At the exact moment Iricobert launched his final charge, a transmission arrived.
Relayed through the right wing that had entered Emerald Castle, the report reached Gregori’s command post.
“Report!! The right-wing operation has failed! I repeat, the right-wing operation has failed!! The area has reportedly devolved into a chaotic melee once more!!”
“What?”
At those words, Gregori rushed toward the right flank.
It was then that he noticed Iricobert and his men storming up the slope.
“Iricobert... You don’t mean to tell me he broke through... from the right wing?”
Gregori drew his sword. His Royal Guards followed suit, their blades ringing as they left their scabbards.
They had been focused entirely on the enemies to their front, but with the threat now breathing down their necks, they had no choice but to engage.
Steel clashed.
Gregori was flanked by roughly twenty knights.
In terms of raw numbers, his side held nearly double the force. Furthermore, they held the high ground against an exhausted foe. There was no question that the tactical advantage belonged to them.
And yet.
“Gaaaaahhhhh!!!!!!”
“—!?”
That Strong Arm would not be stopped.
With a display of inhuman strength, Gregori’s knights were sent flying, their bodies tossed aside as if they were being torn apart.
Gregori felt a chill of genuine terror. Iricobert’s body was riddled with deep gashes from the journey up, and several blades remained lodged in his flesh.
The man should have been barely able to stand. Where was this power coming from?
It defied logic.
It wasn't rational.
Not the survival of the right wing, nor the fact that he was being backed into a corner here and now. None of it made sense.
“You’ve got a look on your face like you don’t understand a damn thing, Gregori. You and that king of yours are both the same. War happens on the battlefield, not on some game board.”
Gregori stared at Iricobert.
Blood leaked from the man's mouth, and he was a mess of wounds from head to toe. Yet, despite his obvious exhaustion, Iricobert seemed to loom over him, appearing impossibly large.
“Lord Gregori! Please, you must flee!!”
“……A-Ah.”
Just as he turned his back to make his escape, a voice called out.
“You gonna run? If you kill me, the right wing collapses and the win is yours, Gregori.”
“……”
His feet froze.
If he fled now, he could still regroup.
However, why did he feel the need to run? The one taking the suicidal risk was the man behind him.
Looking closely, Iricobert’s entire body was tattered and bleeding. He was gasping for air. On paper, the advantage was firmly on Gregori’s side.
And yet, why was "flight" the first and only instinct screaming in his mind?
“If you were one of the Four Dragons, you’d definitely be coming for my head right now.”
“……Do not mock me.”
How long had it been?
He had long since realized he could never join the ranks of the Four Dragons. He simply didn't possess that level of innate martial talent. He was no longer young; even as a Three-Star Knight, he was beginning to be regarded as a mere veteran, an old-timer.
He felt the rise of a new era of knights and the suffocating inferiority complex of a man being left behind by time.
But this was the first time in ages that Dragon King Valzak had entrusted him with the position of Commander-in-Chief. He had wanted to live up to those expectations.
He gripped his sword and turned back around.
Seeing this, Iricobert let out a sharp smirk.
“Heh… so you can still make a face like that after all.”
“I, too, am a Three-Star!!” Gregori roared.
He gripped his hilt so tightly that blood began to seep from his palms.
He clashed with Iricobert. Strong-Armed Iricobert—the man whose very title came from how he tore through enemies with every strike of his heavy hand.
But Gregori held his ground. Even as he felt himself being blown away, he gritted his teeth and shoved back.
The battle was a savage display of violence, one truly worthy of a clash between two Three-Star Knights.
Iricobert was drenched in blood, his consciousness flickering.
Gregori, too, was pouring every ounce of his soul into his blade.
The two had lost sight of everything but each other. It was a duel where soul struck soul.
Suddenly, a Dragonia Knight moved to strike Iricobert from behind. The knight drew his sword with a predatory grin.
“Don’t you dare interfere with them.”
“—!?”
Leo cut the man down in a single motion.
He wouldn't allow Iricobert’s knights to step in, nor would he allow the enemy to do the same.
As he watched the fight, Leo felt a strange sensation wash over him.
Beneath the hill, an army of tens of thousands was locked in combat. Yet, the fate of that entire struggle rested on the outcome of this single duel.
Leo watched, losing all track of time.
A collision of souls. A battle of will rather than mere technique… that was how it felt.
The intensity of their convictions resonated within him, making something deep in Leo’s heart tremble. He remained a silent witness to their final moments.
The end came swiftly.
Ultimately, the gap in their martial prowess was too wide to ignore.
“……I am Iricobert Manifest.”
As Gregori’s sword fell from his hand, Iricobert announced his full name.
It was a final gesture—a mark of respect from one knight to another.
Even in a world of kill-or-be-killed, once blades crossed, one could sense the years of grueling cultivation the other had endured. He could tell that this man, like himself, had sacrificed countless years of his life to the way of the sword.
And so, with pride, he raised his blade one last time.
The victor was Iricobert.
The defeated was Gregori.
Iricobert’s Strong Arm swept down, cleaving through Gregori.
“……You were surprisingly hot-blooded, old man.”
In that instant, every emblem in the vicinity lost its glow. The Dragonia Knights collapsed to their knees.
Many of the soldiers on the field had been granted their power through Gregori, the Commander-in-Chief. The sudden loss of that power created an insurmountable gap in strength, finally deciding the winner of the battlefield.
Arcadia had won.
“The flag!! Raise the flag of Arcadia!!”
“Oooohhhhhh!!”
Iricobert let out a thunderous roar, thrusting a triumphant fist into the air.
Thus, the Battle of Emerald Plains drew to a close.
The winner was Arcadia.
The loser was Dragonia.
Or so it should have been.
“It is just as you said. There are certainly things that cannot be seen from a game board. It seems I am still… immature as well.”
A lone boy appeared on the summit.
Possessed of a noble’s poise and grace, the beautiful youth quietly knelt before Gregori’s corpse.
“But… human emotions are such fickle, uncontrollable things. I will not blame you for failing to retreat. It simply means you were more than a mere pawn. Sleep now, my knight.”
The boy reached out toward the emblem on Gregori’s left hand.
Watching this, Iricobert moved purely on instinct.
Danger. Danger. This kid is wrong.
The intuition of a veteran knight screamed throughout his entire being, sounding a deafening alarm.
If I don’t kill him here, something terrible is going to happen.
His body was a wreck, and he was barely capable of standing, but he forced himself to draw his sword and lunged.
However.
“Dammit... agh!”
With a single, effortless strike, Iricobert was cut down and sent tumbling to the dirt.
It happened in the blink of an eye. No one else could even react.
“Hoh… a Three-Star, indeed. Even with those wounds, you managed to avoid a fatal blow.”
The boy raised his sword once more.
He intended to harvest Iricobert’s life then and there.
“—Die.”
The blade swung down.
Iricobert couldn't move. He was going to die.
The soldiers stood frozen, unable to help. They hadn't even processed what was happening.
Only one person was fast enough to respond.
“Get away from Iricobert-san!!”
“So, it's you,” the boy said, his eyes narrowing. “The irregular who persists in obstructing me.”