What kind of sudden attack is this? Surprised, Hator rose from his seat. Meanwhile, new shouts continued to be heard from outside.

“There’s a fire! We must flee!”

A general who was guarding him closely in Resda’s absence rushed into the tent and said.

Hator quickly grabbed his sword and shield and came out of the tent. And what entered his eyes was flames that dyed the black sky and white snow completely red.

Seeing his army in confusion and disarray, Hator gritted his teeth. Today, when Resda and half of his most trusted troops were absent, such a coincidental attack.

But it was already too late to counterattack as half of the formation had collapsed. No matter how much he looked around, he could not find any hope, so Hator made the decision that a commander leading an army should not delay.

“Retreat! Head up the mountain!”

[This is the timeline separator]

Cutting down Ond’s soldiers rushing at him, Penrel thought about what madness this was.

These were clearly people who came from Edegrun with him. They were under the same Aglante flag.

Yet now they were attacking the king and his army.

Even though he knew in his head that their master was not loyal to the royal family, as someone born in Soar and raised in the military, he had never imagined breaking unity in this way.

But unlike him who was greatly shocked, the king did not seem surprised by this situation. Penrel glanced at the man who was casually cutting down those who were allies just yesterday. He seemed to have known all this in advance.

No, he must have known. Penrel recalled the man’s unfamiliar behavior recently.

After the first battle, the king switched positions with the corps commanders every night. That change to cause confusion in case of night raids was solely at the king’s discretion.

When it had been about seven days, Penrel realized there was a pattern to those seemingly random acts.

As he probably wasn’t the only one who read that, Penrel immediately went to report this fact to the king. However, the man shook his head even after hearing everything he said.

“It’s fine to leave it as is.”

And the regular changes continued even after that.

Until exactly yesterday.

Yesterday, the king did not switch tent locations with any corps commander. Instead, he strengthened the sentries. They were strictly controlled not to take a single step outside their own encamped areas.

Before he could ask why it was being managed so strictly, there was a night raid by Brinwell’s army. And where they attacked was where Nebel’s army would have switched places with the royal army if the pattern had been applied.

What happened after that was even bigger.

When Brinwell’s army raided, Nebel, Ond, and Pelita began to attack this side in alliance with the attacking Brinwell army. Although the corps commanders seemed flustered as if this wasn’t supposed to spread like this, the situation had already clearly distinguished friend from foe.

But don’t they think about the future? Penrel lamented as he cut down soldiers of the same country rushing at him. If the king returned to the capital, there would be bloodshed again.

Nebel, who had always opposed the king on every matter and earned his hatred, would be completely crushed because of this incident. Rebellion on the battlefield was sufficient cause for that.

It was then that a sharp cry was heard.

“Penrel! Snap out of it!”

At the same time, a sharp blade approached his cheek. Penrel hastily twisted his body to avoid it. He staggered a little, unable to keep his balance due to the sudden movement.

The king, who had somehow approached him closely, cut down the attacker and turned to look at him.

“Are you alright?”

Seeing the scene reflected in those golden eyes, Penrel blamed himself for his absent-minded behavior. To be thinking unnecessary thoughts in a place where a sword could enter his neck. He wondered if he was in his right mind.

“I apologize.”

“Try not to get hurt. I need to be able to face your father.”

And the king again cut down the rebels rushing at him. Penrel watched as the man skillfully dropped someone’s head with practiced hands. Although it took some getting used to seeing after a long time, this was actually the king’s appearance he had seen for a long time. The mountain range commander accustomed to killing.

The reason it felt unfamiliar was because he had always acted like a gentle man since getting married. Just as even the largest beast lets its guard down when always lying down. Those close to the king, including himself, gradually came to misunderstand that the man had softened.

But just as a collar doesn’t make claws and teeth disappear, people don’t change either. Penrel shook off the chills running down his spine and gripped his sword again.

That day, they slaughtered nearly three thousand troops.

Three houses had defected. Nebel, Pelita, and Ond.

The snow melted with blood, and everywhere reeked. The cold was enough to make one’s nose sting, but the smell of blood was even stronger.

It wasn’t just the elder faction’s army that died. They also killed many of the troops that Resda, Prince Hator’s guard general, had brought. Because it was more difficult to capture them alive than to kill them.

“As long as Resda is alive, it’s fine anyway.”

The king said, wiping his face wet with red using water from melted snow.

Fortunately, as he said, they had secured Resda in advance. After wiping off flesh and blood and regaining his original face, Penrel reported to the man.

“The prisoners have been tied up in the temporarily constructed tent.”

The man stared at him blankly for a moment, then wiped his face with the towel handed to him and said.

“I’ll go interrogate them now.”

[This is the timeline separator]

Inside the tent emptied for use as a temporary prison was a tightly bound man.

The man with light brown hair was someone Idren knew well too. Resda Dalten.

More than half of his knights were dead, piled up outside. It was a completely opposite situation from his past life.

In his previous life, Resda had killed many of his knights. None of those deaths were light, but the biggest blow was Penrel’s death.

Having captured him before such a thing could happen, it was now a past that would no longer come true.

Idren approached the man forced to kneel on the ground and removed his gag. Resda glared at him with fierce eyes and spat.

[Filthy half-breed.]

The Brinwell language he spat out was clear.

Knowing how fluent he was in the Aglante language, Idren did not accommodate Resda. He asked in his native tongue, no different from usual.

“Why did you start a war?”

[To reclaim the throne you usurped.]

There was determination on the man’s face as he said those words. Idren nodded in agreement with him.

“You have a just cause.”

But just causes and beliefs shouted from enemy lines are not even worth filth.

Idren grabbed the man’s jaw. Despite the considerable pressure, the man only reddened his face without making a single groan.

Only after hearing the noise from the jawbone did Idren let him go and say.

“Your master fled up the mountain.”

[It seems you don’t know that high ground is advantageous in war.]

“Indeed, that tends to be the case.”

Higher ground that secured more visibility was suitable for both defense and offense.

“But when greed is excessive, problems arise, and it seems he forgot that fact while being chased.”

Unlike normal battlefields, one had to be careful of high ground in Kirios. Because the altitude was already high, going up too much could cause illness.

In his previous life, Idren had gone up to high ground knowing this fact. Because he had already been chased to the limit and had nowhere else to flee.

There, his soldiers began to complain of headaches and breathing difficulties, and then started dying.

In the end, they came down without properly regrouping, and encountered the Brinwell army waiting for them to give up right below.

Idren, briefly recalling that humiliating past, looked down at the prisoner.

“I wonder how long your master can hold out.”

[You vile bastard.]

Despite his jaw swelling, the pronunciation was clear. The pain must be severe, how tough. Looking down at him with disgusted eyes, Idren said.

“Spitting on your own face.”

[Things won’t go as you wish.]

“At least the probability is higher than your wishes coming true.”

And instead of taunting the powerless man further, Idren rose from his seat.

“Will your master come to save you?”

[He does not waver at such low-grade provocation.]

“Well. I’m curious how it will turn out.”

His past self did not go to rescue his subordinates in danger. So Penrel died, and they achieved victory.

How would the man who had driven him into that situation act in the same situation? Recalling the face of the enemy prince he had never forgotten, Idren turned his back.

Whether Hator came to rescue his subordinate or not, the result would be the same. The winner would be this side, the loser would be that side.