The Cursed Beast Caught My Leash - Chapter 129

Clang!

The blade sliced clean through plate armor, cleaving the enemy in two. Without time to wipe the blood spattered on his face, Islay swung his sword at another foe charging in. Lifeless corpses rolled at his feet in an instant.

Just then, a few steps away, he saw a Largo soldier struggling. He was barely holding off a fierce Pantegean attacker, but judging by the blood streaming from his leg, he had taken a serious wound.

Islay briskly brushed away the blood obscuring his vision with his palm and strode over. The Pantegean, just about to strike the Largo soldier, recoiled in surprise. Then his expression twisted into something demonic, and he charged with a shout.

“…Huh?”

Islay caught the oncoming blade with his bare hand. Even as bright red blood dripped down the sharp steel, his expression didn’t change in the slightest.

Tossing the enemy’s weapon aside, Islay drew a dagger and drove it into the man’s shoulder. Witnessing the overwhelming gap in power, the Largo soldier limped back a step.

“If you’re hurt, fall back. Don’t get in the way.”

Islay spat the words coldly and turned. He was heading into the thick of the battlefield—the fiercest clash.

The Largo soldier looked at his broad back with eyes tinged with faint fear. His gaze dropped to the hand that had just caught a sword. The soldier’s pupils widened.

The torn flesh of the Northerner was slowly knitting itself back together.

‘Is he really immortal?’

The moment the strange rumors passed among the troops throughout the march turned out to be true—this Calisian army, and its leader, didn’t seem human.

Some even said he turned into a monster. Maybe he’d grow claws and start slashing. It was a ridiculous thought… but somehow believable.

The only relief was that this man was on their side. Overwhelmed with eerie reverence, the soldier quickly pulled himself together and gripped his weapon again. If someone like that was fighting nonstop at the front, surely the thrill of victory wouldn’t be far off.

***

“How far have they gotten?!”

Lorenzo, Emperor of Pantege, hastily changed clothes as he barked the question. Shocked by the news that troops from Largo had neared the capital, he was trying to flee.

The attendant, helping the emperor into plain clothes to hide his identity, calmly repeated the report.

“Bollores, Your Majesty. They were too late to respond. It’s already been taken.”

“Damn it! Bollores is practically next door!”

It was a nearby city he sometimes visited for leisure, and now it had already fallen! At this pace, the enemy would reach the capital in less than two days. Emperor Lorenzo ground his teeth.

The first report he received had been about the annihilation of the ambush troops. Annihilation! He had wondered why those insolent rats didn’t even respond to Pantege’s proposal—but who would’ve thought that those insignificant Largo whelps would actually wage war?

And Calis got involved too? The complete destruction of the ambushers in the gorge was the work of those beasts? Lorenzo had nearly fainted.

The army he had assembled to crush a pathetic Largo couldn’t possibly stand against Calis. Not knowing whether Hendrick Regan was alive or dead, Lorenzo furiously scraped together more troops.

But how could he stop the enemy who had already stormed to the gates?

He knew Islay Peruno, ruler of Calis, that monster, would cause trouble eventually. Lorenzo’s clenched fists trembled.

“Send word to Nortelli. I’m fleeing there immediately.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. We requested a place for the imperial family to stay, but they refused.”

“…They refused?”

That petty nation had nothing but the faded name of once being a holy land, yet they dared refuse? Still, Lorenzo’s situation was too urgent for retaliation.

“What about Ostalesa?”

“Nortelli, Ostalesa, Vallodin… all the same.”

The attendant added gravely, “At this point, Your Majesty, Pantege has no allies.”

Lorenzo’s brow twitched, and he smashed a vase with his fist.

Those damned traitors—ungrateful wretches—burn them all! His curses echoed through the room.

Truthfully, it was no surprise. They were all countries Pantege had exploited. Many had allied with Calis long ago to escape that fate and had been under northern protection ever since.

What came next was even more outrageous. The coalition forces had granted independence to a small vassal state under Pantege on their way to the capital. Now supporters of the campaign were popping up like mushrooms after rain.

Regardless of their intentions, the fact that Largo—a former vassal—was at the center gave it all the more symbolic meaning.

“So now they’re gaining popularity by crushing Pantege, and we’re supposed to surrender?”

“There’s no other way, Your Majesty. All the surrounding nations have closed their gates…”

Lorenzo kicked the shattered remains of the vase, silencing his attendant. Raging in helpless fury, he screamed.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

At that moment, a courier burst into the Emperor’s office, completely abandoning formality.

“What is it?!”

“A message from Grova, Your Majesty! You must read it immediately!”

Grova was in Pantege’s southwest, not far from the border with Largo. What message could come from there now?

Lorenzo snatched the message. The sender claimed to be a mercenary stationed in Grova. The Emperor scoffed in disbelief.

“In this chaos, I’m supposed to read a letter from some mere mercenary?”

“It seems important enough that Your Majesty should see it yourself.”

The nerve of this fool. Narrowing his eyes, Lorenzo reluctantly read the letter.

The mercenary reported that on the road near Grova, he saw a few holy knights, an old priest, and a blonde woman. Somehow, during a standoff, he had nearly lost his life and fled the scene.

So what? The kingdom is crumbling, and instead of helping, you bring gossip? Lorenzo almost shouted—but then his eyes widened.

The mercenary had once worked at Hendrick Regan’s villa near Grova and clearly remembered the face of the Largo princess who visited. He was certain the blonde woman he saw was her.

Believing it vital wartime intelligence, he sent the message—along with a thinly veiled request for a reward.

Not caring about that, Lorenzo grabbed a map. Recognizing the location the mercenary described, he let out a bitter laugh.

Metlica. The place with the “forgotten gem” said to grant wishes—the one known as the “beautiful starlight.”

According to Hendrick and the high priest’s inspection, the gem had no power. Just an empty shell.

That’s why the priests interpreted that only through a bloody ritual involving the princess could one’s wish be fulfilled. Lorenzo had once been consumed by that idea.

But then Islay Peruno had taken the princess, and the war began. He hadn’t had time to focus on it since.

And now the princess is heading for Metlica…?

Before he could even think it through, he shouted an order, “Send troops to Metlica at once! Select thirty elite soldiers and dispatch them immediately at full speed! Now!”

“…Pardon? Your Majesty, if we’re not surrendering, shouldn’t we preserve some troops to defend the capital…?”

“Now!”

The attendant stared blankly at the half-mad emperor, then nodded and turned to leave. Lorenzo let out a deranged laugh.

Even if holy knights were with her, with an old priest and a woman in tow, they couldn’t move fast. His men could reach her first and secure her.

And then… then he might find a way to escape that monstrous man who had reached his doorstep.

***

The sun quickly set. After a minimal break, Stella’s group was forced to halt their horses in the forest.

“Gabriel, are you okay?”

Stella approached the old priest who was applying medicine to his arm, her voice full of worry. Though his complexion was pale, Gabriel smiled faintly.

“This is nothing. I haven’t lost much blood.”

“But it must still hurt a lot… What should we do?”

Biting her lip, Stella turned a sharp gaze toward the road they had left.

“Those people earlier… were they bandits?”

“Hard to say. But their purpose seemed no different from bandits.”

Just earlier, while riding, Stella had glimpsed a group of men lounging under a zelkova tree. Even at a glance, they radiated a threatening aura.

Sure enough, one of the holy knights riding in the rear suddenly fell. They had fired arrows from behind.

Fortunately, the knight leapt up like a wildcat and drew his sword to retaliate. The others dismounted, blades at the ready. That was how the skirmish had begun.