Chapter 192: Shadow of the Master
The Alliance Forces marched north under Calix's orders. The reality of northern Elvra was more brutal than the war itself. Snow had yet to melt, and burned villages lay buried beneath white ash.
The smell of death drifted with every shift of the wind. Yet people appeared here and there, one by one. Each time the Alliance Forces' banner was raised, children swallowed their cries beneath it.
"Survivor secured on this side!"
"Send the wounded to the Order—to Lady Ella's side!"
Soldiers' shouts spread across the fields. Fatigue and despair retreated as a fragile order began to take shape. The Order's healers stitched wounds while reciting prayers, and Ella's Divinity in particular poured radiant light over the ruins.
With every wave of warmth, the snow melted, and the melt carried blood and ash away into streams.
Volga sat atop his horse, watching the scene in silence. He had received Calix's instructions and was now heading out to sweep the enemy remnants. Cold wind settled on his shoulders, and his breath hung in the air as white mist.
"Captain, the central supply line has been secured."
Royce, receiving the report, still bore the shadows of the battlefield beneath his eyes. He gave a nod, then approached Volga and spoke.
"Be careful. I hear shadows still linger beyond the northern mountain range. Even if they say the enemy's forces have crumbled, trust only what you see and hear yourself."
"Yes."
Volga turned those words over in his mind.
‘Shadows. Whether they were enemies, or humans who had turned traitor—they were far smaller opponents than before. If it couldn't be avoided, he would face it head-on.’
‘He was no longer afraid.’
At that moment, Marik approached and stroked the horse's neck. When his eyes met Volga's, he offered advice in a low, firm voice.
"Walk when you need to walk, run when you need to run. Just keep that in mind. I'm sure you already know."
"……Of course!"
Volga answered promptly, yet felt a strange emotion stir within him. As the Vice-captain had said, there was no great secret to pushing through the dark.
‘Do what must be done.’
It was neither particularly difficult nor easy—and yet it was the hardest demand of all to uphold.
"Captain Volga."
Romance approached and opened his mouth with his usual playful tone.
"All ready. Let's go deal with the rabble in the north."
He grinned and gave a nod.
In the distance, atop a hill, Calix stood.
Their gazes met for a brief moment, but he said nothing. He simply stared at the cavalry banner through the falling snow. Drawn by that gaze, Volga fell silent for a time.
In that single instant, the world went quiet.
Volga understood what his brilliant friend was thinking.
Now, it was their hands that had to build the order.
No gold, no power like that of an emperor—none of it needed to be sought.
"We march."
The words rang out across the field.
Hundreds of Mountain Rabbits turned their horses' heads, and the Niboria knights followed behind. It was the first independent mission ever given to Volga. Many followed Calix's orders, but to follow ‘his’ orders—that was an entirely different matter.
The tracks in the snow pointed in the direction they had gone.
Kotchap let out a hollow laugh and muttered.
"Nobody back home would believe us. That we're not just mercenaries anymore…… But pillars of the Alliance Forces."
The laughter scattered into the wind. But that wind soon turned into a flame, and swept northward.
***
Calix divided the Alliance Forces' main body and sent them in several directions. Knowing that the enemy groups had splintered into smaller fragments, he dispatched only as many troops as were needed to each place.
In the end, however, the most critical axis was the cavalry led by Volga.
The ruined fortress stood as if it had burned out every last trace of life—blackened and hollow. The gate was half-melted, and the tops of the towers still bore the marks of fire. Yet amidst it all, clear signs of human presence remained.
The gaping gate had been reinforced with wooden planks, and from within came the scraping of iron mixed with human groans.
That was why the cavalry's advance had stopped.
"Looks like an Elvra resistance force. They say resistance is still continuing."
Before the fortress gate, Romance reported in a low voice.
"The Order's side wants to open a dialogue, but no one inside is listening."
"Then we go ask in person."
Without delay, Volga pulled the troops back and approached the fortress gate.
The defensive barricades before the gate were blackened with char. The smell of blood mingled with old iron, choking the air. There would have been no food, no supplies. It was plain that inside, they had waged their own desperate fight.
Now, however, it was meaningless.
Atop the walls stood several knights. They wore neglected armor and held flags too worn to make out.
"We will lay the foundation of the Elvra Kingdom anew!"
Their cry echoed through the air. The sound rang out like a prayer—yet within it trembled despair. Volga spotted the person in charge at a glance.
An old knight was using his scabbard as a walking stick. His hair was white as snow, and one shoulder was wrapped in bandages.
"I am Volga of the Mountain Rabbits! The war is over—what on earth are you still fighting?"
A brief commotion stirred atop the walls. In its wake, the old knight leaned his head out over the battlements.
"I am Carvel, knight of Elvra! What exactly do you claim is over?"
"That is—"
"Men of Niboria, go back!"
The exchange was cut off before it had even begun.
The old knight Carvel shouted in a hoarse voice.
"Just because the monster is gone does not mean the human world has returned."
It was a frustrating thing to hear. But rather than blaming the man, Volga slowly chewed over his words. This was not resistance, nor a hunger for power.
‘It's fear.’
They had despised Verhas, yet at the same time had grown accustomed to its dominion. That was perhaps why they were fighting desperately to preserve their own order.
"……Your fight is over."
Volga replied calmly.
"Now is the time to rebuild."
"Rebuild who, for what? For the emperor of the Empire? Under the banner of Niboria?"
Carvel let out a short, derisive laugh.
"We will not become the Empire's dogs."
Faced with the firm refusal, Volga thought briefly.
‘What would Calix have done?’
His patience did not last long. In the end, he reached for his own way of doing things. Setting aside complex calculations, he focused on a single fact.
"Wouldn't it be better to even be a dog?"
"What did you say?"
"If barking can save people's lives, then that's what must be done."
For a moment, the air went still.
Romance and Kotchap shook their heads as if there was no helping him, while Carvel's eyes filled with anger. He ground his back teeth together, then barely forced out the words.
"I have already seen countless barking dogs. Yet not a single one managed to save anyone. You look presentable enough on the outside, but you are a man who knows nothing of a knight's honor."
A gaze laced with hostility poured down from the walls. To this, Volga shrugged and replied,
"Then, would you be so kind as to teach me that honor?"
"I intend to."
Their eyes met. The knights standing beside Carvel tried to stop him, but in the end the old knight opened the fortress gate and stepped outside.
Volga, too, drew his troops well back. He slowly drew his sword. A massive two-handed blade came into view.
'Stop carrying that club around.'
A gift from his master and the most important dwarf of all dwarves—Basim. At once, waves of mana rippled out from both of them at center. Yet Carvel's blade shimmered a colorless hue, while Volga's crackled with vivid sparks.
"At such a young age…… to have touched Falling Fire."
Volga offered no reply to the old man's murmur.
Instead, he pictured his friend. And he retraced every step of the path they had walked together. A fight that began with desire, and ended in order. That was the path Calix had shown him.
Volga had walked that path alongside him, and had taken hold of his own sword.
"Here I come."
His feet moved forward. Where the energies clashed, the snow on the ground was swept outward. The firelight quivered in small tremors.
The moment the 2 blades collided, the air let out a scream and split apart.
The sound of that collision drove into the ground before the fortress like a bolt of lightning.
***
The blades clashed without pause. Short metallic cries rang out, and snow scattered in their wake. The air before the fortress hung heavy, as if frozen.
As Volga stepped forward, shards of snow shattered and sang.
Carvel read the sound alone and turned his body. What radiated from the old knight was not pressure, but experience.
With each sweep of his blade through the air, the air was split open. Wind's Scar. Snowflakes scattered along the trajectory.
Volga read the gaps. The old knight's strikes were by no means fast. But they had flow. Even pressed down by force repeatedly, he took the momentum and returned it.
"Strong but light, young sword."
Carvel growled the words, and Volga replied while steadying his breath.
"It is not light. If that is how it felt, I am disappointed."
Honestly, even to himself it felt clumsy. A club and a two-handed sword were different from the very basics of how they were handled. And yet, at the same time, their purpose was the same.
Volga twisted the sword.
Energy rose as the hilt vibrated finely. For an instant the air around the blade shuddered, and sparks flashed as they scattered.
Falling Fire.
It was different from Calix's. Unrefined, and unstable. Yet that instability was not something just anyone could wield.
Carvel, startled, pressed forward. He swept through the air, stirring a whirlwind along the path of his sword. The moment the snowflakes scattered at the blade's tip, the sound of wind being cut rang out.
It was his trump card.
But it was already too late. Volga's flames devoured the opponent's energy alive. The hefty two-handed sword then slammed down onto the center of Carvel's blade.
Crack—the sound rang, and the broken blade fell to the earth. The metal fragments, touched by residual heat, glowed reddish as though they had been heated in advance.
Volga halted his movement immediately after. He let out a short breath and gazed steadily at the man before him.
"……!"
Carvel had been holding back his frustration, when at some point he realized his body was trembling faintly. From the outset, the two had been separated by an unbridgeable gap in speed.
Thud.
Carvel knelt. Steam rose from the joints of his armor as if to announce his limits.
After a long silence, the old knight muttered quietly.
"……Your sword holds no desire."
As he had said, Volga had shown him mercy. But Volga himself simply shrugged as if it were nothing.
"If desire leads the way, when would this fight ever end?"
A moment later, the old knight gave a labored nod. Blood and tears ran down his face together.
"……I shall follow your will."
The moment those words fell, Volga sheathed his sword. The tips of his fingers still held heat, but the flame that had spread within his heart burned hotter still.
From atop the walls, gazes mixed with admiration and fear poured down. Rather than pointing fingers in contempt, they whispered to one another asking who that young swordsman was.
"That guy…… might actually be pretty strong?"
An unexpected realization came to him.
And from that day on, people truly called him by a different name.
Upper-Rank Knight, Volga.
The shadow of Master Calix.