Herates had already reached the front lines.

As the army’s supreme commander—the one who absolutely could not die—he now stood on the battlefield.

His strength was merely that of a B Rank Warrior.

Against two enemy generals ranked A or higher? He stood no chance.

His presence here was utterly meaningless.

He should have been in his command tent behind the lines, directing the Stanki forces—that was his true role.

But…

Precisely because he was the commander, he understood the situation was beyond salvation.

He didn’t believe in miracles like falling stars reversing fate.

No matter how hard he racked his brain, no strategy could salvage this defeat.

As troop numbers dwindled, a general’s prowess grew decisive.

When his forces still numbered sixteen thousand, the enemy generals’ terror hadn’t fully surfaced.

Now, with barely five thousand left, freed from endless arrows and spears, those two generals slaughtered common soldiers like chickens.

Not to mention the Wildfield Cavalry, crushing everything in their path.

If Stanki had an elite unit like that, he’d swear the situation wouldn’t be this dire.

But there were no ifs.

Numbers were strength. Troop quality was strength. General quality was strength.

Aside from having slightly more soldiers, they held no advantage.

Though declaring defeat before battle marked a poor commander…

Herates had always anticipated loss—felt its likelihood—but never imagined *this* kind of defeat.

The enemy commander, Sass Vies, was talented. Given time, he might even surpass Herates. But for now? He was still far weaker.

Yet he’d won. Victory was everything. Even if his command skills fell short, he’d still triumphed.

His victory was built on caution. The Baha Balm commander never let advantages slip. He thought two steps ahead, overwhelming with sheer momentum.

He remained ice-cold—never reckless, never hesitant.

Herates had to admit: *Brilliant.*

Ordering retreats now was pointless for Stanki.

With the army collapsing like a landslide, any other commander would have fled already.

Herates could easily say, *"I did my best."*

But his pride refused those words.

He still had one duty left to Stanki’s soldiers.

That was why he’d come here. Why he stood on this field.

"*Stanki forces—retreat! Surrender!*"

Herates channeled his Inner Energy. His voice boomed across the battlefield.

Silence crashed down in an instant.

We heard it too, of course.

*A trick? A trap?*

Countless thoughts flashed through my mind.

But seeing the lone figure standing defiantly ahead, I made my choice.

I stepped out from the rear lines onto the battlefield myself.

"*Strategist, no!!*"

"*Strategist!*"

"*Relax. He means no treachery.*"

I kept walking forward, my cane tapping softly against the earth—*thud… thud…*—echoing in the hush.

Now both standing on the field, Herates and I locked eyes.

"*I know you, Sass Vies.*"

"*But I don’t know you, sir.*"

"*Herates. Skip the ‘sir.’ I’m not used to it.*"

"*General Herates?*"

"*Mr. Sass.*"

Our voices were low, yet crystal clear. Stanki and Baha Balm troops alike fell silent, weapons lowering by unspoken accord.

"*There’s a saying: ‘Surrendering soldiers aren’t killed.’ Right?*"

"*That saying exists. Are you surrendering, General Herates?*"

"*No. As Stanki’s general, I won’t surrender.*"

"*...*"

I frowned, puzzling over his words.

"*Don’t strain your mind. I’m surrendering the five thousand Stanki soldiers behind me.*"

"*General!*"

"*Impossible! We’ll never surrender!*"

"*We swear to fight for Stanki till death!*"

"*Fight to the end!*"

Thousands behind Herates roared, refusing to abandon Stanki City.

"*Shut your mouths!*" Herates snapped. "*Do you think you’re fighting for Stanki now? You’re just dying for that swine in the city!*"

He spat at the thought of *him*—utter contempt twisting his face.

"*Fools. Your sacrifice is pointless now. Every moment you fight wastes lives.*"

Stanki’s prosperity was never thanks to Duke Willis. It was Karl Sven.

Years ago, to slash taxes to ten percent, Karl stood outside the castle for two sleepless days and nights. Only when the Duke finally caved—grudgingly agreeing—did Karl relent. Even then, he took twenty lashes as punishment.

Herates had probably only ever respected Karl.

So even if Duke Willis fell, Stanki would endure with Karl alive. But Karl had already chosen death.

At that thought, victory suddenly felt hollow.

Without Karl, how long before Stanki crumbled?

"*So it’s settled. I surrender them to you.*"

"*And you, General Herates?*"

"*I seek only a warrior’s death.*"

As commander, he would not surrender.

He would fight—as commander—until his last breath.

"*As you said… what meaning is there in your sacrifice?*"

"*None. But meaningless doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done.*"

It was the last shred of pride for a commander.

Herates wasn’t fearless.

He’d never imagined doing something like this.

*A hero?*

He didn’t see himself that way.

He’d never been selfless.

Yet somehow… he was doing it anyway.

He was terrified of death.

*[I don’t want to die either…]*

He’d wanted to enjoy wealth, comfort, life.

But if he lived, even surrendered troops might not be spared. A commander’s order could change everything.

So he had to die.

From age sixteen—a private soldier in Duke Willis’s guard—to general, to commander-in-chief… twenty years had passed.

That reckless courage from his youth was long gone.

Had staying in command too long made him soft?

He feared death. Who wouldn’t?

Some claimed death could be "weightier than Mount Tai or lighter than a goose feather."

To Herates, that was nonsense.

Death was death. It meant facing terror.

So why was he doing this now?

He glanced back at the thousands of soldiers and sighed.

He’d joined the army for a full stomach. Then, to protect Stanki.

What a strange path life took.

How had it come to this?

"*After I’m gone… surrender. Don’t fight. It’s pointless.*"

As if remembering something, he added to me:

"*Treat the surrendered well. That shouldn’t be hard, right?*"

"*I can do that.*"

"*Might be good if you took them in.*"

"*If they’re willing, I will.*"

"*Hey! You heard him!*" Herates called to his troops, voice oddly light. "*If things get rough, join them. Willis is hopeless anyway.*"

He was casually urging his soldiers to defect.

"*Good. Then I have no last words.*"

He whistled sharply. A horse galloped to his side.

He patted its flank, scratching behind its ears.

Then, gripping the reins in one hand and his spear in the other, he faced our thousands alone.