When the Black Gate Banner was raised on the walls of Re-Robel, the battlefield seemed to enter a different phase.

  At first, the change was not easy to notice. The soldiers on the ground were still fighting as before; the sound of clashing metal and shouting men had hardly diminished at all. But for the nobles and knights—those who understood the meaning of that banner—their state of mind had clearly changed.

  The news spread quickly. No formal messenger was needed; a few exchanged words between knights were enough.

  The gate behind them had been closed.

  Some might think such a signal would cause panic in the army. Yet the battlefield did not seem to follow such simple logic. When the option of retreat vanished, many people were left with only one direction: forward.

  The knights of Re-Robel remained the most prominent force on the battlefield.

  If one observed carefully, the difference between them and the other noble forces was quite clear. The Re-Robel cavalry moved as a unified body; they did not charge into chaos only to be broken into scattered groups. Instead, their formation constantly adjusted—sometimes splitting into two prongs, then merging again into a flowing current of steel.

  Where they passed, the rebel formations were nearly torn apart.

  The farmers forced into battle still rushed forward. But the difference in training and discipline was now becoming painfully obvious. Some of them had not even managed to raise their spears before the warhorses were already upon them.

  From a distance, that cavalry charge looked like a blade cutting through a mass of soft mud—perhaps a cruel image, but an accurate one for what was happening.

  In other parts of the battlefield, the armies of the nobles also began pressing their counterattacks more aggressively.

  Reinforcements were arriving from the rear. Some lords had likely marched through the night to reach the battlefield in time. When they saw the Black Gate Banner on the city walls, they probably understood at once that they had arrived at the right moment—and also the moment when there was no longer any chance to turn back.

  Some units almost threw themselves straight into the front line without even stopping to reorganize their formations.

  From another perspective, the absence of retreat forced many lords to commit their entire forces earlier than they had planned.

  The allied battle line gradually stabilized.

  In several areas, the rebels began to be pushed back step by step.

  Philip stood on the left flank and watched all of this with a rather strange feeling.

  To be honest, he never expected his own force to become a decisive factor in this battle. The original twenty soldiers of Montserrat, along with the stragglers he had gathered along the road, were still only a small force overall.

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  But when reinforcements from other nobles flooded onto the battlefield, the pressure in Philip’s sector visibly lessened.

  He hesitated for a moment.

  Finally, Philip ordered his soldiers to advance.

  It was not a grand charge. Nor did he have any intention of playing the hero.

  It was merely a cautious counterattack. They pushed back several scattered groups of rebels and reclaimed a small stretch of ground near a trampled rice field.

  Philip remained behind the formation.

  Some might say that lacked spirit. But Philip himself understood his abilities quite well. A young lord who had never experienced a battlefield rushing to the front line… usually only became a burden to his own soldiers.

  Even so, his force held its position.

  At the very least, the army of Montserrat was still standing.

  Elsewhere on the battlefield, a man in a dark cloak was observing everything.

  A mage of Zurrernorn.

  He stood behind a cluster of rebels, almost detached from the flow of battle. His gaze swept across the battlefield with more calculation than concern.

  The original plan had been fairly simple.

  Incite a rebellion large enough that nobles and peasants would slaughter each other. Once the number of corpses reached a certain threshold, the necromantic ritual could be activated.

  But reality rarely followed calculations perfectly.

  The knights of Re-Robel had shattered the balance of the battle.

  Instead of a chaotic massacre lasting for hours, the battlefield was slowly tipping in favor of the nobles.

  The Zurrernorn mage observed the surroundings for a moment longer.

  Even if everyone remaining on the battlefield died… the accumulated necrotic energy would probably still not be enough to complete the ritual.

  Not to mention that maintaining magical influence over so many peasants had already reached its limit.

  A few people were beginning to break free from the compelled state. Small signs—panicked eyes, hesitant steps—were starting to appear.

  He shook his head slightly.

  “Enough.”

  The order to retreat was given briefly.

  Not all of the rebels received the command.

  But when the main controllers began withdrawing from the battlefield, the control over the peasants quickly weakened.

  Some suddenly stopped in the middle of the battle, as if waking from a long dream.

  Others dropped their weapons to the ground.

  Some simply turned and ran toward the fields.

  The resistance of the rebels collapsed not long afterward.

  The battle, at least officially, had ended.

  Yet the victory did not bring an atmosphere of celebration.

  As the sound of metal gradually faded, the battlefield revealed a heavy and difficult sight.

  Bodies lay scattered everywhere. In some places two or three corpses were piled together; in others only a shield remained beside a long streak of blood on the earth.

  Wounded warhorses groaned among pools of red mud.

  Philip stood among his soldiers and looked around.

  Then he began checking the losses.

  A few soldiers of Montserrat had died. Others were wounded, some barely able to stand without the support of their comrades.

  Compared to many other forces, his losses could be considered light.

  But looking at the scene around him, Philip did not feel that was something to be proud of.

  In the central area of the battlefield, the losses of the nobles were far heavier.

  Many knights had fallen during the early clashes. A few minor lords had not survived.

  Roland was still standing, though his armor was almost completely covered in dust and dried blood.

  After the battle ended, Roland and the nobles of the alliance began organizing the clearing of the battlefield.

  No one spoke loudly.

  The first task was to search for the fallen.

  The bodies of the nobles were laid separately. Knights and soldiers were also gathered together in groups.

  Several priests were invited to perform prayers. Temporary graves began to be dug along the edge of the field.

  By then, the sky had already begun to turn toward late afternoon.

  The sunset cast a pale red light across the battlefield—a color that perhaps made many people feel more uneasy than impressed by its beauty.

  From a distance, one might have thought the battle had not yet ended.

  But those who were there all understood.

  Today’s battle was over.

  Only the price paid… seemed far greater than what any of them had imagined when they first left their own lands.