Dawn had not yet fully arrived when the Helvetia forces reached Vallenwood's eastern gate.
Albert watched from a distance, from the small hill where they'd halted. Tens of thousands of soldiers moved in long columns, banners fluttering, dust rising into the grey sky. Infantry at the front, cavalry on the flanks, archers bringing up the rear. A human wave ready to swallow a city whose gates already stood open.
The lifting chain was broken. The gate couldn't be closed. And inside, the city was still in chaos from the previous night's fire.
"They're entering," Luise murmured beside him.
Albert merely nodded.
***
The Helvetia forces poured into Vallenwood like a flash flood.
The city garrison—eight thousand remaining soldiers—attempted to resist. They formed ranks in the main streets, in the market square, in front of the barracks. But without their gates, without preparation, without clear command, they were crushed within hours.
Heavy cavalry slammed into the first line. Armor-plated horses charged, shattering formations, trampling those who fell. Infantry followed, spears and swords working in rhythms drilled thousands of times. Advance, thrust, withdraw. Advance, thrust, withdraw.
Leandria soldiers fell in heaps on the stone streets. Blood flowed into the gutters, mixing with filthy water and the remnants of the previous night's fire.
In the market square, the fiercest battle raged. Three hundred Leandria soldiers held their ground around the well, forming a circle, shields forward, spears outward. Cavalry couldn't reach them in the confined space. Helvetia infantry attacked wave after wave.
It took an hour to finish them. When the last one fell, corpses piled waist-high around the well. Its water had turned red.
Civilians fled in all directions.
A mother with two children ran through a narrow alley, trying to reach the north gate—the only possible escape route still available. Behind her, the sound of hoofbeats. She didn't look back, just kept running, pulling her crying children by their hands.
The first child—a boy, maybe seven years old—tripped on a stone and fell. His mother's grip slipped.
"Mother!"
She stopped, turned. Saw her child on the ground, saw the cavalry horses appearing at the alley's end.
She ran back.
The Helvetia cavalryman saw a woman running toward him, a child on the ground behind her, another child crying at the alley's edge. He pulled the reins; his horse whinnied and stopped.
"GET BACK!" he shouted.
The woman raised her hands, her body shielding the fallen child. Her eyes—weary, terrified, but also something else. Something indefinable.
The soldier stared at her for one second. Then his horse galloped past them, chasing other targets.
The mother stayed there, holding her child, weeping silently.
In the next alley, an old man stood before his house, axe in hand. His face was hard, though his body trembled. Two Helvetia soldiers approached.
"STAY AWAY FROM MY HOME!" he shouted.
The first soldier stopped. His eyes shifted to the second, older soldier.
"Your call," the older one said with a shrug. "But we have a mission."
They turned and left the old man with his axe, finding another route.
***
Albert descended from the hill as the sun began to rise.
The Helvetia forces already controlled half the city. The last resistance at the main barracks continued, but it was only a matter of time. Vallenwood would fall.
Lord Harald had set up a temporary command tent outside the eastern gate, near where Albert and his troops had camped overnight. Banners fluttered, couriers rushed back and forth, officers came and went with reports.
Albert was summoned inside.
The tent was crowded. Lady Mirelle, Earl William, Commander Gerhard, and a dozen other officers. All eyes turned to him as he entered.
Lord Harald stood behind a table, a map of Vallenwood spread before him. His face—usually tense and weary—now beamed with satisfaction.
"Lord Götthain." His voice was loud, filled with energy. "You're here."
Albert saluted. "My Lord."
"New intelligence reports just arrived." Lord Harald pointed at the map. "The eastern gate is completely destroyed—the lifting chain is broken, beyond repair. Our forces entered without resistance. And the food warehouses..." He smiled broadly. "All burned to ashes, exactly as you reported."
Albert remained silent, offering no response.
"You and your men have accomplished something extraordinary." Lord Harald stepped closer, clapping Albert on the shoulder. "Thirty people infiltrated an enemy city, destroyed their supplies, sabotaged their gate, and escaped with only three casualties. This achievement will be recorded in the kingdom's history!"
Enthusiastic applause erupted from the officers. Lady Mirelle smiled proudly. Earl William nodded slowly—the highest praise that man could offer.
Albert received the praise with an expressionless face. Inside, there was nothing. Empty.
"Because of this," Lord Harald continued, "I'm recommending your promotion to the War Council. As of today, you're officially a mid-ranking officer. Your unit—the Götthain-Lancaster Special Regiment—will receive permanent status with autonomous recruitment and training authority. Its numbers will be expanded to one thousand, and since you have two patron nobles backing you, that brings the total to one thousand two hundred."
Albert bowed. "Thank you, My Lord."
"I wanted to grant this recognition earlier, but there were complications in the capital that prevented it. However, since you've once again achieved something worthy of being called a kingdom's hero, the nobles in the capital won't be able to oppose it much longer!" Lord Harald declared enthusiastically.
He exited the tent, leaving the cheering behind. Outside, Luise waited with a questioning expression.
"Promoted. Again," Albert said flatly.
Luise raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
"Yes..."
"You don't look happy, My Lord."
Albert didn't answer. He walked past the tents, past the soldiers beginning to celebrate, past the piles of corpses still being gathered at the city's edge. The stench of blood, iron, and human waste filled the air.
At a small stream south of the camp, he stopped. Water flowed slowly, carrying remnants of the fire—charcoal, burnt cloth, occasionally unrecognizable body parts.
He sat on a rock, taking out a feltwort. The hand lighting the match trembled slightly, just a little. But enough to make him aware.
Back in that tent, the generals had applauded him. For thirty people who entered the city. For the three who died. For the thousands who would die today.
***
Inside Vallenwood, in a stone house near the main barracks, Marquess Karl vin Schneebär sat in a wooden chair, his face pale. Around him lay the corpses of his personal guards. Outside, the sounds of battle were fading—a sign that the last resistance would soon end.
An officer rushed in, breathless. "My Lord! Enemy forces have reached the square! We must—"
"It's already too late."
The officer fell silent.
Marquess Karl stood. His legs wobbled, but he remained upright. He walked to the window, gazing at his burning city. The houses he'd known since childhood. The market where his people bought warm bread. The stream where citizens drew water.
Everything was red. Everything was destroyed.
"Who commanded that infiltration?" he asked, his voice low.
The officer answered, "The Götthain-Lancaster Special Regiment. Led by... Albert vin Götterbaum. They call him the Black Sword Demon."
Marquess Karl repeated the name silently. Götterbaum. Black Sword Demon.
"That boy," he whispered. "The one who made Sir Aldric ill."
"Sir Aldric died a year ago, My Lord. His wounds weren't severe at first, but they worsened over time. The fever never subsided."
Marquess Karl closed his eyes. Sir Aldric, his finest knight. Dead from a scratch inflicted by some young man. And now that same young man had destroyed Vallenwood.
"This isn't over," he said. "Get out of here, save yourselves. Take word north. Tell the King that Vallenwood has fallen. And tell him that name... Albert vin Götterbaum. The accursed demon who slaughtered my beloved people!"
The officer hesitated. "My Lord, you—"
"I'll remain here."
He didn't turn around. Just kept staring at the fire still burning. Behind him, the officer ran out, leaving him alone.
Marquess Karl vin Schneebär, ruler of Vallenwood and its surrounding territories for twenty years, stood at that window until the first sword pierced his back.
***
Night descended upon Vallenwood.
The city now belonged to the Kingdom of Helvetia. The fires had died, leaving behind blackened rubble and the stench of burning. Corpses were gathered in the square, stacked like firewood. Thousands of them. Work that would take days to complete.
In the Helvetia camp, celebrations were underway. Wine flowed, roasted meat was distributed, soldiers laughed and sang. The first major victory in two years of war.
Albert sat at the camp's edge, far from the festivities. A feltwort in his hand, smoke curling upward. Beside him, Luise kept vigil as always.
From a distance, the sounds of laughter and singing reached them faintly. Albert heard them, but felt nothing.
"I destroyed that city," he said, his voice barely audible. "I burned their grain. I broke their gate. Thousands died today because of me."
"As I've said before, you didn't kill them." Luise's voice was soft. "The enemy killed them."
Albert remained silent at her words.
Apologies meant nothing... They wouldn't bring back the dead. They wouldn't rebuild the burned houses. They wouldn't erase the memories of children who'd watched their mothers die.
His hand reached for his feltwort pouch, taking out another cigar. Lit it. Smoke entered, warm, familiar.
"I have to become stronger," he told himself. "I have to keep moving forward. I can't afford weakness."
"...Why?"
Albert turned. Luise's violet eyes stared at him with an intensity he couldn't quite explain.
"Because if I'm weak, more will die." His voice was hoarse. "If I stop, if I give in to these feelings, I can't lead. And without a leader, the troops will fall into chaos. More lives will be lost."
"So you suppress everything..."
"Yes."
"Lock it away in a box inside your heart."
"Yes."
"Never open that box."
"Yes."
Luise was silent. Then, without a word, she shifted closer. Their shoulders touched. Warm...
"I don't know if that's right or wrong," she said. "But I'll be here. Until you've finished bearing all these sins."
Albert didn't answer. He just sat there, smoking his feltwort, staring at the campfire in the distance.
These sins would accompany him until death. He knew that. No forgiveness, no redemption. Only a burden to carry, step by step, until someday he fell and could no longer rise.
He smoked his feltwort until it was gone. Ash fell to the ground, mixing with the dust of a burned city.
"Tomorrow we train again," he said. "New troops are coming. They need to be ready."
Luise nodded.
In the distance, the sounds of laughter and singing continued to echo. A victory celebration. Albert heard them but felt nothing.
Inside the box in his heart, thousands of faces stared back in silence. He would carry them all until his final breath.