Encampment
1135 Words
It’s worth mentioning that this time, the marching army carried very little in the way of supplies. Unlike the many campaigns Irla had once led, there was no dedicated logistics unit—or rather...
There wasn't a specialized logistics unit.
After all, what could such a strange army possibly need to carry?
Headless knights, black knights who didn’t require food—should they bring oil to keep their armor shiny and polished?
That would be ridiculous. None of them cared about appearances. The dents and scars on their armor were badges of honor, proof of their battles.
The insectoids each carried a supply of blue-capped mushrooms, enough to feed them for weeks. Even Irla, a staunch supporter of wheat and rice, had to admit—this kind of food was the most practical for a marching army.
Easy to carry, filling, and one person could bring enough for two weeks with plenty to spare—enough to share with their companions…
Such as the harpies, who often found little to eat in the surrounding forests.
Some insectoids even traded their extra food for the fruits and berries the harpies managed to gather—after all, that was part of their natural diet. From this perspective, the insectoids were a surprisingly harmonious species.
“Thanks.”
Irla muttered as he accepted rations for himself and Satanaya from a headless knight—meat that was easy to carry, such as sausages or dried cuts… and a thick fruit paste created by Mr. Lime.
The staples were loaves of white and black bread, less portable than mushrooms but far tastier, and there were even jars of jam to spread on them.
It was a luxury—one afforded not just to him and Satanaya, but also to the other commanders. Yet among them, their rations somehow still felt the most indulgent.
During the encampment, monsters with biological needs handled their business quietly…
If it were the Empire, they would have scheduled regular breaks during the day for such necessities.
But monsters?
They could hold it.
Yes, birds couldn’t—but harpies, with their humanoid bodies, had far greater capacity for retention than humans.
Typically, when human soldiers camped, they removed their armor to sleep. It was common sense—no one wanted to sleep under a crushing weight of steel.
But monsters?
Even if you asked them to take their armor off, they simply couldn’t.
…
Monster encampments didn’t have lamps.
“…”
Irla sat outside his tent, casually nibbling at his portion of food. The moon was bright tonight—bright enough for him to see his surroundings, at least vaguely.
Nights in this world were brighter than those of his old world. Maybe it was due to the lack of pollution…
When the weather was clear, one could see countless stars and a luminous moon.
Whether dragons or other creatures, most monsters had darkvision or low-light vision. That wasn’t exactly comforting for Irla.
But in the event of a night ambush, his power would illuminate the battlefield as bright as day—so he didn’t worry too much about his nighttime combat abilities.
Earlier that day, he had flown for hours using the power of the First Wing Pillar: Crimson Dragon - Wingspan, yet he felt no fatigue…
Because it wasn’t his own mana being drained—it was the mana of Satanaya and the power of the world sigil carved on his neck.
Such a small mana drain was nothing to Satanaya, and the world sigil…
Now, about one-seventh of the black rune around his neck had turned transparent.
Every sunrise and sunset, the sigil would restore one-fifth of its energy.
That was the terrifying aspect of an Archon.
“…”
As Irla watched the patrolling black knights, a pair of glowing red eyes approached from the darkness. It wasn’t until the figure drew closer that Irla recognized the leader of the black knights.
The red light came from the slits in his helmet.
“Irla, the patrol routes have been finalized,” he said.
“Alright.”
Irla nodded, and the black knight sat beside him, introducing himself.
“My name is Black Blake. But everyone calls me Little Black… I’ve wanted to speak with you for a long time now.”
For a long time—
So perhaps since the days Irla was active on the Empire’s battlefield?
So-called ‘conversation’… was probably meant to be a duel between enemies on opposing sides.
Irla understood that well.
“But that’s no longer necessary,” said Little Black, his voice—gentle, almost like a young man’s—emerging from that pitch-black armor.
“I’ve seen your strength, Irla. I’ve been learning from you.”
“Scheduled night watches, precise patrol routes, coordinated vision coverage across our outer defenses—everything is well organized…
Perhaps that intelligence is one reason we lost to you.”
“…”
Irla didn’t know what to say. He simply sat there beside him.
The knight’s armor was massive—easily two meters tall. Compared to that, Irla, with his slender frame, looked almost delicate sitting next to him.
“But when we remind ourselves…
That we monsters didn’t lose to the Empire, but to an Archon—
To you, Irla—then the defeat becomes a little easier to accept.”
Little Black said this while gazing at the stars above.
“But that’s no excuse. We all know that.
A loss is still a loss.”
True. A loss is still a loss.
Irla knew that better than anyone. From his position, he probably shouldn’t say anything. But he still spoke.
“That defeat was inevitable. You needn’t blame yourself.”
It sounded arrogant—but it was the truth.
Archons weren’t invincible, but at that time, in that place, on that battlefield… from the monsters’ perspective, there had been no way to win.
“I know. We all know…
That’s why we accepted your presence so quickly.”
Little Black looked toward the center of the camp—where the Demon King’s tent stood, surrounded by layers of guards.
“We have no choice but to trust you. But His Majesty's trust in you… that is something else entirely.
Anyway—thank you, Irla.”
“…”
“Tch. I never said I’d betray anyone.
It’s not like I was ever loyal to Satanaya, or to Isabella.”
Watching the black knight walk away, Irla let out a quiet sigh. He looked up at the moon above, then turned and stepped into his own tent, muttering to himself with a wistful tone:
“I’m not one of the monsters, nor am I of the Empire. I’m just…”
“A traveler who’s lost his way home.”
- Writer
