The voice that I hear up close seems to be very calm. It was a voice that did not seem appropriate for her age. In a way, he was exactly as I had heard him described.

"Which one is the enemy? In the dead snow, you're very eager.

　The Belle Fain mercenary and Vestaline's second-in-command responded by pointing his finger at the voice. His heart jumped dully, and his breath came naturally.

　Even though there is still a distance, there are about two thousand soldiers gathered there.

　On the other hand, there are barely three hundred of us. Even though we have a fortress called a prison, it's not enough.

　The hand that pointed at the enemy's shadow trembled unconsciously. A man is a mercenary. He's been on the battlefield many times, and death has been close to his chest. There have been many times when my comrades-in-arms, with whom I had just been chatting, have died at my side.

　But this was a different kind of fear.

　The fear that an overwhelming number of enemies were coming at us with weapons to kill us. The shudder of death slowly strangling you with the sound of hooves.

　The man could feel them slowly rising from his heels.

　This is not the kind of battlefield a mercenary should be in. Mercenaries are always for the side with the advantage or the side with the money. There were not many people who would voluntarily jump into a deadly situation, even if it was a profession where they could earn gold with their lives.

　That's why the man's heart is beating like never before. I couldn't help but want to ask him who brought him to this place of death.

　No, I know. There is no need to ask such a question, everyone understands.

　This person in front of me. The hero of the heraldry that brought you to your death. When I think about it, I want to complain. So with a sigh, the man said.

I have two pieces of bad information for you.

　Lugis, the hero of the heraldry, cowered in his military uniform and urged him to continue. At his side, Vestalinu-Gerua, the head of the mercenaries, followed him.

"The prisoners, they are all exhausted. They may be able to walk, but they don't count as soldiers.

　It was true what the man said. The prisoners, even those who had not been tortured, were not being fed well. The prisoners were not well-fed, even for those who had not been tortured, and were not likely to be able to fight with weapons.

　If they were to be sent into battle, all they could do was act as a wall of flesh to stop the enemy in their tracks. It would be useless. It would take a reasonable amount of time for him to escape.

　Lugis responds to the man's voice with a gnashing of teeth. Perhaps he hadn't expected much to begin with. His swarthy eyes showed no sign of agitation.

　But what about next? The man opened his mouth with a heavy feeling in his stomach. It was too much for him to say a single word.

"My eyes have seen their gear and horses. Their gear, silver-rimmed, blue cloth.

　At the sound of the man's voice, Lugis's lips immediately quirked up. The man's eyes clearly had a penetrating look in them.

How certain are you of this story? You're not imagining things, are you?

　The man's eyebrows arched as he formulated his words. The man understood what Lugis was trying to say. This is the reason why I did not want to respond lightly.

　His lips twisted in bitterness.

"They say the horse had unusually thick legs. It's definitely a northern horse. Silver-rimmed and blue with a northern horse, it's a no-brainer.

　The man didn't say anything beyond that. The man did not say anything else because he felt that if he said it, it would become a reality. He wanted to cling to the possibility, however faint, that it might not.

　Because if she's out there as an enemy... There was no doubt that an inescapable death was imminent. The mercenaries understood this well.

　Perhaps Vestalinu also associated the name with the word. The man felt his expression change to one of grimness.

"How long will it take for the ...... requested heraldic reinforcements to reach us?

　Vestalinu said to the man. The man struggled to choose his words and said that it would take two full days at the earliest.

　One day would be enough if we were just driving along the road from the front to the prison, but with this dead snow. Two days would be necessary, of course.

　Besides, Vestalines only asked for the troops needed to occupy the prison. It may take more time to prepare enough troops to take on the thousands of enemy soldiers.

　But the man didn't dare to say anything about it. The information that was available now was enough for him to grieve.

　After all, even if he didn't have to wait two whole days, the enemy was already in a place where he could clearly see them. The man's heart thumped dully again.

　Without thinking, the man glanced at Lugis with hatred.

　It's not that the man dislikes Rougis. On the contrary, he knows that he is not a bad person, and that he is someone he can talk to.



　His actions were heroic in every way, and I have no more words to express my gratitude to him for bringing down Jail Bella with the Steel Princess. I'll take off my hat and salute him any way I can. That's how a man salutes a hero.

　But that's why the man thought. He wondered if he had made a mistake.

　After all, the enemy reinforcements were clearly acting strangely.

　In the event that Jail Bella succumbed to the heraldry, it would be natural to raise an army, but that is not something that can be done yesterday.

　After the appropriate number of days, the troops will be sent to this side. It was supposed to. This is obviously too soon.

　At least the man understood that was what Lugis had in mind, from what he had heard beforehand.

　He thought that it would take time for the enemy to make their move, which is why he took the method of having a small number of people fall on the prison and send the rest to the rear so that the enemy would not be able to detect them.

　In other words, this was a clear accident. The enemy acted in a way that was impossible, and it came together in the worst possible way.

　The man muttered in his mind.

　--You are indeed a hero. But if it weren't for that hero, our princess wouldn't be in this predicament.

　With that thought in mind, the man looked at Lugis' profile. Then he opened his eyes.

"Silver-rimmed blue and a northern horse - Valery the Watcher, Valery-Brightness?

　Lugis calls out the name in an innocent voice, like a child who has successfully played a prank. Then he opened his mouth with the same pretense. He wore his blood-soaked military uniform as if it were his normal clothes.

"A masterpiece. They dug their own graves. Who else but her could have stopped them a dozen times?

　The man didn't understand the meaning of those words. But he could see that the hero in front of him was smiling happily, as if he was pleased with something.

　Even as he was doing this, the enemy was advancing in his steps. What was this hero thinking when it was as close as a blade to his neck?

　The man looked into Lugis's eyes with a purer heart than agitation or suspicion. I guess you could call it curiosity or longing.

　Little by little, the enemy soldiers trampled the snow and moved themselves closer to the prison. And then, at a certain point, they stopped. They were almost within bowshot of the prison.

　Standing outside the outer wall was the silver-rimmed blue. They were the ones who were originally fighting the monsters in the north. Of course, there were other soldiers mixed in, but the front line was filled by them.

　The mercenaries on the defensive, their bows drawn, all gasped. Among the mercenaries, the silver-rimmed blue was a symbol that should not be messed with, no matter what.

　They tear people to pieces with their one-handed swords and make their horses run as if they were breathing. They are professional soldiers who fight wars not to make money, but because there is a battlefield.

　Are they really the same people? Can this bow and arrow really shoot them dead? These mercenaries even have such thoughts floating in their hearts.

　One horse stood out from the crowd of monsters. Its gait was slow and graceful. It looked out of place on a battlefield.

　The man astride the horse was probably the commander. It was a woman with a breathtakingly sharp face and eyes.

　She shakes the air as she speaks. It was a strong voice, shaking off the dead snow.

Open the gates immediately. Or we'll humiliate you now. Every last one of you will die. Surrender and we'll spare your lives. Choose now...

　It was the tone of a voice slamming down from above. Cold-hearted and throat-grabbing. Behind those words, she was asserting that she would not tolerate any retorts or defenses.

　Someone swallowed a spit. And the mercenaries were convinced.

　That's Valerie. She must be the one they call the voice of the storm. She's got what it takes to make you think that.

　Normally, a commander would not be able to imitate a messenger, but she would. After all, to her, a bow and arrow are meaningless.

　No one else would even open their mouths, but he did.

"You've got to be kidding, Master Watchman. What kind of man shows his back on a battlefield where victory is certain?

　The hero's cheeks were raised, showing his canine teeth.