COTBC 37

Chapter 37

 La Tu Balaka (2)

“Waaaah!”

The soldiers who witnessed the Wolf King’s death with their own eyes erupted into cheers.

The battle was not over yet, and countless hell wolves still remained, but none of that mattered anymore.

With their morale restored, the soldiers charged at the hell wolves without hesitation.

Once the Wolf King died, the hell wolves lost their chain of command and fell into confusion.
Just moments ago, they had moved like a disciplined army, but now they were nothing more than scattered beasts separated from the pack.

Pierced by spears and blades, the hell wolves no longer bared their fangs. They fled the camp in every direction.

“Bessimer!”
“Bessimer!”
“Bessimer!”

The surviving soldiers shouted Bessimer’s name.

Victory.

No matter how one looked at it, the man who had led them to victory was Bessimer.

But the joy of victory did not last long.

The barracks throughout the encampment had burned and collapsed, leaving the place little more than ruins. The corpses of hell wolves and soldiers alike were strewn everywhere.

The soldiers’ bodies, especially, were in horrific condition.

Limbs torn apart. Heads ripped off. Bodies split in half with entrails spilling out.

Just looking at them was painful.

“Move the corpses! Celebrating victory comes after we finish cleaning this up!”

Carlson urged the soldiers onward.

If the bodies were left unattended for too long, disease would inevitably spread.

Vermin, foul odors, and other magical beasts drawn by the smell of rotting flesh.

Preventing that and restoring the camp took priority above all else.

“They burn well.”
“Yeah.”

Isaac answered Carlson quietly.

Outside the barricades, they had dug pits and gathered the hell wolves’ corpses separately to burn them.

Unlike when human bodies were cremated, the flames burning the mana-filled carcasses glowed blue.

The fire burned far more intensely.

Before anyone realized it, the night had passed and dawn was breaking.

Black smoke rose into the sky.

Several soldiers carrying corpses suddenly stopped walking and stared blankly at the blue flames.

“Move—”

Carlson was about to bark at them, but Isaac stopped him and shook his head.

“They should at least be allowed time to grieve.”

“……”

Carlson looked displeased, but followed Isaac’s words.

In Winterband, even if the man sleeping beside you in the barracks died the next day, no one openly mourned.

It was not because they felt nothing.
Not because they were not sad.
Not because they had no attachment.

It was because they had to endure it in order to fight the next battle.

Compared to that, for the soldiers here, this was probably the first battle with casualties on such a scale.

“Everyone has a first time.”

Isaac spoke calmly.

For words spoken by a boy still going through puberty, his tone sounded far too old.

“You really feel nothing?” Carlson asked.

“How could I feel nothing? But it’s not like there’s another choice. We just have to get used to it.”

Isaac leaned against the longsword that nearly reached his chest.

The sight of him still looked strangely out of place.

Had Carlson not witnessed the battle himself, he would have thought the kid had merely come back from pretending to play at war.

But Carlson had seen how Isaac fought.

He had seen with his own eyes how the boy controlled the atmosphere of the battlefield—

The will that rose fiercely amidst exhaustion and despair.

‘So that’s what Goethe was like.’

The thought suddenly crossed Carlson’s mind.

“Come to think of it… where’s Bessimer?”
“Now that you mention it, I saw him kill the Wolf King, but after that… I don’t know.”

Neither Isaac nor Carlson had been able to spare attention for Bessimer while dealing with the aftermath.

“Now that I think about it, the Wolf King’s corpse is gone too.”
“You’re right.”

Only then did Isaac realize it as well.

“Bessimer? I saw him leave while chasing away the remaining hell wolves.”
“Where to?”
“I don’t know that much.”

Isaac questioned the soldiers one by one and traced Bessimer’s whereabouts.

“He slung the Wolf King’s corpse over his shoulder and headed somewhere. Don’t know how he still had strength left in him. A captain really is a captain. Ah— well, ‘captain’ is just a title, so don’t mind it. No matter what anyone says, you’re the commander here, milord.”

According to the soldiers, Bessimer had carried away the Wolf King’s body, which weighed over a dozen times more than himself.

“These look like Bessimer’s footprints.”
“Yeah.”

Sharp-eyed Carlson found the trail.

Deep footprints pressed into the dry, hardened wasteland soil.

Tracks burdened with immense weight stretched endlessly along the hills.

“Carlson, take care of the camp.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“Nothing special. Just going for some air. I’ve got things to think about while I walk.”
“If you’re going, take a horse. I’ll call Hans.”
“No. I think it’s better if I go alone.”

Isaac grabbed one of the few shovels in the camp that was still usable and followed Bessimer’s trail by himself.

It wasn’t because he had some grand purpose.

Old memories had simply resurfaced.

The version of himself who could do nothing as Goethe collapsed.

The version of himself carrying Jonas’s feather-light corpse to the surface.

The version of himself surviving day after day through the winter among the ruins of Goethe Fortress.

Those memories had returned.

Perhaps Bessimer felt something similar.

Perhaps he too had spent over a decade floundering in a swamp of helplessness he could never escape.

That was what Isaac thought.

The giant man’s trail, carrying the enormous wolf, remained clear enough to guide Isaac.

He walked and walked, but Bessimer was nowhere in sight.

The sun rose overhead and later sank westward.

Before he realized it, Isaac had ventured deep into the Black Forest.

Even so, wherever the giant had passed, crushed grass and broken trees formed a clear path.

Isaac merely followed it.

The cool forest air.

Occasional birdsong.

The chirping of insects.

The sense of unknown presences lurking nearby.

After staying awake all night and walking all day, Isaac was exhausted enough to fall asleep standing.

Still, he forced his feet onward.

Eventually, Isaac stopped before an enormous ancient tree towering above the rest of the Black Forest.

Thunk—
Thunk—

As the red glow of sunset lingered faintly through the foliage, Bessimer repeatedly drove his axe into the earth.

Beside the great tree lay the Wolf King’s corpse.

“……”
“……”

Even after noticing Isaac, Bessimer said nothing.

Isaac did not speak either.

He simply gripped the shovel he had brought and began scooping out the dirt from the pit Bessimer had dug.

The giant and the boy silently made the hole deeper and wider together.

To bury loss, pain, and longing—

They needed a deeper pit.

Night fully descended upon the forest.

Bessimer lit a fire.

The two simply stared at the flickering flames.

The pit was still too small to bury the Wolf King.

It had to be deeper.

Wider.

To bury emotions accumulated over many years, it was still not enough.

The giant and the boy remained silent.

But both of them understood what they were doing.

They were saying farewell to the past.

Thunk—
Thunk—

When Isaac opened his eyes after nodding off—

Bessimer had already resumed wrestling with the earth again.

Blackened blood had dried around Bessimer’s mouth.

He had eaten the Wolf King’s flesh.

Flesh houses spirit, and by consuming flesh, one shares in that spirit.

That was the faith of the Vaitur tribe.

Though the Wolf King had died, part of its soul would remain with Bessimer for the rest of his life.

Isaac picked up the shovel again.

His head throbbed, and his body had no strength left.

After a life-and-death battle, he had not eaten a thing.

Even so, Isaac pushed himself upright using the shovel.

One scoop after another.

He shoveled dirt.

Compared to Bessimer’s strength, it was hardly much help, but Isaac never stopped.

It was courtesy.

Courtesy toward Bessimer, who had fought to protect Vinfelt.

Courtesy, as one who carried half Goethe blood and half the blood of the Great Chieftain.

Courtesy toward the Vaitur chieftain who died protecting his people.

Courtesy toward a great warrior.

Blisters formed on his hands.

His palms split and swelled.

Still, Isaac continued.

The blood-soaked history between Goethe and the tribes of Vinfelt could not be undone.

But effort could still be made.

A hand could still be extended.

Birds cried.

Insects chirped.

Hell wolves howled.

The sun rose.

The sun tilted westward.

The sun set.

Thunk.

Bessimer planted the axe handle deeply atop the mound of earth.

The burial of the Wolf King—something that had seemed endless—was finally complete.

Isaac quietly looked up at the ancient tree.

The Wolf King’s body would rot beneath this land, become food for insects, decompose into nutrients for the tree.

How far would that tree grow?

As darkness returned, Bessimer lit another fire.

“……”

Silence continued.

Deep into the night.

Crack—
Pop!

The sap inside the firewood burst as the flames danced.

Between the branches of the great tree, the night sky spread overhead.

The stars seemed unusually bright.

“A star must have fallen.”

“……?”

At Isaac’s sudden words, Bessimer shifted his gaze from the fire.

“In the kingdom, they say that when a great person dies, a star falls.”

“……?”

“Your father gave everything to protect his tribe. He was a great warrior. Out of all those countless stars… one of them probably fell.”

“……!”

Bessimer’s gaze returned to the fire.

Silence descended once more.

Isaac did not rush him.

He simply remained there quietly.

By the time dawn approached and only embers remained—

“I never imagined it.”

Isaac, half-asleep, opened his eyes at Bessimer’s voice.

His cracked voice was calm and dry.

“I never imagined I’d be able to kill my own father with my own hands.”

“……”

Isaac did not respond to Bessimer’s confession.

He merely watched the dawn breaking in the distance.

“And I never imagined I’d still be alive after killing him.”

“……”

The deep blue of the sky gradually lightened.

“From this moment on, my life is extra time.”

“……”

“Young master. From now on, I’ll call you big brother.”

“Huh? Suddenly?”

Isaac finally let out a startled noise.

“The Count is my eldest brother, and the head steward is my second brother. There’s no reason the young master can’t be my third brother.”

“No, I’m way younger than you.”

“That kind of trivial issue doesn’t matter.”

At Bessimer’s firm reply, Isaac blinked.

Technically, Isaac really was much older.

He had lived over three times longer than Bessimer.

Still, hearing this directly was absurd.

“From now on, I’ll follow only you, big brother.”
“That’s creepy. I refuse.”
“You don’t get that choice, big brother.”

Bessimer grinned.

Isaac laughed too, dumbfounded.

And he thought—

The new history of Vinfelt would begin now.

Beginning with its new lord—

Isaac von Goethe.