Baron Pavro, a vassal of Degald and the commander of the supply unit, paced restlessly inside his tent, unable to sleep.

He wasn’t troubled by thoughts of strategy or preparing his troops. No, he simply couldn’t sleep because he was too elated.

"Heh heh, I’m finally going to be awarded my own land."

Pavro didn’t have any personal territory of his own. As a vassal of Degald, whose lands were small and insignificant, the chance for Pavro to be granted land had never arisen—until now.

But this time, things were different. If this operation succeeded, Pavro would receive a portion of Perdiom’s territory.

"Aligning myself with Desmond was the best decision of my life."

Pavro had been accepting bribes from Desmond and consistently advocated in his favor. In fact, most of Degald’s vassals did the same. It wasn’t difficult to manipulate the territory as they wished.

"This time, my name will be known as well, I’m sure of it."

Even though he was only part of the supply unit, participating in a war would still bring him some fame. In social circles, just having been in the war earned recognition. Moreover, being in the rear meant he was in no danger. All he had to do was supply the main force with materials.

What sweeter war could there be, where one reaps all the rewards without taking any risk?

"To think that Count Desmond has so many soldiers. This is more than Reyfold could muster, isn’t it?"

Though they claimed it was a mix of Degald's conscripts and mercenaries, it was clear that the bulk of the troops were supported by Desmond.

The main force was so large that Degald’s own soldiers were barely enough to form this rear supply unit.

"Perdiom is finished. Absolutely finished."

There wouldn’t even be a fight; they would crush Perdiom with overwhelming force. Especially with siege weapons, Perdiom wouldn’t last a day.

This was an unwinnable war for Perdiom, and Pavro had been in high spirits every day because of it.

Rumble, rumble.

"Hmm? What’s that noise?"

Pavro, lost in his daydream of glory, snapped back to reality as he felt a strange vibration.

Stepping out of his tent, he saw a few knights looking around in confusion.

"Hey, what’s going on?"

When Pavro asked, the knights shook their heads.

"I’m not sure. Is it an earthquake…?"

None of them even considered the possibility of an enemy ambush. They couldn’t imagine that Perdiom, already outnumbered, would send a strike force to attack.

Moreover, they had heard nothing from the main force up ahead.

Rumble, rumble.

The tremors intensified, and Pavro stroked his chin in thought.

"What is it? Could a herd of cattle be passing through?"

At the thought of cattle, Pavro realized that the sound was more like the thunderous beat of hooves.

"No… it couldn’t be."

He chuckled at his own absurd imagination.

Although the torches were lit, the sky was heavily clouded, and visibility was poor. They could only judge by the sound, making it difficult to discern the situation.

Rumble, rumble!

It wasn’t until Ghislain’s forces were almost upon them that they finally understood what was happening.

"Wake up! Wake up! We’re being ambushed! Move!"

Some knights, quick to react, shouted the alarm.

Meanwhile, Pavro stood frozen in disbelief.

"An ambush? How? Why?"

Rumble, rumble, rumble!

"Uh, uh, huh?"

It wasn’t until the enemy was right in front of him that Pavro snapped back to his senses.

Frantically, he shouted as he fled.

"Enemies! We’re under attack! Everyone, get out here and fight!"

Even then, he didn’t think they would lose. The enemy could only number a few hundred at most—no larger force could have bypassed the main army so quickly.

Despite being a supply unit, they still had a thousand men. Surely they could repel an ambush of this size.

"Move quickly! Move! We outnumber them!"

Soldiers rushed out of their tents in a panic, hastily grabbing their weapons. Some hadn’t even managed to arm themselves properly, and their formation was in disarray.

Amidst the chaos…

Boom!

Ghislain’s forces burst forth from the darkness.

"Aaargh!"

The soldiers on the outskirts were wiped out in an instant.

Torches were knocked over by the bodies of the fallen, and soon flames began to spread, throwing the camp into further disarray. Soldiers ran in every direction, unsure of what to do.

A few of Degald’s knights desperately tried to rally the troops.

"Form up! Form a defensive line!"

But it was impossible. Ghislain’s forces, riding with incredible speed, tore through anything in their path, destroying the disorganized lines. Some mercenaries even charged through tents, slashing them apart as they went.

Rumble, rumble!

A Degald knight spotted Ghislain at the forefront of the attack and drew his sword.

The knight instinctively realized that this man, dressed differently from the others and leading the charge with unmatched riding skill, must be the enemy commander.

"If I kill him, it’s over!"

With that thought, the knight raised his sword and charged, determined to cut down his opponent in one strike.

Rumble, rumble!

Due to the scattered flames, he couldn’t clearly see the man’s face. Backlit by the fire, he could only make out a shadowy figure.

Then, the knight saw them—the terrifying, fiery red eyes of his opponent, burning with a fury and hatred beyond comprehension.

In that moment, the knight froze in place, paralyzed by fear.

"Aaaaaagh!"

Desperately, the knight mustered his courage, calling upon his mana and charging forward.

"Die!"

Ghislain leaned slightly to the side.

Then, with all his strength, he swung his axe upward.

Squelch!

In one blow, the knight was split in half from groin to head.

The mercenaries following behind Ghislain let out triumphant cheers and whistles.

Thud! Thud!

Any soldier who stood in Ghislain’s way was either crushed beneath his axe or decapitated.

Belinda watched Ghislain with concern. It was his first time killing a person—was he suppressing any inner turmoil?

Meanwhile, Ghislain reached the opposite end of the camp in the blink of an eye. He turned his horse around and spoke.

"Finish the rest."

At his cold command, the mercenaries turned and charged again.

Degald’s forces, having lost their few remaining knights, quickly fell apart.

There were no trenches or obstacles to slow the cavalry. Choosing the right place and time for an ambush was the commander’s responsibility, and Pavro was not a good commander.

"Gillian, Kaor, handle the remaining knights."

Rumble, rumble!

The mercenaries split into two groups, encircling the enemy. Their precise and coordinated movements made them look like a well-trained cavalry unit.

"Well-trained," Ghislain remarked with satisfaction, nodding to himself.

In his previous life, this type of ambush and charge, utilizing mobility, had been his favorite tactic.

Ghislain had spent a fortune outfitting his mercenaries with the best equipment and horses to execute this shock strategy.

Although his personal combat strength ranked him seventh among the continent’s top warriors, his ability to wage war was unmatched. He was not just a killer—he was a king of the battlefield.

Degald’s soldiers screamed in terror.

"Aaaargh!"

"Where’s my shield?! Get your shields!"

"Form up! Form up!"

But soldiers who had rushed out without proper gear couldn’t hold back the well-prepared mercenaries.

In battle, infantry, no matter how numerous, are powerless without proper formation. And in this chaotic skirmish, no amount of shouting could bring the soldiers under control.

The slaughter resumed.

One by one, Degald’s soldiers dropped their weapons and fled.

"Don’t let a single one escape!"

At Ghislain’s command, the mercenaries pursued the fleeing soldiers.

Riding down terrified, fleeing soldiers made for easy hunting.

A few of Degald’s knights fought valiantly, but they were soon cut down by Gillian and Kaor.

As it was only a supply unit, there weren’t many knights, and Degald’s forces quickly crumbled.

"Hahaha! This feels amazing!"

Kaor and his mad dog mercenaries rampaged like fish in water.

In the Forest of Beasts, they had been too busy surviving to unleash their full madness, surrounded by countless monsters.

But against human opponents, they could finally let loose.

Some of them even dismounted and attacked the nearest soldiers with wild glee.

"Die! Die!"

"You’re so weak, you worm-like bastards!"

A few of Degald’s soldiers tried to regroup, but the tide of battle had already turned irreversibly against them.

Ghislain continued to circle the battlefield.

Whenever he saw a large group of enemies or noticed his mercenaries in danger, he would rush in and cleave the heads of his foes with his axe.

In this way, the thousand soldiers of Degald’s supply unit were wiped out, one after another.

"It’s over."

Belinda glanced at Ghislain with a curious look as he murmured the obvious.

‘What is this? Isn’t this his first war?’

Killing monsters and killing people were completely different things.

Most people would struggle to keep their sanity during their first experience of war.

But her concern was misplaced.

‘Why is he so calm?’

Ghislain slaughtered the enemy as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

At this point, calling him a born warmonger wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

‘No, he’s not calm.’

Watching him, Belinda realized that Ghislain wasn’t calm—he was like someone suppressing a raging fire deep within.

It was incomprehensible.

What kind of grudge did Ghislain hold against Degald to make him act like this?

While Belinda was lost in thought, the enemy’s screams began to die down.

The battle was coming to an end.

A moment later, Gillian dragged someone in front of Ghislain and threw him to the ground.

"I think this one’s the commander."

Pavro looked up at Ghislain, trembling uncontrollably.

Even though Degald’s soldiers were poorly trained, he had never imagined that a force of over a thousand men could be wiped out so quickly.

"P-Please… spare me."

Pavro had been too confident in his numbers and missed his chance to flee.

Though he eventually tried to run, Gillian had caught up to him and captured him.

He couldn’t die like this.

‘The main force will win, no matter what.’

As long as he stayed alive, he could be ransomed.

In most wars, nobles were taken prisoner, not killed. They were worth more alive, as their families or lords would pay hefty sums for their release.

Pavro took comfort in this, believing he could safely surrender.

"Spare me! Count Degald will surely pay a handsome ransom! I surrender! I surrender!"

Ghislain silently looked Pavro up and down.

The moment their eyes met, Pavro’s frantic pleas died in his throat, and he was overcome with terror.

Ghislain’s cold, emotionless gaze reminded Pavro of a predator, evaluating whether or not to devour its prey.

"Name."

"B-Baron Pavro… W-who are you?"

"Ghislain Perdiom."

"Ghislain…? The Duke of Perdiom?"

Pavro’s jaw dropped.

He had heard of Ghislain. Along with Degald’s heir, Gilmore, Ghislain was infamous in the north as a notorious troublemaker.

And yet, this very man had led a bold ambush and slaughtered over a thousand soldiers?

It was easier to believe that the Count of Perdiom was secretly a dragon.

But of course, he couldn’t say such things in front of Ghislain.

Pavro quickly bowed his head.

"Your Grace, please accept my surrender. It will benefit you as well. You can demand a large ransom for my release."

But Ghislain responded with a seemingly unrelated remark.

"No matter how much I think about it, I can’t remember."

"W-what do you mean?"

"It means you’re so insignificant that you didn’t even leave an impression. Not that it matters—either way, the result is the same."

With that, Ghislain grabbed Pavro by the hair, pulling him up, and raised his axe.

"Aaaagh! Please! I’ll pay! I’ll pay a hefty ransom!"

"I don’t do business with scum like you."

"W-What do you mean?! I’m a noble! Follow the customs of war!"

"There are no customs on the battlefield."

Ghislain’s words were dismissive, and his face remained expressionless.

"But, you do have something I want."

In an indifferent tone, Ghislain swung his axe down.

Thwack!

"Your life."

Clink, clink!

Ghislain strode into the castle, his armor-clad mercenaries trailing behind him, laughing loudly.

Everyone in the castle lowered their heads and stepped aside the moment they saw Ghislain.

With every step, blood dripped from his armor, leaving a crimson trail on the floor.

He was drenched in blood from head to toe, yet he didn’t bother to wipe his face.

But the most frightening thing about him was his eyes.

They were as indifferent as ever.

Had there been a murderous gleam in his eyes, it would have been less terrifying.

In the past, Ghislain had been a troublesome, unpredictable brat. Now, he was someone they instinctively feared—a man no one dared to cross.

Thud!

Ghislain pushed open the doors to the hall and walked in without hesitation.

Zwalter and the retainers, who had been in the middle of a meeting, gaped in shock at the sight of Ghislain.

The Duke, whom they thought had fled, had returned.

And he was covered in blood, as if he had just fought a battle.

"W-What have you done?" Zwalter asked, his voice trembling.

Without a word, Ghislain bowed slightly in greeting and placed a bloodstained box on the table.

The retainers gasped at the sight of the box, unable to comprehend the situation.

Then Ghislain’s voice echoed through the hall.

"I wiped out the supply unit. Now, let’s begin the siege."