TFM 234

 He could no longer tell how many days and nights they had ridden.

They stopped at parish houses along the way to receive recovery magic, but the relentless march that continued day and night left the mounted warriors visibly gaunt, and the warhorses began to stagger with white foam at their mouths.

In the end, Varkas split the unit in two.

While the vanguard, composed of light cavalry with relatively superior mobility, took the shortest route, the remaining heavy knights followed behind, gathering whatever forces they could from the lords of the territories near Kalmor.

Thanks to their breathless, unbroken ride, they were able to reach the entrance of Armund Forest two days earlier than expected.

“Please do not worry too much.”

When they had passed about halfway through the birch-filled forest, Daren rode up beside him, breathing roughly, and spoke in a heavy voice.

“The Kalmor Guard is not so easily broken. Even if the Zram people attack all at once, as long as they close the gates in time and enter a defensive battle, they should be able to hold out for several months without difficulty.”

Varkas did not bother to answer.

He knew those words were closer to self-comfort than anything else.

Bjorn Blodar Heimdall had disguised himself as a holy knight under the identity guarantee of the Great Temple. That meant there was a high-ranking clergyman within the central order who had cooperated with him.

If there were also an informant inside the eastern church, then forget several months—they could not even guarantee a single night.

Varkas soon drove his spurs into Tork’s flanks and cut through the dense forest in a single rush.

Not long after, a burned-out outpost came into view.

Varkas rode toward the fallen barricade and grimaced when he saw the corpses scattered around the watchtower, now charred black.

Roughly twenty bodies.

Judging by their state of decay, they had been dead for at least fifteen days. It seemed the enemy had cut off the communication network in advance to isolate Kalmor.

He clenched his teeth.

If the other outposts were in the same condition, then Kalmor was currently stranded without aid.

Varkas immediately snapped the reins like a whip and increased his speed even further. The mounted warriors, realizing the gravity of the situation, each drove their warhorses hard and followed close behind him.

How much longer did they ride like that?

When they emerged from the forest and crossed a gently rising hill, the sight of a village turned to ruins came into view all at once.

Beyond it, after confirming the thousands of invaders encamped there, Varkas immediately drew his sword.

The enemies had set up camps to the south and north, launching attacks from both sides at once.

At the sight of dozens of siege weapons lined across the field hurling projectiles toward the castle towers, harsh curses slipped from the knights’ mouths.

Fortunately, the city did not seem to have fallen completely yet. But part of the wall had been badly damaged, and enemy soldiers were surging like a tide through the gaps in the collapsed rampart.

Without hesitation, Varkas charged down the hill.

Cutting through the burned village and plunging into the rear of the enemy formation in a single breath, his blade sent the head of a soldier who had been readjusting a catapult flying.

At the same time, some fifteen hundred cavalrymen crashed into the enemy’s rear like an enraged wave.

The siege troops, whose entire attention had been fixed on attacking the city, could not respond quickly to the surprise attack that had begun behind them.

The iron hooves of the warhorses, surging in with unstoppable force, crushed hundreds of panicked enemy soldiers in an instant, and the enemy ranks collapsed all at once.

A portion of the infantry, having grasped the situation too late, rushed over to support the siege troops, but the Wolfram elite knights had already swept through the enemy camp once.

Varkas mercilessly cut down the soldier charging at him with a monstrous scream, then drove straight into the collapsed city wall.

The raiders guarding the entrance rushed toward him with polearms fitted with axe blades.

Varkas lightly deflected the enemy soldier’s attack and roughly hauled on the reins. At once, Tork reared high on his front legs and trampled the spearman’s head without mercy.

At the sight, the barbarians faltered and retreated.

Not missing that opening, Varkas entered the city streets. His gaze swiftly swept over the broad road where close combat was taking place. Amid the thick haze of pale dust that had settled everywhere along the avenue, the deafening clamor of battle rang out from all sides.

“Your Grace!”

An old commander who saw him shouted loudly.

Recognizing the man’s identity, Varkas narrowed his eyes. Modrian, clad in heavy armor, was locked in combat with two raiders.

Varkas rode straight toward them and drove his sword into the back of one enemy soldier.

The man, his torso pierced through, let out a savage cry and turned to look at him.

Varkas swung his sword diagonally, tearing open the man’s side, then cut off the head of the remaining enemy as he charged in with an enraged expression.

The enemy soldiers, seeing two grown men sliced apart like butter in the blink of an eye, immediately put distance between themselves and him.

But behind them, the Wolfram Cavalry had already taken position. Dozens of warhorses that had entered at fierce speed occupied the avenue in an instant and swept the enemies away.

At the sight, a cry of emotion burst from Modrian’s mouth.

“You returned at the very last moment, Your Grace! It seems the gods have not yet abandoned Kalmor!”

Varkas did not even glance at him and instead examined the surroundings carefully.

Although the outskirts of the city had been thrown into chaos by the enemy’s intrusion, the central district appeared relatively intact. That meant the enemy’s advance had not yet reached Laedgo Castle.

The moment he realized that fact, relief close to a shudder spread from deep within his body.

Varkas gripped the hilt of his sword tightly with trembling hands. Only then did he realize that he had been seized by extreme tension and fear.

Overcome by a dizzying sense of weakness, he steadied his breathing, then soon gathered his scattered mind and turned to Modrian.

“Report the situation as briefly as possible.”

“Fifteen days ago… no, as of today, it has been three weeks. Not long after Your Grace departed for the campaign, the barbarians began their assault.”

The old commander drew in a deep breath and continued explaining in a calmer tone.

“Because we closed the gates in time, we barely managed to stop their initial offensive. But after that… they dragged in siege weapons and bombarded us day after day, so several facilities in the city have been destroyed.”

“What is the scale of casualties?”

“The civilian losses are not that great. Some of the residents living outside the walls suffered harm, but most of them evacuated into the city quickly, so we were able to avoid a massacre. We had also moved the citizens living in the outer districts inside the walls beforehand, which allowed us to minimize major loss of life.”

The man paused for a moment, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow, then added,

“This is all thanks to Her Grace the Grand Duchess. Because of her swift decision, many citizens were able to survive.”

Varkas, who had been rapidly scanning the streets where the fighting was still unfolding, stopped short and looked back at him.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Immediately after the assault began, Her Grace the Grand Duchess took measures to hurry the citizens inside the city walls. Not only that, she personally took the lead with the maids in tending to the wounded soldiers, and spared no effort in providing relief supplies. The fact that tens of thousands of citizens have been able to endure until now is entirely thanks to Her Grace.”

Varkas stared at the old commander’s face, at a loss for words.

Deep respect was embedded in Modrian’s voice.

This was the man who had been more critical of her than anyone else. What in the world had happened for his attitude to change so drastically in only a few weeks?

As Varkas stood frozen in a strange, inexplicable emotion, a deafening roar sounded from the distance.

He snapped his head up.

Black smoke was rising from the northern side of the city. He immediately spurred his horse and cut across the ruined city center.

After passing through the empty square and reaching the northern battlements, he saw the outer wall and castle tower beginning to collapse.

Beyond them, Varkas confirmed thousands of Zram warriors encamped there, and his brow twisted savagely.

Even by a conservative estimate, there seemed to be at least four thousand of them.

He looked back.

Only about three hundred cavalrymen had followed to support him.

The rest were tied down wiping out the enemies positioned around the southern gate.

But if he waited until the main force joined them, the enemy would surge all the way into the city.

He had to stop their advance somehow until reinforcements arrived.

Varkas made his judgment swiftly and immediately charged over the wall that had been reduced to a heap of stones, rushing straight toward the enemy.