Chapter 24: Better the Enemy Weeps Than Ourselves

Listening to the commotion below, Oni fell silent. She tugged at the corner of her cloak, wrapping it tightly around herself to ward off the chill rising from beneath, and sank into deep thought.

The drawbacks of her inexperience had surfaced. Minor flaws in her strategic deployment and the deviation from expected results left her feeling somewhat disappointed. This was the peril of armchair strategizing—the hazard of lacking practical experience. Fortunately, she wasn't facing a seasoned veteran of a hundred battles!

Yet, even if she had noticed, the inevitable outcome would not change. Even if the legendary military genius Han Xin himself were to descend, he could not reverse the situation; he would only be able to flee. At the very least, she could conceive of no way to crack it!

However, her intention to minimize enemy casualties and take in the townspeople without incident had likely fallen through.

"I must modify my boots when I return. I need to design a pair that dampens noise," Oni gritted her teeth.

After a moment's thought, she dismissed it as unrealistic—she couldn't afford the production costs. Perhaps she should select and train a group of professional scouts instead? The more she thought about it, the more feasible it seemed. Although the Japanese were loathsome, the training methods of their Koga and Iga ninja were indeed worth adopting. She believed that by training a squad of elite scouts to coordinate with the regular army, she could execute unconventional, specialized tactics.

As her train of thought dissipated, she stared down at the town. Just as she resigned herself to a bloody, lackluster finish, a sound drifted up from below, causing her to step forward, right to the edge of the cliff.

"Oni, high, fall!" A large hand pulled her back. She turned to see it was Harold.

"Fool!" she chided him, patting his hand before returning her focus to the activity below the mountain.

"Rioters are rebelling! Everyone stay in your homes! Do not come out, or you will be treated as rebels!" The shouts echoed from the town below.

The command was repeated incessantly, merging into a single, unified roar. Although the town’s alarm bells were still ringing, there was no sound of fighting within the town itself. A corner of Oni’s mouth curled up; her secondary plan had taken effect. Despite the setbacks, the result was favorable.

From afar, in the moonlight, she saw the warriors outside the enemy’s Jarl castle forming a human ladder, stepping on each other’s backs, attempting to scale the walls. They were repelled by the enemy’s spears and tumbled to the ground. The sight made her heart race and her hands clench, forcing her to recall the image of how Field had died.

When she saw the miserable state of the warriors outside the castle, it felt as if her heart were being pierced by sharp blades. Whose father was that? Whose son or husband? Thinking of her father, Field, grief welled up within her. Though she could not bear it, she had to harden her heart for the sake of victory.

"Are these crocodile tears?" she murmured, looking at the damp, glistening teardrops in her palm. She smiled bitterly, crushed them in her fist, and looked up to continue her vigil.

Reason told her that war always demanded blood, yet her heart refused to accept it. Her conscience constantly condemned her, while her cruel, warlike side cheered, leaving her mind in a state of agonizing conflict.

After a dozen warriors were killed, a massive wave of soldiers surged into the compound, engaging the enemy defenders of the castle.

"Let’s go. The battle is nearly over," Oni said. She took the reins of her pack donkey, linked her arm with Harold’s, and led the rest of her group down the mountain.

There was another settlement on the island of Gotland, but she had no intention of moving against them yet. She planned to consolidate this group of subjects and deal with the enemy's army that had gone out on a Viking raid before using her strength to force the other settlement to surrender. Rashly provoking another group now could lead to a disaster if the two enemies allied and attacked her base. Besides, the population was already too large to manage; the current one-to-one ratio of soldiers to civilians was already pushing her limits.

Her soldiers had already secured the alleyways. Oni and her party walked straight to the Jarl’s castle. The thick scent of blood hit her, nearly suffocating her. It had to be said that the Jarl of Slommsfors was more accustomed to luxury than Harold’s ancestors, and his craftsmen were highly skilled, having built a three-story structure out of logs.

"Hina?" Oni called out.

Hina and the others hurried off to tend to the wounded who were still alive, while Oni, arm-in-arm with Harold, entered the great hall. She felt as though the blood-stained weapons held by the warriors surrounding her might turn against her at any moment, leaving her feeling deeply insecure. Only by clutching Harold’s arm and staying by his side did she feel her life was truly her own.

The hall’s doors had been smashed. Stepping inside, she found it brilliantly lit, and the sudden candlelight dazzled her eyes, which had grown accustomed to the darkness.

Inside the lord’s hall, the floor was covered in luxurious wood. Looking closely, she saw several maids huddled in a corner under the guard of her soldiers, while only two elegantly dressed women remained standing. Several corpses lay dead on the floor.

Power, the loyalty of subordinates, and death seemed to be eternal topics that constantly tortured her mind, fueling her inner exhaustion.

Of the two women, one was younger and the other more mature. By her aesthetic standards, both were quite beautiful, yet they stared at Oni and the others with hostility. Seeing the beautiful women, Oni couldn't help but feel a spark of feminine rivalry, only to realize they were far less attractive than herself.

The more mature woman clearly froze when she saw Oni. She likely hadn't expected the leader of the surprise attack to be a woman. As for Harold, who looked like a guard, they ignored him entirely. Oni was stunning, while Harold was so robust and a head taller than her; together, they looked like a scene of Beauty and the Beast.

"Greetings, madam," the older woman asked Oni. "Where do you come from? Why have you attacked us?"

Oni found it strange that she could detect no fear in the woman’s voice, which she could not understand.

Wearing heavy scale armor and feeling the strain on her legs, Oni sat down on a chair brought by her men. She sat by the hearth, leaning her sheathed longsword against the ground to take some of the weight off her feet, and stared at the other woman, exhaling to steady her rapid breathing.

She looked down, but her view was obstructed; she couldn't even see the sword she was leaning on. She seemed to have gained a little weight this winter. It was said that a woman who could not see her own toes when looking down was a rare beauty. By modern standards, she estimated her chest was at least a DD, somewhere between a D and an E.

"Take a guess?"

Faced with the woman’s semi-interrogation, Oni, still winded, certainly wouldn't play along. She felt the woman was merely trying to leave her speechless on moral grounds, only to follow up with some outrageous demands.

"You wouldn't harm a lady, would you? Can you let us leave?" As expected, the woman made her request.

"What relation was the local lord to you two? A father? A husband? Or a brother?" Oni ignored the unreasonable request and asked instead.

"I am the Jarl's wife, the Lady Jarl," she replied. "She is my husband's sister!"

"You've made one mistake," Oni said, regaining some strength. She stood up, pulled Harold down to sit, and rested her hands on his shoulders. "He is the Jarl; I am his wife!"

Harold’s eyes remained vacant, which left the two women looking utterly bewildered.

"I am sorry, but I cannot let you leave. If you cooperate, I will not treat you poorly," Oni said, crouching beside Harold to warm herself by the fire.

"Do you intend to use us to threaten my husband? Is that not too despicable?" the mature woman asked.

"Despicable? It seems you have a poor grasp of your own status. You are my captives now, and perhaps my slaves in the future, depending on your attitude! A defeated person begging for mercy from the victor does not strike such a pose!"

"What? Begging for mercy?" The woman trembled with rage. "Mind your language, madam. Your words are as vulgar as a commoner’s daughter; you lack the elegance of a traditional noble!"

"What did you say?" Ludwig drew his sword, pressing the blade against her neck, and looked at Oni. "Lady Oni, shall I kill her?"

Oni gave Ludwig a long look, feeling annoyed but not showing it. She could easily discern the psychological state behind any action. To dare draw a sword in her presence—even if not pointed at her—was an act of such recklessness that it meant he either held her in contempt or was desperate to show off his ambition. She would observe him for a while longer; if he continued such insolent behavior and proved uncontrollable, she would find an opportunity to kill him and replace him with a different leader.

"Stand down!"

Ludwig, unaware that he had already earned Oni’s wariness, mistakenly believed he had defended her honor and was smugly pleased. "Yes, my lady!"

Oni approached the woman and pointed the tip of her whip at her nose. "Has no one ever taught you that when your life is in someone else's hands, it is best to be polite, lest you provoke them into doing something unpleasant?"

The woman turned her head away, refusing to look at her, her expression arrogant. "It is only I who have been captured, not my husband. I cannot submit to you on his behalf, madam!"

"You are more eloquent than I thought. If you believe your husband is your shield, you will soon discover he can do nothing," Oni watched the woman’s eyes with interest, hoping to see a flicker of fear, but she was disappointed. Was this woman truly not afraid of death?

"Are you not too confident? When he returns, you will be drowned in his wrath!" The woman glared at her, refusing to show a hint of weakness, not even a single word.