Smiling, he rolled up his sleeves without giving the maid a chance to refuse. On the surface of his pale arm, lines of various colors were carefully engraved. At a rough estimate, there seemed to be around ten of them.
"What is this...?" the maid asked with amazed eyes.
"This side has the most space available, but there are also more on the back of my body."
I knew it wasn't the right environment to ask that question, but my curiosity couldn't be helped. "How many in total?"
"I haven't counted since seventy."
Over seventy marks. It was a ridiculous number to my ears even for me, who went through all sorts of difficulties and met all sorts of strong and powerful people from all sides of the continent. An exclamation of pure surprise emerged. "I knew they were extraordinary, but..."
Once again the question arose. Who are you and what the hell are you doing here? Rue spoke as if comforting the chief who was sitting with her mouth open.
"Don't be too surprised. It's proof that I'm very good at keeping promises. If I had broken my oaths and spoken of some secret even once, I wouldn't be here."
"Mr. Rue, I understand what you mean, but..."
"Well, I don't mind making a stronger oath, if necessary. If someone appears who wants to extract information from me, we can kill or torture them; I don't care what conditions you want to apply," said a soft but irresistibly coercive voice. "Let me see that egg too."
It seems the head maid had no other choice. "After checking it out, I'll help you with Miss Daisy's disguise."
That's why I didn't like witty people.
A man was slowly advancing along a long, silent corridor, lighting the space with a lamp in his hand. The artificial fire was created by a refined magic stone and was bright and clearer than any candle. It was as if all the darkness in the mansion dissipated at his command. After slowly crossing the hallway, the man stopped in front of his destination, the bedroom. He knocked gently on the door, but heard no response. After waiting 20 seconds and hearing no sound, he opened the door carefully.
It was dark in the room. The man turned off the lamp and entered the bedroom. As the bed was empty, he turned to the sofa and found a long, solid body leaning on a chair, with eyes closed. This was his superior, the most powerful man in the Penrotta Empire, Archduke Raphael Zenail Penrotta.
The man, Deshero, sighed softly, as if relieved. "You're finally asleep." The rest currently enjoyed by the archduke was too precious and rare for him to attempt to cover his body with a blanket and risk waking him. It was the first time he had slept in three days. Looking at his side profile, which was as precarious as a cliff, Deshero closed the door silently and went out. A gust of wind and rain hit the window and embraced the darkness of the villa. He wished the rain would act as a lullaby. Please. Wait. Don't let our hero have nightmares, at least for today.
But Deshero's wishes did not reach the wind. Raphael, listening to the irregular rhythm, thought, and looked at the faintly swinging light hanging from the ceiling. He had that damn dream again. His breathing had calmed down now that it was too fast. As the red field cleared, the face at the edge of his vision also became recognizable. Deshero, his aide and also an outstanding warrior, exhaled a sigh of relief with his bloodshot eyes.
"Commander-in-Chief, I believe the efficiency of 'Charity' is increasing. Within two hours, your breathing and pulse will return to normal and you will be asleep."
So this was a dream. It was the hell that happened four years ago. In his dream, he was just a spectator, so he had no choice but to watch helplessly, he could only move his mouth. Raphael took a breath and asked Deshero, who was next to him, "How many pills are left?" His voice, which was so terribly low, was unfamiliar even to him.
"The dose I just used was the last one."
Charity was a powerful hallucinogenic drug. It was treated as a valuable drug on the battlefield because it could be refined and used as a painkiller. I couldn't believe there was no more left.
"So it means we have to resolve all the difficulties in the next two hours." Deshero nodded with a haunting look.
He was seriously wounded in the process of destroying the enemy camp and just woke up this morning after spending two days between life and death. Perhaps because it was a wound caused by magic, the recovery speed was particularly slow. It was difficult for him to get out of bed, let alone fight; it was so hot that his senses weren't working properly. "What witnessed in the last 2 days?"
"Supply ships wrecked one after another and the supply route was practically cut. There are no other major damage and soldier morale is not bad. I called all commanders half an hour ago as you ordered, commander."
The supply was cut when he, the commander-in-chief, collapsed. Nothing could be worse. Now they had the enemy base around the corner. After overcoming numerous difficulties, they finally reached Queen Island. If they crossed the wave of those demonic distractions, they could reach the Great Mage Mephisto, the war criminal and main enemy of humanity. If they crossed a mountain. They could reach him that way.
While his hand, deeply affected by calluses, crumpled the cloth, from the tent connected to the back came the tired speech of the commanders. "The recovery of the commander-in-chief is quite slow. Mephisto's magic attacks from his fortress seem to have greatly reduced his resilience. Commander-in-Chief Raphael must spend at least a week on recovery."
"A week? Say something that makes sense! Do you think the devil will wait for him to recover? We don't have enough supplies for 100,000 soldiers to hold out here for a week!"
"Did you say he needed a week's grace? Then we won't have to worry about the supply. The soldiers will keep advancing. The number of soldiers will decrease faster than the drop in supply..."
"Shut your damn mouth, idiot! Are you going to sacrifice 100,000 lives like this?"
It didn't feel good watching his comrades get angry. Raphael slowly rose from the cot, helped by Deshero. "Don't you think it's better to stay calm and move?"
"You know better than anyone we don't have time for that."
Ten years. It was a war that had lasted ten years. The endless war gave wings to a hero who was nothing more than a chess piece. It was ironic. The more his troops were defeated and the more the front line retreated, the more powerful his influence became among the Magic Alliance. Before he knew it, they were calling him commander-in-chief of the Magic Union. Commander-in-Chief Raphael. The hero of humanity. The king in command of the battle.
Raphael's presence had a strong influence on this army. Therefore, he had to conclude the meeting quickly in two hours and show his face to the soldiers. Encouraging people is one more step toward victory. Beyond the tent, which was slowly approaching, came a reassuring voice.
"We have no choice but to use the canyon cliff."
"The cliff connected to Mephisto's sacred ground? How can we use a path only one person can pass through? Furthermore, crossing it is an absurd idea when those gargoyles are watching there!"
"It's not like the whole army is going to do this. Only one person is needed."
"Eh! You want to assassinate Mephisto?"
"Who would be able to assassinate that devil? It's enough to get Mephisto's attention. That demon army only follows his orders. While the person who goes to the canyon stalls for time, we advance to the foot of the hill and the front line..."
Raphael entered the tent silently. The first thing he saw was a wide back. A person holding a lantern in his hand was standing in the highest position on the table and listening to the serious conversation exchanged on the table. Two soldiers standing on their golden sides with pale, sunken faces. It was the place where he should normally be standing. But when General Raphael didn't show up in his place, there was only one man who could replace him. Andert. Because he was Raphael's sword, his only companion.
"Worth a try." Andert nodded.
"But if you don't have enough power, you'll die on the cliff. The plan may be fruitless, sending someone so valuable is..."
"Commander-in-Chief?"
Twelve pairs of eyes concentrated on Raphael. Some were relieved, some worried, but Raphael's attention did not stay on them. Without hesitation, he continued his steps and stood in front of his partner. A man called the king's sword. A dear friend who was one of the commanders of the Magic Union and had endured ten years in this hell with him. A brother, his family, a partner and his better half.
"Andert." Andert looked back at him.