The sword rebounded from an unexpected angle.
A pale but smiling face.
Clearly, the red-haired specter that had been pierced through the stomach with armor and all, stood unfazed in front of him.
“You, you fiend?!”
Moreover, what shocked Aslan even more was something else entirely.
Crrrk.
“Now, let’s switch weapons for round two.”
The enemy ground his teeth, uttering these words, and Aslan’s face hardened.
In the enemy’s hand was his own beloved sword Velocitas, the artifact that granted him the title of the Knight of Swiftness and had penetrated the foe’s gut.
The strange red aura flickering around the enemy’s body was something Aslan knew all too well.
Even the retaliation just now had only been possible due to Velocitas’s abilities.
Aslan’s complexion turned ashen.
‘An artifact, huh. Still, something isn’t quite right.’
Logan held the red sword that had been stuck in his abdomen and glared fiercely at his opponent.
There was a certain disjointed feeling when wielding a different sword than his Lux, custom-fitted to him.
However, there were definitely benefits as well.
Vvuum.
The moment he infused the sword with his force, an alien power, mana, spread throughout his body, accelerating his consciousness.
“Ho-how ow-could yo-you…”
Aslan’s voice stretched out strangely, as if time around him was slowing down.
Not an artifact like the Boots of Wind, boosting physical abilities— but one enhancing cognition and thought dramatically.
‘So this was the power that made Aslan known as the Knight of Swiftness.’
Logan understood why Aslan felt significantly faster and stronger.
And now, that power was his.
“Let’s finish this!”
Despite the bracelet of regeneration struggling to heal his gut—and a lingering pain that was still present—there was no hesitation in his movements.
The enemy’s condition was far more critical than his own.
The royal treasure, the bracelet of regeneration, ranked alongside high priests’ holy spells, he’d won meeting the king, had worked its precarious magic.
Clang!
Boom!
Snap.
With only three strikes, he cut through the side previously pierced by Lux, and the enemy’s distorted expression was clear to see.
Though unaccustomed to the accelerated cognition, making his movements awkward, this was negligible compared to its utility.
“Begone, vile wretch…”
Thunk.
He had aimed for the heart, but instead pierced the other flank—a mistake born from his inexperience with this new sensation.
But it was only a matter of time.
‘This time, I must catch it!’
The golden force flared on the red blade, targeting the enemy’s staggering vulnerabilities.
No matter the effectiveness of the bracelet of regeneration, instant recovery from a pierced belly was impossible.
Though Logan himself wasn’t in top shape either, the opportunity to eliminate Aslan of Bifrost, one of their greatest strengths, meant forcing himself to continue the onslaught.
Clash!
And as he saw Lux, held by the enemy, flung helplessly into the air after colliding, his determination seemed finally rewarded.
However.
“ASLAN, DEFEND!”
“WHERE?!”
“CURSES!”
Despite the slow passage of time, a peculiar chaos broke out around him.
During the clash, Bifrost’s troops, who hadn’t dared to interfere, now began to charge in.
Perhaps it meant that they, or Aslan’s movements, had become slower since the beginning.
The sight of bloody Eileen, struggling to fend off enemy knights and failing to stop some from reaching the other side, was perceived slowly yet clearly.
“Damn it!”
Just a little more and he could kill him.
A blade was already flying towards his nape.
“Damn! Damn!”
One gamble was enough; he couldn’t accompany Aslan to the afterlife.
The bracelet wouldn’t function for days.
Logan’s sword, aimed at Aslan’s heart, now turned towards the knights charging at him.
Crack.
Crrunch.
“AAARGH!”
“AAAGH!”
Wounded and fatigued, but borrowing the artifact’s power, he consecutively downed three knights.
But in that moment, the others had already whisked the fallen Aslan away.
Bloodied belly, coughing blood—a fatal wound for any ordinary man, but not enough to kill a high-grade knight.
More enemy knights appeared, obstructing him.
Logan, grinding his teeth in frustration, stopped.
Vvuum.
“Ugh!”
A sudden wave of dizziness—the result of unconsciously retracting the force infused in his sword.
The cognitive boost faded back to normal, leaving side effects easily sensed, but blades were already flying at him from all directions.
Clang, clang, clang!
“Ugh!”
Fortunately, someone leapt in front of him in a flash, deflecting the falling blades.
‘Eileen.’
Logan struggled to lift his head, and a pale-faced Eileen, wavering on her feet, was fending off the attacks aimed directly at him.
She looked strained even to block the enemies’ attacks, but that alone was enough.
“Get lost!”
His dizziness was temporary, and despite his wounds, a high-grade knight like Logan could easily overpower three average knights.
Whoosh!
With a bellow, Logan lunged forward, repelling their assaults with a single swipe of his sword.
Staggering Eileen then lunged again, burying her sword into the heart of one of them.
Thunk.
“UGH!”
Following closely behind, as if by magic, Logan struck, severing the necks of two wide-eyed knights.
Slash!
“Well done!”
Exhausted, Eileen collapsed, and Logan shielded her, raising his sword and shouting with all his might.
“I’ve felled the Knight of Swiftness!”
The shout, reddening his own face, seemed pointless at a glance, but it was a necessary act.
From the east wall, where the troops had been consumed by the immediate battle, the message spread rapidly throughout.
The details varied but the essential message was the same.
Bifrost’s strongest had fallen!
Bifrost’s troops hesitated briefly, and MacLaine’s found new strength—a small shift.
But the resulting overall change in the tide of battle was significant.
What had been a tenacious hold on the east wall, now leaning toward Bifrost, reversed—feeling an utter rout after losing their strongest in the west and north walls.
The retreating front line began to hold its ground.
And with Logan helping his father corner the Lunar Knight Plantes, MacLaine’s mood surged even more.
– We are winning.
In all places but the east wall, where MacLaine’s forces had been falling back, they started to gain strength in this illusion.
On the other hand, Bifrost’s army began to panic.
Having boasted of two swords—one fallen and the other being pushed back—was enough to forget the previous advantage.
– Could we be losing?
The two misconceptions from either camp interacting caused a drastic turnaround, which was visibly clear to one observer from afar.
“How’s Aslan?”
“According to the knights’ hand signals, he seems to be unharmed for now. However, since Lord Aslan used the highest-grade potion earlier, for this battle, he’s unable to…”
“Ha. It’s ridiculous. Stupid mice taking it too seriously. There’s no need to overdo it. Retreat!”
“Yes!”
“Hmm. Let’s see how long they can hold out.”
A touch of satisfaction faded from the confident face of Roger Bifrost, replaced by a twinge of irritation.
“They’re retreating!”
“HOORAY!!”
From afar came the announcements of Bifrost’s withdrawal, as all around roared with cheers.
Despite corpses scattered around the torchlit walls, those who stood on them managed forced smiles.
Among them, Logan looked at the rising moon, calming his restless heart.
‘Only one day. It’s just a one-day difference.’
The moon, full just yesterday, had waned much like his inner turmoil.
But he couldn’t show that worry outwardly.
“Everyone rest! Treat the injured and maintain vigilance, take turns for rest!”
The only thing was to survive.
With that single thought, Logan shouted to his troops.
The next day.
An uncertain moment could bring another enemy assault.
Most of MacLaine’s soldiers, who had spent a sleepless night with their eyes wide open, were completely worn by fatigue.
“The enemy! Reinforcements! Their flag… The eagle atop flame… Pheretta! It’s the army of the Count of Pheretta!”
Dismal news of the enemy’s reinforcement arrival spread.
MacLaine’s exhausted forces could have been easily invaded in their weakened state, but since all of MacLaine’s key figures were gathered in Tomodo Castle, defeat in this battle would effectively be the end for MacLaine—it seemed Bifrost had opted to send their army here to make a statement.
Since then, a somewhat different battle had begun, not like the day before.
* * *
“My lord! It’s the east again!”
“Damn these wretches!”
Logan ground his teeth yet had no choice but to respond.
Sprinting across the ramparts, he saw Bifrost’s knights who were about to ascent instead hastily retreat.
‘Again!’
They only feigned climbing before retreating.
Among them was even the Lunar Knight Plantes.
Their eyes met; he sneered and vanished.
This tactic had repeated for days, and Logan was exasperated with this nonsense.
After two initial all-out attacks and with reinforcements from Count Pheretta’s army arriving naively only to be repelled by the chain-bolts’ bitter taste—they now merely teased to test the waters without a full-on assault.
The issue for Logan and MacLaine’s forces was that they had to respond.
Casualties had ceased, but the situation was far from favorable—not just the mounting psychological fatigue.
“My lord, the magazine is running low. At this rate, we won’t have supplies within a day or two…”
Countless magazines, along with other resources brought in place of food, were showing their bottoms after just five days of battle.
“Stored food in the fortress is also depleting, my lord. How dare those scoundrels leave us next to nothing, right after harvest?”
Fury over the food situation was boiling over.
What weighed most troublingly on Logan’s mind was…
‘It’s been over four days already. What went wrong?’
He agonized over the overdue news of the king’s passing.
The slowly tapping sound was persistent.
“Hold! Firm!”
“Thank you for your hard work.”
“No, my lord! Everyone knows you’ve not slept, working tirelessly…”
“Enough. Save your strength rather than wasting words. Rest.”
As the soldier, already strained, attempted excessive courtesy, Logan stopped him and gazed out at the now dark world beyond the burning torches.
Night attacks were common, at least once a day, so they couldn’t afford to slack off tonight.
Any sign of weakness and the entire enemy force would advance immediately.
With a heavy heart, he looked up at the sky—where the waning moon could no longer be called full.
‘Has something variable occurred…?’
He wondered if it had been a mistake to rely solely on memories from his past life.
Anxiety continued to eat at him.
“That bandage alright? You’ve been shot by an arrow!”
“What can I do at a time like this? Be thankful it’s not the leg.”
“I wish I had been severely injured too…”
“Oh, stop it! You’ll be gone with that kind of talk. Nowadays, you can’t just lay down with minor injuries. Do you know how much the knights press on?”
A soldier on the ramparts reprimanded another softly who was on night duty.
“But my crossbow string is broken. I’ve run out of magazines. At this rate…”
“Hold on, just hold on. Grab a spear and stab if you must. Do you think everyone else is fit?”
“Will we survive, us…?”
“…”
“That’s the thing. Given the situation…”
“…It’s an enterprise of the grand duke. Surely, there’s a plan.”
Despite saying this, the worry was just as deep in the soldier’s eyes.
“Does this look like there’s a plan to you?”
“What other choice is there, kid! Especially now!”
“Why did the grand duke even start this war to begin with…”
“Quiet, for heaven’s sake! The mood is already tense!”
The soldiers, keeping a distance while on night duty, brought heavier gloom to Logan’s heart with their chatter.
‘…Damn it.’
Sensory enhancement felt like a curse at times like these.
Unable to approach them, he merely stood stupefied on the ramparts.
“Logan. We should talk.”
A tired but familiar voice reached his ears.
“Father…”
“You know as well as I do; we can’t keep this up much longer. I want to know what your next plan is.”
His father looked at him quietly with dark-circled eyes and a haggard face.
His conscience poked at him, but he couldn’t possibly reveal his worry.
“Just a few more days, we need to hold out just a bit longer. It’s still too early to say…”
He repeated what he’d said many times, unable to look his father in the eye.
A moment of heavy silence passed.
“… I see. Then we’ll have to continue.”
His father somehow accepted this absurd excuse, nodding his head again.
The hand patting his shoulder felt unspeakably heavy.
‘I must endure. If only we hold out…’
He simply brainwashed himself, clinging to a thread of hope.
And so, two more days passed, and both food in the fortress and the chain-bolts’ supplies were utterly exhausted.