"Ugh... guh... Am I... still alive?"
He couldn't comprehend what had just happened.
A blinding flash of light had suddenly torn through the main camp where Rodel and his commanders stood. In truth, it hadn't just seared his retinas; the entire camp had been scorched, along with the soldiers stationed out front.
Bodies lay scattered throughout the ruins of the pavilion, which had been reduced to charred tatters. These were the nobles of the Queen Dowager Faction—men who, at least on paper, were Rodel’s supporters.
"Tch... They actually had a mage that powerful..."
"Who... are you...?"
Rodel squinted through his flickering, hazy vision. A man stood before him, acting as a shield.
"Are you... from the Empire?"
It was the leader of the reinforcements sent by the Empire—a man hidden beneath a black hood, his face and name unknown.
"Was that light magic? No, the surroundings went dark just before the impact. It must be a spell that focuses sunlight into a laser... a solar ray. It might not even be light-attribute magic; he could be generating gravity lenses to focus the beam..."
"What are you... talking about?"
"An obvious strategic-tier spell. A spell like that shouldn't even be in the Council of Sages’ Register of Magic. Does this country really house a Sage-tier enemy capable of inventing new magic? Dammit, this wasn't in the plan!"
The hooded man didn't even acknowledge Rodel. He clicked his tongue in irritation and kicked the man lying nearby. It was the actual commander of the Rebellion—Marquis Eiger.
"Ugh..."
"Hey! Get up! Stand up, now!"
"Guh... ah... I... ugh..."
"Move! Give the soldiers their orders! The enemy will be on us at any moment!"
"It hurts... please... I need treatment..."
"Tch."
The hooded man clicked his tongue again, grabbed Marquis Eiger by the collar, and hauled him to his feet.
"That hurts...!"
"This is an order. 'Command the soldiers.' 'Meet the enemy and strike back.'"
An eerie purple mist seeped from the hooded man’s hand, spiraling into Eiger’s ear. Instantly, the agony vanished from the Marquis’s face. He stood upright under his own power, his expression vacant yet resolute.
"...Understood. I shall command the troops to intercept the enemy."
Eiger walked out of the wreckage and began shouting orders to the panicked soldiers. By then, the cacophony of war and the roars of charging men were already closing in. The delay in the chain of command had been fatal; the Royal Army was already upon them.
"We're too late. Can we win? No, impossible. The militia likely scattered the moment that strike hit. The mercenaries and looters too. We’ll be lucky if half the soldiers are still standing to fight."
"H-Hey! You... what are you saying? Hurry up and heal my wounds!"
"Hah!"
A mocking sneer escaped from the depths of the black hood.
"Don't raise your voice at me, you pathetic figurehead. I only propped you up because it was the will of 'her,' my comrade. But this is where it ends."
"Wh-What...?"
"The end is coming fast. It seems we won't be able to bleed the Aiwood Kingdom any further. Still... we forced them to play one of their trump cards. Your life wasn't a total waste. Good work."
"............"
"That magic... it was likely the work of a Reincarnated Person. If they could be turned into an ally like her, they'd be a powerful asset. But if they're going to be another Heavenly Emperor, they'll have to be eliminated. Ah, honestly! The road ahead looks exhausting!"
"Guaah?!"
After finishing his monologue, the black-robed man stepped on Rodel’s chest.
"The Empire is finished with you. You're just a puppet with a name and a bloodline. Execution, a blade on the battlefield, or your own hand... die however you please, as long as I don't have to watch. Farewell."
The black-robed figure vanished into thin air.
Teleportation magic—a miracle considered virtually impossible by modern standards—had been performed right before Rodel’s eyes.
Rodel stared at the empty space for a long moment, his daze finally breaking as his lips began to tremble.
"Pathetic... puppet...?"
Was that all he was?
Marquis Eiger, his subordinates, the Imperial reinforcements... not a single one of them had ever truly looked at him. He was a non-entity. A joke.
The last scrap of pride Rodel possessed throbbed like it had been pierced by a red-hot needle.
"...Like hell... I'm letting it end like this."
He wasn't just the Queen Dowager’s grandson. He wasn't some prop or a doll to be manipulated. He was a man named Rodel Aiwood.
How could he die like this—used and discarded—without ever showing the world who he really was?
"G-RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAH!"
Rodel gritted his teeth against the pain and forced himself up. He pushed his body beyond its limits with Physical Enhancement, shaking as he found his feet.
He had never been good at healing magic. It wasn't because he lacked the talent, but because he had never bothered to learn it. He had been convinced that a superior being like himself would never be wounded, and he had no interest in wasting his mana to mend the flesh of others.
Cursing his own past arrogance, he took the time to painstakingly close his wounds. Finally, he looked out toward the carnage of the battlefield.
"I'll do it... I'll make them remember me!"
Rodel was a fool, but even he could see the truth. This was a lost war. His defeat was a mathematical certainty.
But he wouldn't sit here and wait for the executioner. He would carve his existence into as many people as he could.
Not as a royal grandson... but as the man known as Rodel Aiwood.
"Just wait... you just wait...!"
Dragging his battered body, Rodel began his slow, steady march toward the front lines.