“Hell… I haven’t the slightest idea what any of this is about.”
Ron Berg, second son of Berg County, cursed as he stared up at the gray sky overhead.
The letter had arrived without warning—a missive that reeked of blood and death.
What had it said exactly? Something about killing them all?
That was the polite version.
The actual correspondence had been a masterwork of profanity that would have impressed even the saltiest dock worker.
If he was being honest, his first reaction hadn’t been anger so much as bewilderment. The thing had been scrawled with such manic intensity that he’d wondered if some madman had penned it during a fit of apoplectic rage.
But then the knights had begun posting notices throughout the territory like heralds of doom. Soon rumors spread that House Berg had massacred every last member of the Dragunov bloodline.
That’s when understanding struck.
The letter’s author was Count Dragunov himself—and the man harbored a hatred for them that burned like molten steel.
“...Except we didn’t do it.”
Count Dragunov believed their House had slaughtered his entire family. Naturally, they’d sent messengers protesting their innocence, but the only response had been their envoy’s severed head.
What choice did they have? Even if they weren’t the culprits, they could hardly throw themselves on their swords for the convenience of it.
In the end, they’d had no option but to prepare for war.
“I swear to God… What kind of pointless death is this supposed to be?” Ron sighed as he spoke the words aloud.
His elder brother, Dreck Berg, maintained his stoic expression as he replied, “You’re not dead yet.”
“I will be soon enough!”
“Think we’ll lose to Dragunov?” Dreck’s gaze slid sideways as he asked the question.
Ron let out a strangled sound.
“We won’t die! Not us! But what about them?” He gestured toward the castle walls below. “War isn’t some contest between champions—people are going to die! Good people!”
The soldiers below trembled as they stared toward the horizon, their minds doubtless filled with dark possibilities.
Would the enemy come? Would they survive? Their hands shook as they gripped their spears.
“Damn it all! Which brain-dead fool stirred up a count’s house and caused this mess?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“What? Then what matters?”
“Victory.”
Dreck Berg’s response cut through Ron’s complaints like a blade through silk. Cold eyes fixed on his younger brother.
“Do you think war is a game? Whatever the reason, enemies have declared war on us, and we must destroy them. Where exactly do emotions fit into that calculation?”
“What kind of—? Of course we need to determine who’s actually responsible—”
“And that’s exactly why you’re being naive!”
Dreck Berg cut off his brother’s words and continued with steel in his voice.
“Do you think there’s anyone who doesn’t know war is madness? Do you imagine there are lunatics who enjoy slaughter? You feel sorry for them? Then fight! Fight where they can see you, bleed in their place!”
Ron Berg fell silent under his brother’s outburst. He’d never seen his elder brother this angry.
“Don’t try to assign meaning to a war that’s already begun. That’s what command means. Never let emotion rule you—reduce everything to numbers and strategy. That’s the weight of the insignia you wear. Understood?”
“...Alright.”
“Then collect yourself and retrieve the knight Louis sent.”
Dreck nodded toward the area below the castle walls.
Ron descended with obvious embarrassment, muttering under his breath. Dreck watched him go and released a quiet sigh.
“...As if I don’t have my own concerns.”
Of course he worried about the soldiers and knights. How many years had he served alongside them? How many campaigns had they shared? How could he not care?
If his heart ruled, he’d want to ride to the Dragunov estate himself and kneel if necessary. To explain there seemed to be some misunderstanding, to ask them to set aside their rage. To suggest they work together to find the true culprit.
His pride might suffer, but what was pride against hundreds of lives? Surely it was something he could sacrifice without hesitation.
But I cannot.
With their father participating as a combatant, command of the House fell to him.
For the commanding officer to worry about each individual soldier’s life? That was the surest path to getting everyone killed.
How exhausting.
Dreck Berg sighed deeply as he gazed down from the walls.
Soldiers and knights moved below. Beside them, he could see Ron approaching with the knight called Lancelot.
Dreck pressed his palms together and offered a quiet prayer to the goddess.
Please let as many of them survive this war as possible.
* * *
Clatter-clatter! Clatter-clatter!
I rode hard toward Berg territory, mounted and desperate.
Dammit... Am I too late?
The news had reached the Imperial Court five days ago. The message would have been sent when Count Dragunov departed, meaning the count had left at least two days past...
Of all the cursed timing.
Under normal circumstances, I would have been contacted immediately. Anything involving Berg County would have triggered alerts throughout Lexa’s intelligence network. They probably would have intervened before I even knew to ask.
But this time, they couldn’t.
The High Elder had drawn away all the intelligence services’ attention.
Was this all part of their plan as well?
I bit my lip, wondering if Duke Artezia had orchestrated this entire situation.
Calculating all these unknowns would seem impossible, but with Duke Artezia, it felt plausible.
If that were true... it would mean I’d been dancing to Duke Artezia’s tune all along.
I’m overthinking this.
I shook my head hard and tightened my grip on the reins.
Whatever else might be true, reaching Berg territory was the right choice.
If they’re conducting territorial warfare, they’ll be at the castle walls.
Wars between Houses fell into two categories. Proxy wars fought by those without territory, and territorial wars between landed lords.
Proxy wars typically occurred on neutral plains with hired mercenary companies or small skirmishes. But territorial wars were a form of siege warfare where each side invaded the other’s domain.
Naturally, pillaging and massacre were permitted, and the lords themselves were required to participate in combat.
Even if this weren’t a territorial war, Father would have joined the fighting anyway. The problem is they want our blood.
Usually, even in territorial wars, the goal was capturing prisoners and extracting concessions.
But what Count Dragunov had declared against us was total warfare—a slaughter that would continue until one side was completely annihilated.
The difference in troop numbers is too severe.
I didn’t think the Berg bloodline would fall to the likes of Dragunov, but the disparity in military strength would be significant. And that could be enough to tip the scales.
I sighed softly and gripped the reins again.
Crack.
Neighhhh.
The horse snorted and increased its pace.
I rode for what felt like ages.
Yank.
I pulled the reins and brought the horse to a halt, then stared up at the castle walls with blank shock.
“...What in the—”
The iron-strong Berg castle walls—those magnificent fortifications lay crumbled and burning.
* * *
Before Louis Berg arrived at the castle walls.
“...I’ll kill them all,” Count Dragunov muttered, eyes gleaming with murderous intent.
The knights around him advanced with bloodshot eyes, and even the servants burned with killing rage.
Vengeance. A knightly order forged by that blind emotion—that was what Count Dragunov’s forces had become.
“...We halt here.” Count Dragunov stopped the march and issued his command. “We’ll make camp here tonight and rest.”
His voice was cracked and raw. Hearing their count’s words, the knights began establishing camp with practiced efficiency.
The tents rose quickly. Count Dragunov entered his pavilion and retrieved a bottle of spirits.
Clink.
Rather than pouring it into a cup, he brought the bottle directly to his lips.
“...My son.” Count Dragunov murmured as if in prayer, continuously pouring the alcohol down his throat.
As he grew thoroughly intoxicated, a knight entered the tent and informed him, “My lord, a messenger has arrived.”
Count Dragunov raised his eyes slowly and regarded the knight.
“...A messenger, you said?”
“Yes.”
“...Don’t tell me it’s an envoy from those Berg bastards I’m going to tear apart?”
“That is correct,” the knight answered quietly.
“Hah...hehe...HAHAHAHAHA!”
Count Dragunov erupted in mad laughter.
Having laughed until his voice nearly broke, Count Dragunov spoke to the knight with eyes red as blood. “Bring him in immediately. I need to hear what kind of lies he plans to spout.”
“Yes.” The knight bowed and departed.
Soon after, the knight returned with a trembling man in tow.
The messenger who entered began shaking as he watched Count Dragunov with terrified eyes.
“C-Count, Your Excellence.”
“Get to the point. Listening to that disgusting voice makes me want to vomit.”
“Eep—” The messenger trembled at Count Dragunov’s threat and forced out his words. “Th-that is...we wanted to inform you that this wasn’t our doing.”
“...You didn’t do it?” Count Dragunov asked with a twisted smile.
His eyes blazed with fury, and his fists clenched as if he might murder the messenger where he stood.
“You loathsome creatures...now you want to mock me as well.”
“N-no, that’s not—”
“Silence! How dare you try to make a fool of me with such words!”
Count Dragunov unleashed his killing intent and roared.
A massive sword had appeared in his hand, and tawny Aura rose from the blade like smoke.
Crack. Craaaack.
As Count Dragunov released his power, the ground around them began to split. Tremors shook the earth as if it were convulsing.
Rummmmmble—
A fierce sandstorm began to whirl.
Whoooosh!
“C-Count, please calm yourself...!” The terrified messenger waved his hands frantically.
In that instant—
Whoooosh!
Slash!
The great sword sang through the air as it severed the messenger’s neck.
Thud.
The messenger’s head rolled across the sandy ground.
Count Dragunov breathed heavily and gave his order to the knight. “Clean this up immediately.”
“Yes.” The knight cleared away the messenger’s head and body.
Count Dragunov sheathed his great sword and stepped outside his tent.
In the distance, Berg County finally came into view.
Count Dragunov snarled under his breath with menacing eyes. “Wait for me. You’ll pay dearly for murdering my children.”
With those words, the count returned to his tent and reached for the bottle of spirits.
He would not be sleeping without the mercy of drink tonight.