Decision (3)
Psychological warfare.
When the numbers were uneven, and one side was at a crushing disadvantage, the smartest tactic was to hide exactly how few men one had.
Let the enemy imagine the lacking numbers.
Let fear fill in the blanks.
The moment Vergil unsheathed his blade and vanished from sight, the first volley descended.
———!
Arrows rained from above, forcing the Prince and his knights to retreat behind their shields as they scrambled to form a defensive line.
Yet when they looked around, there was no sign of Vergil anywhere.
Another volley came from the opposite direction.
Then another, from somewhere deeper in the trees.
Shouts resounded across the field as a dozen knights were struck, some in the legs, others in the shoulders.
Bolts pinned men to the snow before they even realized what direction they were fired from.
Up in the treeline, Vergil moved like a phantom.
He leapt from trunk to trunk with a crossbow in one hand, firing, reloading, firing again, never staying still long enough to be tracked.
His figure appeared briefly between branches, then disappeared again into the darkness.
Behind him, hidden among the shadows, were the ten village knights who had chosen to follow him.
It was a romantic story.
They were merely ordinary men who had been sent to the village from the capital, yet they had become loyal to it by the end.
Just like Vergil, they were spread across the woods, firing from unseen angles, each taking careful aim before melting into the night.
Ten men.
But with their positions carefully spaced, proper timing, and their volleys coordinated with Vergil’s movements, the battlefield felt as though it were surrounded by an entire platoon.
“What, how many are there?!”
“Shields up! Spread out!”
They couldn’t find a single silhouette. They couldn’t chase what they couldn’t see.
Vergil’s plan worked perfectly.
The illusion of overwhelming numbers.
The Prince’s forces hesitated with every step, waiting for an ambush that didn’t exist and imagining threats that weren’t real.
It was a tactic as old as war itself.
A trick used by Zhuge Liang.
When he once faced an impossible situation in a small town defended by barely 100 soldiers, he was threatened by an approaching force of 150,000 under Sima Yi.
He could not fight them. So he manipulated what they believed instead.
When numbers were lacking, perception became the strongest weapon.
Vergil understood this by instinct, honed by the battlefield.
If he couldn’t match the Prince’s army head-on, he would make them fear ghosts in the trees instead.
And fear, once planted, was far harder to kill than any knight on the field.
“Die, you bastard!”
But there was only so much ten people, excluding Vergil, could accomplish at once.
Eventually, the pursuing knights began to close the distance.
Shadows converged from every side. One of the village knights was cut down.
Ten became nine.
Even so, not a single one of them broke.
However, they didn’t panic.
They simply repositioned and fired again.
Their calm in the face of death made the Imperial knights panic for a second, just long enough for Vergil’s silhouette to flash between the trees.
“There—Ukh!”
Vergil struck from above, landing on the ground with a blade in hand before disappearing again.
The knights jerked back in panic.
“Behind—”
Slash——!
A scream cut him off as Vergil’s blade cleaved through another’s shoulder plate.
The man fell, his torch extinguished in the snow.
Confusion spread through the Imperial ranks.
From the treeline came his cold voice, close enough to make several knights whirl around.
“Advance if you want. I’ll send every one of you back in pieces.”
Cristoph clicked his tongue.
“Pathetic. He’s one man. Hold the line!”
But even Cristoph could not mask the unease creeping through his knights, as the snow around them darkened with shadow after shadow of Vergil’s passing.
He watched another knight fall into the snow.
“Tch.”
He raised his hand.
“Shields up! Archers, focus fire on the trees, not the shadows. He bleeds like any other man. Treat him as such.”
The front line raised their shields, forming a layered wall of metal.
Archers stepped in behind and drew as one. Torches were thrust into the snow to free their hands.
“Loose!”
Arrows rained into the treeline.
Branches snapped. Snow exploded. A few of the village knights cursed as they ducked behind trunks.
Vergil moved between the hail of arrows, feeling the wind of each shot brush past.
Even for him, it was not something he could dance through forever.
He clicked his tongue and dropped low behind a tree, counting the timing of the volleys.
“Third rank, adjust aim ten paces left!”
This time, the volley landed closer. Bark splintered beside Vergil’s face.
Further back, the village knight captain shouted.
“Fall back deeper into the trees! Fire, relocate, do not stay still!”
Arrows kept flying in staggered timing rather than all at once, forcing the Imperial knights to constantly raise their shields and lowering their line’s ability to push forward.
Cristoph watched it all with cool eyes.
“To think there were skilled men discarded in this backwater village.”
He nudged his horse forward.
“Your Highness, it is dangerous at the front. Please remain behind the vanguard. We can handle this riffraff.”
“And let the criminal Vergil carve his legend again while I hide behind armor thicker than my spine? That would not do. I have a reputation to build.”
He dismounted.
“Your Highness—”
“Relax. I did not say I'd charge in alone. First assault squad, advance with me. Our target is Vergil. Leave the villagers to the rest.”
He drew his sword. Aura burst along the edge.
The knights around him rallied at once. Seeing their prince step forward with sword in hand restored a measure of pride.
“Forward! Advance with His Highness!”
Cristoph walked at the front of the wedge, eyes narrowed on the treeline where arrows had begun to thin.
“He’s testing our response. The moment the volleys start to slow, he will switch from harassment to assassination. He’s always been fond of cutting off the head.”
“How do you know, Your Highness?”
Cristoph’s lips curved.
“Because he was once a knight worth the admiration.”
Inside the forest line, Vergil let a breath escape through his teeth.
The arrows from behind had grown sporadic.
The village knights were running low. He wasn’t sure how many of them were still left standing, but he knew this wouldn’t last long.
“Vergil. Do you really underestimate me that much?”
“I would never presume such a thing, Your Highness.”
“Good. Then you should know—”
A sudden chill crept up Vergil’s spine.
“—a siege is never one-sided.”
“.....!”
His pupils shrank. He turned his attention toward the village.
“Captain!”
Screams echoed in the distance. The crashing of doors. The sound of horses barreling through snow.
Of course, the Prince hadn’t approached from only one direction.
How had he not realized it sooner?
While Cristoph pressed forward from the front, another unit had circled around.
Straight toward the village.
Straight toward the families who hadn’t finished fleeing.
Vergil’s blood ran cold, feeling his heartbeat spike.
“Captain, return to the village. Now.”
“T-Then what about you, Sir Vergil?”
Vergil’s gaze turned toward the torchlit silhouette of Cristoph’s army advancing through the trees.
“I’ll take the Prince’s head. Then I’ll come assist you. An army stops functioning the moment its commander falls.”
The captain swallowed hard, nodding once before sprinting back into the dark.
As his footsteps faded, a cold glint passed through Vergil’s eyes.
“I hope Mary and her family are already far from here. And Seris…”
Especially Seris.
If Seris joined the battlefield, the situation would go from bad to worse.
Against this many knights, her magic would be meaningless.
She would be forced to tap into her draconic power. And once that happened, the mystery surrounding the Ice Dragon’s survival would end.
Every Dragonoid, every Dragon, and every force that ruled the skies would come hunting her at once.
That was why Vergil had sent her away.
Because the confirmation of her survival would ignite a war far greater than this frozen village.
Behind the treeline, Vergil’s voice echoed through the cold air.
“Your Highness. I have a proposition.”
“A proposition?”
“A duel of honor. If I win, your army turns back immediately.”
“And if I win?”
“I will tell you not only the location of the Emperor’s bastard child… but also everything I know regarding the Ice Dragon.”
Silence fell for a moment. It was, undeniably, a tempting offer.
“…Very well. Then step forward, Vergil. Let us settle this with a duel to the death.”
Vergil closed his eyes for a brief moment, tightening his grip around the hilt.
He listened carefully, tracing the exact point in space where the Prince’s voice resonated.
He knew what kind of man Cristoph was from the novel.
A noble on the surface.
A viper underneath.
Vergil burst from the shadows, snow exploding in his wake. He locked onto Cristoph in an instant.
Clang——!
Sparks scattered across the snow.
Cristoph had reacted instantly. Whatever else he was, the First Prince was no fraud on the battlefield.
“You never did understand your place, Vergil. But I have to commend you. I guess a genius will always be a genius.”
Vergil pressed in, their blades grinding against each other. The clash of steel rang through the snow.
At that moment, the sound of bowstrings resounded behind Cristoph.
Arrows cut through the air toward Vergil.
Of course, Cristoph never intended to play fair.
Vergil had already accounted for that.
He twisted his wrist and rotated his stance.
Cristoph’s body turned with him, dragged along by the locked blades.
The Prince’s eyes widened as Vergil suddenly used him as a shield.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Several arrows buried themselves into Cristoph’s armor and shoulder. The knights froze in horror.
“Y-Your Highness!”
“Hold your fire, you fools!”
Cristoph staggered back, gritting his teeth. His aura flared in rage. The arrows barely felt like a scratch.
“You dare use me as a shield…?”
“I am only fighting on the terms you set.”
Cristoph lunged again.
Steel flashed like a line of light in the dark. Vergil met each strike head-on.
The repeated impact numbed his arm, but his footwork never wavered, deflecting and countering, all while several knights jumped him at once.
And more than that, some arrows still came dangerously close, until one finally found its mark.
A sharp pain tore through Vergil’s side.
“Ukh…!”
The arrowhead punched through the gap in his armor, just below his ribs. Warmth spread under his clothes.
The knights shouted.
“We got him!”
“Keep firing! Bring him down!”
For a brief moment, his knees buckled.
Vergil supported himself with the tip of his blade.
Cristoph saw it. His lips curled into a cold smile.
“Looks like the years dulled you more than I thought.”
He raised his sword, aura surging.
But Vergil didn’t answer. He simply raised his blade again, gathering an aura of his own.
The clash resumed.
Each swing now felt heavier. Cristoph pressed the advantage, driving Vergil back step by step.
The knights watched with growing excitement. A few even began to cheer.
It was then.
Rumble——
The ground began to shudder.
A low tremor rolled under their feet. Horses neighed in panic. The cheering died at once.
A roar split the sky, anything but human. It vibrated in their bones, shook their eardrums, and filled the night with overwhelming pressure.
Ice crawled along the distant treeline as if the world itself had drawn a white breath.
Roooooar——!
A Dragon’s roar.
Every knight turned toward the sound. Some dropped their weapons without realizing it.
“T-that… That sound…”
“Impossible…”
“The Ice Dragon… It is here…”
Cristoph raised his head, shoulders rising with a laugh.
“So it really shows itself. Excellent!”
The terror that gripped his army did not touch him. His eyes shone with a feverish light.
“Do you hear that, Vergil? Even the heavens want to crown me!”
Vergil didn’t look away from him.
“You mistake heaven for hell, Your Highness.”
In that instant, Cristoph was distracted.
Vergil stepped in at once, seizing the opportunity.
His blade rose in a clean arc, powered by every ounce of strength he had left.
It was a simple strike born from countless battlefields.
Cristoph’s eyes widened.
The world narrowed to a single silver line.
Slash——!
For a heartbeat, no one understood what had happened, too distracted by the Ice Dragon’s presence from a distance.
Then something heavy dropped into the snow.
His body remained standing for a brief moment before tumbling forward.
Silence fell over the field.
The knights stared, unable to breathe.
Their commander, their future Emperor, had been decapitated before their eyes like a training dummy.
Vergil exhaled a heavy breath. The strength left his legs at once. He dropped to one knee, clutching his bleeding side.
“Your Highness. That is your answer.”
The next second, the spell over the knights broke.
“Y-Your Highness!”
“Kill him!”
“Surround him! Don't let him escape!”
The formation surged forward in chaos. Vergil staggered back and turned away from the charging knights despite the several wounds in his body.
Smoke bombs he had prepared beforehand filled the vicinity. A thick white cloud spread over the snow, swallowing him and the nearest knights.
“Find him!”
“Damn it, I can’t see a thing!”
By the time the smoke began to thin, there was no sign of Vergil where he had fallen.
“Tsk.”
Far above, the roar of the Ice Dragon echoed again.
“Damn it, Seris…”
