Chapter 73: Victory
Thanks to Prince Alphonse’s quick thinking, Imperial Army Commander Marshal Gaius had been captured.
The news completely shattered the morale of the remaining Imperial soldiers on the battlefield.
Surrounded and leaderless, they had nothing left they could do.
One by one, they threw down their weapons and surrendered.
The Battle of the Silva Plains came to a close as a complete and overwhelming victory for the Kingdom of Berstein.
In the eastern sky, dawn was beginning to break.
Beneath the pale light stretched a grim yet quiet scene:
countless Imperial corpses and a crowd of dejected prisoners,
and among them, Kingdom soldiers moving about, faces a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.
“…We’ve won.”
“We… we’ve won…!”
Shouts of joy erupted from every direction.
They embraced, cried, and celebrated this miraculous victory.
They had saved their country from a desperate situation.
The sense of accomplishment enveloped the entire battlefield.
Yet the man who should have stood at the center of that joy was nowhere to be seen.
Zenon von Arkwright sat alone in the temporary command post on the hill, calmly directing the post-battle operations.
“…The number of prisoners is approximately 12,000. Wounded among them: 3,000. Dead: about 8,000.”
He murmured quietly while reviewing the damage report compiled by Rio.
“Our own losses: 300 dead, 700 wounded… Excellent numbers. Cost-effectiveness is extremely high.”
In his mind, there was no thrill of victory—only cold numbers and facts.
His work was far from over.
Winning the war was not the objective.
It was merely one tool toward achieving his true purpose.
“Rio, ensure strict management of the prisoners. Isolate the rebels and provide sufficient food and medical care to the rest. They will be important cards in future diplomatic negotiations with the Empire. Do not harm or kill them. Marc, collect all weapons, horses, and supplies left behind by the Imperial Army. All of these will become national assets. Not a single item should go to waste and Grey, report the victory to the royal capital. Do not include unnecessary information. Simply state the fact: ‘Under the command of Zenon von Arkwright, the Kingdom Army achieved victory over the Imperial Army.’”
Rapid, precise orders flew in.
His attitude was so calm and businesslike, it was as if he had merely completed a large-scale project.
A man visited the command post.
Prince Alphonse.
The conflicted expression that had once plagued his face was gone.
In its place was a quiet resolve, a royal composure ready to face reality.
“…Zenon-dono,”
Alphonse bowed his head quietly before him.
“…This victory was magnificent. Thanks to you, our country has been saved… I thank you.”
It was the first time Alphonse had sincerely expressed both defeat and gratitude to another person.
Zenon, however, merely glanced at him before returning his attention to the documents at hand.
“No thanks are necessary. I merely performed my duties. …However, Prince,”
His voice remained flat.
“Your final command, though— that I acknowledge. You made the most rational decision at the crucial moment. Because of you, our army’s losses were reduced by several dozen…I am grateful.”
Alphonse was taken aback by the unexpected praise.
He had been recognized by the coldest, strictest man he knew.
That fact stirred something hot within Alphonse’s chest.
But Zenon continued, cutting through any sentimentality.
His tone was as cold and sharp as ice.
“However, do not misunderstand. The reason you are still alive is not out of mercy or forgiveness.”
Zenon set down his pen and met Alphonse’s eyes directly, his blue gaze devoid of any emotion.
“Rationally speaking, you should have been executed immediately for treason. I did not do so because the domestic chaos caused by executing the First Prince—the succession crisis, loss of royal authority, potential uprisings by the old guard—would have outweighed the ‘return’ of keeping you alive and using you as a piece in my strategy. That is all. Nothing more than a cold, calculated management decision.”
Alphonse was speechless.
His courage and gratitude were nothing more than data to this man.
“You are no longer my ‘heir apparent.’ You are now a replaceable human resource, a tool to carry out my grand plan. The price of your crimes will be paid over your lifetime through work for me that exceeds my investment.”
Zenon’s words were relentless.
“Your ‘royal charisma’ still has value in uniting the old nobles. But should you again act on emotion and interfere with my plan… you will be cut down without mercy. There will be no second chance. Understood?”
It was a merciless final warning.
Yet within that ultimate rationality, Alphonse sensed a strange fairness and honesty.
This man did not lie.
He did not flatter.
He merely confronted the cold rules of this world head-on.
“…I understand,”
Alphonse nodded quietly but firmly.
“I will pay that price with my entire life… I will serve as your piece to the fullest.”
Between the two young lions, a strange but firm contract was forged for the first time.
It was neither friendship nor trust— simply a dry, yet extremely powerful working relationship between a leader and subordinate who acknowledged each other’s roles.
At that moment, loud cheers came from outside the command post.
Kingdom soldiers, led by Marshal Gerhardt and General Gustav, had gathered to praise their young commander.
“Zenon-sama! Long live you!”
“Our hero! Commander Zenon!”
Their faces shone with pure joy and ecstatic devotion.
No longer merely a noble’s third son,
Zenon was being mythologized as the legendary hero who saved the nation.
But the man at the center of this fervor?
He listened with genuine annoyance.
(…What a hassle.)
His inner thought was simple.
(Hero? Don’t make me laugh. I don’t need this irrational label. I just want a quiet, rational life…)
The Kingdom of Berstein had achieved a dramatic victory.
But the new fervor and expectations it had unleashed—
Zenon already sensed it would mark the beginning of his next, and most troublesome, burden.
The unwanted battles were far from over.