The opposing lord still wore a face full of defiance, angrily shouting, "I will never reveal my identity to you. If you have the guts, kill me! We Battanians will never let a villain like you go!"
A faint smile tugged at my lips as I thought to myself, *Well, well, this woman sure has some backbone!* In the past, most lords—whether victorious or defeated—would eagerly introduce themselves like peacocks flaunting their feathers, declaring their name and lineage as if it would strike fear into their enemies.
But this woman refused to reveal her family. Was her house too insignificant? Or perhaps an obscure one with no reputation? No matter. If she didn't want to say, I wouldn't force her. The next time I captured her, she'd learn to submit.
I declared loudly, "Since you refuse to speak, I won't press you. I won't kill you—go. But remember, my name is Gaitar. You'll be hearing it often from now on."
The enemy lord froze for a moment, disbelief written across her face. She had expected that, given her defiance, even if I spared her, I would at least humiliate her before letting her go. She replied, "Really? Just like that?"
I chuckled. "What? Don't believe me? Or do you not want to leave? Would you rather follow me?"
She glared at me fiercely before saying, "Fine! Don't regret this. The next time we meet, I won't hold back."
After releasing the enemy female lord, we found a quiet grove to rest. After several fierce battles, the soldiers were exhausted, their strength drained.
The spoils of war had weighed down every packhorse to the point of collapse—and that was after discarding many less valuable items. Logically, I should have abandoned most of the loot to move faster. Once we reached the safety of Swadia, I could recruit more troops and return to fight again.
But the tens of thousands of denars' worth of loot was too precious to discard. Having endured poverty for so long, I couldn't bring myself to let it go.
After days of travel, I sold the spoils in Sargot, earning nearly 100,000 denars. Now, I no longer had to worry about funding my army. The next step was to expand my forces.
I wasted no time in recruiting more troops, cutting a bloody path across Battania. Any small enemy force or army less than twice our size was annihilated. Gradually, the tide of war began to turn in Swadia's favor.
Truthfully, given Swadia's overwhelming strength, defeating Battania was only a matter of time. But my relentless harassment made it impossible for Battanian lords to gather in large numbers, preventing them from forming proper armies and hastening their defeat.
And so, I became the nightmare of every Battanian lord. We struck like ghosts, ambushing them at every turn. Now, just the mention of my name made them tremble with hatred.
Just as I was eagerly anticipating Swadia's impending peace treaty with Battania, the Western Empire, like a ferocious lion, suddenly declared war on Swadia.
In this world where the strong prey on the weak, relations between nations were as fickle as the weather. No kingdom could grow too powerful, nor too weak. If too strong, others would gang up on it out of fear of dominance. If too weak, it would be torn apart like carrion by vultures.
The Western Empire's sudden declaration of war was like a bucket of ice water dousing my dreams of a brief respite—and my plans to marry into the Southern Empire. Now, I had no choice but to continue as a ruthless warmonger, fighting endlessly, amassing denars, and strengthening my well-trained army like an unrelenting machine.
If the Western Empire wanted war, then I would bring it to their doorstep and turn their lands upside down.
Upon entering Western Empire territory, we struck like a storm, crushing three minor lords' forces in quick succession. Most of these battles were won through surprise attacks. The spoils were plentiful, especially the herds of cattle and sheep. In the past, I would have released them to avoid slowing our march. But this time, I let my troops feast to their hearts' content.
After resting in a secluded mountain area, we sharpened our blades and continued our campaign. Eventually, we arrived outside the walls of Lotheir, where Bergil's army was laying siege.
Before the battle for Lotheir even began, we could hear the distant clash of steel. The sky was overcast, the battlefield shrouded in dust and fluttering banners, obscuring the soldiers' figures. With my 200-strong force, I observed the chaos from the hills. Bergil's army was being pushed back by Western Empire reinforcements, trapped between the city's defenders and the encircling enemy. The situation was dire.
"Boss, what do we do?" my lieutenant whispered, his eyes a mix of anticipation and hesitation.
"Wait. Let's see how things unfold." I tightened my grip on the reins, watching the chaotic battlefield. Bergil's men fought valiantly, but the Western Empire's reinforcements had the advantage. Arrows rained down, cavalry charged relentlessly, and the noose tightened. The soldiers' morale was crumbling.
This was an opportunity—fleeting, but crucial.
I raised my hand, signaling my men to gather. "Listen up! If Bergil's army is wiped out, we get nothing! We strike from the rear, target their command!"
After a brief pause, grins spread across their faces—they were used to my unorthodox tactics.
"Remember—only go for officers and standard-bearers! No reckless fighting. If things turn bad, retreat immediately!"
The cavalry formed up, our banners fluttering in the wind. I drew my sword and charged, leading my men along the hillside to flank the enemy's rear.
The horns blared as we crashed into the Western Empire's flank. Their commanders were caught off guard, scrambling in panic.
"Kill! Bring down their banners!"
My sword cut down an officer, blood splattering my armor. My men followed like wolves, tearing through the enemy command post. Shouts of panic erupted: "We're under attack from behind!"
As their banners fell, the Western Empire's morale shattered. I signaled the retreat—our job was done. Lingering would only invite disaster.
We pulled back just as Bergil's forces, reinvigorated by the enemy's disarray, launched a fierce counterattack. The Western Empire's reinforcements crumbled under the pressure, and the gates of Lotheir burst open.
The city had fallen.
The streets were littered with corpses. Bergil's soldiers, drunk on victory, stormed into homes, torches in hand. Screams and war cries filled the air as the city burned. A massacre was underway.
Standing at the city gates, I watched the chaos with growing irritation.
"Boss, what now?" my lieutenant asked quietly.
"Let them have their slaughter. We stay out of it. Orders—all men return to camp! No looting, no killing!"
My soldiers exchanged glances but obeyed without question. They were mercenaries, but discipline mattered. As I watched the madness unfold, I swore that such brutality would never happen under my banner.
The next day, Bergil himself sought me out.
"Why didn't your men join in the looting?" he asked, frowning.
"Victory is hard-won, but slaughtering civilians only loses hearts. If you want to hold this city, you need its people."
Bergil stared before bursting into laughter. "You're an odd one, preaching morals among mercenaries! But your discipline is impressive. I'll remember your name."
Word spread across the western front. Among mercenary bands, the reputation grew: *His men don't pillage.* Civilians looked upon my banner with gratitude. Defeated enemies chose to follow me.
This battle had won me more than a city—it had won me respect and loyalty.
Years later, when my banner flew high over Calradia and followers chanted my name, I would remember Lotheir. War was cruel, but to be a king, one could not abandon the last shred of conscience.
"Men, with me! Our journey isn't over yet!"