Otto immediately spoke up. “I will command the rear guard. The two of you—”
“What, we should run away?” Paul finished his sentence for him.
Otto’s next words caught in his throat, but he recovered quickly. “The war does not end with this battle,” he argued. “What I meant is that we cannot afford to lose you.”
“That’s why we have to get as many soldiers out of here alive as we can.”
“Yes, and I am telling you that I will shoulder that duty!” Otto shouting was a rare sight. The corners of Paul’s mouth twitched.
“It’s been a long time since I saw this side of you, Otto. Takes me back to your squabbles with Lieutenant General Olivia.”
“How can you make light of a situation like this?!” Otto exclaimed. Paul laid a hand on his shoulder.
“These ghouls pose a threat greater than any other. If this really is the work of a mage, then the Royal Army has harsher battles still in its future.” Paul paused and gave Otto a warm smile. “But I am not worried at all. Because I know that despite all this, those who will lead the next generation have grown up strong.”
“With all due respect, ser, it is precisely because of the threat the ghouls pose and the harsh battles that lie ahead that now, more than ever, we cannot afford to lose either of you. I am begging you, ser. Please! Please give me command of the rear guard!”
Paul’s expression grew stern, and he gripped Otto’s shoulder harder. “In every age, it is the young who carve out new paths to the future. There’s no place left for old men.” Otto gritted his teeth, his face anguished. Paul patted his shoulder twice, then turned to the other old general, who had been quietly observing their exchange. “Do I have that right, ser?”
Cornelius, as though unable to hold it in any longer, burst out laughing. “Paul, you took all the words straight out of my mouth. I suppose that is that, then. I expect to see the God of the Battlefield in his full glory.”
“As you wish.”
“I hope you haven’t forgotten us, Lord Marshal.” The voice came from Solid Jung, Claudia’s father, speaking on behalf of Fernest’s Ten Swords. Cornelius’s expression changed, his eyes growing hard.
“You will return to the capital. You have a duty to protect King Alfonse.”
“In the interest of acting at His Majesty’s behest, I must humbly refuse.”
“I tell you again, you are to go back to the capital. If His Majesty knew the current situation, you can be sure he would tell you the same thing. I know his nature better than anyone.”
Solid’s gaze grew sharp, and a sly smile spread across his face.
“Indeed, you might be right about that. But at the end of the day, nothing you say amounts to more than speculation. Not meaning any disrespect, Lord Marshal, but I am not convinced.” When Cornelius only glared silently at him, he added, “Come now, there’s no need to be unkind. I know I’m rough around the edges and no great talent, but at least let me be your shield, my lord.” He put his left hand to his breast in a knight’s salute. The other two with him planted their swords on the ground. Apart from Solid, Fernest’s Ten Swords were not knights. They were masters of the blade. This gesture meant they intended to stay loyal to the end.
Cornelius looked at them with a mix of emotions in his face. “You’re impossible, every one of you...” he said helplessly. “Have it your way, then.”
“Yes, my lord. With your leave, we shall do just that.”
Cornelius then deployed his forces in a ring formation, then pointed them at the biggest gap and quietly gave the order to advance. The horde of ghouls flocked to the rear guard like moths to a flame.
Cornelius’s blade moved like water through the ghouls in his path. He was every bit the warrior he had been in his glory days. Ghouls attacked from every direction, but Cornelius moved with the lithe grace of a cat, sinking low to the ground, then spinning sharply like a top to strike with his treasured blade, Lemuria. There was a streak of blue, and a ghoul rolled away along the ground with its legs severed. Cornelius swiftly drove Lemuria through the right side of its chest, and the creature, which had squirmed like an insect, fell entirely still.
The knowledge that Lieutenant General Hermann died to tell us will not go to waste. His sword was at the ready again at once. Paul called over from behind him.
“Ah, this takes me back to when we were young men, swinging our swords side by side.”
“That it does. I wish we could have taken the time to drink and reminisce together about those good old days. But somehow things never worked out that way.”
“Without question.”
“But see here, Paul. The fire’s a little slow to kindle today, is it not?”
“Such harsh words, ser. Belated though it might be, I’m finally feeling warmed up. I believe I am ready to fulfill your lordship’s expectations.”
Paul turned to the nearest of the ghouls bearing down on them, then brought his blade down with a crack like lightning. In the same motion, he lowered his stance, faced the fresh ghouls that appeared in the gap between the last one’s severed halves, then used Swift Step of Thunderclaps. For every ghoul he sped past, there was a flash of steel. The creatures crumpled helplessly to the ground, holes stabbed clean through the right sides of their chests. His feet dug a groove into the ground as he skidded to a halt, a dozen unmoving ghouls strewn in his wake. Something like steam rose up from his body, coiling into a shape that strangely resembled the figure of some fierce god.
“The God of the Battlefield still lives,” Cornelius said. The art he employed was the opposite of Paul’s Swift Step—the art of illusions. He moved to press his back lightly to Paul’s, an indomitable smile on his face.
“I’m just getting started. The real fight starts now.” But despite his words, Paul was getting impatient. The ghouls were as mindless as their intelligence had suggested, but they were animated by something like an animal instinct.