Barcas raised his head and let out a thunderous roar.
"I will spare the lives of those who lay down their weapons and surrender peacefully!"
A heavy silence briefly weighed down the battlefield.
The soldiers, who had been glancing at one another, eventually laid down their weapons one by one.
The dull thud of swords and spears striking the ground spread out like waves from him. Screams and sharp metallic sounds still echoed from behind the fortress walls, but no fighting spirit could be found among the soldiers filling the interior.
Barcas, scanning his surroundings with a sharp gaze, soon drew his sword from the man's shoulder. A low groan escaped from between the lips of the man, who had been tenaciously enduring the pain.
Barcas brought the tip of his sword, which was covered in scallions, to the nape of his neck and gestured toward the soldiers with his chin.
“Arrest him.”
As soon as his order was given, soldiers from the Imperial Army swarmed in, roughly subdued the man, and tightly bound a rope around his crushed wrist.
Finally, as the restraints were finished, Barcas sheathed his sword at his waist and added in a cold tone.
"I will bring this man before the Imperial court to charge him with treason. Let him live."
Then, as he turned sharply to check the situation behind him, a husky laugh that sounded like it was scraped up from deep in his throat stopped him in his tracks.
Barcas hesitated, turned around, and asked with a furrowed brow.
“...What’s so funny?”
"Ah. I apologize if I offended you. Your Excellency, the Grand Duke's loyalty to the Imperial Family is so admirable, you see. I simply cannot hold back my laughter."
The man, wrapped in red armor and shrugging his massive shoulders, spat out languidly.
"It feels just like looking at a well-trained guard dog. It seems the rumors that the priests of Osiria have tamed the Grand Duke's heir very well were not unfounded."
Suddenly, the surrounding air froze rapidly.
An enraged warrior from the East pinned the man to the shoulder with his spear shaft and raised his voice.
"How dare a sinner speak so presumptuously!"
Fresh blood gushed from the wound, but the man paid no heed.
The man, who was looking straight up at him with gleaming eyes, continued his provocations.
"Where on earth did you throw away your warrior's pride? Your ancestors fought against the Empire to the very end. King Sheerkhan, who once struck terror into the continent of Robiden, even inflicted a fatal wound on the hero Uyghur in his final battle. To think that the descendant of such a great warrior would volunteer to be a servant of the Guirta family... Your ancestors must be shedding tears of blood in the afterlife right now.
"...I wondered what you were talking about."
As he quietly looked down at the man, a faint smirk spread across the corners of Barcas's lips.
He bent his upper body toward the man and responded gently.
"There is nothing as hollow as a loser's eloquence."
The man's shoulders stiffened slightly. Although his expression could not be clearly seen due to the helmet, it was not difficult to guess that the smile had vanished from his face.
"Shall I ask you a question? How does it feel to have lost everything at the hands of that 'well-trained guard dog' you mocked?"
"..."
"Your ambition has been trampled under my feet. The Heimdall clan is annihilated, and before long, your body will vanish into the dew of the executioner. And the name Bjorn Blodar Heimdall will be recorded in history as that of a defeated general who met a miserable end after a reckless rebellion."
Barcas grabbed the man's lower face and asked in a low voice.
"Where. How does it feel to have hit rock bottom?"
"...It's really dirty."
The man spoke as if spitting it out through his teeth. A cold breath shot through the visor onto his face.
"However, I will skip the detailed explanation of just how disgusting I feel. Your Excellency, the Grand Duke, will soon experience this sensation firsthand."
Barcas frowned.
A strange chill ran down his spine in an instant.
Barcas, instinctively realizing that he was not bluffing, kicked the man in the abdomen with his boot.
With a dull thud, the man's body was thrown sideways. The impact must have snapped the chin strap, as the helmet flew upward.
Barcas grabbed it, tore it off in one swift motion, roughly twisted the thick, blood-stained platinum blonde hair, and pulled it up violently.
"I don't know what kind of trick you're trying to pull, but you're already finished. Even if you struggle now, the outcome won't be different..."
The cold voice that had been continuing suddenly cut off. The bluish dawn light, gradually brightening, clearly illuminated the man's face.
The man twisted the corners of his mouth and asked languidly.
“Do you recognize me?”
A suppressed voice escaped from Barcas's stiff, rigid mouth.
"Roman Tallis..."
"I'm glad you haven't forgotten me."
The strange smile rising on the man's lips deepened.
Barcas tightened his grip on his hair and roughly snapped his head back. Although the color of his hair was different, it was clearly the heretic hunter who had once run rampant through his territory.
He asked as if growling.
"What on earth were you doing in the East?"
"There is no need to get so angry. Just as you have been rummaging through my territory for years, I have merely stirred up yours a little..."
The man shrugged his shoulders slightly and chuckled.
"I've put quite a bit of effort into this, so Kalmor must be a complete mess by now."
Barcas's face slowly contorted.
A triumphant laugh burst from the man's mouth at the sight.
"Why the look on your face? Did you really think your own home would be safe after laying waste to my territory? Ha ha! If you were going to throw a wrench in someone else's plans, you should have been prepared for your own workplace to become a complete mess!"
A fist wearing a leather glove struck the man's face. As it chuckled, the man's face was helplessly turned to the side.
As Barcas grabbed the hair again, he staggered as if about to collapse, and a bloodied face filled his vision once more.
He spat out the blood pooled in his mouth and muttered slowly.
"While you serve as the Imperial Household's loyal dog, a bloody feast will be taking place in the East. Your castle and property will be engulfed in flames, leaving nothing but ashes, and your family will all meet a gruesome death. And your woman..."
A strange smile lingered on the corners of his mouth, which were drenched in blood.
"I specifically instructed them to put extra effort into that cutie. By now, she's probably having a very stimulating time with the barbarian men. It's just a shame I can't join in."
The sound of frivolous, giggling laughter echoed grotesquely in the chaotic castle courtyard.
"By now, she must be in a wreck... Ugh!"
Blood gushed from the man's mouth. Only upon seeing this did Barcas realize that he had plunged a dagger into his neck.
The sound of soldiers gasping in surprise could be heard faintly. However, Barcas could feel no emotion.
Barcas, gripping the back of the man's head tightly and thrusting the dagger deep inside, slowly moved his arm to the side. The eyes of the man, whose neck had been pierced alive, were stained with pain.
Staring straight into those pitch-black pupils, he moved the knife very slowly. The gleaming blade moved sideways little by little, severing stiff muscles, blood vessels, and nerves. Just as the man gasped and tried to breathe through his severed airway, the light eventually vanished from his eyes.
Barcas pulled the tip of the sword to the other side and lifted the blood-spilling head. The soldiers watching the scene from very close by slumped to the ground and vomited.
Barcas threw the enemy commander's head in front of the knights without even glancing at them.
"Hang them on the city wall."
Even the knights, who were fed up with all kinds of horrific events, were so intimidated that not a single one dared to step forward.
While they hesitated, Barcas hurriedly crossed the castle grounds, trampling over the mountains of corpses.
Upon reaching the vicinity of the castle gate, Wolfram's cavalry was seen regrouping. Barcas approached them directly and issued an order in a chillingly calm voice.
"Gather all troops immediately. Go straight to Kalmor."
As if realizing that something unusual had happened, Darren blew his horn without delay to rally the warriors of the East.
Barcas roughly pulled the reins of Tork, who was tied near the camp, and stared at the sun, which was beginning to rise its head between the black mountain peaks.
A sharp beam of light pierced his retina like a thorn. Barcas, who had closed and opened his eyes for a moment due to a strange dizziness, soon mounted the saddle.
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