The news about the fiefs seemed to have made many nobles within the alliance… far more energetic.

  Early the next morning, riders carrying letters began leaving the camp one after another.

  They rode in different directions, carrying their masters’ orders. The contents of those letters were not difficult to guess: call for more troops.

  Not just a few symbolic soldiers anymore.

  Many lords were clearly preparing to bring the main forces of their families to the battlefield.

  If viewed optimistically, it suggested that the promise made by Armand Valcere had worked even better than expected. A campaign that had originally been moderate in scale was slowly turning into a much larger gathering of forces.

  Philip watched the riders depart from the camp with somewhat mixed feelings.

  In theory, he could do the same.

  All it would take was a letter sent back to the Montserrat domain.

  But Philip knew very well what would happen afterward.

  If the letter were sent, Baron Montserrat would most likely come personally with his army.

  And when he arrived, command of the troops would naturally return to the lord of the territory.

  Philip would then be nothing more than the third son accompanying the army to gain some experience in war.

  Thinking about that possibility, Philip shook his head slightly.

  He did not want that to happen.

  Partly because of the command.

  But another reason—if he were honest—was much simpler.

  Philip had absolutely no desire to ride alongside Baron Montserrat straight into a rebel formation just to win glory.

  In heroic tales, lords often lead their knights in a charge directly into the center of the battlefield.

  It sounded glorious.

  But in reality… it was also the easiest place to die.

  Philip was not sure he was ready for that kind of glory.

  Compared to achievements, survival still seemed far more important.

  At least to him.

  While the nobles were busy sending letters, another issue began to appear in the camp.

  Soldiers.

  A great many soldiers.

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  But it was not always clear who they belonged to.

  At first, it was only a few.

  A group of soldiers who had gotten separated from their unit during the march.

  A guard squad that had lost track of their lord.

  Such things were not uncommon when many different forces were moving through the same region.

  However, the numbers began to increase.

  Every day, several small groups of soldiers appeared near the alliance’s camp.

  Some wore armor marked with family insignias, but many cases were less clear. When questioned, the answers were usually vague.

  “We got separated while marching.”

  “Our unit moved ahead… and we lost them.”

  “We thought your troops belonged to the Viscount’s army.”

  At first, the nobles in the alliance were rather cautious.

  Several knights were sent out to examine each group of soldiers.

  They asked about their lord’s name, their unit, their marching route.

  Those whose answers contradicted themselves too much were sent away.

  But even after careful screening, quite a number of lost soldiers remained.

  Perhaps they were telling the truth.

  In a campaign involving many different armies, units becoming separated was not unusual.

  Philip observed the situation for a while.

  Then he made a rather simple assumption.

  Perhaps the armies of several other lords were camped somewhere nearby.

  These soldiers had simply strayed from their main formations.

  No one knew for certain.

  But regardless… one thing was fairly obvious.

  No lord complained when his army became a little larger.

  So Philip decided to accept these lost soldiers into his own unit.

  At first it was only a few.

  Then a few dozen.

  After several days, the number began to increase significantly.

  The original twenty soldiers of Montserrat gradually turned into a much larger force.

  Not all of them had good discipline.

  Their equipment was also rather inconsistent.

  But from a distance, Philip’s army now looked… noticeably larger.

  …

  When the alliance’s army finally approached Re-Robel, they quickly realized something.

  The battle had already begun.

  From afar, smoke could be seen rising near the city walls.

  The sounds of fighting—metal clashing, shouting—echoed from the gates.

  The rebels were attacking the city.

  The sight immediately stirred excitement among many nobles in the alliance.

  Roland was almost the first to react.

  He drew his sword and shouted loudly:

  “Charge!”

  Several knights responded immediately.

  Other nobles quickly joined the formation.

  The cavalry began to accelerate.

  From Philip’s position, their intention was clear.

  They would strike directly into the rebel formation surrounding the city gate.

  A frontal charge.

  Philip watched the scene for a few seconds.

  Then he decided not to follow them.

  Instead, he ordered his soldiers to move toward the left flank of the battlefield.

  There, the rebel formation was thinner.

  Several small groups were moving somewhat loosely—perhaps units that had been separated from the main force.

  For Philip, those were far more suitable targets.

  His first battle happened rather quickly.

  A group of about five rebels was moving near the edge of the battlefield.

  When they saw Philip’s soldiers approaching, they immediately turned around.

  One of them shouted something—Philip could not hear clearly.

  Then they rushed forward.

  The distance closed rapidly.

  Philip drew his sword.

  What happened next was somewhat blurred.

  The sound of metal.

  Footsteps pounding against the ground.

  One man rushed forward.

  Philip almost acted on instinct.

  The sword in his hand swung downward.

  The blade struck something softer than he expected.

  A short cry sounded.

  The man fell.

  Philip stood still for a few seconds.

  He looked down at the body lying on the ground.

  Blood was flowing rather quickly.

  A slow realization formed in his mind.

  This was the first time he had killed someone.

  Not just in this life.

  But in both lives he had lived.

  What surprised Philip was that his feelings… were not what he had imagined.

  There was no screaming in his mind.

  No sense of collapse.

  Only a strange silence.

  Perhaps everything had happened too quickly.

  Or perhaps on the battlefield, there was simply no time to think.

  Another rebel was charging toward him.

  Philip tightened his grip on the sword.

  Those thoughts were quickly pushed aside.

  The battle was not over yet.