Another soldier walking beside him scoffed. "Exactly. If they had retreated the moment the attack started, we wouldn't be in this mess."
Their conversation blended with the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the wind's whistle around the marching prisoners. Hearing these words, some of the captives flinched, their humiliation compounded by the soldiers' complaints.
"Yeah, holding onto their pride got us into this disaster," another soldier muttered from behind, sparking a chorus of grievances. Exhaustion and despair weighed heavily in their voices.
"I heard they asked other generals for reinforcements," one man said, repeating a rumor from within the ranks. A few heads nodded in agreement.
"Right, I heard the same," another soldier chimed in, swatting at flies buzzing around a burn wound. He sneered. "As if anyone could spare resources during a battle. Utter fools."
A soldier beside him clicked his tongue. "And that's why we're prisoners now. If a mere commander had led us this poorly, they'd have been executed already."
The bitter remark drew laughter, sharp and biting, but it quickly gave way to simmering anger and resignation. "And to think they tried to flee on their own, only to get caught. It's a disgrace."
Nearby, Michael, riding his steed Bucephalus, listened silently to the soldiers' complaints, a faint smile on his lips. Each word of reproach caused Prince Oswald and the tribal chiefs to lower their heads further. Oswald squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the torrent of condemnation, but it was impossible. Reality felt distant, surreal.
Looking up, he took in the bleak surroundings: scorched earth, charred trees, and dried-up wells, all stark reminders of the enemy's ruthless strategy to sever their self-sufficiency. Fear clawed at his heart as he gazed over the barren landscape. The soldiers' accusations, his overwhelming guilt, and the crushing weight of failure pressed heavily on his shoulders.
"What happens now?" he thought bitterly, the image of his father, the emperor, flashing before his eyes. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. As long as he remained a captive, his father's efforts to prolong his own life were likely in vain.
"Would he pay any price to free me?" A self-mocking tear slipped down his cheek. No matter the outcome, the future seemed insurmountable.
Meanwhile, Duke Capone spent a sleepless night, anxiously awaiting Michael's return. As the dim light of dawn crept through the windows, he let out a tense breath, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The drawing room was silent except for his occasional sighs. With Charles V having left with Crown Prince Randolph's corpse, victory was now more crucial than ever. The duke's hopes rested solely on Michael's successful return.
Though normally composed, the duke's nerves had begun to fray. The whirlwind of recent events weighed heavily on his mind. Days had flown by as he organized the captured supplies and reintegrated the soldiers and commanders stationed at the imperial encampment. Yet, in quieter moments, his fingers drummed restlessly on the desk, betraying his inner turmoil.
"Why hasn't he returned yet? Is the enemy resistance stronger than anticipated?"
Such thoughts flitted through his mind, each one worse than the last. The mere possibility of Michael's failure sent chills down his spine.
"Should I have sent more troops?" he wondered, a pang of regret gnawing at him.
His anxious musings were interrupted by an uproar that shattered the dawn's stillness. Cheers erupted from all directions, accompanied by the thunder of running footsteps. Soldiers, usually stoic and disciplined, were now jubilantly shouting.
Duke Capone stood frozen, trying to discern the cause of the commotion, until realization struck him. Michael had returned.
Bolting upright, the duke's gaze darted to the window, but it only revealed soldiers running and cheering in the courtyard below.
"I need to see this for myself," he muttered. He moved toward the door, only to pause and realize he wasn't wearing his hat.
"Owen! Bring me my hat!" he called, his voice tinged with urgency.
The duke, who had called for his servant, suddenly closed his mouth. He remembered that Owen had gone to fetch breakfast from the dining hall. The image of Owen's resolute back as he left the room, determined not to let the duke continue his fast, remained vivid in his mind.
With a restless glance around the room, the duke searched for his hat. He had not stepped outside without it since coming of age, and the thought of doing so now filled him with unease. Unconsciously, his grip tightened on the object in his hand. Then, he froze, a realization dawning upon him.
"What am I doing?" he muttered, looking down at his hand. With a sharp slap to his forehead, he groaned, "What a fool I am."
The hat he had been frantically searching for was already in his hand. Hastily placing it on his head, he strode toward the door with determined steps. His heart raced, and his unsteady legs reminded him of the days he had spent without proper food or rest.
Pausing to steady his breathing, the door to his room creaked open, and his loyal aide and bodyguard stepped inside. The usually stoic man wore a rare, radiant smile.
"Your Grace! Count Michael is returning with the imperial crown prince and the five tribal chiefs as prisoners! Not a single one escaped!"
The news of this unprecedented victory made Duke Capone leap from his spot. His face, perpetually furrowed since Crown Prince Randolph's death, now lit up with joy. While he had suspected from the cheers outside that they had won, he had never imagined such an extraordinary triumph.
"Wh-what did you say? Is that true?" he stammered.
The aide quickly moved to support the duke's arm, mindful of his weakened state. After a brief hesitation, the duke accepted his aide's concern and carefully began walking. Together, they made their way toward the watchtower.
Each step up the staircase felt heavy, but the weight pressing on his heart grew lighter with every moment. The long-awaited victory breathed life back into the duke's weary soul. Finally reaching the top, Duke Capone found the tower bustling with soldiers, their faces alight with excitement. They cheered and laughed, their voices echoing through the walls.