While all the retainers were busy preparing for war, Randolph was deep in thought, devising strategies.

"Ultimately, the answer is a charge. We push through the center with full force, penetrate deep, and cause chaos. That will break the enemy's formation."

The Perdiom forces had seen some success with this tactic during battles in the north.

"What's the difficulty here? My brother and I will just kill them all! That's right, it will work."

Zwalter and Randolph, both top-tier knights, could afford to speak with such confidence.

Of course, the enemy would also have formidable knights, but Randolph deliberately erased that thought from his mind.

Perdiom was at a numerical disadvantage, leaving them with few tactical options. A full charge was their only answer—there was no alternative.

Zwalter usually took command of the battlefield, but Randolph firmly believed his strategy would be adopted this time.

"What's the most suitable battlefield? I'll have to discuss this with my brother. And as for the formation…"

As Randolph mulled over the formation and division of the troops, his thoughts turned to the mercenaries led by Ghislain.

"Thank goodness the Duke is leading the mercenaries."

In a situation where even a single soldier was invaluable, the mercenaries under the Duke’s command were a significant asset.

The conscripted soldiers, even when gathered, were few in number and lacked combat effectiveness.

In contrast, the few hundred mercenaries, each highly skilled, were like a blessing in the midst of a drought.

"No, no, I can’t let such valuable forces go to waste. I need to take command and incorporate them into the charge unit."

There was no way he could let a young, inexperienced Duke command such elite forces.

The Duke could join as a knight, but the mercenaries should all be placed under the main commander's control.

"That guy better listen this time. If not, I’ll push for him to be punished for insubordination."

With a determined stride, Randolph set off to find Ghislain.

No matter how reckless the Duke could be, he couldn't possibly stick to his stubborn ways with the territory on the brink of collapse.

With a mind set on taking control of the mercenaries, Randolph searched everywhere, but Ghislain was nowhere to be found.

"Huh? Where is he? Could he be at the encampment?"

Randolph immediately mounted his horse and rode toward the northern gate.

Upon reaching the mercenary encampment, a sense of unease crept in as he looked around.

Only a few laborers were passing by, and there wasn’t a single mercenary in sight.

The only ones left at the camp were the captain of the garrison, Skoban, his lieutenant Ricardo, and a few soldiers.

"Hey, where are the mercenaries? Where is the Duke?"

"I don’t know."

"What do you mean you don’t know?!"

"He, he suddenly came and took everyone with him."

Skoban, the captain of the guard at the Forest of Beasts, answered with a troubled expression.

He, too, had no idea where the Duke had taken the mercenaries.

"Ugh, that bastard, don’t tell me…?"

In a panic, Randolph rushed back to the castle to find Belinda.

"Belinda! Where is Belinda?"

Belinda was always by Ghislain’s side. If anyone knew where Ghislain had gone, it would be her.

But the castle was eerily quiet. Neither Belinda, the big guy who always stuck with Ghislain, nor the cocky one were anywhere to be found.

Finally, the reality of the situation dawned on Randolph, and he sank to the ground.

"That bastard… he ran away to save his own skin! Ugh, Ghislain! You wretched dog!"

It had felt strange when Ghislain had been so unusually cooperative about defending the castle.

But to think that the Duke of the territory had sneakily fled while everyone else was risking their lives for it!

His father and the retainers were preparing to fight to the death, yet the Duke had committed such a disgraceful act!

"That wretch! I’ll capture him and lock him up in the dungeons!"

Enraged, Randolph ordered the soldiers to find the remaining stragglers and then went to inform Zwalter.

As soon as the retainers gathered, Randolph angrily reported that the Duke had fled.

The already grim atmosphere grew even darker.

"Ghislain… ran away?" Zwalter asked, disbelief in his voice.

"Yes! He took all his men and fled!" Randolph shouted, practically shaking with fury.

Homeron, trying to calm Randolph down, wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Maybe… maybe he just went on a reconnaissance mission."

"Who takes an entire force and vanishes on a reconnaissance mission?"

At that moment, Albert, as if remembering something, shouted urgently.

"The, the runestones! Didn’t we just mine a new batch of runestones recently? Let’s check if they’re still here! If they are, then maybe he didn’t flee."

Homeron nodded in agreement.

"Right, right. No one would flee without taking their money. Go check immediately!"

Soon after, soldiers returned from checking Ghislain’s private storage.

"The storeroom… is empty."

Everyone's faces hardened.

As unbelievable as it seemed, given what they knew about Ghislain, it was entirely plausible.

One of the retainers hesitantly spoke up.

"Now that I think about it, mercenaries had been frequenting the Duke’s storeroom recently. They couldn’t have moved all those runestones overnight. It seems they were smuggling them out beforehand."

More evidence trickled in.

"At night, the mercenaries insisted on guarding the castle gates, forcing the soldiers to step down. That must’ve been to hide the smuggling of the runestones."

"I never thought the Duke would harbor such intentions. Though, I suppose it suits him…"

As the retainers shared their observations, Zwalter pressed his temples and closed his eyes.

"So, in the end, you’re nothing more than that. A fool with no honor… you can’t even understand that living without honor is worse than death."

Why are nobles nobles if not for their honor?

When one receives honor and privilege, they must also bear the weight of responsibility.

A noble who shirks their responsibility is worse than a slave.

"So, this is how it ends before the war even begins."

If the soldiers learned that their Duke had fled on the eve of battle, morale would plummet.

It would be as if they had admitted defeat before even fighting.

Already outnumbered, how could they hope to win a war with soldiers who had lost the will to fight? No one would be willing to risk their life.

"At least that wretch will keep the family line alive. If he was going to throw away his honor, he should have at least taken his brother with him."

If Ghislain was going to forsake his honor for survival, he could have saved his brother as well.

Instead, he was an utterly selfish man who cared only for his own skin.

While Zwalter was grinding his teeth in frustration, a commotion erupted at the entrance of the hall as someone was dragged in.

"Let go of me! Do you even know who I am?!"

The ones brought in were Alpoi, a few mages, and Vanessa.

Seeing them, Randolph gritted his teeth and approached.

"Ah, you must be the ones he left behind in his haste to flee."

"Wait, wait a minute," Homeron quickly intervened, stopping Randolph from acting on his temper.

If Randolph started with his fists, there would be no meaningful conversation.

Homeron approached Alpoi and asked.

"You! Do you know where the Duke went?"

Alpoi, irritated at being interrogated, shouted back.

"Ugh! What is wrong with this wretched domain? Do you even know who I am to treat me like this?"

"Who are you? Just a lowly mercenary, aren’t you?"

Looking down on him with disdain, Homeron waited for an answer. Alpoi began to speak but quickly realized his mistake and clamped his mouth shut.

"I… I…"

Alpoi struggled, unable to reveal the truth. He was bound by secrecy and found himself growing more frustrated by the second.

"You don’t need to know who I am!"

Everyone, including Zwalter, looked at him with contempt.

"Tsk, there’s not a single decent person in that man's circle."

Shaking his head, Homeron turned to Vanessa.

"And you, are you a mercenary too? I’ve heard the Duke often had you by his side during training. He seemed to value you highly."

Vanessa, feeling the pressure, swallowed nervously and bowed deeply.

"I greet the Lord and the Chief Steward."

Her respectful demeanor caught Homeron off guard.

This was the first time he’d seen someone so polite among those around Ghislain.

"Ahem, at least you seem like a proper person. So, what exactly is your role with the Duke?"

"I… I am the Duke’s… maid."

Vanessa couldn’t bring herself to admit she was Ghislain’s personal mage. After all, how could she explain that she couldn’t even cast a proper first-circle spell?

However, her honest answer made Homeron frown and click his tongue.

"The castle already has enough maids. But I suppose there aren’t many who would want to serve the Duke."

Vanessa remained silent as Homeron pressed her further.

"So, did the Duke leave you any instructions? If you know anything, speak up."

"I… well, the Duke often told me…"

― You are the key to victory. With you by my side, I will surely win this war.

"I… I am the promised key to victory…"

"What?"

Vanessa couldn’t bring herself to finish. How could she say such an embarrassing line out loud?

So, she cut the statement short and only said the necessary part.

"The Duke said he would definitely win this war."

"Win? That wretch fled with all the runestones, and you call that winning?"

"The Duke isn’t like that!"

"Watch your tone! How dare you raise your voice before the Lord? Tsk, all of you are the same."

Homeron frowned, clearly frustrated. It was obvious that nothing useful would come out of the Duke’s discarded entourage.

Just then, a ridiculous thought flashed through Alpoi’s mind.

He raised his hand slightly and spoke.

"Maybe that guy…"

But Zwalter cut him off.

"Enough. It seems they know nothing. Let them go."

Clicking his tongue, Alpoi withdrew with the mages.

Since no one wanted to hear it, he saw no point in revealing anything.

Vanessa, unsure of what to do, bowed repeatedly as she left.

Watching them go, Zwalter sighed deeply.

"Ghislain, if you’ve run away, at least survive."

On a low hill, hidden among dense trees, Ghislain and the mercenaries were lined up, ready to ride out at any moment.

While the mercenaries looked tense, Ghislain wore a rather calm expression.

Belinda, concerned, approached Ghislain.

"Young master, wouldn’t it be safer to fight with everyone at the castle? Isn’t this too dangerous?"

"It’s fine. We need to cut off their supply line first. Only then can the castle hold out."

"But they outnumber us two to one. If they’re prepared, this could go very badly."

"Maybe. But those idiots are too confident in their strength. They won’t expect us to make a move."

The key to a successful ambush is for the enemy to anticipate the possibility of an attack.

Ghislain was certain they wouldn’t.

"They probably think we’re holed up in the castle, trembling in fear. They’ll look down on us."

"That may be true, but…"

"If we fail, our already small force will shrink even more, so they won’t expect us to try something like this."

"You’re right, but what if we do fail?"

"We won’t. This is when ambushes work best—when the enemy underestimates you."

Belinda wasn’t too worried about the ambush failing. She was more concerned that Ghislain, who was experiencing war for the first time, might get hurt.

Ghislain, however, continued with a cold smile.

"The main force won’t even care about their supply line. Whether it disappears or not."

"What do you mean?"

"They’re only focused on eliminating us. They’ve even brought siege weapons. The supply unit is probably just made up of Degald’s ragtag soldiers. They won’t be prepared for an ambush."

It was obvious. Degald couldn’t field 6,000 soldiers on his own.

He must have received reinforcements, and those would be concentrated with the main force.

So, the supply unit would be run by Degald’s own troops.

"In any case, we got here at the right time."

In the distance, they could see Degald’s supply unit setting up camp.

Ghislain had led his mercenaries in a wide arc around Perdiom’s outskirts, riding non-stop for a day.

After spotting the supply unit, they had gradually closed the distance.

Though they had to hold back a bit to maintain their ambush position, they could catch up easily once they charged.

Night had deepened, and only the flickering torches lit up the enemy camp.

With over a thousand soldiers, there were plenty of tents and torches.

Ghislain, now confident the time was right, looked up at the sky.

The moon was hidden behind clouds, and not a single ray of light pierced the darkness.

"Ah, perfect weather for killing."

At Ghislain’s words, the mercenaries chuckled quietly.

Sometimes, Ghislain would display this calm, almost eerie confidence.

Seeing this, the mercenaries began to relax a little.

"Let’s get started."

Belinda tightly wrapped a bandage around Ghislain’s hands, urging him.

"Please be careful. If things get dangerous, fall back."

"Don’t worry."

Ghislain flexed his bandaged hands a few times and then held out his right hand.

Gillian handed him a large double-headed battle axe.

"Nice and heavy."

With the battle axe in one hand, Ghislain raised his other hand in the air.

"Get ready."

As soon as the command was given, the heavily armored mercenaries mounted their horses and lifted their spears.

Snorts and hoof stomps echoed as the horses sensed the coming battle.

Ghislain spoke again.

"We don’t need prisoners."

Slowly, he extended his hand forward, a cruel smile playing on his handsome face.

"Kill them all."