March of Victory
Translator: Cinder Translations
...
They lay quietly in the bushes, barely daring to breathe, afraid of making even the slightest noise.
When the eerie howls of wolves finally faded into the distance, Samal pulled out a tin flask and handed it over. Giles took it greedily, gulping down the water inside. The liquid dribbled from the cracks in his lips, seeping into his collar and leaving dark stains on his clothes.
Wendell whispered, "We should be about thirty miles from the safe zone."
Samal asked, "Safe zone? Are you sure it's safe? What if the Northerners' soldiers get there ahead of us?"
Wendell removed his glasses and wiped the condensation off the lenses with his sleeve. "Of course, assuming the royal army's hounds haven't sealed off the mountain pass. Otherwise, we'll have to take a much longer detour."
His words dampened everyone's spirits.
Just as Samal was about to speak, Grand Duke Giles suddenly covered his mouth.
Danger had returned.
The mountain wind carried broken sounds, the closest disturbance less than a hundred paces from their rocky hiding place. Giles could feel the rough calluses on the Duke's hand, honed by years of swordsmanship, scraping against his lips. The taste of blood mixed with dirt filled his mouth.
He saw the source of the threat—a massive black-spotted mountain tiger sniffing the ground, searching.
The southern region's climate was ideal for vegetation, providing abundant food for herbivores, which in turn sustained large numbers of carnivores. The food chain extended in layers, making the mountain forests rich in wildlife—not only wolves and jackals but also formidable beasts like this tiger.
Under normal circumstances, Giles would have been thrilled to see such a magnificent beast. With his entourage armed with weapons of all kinds, a predator like this would have been just another trophy in his illustrious hunting career.
He loved surrounding his prey, trapping it within an ever-shrinking circle as his men closed in. The fear and helplessness in the eyes of the hunted, the inevitable surrender to fate—these were the Duke's favorite thrills.
But now, Giles felt nothing but fear. There were only five of them, including himself. Against such a predator, they stood little chance—one misstep, and they would become the beast's next meal. Five men—enough food to sustain this creature for a month.
"Heavenly Father, grant me your protection…" Giles usually muttered this phrase as an empty habit, but now he prayed with genuine devotion, pleading for a miracle.
With his hunting experience, he knew how terrifyingly sharp a black-spotted mountain tiger's sense of smell was. At such close range, finding them would be easier than spotting a roasted chicken in a kitchen.
And yet, miraculously, the beast sniffed around and then slowly moved away.
Only when the last traces of sound disappeared did everyone let out the breath they had been holding. Giles finally noticed his sword hand was drenched in sweat.
When the surroundings were completely silent, they resumed their journey.
Giles' deerskin boots were already soaked through, and every step felt like stepping on a rotting corpse. Suddenly, he tripped over a tree root and fell face-first into a freezing mud pit.
His men hurried to pull him out, but Wendell suddenly started frantically patting his clothes, making a wounded animal-like whimper.
"What's wrong?"
"Damn it! My pocket watch—it fell into the mud! That was a family heirloom, crafted by the finest watchmaker in Five Rams City. I have to find it! Just wait a moment—"
"Forget it, fool," Giles snapped, wringing out his soaked cloak. "Even if you had the royal seal itself, those ignorant mountain folk would only trade it for a few coppers."
"Sir, I'm not trying to sell it!"
Giles responded coldly, "We're not waiting for you. I'm not staying here a second longer!"
With that, he turned and stomped off, fuming. The others exchanged a glance before following him.
A deep sense of sorrow gripped Wendell's heart, but in the end, he had no choice but to follow his companions.
As Giles walked, a name suddenly surfaced in his mind.
Paul Grayman!
It was strange how much he hated a man he had never even met.
The Grand Duke Greedy Wolf believed his downfall began with this man. If he survived this crisis, he swore to exact vengeance—a hundredfold, a thousandfold, even ten thousandfold.
—
With no way forward and no retreat, the defenders of Eagle's Beak Pass quickly surrendered.
The news of victory was rushed back to the capital, Crystal Glare, bringing immense joy to King Rodney XVIII.
Unable to contain his excitement, he immediately summoned his ministers. At their suggestion, the palace planned a grand ball to celebrate the victory.
The crystal chandeliers illuminated the banquet hall as if it were daylight, their light bouncing between gilded mirrors. The diamond medal on Rodney XVIII's chest gleamed brilliantly.
Raising a sapphire-encrusted goblet, the king watched the champagne bubbles dance like the swirling skirts of the noblewomen.
"A toast to victory!" His voice echoed under the vaulted ceiling. The musicians struck up a triumphant tune, nobles raised their glasses, and the ladies' fans opened in unison, like a swarm of vibrant butterflies taking flight.
Pinned to the king's attire was a newly forged medal—a gift from the frontline soldiers, cast from the melted-down weapons of the rebels.
"I heard Giles fled into the mountains like a stray dog."
"That scoundrel finally met his match."
The ministers crowded around the king, delighting in the thought of the once-dreaded enemy now reduced to a fugitive.
For years, the nobles of Crystal Glare had spoken of Giles with gritted teeth, but they had been powerless against him—until now.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the entrance. Servants wheeled in a massive statue—a goddess of victory, also forged from confiscated rebel weapons.
Rodney's expression turned solemn as he gazed upon the statue.
"A toast to Aldor! A toast to the heroes on the front lines!"
The king raised his goblet high and loudly declared his toast.
The musicians immediately struck up the newly composed "March of Victory"…
(End of the Chapter)
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