WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 13: The Morning Star (3)

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Sir Dian August endured the pain of the revolting truth serum with a will of steel.

That was how Isabelle decided to remember it.

What mattered was not that Sir August had screamed and hurled every profanity he knew at her, nor that he had grabbed the arm of the man called Ivan and tried to reveal the Knights' financial records.

Of course, Isabelle could not bear to watch that spectacle, so she promptly slapped Sir August across the face.

Only after receiving a lengthy lecture about how dangerous it was to strike someone who had just coughed up blood did Sir August finally become capable of speaking like a person again.

“Mommy?”

“Mm.”

After examining the properly treated wound, Ivan gave a clear diagnosis.

“He regressed from the shock. Isabelle, it's because you hit him. Reflect on your actions.”

“I don't think Sir August sees it that way. Can he go back to normal?”

“Don't worry. It's a common symptom. He'll come to his senses with time.”

Ivan looked outside for a moment before speaking again.

“But he screamed enough to draw attention. The people lying in wait on the mountain should be coming down soon. We need to prepare.”

“What about Sir August?”

“You'll carry him.”

Ivan stared blankly at Isabelle. Isabelle stared back at Ivan.

A moment of silence passed. Then Isabelle understood his look and asked with a flustered expression.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“What about you?”

“I have to fight.”

“I can fight too!”

Ivan looked down at Isabelle and shook his head. Her talent was unquestionably exceptional, to the point that it would be hard to find anyone her age who could match it. Her mind was another matter.

Her face had gone pale from an incident like this, and the hand holding her sword would not stop trembling.

“I'm sure you can.”

“Why do your words and actions say completely different things...?”

“You've got that exactly right.”

Ivan snorted and turned away. Left alone in the compartment, Isabelle soon let out a deep sigh and hoisted Dian onto her back.

He was heavy.

It was not as though she had become too weak to carry the weight of a grown man. The weights she used in training had been heavier than Dian.

Still, the weight of this wounded, weakened man pressed down on her shoulders.

When she adjusted Dian on her back and stepped outside, Ivan, standing with the moon at his back, suddenly turned to look at her.

“Your talent isn't bad.”

“That sounds really insulting. Mister, do you know me? When did we meet that you started speaking so casually?”

“Did you get your personality from your mother?”

“Wow, you really make me want to draw my sword. Then did you inherit your manners from your mother's side or your father's side?!”

“Who knows? I don't even remember either of their faces anymore.”

“Th... thaaat's... huh...?”

His eyes and skin made him look strangely young, but Isabelle stared at the thick beard covering his entire jaw and squeezed her eyes shut.

The war had ended only four years ago.

And before that, it had lasted nearly twenty years.

Of course, it would not be strange for someone his age to have lost their parents during the war...

For some reason, she felt wronged. No, was it fine just because he did not have parents? Bringing up someone's parents was incredibly rude in the first place! Was it different in Krasilov? Was that just a greeting there? This sort of question about someone's parents counted as a friendly greeting in Droan, but not in Krasilov.

She grumbled to herself for quite a while before finally realizing what Ivan had meant. Her eyes went wide.

“You know my father?”

“Who knows.”

Ivan smiled faintly at the ever-changing expressions of this child.

Could anyone truly say they knew Maximilian?

He shrugged.

“Gather the survivors. Start a fire, tear out the train seats, and use the material to cover them. Winter nights in this land are harsher than you think.”

“What about the attack if we start a fire?”

“That's not something you need to worry about.”

“You're going out alone? When you don't even know who they are?”

“That isn't something you need to worry about either.”

It was Ivan's first time meeting Maximilian's daughter, yet he found himself feeling something unexpected.

She looked just like her father and had inherited his talent, but her personality was nothing like his.

Maximilian had always boasted at night about the lover he had left in his homeland, saying she was kind and considerate. It seemed Isabelle had taken after her mother.

Love was dangerous like that. It stopped people from seeing another person's flaws and weaknesses clearly. Ivan snorted and left.

* * *

There was a saying in the tactical doctrine Ivan had learned.

Assume the worst. Do your utmost.

It was so obvious that Ivan had once scoffed at it.

That was before he had been forced to reconsider those words in actual combat.

Their true meaning was this.

Assume the worst. In other words, the enemy would always try to attack in the way that was hardest to deal with.

Do your utmost. That meant this.

If your enemy was the worst possible opponent for you, then you should naturally become the same for them.

Therefore, imitate the enemy's tactics. The worst attack you could imagine would become the best offensive move you could make against them.

What Ivan needed to do now was painfully clear.

First, he had to assume the most terrible situation.

Being ambushed while escaping after surviving would be the worst possibility. It would become even worse if they were forced into a delaying battle.

Intermittent raids in the darkness of night would build exhaustion. Ivan could handle it, but such attacks would be fatal for the wounded and the young girl.

So, if he assumed the worst, the enemy would surely act under the assumption that Ivan and his group would attempt to flee.

After all, if a train derailed because of someone's attack, common sense dictated that the survivors should leave the scene and seek help.

Now he considered the countermeasure.

Act as though they had plenty of time. Leave the target somewhere clearly visible, make them look helpless.

That would force the unknown enemy to recall the people they had deployed for pursuit. They would have to change their tactics from pursuit to encirclement.

This world was not a strategy simulation game. Unfortunately, it was an academy story.

Putting in an "input" did not mean foot soldiers would immediately produce an "output."

That meant a delay would occur while they recalled the pursuit team. From that moment on, Ivan would begin with a tactical advantage.

And an encirclement carried out from an offensive position usually came with psychological ease. They would think of their prey as rats trapped in a jar, ready to be devoured whenever they wished. So they would choose their moment to attack even more carefully.

Once they recalled the pursuit team, they would want to strike at the perfect moment with an inescapable blow, ensuring their target could not escape.

That was the second-best option. The worst attack the enemy could imagine.

So Ivan would imitate them. He would make the enemy's best option become the worst possible outcome for them. He would prepare an ambush, carefully refine his offensive, and form an encirclement.

“Hoo...”

Deep in the forest, where the night shadows lay thick, Ivan gripped the chilled gun in his hand.

He quietly drew in a breath, then let out half of it in a short exhale.

Crouching beneath a tree, he held his breath and slowly raised his hand.

He carefully kept his shoulder and fingertips in a straight line, suppressing the tremor of his hand caused by his body's natural rhythm as much as possible.

Click.

He slowly pulled the trigger with his index finger, using the momentum of three breaths to keep the sights from shifting.

Then.

BANG!

Handgun Sniping. A shooting technique devised so Annihilation Unit agents, who had to conceal military weapons in enemy cities, could launch long-range attacks even with pistols.

A silhouette no larger than a fingernail crumpled beneath the moonlight.

There was no need to rush a reload. His first shot had hit. Soon, an ominous stir ran through the forest. The enemy had realized it from the gunshot as well.

The ambush had begun.

And soon, they would realize something else.

The Annihilation Unit's ambush had begun.

With a dark night, a deep forest, familiar terrain, and a suitable weapon that felt natural in his hand.

An Annihilation Unit ambush allowed one person to encircle a group.

* * *

BANG!

When the shot rang out from deep within the forest, Isabelle tried to hide her trembling hands as she prepared for the enemy's attack.

It was clearly the sound that announced the beginning of a battle. Birds startled from their sleep fluttered away.

The people gathered around her sat shivering before the campfire, looking at her.

“We're all going to die now, aren't we...?”

“I'm scared... I'm scared... Mommy... Mommy...”

The sounds of survivors sobbing surrounded her. Every one of them had suffered at least a broken bone.

Overwhelmed by confusion, pressure, and guilt, Isabelle lowered her head with difficulty. They were victims caught up in this because of her. The fact that only around fifteen people had survived that enormous train weighed heavily on her shoulders.

Then a low voice spoke behind her.

“The reason we call a Hero a Hero is not because they are the strongest, but because they are the bravest.”

“Sir August? Are you conscious?”

August, still on her back, continued in a strangely vacant voice.

“Therefore, we must not become Heroes. We must not even try to become them. We must understand our own weakness.”

“Sir August...?”

“We must stand in the place of the weak and look upon those like us through the eyes of the weak. The reason we take up the sword is not because we are brave, because we are strong, or because we are superior to others.”

There was still no reason in August's voice.

Yet strangely, he spoke clearly and precisely, as though he wanted to carve every word into her heart.

“The reason we take up the sword is because it is right. Because it is just. For the greater cause that must be protected. Therefore, taking up the sword is no different from giving alms to the poor on an ordinary day or helping an injured person back to their feet from time to time. Because it is natural. Because it is right.”

“Sir August...”

“So take up the sword. Do not try to become a Hero, Knight of Tilles. You stand here not through bravery, but through humility.”

Now Isabelle understood what Dian was saying.

This was a very old and traditional knighting ceremony.

Not the title of knight granted by a sovereign to a vassal.

It was the final lesson an order of knights, as a group of pilgrims, gave to its squire.

Dian August came from a traditional order of knights. Even after losing his mind, he was reciting the words that had remained most deeply engraved in his heart.

“Take up the sword for the greater cause. Doing good is always a small and natural thing. Take up the sword not for your strength, but for your goodwill. From this moment, your name is Knight.”

After those words, Dian did not speak again. Only his weakened breathing continued.

Isabelle knew Dian's history. He was an experienced veteran knight who had served since the war against the Demon King's army.

Now she understood why the words he had likely heard only once, more than a decade ago, remained so clear without distortion or misunderstanding. She felt that she, too, would never forget this moment for the rest of her life.

She rose to her feet and finally looked around.

Many people were watching her. People suffering from cold, fear, pain, and hunger.

People driven into this situation because of her.

Guilt still weighed on her shoulders, but even so, now...

“I will.”

Slowly setting Dian down, Isabelle stood straight before them.

The sword in her hand felt heavier than before, but the hand that had been trembling until moments ago had calmed. It gripped the hilt firmly.

The morning star burned in her eyes.

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Footnotes:

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