The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness

Dawn was only just breaking, now a little brighter than the torches in the camp. Squinting into the backlight, Beck finally made out the royal crest on the deed.

It was an extremely intricate emblem, outlined in gold and threaded through with blood-red lines. It looked like a sacred golden tree, but its branches and leaves drooped downward, linked together as they bloomed into brilliant petals.

Beck had seen that emblem once in a book at the church school. It came from the founding king who had established the Empire, symbolizing gold and blood—the very foundation on which this powerful nation had been built.

And now, gold and blood had long since fused completely into one. It had become a tree, and after cutting away its rotten roots, it was beginning to put out new shoots.

”Get it now, kid? You really are quick in the head, but not everyone else is an idiot. Most of the people here knew more or less what their fate would be the moment they arrived at this camp. But like me, none of them chose to back down.”

One-Eye bared his yellow-black front teeth in a grin and said,

”After all, who’d be willing to let their home... get trampled by a pack of bastards again?”

Light spilled through the cracks between the clouds and the smoke, falling across One-Eye’s profile, and across the profiles of many other soldiers.

They looked hunched, miserable, their faces smeared with dirt and blood, their eyes heavy with exhaustion and pain. And yet standing there, they seemed impossibly tall, like a city wall... taller than that one forged of ice, stronger than the fortress itself.

”You...”

Beck stood there blankly, his lips trembling.

There was so much he wanted to say. For example, how could something called a ”home,” some ordinary vineyard, possibly matter more than a precious human life?

But he couldn’t say it. It was as if a huge stone had lodged in his chest. Faced with One-Eye’s ugly yet radiant grin, he couldn’t force out a single word.

”But... but that sovereign you worship still plans to leave you here so those important people can get out, doesn’t she?”

After wrestling with himself for a long time, Beck still unwillingly forced out the excuse he had searched his guts for. ”Are you really willing to be cannon fodder? If it’s about defending your homeland, then the Empress... and all those important people around her... shouldn’t they bear even more responsibility...?”

”Who told you all the important people are leaving?”

The one who cut him off was Baron Derik. He bent slightly, looked Beck in the eye, and jerked a thumb behind him. ”See who that is?”

”Who?”

Beck froze for a moment, then looked over instinctively.

And there, at the very center of the camp, he saw an old man dressed in splendid robes.

The man was elderly, his temples streaked white, but there was no frailty about him at all. It was obvious he had been born into luxury and ease; every movement carried the composure and elegance of a great noble lord.

Beck didn’t know who he was, but the ruby insignia on his cane made his untouchably lofty status clear.

That was a high noble, not some common ”lowborn” who was supposed to stay behind and die.

”That is Count Tern... no, he’s already Marquis Tern now. In this fortress, other than Her Majesty the Empress, his status is the highest of all. He oversees the intelligence and logistics of the entire fortress, and even has his own personal guard...”

Baron Derik’s gaze followed in that direction, and when he spoke again, there was a note of ruefulness in his voice.

”But his personal guard was completely wiped out earlier, when they resisted the surprise attack from the Kingdom forces in the rear. Not a single one survived. And now... even Marquis Tern himself will remain here and share the fate of the fortress.”

”...”

Beck opened his mouth, and once again found himself too stunned to speak.

”Understand now, kid? Don’t make everything sound so self-evident.”

Baron Derik let out a cold, mocking chuckle.

”And one more thing—Her Majesty the Empress isn’t trying to run away. I already told you she’s going to accomplish something enormous. The people breaking out with her may not be any safer than the ones staying in the fortress.”

”Something enormous?”

”Who knows? It’s still classified. I can only vaguely guess at it myself. But that guess is too unbelievable—I’d better not say it and shake morale.”

Baron Derik stepped back at last and finally lifted his foot from Beck, clearly having no intention of pursuing the matter of Beck attacking a superior officer.

With One-Eye helping him up, Beck rubbed his aching wrist. But before he could say anything, he realized Baron Derik was still staring at him... or rather, at his hand.

”You learned swordsmanship?” Baron Derik suddenly asked.

”...Yeah. Swordsmanship.” After a brief hesitation, Beck answered honestly. ”I stole it.”

”But what you’re using is a blade.”

”Because they issued me a blade... so I used a blade,” Beck muttered.

Although the Empire issued many kinds of standard weapons, the main ones were still longsabers, longspears, armor-breaking hammers, and other weapons that were the most lethal on the battlefield and the easiest to learn.

As for swords... for ordinary soldiers, they really weren’t very practical and weren’t easy to pick up, so they had never been issued on a wide scale.

”Your swordsmanship is good, even if you stole it.”

”...Thanks.”

”It’s just missing a good sword.”

As he spoke, Baron Derik suddenly unclasped the sword at his waist and handed it to Beck together with the scabbard.

”Then this sword is yours.”

”Huh?”

Beck’s mind went blank for what felt like the tenth time that day.

”Y-you’re giving it to me? Why?”

”I’ve led men for a long time. There aren’t many with the guts to draw a blade on me. I trust you won’t bury it.”

Baron Derik gave Beck no chance to refuse. He personally fastened the sword at Beck’s belt, then patted him on the shoulder and strode past him.

”Wait!”

Beck whipped around, staring at Baron Derik in shock.

”Y-you... where are you going?”

”Where am I going? Nowhere. I’m staying here, with my men.”

Baron Derik lifted one corner of his armor, revealing his lean, muscular lower abdomen.

”I’m injured. See?”

He pointed at his stomach. On that bronze-colored skin was a mark about half a palm long... no, it could barely even be called a wound. It was just a pale scar, not bleeding, not even breaking the skin.

”I’m injured. A wound this serious means I can’t ride a horse, so naturally I’m staying behind.”

Baron Derik ★ ★ shook his head with exaggerated regret, as though it really were some grievous injury—so that, quite naturally, he could remain here beside the wounded Muen.

”You, I...”

Beck began in a trembling voice.

Looking at Baron Derik’s back, watching him stand there so easily and carelessly among the wounded soldiers, under the urging of some rising resolve, the words I want to stay too were just about to leap out of Beck’s chest without the slightest hesitation.

Unfortunately, they had barely begun to surface before they were abruptly cut off.

Beck looked down and saw One-Eye pat his chest, then slip that document—something that might well have mattered to him more than his own life—into his jacket.