“Sh-shit…”
Hans, a soldier dispatched from the Royal Palace, leaned against the castle wall.
The curse that slipped from his lips perfectly captured the anguish he felt.
How long had it been since he’d been sent to Riot Castle? Perhaps around three months.
Hans still hadn’t adapted to the Demonic Energy.
Just moments ago, he’d been pushed out to the castle courtyard by the Alliance’s harsh orders, calling upon Hor, but fear was still fear, no matter what.
He raised his weary head to look up at the sky.
A patch of sky was filled with pitch-black mist.
That black fog prowled, always waiting for a chance to invade Riot Castle.
It was a sight he’d grown accustomed to over the past three months. What wasn’t natural was now taken for granted.
Perhaps, Hans thought, there was something wrong with his eyes as he rubbed them vigorously.
“It’s still there.”
“Idiot, rubbing your eyes won’t change anything.”
His comrade, James, plopped down beside him with a thud.
James’s language was just as coarse, and Hans heard another string of curses muttered under his breath.
Hans let out a dry chuckle.
It wasn’t because anything was funny.
By now, even these ordinary soldiers knew.
That damned plague would soon make its appearance.
“Yeah. Rubbing my eyes isn’t going to change anything.”
“Why are you suddenly so calm, you little whiner?”
As Hans stayed silent, James opened his eyes wide.
“But what’s going to change, just because we’re here?”
“Yeah, right, like that’ll ever happen.”
“Damn it! Why on earth……!”
Even without hearing the end of Hans’s words, muffled between his knees, James knew what he meant.
He’d heard it so often his ears were scabbed over.
What could mere soldiers like themselves do in a castle where even Knights were dying one after another—
James shook his head, annoyed at the endless laments that seemed to play on a loop.
“All the soldiers here feel the same. But at least they don’t whine like you do.”
“Ha! Don’t they? There’s a cartful of guys crying their eyes out every night! Even you, not long ago…”
“That was just because you ruined the mood, you dolt!”
The soldiers’ morale was at its lowest.
If you had to pick the main culprit, Hans was the obvious choice, but even without him, things wouldn’t have been much better.
Riot Castle’s garrison totaled 3,300.
Of those, 2,000 were regular soldiers.
With 1,300 Knights and 2,000 soldiers, the distribution was odd.
In truth, this was because the Kingdom’s situation was so dire that only the minimum necessary force had been dispatched to Riot Castle.
But for the soldiers themselves, it only meant feeling like David surrounded by Goliaths, weighed down by crushing pressure.
“They’re definitely using us as meat shields.”
“Shut up! Don’t jinx us with that kind of talk.”
Hans fell silent at his companion’s rebuke and gazed up at the banners flying from the highest point of Riot Castle.
There were seven banners in total.
Five for the Martial Union’s noble houses, one for the Baren Kingdom, and finally, a banner with a cross.
What caught Hans’s eye was the cross-emblazoned banner.
Wasn’t that the Sacred Emblem of Hor, said to have protected Riot Castle?
“Hey, James!”
“What?”
“Do you believe in gods?”
“In our situation? What choice do we have but to believe?”
The life of a soldier was truly harsh.
In the morning, they worked on reinforcing the castle, and in the afternoon, they were driven outside to run over land soaked with Demonic Energy.
The sensation of their flesh rotting from within was horrifying beyond words.
It was a feeling no amount of training could ever make them used to.
“If it weren’t for that banner, we’d have lost our minds already.”
James nodded towards the Banner of the Hor Church with his chin.
Each time the wind fluttered it, the radiant light shimmered.
Not just that emblem, but all the banners hung around the castle exuded a light that protected Riot Castle from Demonic Energy.
That was the protection of Hor.
No one—whether from the Alliance, Royal Knights, or regular soldiers—could avoid being encouraged to trust in Hor.
They even taught them songs. That said it all.
Thanks to that, the reinforcements from the Royal Palace had been forced to call on Hor, even if reluctantly.
Someone among the soldiers had once complained that, in moments of extreme fear, all they could rely on was Hor or some other nonsense.
But Hans was different.
“I… that’s not enough for me…”
No matter how much he looked to the light, no matter how many times he called Hor’s name, his anxiety never eased.
Richard von Bartenberg—whom he’d met on the way to Riot Castle.
He thought only that man, the subject of so many heroic tales, could soothe his heart.
“Damn, to think when I met him, he was already retreating. If there really is a god, something like this would never happen to me.”
***
Thus….
So the weary days in Riot Castle dragged on.
With each day, the Demonic Energy grew thicker, to the point that they could barely continue training.
The Lord of Riot Castle, Lord Ord, declared this was a sign of the Plague’s coming.
In the end, the soldiers, who had never really adapted to the Demonic Energy, had to halt their training and focus on reinforcing the castle.
Bwooo, bwooooo—
Then, it happened.
No—for Hans, it was nothing short of a miracle.
“T-this aura…”
Lord Ord’s startled voice echoed along the castle wall.
Where his gaze pointed, a group of riders was galloping towards them.
“Ha ha… geez.
“Honestly! If you were coming, you could have sent word!”
The men gathered at the north gate of the castle burst into hearty laughter at the sudden visitors.
Their laughter was filled with relief and joy.
“Who on earth is coming?”
One of the Royal Knights, unable to contain himself, asked.
“A hero approaches.”
“A hero…? Do you mean Richard von Bartenberg?”
“Yes. This sacred aura is his!”
Gasp—
Hans, who’d been straining his ears on purpose, drew in a sharp breath.
Who did they say was coming?
The moment he heard that name, it was as if the air—until now choked with the stench of Demonic Energy—was suddenly perfumed with a sweet fragrance.
Should he call it the scent of light?
While Hans covered his mouth, suppressing a soundless cry.
Before anyone realized it, Richard’s party had reached the very gates of the north gate.
“Hey, you all look quite healthy?”
At the front, Richard called out playfully.
His voice, like that of the Alliance men, was brimming with warmth.
“What are you all waiting for! Open up the gate!”
“We weren’t told reinforcements were coming, so we can’t let you in without a thorough inspection. Apologies for the trouble.”
“Oh, is that so? Well then, we’ll just turn around. Take care!”
As Richard and Lord Ord bantered, the men on the walls burst into fits of laughter.
“Come on in, please.”
The gates soon swung open, and Richard’s group poured into the castle.
Hans hurriedly rushed down the steps of the wall, not wanting to be late.
Skipping two or three steps at a time, he managed to see Richard up close.
“We’re now under Bartenberg’s…”
“Huh? What do you mean by that…”
Lord Ord, along with the castle’s upper echelon, gathered around Richard, exchanging words in low voices.
Seeing this, Hans could feel his heart pounding all through his body.
“Beautiful…”
That natural radiance he exuded, and the sacredness woven into his husky voice—
Now Hans realized once again that calling him a Saint was no lie.
Not just a sliver of light here, or a taste of light there from some banner,
Richard was light itself.
Overcome with emotion, Hans raised both hands and wore an awed expression.
“He came back! He didn’t abandon me after all!”
“Hey, calm down. He doesn’t even know who you are.”
James held Hans back, who looked ready to run straight to Richard at any moment.
Yet even James couldn’t take his eyes off Richard.
A lamp in the darkness.
That was what Richard looked like as he arrived at Riot Castle.
Even the fierce Alliance Knights, as tough as tigers, looked to Richard with complete trust, and to the soldiers, he truly appeared as a hero.
“It’s good to be back.”
“Heh, what’s so good about this stinky castle?”
“That’s not something the Lord should be saying.”
As all eyes focused on them, Richard had just finished speaking with the Count.
“Wah!”
The Alliance Knights rushed toward Richard.
The broad smiles on their faces said all there was to say about how happy they were to see him.
How could they not be? They’d all thought Richard and the Knights of Bartenberg, who had left and weren’t expected to return, were gone for good.
To the men of the Alliance, Richard and his knights were more than just reinforcements—they meant something far more profound.
“Saint! If you were coming back, you could have at least told us in advance! You didn’t say a word before you left—”
Avart, face twisted in mock anger, protested loudly.
Judging by the twitching corners of his eyes, it was clear he was just pretending to be upset.
“If you’re happy, just say so. Why all the fuss?”
Richard feigned annoyance as he teased Avart.
They’d only fought together for a few months, only been apart for a short while—so why did it feel so good to see each other again? Even Richard’s voice was tinged with excitement.
Wanting to see for himself how Riot Castle had changed, Richard turned his head this way and that—and what caught his eye first was a certain soldier.
“What’s with him?”
Hans.
His eyes were blazing too fiercely to be just admiration for the light.
Hans met Richard’s gaze, jumped in surprise, and quickly averted his eyes.
His hand, clutching his chest, trembled.
Richard cocked his head and glanced around.
Most of the soldiers—who made up more than half of the castle’s garrison—were reacting in similar ways.
“Jeez…”
Richard understood why they looked at him like that.
But to have men, who would soon have to go out and fight with sword and spear in hand, look at him so dependently wasn’t something he welcomed.
“Are you not training the men?”
With no time to leave such precious troops idle, the Lord of the castle looked troubled.
“The Demonic Energy has gotten so strong that training has been suspended.”
“Better to be a little scared than to die of the Plague.”
Thanks to occasionally checking in spiritually, Richard was well aware of the soldiers’ fears.
Even the steadfast Royal Knights had managed to get somewhat used to the Demonic Energy, but the soldiers still had a long way to go.
Saints in the Undead War, the power of Hor—no matter how much the Alliance Knights tried to instill faith, praise without the actual subject present was just empty words to those frightened men.
At least, it was when he wasn’t here.
“Well, now that I’m here, no one’s going to turn into a monster. Feel free to drill them as hard as you like.”