the gates, lowering the drawbridge, and leading his prized cavalry, he cleverly split the enemy into three groups, and a fierce melee ensued. Everyone who could fought fiercely, turning the tide and eventually leaving no one alive but the victors come morning.
It was only later that reports revealed they had mistakenly killed enemies begging for mercy, raising eyebrows and questioning the tactics used.
Perhaps this was the madness of necromantic sorcery.
Even as they worked to dispose of the broken undead along with fallen allies and enemies, everyone felt uneasy about the abrupt end.
Though divine blessings had been plentiful—thanks to the presence of a manor chapel within the hall—gods don’t often gift such perfect miracles.
Once the cleanup was done, scouts would surely be sent out to assess the surroundings, but Margit already suspected who had acted.
At the very moment the tide of battle changed, her earring jingled next to her ear—a telltale sign that her companion had just completed some act.
“Oh, I do hope this ends soon.”
In three years of working as an adventurer, whenever her companion acted, it always led to bigger troubles. And now, something pivotal was happening again.
She sighed again, remembering how her companion usually got caught up in the flow of events but would decisively turn the tables once properly informed.
Besides, she personally disliked being stationed here as a static artillery unit. Though praised by her male fellow archers as the ‘Spider Princess,’ she found the praise cloying and the attention tedious.
More than that, she had no interest in staying here any longer.
“Please hurry up and come fetch me before I have to unstring my bow.”
The peace would likely continue for a while. They had destroyed hundreds of undead, and it was unlikely the enemy could replenish such numbers quickly. Considering similar engagements around other attack points, the damage must be extensive.
Even as she voiced these thoughts, Margit had a premonition. She felt confident there would be no time to unstring her bow anytime soon.
【Tip】 Bows must have their strings removed when not in use to preserve the wood’s elasticity and allow it to rest.
Updates have been delayed due to preparations for publishing, and I apologize for keeping everyone waiting. Fortunately, Volume 4 (Part 1) will be released as promised on June 25th.
It will be available next month, so I hope you can patiently wait for the next update. Exclusive bonuses will again be available through three stores: our special contract store, OVL web store, and Melonbooks. I’ll be announcing the contents soon.
As with Volume 3, print editions will have limited runs, so I kindly request you preorder if you’re interested in the physical copy. They’ll eventually be listed on Amazon too, but please don’t hesitate to secure your copy early.
