"Father... it seems we've been cornered."
Otto's face was pale. The canyon to the west led to the pass, which had already been captured by Macragge.
If they continued west, they would inevitably fall into a tight encirclement.
But if they could exit the canyon, there was a little-known path between the canyon and the pass. They could still escape that way.
However, the Macraggians had anticipated this. The defenders at the pass sallied forth, trapping them inside the canyon before they could leave.
Now, with just over a thousand men left, enemies before and behind, they were out of options.
Ludwig was silent for a long time, his gaze sweeping over his wounded warriors. His voice was low. "Warriors, since we are at a dead end, let us fight to the death!"
"The Illyrians do not fear death. Even if we shed our last drop of blood, we must make the invaders pay!"
"With our blood and sacrifice, we will make the Macraggians remember this day forever!"
"Father!" Otto suddenly lowered his voice. "They're pulling back!"
Ludwig, mid-rousing speech, paused slightly. He looked at the pursuing Macraggians, who had stopped their chase and were withdrawing in an orderly fashion.
Ludwig keenly sensed something was wrong. The Macraggians were not intimidated by their desperate courage; this was premeditated.
'What were they doing?'
Ludwig's brow furrowed deeply, wary.
Then, he saw a robust young man emerge from the Macraggian ranks.
He walked towards them alone. The Macraggian army remained in place, maintaining a strict formation.
"I am Roboute Guilliman, son of Consul Konnor. I challenge your leader to a duel!"
"If you win, I will let all of you leave safely!"
This statement stirred a commotion among the barbarian warriors.
In many cultures across countless worlds, the concept of a duel carries a special, sacred meaning.
It is not merely a simple test of martial strength; it is a matter of honor and dignity.
This was especially true in Illyrian culture.
If someone challenged a chieftain to a duel, they were challenging his position as chief.
But not everyone had the right to issue such a challenge; otherwise, a chieftain would face countless duels every day.
A Macraggian challenging an Illyrian was unheard of in their lifetimes.
However, as the Consul's son, Guilliman's status was above that of a chieftain.
Therefore, when he issued the challenge, everyone's eyes fell on Ludwig.
There was a glimmer of hope in those looks.
If Ludwig accepted the duel and won, they might actually live.
Ludwig stared at Guilliman. His counterpart held an equivalent position among the Macraggians; he could not refuse.
Otherwise, even if he escaped with his life, he would lose all authority, and his chieftainship would be forfeit.
Furthermore, they were already trapped by the Macraggians.
When Guilliman proposed the duel's terms, they had no choice.
Ludwig asked in a deep voice, "Guilliman of Macragge, what do you want?"
Guilliman said, "Peace!"
Ludwig didn't believe him. Guilliman had led an army to breach their pass and desecrate their holy site.
Now he spoke of peace?
Who would believe the son of a Consul?
At least among the Illyrians, no one trusted the Consuls of Macragge. They were all liars, beasts, parasites!
"Then come on!"
Ludwig shouted loudly, "I am Ludwig of Illyrium. I accept your duel!"
Guilliman slowly thrust his power sword into the ground. "I will fight you with my bare hands."
Another wave of commotion ran through the Illyrians. They looked at this Macraggian in disbelief.
Ludwig felt a surge of rage rush to his head. "Are you humiliating me, son of the Consul?"
Guilliman's gaze remained calm as he looked at him. "Prove to me, Ludwig of Illyrium, that you are worthy of my using a weapon."
"So be it!"
Ludwig the Barbarian, like a raging beast, charged at Guilliman, his roaring chainaxe held high.
Unlike the unarmed Guilliman, Ludwig was fully armed, a carbine strapped to his back.
But for Guilliman, whatever weapon Ludwig used was meaningless.
The axe's teeth spun at high speed, roaring towards the Consul's son.
"Cut off his head!"
"Make the Macraggians bleed!"
"For honor! For Illyrium!"
The barbarian warriors' shouts rose and fell. They beat their chests, cheering their chieftain with war cries.
Ludwig struck first with a chop, but Guilliman seemed to see the future, evading the axe blade's trajectory in advance.
The Primarch did not actually have the gift of prophecy. He was simply focused on the fight.
The contraction of Ludwig's muscles, the rhythm and frequency of his breathing, every glance, they all betrayed his attacking intent.
The moment his attack began, the Primarch had already fully simulated its trajectory in his mind, all within a nanosecond.
To the Primarch, Ludwig's attacks were like watching a snail crawl, slow-motion, dozens of times slowed.
Such a fight could not make the Primarch exert his full strength, yet he still took it seriously.
His father had taught him to despise the enemy strategically and respect them tactically.
Despise the enemy strategically to establish the confidence of certain victory.
Respect the enemy tactically, because respecting the enemy means respecting yourself.
No matter the opponent, he could not afford any laxity.
Ludwig's chainaxe roared down, but at the moment it was about to strike Guilliman, he sidestepped, evading it by a hair's breadth.
The axe blade struck the ground heavily, sending up a spray of gravel and dirt.
Guilliman took the opportunity to push Ludwig's shoulder guard with his palm, causing the barbarian chieftain to stumble and lurch forward due to momentum.
He made no attempt to attack.
But the more this happened, the more fury blazed in Ludwig's eyes.
In his eyes, this was barefaced humiliation!
As the fight continued, the barbarian warriors' cheers gradually died down.
Even a fool could now see that Ludwig's chances of winning were very slim. The Consul's son was clearly toying with Ludwig, and when he grew bored, perhaps that would be Ludwig's end!
This harsh truth filled the barbarians with frustration and anger, but they could not interfere in the sacred duel!
Whatever the enemy did in the duel, humiliate him or torture their chieftain to death, that was the victor's right.
They had no right to intervene.
If they interfered, they would all disgrace their honor, and they would never hold their heads high in Illyrium again.
Illyrians would rather die fighting than lose their honor!
Guilliman maintained a defensive stance, never initiating an attack from start to finish.
When Ludwig swung his axe again, Guilliman merely deflected the haft gently, causing the blow to miss while simultaneously slamming his knee into Ludwig's abdomen.
"Ugh, ah!"
The sharp pain in his abdomen shot straight up his spine to his brain. His lungs spasmed from the impact, forcing all the air out of his body.
The world twisted and spun before his eyes, his vision blurring.
The chainaxe slipped from his hand, and his body uncontrollably toppled to the side, falling directly towards the still-roaring saw teeth.
In that critical moment, Guilliman kicked the war axe several meters away, saving Ludwig from fatal danger.
But Ludwig still collapsed heavily to the ground in agony, his body covered in wounds and bruises.
Yet not one of his wounds was directly caused by Guilliman; they were all from scraping himself when he stumbled.
His forehead had struck a sharp stone, bleeding profusely, the blood streaming down over his brow.
Ludwig lay prostrate among the sharp gravel. He didn't rush to get up, but used this rare moment to gasp for air.
The fight had exhausted his strength. He needed to rest.
And, he didn't think Guilliman would kill him.
The Consul's son had had many chances to kill him, but hadn't. He had even saved his life at a critical moment.
Whatever Guilliman's goal, humiliation or mockery, at least he wouldn't kill him now.
He had to race against time, seize every second to recover his strength. Even knowing victory was unlikely, he couldn't give up.
This was a duel. He was a chieftain. He would not admit defeat, especially not to the Consul's son!
But he had to think. What was Guilliman's true purpose?
If it was just to humiliate him, wasn't he already humiliated enough? Couldn't Guilliman be satisfied?
"Is this all you've got? Is this your full strength?"
Guilliman's cold voice reached his ears. The unvarnished humiliation immediately drew furious roars from the barbarian warriors.
But they had to abide by the rules. The duel must not be defiled!
However, if Ludwig died in the duel, they would all swarm forward.
Even if they all died, they would kill Guilliman!
"Son of the Consul!"
Ludwig abandoned thought. Rage shredded what little rationality he had left. He roared, reaching for the carbine on his back.
But Guilliman was far, far faster!
Crack!
Guilliman snatched the lasgun with his bare hands, snapped the barrel, and tossed it into the dirt.
They had been fighting. Even though Guilliman had never attacked, his stamina expenditure was far less than the chieftain's.
But any normal person would have been panting by now.
Yet Guilliman showed not a single sign of fatigue. His breathing remained steady; his stamina seemed inexhaustible.
It was as if this fight wasn't even a warm-up for him!
And his eyes, those cobalt blue eyes the color of his armor, held both the coldness of rationality and a certain fervor beyond the ordinary.
In that moment, Ludwig finally felt fear.
A trace of fear in his eyes.
'What kind of monster was this?'
Ludwig gritted his teeth and struggled to his feet, drawing his knife. He would not pick up that chainaxe again.
Even in this desperate situation, he still had an honor to uphold!
Guilliman's voice suddenly rose. "Stand up! That's more like it! Prove yourself! Show me what you're capable of!"
Ludwig gasped heavily but still fought with all his might.
His spirit was commendable, but the physical limitation made his movements appear weak and limp.
Guilliman always evaded his attacks with effortless precision, at the last possible moment.
Even in his prime, he couldn't harm Guilliman; now it was even less likely.
Each of his strikes seemed to miss by a hair's breadth, as if he still had a chance.
Guilliman could toy with him a thousand times; he only needed to succeed once!
But how could he find the one opportunity among a thousand?
The more he fought, the more the chieftain felt a deep sense of powerlessness and growing despair.
Even though he didn't give up, it was only the struggling of a trapped beast.
Finally, he collapsed to the ground, exhausted.
"Son of the Consul... treacherous villain... kill me..."
He rolled over with difficulty, lying on his back.
His voice was very weak, barely audible.
Guilliman walked towards him step by step, his right hand reaching into his robe.
This action made the barbarian warriors instantly tense up. They gripped their weapons, ready to sell their lives dearly the moment the duel ended.
"Hah... I see..." Ludwig grinned with resignation, lacking even the strength to laugh. He would die after all.
He had failed, and his warriors would not escape either.
With Guilliman leading them, the Macraggians had taken the pass; the holy site had fallen. The complete conquest of Illyrium was probably imminent.
Ludwig seemed to already see the end of Illyrium. They were just taking the first step.
Then, when Guilliman pulled his hidden 'weapon' from his robe, Ludwig froze.
The thing was curved like a scythe, but it was no weapon.
Guilliman showed it to the chieftain. "You should recognize it."
"The Ring of Aiden..." Ludwig's voice trembled. He was stunned.
The barbarians heard him too; all their gazes focused on the Ring of Aiden, their breathing growing heavy.
Before their stunned eyes, Guilliman handed the Ring of Aiden to the bewildered Ludwig.
"Take it. You deserve it. I have seen the courage and strength within you!"
The Consul's son's voice still carried that cold rationality, yet within that coldness seemed to be a touch of warmth.
Ludwig's fingers extended involuntarily, tremblingly touching the Ring of Aiden, warmed by his body heat, quickly cooling in the wind, leaving only a faint warmth.
"Why?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"I've already told you. For peace."
Ludwig had thought Guilliman was mocking him then. But now, he fell silent.
Because he was holding the Ring of Aiden. The touch was so real; he couldn't bear to let go.
"Centuries ago, the Consul of Macragge stole this from your people."
"Now, I return it to you."
To the Macraggians, it was merely an ornament.
The Consul had stolen it, then forgotten it in a basement.
But in the eyes of the Illyrians, this was the cornerstone of their faith, the symbol of kingship passed down through generations.
Centuries ago, there had been two kingdoms on Macragge.
Macragge and Illyrium.
But after the Consul stole the Ring of Aiden, the once-united Illyrians splintered.
But they never forgot. That is why they attacked Macragge's towns, their way of exacting revenge.
Ludwig was silent. It still seemed unbelievable.
For centuries, the Illyrians had dreamed of taking back the Ring of Aiden in victory. Now, they received it in defeat.
What did this mean?
"You win." Ludwig no longer lay on the ground. He struggled to sit up and asked quietly, "What do... no, what do you want?"
Even if Guilliman demanded their surrender and subjugation, Ludwig would acquiesce, because the barbarians could not bear the cost of losing it again.
Guilliman's voice remained filled with reason. "Take it. Be its master. Be a king!"
"Just that?" Ludwig asked incredulously.
"And peace. In the name of Consul Konnor, I promise you this."
"As long as you stop raiding Macragge's border towns, Macragge will never take the Ring of Aiden from you again!"
"Just that?" Ludwig asked again.
They attacked Macragge to avenge the Macraggians stealing the Ring of Aiden.
If the Ring of Aiden was returned, they would have no reason to attack Macragge anymore.
Admittedly, there were heavy blood debts between them, not easily resolved.
But in twenty years, when a new generation had grown up in peace,
Even if their elders still remembered that history, how many young people truly would?
War has no memory; it is just a string of cold numbers.
And time can erode many things.
Countless thoughts flashed through Ludwig's mind in an instant. Perhaps they truly could have peace.
"Just that."
Guilliman extended his hand towards him.
Ludwig was silent. He grasped the Ring of Aiden in one hand and took Guilliman's with the other.
Guilliman pulled him up from the ground.
They stood side by side, and Ludwig looked back at his warriors.
Then, he raised the Ring of Aiden high.
"Ludwig!"
The warriors beat their chests, roaring his name, cheering for him.
He had lost, but he had retrieved the Ring of Aiden. Defeat brought him honor!
Guilliman had also returned to the Macraggian formation. He gave the order: "Open a path. Let them leave."
Orfeo unwillingly tightened his grip on his sword hilt. "Commander, this is letting the tiger return to the mountain!"
Guilliman looked back at the barbarians. Ludwig was also looking at him.
"Of course, I could crush these barbarians in the canyon. But that wouldn't be enough."
"They are just one of many mountain tribes. Illyrium still has hundreds of tribes and far more passes waiting for us to take."
"The barbarians wouldn't be afraid because I killed Ludwig. It would only make future battles more brutal."
He could brutally suppress the Illyrians, but the cost would be killing half of them, and Macragge would pay with hundreds of thousands of its own casualties.
Such a victory was never what he wanted.
Orfeo fell silent. The Macraggian warriors parted like the tide, forming a narrow path barely wide enough for two or three to walk side by side.
Ludwig led the way, his barbarian warriors cautiously following him through the ranks.
Even now, they could scarcely believe it was real.
'Had the war truly ended?'
.....
30 Chapters [email protected]/DaoistJinzu