Tower of Karma
Vol. 1 - Ch. 27 - The Battle of Flanders (8): A Futile Struggle

The battlefield was shaken, not by the relentless daily combat taking place in the 'Upper Reaches', nor by the clash between the two de facto commanding generals of the opposing armies, but rather in the area a little downstream from the center, where Gregor and Nika were engaged in battle.

"Alright!"

Gregor pumped his fist. His aim had landed perfectly. Today's surprise -

"I've taken the rear."

A deft maneuvering of the pieces — getting Anselm von Kruger to move. Even if it was temporary, he had created an opening to capture the piece that was Nika, the vice-captain of the Black Mercenary Corps. This surprise was born of his steadfast defense and reliable tactics. Familiarity had robbed him of the thoughts he should have anticipated.

"Damn it!"

Nika had been attacking recklessly, disregarding the attrition of her own forces. Her destructive power was enough to make one think she might break through Gregor's lines. And therein lay the opening — the space behind her, born of her abandoning her defenses to attack. Gregor took aim at that.

"Give it up, woman! You've fought well against Gregor von Thunder, but in the end, you're just a woman, just a mercenary. You were never my true enemy. Hahaha!"

Ignoring Gregor, Nika redirected her troops. She was no fool — to press the attack further from here would be unwise. She would flee with all her might. A retreating move.

"Do you think I'll let you escape?"

But Anselm stood in her way. He was no man to make a careless pursuit.

"Tch."

Nika clicked her tongue. Then, glancing towards the center where Volf was -

"Sorry, looks like I'm going first," she said with a seductive smile.

༺༻

Yuwain, who was battling Gilbert in the advantageous 'Upper Reaches', was the first to notice the change in Nika's battlefield. He had managed to hold his own well against Gilbert so far, gradually gaining the upper hand -

"Volf!"

There was nothing he could do from this far away. It would be meaningless to rush there now. Still, he couldn't help but call out, without wishing it.

If he were to lose Nika, who was as close to being Volf's other half in every way, Volf would no longer be the same. He may not show it outwardly, but inside, Yuwain couldn't be deceived.

"Don't get distracted, Lion Marquis!"

Gilbert's sword slashed down on Yuwain. He narrowly evaded by a hair's breadth, but a thin line ran across his cheek and eyelid, beading with blood.

"I have no time to entertain you!"

Yuwain's sword. Gilbert firmly met it. The two were locked in a struggle.

"Guh, aaaargh!"

Abandoning any pretense, Gilbert was now fighting with pure, desperate ferocity. Among the young, there was likely none who could match Gilbert one-on-one. Especially against the current Gilbert -

'I don't feel like I'll lose, but... I can't bring myself to kill. Is this the swordsmanship clan?'

Yuwain was growing desperate. The situation was far too dire. He was immobilized, Nika was in dire straits, and Volf was likely not in a state to act either. They had planned to push the center and draw out the White Mask today. That's what they had been attacking for.

'Please, survive, Nika!'

Yuwain could only pray.

༺༻

Volf immediately sensed the change on the battlefield. It happened as he was in the midst of assaulting William's earthen fortress. If this had been before the assault, perhaps Volf would have altered his strategy.

Or would he still have pursued victory, no matter what?

"...Reinforce the heavily defended right flank."

"Understood."

Volf had abandoned Nika. Nika would not want to be rescued at the cost of throwing away victory. Nika was an old acquaintance. The sole living person who knew of Volf's past, his origins. Undoubtedly, she was a precious person to Volf.

His subordinates did not interject. They understood the peculiar relationship between Volf and Nika. Yet, precisely because of that, Volf had cut down Nika. They could not voice any objection.

"Do you think I'll retreat?!"

The Black Wolf sneered. At himself, for being unable to retreat, for not having even a shred of desire to retreat.

'If it's heavily defended, that means they want to protect it. If I can break through there... the formation will crumble.'

Hungry, thirsty, and craving for victory, Volf, no—

"Not yet. Keep attacking, keep overwhelming! Wait for me, White Mask. I'll kill you soon enough."

The Black Wolf laughed.

༺༻

"...So he still won't move. Even more so -"

William observed Volf's relentless, gradual advance, commanding his troops in every direction. Volf had not shown the slightest hesitation. Likely, even today, there would be no opening. Even if Nika, the vice captain, had been defeated, it would not significantly change the battlefield situation. Yuwain in the Upper Reaches was irreplaceable, but Nika could be replaced.

William's assessment was correct.

"In terms of tactics, we're evenly matched. Perhaps I'm slightly inferior. In personal skill as well."

In many aspects of combat, Volf was a step ahead of William. Currently, there was no area where William surpassed Volf tactically. All he could do was continue to be slowly pushed back, delay as much as possible.

"But I will be the one to win."

William chuckled.

༺༻

Nika found herself in a desperate, inescapable predicament. Ahead of her was Gregor, firmly entrenched. Behind her, Anselm had deployed his forces thinly yet thoroughly, clearly intent on cutting off her retreat. There was no way out.

"Nika, can't you at least do something by yourself?"

One of her subordinates muttered. Hearing that, Nika snorted.

"Idiot. If I could, I would've done it already."

Likely, she would have to discard all shame and propriety, using her womanhood to the fullest to try and survive. As long as she lived, there might still be a chance to be with Volf again someday.

"I am... a warrior."

She had discarded being a woman. No, she had rejected the path of relying on, clinging to, and seducing men, living like a parasite. Her mother had been such a woman. All the women around her had been like that — wearing pretty clothes, and false smiles to curry favor with men.

"If I have to stoop that low, I'd rather just die!"

But she was different.

She had decided to live and fight alongside Volf. When she lost her sole, dearest friend, she had chosen the same path as the man she had loved most. To survive, she must fight. If she didn't win it with her own hands, it would have no meaning. She was done with lives dependent on others.

Nika's spear hummed. Her movements were bold, but her martial techniques were the essence of precision. Penetrating the gaps in the armor, the joints, and the neck. Swiftly, gracefully, and sharply, she struck down the enemies' limbs and necks.

"Come at me, come on! You won't kill me that easily!"

She would die head-on. That was how she lived.

"Geez, our Vice Captain is... really something, huh?"

One must never forget — a wounded wolf is the most terrifying of all.

The pack of wolves howled.

༺༻

Anselm easily discerned the abnormality. He did not underestimate Nika. She had neutralized Gregor, who possessed the highest-class offensive power and destructive force among the young warriors. In fact, her offensive capabilities surpassed Gregor's. To underestimate such an opponent would be the act of a fool. Anselm was different.

"Maintain the encirclement formation and take her down with your bows. If she gets too close, who knows what may happen."

Anselm concluded that there was no room for close-quarters combat against this wild wolf brimming with murderous intent.

"There must be no oversights. I must be perfect."

Anselm covered his mouth with his hand and took a deep breath.

༺༻

The wolf, drenched in arrow wounds, howled atop the many corpses. At the forefront was Lieutenant Nika, leading the headlong charge. Amidst the rain of arrows, he avoids them by utilizing the cover of trees, rocks, and elevation changes. Of course, it is impossible to dodge them perfectly. Several arrows pierce deep into Nika's flesh. Some subordinates fell, while others struggle to stand up, their bodies riddled with arrows.

"Mooore, mooore, mooooore!"

A meaningless roar. She stood, moved, and fought to survive by any means necessary. She killed her opponents and emerged victorious, like a wild beast.

"How troublesome! I'll surround her, Anselm!"

Impatient, Gregor made his move.

"Don't act on your own, you fool!"

But once the action was set in motion, there was no helping it. To ensure a certain kill, they must close in for close-quarters combat. Undoubtedly correct, but that would result in many casualties. It was an ugly tactic, defiling Anselm's aesthetic sensibilities.

'That simpleton! Don't be ridiculous! If I... If I were to be abandoned by that esteemed one, what would I do?!'

The black flames flared up. He had to be perfect. By outmatching them tactically, not allowing the enemy to act as intended, and achieving a total victory without any friendly casualties — that was Anselm's plan and the intention of the 'thing' that devised this operation.

"Woman! Your valiant efforts shall be answered by this Gregor von Thunderbolt!"

Raising his great sword, the wounded subordinate-slashing monster stands before Nika.

"Ha! So you've come here to die, you fool!"

He brandished his spear, clashing with the great sword.

"I won't be satisfied until I take your head!"

The two clashed repeatedly, yet they were evenly matched.

"Die."

The black flames of Anselm's sword aimed for Nika's neck.

"Wha-?!"

Nika barely blocked it with his spear, at the cost of the spear itself being severed from the shaft.

"Anselm! Don't interfere with me!"

Ignoring the startled Gregor, Anselm cruelly eyed the now defenseless Nika, raising his sword once more without a change in expression.

"I repeat, die."

Anselm's pronouncement — the words of an absolute authority who holds the opponent's life in his hands.

'Damn it...'

Trapped between Gregor and Anselm, it was checkmate for her. Even if he dies here, so be it. That resigned mindset -

"Like hell I'll die!"

• vanished. Triggered by Anselm's words.

"Huh?!"

Gregor growled, for Nika's swordsmanship, was stunningly beautiful. Fluttering like a butterfly, it evaded Anselm's blade, the trajectory as natural as if Anselm had swung it himself.

This sword technique was the power Nika first learned to protect herself on the battlefield — the Dual-Sword Style of offense and defense.

"Damn you!"

Gregor instinctively lashed out, perhaps struck by Nika's fighting spirit, or for some other reason. Regardless,

"Haha! So this is your true strength, woman!"

Gregor's sword was also deflected, and Nika's blade struck his armor, chipping it. Attempting to counterattack, Anselm's sword slipped in, but Nika's left-hand guard skillfully diverted it, producing a beautiful sound.

"Idiots!"

Neither Anselm nor Gregor held back, so Nika had no luxury to do so either.

"I won't die. I'll keep fighting, and fight, and fight, until the day I die!"

Two against one. For Anselm and Gregor, it was nothing but a humiliation. The life force of the one surviving amidst these two mighty warriors, shone in this perilous world, the beautiful luster of the obsidian-hued pelt of the she-wolf.

'Damn, I should have killed him with arrows.'

Nika's fang grazed Anselm's cheek. This lone wolf beautifully survived between the two warriors. The swords pierced the void, the fangs carving into the armor. Normally, they should be overwhelming the situation. But they couldn't defeat him. They couldn't kill her.

"Woooman!"

Gregor's full-powered strike was effortlessly deflected, and

"Damn it!"

Anselm's sword danced in the void.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Nika fought desperately, seemingly forgetting even to breathe. Death was not what she feared. What she feared was acknowledging her own death, forsaking the life of struggle — that was all.

When she decided to walk the same path as Volf, she discarded her weak self. She cut her long hair and desperately chased Volf's back. To fulfill her friend's promise, to fight the world her friend was consumed by, to fight for her friend's unfulfilled dream -

Another Wolf was born.

༺༻

But it was only a brief moment, this intense struggle of the she-wolf. In that short span, it was etched vividly into the hearts of all present. The balance was such that even a single breath could have caused it to collapse. It was that much of an extreme situation. Therefore, the entire sequence took no more than a minute or two.

'Haha. Looks like I'm still the best. Are you watching, Leila? I'm—'

"...Ugh."

Just as Nika tried to deflect the two swords and counterattack, his knees buckled. The consequence of moving in a near-breathless state — the color drained from his entire body as his lungs desperately sought air, collapsing from his "zone" state of extreme exertion.

"Wh-what?"

Both Gregor and Anselm are momentarily dumbfounded. As the two who were fighting him, they had difficulty fully comprehending the situation. Nika's display of valor was divinely inspired.

"Huff, huff... Damn it, huff, help me."

The end comes suddenly.

"I'll let you have the honor of the kill."

Anselm understands the battle is over. Gregor solemnly raises his sword, his expression not that of a dismissive young man, but one full of respect for a worthy adversary.

"You were a formidable opponent. Magnificent."

Nika distorts his face at Gregor's praise. He refuses to give up even at the end, desperately trying to move his body, but the air-deprived form rejects all his efforts.

Whether he has no interest in the neck, Anselm turns his thoughts to the next battle awaiting him.

"Well then, by tomorrow-"

But salvation, too, arrives suddenly.

Part of Anselm's ear is blown off. The last sound he heard was a dying voice akin to the lament of the dead.

"Gre... go..."

Before Anselm could complete his warning, Gregor's massive form is sent flying, great sword and all. A fast, powerful, heavy strike.

"Wh-what is this?!"

There is only shock at the sheer destructive force and the presence that should not be here. A person who was supposed to have left the battlefield, yet here they are.

Missing an arm, having lost his authority as the Legion Commander, yet still...

"A magnificent weapon. As a fellow warrior, I offer you my respect."

Anatole of the "Weeping Spear" stands on the battlefield.

"Why?! The "Weeping Spear's" arm was taken by the White Mask!"

Looking closely, Anatole has only one arm. Yet with a single arm, he wielded the spear and blew away Gregor's massive form.

"With just one arm... he blew away my huge body?"

He is likely not yet fully recovered. The bloodstained bandages and pale, gaunt face indicate as much.

"Carefully escort the wolf's survivor."

Hearing Nika's faint words, "I-I'm... still... able," behind him, Anatole smiles. Such formidable skills were displayed. Naturally, a true martial artist's heart would be stirred.

"I shall face these two novices here."

The spear hums and vibrates. Despite having just one arm, the spear displays no slackness, swinging and pulsing without wavering. Just by casually spinning the spear, one can tell the level of the opponent before them.

'Damn. Spreading the encirclement too thin has come back to haunt me.'

Anselm regrets. He should have tightened the encirclement during the charge, or taken a formation guarding the rear. That way, he could have prevented this intruder and perfectly killed Nika. But that is no longer possible.

"Gregor... let's kill him together."

"Understood."

They both realize this battered man before them is stronger than the two of them. Facing him makes it clear. Nika's previous performance was too good — his skills were optimized to the utmost. And their swords specialized in defense were new to them, hence the difficulty. But-

"Not enough."

Anatole is different. William the "White Mask" had skillfully handled him, causing him to not stand out. But the "Weeping Spear" is renowned across the Seven Kingdoms as a master of the spear. William's prowess was simply that great — the "White Mask" who disarmed him was exceptional.

"Wha-?!"

Without any preparatory movements, the spear descends upon the two. They manage to respond and deflect it, but barely. Anatole is clearly just toying with them, his movements casual and relaxed.

The gap is obvious.

"Immature."

This single word is enough to ignite the young pair. Facing Anatole's spear, reeking of the stench of death, the black "flames" and unyielding "rock" roar. If the two of them were to be defeated together, it would mean they are still far behind even William.

"Still immature."

The lament of the dead rains down, colliding with the young talents.

༺༻

The battlefield remained essentially stalemated as a whole. While there were pockets of intense fighting, the overall morale was lacking, and the movements were sluggish. Yet the situation was gradually tilting in favor of the offensive forces of Nederkus, though whether the rank-and-file soldiers could sense this nuance was doubtful.

In the central mountainous region, the curtain fell on a fierce battle.

"Ha! Are you running away, White Mask?!"

Volf hurled a shout at the retreating back. William turned with a smile on his face.

"Congratulations, Mountain Dog. This time, you've won. Be proud of yourself."

What an impolitely polite thing to say. Volf's brow furrowed.

It was Volf, the attacker, who had won. Facing the relentless, repeated attacks, the Arcadian lines had finally collapsed. Without even allowing them a chance to regroup, Volf had ravaged and blown away their positions completely. Therefore, the victor was Volf.

"...Was this your last chance? Wasn't this the final stronghold where you had a chance of winning? Is this really it? Is this all you've got?!"

For Volf, this was a worthy adversary of his own generation, someone he had acknowledged. He never imagined that this level would be the limit of their capabilities. The disappointment fueled his anger. The backlash was strong, given his high expectations.

For the beleaguered Arcadian forces led by William to win, the key was to avoid being pushed back, especially in this critical central region. The strategy of using this area as a decoy to strike Nikkea was not entirely unreasonable, but ultimately, the unexpected reinforcements allowed the other side to escape unscathed. The center had been pushed back, Nikkea had survived, and Anatole had also been revived.

The wind was blowing in Volf's favor.

"I know I can't beat you right now."

There was nothing left to be done. Arcadia could not win.

"But-"

The setting sun cast a shadow over William's expression, making it unreadable.

"War is about winning."

Declaring victory, William departed. His figure did not appear to be that of a loser, which only further confused Volf. Even acknowledging his own weakness, William still believed he could win.

"...Well, at least he still has the will to fight."

Volf's earlier anger had dissipated. He was filled with anticipation. While Volf's overall strength might be superior, the margin was slim. He couldn't say for certain that he would win. Pondering what surprises might come, what moves William might make, Volf-

"Haha. Interesting."

Considering and reconsidering, Volf laughed. Countless strategies arose in his mind, only to be dismantled by other strategies, leaving no definitive counterattack in his head.

"Is there really a winning strategy...? I'll have you show me."

༺༻

"So this is the 'Mourning Spear'."

Anselm and Gregor, though not as severely wounded as one might expect, were in a battered state from having to face Anatole together. The fearsome Anatole had maintained the upper hand throughout, indirectly proving that William, who had stopped him, was also exceptional.

"There's no close-quarters combat. It's impossible."

In a battle, there was a chance of victory. Today, they had been drawn into Anatole's preferred close-quarters combat, but they should not do so in the future. To win, they must abandon their pride and engage in a long-range fight. Only then could they stop him. Such was the opponent they faced.

"It's going to be a tough battle."

"Yes, I'll return to the lines first. Gregor, make haste to reorganize the troops."

"Understood."

Tomorrow and beyond, Anatole would return to the battlefield. It was good that they had managed to render Nikkea combat-ineffective today. If they were to receive Anatole's cooperation, his firepower would become unimaginable.

The battlefield had entered a difficult phase.

༺༻

Contrary to William's words, the ordinary battles continued in the days that followed. A war of attrition, where both the attackers and defenders were being worn down. The morale of both sides was steadily declining. The Black Mercenary Corps, lacking Nikkea, was unable to achieve the results they had hoped for due to the decline in their firepower. Yuwain was also contained by Gilberto's valiant efforts, and Volf was kept busy dealing with William. The only one who shone on the battlefield was the revived Anatole.

"Everything is going according to plan," William said, smiling at Gilberto, Anselm, Gregor, and Carl. The endless series of ordinary battles. The sacrifices incurred were huge. The sacrifices they had inflicted were also great. That is why the attainable victory would be a miracle.

"I know this is a bit late, but... is it really going to turn out exactly as envisioned?" Gregor asked with a troubled expression. This was a question that everyone present was thinking about. Was there truly a path to victory from here? Of course, William had employed them based on his strategizing. Yet, doubts remained.

"The signs are there. Aside from Anatole's forces, the other battlefields are either evenly matched or slightly tilted in our favor. Of course, from the defensive side's perspective, it's not exactly a joyous result, but... it is proceeding according to the initial plan," Anselm calmly explained. What was needed was to believe. William had already explained all the details of his long-term, less-than-certain strategy when they first discussed it, and Gilberto and Anselm had initially been inclined to reject it, but Carl and Gregor had come on board.

"I think it'll be alright. Even we who set this in motion are starting to feel weary of the war, so I'm sure the other side feels the same way," Carl said in a small but confident voice. Hearing this, Gregor also nodded in agreement.

"And then there's Anatole's revival. This was the one factor we couldn't account for, as it depended solely on Anatole's own vitality, but since he's been performing so spectacularly, it's a blessing," William's smile deepened. Everything was going according to plan. And everything was progressing smoothly. The Black Mercenary Corps, lacking Nikkea, was underperforming, and the Blue Army was suddenly invigorated by Anatole's return.

"After all, they are just mercenaries. Let them learn that the hard way."

Everything was proceeding as envisioned.