The next Britannian assault began without Sir Kay Pendragon at Yoshimoto's position.
Instead, several Britannian nobles and officers who had previously fought beneath his command advanced toward him with their own squads. They had spent nearly a week watching Kay test himself against the Sekigaharan Grade Ten, and by now they understood exactly what condition Yoshimoto was in. His ribs were still damaged, old wounds had reopened, and every prolonged exchange taxed his breathing more than the last.
Dangerous, certainly, but vulnerable enough that Britannia no longer believed one of its strongest Apprentice Knights was required to occupy him personally.
Multiple mid-grades could do the job.
At least, that was the theory.
The first formations approached loosely rather than clustering together. Several Knights maintained distance while others circled wide, refusing to give Yoshimoto a single dense group he could scatter with one blast of compressed wind. Others employed their own aerial maneuvering techniques, taking to the air in short bursts to pressure him from above while the ground squads attacked from separate angles.
Yoshimoto's expression darkened as the Britannians advanced. He swept one arm outward and released a compressed burst of wind that tore through the foremost squad, forcing several Knights apart before they could close around him. Rather than chase them, he immediately shifted toward the smallest isolated group and attacked before the others could reform.
He refused to fight Britannia's numbers all at once. Whenever several squads tightened around him, Yoshimoto blasted one section away and forced open a corridor. He would then rush through the gap and reduce the engagement into something manageable, ideally one opponent or two at most before the others could close the distance again.
It was ugly and exhausting, but it worked.
A Knight rushed into close range with reinforced fists, clearly expecting Yoshimoto's injuries to make him hesitant. Yoshimoto caught the first strike on his forearm, stepped inside the man's reach, and buried his fist into the center of his breastplate.
BAM!
The Knight folded around the impact and flew backward. Another immediately attacked from Yoshimoto's side, but a short burst of compressed air ruined his footing long enough for Yoshimoto to pivot and drive an elbow into his jaw. The second man dropped hard, and Yoshimoto retreated several steps before the rest of the squad could surround him again.
His ribs screamed at him as he moved.
Yoshimoto ignored them.
"Mid-grades," he muttered as another formation approached.
His breathing had already become heavier than it should have been, but pride and humiliation burned hotter than the pain. The Abyss had beaten him. Kay had repeatedly fought him while he was injured, and now Britannian mid-grades were advancing as though Yoshimoto Seishin had become some wounded animal they could finally bring down through numbers.
His mouth twisted.
"You idiots think you can take me?"
The nearest Knight heard him and raised his guard. "No offense was intended, Lord Yoshimoto."
Yoshimoto raised both hands. "Then take some."
Compressed air detonated outward.
BOOM!
Three Britannians were hurled apart before their formation could close, and Yoshimoto charged through the opening himself. He struck one before the man recovered, forced another backward with a pressure burst, then turned toward the third before the rest could regroup.
For the next several exchanges, he fought with everything he had left.
He no longer cared about looking dominant or proving himself the strongest man on the field. Rui had already beaten that kind of pride out of him, and the Wall had unknowingly shown him something useful over the past week. There was no shame in surviving, refusing to chase an opponent, or standing where the enemy needed you gone and simply refusing to fall.
Yoshimoto forced another squad apart with a violent blast of pressure before charging the nearest isolated Knight. One punch dropped the man. A second Britannian tried to circle behind him, only for Yoshimoto to duck beneath the strike and drive his shoulder into the man's chest.
Compressed air erupted at point-blank range.
BOOM!
The Knight vanished backward through the dirt.
Yoshimoto stumbled after the recoil. His ribs burned with every breath, and his legs trembled beneath him. Sweat rolled down his face as he dragged air into aching lungs, but he remained standing.
The Britannians' smugness gradually disappeared. Wounded or not, Yoshimoto Seishin was still one of Sekigahara's strongest Martial Apprentices. A group of mid-grades could pressure him, especially in his current condition, but actually putting him down was another matter entirely.
Then a whistle cut across the battlefield.
FWIIIIIIIIII!
Every Britannian around Yoshimoto froze for the briefest moment.
Yoshimoto's eyes widened.
"...Retreat?"
The expressions of the Knights surrounding him immediately dimmed. One of the nobles clicked his tongue and glanced toward the center of the battlefield.
"Sir Kay..."
Whatever had happened elsewhere, something had forced Britannia to sound the retreat.
The Knights did not argue with the order. They disengaged with the same discipline they always showed, pulling wounded comrades with them while defensive fighters moved forward to cover the withdrawal. Even the men surrounding Yoshimoto abandoned openings they might otherwise have exploited, retreating before Sekigahara could trap them inside the line.
Yoshimoto didn't chase.
The moment the last immediate threat moved beyond his range, his legs finally gave. He dropped to one knee and braced one hand against the earth.
"Haaah..."
His entire body heaved.
Yoshimoto had always taken enormous pride in his breathing capacity. Years of wind-based Martial training had strengthened his lungs far beyond those of ordinary fighters, and controlling huge volumes of compressed air demanded ridiculous stamina.
Right now, none of it felt like enough.
For several seconds he remained exactly where he was, simply breathing while Britannia continued withdrawing toward its fortifications.
"How long..." Yoshimoto swallowed and forced another breath into his lungs. "How long are we supposed to keep doing this?"
No answer came.
His gaze slowly shifted toward the center.
At least Lord Guts was here.
That thought alone brought him some relief. The armored giant had become the one reliable constant in every assault. As long as that hulking bastard stood somewhere along the line, Britannia could not fully press the western approaches.
Yoshimoto turned toward the center expecting, as always, to find the enormous dark silhouette of Lord Guts standing there.
Instead, his eyes widened.
Lady Mikan stood near the center of the Sekigaharan line, her orange hair bright even beneath the grime and blood of battle. Several Kinzoku Martial Apprentices crowded around her, speaking over one another with the kind of excitement that only came after witnessing something absurd.
But that wasn't what rooted Yoshimoto to the ground.
It was the man at her feet.
Sir Kay Pendragon had been wrapped tightly in layers of shining Portia thread, his arms pinned against his body and his sword nowhere in sight. The Britannian Knight had been forced awkwardly onto one knee, bound from shoulder to ankle like some captured beast.
Even from this distance, Yoshimoto could see the fury on his face.
Mikan rested one hand lightly on Kay's shoulder as though she were keeping an irritating dog from running off.
Then she noticed Yoshimoto staring.
With her free hand, she waved.
Yoshimoto remained frozen where he knelt, still dragging air into aching lungs while his mind struggled to understand what he was looking at. The retreating Britannians had lost much of their earlier confidence. Some looked back toward the center in disbelief while others hurried to withdraw before Sekigahara could capitalize on their commander's capture.
His eyes moved from the bound Pendragon to Mikan's proud smirk, then back again.
The siege was... over?
Only moments ago he had been wondering how much longer Sekigahara could endure. Now Britannia's commanding Apprentice Knight was kneeling in Portia, and the entire assault had collapsed around him.
Yoshimoto slowly rose from one knee, one hand still pressed against his ribs.
"How on earth did you do it...?"
Word spread through the Sekigaharan camp faster than the wounded could be carried inside.
Lady Mikan had taken Sir Kay Pendragon alive.
By the time the first retreating squads reached the fortress, half the western camp had already heard. Fighters spoke excitedly of how Mikan's thrown daggers had struck with enough force to wrench Kay's flaming sword off line again and again. His flames had failed to burn through Portia, and every attempt to break free only gave her another opening to tighten the threads around him.
By the end of the clash, Kay had been disarmed, bound from shoulder to ankle, and dragged back across the battlefield as a prisoner.
For a camp that had spent days being ground down by repeated Britannian assaults, the sight was enough to send exhausted cheers through the fortress.
.
.
.
By the time Sir Kay Pendragon was brought deeper inside the fortress, the western camp had transformed into a storm of exhausted triumph. Physicians continued moving among the wounded while officers struggled to restore order, but everywhere Kay passed, Sekigaharan Martial Artists stopped to stare.
The strongest Apprentice Knight in Britannia's besieging force had been captured alive.
At the center of a secured command enclosure, Sergeant Mindow stood across from the bound Knight with his usual hard expression. Several guards remained around the prisoner while a few aides stayed close enough to record anything important.
Kay had been stripped of his sword and seated under heavy restraint, but none of that diminished the fury in his eyes.
Mindow regarded him coolly. "Give the order. Have your men surrender."
Kay slowly raised his head. The muscles along his jaw flexed beneath dirt, dried blood, and humiliation.
"So this is your great demand?" Kay asked, his voice dangerously calm. "That I kneel, then bid Britannia crawl after me?"
Mindow's expression did not change. "I'm telling you to spare your men a pointless slaughter."
Kay gave a short, bitter laugh. "Pointless? You took me with a hidden fang and call it honor. Since when did Sekigahara possess another peak Martial Apprentice? Was your little orange viper hidden in reserve for my campaign alone?"
One of Mindow's aides stiffened, but Mindow merely frowned.
"I should be the one asking questions," he said. "Just how did you lose?"
Kay's head snapped up.
The question had been genuine.
Kay clearly did not take it that way.
He had already been captured, stripped of his sword, tied in enemy restraints, and dragged through the fortress in front of hundreds of Martial Artists. Now the man interrogating him was casually asking how he had managed to lose.
"Bah," Kay spat. "You know nothing of it."
Mindow's eyes narrowed. "Then enlighten me."
Kay leaned back as much as the Portia restraints allowed and gave him a spiteful smile.
"Britannia does not surrender."
Before Mindow could answer, a violent explosion thundered from somewhere beyond the enclosure.
BOOM!
The ground shook beneath their feet.
A second impact followed almost immediately, heavier than the first, accompanied by distant screams and the sharp crack of collapsing stone.
Mindow's head snapped toward the entrance.
"Have your men gone mad? Are they firing siege weapons into the fortress while you're still inside?"
Kay stared at him for half a second.
Then he laughed.
"Siege weapons?"
His smile widened.
"No."
Another explosion rolled through the fortress.
BOOM!
Kay's eyes gleamed.
"That's no siege weapon."
Mindow slowly turned back toward him.
Kay leaned forward against his restraints.
"It's over."
Before Mindow could demand an explanation, an aide burst through the entrance. The man was pale and breathing hard, still glancing over his shoulder as though he feared something was following him.
"S-Sergeant!"
Mindow stepped toward him. "Report."
"An Apprentice Knight," the aide said, struggling to steady his breathing. "One of the Britannians suddenly attacked on his own!"
Mindow's face hardened. "So what?"
The aide swallowed.
"He tore through the western camp! Most of the Martial Apprentices sent to stop him are already down, and part of the outer wall has nearly collapsed!"
The command enclosure went silent.
Mindow stared at him.
"What?"
"Lady Mikan and Lord Yoshimoto are trying to hold him back now, sir!"
For the first time since entering the enclosure, Mindow's composure cracked. His eyes widened as the implications sank in, and he slowly turned back toward Sir Kay.
The Britannian was smiling.
Mindow took one step toward him.
"You."
Kay said nothing.
Another tremor passed through the ground outside.
Mindow's voice dropped.
"Did you bring a Martial Squire?"
Kay tilted his head.
"I know not what you mean."
The sarcasm in his voice was almost theatrical.
His smile widened.
"In any case..."
Another explosion shook the fortress.
BOOM!
"...you're all dead."