Chapter 104.5
Chapter 104.5: Old Battlefield Grudges·The Noble Seeking Revenge
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Not long after leaving the village and heading north, the group arrived in Vorig, a fortress city near the Kingdom of Ester.
For travelers, Vorig served as the main transit point to the famed Magic City.
"This is the last major city before reaching the Magic City," Ash remarked. "If you need anything specific, this is your last chance to get it."
Frieren, who was quite familiar with this area, glanced at the fortress city in the distance and naturally offered guidance to the group, speaking with the authority of someone who had been here before.
"This is the last chance to prepare. Make sure you're ready before we head to the Magic City," she reminded them.
However, Fern's face darkened as she pulled out her purse and inspected its contents. "Lady Frieren… we're out of travel funds. Without using Lord Ash's money, we won't even have a place to stay tonight, let alone buy anything unusual."
"...Accept Ash's money? No way," Frieren replied, visibly distressed as she frowned in thought. "If we rely on him the whole way, I'll never hear the end of it. He'll tease me mercilessly later."
Despite her response, she didn't seem to arrive at a solid conclusion. Suddenly, her gaze shifted to the road behind them, her expression growing serious.
A noble's carriage had come to a halt nearby.
The occupants—a butler-like old man, a one-eyed middle-aged man with an aristocratic air, and a young man with slicked-back red hair—were staring at them with undisguised hostility.
The young man, in particular, bore a striking resemblance to the second son of the village chief they had recently encountered, though his polished demeanor and hairstyle marked him as a noble.
"…Frieren, are they your enemies?" Sein asked, glancing at her with suspicion. Knowing she'd been to this region before, he assumed she might have crossed paths with them.
Frieren tilted her head in confusion, clearly uncertain. "…I don't like the owner of this territory, but I don't think I've offended any nobles."
"But if you don't like them, that probably means you offended them without realizing it, right?" Fern interjected nervously.
Having grown up under Ash's tutelage, Fern had been educated to tread carefully around nobles. Her wariness deepened when she noticed all three figures had their hands resting on their weapons.
Her instincts told her to flee.
Before any of them could act, the red-haired boy stepped forward. He removed his gloves with deliberate ceremony and threw them at Ash's feet.
"…Is he challenging Lord Ash?" Fern blinked in confusion.
"(Did he throw it at the wrong person?)" Sein muttered under his breath, crouching down to pick up the gloves. Without thinking, he placed them at Frieren feet.
This strange act made Frieren scowl in frustration. "What are you doing? Why are you dragging me into this? Just give them to Ash and let him deal with it!"
Before Sein could respond, the boy's voice rang out, sharp and angry:
"—You let your servant throw the gloves that symbolize a duel at a child's feet? Do you lack even the courage to accept a challenge properly?"
"Huh? So it is Master Ash you're after?" Fern asked, still puzzled.
"Wait, hold on! I'm a priest! Why am I being called a servant?" Sein protested, clearly offended.
"…And I'm a child?" Fern's voice was tinged with disbelief.
The three of them stood there, varying degrees of shock and bewilderment evident on their faces.
Only Ash remained composed, his expression unchanging as he calmly studied the boy before him. After a moment, he spread his hands in exasperation.
"Sorry, you must have the wrong person. I don't think I know you," Ash said simply.
"You may not know me, but I know you!" the boy spat angrily. "You're the one who took my father's eyes!"
"Is that so? Hmm… who's your father again?" Ash asked, tilting his head in feigned curiosity.
"One of the three great knights of the northern countries—the head of the Vorig family, Orden!"
"Ah, Orden, was it?" Ash said, as though he'd just remembered something.
Fern tugged uneasily at Ash's sleeve, her face pale. "Lord Ash, what's going on? Did you… accidentally hurt a noble named Orden?"
"No, you misunderstood. I have no memory of that name whatsoever. I only pretended to recognize it," Ash said casually, waving his hand dismissively.
"—You bastard…!" The boy's face flushed with anger as he prepared to attack.
However, before he could act, his father—Orden, a middle-aged man with a knife scar running down the right side of his face and a black eye patch—placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Wirt, stand down. You are no match for him," Orden commanded with a grave tone.
"—Father!?" Wirt's voice trembled with frustration and disbelief.
"You are indeed a skilled warrior, but this man… he's beyond your current ability," Orden said, shaking his head. He turned his gaze toward Ash, his voice tense as he asked, "Why are you here in my territory? Why not remain in the Kingdom of Ester?"
"It's just part of the journey," Ash replied nonchalantly. "Are you sure you're not mistaking me for someone else?"
Orden's grip on his sword tightened as he ignored the question. "You don't remember? Let me remind you." His voice grew heavier as he recounted, "Thirteen years ago, outside Kager Pass near the magic city of the Ester Kingdom… during a border skirmish where Ester used monsters in combat, I was about to kill a rock dragon. You appeared out of nowhere and took my eye with a single strike."
The weight of his words hung in the air as he recounted the battle—a conflict that left him disfigured and humiliated. His one remaining eye bore into Ash with unrelenting anger, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword.
Yet, despite the seething rage bubbling within him, Orden held himself back. He knew all too well that the man standing before him wasn't an ordinary adventurer. Ash's presence suggested someone of high rank from the enemy nation, a figure who wouldn't hesitate to slaughter them all if provoked.
If a fight broke out now, neither he nor his men would have a chance of survival.
---
In the years that followed, relations between humans and demons had grown unusually restrained. Conflict between the two sides had decreased to the lowest point in recorded history.
On the surface, this should have been a blessing. Yet, as wars with demons waned, tensions among human nations escalated. With no common enemy to unite them, rulers turned their ambitions toward each other.
While these wars weren't uncommon even during the demon skirmishes, the lack of demonic interference fueled greater fervor and conflict among nations.
For nobles in border regions, this meant serving as the vanguard in any disputes. Regardless of the opponent—be it human or demon—the duty of leading the charge always fell to them.
---
Thirteen years ago, Orden had been tasked with such a duty. At the time, the Kingdom of Ester had drawn the ire of neighboring nations. Fearing Ester's expansionist ambitions, several countries formed a coalition to contain them.
Orden's role was to provoke minor skirmishes along the border at Kager Pass, diverting part of Ester's forces and tying them down. His orders were simple—create friction without escalating to full-scale war.
However, events quickly spiraled beyond his expectations.
The Kingdom of Ester unilaterally declared the area within a ten-kilometer radius of Kager Pass as a demilitarized buffer zone, warning other nations not to approach with armed forces.
"—This is preposterous!" Orden roared, slamming his fist on the table as he read the decree. Though his initial orders had been to provoke Ester, their blatant arrogance left him fuming.
Driven by both frustration and defiance, Orden made a bold decision: he ordered his entire force to march into the so-called buffer zone, deliberately provoking Ester's wrath.
The preparations for the siege were far from complete. Orden had no intention of bearing the heavy losses that a siege would entail. Sacrificing his family's elite troops in such a futile endeavor could leave his house vulnerable upon returning to the kingdom, making it an easy target for rival nobles to exploit—or even outright annex.
The arrival of his large army served a dual purpose: showcasing his strength while signaling a firm and unyielding stance. Yet, the unfolding events far exceeded anything he could have anticipated.
---
In the dead of night, the gates of the enemy's pass suddenly creaked open. Without warning, a massive force surged out—knights, soldiers, monsters, and several dragons pouring forth like an unstoppable tide.
The Vorig troops, caught off guard, were thrown into disarray. Chaos consumed the camp as the swift advance of cavalry and monsters shattered their defensive line with terrifying ease.
Orden, one of the three great knights of the mountain, was jolted awake by the commotion. Without hesitation, he grabbed his sword and rushed to the front line, confronting a rock dragon that was slaughtering his men with savage abandon.
With his unmatched combat prowess, Orden managed to halt the dragon's rampage. Supported by his most loyal men, he even forced the dragon warrior into a desperate position. Victory seemed within his grasp.
But then—
"—?!"
A surge of instinctual dread forced Orden to pull back at the very last moment, leaping away just as he was about to land the finishing blow on the dragon.
The next instant—
A white arc of light sliced through the air. The scythe-like slash carried an overwhelming, murderous intent, grazing Orden's cheek and spilling blood in its wake. The brutal strike left a deep, horrific wound across his face.
Tragically, his right eye was the victim of the attack, reduced to a mangled, bloody mess. The sight was gruesome, but had he not reacted in time, the blow would have surely taken his head.
Through the haze of pain and terror, Orden's gaze locked onto his attacker—a seemingly young boy.
"…I even caught you off guard, but you still managed to dodge. Not bad," the boy said, his voice calm and indifferent.
Ash, the boy in question, hadn't intended to intervene initially. He was only trying to save the dragon, which he had been hunting. Sighing in mild disappointment at losing his prey, he made no further moves, his demeanor utterly nonchalant.
However, this casual attitude only served to infuriate Orden. The boy's cold indifference toward the lives he had taken was chilling, his presence utterly alien to the battlefield's chaos.
"You bastard!" Orden roared. "Kill him!"
Before Orden could intervene, dozens of knights charged at Ash, their battle cries echoing across the field.
What followed was nothing short of a massacre.
The knights, brave and resolute on any battlefield, proved no match for Ash. They fell like leaves in a storm, their lives extinguished with terrifying ease.
Ash didn't even spare them a glance. His movements were fluid and precise, each swing of his blade exuding a sense of mockery toward the knights' futile bravery. The air shimmered with silver arcs as his sword cut through flesh and armor alike, leaving trails of death in its wake.
One by one, the knights fell, reduced to lifeless husks. The battlefield, which should have been a place of valor and resistance, became a stage for a chillingly one-sided slaughter. Ash's efficiency was ruthless, his strikes too swift and decisive to counter.
The air grew cold with the stench of blood, the sounds of battle replaced by the sickening thuds of bodies hitting the ground and the occasional, heart-wrenching cries of the fallen.
Orden, dragged away from the carnage by his men, could only watch in powerless horror. Humiliation burned in his heart as he witnessed the scene before him—a scene of unparalleled cruelty and merciless efficiency.
In this bold counterattack, which turned passivity into initiative and demonstrated overwhelming force, the warlike Lord Vorig was utterly unprepared and defeated without even donning his armor. The sheer decisiveness of his defeat shocked other nations, forcing them to suppress their own impulses for preemptive strikes.
Although occasional skirmishes persisted between the Kingdom of Ester and neighboring nations, no large-scale wars erupted. For the next thirteen years, an uneasy but enduring peace held sway.
---
Even after more than a decade, Orden, who had commissioned a portrait of Ash, could not erase the humiliation of that fateful day from his memory.
The heart-stopping massacre and Ash's terrifying strength were forever etched into his mind. Despite the carnage being anything but "astonishing," Orden found himself recalling the boy who had robbed him of his eye and ended his career as a warrior.
Fate, however, seemed to have other plans. On an otherwise routine outing with his eldest son, Orden unexpectedly crossed paths with him—the boy who had not aged a day in more than ten years.
It defied belief that the young man remained unchanged after all these years, but Orden's warrior instincts left no doubt. The aura of danger emanating from the boy confirmed it: this was the same person who had nearly ended his life on the battlefield all those years ago.
"…To you, I was probably just another weak opponent you could defeat with ease," Orden said slowly, his intense gaze fixed on Ash. "But back then, when I dodged that fatal strike and managed to retreat, you seemed… surprised. And yet, you let me go, treating me as a nobody."
"Ah… now that you put it that way, I do remember," Ash replied, his tone nonchalant. "But don't phrase it so harshly. I just didn't see the need for more unnecessary bloodshed."
As Orden detailed the time, place, and events of that day, Ash finally pieced together the memory from thirteen years prior.
He had indeed gone to observe the battlefield that year, as it marked the debut of controlled dragons in border skirmishes. However, while protecting one such dragon, he had launched a sneak attack on an enemy warrior—only for the man to evade his killing blow.
At the time, Ash had been mildly surprised by Orden's quick reflexes. But his priority had been safeguarding the dragon, and he had no interest in wasting time on a single opponent. Instead, it was the knights who repeatedly charged at him, forcing his hand—a situation that left him more annoyed than anything else.
Ash's seemingly casual explanation only deepened Orden's frustration. Gritting his teeth, he snapped, "Not wanting to cause unnecessary bloodshed? At that time, you could have—"
"—I was merely brushing off the sparks that happened to land on me," Ash interjected smoothly, cutting Orden off before he could finish. Turning to his companions, he continued, "After all, I didn't actively attack them. They charged at me, and I defended myself. It was a battlefield, after all. Did you expect the enemy to simply stand by and do nothing?"
"…Indeed." Orden exhaled heavily, as though letting go of a long-held burden. Perhaps he saw little point in continuing this confrontation. Resigned, he tugged at his son's arm and turned away, heading toward the waiting carriage.
"It's hardly chivalrous to pursue a battlefield grudge outside its bounds," he muttered. "Leave Vorig immediately—before I change my mind."
"At times like this, isn't it customary to set aside our differences and shake hands in peace? After all, this isn't the battlefield anymore," Ash retorted lightly, his voice carrying an air of detached amusement.
But Orden and his son didn't look back. Instead, they climbed into the carriage with a final snort of disdain, the tension still palpable as they hurried back to the city.
As the carriage disappeared into the distance, Ash found his troubles far from over. Behind him, three sets of eyes were fixed on him—each gaze filled with curiosity and unease.