I Am a Villain, So What?

Chapter 202: Winterguard [4]

"The present Ashen Knights are no tigers," Viktor stated bluntly. "We are really no more than well-groomed watchdogs."

"...Sir Viktor, you judge your men too harshly."

"What is the point of a tiger that has had its claws and teeth filed down? A beast that can’t bite anything when the true hunt begins? That is exactly why it hides in the Capital. It is old, and it is weak."

With that grim declaration, Viktor threw back the rest of his drink. It tasted more bitter the more he drank. He wasn’t sure if the high-proof northern liquor was originally brewed like that, or if his own rotting pride was spoiling the taste.

"...If I am being completely honest," Viktor muttered, staring at the empty glass. "The current Ashen Knights wouldn’t even amount to the soles of the Ashborne vanguard’s boots."

The Ashborne Knights.

The elite, hardened military force led directly by Count Darius Ashborne. Their absolute ability to never allow the monstrous intrusions of the North to breach the inner Empire wasn’t merely limited to Count Darius’s individual strength as a Platinum-Rank Knight. The terrifying discipline and raw, brutal power of his knight order was the major pillar maintaining that ’impenetrable’ reputation.

There were some snobbish nobles in the Capital who claimed it was presumptuous and arrogant for a mere Count to name a knight order after his own family, but absolutely no one on the battlefield doubted their lethal capability.

"Ashborne, huh? Hahahaha," Arthur laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that filled the small office.

Arthur poured himself another measure of liquor. "Speaking of the North’s absolute wall... what do you think of Cadet Lucien, then?"

Viktor frowned, setting his glass down. "...Why do you bring up that child’s name in the same breath as the Northern vanguard?"

"Why not?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his tired eyes. "Because Lucien is Lucien Ashborne."

Viktor’s mouth hung open slightly.

"Wait. Then, is Lucien... that...?"

"That’s right," Arthur nodded, taking a sip. "He is not some distant cousin or a lowly branch family relative. He is Darius’s actual blood heir. The disgraced son of the Ashborne family."

"...That is genuinely surprising," Viktor admitted, leaning back in his chair. "I had assumed based on his name that he was related, but merely a distant offshoot sent to the Academy. I certainly wouldn’t have expected a man as strict as Sir Darius to send his sole blood heir to the Winterguard meat grinder as a punishment."

"He didn’t. Lucien told me he came here on his own accord," Arthur corrected.

"...That is even more surprising."

Viktor recalled Lucien’s calm, almost indifferent face during the tactical meeting. Judging by the boy’s perpetually steady expression, it seemed as though he was completely unbothered by the sheer horror of the world around him.

"So, how about it?" Arthur pressed, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "What is your evaluation of Lucien? As the Commander of the Ashen Knights, is he a talent worth taking into your order after he graduates?"

"...His talent for ranged suppression is undeniably excellent," Viktor answered slowly, weighing his words. "I would certainly keep an eye on him. Although we still don’t know the true depths of his mana capacity or his origins with that strange firearm, his tactical awareness and precision would be more than enough to earn a knighthood."

Viktor was technically praising the boy, but his expression was the complete opposite of a man who had found a hidden gem.

"There is something you’re not saying, isn’t there?" Arthur observed astutely.

Viktor chuckled at Arthur’s sharp intuition. It was a fair point.

Viktor nodded, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. "He is an incredible marksman, Arthur. But has that child ever fought a true, life-or-death battle in the mud? He exclusively shoots from a safe distance, high up in the sniper towers. Right now, that boy is functionally similar to a highly mobile, well-oiled catapult or ballista."

Viktor tapped the wooden desk for emphasis. "Of course, his lethality is far superior to any standard siege weapon... but a siege weapon cannot become a true Knight of the vanguard, can it? When the wall breaks and the monsters are close enough to feel their breath... a sniper will break."

"...Hmm. I see your point," Arthur murmured.

Arthur drank from his glass, nodding slowly as if he completely agreed with Viktor’s seasoned assessment.

But internally, a very different thought crossed the Lord of Winterguard’s mind.

’...A siege weapon? Is that the vibe Viktor gets from him?’

There was a crucial fact Viktor had forgotten, perhaps dulled by the alcohol and his rigid, traditional view of knighthood.

Arthur recalled the chilling, absolute certainty in Lucien’s eyes when the boy had stood in this very office and casually predicted a coordinated monster siege right in front of the Eldest Princess. He remembered the boy’s suffocating, predator-like calm.

Arthur had not yet seen Lucien fight in close-quarters melee since the boy arrived in Winterguard. But after surviving the frontier for decades, Arthur’s instincts screamed that the boy holding the rifle wasn’t avoiding the frontline out of fear.

He was just efficiently farming the weak before the real slaughter began.

******

The next morning, the deafening clang of Winterguard’s heavy bronze bells tore through the freezing air.

It was the absolute worst possible timing.

Just hours after Lucien had formally announced that the right flank of the fortress was on the verge of total structural failure, the dense fog over the Wilderness parted. The vanguard that emerged wasn’t the usual, small skirmish force. It was a massive, sprawling sea of corrupted beasts, towering behemoths, and winged chimeras blocking out the grey sky.

The hidden commander of the monsters had finally launched the main assault.

Despite the grim reality that the wall might shatter upon impact, the garrison was deployed as usual. There was nowhere else to go.

"You’re standing too far forward, Lucien!" Commander Viktor barked over the howling wind.

Initially, Viktor had positioned himself nearby to observe the boy’s legendary marksmanship, but Lucien had bypassed the designated sniper positions entirely. The young heir was standing right at the absolute edge of the fragile parapet, his boots toeing the drop.

Lucien didn’t turn around. He simply looked down at the encroaching horde. "It’s fine, Sir Viktor. I can protect myself."

Viktor ground his teeth but didn’t argue further. The boy had earned enough respect not to be treated like a foolish cadet, but the Commander’s anxiety spiked regardless. He turned his attention back to the battlefield.

"All troops, prepare to fire!" Viktor roared, his aura amplifying his voice across the battlements.

Thousands of archers drew their bowstrings taut.

Meanwhile, Viktor discreetly kept an eye on Lucien out of his peripheral vision. Whenever this command was given, the boy would always brandish his bizarre, thunderous firearm out of thin air, racking the bolt with terrifying precision. It was an extraordinary spectacle of ranged suppression, no matter how many times Viktor witnessed it.

’Hmm?’

But today, Lucien’s hands were completely empty. There was no long-barreled rifle. No smell of gunpowder.

Instead, there was a faint ripple in the space in front of him.

Does the boy know high-tier spatial magic? Viktor thought, his eyes widening.

From the spatial distortion, Lucien pulled out an ancient, jagged headpiece forged of unrefined gold and dark, terrestrial stone. It was the Primordial Earth Crown, the supreme artifact he had ripped from the Desert Regent in the Aethelgard Ruins.

Lucien calmly placed the heavy crown atop his head.

Immediately, the ambient mana in the air grew terrifyingly dense. But Lucien didn’t stop there. He reached into the spatial distortion again and pulled out a heavy silver chain carrying a teardrop crystal that glowed with liquid-gold luminescence—the Rosary of the Weeping Saintess.

Instead of wearing it around his neck, Lucien tightly wrapped the silver chain around his right palm and knuckles.

Then, to the absolute bewilderment of everyone watching, the boy dropped to one knee right on the edge of the battlements, pressing his Rosary-wrapped fist flat against the frozen stone, bowing his head as if in deep prayer.

The veteran knights and mercenaries nearby exchanged horrified looks.

What is this lunatic doing?! they screamed inwardly. Has the Madman finally snapped? Is he praying for a quick death right as the horde hits?!

But Lucien wasn’t praying. He was calculating.

From his kneeling position, Lucien looked down at the massive, writhing sea of corrupted flesh charging the gates. He could smell the overpowering stench of the abyss. But more acutely, he could feel the palpable, suffocating terror permeating the air around him.

The penal soldiers down below were gripping their spears so hard their knuckles bled. The knights on the wall were pale. Even though Winterguard’s men would fight to the bitter end, everyone looking at that horde knew the truth: thousands of lives were about to be lost the moment those beasts slammed into the fragile right flank.

Should I really use it? Lucien thought coldly.

There were far too many eyes here. Revealing the true depths of his power—especially the taboo Divine Force and a Primordial artifact—would undoubtedly draw the terrifying attention of the central nobles, the Church, and Princess Rumina.

But as the monstrous roars shook the earth, Lucien’s eyes hardened.

It wasn’t even a matter of debate anymore. He had the power to save these men. Letting them be slaughtered just to maintain a low profile felt like a pathetic excuse.

Since I have it, I might as well use it.