Chapter 33
Preparation (2)
“I will.”
Bessemer spoke.
His murderous aura drew the attention of all the soldiers.
“Then you know what to do?”
“I know.”
At Isaac’s low voice, Bessemer nodded.
“Then proceed.”
The moment Isaac finished speaking—
Whoosh—
Bessemer swung his axe heavily.
Clang!
Anyone could see it—the axe was aimed directly at Isaac.
It looked like it would cleave Carlson, the obstacle, in half as well.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
Carlson drew his sword and blocked the strike, roaring in anger.
The performance Isaac had ordered had begun.
It was the failed revenge play of the Baitur great warrior.
“It is revenge for my dead kin.”
Expressionless, Bessemer swung his axe again.
Clang—! Clang-clang!
The clash between blade and axe was too fast for Isaac or the soldiers to follow.
Sparks flew, and metal screamed in agony.
The actors were perfect.
Bessemer attacked relentlessly, while Carlson defended steadily.
From the feet, to the calves, thighs, waist, shoulders, and arms—the motion flowed seamlessly.
Despite his massive frame, Bessemer moved with surprising fluidity.
He twisted his body around his waist to generate maximum rotational force.
Normally, after a strike, one would reset posture to prepare for defense or the next attack.
But Bessemer’s strikes never truly ended.
Each endpoint of a blow became the starting point of the next.
From his feet to the axe in his hand—it was like a whip.
Every movement flowed naturally into the next.
This was different from the emotionally driven attacks during his duel with Isaac.
This was efficient combat meant to kill.
Not relying on brute strength alone.
It was the refined combat technique of someone who knew exactly how to use his body.
However, the soldiers could not properly grasp the intensity of Bessemer’s attacks.
Because Carlson was blocking everything so effortlessly.
The terrifying roar of wind splitting from the axe, and the metallic clashes that followed—
yet Carlson’s expression never changed.
No fear. No tension. No hesitation.
Minimal movement. Stable stance.
To anyone watching, it looked like they had trained together for years.
Each deadly strike was received as if it were nothing.
He stood like a rock against a storm.
A battle that should never have happened—but no one dared intervene.
The two monsters’ fight was overwhelming.
Every time steel cut through the air, soldiers felt chills down their necks.
The fight did not last long.
Bessemer, fully committing his entire body into each strike, eventually lost rhythm.
A gap appeared in his continuous assault.
Carlson seized the moment and kicked Bessemer behind the knees.
“Ghk.”
Bessemer’s strength gave out, and his balance collapsed.
He fell to one knee.
Carlson’s blade was already at his throat.
“Stop!”
Isaac shouted.
“What revenge do you claim, Bessemer of Baitur?”
“Do you ask because you don’t know? Or because you pretend not to? You slaughtered my kin—did you think your little lord’s head would remain intact?”
“You know this is treason, soldier.”
At Isaac’s words, Bessemer’s expression hardened.
“Don’t talk nonsense! This isn’t treason. It is revenge for my friend, my brother, my family!”
Bessemer glared at Isaac.
“Carlson.”
“Yes.”
“Military order. Four days. After that, execute Bessemer. Tie him to a pillar and give him no water.”
“Understood.”
“Oh, and break him so he can’t cause trouble.”
“Yes.”
Carlson immediately reversed his sword grip.
He struck Bessemer with the hilt like a club.
Thud.
Bessemer collapsed.
Carlson continued beating him.
“Move.”
Ignoring the confused soldiers, Isaac walked toward his tent.
His expression was colder than that of a twelve-year-old child.
Yet no one dared question him.
Two days later
Darkness arrived as always.
“Damn it… he’s like the devil himself.”
Two soldiers on watch cursed repeatedly from the watchtower.
“If the captain dies like this, what happens to us?”
“We need to do something before that.”
“You idiot, are you suggesting mutiny? Whatever you think, Bessemer tried to kill that kid.”
“If the captain gets executed, who guarantees we won’t be next? Are they trying to wipe out all tribe-born soldiers?”
“Ten years of peace, and suddenly this?”
“Nobles are obvious. They eliminate anyone who might threaten their food bowls. That devil child probably sees us as insects—”
“Shut up. Over there.”
One soldier covered the other’s mouth.
Below the tower, torchlight moved along the wall.
Carlson, now acting commander.
And Isaac, the young lord.
“What is the height of this wall?”
Carlson asked.
“Uh—well—it should be about four meters.”
“Thank you.”
The two continued walking along the wall.
“Why are they wandering around the wall all day?”
“Damn… my heart nearly stopped.”
The soldiers sighed in relief.
“I know soldiers are unsettled. Bessemer was their pillar for over ten years.”
“I know.”
“If this goes wrong, there could be rebellion.”
“I know that too.”
“I’m not sure we can even hold four days.”
“Probably not.”
Isaac answered without much care.
“What are you thinking about?”
“That wall. Can hell wolves jump over it?”
“If they could, this camp would already be gone.”
“Right.”
Four days.
The time until Bessemer’s execution.
Isaac had chosen this delay for a reason.
“There’s still a missing piece.”
He already knew Binfelt’s future from historical records.
But something was off.
Especially regarding its fall.
“In history, Binfelt requested reinforcements immediately after the hell wolf attacks. My father arrived within two days. But by then, Binfelt had already fallen.”
Isaac looked up at the wall.
Too high for hell wolves to jump.
Made from massive logs sharpened at the top.
“They said the wooden wall remained intact. No fire damage. If it was weak, it wouldn’t have lasted ten years.”
“Carlson, can this be broken?”
“Not easily. They say it’s made from Black Forest trees.”
“What’s special about them?”
“Mana allows life to surpass its limits. Knights use aura the same way. Trees that survived the Black Forest likely evolved using mana.”
“Stronger than stone?”
“Probably comparable.”
Isaac tapped the wall.
It sounded like stone.
“Did they dig tunnels?”
He shook his head.
Too large. Someone would have noticed.
“At the time of the attack, it was a full moon night.”
That was the key detail.
The attack happened during a full moon.
If it was recorded, it must matter.
“Maybe the moon is important…”
Isaac looked up at the sky.
Fragments of memory surfaced.
The inconsistencies in Binfelt’s history bothered him because they didn’t make sense.
For someone trapped in darkness for so long, such contradictions were precious entertainment.
“Total personnel: 118. But when reinforcements arrived, fewer than 30 bodies were found.”
“Where did the other 90 go?”
If hell wolves ate them, there should have been remains.
But there were none.
“The moon is full.”
Carlson said.
“Then it’s today or tomorrow.”
“Their movement time.”
Isaac had already told Carlson and Bessemer:
- Binfelt expects Bessemer to become the Wolf King.
- If Bessemer is executed, the wolves will react.
- The Wolf King may come to save him.
- That would be their opportunity.
“Killing the Wolf King removes their core strength.”
That was the plan.
“Why do you think they’ll act today or tomorrow?”
Carlson asked.
“That.”
Isaac pointed at the moon.
“Because of that?”
“Just a feeling.”
Carlson tilted his head.
“My lord.”
As Isaac returned from patrol—
Günter called him carefully.
“What is it?”
“There’s something I think you should see.”
“Lead the way.”
They arrived at the supply area.
“I saw it. Those guys put this into the barrels.”
Günter handed Isaac an empty leather pouch.
“What is this?”
“It’s used sometimes to improve beer flavor… but Günter found it suspicious.”
“I’m sorry if I caused trouble…”
Isaac sniffed it.
A foul odor—rotten meat, burning, spice.
“What is it?”
“Animal blood mixed with spices. A folk tonic.”
“Why were you so nervous when I saw it?”
“Because of the atmosphere…”
Carlson took it and smelled it.
His expression changed.
“This is not good.”
“Yeah, it stinks.”
“This is hell wolf blood.”
“…?”
Isaac frowned.
“Why would they use that?”
The two cooks turned pale.
Their eyes darted between Isaac and Carlson.
In an instant—
“Aaaaah!”
One of the cooks pulled a dagger and lunged at Isaac.
