CHAPTER 60: WHATEVER

The air inside the tent suddenly grew cold. That single name, spoken from the chief spy’s lips, echoed in my mind:

Eliza.

Or rather, by her real name, Willabelle.

For a moment, the cup in my hand froze. I relaxed my fingers and set the cup down on the table. The light on the surface of the wine trembled, then stilled.

"I understand," I said in a low voice.

A sharp disappointment settled inside me. Not an outburst of anger, nor a dramatic shock... just that familiar bitterness catching in my throat. Willabelle. I had already accepted her turning and leaving that day. But to hear that she had sided with Ronald... that was a move I hadn’t anticipated.

I shook my head slightly. "It seems her son’s safety outweighed her former loyalties."

The spy was silent. I could only hear his breathing.

I took a deep breath and composed myself. "I don’t have the luxury of mourning her. Anyone who stands with Ronald is an enemy. She is no exception. But..." I paused, feeling that there was no point in continuing the conversation.

"You may go, soldier."

As I said this, something else stirred inside me. Something I disliked, but couldn’t deny. A subtle longing, hidden in the shadow of disappointment. I suppose in life, you sometimes have to say "whatever" to such things.

The spy bowed silently and left the tent. The sound of the flap closing behind him deepened the silence inside.

The lamp’s light flickered on the canvas walls as I sat there for a while. Whatever... I thought to myself. But in war, nothing is ever truly "whatever." Especially when an old friend has gone over to the enemy’s side.

The red stain of wine still spread across the parchment. I touched it with my finger and pulled back without leaving a trace. A thought occurred to me then: Ronald’s strength was in his numbers, mine was in my mind. Willabelle’s presence wouldn’t disrupt this balance; it would only create a new possibility. The information Willabelle could provide might change a lot of things, but fortunately, she didn’t know much about me.

If Count Ronald’s former advisor or someone who knew a lot about him came to me, I would accept them as well. Willabelle had likely resorted to this path simply to survive. After all, her former team remained loyal to me, unlike her, and she was now alone with her son. For this reason, I understand her, but my understanding doesn’t mean I will forgive her.

No. Absolutely not. Her choosing to side with the Count, who was at war with me and not someone else, was not acceptable or forgivable.

I turned my eyes to the maps. Rivers, forests, passes... Among them, Ronald’s thirty-thousand-strong army moved like a clumsy giant. It looked big, but was slow. Heavy. And the cracks within it would grow over time, rotting it from the inside out.

Ronald’s thirty-thousand-strong army looked intimidating on paper, but a real war was never won with numbers alone. Giants were clumsy. And everything clumsy fell louder when it was struck at the right moment with the right blow.

I placed my finger at the river’s bend. This pass was the lifeline of Ronald’s supply routes. His army was large, but when it starved or when the flow of supplies was cut off, his men would begin to disperse. A hungry soldier neither fights nor remains loyal.

I murmured:

"It is not the spoon that feeds an army, but the roads. Cut the roads, and the spoons become weapons for the enemy."

Suddenly, my eyes fell on the report with Willabelle’s name written on it. A bitter ache still lingered inside me, but a thin layer of cold composure had settled over it. I closed my eyes and sank into thought.

I smiled to myself. There was neither anger nor sorrow in this smile, only playful patience. Because now the matter was this: burying Ronald’s army from the inside out.

I raised my head and summoned my aide-de-camp. When he entered the tent, he looked at me for a moment, trying to understand the strange peace on my face.

"Start the preparations," I said.

"For what, my lord?"

"For the first move that will bring about Ronald’s end, of course. The enemy has a stomach. We will attack there first."

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**Five Days Later**

It was a misty dawn. The narrow path through the forest was filled with the rumble of the long supply caravan. The creaking of wooden wheels mingled with the neighing of hungry mules, and everything seemed to turn into a foreign hum against nature itself.

This caravan was vital for Ronald’s thirty-thousand-strong army. Sacks of grain, barrels of salted meat, iron shields, medicine chests... All of it depended on the safety of this narrow road. But the road was more fragile than it seemed. Every sound of a wheel echoing among the rocks was, in fact, the rhythm of a death drum.

The vanguard of the caravan tried to feel at ease against the damp silence of the forest. Yet, even the birds’ chirping had stopped this morning. Nature seemed to know of the coming disaster.

A faint, flaming signal arrow rose from between the rocks. Silent, colorless, visible only to a specific eye. At that moment, hundreds of eyes hidden in the depths of the forest came alive at once.

From a high hill, I looked down. The mist wrapped around the caravan, like the weight that settles on a drowning man’s chest. The officer beside me took a tense breath.

"My lord... now?"

I nodded slightly. A faint curve appeared on my lips. "Now."

And the forest suddenly echoed with the hum of steel. A rain of arrows poured down through the mist, embedding in wooden crates, tearing sacks, and spooking horses. The caravan’s order collapsed in an instant. Screams, shouts, and the noise of toppled wagons mixed together.

The team led by Mike the Ironheart attacked like wolves leaping from the shadows. Silence gave way to a whirlwind of chaos.

I watched without ever looking away. The enemy soldiers panicked and drew their swords, but the narrow road had chained them. They were relatively experienced men, but because this was a narrow pass, every step was like a trap, and so they couldn’t effectively establish a defensive line.

That bitterness in me pricked me again. Willabelle. Her face, her gaze, appeared in my mind for a moment. If she were here now, against whom would she raise her sword? Ronald or me?

I whispered to myself harshly:

"It doesn’t matter anymore."

Because I would win this war.

When the last wagon of the caravan was captured, the ground inside the mist was stained crimson. My officer approached me excitedly, bowing.

"My lord, the caravan has been captured!"

I took a deep breath. The mist brushed my cheeks; the smell of blood rose with the wind. A cool expression was on my face, but another fire burned inside me. This fire was not anger, nor was it revenge... It was certainty. Ronald’s army was now condemned to starvation.

"Good," I said in a low voice. "Our men should secure the provisions in the caravan and procure the necessary pack animals.. Burn the rest."

My officer nodded and quickly moved away. His footsteps faded into the mist.

I was still on the hill, looking at the battlefield. The screams had long since faded; a dead silence had taken their place. A few horse neigh, the sound of overturned barrels rolling... everything was coming to an end.