Brad entered the office and paid his respects.
"I greet the Third Young Lord."
"...Am I truly your young lord?"
"I, Brad Cahill, was duly knighted as a knight of Brennenton in the presence of witnesses."
The young noble shook his head at the old knight's stiff response.
"Sigh. Sit down first. Hey, Benjamin, bring some tea."
"Yes, my lord."
Clink.
Despite the faint aroma of tea, the room's atmosphere remained tense.
"You were released yesterday? You must have suffered."
"For defying orders, I consider it light punishment. I am grateful for the mercy."
"Hm?"
Arun, who had been lifting his teacup to his lips, raised one eyebrow as if questioning, 'Do you really think that?'
"Sometimes blunt words are the hardest to hear."
"It's exactly as I said. I, Brad Cahill, am merely Brennenton's sword."
"Since you call yourself a sword, let me ask: 'A sword does not think; it merely acts.' Am I wrong?"
"I am a knight and a frontline commander. Making the best judgment before acting is also the duty of a commander."
"Brad Cahill!"
Arun van Brennenton snorted in anger.
"Rebellious knight, are you defying me again?"
"My convictions follow the knight's oath, and I am always prepared to pay the price."
Brad's sharp gaze seemed to add, 'even with my life.' It was another path of loyalty, but too burdensome for the young noble to accept.
"Tch."
In the end, Arun relaxed his fierce glare.
He couldn't overcome a knight who staked his life on remonstrance. What was more regrettable was himself.
"You were right."
"...!"
"My mistake led to the annihilation of the commander and all soldiers below."
It was hard to believe such words came from the immature young lord.
The former fortress commander, Brad Cahill, looked up at the young noble. Meeting eyes filled with contempt and jealousy, he felt only disappointment.
As expected, the follow-up was a horrific self-justification.
"Your reason for opposing was correct. But who is the superior and who the subordinate? You failed to convince me and failed to aid the battle to victory."
'Dodging responsibility? What kind of education has this child received?'
What a commander should do now was not seek excuses, but manage the aftermath or find a breakthrough.
'It seems he needs more time to learn from failure.'
Brad stood silently and looked down at Arun. It was rude.
"What? That attitude. Don't tell me you've assembled the troops."
"Current time, 10 a.m. Grant permission to deploy."
"...Now?"
Arun van Brennenton blinked in confusion.
"From now, we will recover the remains of Vice Commander Bolt Grassium and the soldiers below."
"What?"
Arun's face shifted from confusion to absurdity, then to fury as he slammed the table.
"You defied my deployment order, and now you want to sortie? To retrieve corpses? What is this!"
"..."
Brad stood firm without explanation, as if accepting the rebuke.
"Answer me! Are you trying to humiliate me? Holding me accountable by bringing back the soldiers I got killed? How dare you!"
Arun ranted wildly, but Brad didn't react. Adjutant Benjamin dared not intervene and stood awkwardly. Eventually, Arun collapsed in exhaustion.
Gulp, gulp.
Thud.
Arun downed the cold tea in one go and slammed the cup down hard enough to shatter it.
"Huff, huff. Explain. With resolve to be imprisoned again."
"As you know, this fortress is manned by barbarians and prisoners..."
"Get to the point."
"They have no future or hope. They merely guard the fortress until death."
"So retrieving bodies gives them hope?"
"It's trust."
"...Trust from mere prisoner riffraff?"
"Who would obey orders from men who fight monsters lifelong on harsh conditions and meager pay? It's not just feeding and clothing them."
His voice was low, but his resolve firm.
"The mission to protect their families, the trust in comrades at their side, the belief that even in death, their remains will reach family—these make them soldiers."
"Are you talking about welfare for lowly grunts now?"
"A truly cheap welfare, indeed."
"...Emotionally, I understand."
It also meant he didn't understand rationally.
Arun's eyes were cold. He deemed Brad's actions unfit for a commander.
Brad inwardly shook his head.
'Heart cold, head hot— a know-it-all. What do they teach at the capital academy? Soldiers are human too; moving their hearts is the basis of command, isn't it?'
The educated prioritized efficiency, the battle-hardened brotherhood. Neither was wrong. The standoff continued, but the failed one lacked justification.
"One question. Is it worth staking lives for?"
"It's the last value left to those lowly ones."
Arun sighed deeply and stepped aside. Not a spoiled nobleman's son entirely, he recognized he was outmatched in momentum and justification.
"Very well. But clarify responsibilities."
"Responsibility always falls to the commander. Then."
Brad saluted with fist to chest. Third Young Lord Arun van Brennenton reluctantly returned it.
As he turned to leave, Arun stopped him.
"Lately, fortress supplies have been unstable."
"I've been briefed. My apologies."
"I understand the circumstances, but don't we need to fix it now?"
A glint flashed in Brad's eyes as he turned.
"If you order it, young lord, won't it normalize?"
"Do you think I'm that capable? Pretending not to know my intent to prevent escalation?"
Arun's voice rose again.
"To avoid worsening, I won't force them either."
"Defying orders again? You really..."
"It's not currying favor or submission. It's right to endure their venting, as you have until now."
"Like me?"
His caution was beautified as magnanimity.
"So please overlook it. It won't last long."
"...Fine."
Brad's gaze toward Arun held pity.
'What a shame. If only he'd rolled in the frontlines more or approached with a learner's mindset—this half-baked attitude was the mistake.'
This wasn't the academy. On a battlefield where mistakes meant death, the young noble's haste carried heavy responsibility.
In that sense, the world was cruelly fair.
"Then, if you'll excuse me."
"Good luck."
Brad saluted again, and Arun waved it off, ending the audience. The cold air seemed to thaw slightly.
As he exited, Benjamin approached.
"Sir Brad, a moment."
"What is it?"
Brad's attitude toward the third young lord's adjutant was gentle.
'Benjamin Roth, outstanding in martial prowess and loyal. Must be tough serving an immature lord.'
He also admired how he managed fellow knights smoothly amid the rough fortress folk.
Meanwhile, Benjamin thought similarly.
'From shield soldier to knight—a legendary figure. Devoted life to northern pioneering, building today's Westguard. A knight among knights.'
To him, Brad Cahill was a respectable senior.
"I apologize."
"An apology out of nowhere?"
Innocent remorse drew innocent curiosity.
"We had to use soldiers as shields and retreat. Scold me."
"That matter?"
Brad's gaze at the junior knight was warm.
"In any situation, the top commander's safety comes first. You fulfilled a knight's duty."
"But the soldiers..."
"They fulfilled theirs as soldiers."
"...Is that truly enough?"
Benjamin Roth, the loyal knight of the third young lord, pressed with wide eyes.
"Truly."
"It's not enough, that's why we're deploying. As guards and soldiers have roles, so does their captain—I. Now, I'll fulfill mine."
Brad patted the junior knight's shoulder with a smile.
"Surviving isn't a sin. It's an opportunity someone opened."
Benjamin murmured softly.
"An opportunity the soldiers gave me..."
"To a knight, real battle means more than survival. I sincerely hope your sword stands tall henceforth."
"Thank you for the advice."
Click.
Benjamin snapped heels together, straightened, and saluted.
"And I pray for your fortune in battle, senior."
"Likewise."
The old knight returned the salute gladly and turned away. The junior stood motionless until he was gone.
'My nape itches.'
Brad smiled wryly to himself.
Meeting fine talent felt good, but this tickle in his chest was hard to get used to.
'Perhaps a feeling I'd forgotten.'
The path before the command post sloped downward.
The curved hill road ended at the camp.
The assembled troops came into view on the parade ground.
Some 150 veterans stood in four ranks, with horses and wagons lined behind.
A lightly armed force of veterans, with ample horses and wagons—ideal for swiftly finding and loading remains.
Heading to the camp entrance, he saw bereaved families lined along the main road.
"Sniff."
Those who seemed kin reddened eyes and quietly bowed to Brad.
Despite the crowd, the mood was solemn. Brad nodded deeply as he passed.
"Unit, attention!"
Entering the camp, the troops straightened.
Hal Frederick followed as he ascended the platform.
"Report the troops first."
"Rangers 10, cavalry 30, infantry 80, Bolt Unit members 30. Total 150 ready for deployment. Some Bolt Unit members under ranger control for guidance."
"Any changes?"
"Verified volunteers' health and supplies twice."
"Good work."
Hal stepped down after reporting. Brad stood at the platform's edge.
"Much has happened in the past month."
"..."
"You all know. But we have no time to grieve. New faces will fill the gaps, emptiness will fade soon. But first, there's work to do, right?"
Brad spread his arms like a cape, pointing to the main gate.
"Our comrades who finished their duty lie in the field. Let's bring them back. Unit, deploy."
"Unit, deploy!"
Adjutant Hal echoed Brad's order.
"Unit, deploy. Open the gates!"
Rumble, rumble.
The sturdy log fortress gates rose. Beneath, troops moved to recover comrades' remains.
"Vanguards forward."
Clop, clop.
Cavalry carrying rangers passed first, followed at intervals by the rest.
Thud thud thud.
As dust settled, Hal glanced at Brad and ordered.
"Next, wagons forward. Troops hold."
"Widen spacing."
"Now. Unit forward."
Rattle, creak.
Ten wagons rolled in line, flanked by waiting infantry who matched pace with hands on wagons. The process flowed naturally, unhurried.
Like the aesthetic of slowness.
"Please be careful."
"Take care of Father."
Residents led by bereaved saw them off.
"Return safely."
"Wait. I'll bring back Morton for sure."
"If rushed, forget the rest. Just come back alive."
Garrison troops bid farewell too.
The scene was visible at a glance from the command post.
"Those are Brad Cahill's direct troops?"
"Some Bolt Unit survivors mixed in, but mostly veteran elites."
"Not a single hitch in their movement."
Admiration flowed naturally.
Unit operations were key in the academy's knight curriculum. Troop movement especially measured a commander's grasp of soldier rapport and logistics.
"Embarrassing to say, but better than Brennenton's mercenaries."
"True, but..."
Arun blinked at his adjutant's cheeky impudence.
"My apologies."
"Not wrong. Definitely elites over Bolt Unit. Tch, it would have been much better with them."
'...How can a person...'
Benjamin mouthed silently behind, unable to reply.
Under the late spring sun overhead, the column snaked along ranger and cavalry tracks, bereaved escorting to the gates.
Arun van Brennenton watched in silence.