Lance Charge on the Arkship, but No Mount

Patriot glanced at him, seeming as though he wanted to say something, but he kept his mouth shut. Together, they left the ruins and found Talulah unconscious outside.

Claude examined her carefully and relaxed slightly. There was nothing wrong with Talulah's vital signs; even her body temperature was normal. Yet her face was unexpectedly pale, and he had no idea why. There was no time to waste. He slipped one hand beneath the crook of her knees, wrapped the other around her shoulders, and lifted her into his arms.

To deal with that troublesome enemy, they had exhausted every possible scheme. Ordinary soldiers were useless against an Inner Guard; they would only throw their lives away. Even if they ultimately separated this area from the main body, they could not be sure that the terrifying domain would not continue spreading.

Though they had kept the losses to a minimum, Claude's heart still leapt into his throat. Without even speaking to Patriot, he immediately sprinted down the street. He had not looked for a vehicle because no vehicle in this city could move faster than he could. Rhodes Island's medical team was still stationed in the city. With their advanced medical technology, they should be able to solve Talulah's problem. After all, he had made thorough preparations beforehand.

After all, even in his previous world, that talisman had been the work of a rune master.

Reunion Movement Rising: Chapter Eighty-Three: Cold Rain

Rhodes Island's camp stood beside the Core City, where they took in patients. The Reunion Movement officials had assigned them a hospital as a temporary treatment center. Its lights still blazed through the night. Most of the wounded from this war had been sent here, including Ursus military police.

An Ursus military policeman whose wrist had been severed was having his wound cleaned. A Reunion Movement soldier stood beside him, watching like a hawk. As saline washed over the injury, the dust and debris were cleared away, exposing red flesh, yellow fat, and white bone.

There was no way to reattach his arm here. All they could do was clean and bandage the wound. At least he would not die from infection. The sting of the medicine made the muscles in his face twitch continuously, but his severed arm remained motionless. The doctor worked quickly, applying the medicine before wrapping it in bandages.

After his treatment was complete, fully armed soldiers escorted him to the open space outside. Many Ursus military police who had finished receiving treatment were already waiting there.

The expressions on those military policemen's faces were filled with disbelief. They could not help whispering to one another. When they had been defeated, they had thought they were finished. At the very least, they would be forced to labor for the rest of their lives. In Ursus, that was common sense. The Empire showed no mercy to rebels, and rebels would not grant them special treatment either. In that cold, brutal land, every loser had only one path: death.

Yet aside from their daily labor, they had suffered no particular abuse. Now, they were even being treated. They had never heard of precious medicine and bandages being wasted on enemies. Something so far beyond their understanding made them deeply uneasy.

What exactly were these shameful traitors planning to do to them? They sincerely believed that if these traitors were treating them now, there had to be an even more terrifying conspiracy waiting ahead. Several military policemen exchanged looks and slowly gathered together.

Fear and unease spread among them, breeding strange thoughts. But no one was foolish enough to make a rash move. They had no weapons, and even if they managed to charge out, they could not escape the city. It was nothing more than a form of self-comfort, a psychological defense.

The mobile city had been traveling continuously for ten days. Standing on the ground, one could feel faint tremors—the vibrations transmitted as its massive tracks rolled over the rubble-strewn wilderness. The city was leaving Ursus territory, and the clouds in the sky were visibly retreating.

Soon, the final military policeman had his wound bandaged, while those with other illnesses were given medicine. Reunion Movement soldiers assembled them. Since they had been soldiers themselves, they quickly formed into orderly ranks and prepared to leave.

A commotion suddenly rose in the street. Soldiers began clearing the road, opening a passage through the traffic. Shouts, honking horns, and rumbling engines filled the air. With the soldiers' tight and efficient coordination, a route was quickly cleared. They stood guard on both sides, preventing anyone from approaching.

The sound of doctors talking drifted from the hospital as a gurney was wheeled out, followed by Doctor Kal'tsit and her medical team. The military police were ordered to gather to the side and clear the road ahead. The sight made them intensely curious. Who was coming?

Heavy rain fell from the sky, washing the city streets clean. The air during rainfall carried a fresh scent tinged with impurities. For those caught in the rain, it was a disaster, but for those with shelter, it was a scene worth admiring.

Especially when friends were by one's side and good food was shared together—there was nothing more pleasant.

A layer of red chili oil floated atop the ramen broth, dotted with chopped scallions and cilantro. A fried egg lay on top, releasing a rich, steaming fragrance. After borrowing a towel from the owner and drying her rain-soaked hair, she happily sat down at the table and began enjoying the delicious food.

The Originium stove beneath the table radiated comforting warmth, driving the cold and dampness from her body. The ramen had a rich, spicy flavor that made its eater sweat. It was a little too spicy for her, and her nose began to run. As she sniffled, a napkin was handed over from across the table.

She looked up. The blue-haired little dragon girl opposite her wore a bright smile. Her eyes were blood-red, gleaming like the finest gemstones.

Without ceremony, she snatched the napkin and blew her nose hard before tossing it into the trash. Her nose had turned bright red. Only when she looked up did she notice that the girl opposite her had been brought to tears by the spice as well. They had specifically asked the owner to add more chili peppers, hoping to warm themselves up, but it seemed they had been a bit too hasty.

She pulled out another napkin and handed it to the other girl. Seeing how miserable they both looked, they could not help bursting into laughter.

"Hahahahahaha!!..."

"Hahahahaha!!..."

Neither of them knew what they were laughing about, but seeing the other laugh made it impossible to stop. For no reason at all, waves of laughter kept bubbling up from their hearts. Neither could even eat anymore. They clutched their stomachs and laughed.

The owner, who was wiping down the counter nearby, shook his head at the sight and smiled gently.

"If you don't eat soon, the noodles will get soggy."

"Got it, ha! We got it, Boss. Hahaha!!"

The two little girls answered between gasps for breath. They laughed without a care in the world, as though there was nothing worth worrying about and no responsibility they needed to bear. In that tiny noodle shop, they were laughing so happily for some inexplicable reason. Perhaps they did not need a reason at all. Being together simply made them happy.

A fierce wind suddenly roared beside her ears, leaving her confused. How could there be such a strong wind inside this little restaurant, with its doors and windows shut? She could even feel the wind brushing over her cheek. She reached up to touch her face, but felt leather beneath her fingers. She clearly was not wearing gloves.

She looked up at her companion, wanting her to explain what was happening. But the blue-haired girl was gone. Instead, she clearly felt raindrops striking her body. Looking up at the person holding her hand, she saw the enemy she hated most: Ursus's Black Snake, Duke Koschei. The cold-faced middle-aged man was looking down at her.

Rain pattered all around them. They stood atop a vast field of ruins. Talulah's heart jolted. She suddenly remembered where this was, and instinctively turned around.

She saw her dearest friend weeping herself hoarse in the rain. A dragon man gripped her hand tightly, refusing to let her break free from his restraint. Dozens of guards in black rain capes surrounded them. Talulah could not hear what she was shouting, but she too wanted to pull free from the hand holding her. Yet she found herself completely unable to move.

"Alright. Let's go."

The Feline man spoke to her—or rather, commanded her.

Feeling the pull from his hand, her body obediently took a step away. The crying and shouting behind her chased after her retreating back. Before she knew it, tears were already streaming down her face.

She suddenly raised her hand, but what came into view was not the rain from that day.

The moisture on her face felt cold and wet. Before Talulah's eyes was the sharp line of a young man's jaw. The night wind stirred his hair, black strands brushing against his pale, smooth face. His firm, sharp brows and eyes held a trace of sorrow at that moment—so faint, yet so unmistakable.

Streetlights flashed over his face, shifting him endlessly between light and shadow. Only then did Talulah realize she was lying in his arms as he raced swiftly down the road.

The hard, cold armor was not comfortable, yet Talulah felt strangely safe. Without blinking, she stared at the man's profile as though bewitched. She watched his face with rapt attention, searching for that trace of sorrow between his brows.

Why was he so sad? Who was he mourning? Who could it be? How... enviable that person was.

Reunion Movement Rising: Chapter Eighty-Four: A Brief Respite After Victory

An entire sheep was skinned, gutted, beheaded, and bound to a steel frame. Cuts were made into the thickest parts of the meat, then coated with a sauce made from onions, cumin, and other ingredients. A thick layer was spread over it, allowing the flavor to seep into the fibers so every shred of meat carried a distinct, delicious taste.

Before long, the marinating was finished. The excess sauce was scraped back into a dish for reuse. The fire in the stove beside it was already blazing hot, the charcoal within crackling and popping. The steel frame, along with the lamb, was set over the flames and slowly turned to heat it evenly.

Margaret watched Claude handle everything with practiced ease, as though he were not a general or a knight, but a cook. All kinds of ingredients obeyed his hands as readily as swords and blades, obediently becoming one dish after another in their proper order.

Claude temporarily stopped turning the spit, and Boccas came over to take his place. But Claude glanced at Patriot for a moment, then silently picked up his dagger again and slaughtered another sheep. Clearly, this was not enough food for everyone. Especially since none of them had small appetites.

After several hours of work, everyone who could cook came to help. Those who could not either assisted with minor tasks or sat quietly in the hall without getting in the way. Like Yelena and Sasha. And there was one person whom everyone refused to let near the kitchen: Ceobe.

All the food was placed on an enormous round table made from a single huge slab of stone, dense and hard. The table had originally been in the mayor's home, but now it was finally being put to proper use. After all, its former owner would never truly need it again.

Cans of beer bought from the stores were opened one after another, then grasped by hands of all sizes—some rough, some delicate—and clinked together.

"Cheers!!!"

It was an Ursus toast, carrying their most fervent emotions. Even Patriot said a low, "Cheers." But it was certainly different from the cheers he had once shouted. That sent him into habitual contemplation again, until his daughter reminded him.

"Come on, taste it. It took a lot of work to prepare all this. We haven't had a meal like this in years. Everyone, eat your fill today!"

Claude was beaming. He was genuinely happy. Talulah was fine as well; she only needed two days of rest. The city now belonged entirely to them, and no one could stop that. Their losses had been almost negligible. What could make a general happier than victory and honor?

And after victory, naturally there had to be good wine and good food. Only then could it be called truly satisfying, without a single regret.

Most of the men ate with hearty abandon, a habit they had formed long ago on the ice plains. Hot food had to be eaten quickly before it lost its warmth. The spice-roasted lamb leg had a golden-brown outer crust that crunched pleasantly when bitten into, while the meat inside remained juicy and flavorful.

Roast meat alone was not enough. They also had a hot soup made with tomatoes, potatoes, beast meat, celery, and other ingredients. There were baked potatoes sprinkled with spices and salt as well, a traditional Ursus food eaten by both rich and poor. The only difference was that the rich could add spices, while the poor could only roast theirs directly in the fire.

Scaled beasts caught from the river were fried in oil, then cooked with carefully prepared sauce. Every bite carried the taste of crispness and rich fragrance.

Claude had taken off his armor today. He wore a black turtleneck sweater, trousers and boots of the same color, outlining his long, powerful legs. Amid the steam rising from the food, everyone's expressions seemed gentler. The alcohol and warmth had brought a little color to their faces.

This was only a private feast, so Claude had invited only his friends. But whenever they gathered, all sorts of messy things tended to happen. Like now, when he reached out and flicked the forehead of the silly golden-haired dog girl hard enough to make her clutch her head and let out a faint whimper.

"Ceobe! How many times have I told you? Don't grab food with your hands."

After he had said it once, the child had indeed used utensils for a while. But before long, she could not help reaching for food with her hands again. He could only correct her with a headache. This child seriously lacked common sense. Even after being taught for so long, she still did things that left people laughing helplessly.

Młynar watched them quietly, but his hands did not slow in the slightest. Today's dishes suited his tastes perfectly. The atmosphere in this room also stirred a trace of emotion in his heart. He had seen these people on the battlefield with his own eyes. They launched storm-like assaults on their enemies, coordinated and relentless, never stopping until their opponents had been completely crushed.

And now, they could gather together like the best of friends, eating, drinking, laughing, and fooling around. It reminded him of the knights of Kazimierz in the old days. After defeating their enemies, knights would hold celebratory banquets. There, they would enjoy food and wine to their hearts' content, raising their cups to fallen comrades and living family.

Such sights had long vanished from Kazimierz. The knights there had long since become tools for capital to make money. They enjoyed food that ordinary people could not afford in a lifetime inside lavishly decorated villas, yet they would trade their honor for money without hesitation. They could no longer be called knights. They were more like merchants.

Turning to look at his niece, he saw Margaret chatting happily with a white-haired Cautus girl. When he listened closely, he found that they were discussing the young man, Claude. He had known for a long time that Margaret cared deeply about him. The man had helped her greatly during that knight promotion tournament. Without him, Margaret would very likely have been targeted by the Commercial Union.

At the time, Młynar had thought the man was indeed an extraordinarily talented young knight, with a bright future and limitless potential. He also possessed the passionate blood and lofty spirit common to all young people. Unable to endure darkness, he would turn himself into a torch, burning briefly and shining briefly.

Młynar himself had once been such a young man, filled with ambition and convinced that he could accomplish great things. But such things never lasted. Young people would someday grow old, and the passion in their hearts would someday grow cold...

Would it really grow cold? He asked himself, interrogating his own heart. In the end, his heart gave him an answer, and he smiled knowingly. He raised his cup and drained it in one swallow.

Reunion Movement Rising: Chapter Eighty-Five: The Voices of the Suffering

"Former garrison captain Yevgeny, you abused your position by sending 203 non-Infected into the mines under the pretext of searching for the Infected, then profited by confiscating the victims' property. All members of the Chernobog Military Committee unanimously find your crimes heinous. You are sentenced to death, and all your property is confiscated."

A flimsy verdict was placed on the table. The ashen-faced man sitting in the chair, restraints fastened around his body, suddenly could no longer sit upright and slid from the chair. He opened his bloodless lips, wanting to say something in his defense, but after they moved a few times, no sound came out.

The executioner beside him, dressed in black armor, saw that the judge had formally issued the order and stepped forward to drag the man away. Terror of death made Yevgeny struggle desperately. His hands were bound in cuffs, and he could only writhe violently on the floor like a worm. But the executioner soon stopped this ridiculous, ugly resistance in the distinctive Ursus manner.

Tactical gloves plated with armor were driven by powerful shoulders into his face. Two or three heavy blows left him dazed. The executioner struck him twice more, until he had completely lost the ability to resist. But that still did not seem safe enough. If the prisoner caused any disturbance during his execution, it would be a failure in the executioner's duty. So he called over two soldiers to haul the prisoner up, leaving his feet dangling above the ground, and carried him outside.

Just beyond the courthouse stood a recently built gallows with three hanging positions. Corpses already hung from two of them. Drawing close, one could smell the stench of excrement. They had been hanging there for two hours, and the relaxation of their muscles after death had made them soil themselves.

Seeing another prisoner being brought out, the two men who had hung there for half the day were taken down and thrown into coffins. No one came to collect their bodies; their families had vanished long ago.

Yevgeny stared at the steel-cable noose in terror. Extreme fear gave him an urgent need to urinate. His desire to survive drove him to struggle, but the strong soldiers clamped down on his shoulders and held him immobile. His heart was filled with terror and regret. How could he have known that these lowly Infected, no better than maggots, would one day hang him from the gallows?!

He began cursing madly—cursing the lowly Infected, and those hateful traitors! If not for the traitors' help, how could these useless Infected possibly have captured this city? They should all have been sent into the mines to dig until they died! No, to be safe, they should have been executed together!!...

His frenzied, chaotic fantasies came to an abrupt end the instant the noose snapped his neck. With a crisp crack of breaking vertebrae, another corpse swayed in the wind, pulling the steel cable taut with creaking sounds.

Only those mad, venomous delusions drifted away with the wind.

Claude stood on the second floor of the enormous courthouse, watching the trials in the hall below. There was nothing cumbersome about these proceedings. The criminals whose guilt had long been established were taken out and executed as soon as their sentences were announced. The efficiency was extremely high.

All the Reunion Movement's officers and commanders stood behind Claude, clustered around him. Their heavy cloaks dragged over the polished marble floor. The ornate crystal chandeliers on the ceiling cast golden, brilliant light. Every railing on the second-floor gallery had been painstakingly carved from hardwood and inlaid with strands of precious metal.

There were dozens of temperature-control facilities across the entire second floor, ensuring suitable temperatures year-round. At the center of the hall hung an enormous portrait, over five meters tall and three meters wide. It depicted the former Emperor of Ursus, glaring with majestic coldness at every subject who entered the building.

The trials continued in orderly fashion. Outside, the grounds were packed with onlookers pointing at the corpses on the gallows. Yet even in such circumstances, distinct lines remained between them. The shabbily dressed Infected and the non-Infected remained divided into two groups that did not approach each other.

Many wore coats that had been distributed to keep out the cold. Such clothing had once piled up like mountains in Chernobog's warehouses, yet warm clothing had still sold at astronomical prices on the market. On one side, huge quantities of garments sat in warehouses, waiting to become damp and moldy. On the other, scarce goods were sold at exorbitant prices. Every day, hundreds of Infected and impoverished people froze or starved to death in the bitter cold. The Reunion Movement's arrival had completely changed that.

After careful consideration, the newly established Chernobog Military Committee had not distributed all supplies for free. Instead, it encouraged citizens to earn them through work. Chernobog was currently sealed off and could not replenish any supplies from outside, so this had to be taken into account.

As one criminal after another was hanged, their crimes were displayed on screens beneath their feet for everyone nearby to see. A dense murmur filled the crowd, punctuated by occasional angry curses. Faced with crimes so horrific and innumerable, suppressed fury began gathering in people's hearts. The crowd churned constantly like surging waves, only to be pushed back again and again by the breakwater of soldiers. No one knew who threw the first stone that struck a corpse. The emotions the public had suppressed finally erupted. Pebbles and debris rained down in a dense barrage, making the bodies sway. Someone tried to rush forward and tear at a corpse, but soldiers stopped them.

The Ursus temperament was like lava flowing beneath solid ice. Beneath that cold exterior, once their turbulent emotions were ignited, they would not easily settle. At this moment, Infected and non-Infected alike crowded together, shouting, cursing, even weeping bitterly. They no longer distinguished one another by identity.

The emotions normally suppressed by cruel reality and suffering burst out all at once. More and more people joined them, even blocking traffic, so more soldiers were sent out to maintain order. They soothed the emotional public and cleared paths for passing vehicles, just as guardians of a city's order should do—so naturally, so inevitably.

"I think we succeeded."

Listening to the overwhelming uproar outside, a heartfelt smile appeared on Claude's lips. He turned to look at the people standing behind him. The stereotypes and prejudice created by the Ursus Empire would not change overnight, but they had already taken an immensely successful first step. From now on, this city's people would truly accept them.

As though by prior agreement, everyone began applauding, with plenty of laughter mixed in. The Reunion Movement had begun providing education while still on the snowfields. Every soldier and officer had attended night school established by Alina and the other teachers. Those here were the best among them, and naturally understood the significance of this sight.

Applause was contagious. Before long, everyone in the hall had risen to their feet and joined in. Warm applause filled the space, and every face carried a delighted smile. The sustained clapping echoed through the building. Many people had clapped their palms red, yet still refused to stop.

Claude raised his hand, then pressed it downward. The applause immediately died away, and everyone looked up at him. He stood on the projecting gallery, where the building's design allowed sound to echo throughout the entire space, naturally focusing and amplifying it.

"Alright, don't get carried away. We still have a great many things to do. This is only the beginning."

Reunion Movement Rising: Chapter Eighty-Six: The Heart of a Knight

The young lady knight was staring blankly at the garden before her. She had been absent-minded like this for days. For the dazzling and powerful Radiant Knight, such a state was extremely rare. The few pieces of armor with limited coverage had been removed. She now wore only a heavy black dress, which suited Ursus's climate quite well.

Margaret was deeply troubled. What troubled her was nothing else but the future of her homeland. Kazimierz was a nation of knights, and everything in that country was inseparable from knighthood. In the past, when the Pegasi still ruled that land, the knightly class had been one of the nation's most important parts. They bore the responsibility of waging war and defending the homeland. One could say that the nation's rise, fall, and continued existence had been closely tied to them.

But as times changed, the knightly class was no longer suited to serve as the nation's foundation. Those who had once served knights began taking control of the country's economy. Their position grew increasingly important, until now the honor of Kazimierz's knights had become a commodity—a commodity that could be sold.

The education she had received since childhood told her that this was wrong. Once Kazimierz lost all honor, dignity, and virtue, what would remain? She hated that state of affairs, so she had struck back in her own way.

Fortunately, she had met comrades who shared her ideals, letting her know she was not fighting alone. After they won the Knight Tournament championship and she became the Radiant Knight, the Commercial Union's power had been weakened considerably. But Kazimierz's problems had not been fundamentally resolved. That left her lost, unsure where she should go from here.

Especially after seeing what her former comrade Claude had accomplished, she felt even more ashamed of her own inadequacy. All of it plunged her into complicated emotions.

Because of Ursus's harsh cold, there were rarely flowers in the city's flowerbeds. Most of the time, there was only dead grass. She sat on a bench, her dazzling golden hair exceedingly eye-catching. The heroic yet regal air unique to her drew the gazes of passersby.

A great cloud of white breath escaped her lips. The cold air had reddened her face slightly. She rubbed her hands, then suddenly remembered that she, her uncle, Shining, and Nightingale had not brought enough winter clothing. It was difficult to encounter settlements selling such things along the way, and it had been hard for them to enter mobile cities because there were Infected among them.

Now that they were finally staying in a mobile city, they should seize the chance to buy supplies. With that thought, she hurriedly pulled out her terminal to contact her uncle Młynar.

A scarf suddenly appeared before her. She instinctively looked up, intending to politely decline the kind stranger's offer, only to see Claude smiling at her.

Morning sunlight fell across his face, making his features seem to glow faintly. White breath rose from his mouth and nose in the cold air before drifting away.

"Take it. I tried making it myself, so it might not be very neat."

Claude was not wearing armor. He had recently begun getting used to dressing this way. He wore a long black heavy coat over a gray turtleneck sweater that covered his neck. He still wore long boots and trousers below. He looked like a university student, except for the longsword still hanging at his waist.

Seeing the smile in his eyes, Margaret unconsciously accepted the scarf from his hand. It truly was not very neat, and it had been knitted from yarn of only one color, making it look somewhat plain. Still, she could feel the soft, fluffy texture of high-quality wool.

"White should suit you well."

Claude continued. Knitting two scarves was child's play for him. After reaching the third tier, his exceptional calculating ability and precise finger control let him knit scarves and similar things at a speed nearly comparable to a machine. Every companion had received one, and finishing them all had taken him only three hours.