I Will Eventually Become the Hero of Justice - CH 81

“The necessary subjugation.” Waver thought to himself as he gazed out at the vast army before him. He was determined to win this battle, for it was the journey assigned to him by the king himself. The king had finally ignited his own desires, and Waver was not going to let him down. “Absolutely can’t lose!” he thought with conviction.

Waver had to tell the king about his surging emotions and his ambition to rush toward the other side of the dream. He turned to Hephaestion. “How many troops do we have?” he asked.

“Forty thousand,” Hephaestion replied.

“What’s the situation in detail?” Waver pressed.

“We have 30,000 infantry, 1,500 cavalries, 3,500 archers, and 6,000 spearmen, making up a total of 32 legions,” Hephaestion reported.

“Do we have any war chariots or anything similar?” Waver asked once more.

“No,” Hephaestion shook his head. “This is only the world of imagination. It’s not a complete account of the king’s army. We can only bring out so much.”

“How many soldiers does the king have?” Waver asked Hephaestion.

“Sixty thousand,” Hephaestion replied.

“Sixty thousand,” Waver repeated, a fire igniting in his eyes. “Give me 100 cavalries, and the rest of the troops are yours. I want you to help me rip through the enemy army and pave the way for me to kill the king.” Waver spoke determinedly.

“Won’t you command the troops yourself?” Hephaestion asked.

“No, I won’t,” Waver replied, his tone serious.

There was nothing to feel ashamed of. No longer was there a need to mask his humble heart with arrogance. He vowed to learn what he didn’t understand, to seek help with what he was unsure of, and to patiently study what he struggled with. The conquered king had already set the best stage for him, so why persist in arrogance?

“Well done,” a cavalry captain approached Waver and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“May I ask who you are?” Waver asked respectfully.

“Governor Lysimachus,” the man said, “Pay close attention, absorb as much as you can. The tactics of warfare, the art of battle. This is what you’ll learn here.”

Lysimachus unsheathed his long sword and bellowed, “I am Lysimachus! And with my army at my side, we will tear them to shreds!”

He went out with a cavalry.

Following Lysimachus, many other leaders came to Waver and gave him a pat on the shoulder. It was as if they were entrusting their own sorrow and their longing in the name of Ionioi Hetairoi, who once marched to the ends of the earth, to him.

“Go to the end of the starry sea and see it for us,” they told him.

Waver shed tears and gave a heavy nod, “Yes, I will.”

They either drew out their long swords or raised their long spears, loudly reciting,

“I am Governor Perdiccas of Media! My army, march forth!”

“I am Governor Leonnatus of Frgia! My army, march forth!”

“I am Governor Ptolemy of Egypt, Libya, and Arabia! My army, march forth!”

…

The army charged ahead, leaving Waver and a hundred cavalry, with Hephaestion, in their rear. Waver’s eyes remained wide open, taking in the sight of sand and wind without so much as a blink. He couldn’t afford to miss this moment.

The general who had marched alongside the Conqueror King for over five million square kilometers was finally entrusting to him the final legacy. Not the tactics of a commander, not the art of warfare, but the essence of conquest itself. The most valuable, the crystallization of war philosophy!

Waver desired to etch all that he saw, all that he learned, deeply into his memory and his soul, and to forge his own unique understanding of the world. That, in the end, was the gift of the Conqueror King.

The army shattered the king’s battle formation, revealing a clear path to Iskandar for Waver.

Waver’s hand shook as he picked up his short sword.

He would…

He would… kill the king!

Waver had once hated and loathed the King he now loved beyond measure. Tears streamed down Waver’s face as he faced the prospect of killing his beloved King. He knew that he couldn’t make Iskandar wait any longer, but just as he raised his sword, Hephaestion stepped in front of him.

“What are you doing?” asked Waver.

“I’m transferring the army to you, along with the cloak and sword, all at the King’s bidding, not by my own will. I am the King’s faithful subject, and I won’t let you harm him. If you wish to reach the King, you must get past me, the heir to the legacy,” Hephaestion stated firmly.

Waver’s hand shook as he swung his sword down, his voice trembling as he cried out, “Charge!”

“That’s right! With my blood and with the King’s blood, use that sword to bid farewell to your old self, Waver Velvet!” Hephaestion smiled, a look of pride on his face at the sight of the worthy successor.

And with that, he was trampled under the hooves of the cavalry, his blood soaking their banners.

“You are worthy…to follow the King,” he whispered, before disappearing like a snowflake melting away.

“Ahhh!!!!”

Waver rode atop Bucephalus, shouting as he charged into the battlefield, his sword raised high. He aimed for the chest of the king he loved and yearned for above all else.

Iskandar raised his sword, but upon seeing Waver’s tear-streaked face as he lunged toward him, a look of satisfaction crossed his features and he slowly lowered his weapon.

“Shink~”

He smiled as Waver’s sword penetrated his chest. Time seemed to freeze in that moment. The battle was over. The world of Ionioi Hetairoi vanished. Waver and Iskandar found themselves standing on a deserted Fuyuki bridge.

In the distance, the explosion at the Holy Church cast a glowing light over Iskandar’s smiling profile and Waver’s tear-stained face.

“drip-drip”

Blood mixed with black mud flowed from Iskandar’s chest, cascading down the sharp edge of the sword, before finally dripping onto the ground.

“I have heard of your ambitious reach for the farthest limits,” Iskandar chuckled deeply. “You have grown well, indeed. You are worthy of being my master.”

Iskandar’s broad hand pounded Waver’s shoulder, causing immense pain. Waver hated this, but his heart was filled with an even greater bitterness, causing tears to stream down his face.

“Alright, I should be going,” Iskandar pulled out the sword from his chest cavity and walked towards the front.

“Hold on, I almost forgot something,” Iskandar thought to himself. He then rubbed his head and turned to face Waver. “Waver Velvet, are you willing to become my vassal?”

“Yes, I am willing. I… I want to be your vassal. Thank you… Thank you… for showing me the other side of the dream,” Waver said through sobs, tears pouring down his face.

“Ah, I see. Then as your king, I command you to live well and spread the story of my ambitions, my greed, and my vision for a grand world to others. Do not let the legacy of Iskandar’s empire fade away in this era,” Iskandar declared.

“I will… I will,” Waver promised through his tears.

“And now, I must go to war,” Iskandar said as he swept his cloak around him and disappeared like a phantom.

Waver was left with tears in his eyes, filled with the image of the king. He reached out to grasp at the air, but it was as though Iskandar had disappeared into thin air.

“Ahh, Ahh, Ahh,” Waver moaned, trying to suppress his screams. Tears streamed down his face as he pounded the ground with his hands, not even noticing the blood that was now smeared across them.

The tears and mucus mixed together, dripping from the tip of his nose.

Their separation was now final. The reality of the situation was harsh and cruel, and he was forced to come to terms with it.

Waver had endured the toughest trials on his own, and now, the greatest king in the world had recognized his strength and appointed him as one of his vassals. He had received the king’s praise and was now determined to spend the rest of his life earning even greater accomplishments that would match that praise.

With these thoughts, Waver realized that he was no longer alone. This moment marked the end of his youth, and he finally understood that even when there was no room for shame or regret, tears could still flow.

Standing on an empty bridge, Waver looked down at the dark river below, letting his tears mix with the rain as they fell down his cheeks. These were the tears of a man, both hot and cold.

It was so cold, but the warmth of the king’s cloak gave him comfort.

…

The man woke up from his dream, only to find himself still surrounded by the endless desert and the soldiers and generals who loved him. He laughed and drew his long sword, his voice ringing out with a shout: “Set out!”