Swordmaster of the Great Wall

Erich called Frederick, Barnes, and the members from the old outpost.

No doubt, the members of the outpost must have heard the rumor that Erich had died.

It was only natural that their faces went pale the moment they saw him. In particular, sergeant Kurz, whom they'd met at the outpost, was the most surprised.

"Oh, damn it all... You're not a ghost, right?"

He unconsciously stumbled backward, cursing under his breath. Of course, Kurz wasn't especially unusual for reacting that way.

If Frederick or Barnes had been summoned like this without seeing Erich in advance, they would have reacted similarly.

At any rate, there was only one reason Erich called them to a rundown building tucked away inside the Watch: to lay out the plan for 'Operation Erich Resurrection'.

After all, if he was to successfully deceive all the knights of the Empire's great houses, it would be impossible to hide his identity forever. He needed reliable collaborators.

In that sense, Frederick and Barnes, who each owed him favors in their own way, could be perfect allies. At the very least, they weren't the types to go blabbing about something like this everywhere.

'... Though those two are almost suspiciously tight-lipped.'

Erich sat them down and explained everything that had happened so far. Frederick's eyes grew round as he listened, and he let out another string of curses.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"You think I came back from that hell just to make up this bullshit?"

"No, it's not that I doubt you, boss. It just means it's hard to believe. ... Wouldn't you agree?"

A seasoned veteran, a longtime member of the Watch, Frederick had killed more barbarians than he could count over the years. Perhaps that was why he was deeply shocked.

Soon, the color drained from Frederick's face.

"But... doesn't this mean we're screwed?"

"The crackdown operation? Didn't Barnes already tell you about it?"

Frederick scratched his head, as if uncertain. He wasn't really the type to devise strategies, after all.

"So what's our big boss planning to do about it?"

Of course, Frederick meant the commander, August. Basically a sharp guy, but since he'd grown up with nothing, anyone above him was simply 'boss' in his mind.

The commander—so, the 'big boss'.

Anyway, Erich proceeded to explain his plan to them. As Frederick listened, his expression shifted minute by minute.

"Whose insane idea was this?"

"Mine. Why?"

Frederick's eyes took on a strange light. This bastard—did he snap again?

For a moment, Erich recalled the man's record: more than ten times denied a promotion due to repeated assaults on his superiors.

But his worry turned out to be unfounded.

"... I absolutely love it! It really is a crazy plan."

Just as expected.

Fortunately, Frederick wasn't in his right mind either, so there seemed to be no real issue. Barnes, who also wasn't one for expressing opinions, didn't show much of a reaction to the plan. Really, what could you say in front of men who wouldn't even raise an eyebrow at someone coming back from the dead?

Erich proceeded to explain the next step.

"First and foremost, the most important thing. My (fake) corpse has to be returned."

"Mm... I'll handle that part. Just let me know when the knights are expected to arrive."

"Don't worry about that—Barnes will take care of it. So, Frederick, you carry out the plan directly, and Barnes will be the secret contact."

"... Well, I get all that, but... how's this part supposed to work?"

Frederick asked, his curiosity piqued.

"How about the final part where you come back to life? How do you plan on pulling that off? Doesn't seem like something we could help with."

"Don't worry about that."

Erich raised his hand, and his eyes glowed a crimson red. As the power welled up around his body, it took on a tangible form.

― Wooong.

Frederick's eyes trembled as he saw it.

"Damn! You can make fire with your body now? What are you, a mage?"

"That's aura. Aura."

"But the aura I know looks a bit different. Like what that old man Mikhail uses."

Frederick bounced around again. Certainly, if you thought about it logically, none of this made sense—aura bursting into flames.

Aura was the mark of a swordmaster. And such a clear, tangible aura—only the rarest handful could ever use it.

But Erich knew the truth. His current state had nothing to do with regaining the power from his previous life.

This manifest aura was more like a side effect of the blessing he received from Incensus at the altar. In other words, as for the actual power... it needed to be tested.

Regardless, this fiery, flaming aura looked impressive enough on the outside.

"This is the core of my resurrection."

"Well... it certainly makes an impact. But no one else knows about this, right? Except for the commander?"

"It's best if only the three of us know."

"Yeah, the more people who know, the faster rumors spread."

Erich nodded.

"Still, there's something we need to add to this plan. In fact, it's the most crucial element."

"And that is?"

"The performance."

Frederick's brow furrowed.

"What the hell are you talking about? Performance?"

Erich silently twisted his hand. The aura flickered, emitting a golden radiance as it spread into the air.

"How does it look? Holy enough?"

"... What a load of crap—hm, I mean, sir. Who cares what anything looks like?"

"I'm being serious. I didn't literally come back from the dead, right? We need to stage a convincing resurrection at least, so people will buy it, no matter how far-fetched. This whole plan is implausible—so the visuals are critical. We need an impact that looks, to anyone, like a divine miracle."

"Do you really think that'll work? Seems cheesy..."

Frederick shook his head, as if his excitement had faded. The central element of this ridiculous plan—making a dead man walk again—was, after all, "the performance."

But it didn't seem to resonate with him at all.

'Honestly, what a useless guy.'

Yet, while it might sound like nonsense at first blush, Erich had not concocted this plan without any hope of success.

First of all, the Empire was a nation ruled by faith. The Watch might be an exception, where that faith was rather diluted, but within the Empire's borders, everyone lived by the national religion of Incensus.

'There's a reason people always invoke Incensus when trouble arises.'

To them, religion wasn't just a matter of belief—it was their entire world. And the targets Erich had to deceive were precisely those Empire nobles brimming with such faith.

'I only learned after I came back that Incensus might actually exist, still...'

So what was needed for this operation was "performance"—a spectacle akin to a god descending in person. But Erich's current aura wasn't nearly enough for that.

'Not enough to fool everyone and create the illusion of a god's descent.'

But with a bit of trickery, it could be done.

"Barnes, the medicine I told you about—it suppresses the side effects, remember? That's the key."

"This vial, sir?"

Barnes pulled a medicine bottle from his pocket. Erich pointed at it.

"It contains a bit of that mineral. You've stocked up enough, right?"

"Yes. Enough to last a lifetime."

"If you light it on fire, you get a pretty interesting effect. Use it as a prop, and the performance should look decent."

Barnes, as always, simply nodded silently. With that, the plan was complete. Erich looked them over, his expression stern and resolute.

"From now until the day comes, we practice."

Frederick's eyes went cold. Whether it succeeded or failed, this was the start of a play that would go down in history for many reasons.

***

― Bwooooooo

A grand horn sounded. Heinkel's knights, Milon and Shane, found their place among the crowd. Countless knights and soldiers had turned their eyes to the main gate.

There, at the front, was a middle-aged member of the Watch with scars all over his face. The mere sight of him carried a heavy aura. Milon recognized him.

"That's Frederick. Lowborn, but supposedly served his lord with utmost loyalty."

"... If he'd truly served loyally, how could something like that have happened to Lord Erich?"

Shane seemed to bristle with discontent. Milon could understand. If they had been in that position, surely they wouldn't have let their lord be sacrificed; that was how he felt.

Milon, however, reined Shane in.

"Even if we were there, it wouldn't have been much different. That one truly danced on the knife's edge between life and death."

Soon, those at the front moved forward and opened the main gate, revealing a coffin.

By all appearances, that coffin must contain the body of Erich Krupp.

The designated people gathered to carry it. They would head to the clearing at the center of the Watch.

Glancing over, Milon noticed a pile of kindling stacked there.

― Bwooooooo

The trumpet sounded again. The coffin, in a long procession, entered the clearing.

― Thunk.

The coffin was raised. Some, overwhelmed by the atmosphere, began to weep.

'A man's life is defined by the manner of his death more than by its length. The death of a hero. One ought to feel proud rather than sad.'

Then, standing before the coffin, the commander began his eulogy. Normally, the men would have groaned at such a speech, but today, everyone listened quietly.

Such was the profound impact of his death.

The commander, August, finished and descended from the dais. He planted a sword in front of the stacked kindling.

"Everyone, witness a hero's last moments."

Milon turned over Krupp's keepsake in his hand, lost in thought.

'... Your Highness, it seems I will be unable to dedicate this sword to you.'

Still, it struck Milon as odd. Where did their lord's strange faith come from? The grand duke of Krupp seemed absolutely certain that Erich was alive.

Soon enough, the commander returned to his place. Scanning the crowd, he spoke.

"There is a knight present from House Krupp, to which the deceased belonged. Sir Milon, please come forward."

Milon glanced about in surprise, then realized—everyone was looking at him.

"... I wasn't told about this," he muttered.

He turned to Shane.

"Hold my helmet, for a moment."

"Yes, sir Roland."

To stand before the dead with your helmet on is disrespectful. Milon handed his helmet to Shane and strode forward to the coffin. The commander handed him a small torch. The sight of the kindling and the coffin gave him a heavy feeling.

"I'll entrust a hero's final moment to you."

"Thank you, commander."

Milon accepted the torch, pausing for a second.

Memories of their time together flashed by in a panorama.

Receiving the grand duchess' order to kill Erich.
Losing to Erich in a duel.
Being forgiven by Erich, and thus allowed to become Heinkel's sub-lieutenant.
All the emotions from those moments swirled and gathered in one place.

― Swish.

At last, Milon's hand moved, and the torch fell into the pile of kindling. A single droplet fell onto the marble platform.

― Fwwoooosh

All eyes turned to the blazing wood. The flames rapidly consumed the coffin and created a towering fire.

And then, suddenly—

― KWAAANG!

A thunderous explosion sounded, and the blaze surged even fiercer. A golden sheen began to shimmer through the flames wrapping the massive pyre.

"What the—what is that?"

"What's happening?"

The crowd began to buzz. They'd attended many funerals before, but nothing like this had ever happened.

― KWAANG! Fwwooosh!

Another explosion, more flames—soon, the blaze grew into a great golden light, morphing into mysterious shapes. From the tip of the fire, a bright golden radiance began to shine.

At that moment, someone shouted.

"It's Incensus!"

"The god has descended!"

At first, the crowd reacted skeptically. But as others, captivated by the golden blaze and radiance, joined in, the cries grew.

The death of a hero who sacrificed for everyone, enshrined in Incensus's blessing—there was something intensely religious, awe-struck, about it all.

As several people bowed their heads, others one by one knelt in reverence.

But—

While all were swept up in a whirlpool of emotion,

Milon felt a strange sense of unease.

'...?'

That first voice from the crowd... it was oddly familiar. Milon swiftly searched for its source.

Even with a hood pulled up, that peculiar aura couldn't be hidden. That man was... the one who had been involved in an incident with Erich before.

It was Barnes.

'......!'

Milon felt his heart pounding. Something was happening—something he didn't know about.

The golden flames blazed higher still. In the fire's smoke, a vast golden shape, like wings, began to take form.

Some even screamed at the sight: the whole hall was overcome by the sight.

But as Milon watched, suspicion filled his eyes. Not because he had some special insight, but because he understood Erich's methods better than anyone.

As a shadow began to appear through the smoke,

Milon murmured softly,

"... I guess our young master has gone a little more insane while I wasn't looking..."

-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=
【ദ്ദി(⩌ᴗ⩌)】