Chapter 1: The King of Barbarians

Regis had resolved to become Altina’s tactician. He wasn’t confident in his decision, but he had no other choice.

He whispered what he believed to be an appropriate course of action into the girl’s ear. She had only just been recognized as commander, and consequently needed to reinforce her authority by providing her troops with orders.

“Sir Jerome, I order you: Lead one hundred cavalry as the vanguard to meet the enemy. Discern their strength and, if possible, construct a battlefront. If the opposing force is too numerous, you are to prioritize the safety of our troops and withdraw.”

“As you will it!!”

Having become her subordinate in name and in practice following their duel, General Jerome led his cavalry out of the fort. The pounding of hooves, clashing of metal, and heated cries of men could be heard from beyond the stone walls.

The cacophony of combat behind them, Regis and Altina made for the central tower. Its highest floor had a balcony from which they could survey the state of battle, as well as a meeting room where they could formulate plans.

But first, he needed to treat the injuries Altina had sustained during the duel. With the celebrated blade of the first emperor—and a bit of luck—she had managed to claim victory, but her wounds were so severe it was remarkable she hadn’t been carried from the plaza on a stretcher.

She was surely in unbearable pain. Even so, she had to power through. For the loser, Jerome, to depart for the front lines while the victor struggled to so much as walk... It would defeat the very purpose of proving her strength.

Drip, drip.

Blood trickled to the snow at her feet. Her complexion suggested she might collapse at any given moment, and yet she continued to drag her feet onward.

“Hah... Hah...”

“Hold on, Altina.”

As he walked beside her, Regis could do nothing but whisper helpless words of encouragement. Even as they covered ground, their destination appeared so terribly far away.

An imposing structure of piled cobbles, the tower stood at the center of the fort. The door at its base was made of dull, heavy-looking iron. It was so heavy that it required Regis to use the full weight of his body as he closed it behind him.

“Khhh...”

The door shut with a loud thud, enclosing the stone passage before them in darkness. The sounds of combat grew immediately distant.

The moment she was no longer in view of the soldiers, Altina crumbled to the floor, her breathing shallow and irregular.

“Hah... Ghh... Uurrhh...”

“A-Altina, are you all right!?”

“Ngh... Hah... Hah... Kuh... I’m fine... I can... stand...”

Thanks to the barbarian attack, the soldiers had all either made for their defensive stations or were preparing to sortie from the plaza. No one else could be seen in the tower.

It couldn’t hurt to let her rest here for a moment.

“Altina. If you die here, all your efforts will have been in vain. Don’t push yourself; you can rest here for a bit.”

“Y-Yeah...” She entrusted her back to the stone wall and took in a sharp breath.

Regis lowered himself down beside her, gazing at her profile.

Altina’s mother had peerless beauty that led the emperor to take her as his concubine, even though she was a commoner. Many considered her daughter to have inherited her charm and, as Regis sat there, he could understand why.

Just moments ago she had been on the cusp of death, and yet something about her looked... refined. Her crimson hair flowed more gracefully than ever, seemingly glistening even in the dimly lit corridor. Her skin was whiter than the downpour of snow, completely vacant of the colors of fatigue. Even the ruby-like gemstones barely visible behind her faintly parted eyelids now carried a depth Regis had never noticed before.

He had barely any interest in the allure of women, but even Regis found himself entranced.

But her features also carried an air of innocence—an air that reminded him that, despite everything, she was still only a fourteen-year-old girl a year away from the Belgarian age of adulthood.

And yet she displayed unimaginable strength, both physically and mentally. She refused to give in, no matter how dire the situation.

Even while slathered with blood and dirt, her hands were nothing less than beautiful. Her fingers were like gentle curves of porcelain, so slender he feared they might crack from even the slightest touch. Those fingers held a two-handed sword even taller than she was, and with those fingers she had defeated an esteemed hero known for his combat prowess.

Was this aberrant strength due to her lineage, or her training alone? Either way, she was quite something.

“...What’s wrong, Regis?”

She turned to face him.

“Ah, are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah, I’ve pulled myself together... but you keep staring at me. Is something wrong?”

“Huh? W-Wa-Was I really staring?”

“I could almost feel your eyes piercing through me. Do I look weird or something? Is there dirt on my face? No need to hold back. Speak your mind.”

“No, no, not at all. You look really pretty!”

“Hah?”

Regis immediately clasped a hand over his mouth.

The hell am I saying to a fourteen-year-old!?

A minstrel from the capital would have phrased it more elegantly. I was simply enraptured by your looks, perhaps. But Regis was no minstrel. He fell silent, blood rushing to his cheeks.

Altina examined him with a look of concern.

“Oh, you must have been freezing standing out in the blizzard. Your face is all red. Take care you don’t catch a cold.”

Her right hand reached to feel his forehead.

He immediately flinched. It was an unconscious response—one born of embarrassment—but it seemed Altina misunderstood.

“Ah... I’m sorry. My hands are dirty, aren’t they.”

“No, that’s honestly not it at all!”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t like flattery or needless consideration; it reminds me of those noble ladies. I know my hands aren’t quite like other women’s. But I sweat when I train, and blood and dirt are pretty inevitable after a fight.”

“...That really isn’t what I meant.”

Regis moved his own hand toward her. His heart was palpitating at a fearsome pace, but he wholeheartedly desired a resolution to this terrible misunderstanding.

His hand came to rest on hers.

“Eh?”

“Y-Your hands are beautiful. These are the hands that actualized your will. That delivered you to victory... Err, the thing is... I’ve never been so friendly with a woman before, so... I’m not used to being touched. I was just a little surprised.”

“Oh... I see...”

She appeared to accept his explanation, but he’d missed the appropriate moment to remove his hand.

Regis became trapped in thought.

I remember a scene like this in a book I read not long ago. It was Coillier Romeros’s Rohl’s Traveling Spirit. “I took the girl’s hand... and after stroking her cheek, I planted a kiss on her sickly sweet...” No! What do you think you’re doing, Coillier!? If you take me in that direction, I’ll be hanging from the gallows in no time!

He agonized, internally flitting through books, desperately searching for an escape.

But in none of the stories that came to mind would the main character, having taken a girl by the hand and spoken of her beauty, then let go without doing anything. He had no reference point.

As he sat frozen, unsure of what to do, he was suddenly brought back to reality by a very deliberate “ahem.”

He turned his head to see a woman in an indigo maid gown—Clarisse, casting a wide smile in his direction.

“Are you trying to get used to ‘being touched’ by taking advantage of our poor, vulnerable princess, who can’t even walk on her own? Hmm, Mr. Regis?”

“Oh, no! That wasn’t my—!”

“You’re surprisingly devilish.”

“I am not!”

“What were you intending to do with the princess?”

“I wasn’t intending to do anything!”

“Oh, really? I thought she needed urgent medical attention.”

“A-Ah, right, of course! Umm... There’ll no doubt be soldiers in the infirmary, so that’s not an option... We’ll return to her room under the pretense of a change of clothes, then call a doctor.”

Altina nodded in the affirmative.

“Right,” said Regis. “In that case, Princess...”

“Hup...”

Altina placed her working hand on the wall to stand.

“Phew... Some strength has finally returned to my legs.” She looked relieved.

Regis rose beside her.

“Just don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”

“Should I go out onto the battlefield now? I won the duel and have been accepted as commander, so I doubt anyone will consider me a nuisance.”

“...If you act too recklessly, we’ll have a real problem on our hands. Death, even. My death. From the stomach ulcer you’re bound to give me.”

“Ah, that would be a problem. You only just became my tactician.”

“Altina, return to your room this instant,” Regis demanded. “Let the doctor treat you.”

“Are those the words of... a tactician? An admin officer? ...Or a friend?”

“A tactician, of course. I made you a promise.”

“Fufu... Then I suppose I should listen.”

Altina started down the hallway, Clarisse closely following in absolute silence. She wasn’t offering any direct assistance, but was tactfully positioned so she could immediately step in should Altina fall.

“...By the way... Ms. Clarisse, what are you doing here?” Regis asked. She was supposed to be waiting in the carriage.

“I believed the princess would return to her room once the duel had been won. Although, I must admit, I never anticipated Mr. Regis would be holding her hand on my arrival.”

“Tha-That was a misconception, given the complicated circumstances, that can be very simply explained,” he stammered. “You see, um... Err...”

Not only Regis, but Altina also had turned a warm shade of red.

As usual, Clarisse’s words had only served to exacerbate the situation, and yet her expression was gentle and composed.

“Please leave the princess to me, Mr. Regis.”

“I can stay. We should be fine for a while; I placed Everard in charge of the second wave.”

Everard was knight captain of the Beilschmidt border regiment and a seasoned veteran—without a doubt, a warrior he could trust.

Clarisse nodded knowingly.

“So, you’re hoping to see the princess undress for her treatment.”

“I never said that!”

“I understand. You’re worried about the princess.”

“Of course I am.”

“But I’m worried about the princess’s chastity.”

“So you intend to paint me as a beast no matter what I say... Hah, I never even considered it.” Regis paired his words with a somewhat unenthusiastic shrug.

Clarisse lowered her gaze.

“Is that so? As a man, do you not consider anything... wrong with that?”

“Hey!” Altina interrupted, a confused look on her face. “I can’t understand a thing you two are talking about. An animal Regis resembles? The green uniform and black hair, plus how slow he moves... He’d be a turtle.”

Clarisse placed an affectionate hand on the princess’s head as she teetered.

“Oh, Princess. My cute, cute little princess.”

“Eh? Am I wrong?”

“...I’m more afraid of what you might teach her, Ms. Clarisse,” Regis grumbled to himself.

Owing to her lack of friends at the imperial court, Altina knew surprisingly little about things beyond her duties as a princess and a commander. She would be an adult—and of marriageable age—in just a year’s time, so Regis could sense there may be problems in that regard. That being said, he had only gleaned that kind of information from books himself.

As he replayed the exchange in his head, it became harder and harder for Regis to believe the situation he was in. It was inconceivable to think he was exchanging such idle chatter with someone ranked so far above him.

She was the imperial princess, as well as his commander. Her rank was major general. In contrast, Regis was the descendent of generation upon generation of commoners, and while she called him a tactician, in name he was no more than a fifth-grade administrative officer.

Major general, brigadier general, first grade, second grade, third grade, fourth grade, fifth grade. They were six ranks apart. The fact she permitted him to address her by a nickname was nothing short of a miracle...

Regis shook his head, hoping to expel any unnecessary thoughts.

The soldiers outside were in the midst of combat with the barbarians. His position required him to compose a battle plan, no matter how slim his confidence.

“...All right, I’ll take command from the top floor.”

Altina returned a deep nod. “I’m counting on you, Regis.”

“I believe in you, Mr. Regis.” Clarisse offered words of praise from behind a subdued smile.

Having parted from the women, Regis raced toward the stairs.

✧ ✧ ✧

He was exhausted by the time he reached the top floor.

Hands planted firmly on his knees, Regis devoted his entire being to forcing air into his lungs.

“Gah... Hah... Hah... Hah...”

“Are you okay!?”

The voice had come from a young knight, who rushed over to him. He was perhaps around sixteen years of age—younger than Regis, that much was certain.

Honey-colored hair bound behind his head; he was a handsome man with blue eyes and a slender, refreshing face. He wore top-grade metal armor with a gold-colored longsword sheathed at his waist, giving him the appearance of a character straight from a fairy tale. His voice was certain and articulate, albeit somewhat effeminate.

“Are you injured!?”

“Me? Ah, no... this is just...”

He may not have regarded himself very highly, but even Regis had too much pride to admit to the concerned youth he was merely winded from several flights of stairs. He averted his eyes, and focused on collecting his breath.

“Ghh, heh... Hah... Phew... I’m fine.”

“I’m glad to see you’re in good health, Mr. Regis.”

“Pardon? Have we met somewhere before?”

“My name is Eric Mickaël de Blanchard.”

The man courteously bowed. His surname, Blanchard, quickly sparked Regis’s memory.

“Don’t tell me... you’re Sir Everard’s grandson? You were with Marquis Thénezay, as I recall.”

“Yes!”

He had heard from Everard that his grandson had been stationed in the noble army Regis had previously served. When the barbarians exploited the gap in their defenses, decimating Marquis Thénezay’s main camp, this man—Eric—came under the impression he had only survived thanks to Regis’s command.

Regis, however, was certain such credit should be owed to the combat officers in the reserve forces.

Regis took another good look at him. This was definitely what it meant to be fine-featured.

Knight Captain Everard was a bald, bearded giant—as if a gorilla had donned plate armor and taken up a polearm. Regis considered Everard a man still in his prime, so he was relatively shocked to see Everard had a grandson this old.

But perhaps the greatest surprise was the complete lack of semblance between the two.

Blood rushed to Eric’s cheeks.

“Back then, Mr. Regis... Your dignified figure, your calm demeanor, your precise command... I was convinced, then and there, that you were the lord I should wager my life on.”

His words were strong but not forceful, his smile invigorating like a glimmering spring.

To think such a high evaluation had just been handed to someone run ragged by a staircase. Regis almost wanted to apologise.

“...I heard you volunteered to come here.”

“Yes! I arrived just last night. I had hoped to extend my greetings then, but you looked extremely busy.”

“Why would you come to the front lines of your own volition? This is a dangerous place.”

“That’s exactly it. You saved my life, Mr. Regis. Becoming your shield is the very least I can do.”

“...I know I should feel grateful, but... I don’t believe I’m worthy of such a noble proclamation.”

“You assumed the role of tactician, did you not? You declared as such in the duel a moment ago. I was watching.”

“Erk.”

Given the situation, he’d had no other choice. It wasn’t as though his proclamation had been insincere, but to Regis, who wasn’t used to being the center of attention, the memory made him want to curl into a ball.

“For someone of my... ineptitude... to become a tactician... Whether I’ll be able to serve my role is... Ah. More importantly, the commander of this border regiment is Fourth Princess Marie Quatre. As a knight, should you not pledge your allegiance to her instead?”

Although Regis had received permission to call her Altina, he very much wanted to avoid any baseless rumors, so he made sure not to use the nickname in front of anyone else.

“Of course. As a knight of Belgaria, I offer my life and my sword to the emperor, his blood, the nobles, and the people. But the bonfire of hope you rekindled in the hellscape of chaos and despair shall never be forgotten.”

A line so poetically exaggerated it could have come straight from a classical play. Regis was happy enough reading such dramas, but to be involved in one was the last thing he wanted.

“B-Bonfire, eh...? I remember having a lantern back then, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

His gaze wandered around the corridor, lingering anywhere but on the young man before him.

Eric’s mood held firm as he offered a cheerful smile.

“On my grandfather’s orders, we’ve brought the princess’s sword here.”

“Oh, so that’s why you’re here.”

Regis finally regained his breath and looked toward the conference room.

A cloth was spread out over the table, with Altina’s treasured sword—the Grand Tonnerre Quatre—placed on top. As she hadn’t been in any state to carry it after the duel, it had to be transported by other means.

The mud and snow had been cleaned off, restoring the weapon to its former glory. The blade looked immaculate, showing not even a single scratch from the violent clash.

The large window partition to the balcony was open with a knight stationed on each side. As Regis came into view, they saluted in unison.

He passed through and out onto the balcony, the battlefield now spread out before him. A fresh layer of snow piled high on the outlook.

✧ ✧ ✧

The wind continued to blow strong.

This was his second time coming to the strategy room balcony. The first had been with Altina the morning after he arrived.

Back then, the uninterrupted view had allowed for a spectacular sight. But now, because of the blizzard, the distance had become a white haze he couldn’t quite make out. Regardless, right now the scenery was the least of his concerns.

A battle was raging right before his eyes.

Fort Sierck was situated on a north-facing slope. A great many soldiers gathered in the plaza, awaiting their orders to march. Excluding those at defensive stations, the troops on standby numbered roughly two thousand.

Three hundred cavalry had already been dispatched. From what he could see, they were up against six hundred barbarians.

After the first exchange, both sides took distance to exchange menacing glares.

In a free-for-all, combat would usually last until one side took flight. But with proper regulation, an army could take distance and rest before exhaustion claimed any needless casualties.

Jerome and Everard’s cavalry units had set up encampments to defend the fort. The barbarians watched from afar, like starving beasts setting sights on their prey.

Strewn across the white, trampled-down snowfield, a number of bodies lay fallen and unmoving. While it appeared the barbarians had suffered more casualties, that didn’t mean the imperial cavalry hadn’t taken some losses of their own.

Eric came up beside him.

“Those are quite considerable numbers for barbarians.”

“Yeah. I hear the barbarian forces are especially strong in this region... And there are probably even more of them coming.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Watch how they behave—they keep taking glances behind them. Were it only the rearguard, I might have guessed they were just securing their path of retreat. But those at the vanguard are doing the same... I think it’s appropriate to assume they’re expecting reinforcements.”

“I see. But then, why have they decided to attack in waves? Could they be hauling artillery?”

“Barbarians have no artillery. I believe the plan was for the advance six hundred to launch a surprise attack in the blizzard and then hold the gate open for reinforcements.”

“Such a plan from mere barbarians!?”

“They’ll give it that much consideration if they’re attacking a fort... but they should have retreated the moment their plan failed. Perhaps circumstance requires them to take the fort at all costs...?”

The stalemate did not hold for long. The barbarians roared as they charged forward, and the battle started once more.

The cavalry accepted the challenge, lances at the ready. They would usually be able to push back: against six hundred barbarians, three hundred cavalry should herald a one-sided victory.

But there were many strong fighters among the barbarian ranks, making the result much harder to anticipate. Among them, a gaudily dressed man swung a large war axe from the lead. Not only his appearance, but also his strength were a cut above the rest.

A knight opposing him thrust a spear from atop his horse, but his weapon was cleaved by a single swipe from the barbarian. As nimble as a monkey, the barbarian leapt higher than the horse’s back, and again swung his axe with a single hand.

Blood spewed from the knight’s open throat as he powerlessly fell from his horse.

A barbarian able to surpass a knight stationed on the border one-on-one was considerably rare. The men here were incomparable to those based in the imperial capital—men who were knights in name alone, lavishly enjoying the peace away from the war zone. These were elites who had cut their teeth on the front line—it was not common for them to meet such capable opposition.

Regis gazed ahead and sighed.

“So that’s... the king of barbarians.”

“Who’s that?” Eric asked from beside him.

“According to the reconnaissance party’s report, there’s an extremely skilled man leading a union of at least three barbarian tribes.”

“I see. So that man is their king?”

“I don’t know his actual position in their hierarchy, but the strongest lion in a pride is most often the king.”

“...Making him the barbarian king.” Eric nodded, convinced.

His tone was still calm, but he no longer smiled. The atmosphere was too heavy for light-hearted conversation.

Two more mounted units were lost.

It was then that a jet-black horse broke into a gallop as Jerome raced over. He had fought the duel in his military uniform and then had been immediately called to battle, leaving him without armor. He no longer carried the short spear that had been hewn by the princess, instead wielding a silver cavalry lance.

“That has to be Sir Jerome’s mighty lance, Les Cheveux d’une Dame (The Dame’s Locks).” Regis pointed. “It’s renowned as the weapon of heroes: not only does it have an impressive length of 42 palms (311 cm), but its tip was supposedly forged from trystie.”

“The same trystie bequeathed to L’Empereur Flamme by the faeries?”

“According to legend... but the theory it’s a naturally occurring alloy is gaining steady ground.”

Jerome carried into a thrust. Even seen from a distance by a layman, his sharp attack was clearly of a different class than his subordinates’. His spear drove through the air like a majestic bird.

The barbarian king caught the blow with his axe, closing the distance for a counterattack. Having read his movements, the tip of Jerome’s lance was already refocused on his opponent.

Mere millimeters before it could pierce his skin, the barbarian king contorted his torso to dodge.

Allowing the man no time to recover, Jerome once again pushed into an attack, aiming for his heart. Once again, it collided with the axe.

The enemy was forced to retreat.

They were matched in ability, but the reach of Jerome’s weapon and his position on horseback put him at an advantage—Regis played out what would follow in his head.

Eric leaned in.

“It’s grandfather!”

Everard was scattering barbarians with his mighty fauchard.

“I’d expect no less.”

“I can fight as well. Mr. Regis, please allow me to join the battle! If the enemy has reinforcements, should we not send another wave of our own!?”

That would be the normal order to give. No matter the specifics, both sides would eventually clash head-on at full force.

“...The enemy will run if we send reinforcements now.”

“Isn’t driving them away our objective?”

“That sounds good on paper, but if we allow them to retreat, they’ll just regroup and attack again. If possible, I want a result that’ll leave a lasting impact.”

“‘A lasting impact’? What do you mean?”

“Err... Could you fetch me a pen and paper...?”

“Right away!”

Eric dashed into the conference room, returning with a sheet of paper, a pen, and a bottle of ink.

Regis moved to lay the sheet on the table, only to be reminded of the grand sword already rested upon it. There was enough room for him to write, but should he somehow manage to spill ink on the revered weapon, it would surely leave an embarrassing mark on the pages of history. Given how clumsy he was, that wasn’t a risk he was ready to take.

“...I’m sorry, could you hold still a moment?”

“Of course.”

Regis used Eric in place of a desk, setting an inkwell in Eric’s hand and holding the page against his breastplate as he smoothly wrote out line after line.

“All right, that should just about do it. They’ll probably get the message...”

He signed his name and rolled the paper into a scroll. The ink was hardly dry, but it would be fine so long as the words were still legible.

Regis handed it to Eric.

“...Please pass this to Sir Jerome, then Sir Everard, and then whoever is taking command of the soldiers in the square.”

“Understood! This is your first command as our tactician!”

“Mn? Yes, I guess you’re right...”

“Knowing you, Mr. Regis, I’m sure you wrote up a most wonderful strategy.”

“Hahaha... Hardly. Maybe if we lived in an era where an army comprised three hundred men, but this border regiment alone contains three thousand. Truly versatile command is but a pipe dream.”

“Is that so?”

“In this day and age, we need to invest in messengers. Being able to plan five moves ahead is useless unless those orders are actually carried out.”

Eric stared intently at the roll of paper he had received.

“Then... you’re saying you have the next five moves written here?”

“Well, you could call it that.”

“It’s like you’re a prophet.”

“I can’t divine the future, nor can I stand listening to those who believe they can... On this occasion, however, our situation just happened to resemble a battle record I once read.”

“I’ll stake my life on delivering these orders!”

Eric’s eyes were shimmering. He thumped his right fist against his breast.

“No, no. If you lose it, I’ll just write another one. Take care not to injure yourself. Please.” Regis scratched his head.

“Y-Yes... Understood.”

Truth be told, the state of the battlefield was ever changing, so he wouldn’t be writing the same thing twice. But Regis could feel the dangerous follies of youth radiating from this man.

Once he’d departed, Regis addressed the knights on standby in the room.

“I’ll be fine here. Could you guard Eric?”

They exchanged surprised glances, but demonstrated understanding with a salute.

The three knights were now gone from the strategy room.

“Good grief...”

Regis placed an elbow on the balcony railing and rested his cheek on his hand.

Should he have told Eric, ‘The future of the empire relies on this message’? It would have definitely motivated him, to say the least...

“Perhaps, but when you say that, the young soldier is prone to a bout of sudden death.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Jerome’s one-on-one clash with the barbarian king was like a furious storm. Each thrust was filled with such thirst for blood Regis could make it out from afar. It wasn’t that he had held back in his duel against Altina, but rather that he now had no concerns about taking his opponent’s life.

The barbarian king was a marvel himself. He turned aside the ceaseless barrage of attacks with such a heavy axe, aiming to sever the lance whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Perhaps Jerome would have lost by now had his spear not been made of faerie silver.

As their weapons met once more, the axe suddenly shattered, forcing the barbarian king to pull back. But before Jerome could give chase, Eric arrived. He relayed the orders to the general...

...who immediately glared at Regis, completely disregarding the distance between them.

The central tower where Regis stood was too far from the battlefield to make out any expressions, let alone in the midst of a blizzard, and yet he could somehow feel the rage in Jerome’s eyes.

But Regis was their appointed strategist; there was little Jerome could do to oppose his command.

Had he not been so far away, Regis was sure the man’s gaze would have been enough to stop his heart completely. Had he been close enough for words to reach, what would he have said?

✧ ✧ ✧

A short while later, Jerome’s one hundred and Everard’s two hundred cavalry cleared a route to the front gate, gathering themselves on either side. There was clear animosity in their actions, but they obeyed nonetheless.

They then drew a half-circle, enclosing the barbarians from both sides.

At the same time, the massive iron door of the front gate opened outward.

Regis’s attention was suddenly drawn to the hurried footsteps approaching the conference room. He turned.

“Hm?”

“Ah, there you are!”

Altina entered, her left arm hung in a sling. Her dress was new, and she had equipped even more armor since he had last seen her.

Behind her was the maid, Clarisse, and... a woman in a white coat.

“Princess, did I not tell you to get some rest?” the woman sighed. She wore spectacles, an item so rare and valuable it was hardly even seen in the capital. Her short-cut hair gave her a rather masculine appearance. She was twenty-nine and held the position of imperial doctor.

Regis never got her name. Female medical practitioners were rare in the empire—in fact, she was the only one at the fort—and everyone simply referred to her as the ‘lady doctor.’ Docteur féminin. Just like Clarisse, she had apparently followed the princess from the imperial court.

Altina’s complexion was considerably improved. Regis smiled in relief.

“Hey, are you all right now?”

“Yep!”

“She’s not all right!”

The doctor raised her voice, narrowing the eyes behind her spectacles.

Altina dismissively waved her off with her right hand.

“I’m fine, I tell you! I can walk just fine. You worry too much, Docteur.”

“Your arm is fractured!”

“True, but—”

“What!? You broke it!?”

The doctor responded to Regis’s surprise with a look of pure exhaustion, managing a small nod.

“God, she’s supposed to be a princess. I’d give her three months for a full recovery. Are you listening, princess? Please don’t add to my workload.”

“Won’t you get bored if you don’t exercise your skills every now and again?” Altina wasn’t discouraged in the slightest.

Clarisse sighed. “A wild animal still hunts, broken bones or not. That’s just how it is. We have little say in the matter.”

Almost in unison, Regis and the doctor sighed deeply.

“Hah... So our princess is the same as your common loup gris,” the doctor opined.

“How bothersome...” said Regis.

“W-What’s with you people? What else could I do? It was a fair duel! More importantly—Regis, how is the battle going!? Did we win!?”

Altina moved to Regis’s side and joined him in watching the situation from the balcony.

Her face immediately drained of color.

“Eh!? What’s going on!? The enemy’s entering the fort!”

“Yeah... I had Sir Jerome and Sir Everard’s units move to the sides and then opened the gate. It threatens the barbarians with an attack from three sides.”

“Yeah, but you’re supposed to protect the front of the fort, and then divide the troops only once reinforcements have been deployed. If you open the gate beforehand, they’ll just charge straight in!” she explained in a flurry.

Regis found himself quite impressed.

“That’s incredible. You know the basics of strategic warfare?”

“Enough to know there’s been a catastrophic error made here! The enemy’s entering through the gate— Aah, they just keep coming in!”

The barbarians poured into the parade ground ahead of the central tower. They met with the imperial soldiers gathered as reinforcements and the battle resumed.

The doctor’s face went even paler than Altina’s.

“Hey now... Is this going to be all right, Strategist!?”

“...For now.”

“I believe in you, Regis.” Altina stared him down. “So please explain.”

“Explain, huh? How should I put it... Let’s say you’re the barbarians. All of a sudden, mid combat, the cavalry defending the fort parts and the front gate stands open. What crosses your mind?”

“It’s a huge chance!” Altina immediately answered.

“I’d think it’s a trap,” answered the doctor.

Clarisse simply replied with an “I don’t know.”

Regis continued his explanation.

“Yes, I expect opinions will be divided. Between those who see it as an opportunity and charge ahead, and those who suspect a trap and freeze up... a difference in response naturally comes about. But the tricky part is, unlike in chess, soldiers in real combat won’t always move as they’re ordered. Soldiers stand on the battlefield under a delicate balance of ambition and fear.”

“So you’re saying they won’t all do the same thing?”

“If they’d been able to predict our strategy beforehand, perhaps they’d be able to regulate their ranks. But the barbarian chain of command is already muddled as is, so if you offer them a sudden opportunity to strike, they’ll all attack, albeit gradually.”

The doctor tilted her head.

“Why would they all attack, even knowing it might be a trap? If it were me, I’d remain no matter who else went. I can make my own decisions.”

“Because the imperial cavalry is simultaneously closing in on both sides. If your allies are pushing forward, you have no choice but to follow. The only alternative is certain demise.”

“Oh... I see... Then they really have no other option.”

“Yeah. But, on a snowy incline, cavalry is overwhelmingly faster than foot soldiers moving uphill. Sir Jerome and Sir Everard’s units will no doubt reach the front gate before they can.”

It was just as Regis stated. Of six hundred barbarians, only around two hundred managed to enter the fort before the cavalry bisected their sluggishly-moving forces from the sides. The horsemen had become a second wall glaring inside and out.

Altina clapped her hands together at the realization.

“I see! The plan was to separate them!”

“...That, too.”

“There was another reason?”

“The division is just a means to an end... A means to surround the most troublesome piece on the enemy side. The barbarian king is strong—even Sir Jerome was struggling to take him down. And that could well be why he chooses to stand and fight in the vanguard.”

Just like a certain princess, he was quite a reckless one.

“Quite right.” Altina nodded in earnest. “It’s a given for the commander! Why should anyone follow if you’re not there to lead them?”

“In the regiment I used to serve, the main camp was always the furthest back... Whatever the case, I made use of that. I thought he’d be the first to charge if he saw the chance.”

“Is it going well, Mr. Regis?” Clarisse interjected.

“...We’ll probably win.”

“In that case... why do you look so worried?”

“Eh? Is that the face I’m making? That’s not very promising...”

“That’s how it looks to me.”

On Clarisse’s indication, Altina and the doctor looked at him, too.

Regis awkwardly scratched his head.

“...For the most part, this battle is following a situation I’m already familiar with. But I do have one concern. See, this plan fails if the barbarian king doesn’t surrender.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Eric had relayed the directive to the soldiers in the square.

Men equipped with large shields moved shoulder to shoulder, forming a defensive wall on the inner side of the front gate. Behind them stood a row of soldiers armed with long spears.

The front gate began to lower as they laid this impromptu trap. Before it even met the earth, barbarians barreled in like an avalanche.

“UOOOOOOOOH!!”

Roaring like wild beasts, they drove their axes into the shield wall, scattering shreds of leather and splintered wood...

And leaving them vulnerable to the spearmen eagerly waiting at the ready.

“Graaah!!”

Debris mixed with blood as one barbarian was pierced through the chest.

It was a bold strategy. Should their formation be breached, they would not only risk the lives of the men on the field, but of the noncombatants housed in the fort. There would be a harrowing number of casualties.

The imperial soldiers in the square numbered a thousand against only five hundred barbarians. Such inferior numbers could normally be subdued without issue.

But from the ranks of the encroaching barbarians, one man cleared the defenses with a single, impressive leap.

Regis pointed from his vantage point on the observation platform.

“That’s the barbarian king.”

“Oh! Is he strong!?”

As Altina leaned herself over the balcony...

A single arrow tore through the air toward them.

His attention fixed on the man now forcing his way through the empire’s ranks, Regis stood completely unaware as it reached for his flank.

One of the barbarians must have noticed him.

Even had he not been distracted, Regis lacked the finesse to successfully dodge it. He processed no more than a faint glimmer as the arrowhead suddenly appeared in his peripheral.

“Eh—?”

An abrupt impact forced the air from his lungs—accompanied by the dull schwing of metal—and the still-dazed tactician was knocked from his feet.

Altina had pushed him aside, striking down the arrow with the protector on her right arm—it was only as he noticed the arrow on the stone beside him that Regis realized what had happened.

“Wh— Woah!?”

“What’s wrong!? Did it get you!?”

“A-Are you— Are you okay, Altina!? Your wound—!?”

“Huh, wound? I blocked it with my armor. There’s no way an arrow from a normal, upward-fired bow could pierce iron plating.”

“That’s not what I meant...”

It seemed she was fine.

✧ ✧ ✧

The king of barbarians leaped higher than the surrounding heads, using the nearest shoulders as stepping stones to rise higher still. He soared above the imperial soldiers poised with shields and spears.

“Hrraaaaaah!!”

He gripped a new, larger war axe, which he brought down into the skull of a hapless soldier.

The man beside him, splattered by the blood of his now-dead comrade, swung his weapon in a panic. It cut through air and then dropped to the ground as his arm was almost fully severed from his torso.

Resounding terror spread through the crowd; those in the path of the barbarian king quickly descended into frenzy.

So widespread was the pandemonium... Perhaps their encirclement would collapse entirely.

Years ago, in combat with the neighboring Germanian Federation, Black Knight Jerome had penetrated the opponent’s armored cavalry head-on, completely turning the tide of battle. It had been that sheer power that earned him his reputation as a hero. Perhaps this barbarian would manage the same, becoming a new legend in the annals of war.

That is, he might have, had the opposing tactician not already enacted a plan.

As Regis lay on the cold stone of the balcony, the intercepted arrow beside him, his orders were already underway.

A portion of the encirclement thinned out in such a way that could only be discerned from above. As expected, the king leaping overhead seized the sudden opportunity—he had no other choice. If he was too slow in breaking through the regiment’s formation, the barbarians who’d entered the fort would be surrounded and wiped out.

So the barbarian king continued to jump from shoulder to shoulder, pressing toward the opening.

“Hup!!”

A number of seemingly unarmed soldiers who had been lying in wait amid the crowd called out in unison as they threw something at the king overhead.

Three weights tied together with rope. These were projectile weapons called bolas, and were generally used in hunting. Unlike arrows, they spread out when thrown to cover a wider range, making it easier to ensnare fast-moving beasts. Though they rarely saw use on the battlefield...

Not just one, but several were hurled from among the mass of soldiers.

The king curved his axe and struck three of the bolas down.

“Grraaaaaah!!”

But a fourth managed to wrap around his arm. As he struggled to remove it, another entangled his legs. And then a sixth was thrown; the rope snagged the barbarian king’s waist, and the momentum-carried weight slammed into his stomach.

He was dragged from the air, just barely managing to catch himself with one arm as he smacked into the ground.

“Ghh!?”

He lifted his head; a number of imperial polearms were already honed in on him.

“Don’t move, you ape!” the captain leading the attack roared, readying his blade.

“Don’t kill him!” resounded a voice so loud it eclipsed even the dissonance of combat in the square below. The voice belonged to Altina.

Regis, who had been beside her, held his now-ringing ears.

Her orders had reached them. The captain kept his sword raised, but the barbarian king had been spared.

“...What are you doing?” Regis queried, still clasping his ears.

“I want to speak with that man.”

“Eh? Could you run that by me again?” Regis was so surprised by her words he had to make sure he’d heard them correctly. Especially as the tinnitus hadn’t quite yet fully alleviated.

To the people of Belgaria, the barbarians were to be treated as harmful beasts.

If a man-eating wolf was captured, and someone said they wished to speak with it, they would surely be met with looks of disbelief; it was a common assumption that words did not reach barbarians. Regis wasn’t convinced, but he was still surprised to hear the princess say she wanted to speak to the barbarian.

“It’d be a shame to let such a skilled warrior die, wouldn’t it?”

“...No, I don’t understand that sense of values. But I do endorse conversation. Moreover, I think that’s just what you need right now.”

“I’m not really sure what you mean, but I’m glad I have your approval!”

Altina took in a deep breath. This time, Regis took a preparatory step back and covered his ears. He glanced over to see Clarisse and the doctor had done the same.

The princess raised her voice again:

“I am the fourth princess of the empire, Marie Quatre Argentina de Belgaria! I wish to speak with the king of barbarians! Both sides, cease your fighting at once!”

Her words were merely a sincere expression of her intentions, but the soldiers took them as a proclamation of victory. She had announced the barbarian king was captured.

The heavy air of unrest was replaced with sudden excitement as the men raised their swords and spears, shouts of celebration thundering across the plaza.

“UOOOOOOH!!”

“Vive l’empire!!”

“Vive Marie Quatre!! Vive l’empereur!!”

The battle had been conclusively decided. The barbarians had scaled a steep slope in the midst of a blizzard, battled through a formidable cavalry, and then had been immediately surrounded once they entered the fort.

They were exhausted beyond their limits, and the resounding cheers only further chipped away at their remaining shreds of morale.

One by one, the barbarians dropped their weapons, many collapsing to their knees on the spot.

✧ ✧ ✧

The barbarians who had stormed the fort had been gathered into a corner, separated at ten-pace intervals with their backs to the wall. The regiment’s soldiers stood guard, bows and spears trained on their captives.

The blizzard was letting up, but the bitter cold of winter still seeped through the plaza.

Altina’s dialogue with the barbarian king needs to be settled before sunset. If we keep the men in these conditions overnight, many will no doubt freeze to death.

Regis was pulled from his musings by a chorus of victorious roars from outside the fort. The barbarians who hadn’t charged into the plaza, numbering close to four hundred, had distanced themselves from the battle and regrouped halfway down the mountain.

It would be easy for the regiment’s cavalry to pursue and decimate this army, especially now their most powerful warrior had been captured, but Regis had already forbidden such a move. Instead, he ordered them to spread word of a discussion between the barbarian representative and the imperial commander.

A massacre had been what he feared the most.

Had the barbarians not surrendered, they would have most likely been massacred by the surrounding imperial army. Granted, it wasn’t a particularly rare sight on the battlefield, but it was one he wanted to avoid nonetheless. For both the strategic and emotional consequences.

Thank God I managed to keep the casualties down on both sides. He let out a relieved sigh.

It wasn’t long before the barbarian reinforcements arrived, just as he’d predicted.

They joined the gathering outside of the fort. Regis watched them carefully, anxiously awaiting their next move. But the barbarians stood in place, neither attacking nor retreating.

They appeared to be waiting for the results of the discussion.

Fort Sierck’s last battle of the year 850, tense as it was, neared its tentative resolution.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Oi, Regis!”

Upon returning to the central tower, Jerome closed in on Regis with the speed and intimidation of a cavalry charge.

“Ah, um, yes...?”

Regis had been sat at a desk in the conference room, filling in a report on the battle. This was normally the work of a specialist, but as Jerome had driven out the regiment’s administrative officers, there was no one else it could be entrusted to.

Altina had returned to her bedroom to change into more appropriate attire; she could hardly put pressure on him with her arm in a sling.

Jerome leaned in close.

“What the hell was that battle plan!?”

“...That, uh... If they retreated into the blizzard, it would’ve proven near impossible to chase them down, let alone capture their most powerful unit.”

“So you let them into the fort!? To think, our walls were breached by lowly barbarians! We’ll be the laughing stock of the empire!”

“That’s quite all right. I’m sure they’re already so entertained at our commander being a fourteen-year-old girl that they won’t pay this any notice.”

“Even worse!” Jerome snarled through gritted teeth, so plainly irate it seemed he might snap at any moment.

Regis spoke in a softened tone as he attempted to soothe him:

“What does it matter? Let them undermine us and lower their guard. Concealing one’s true strength is an effective strategy in both offensive and defensive combat.”

“I see. A petty scheme befitting such a weak-willed man. But there’s one thing you overlooked.”

“What’s that?”

“I can’t stand being looked down on!”

“...I... I see.”

Regis scratched his head. The general was right—it wasn’t something he’d accounted for. He had considered maybe Jerome would fly into a rage over the discernible risk of such a strategy, but never that it would be a problem of dignity.

It seemed reality wouldn’t progress as smoothly as in the books he read. In such a situation, Regis would usually be quite uneasy about his competency as a strategist, but with the vehement Jerome still leaning mere centimeters from his face, he instead felt uneasy all over.

“I noticed there are barbarians held captive in our fort. Why aren’t they dead yet?”

“The princess wished to speak with them.”

“‘Speak with them?’ Is she an idiot? Either put them to work or hang them from the ramparts.”

It was clear he wasn’t being cynical or facetious: there was a sincerity in his tone that showed he truly doubted her intelligence. The barbarians weren’t beasts—that was what Regis believed, at least, but he understood that outlook was in the minority.

This was a gamble to get closer to a goal otherwise too distant to see. This dialogue had to succeed. If communication broke down, she would be judged as a whimsical, irrational leader. But this hurdle was an inevitable one. Her sights were fixed on such a reckless aspiration that the path had to be paved with disadvantageous gambles.

“...It won’t be too late to reconsider the princess’s intellect once the talks are over.” Regis rose from his chair. “It’s about time.”

Jerome turned to the exit as well.

“I opened the storehouse. Meat and ale.” His words were completely devoid of emotion.

“...Oh... I see.”

Regis had wondered what the reward for battle would be, and it did seem this regiment customarily held banquets. Come to think of it, they had also put out meat and ale following the bandit subjugation.

In the noble army Regis had previously worked in, the highest success was rewarded with jewels and art, but they had no such funds here. And Regis had to wonder whether this regiment’s soldiers would even be grateful for such gifts.

“Thank you for the advice.”

“This isn’t for you or for her. It’s a leader’s duty to reward his men.”

“I’ll take that to heart.”

“Hmph... Quit being so quick to humble yourself. Are you mocking me?”

“No, but... Ah. That’s a difficult order.”

“Just say what you’re thinking deep down. That spineless nature of yours is why others have such a hard time trusting you.”

“You want me to be honest?”

“Yes, no secrets. Speak at will.”

“...I want some paid vacation. And I need some more books.”

“The hell would I care?”

“How callous.” Regis slumped his shoulders in disappointment as his hopes for a break ended as quickly as they began.

✧ ✧ ✧

Hasty construction turned the courtyard usually used for training into an impromptu audience chamber.

Altina was seated in the center with a large mantle draped across her left shoulder and down to her knees. It served to conceal her wounded arm.

Regis stood to her right, and Jerome to her left.

There was no red carpet, but soldiers lined through the impromptu hall to create a path, flying the empire’s banner at the ends of their spears.

The flag was made from red cloth to represent L’Empereur Flamme and decorated with seven swords. This design was a newer innovation: It was believed the first emperor fought under a white flag, but in the modern era these were recognized by neighboring territories as a sign of surrender.

The king of barbarians was led between the walls of soldiers.

His hands were bound at his hip with rope, Everard keeping a tight hold on him from the side. Regis caught sight of Eric behind him.

The group came to a halt roughly ten paces away.

“I really don’t mind, bring him closer. How can we speak comfortably at such a distance?”

“But...”

“And undo the ropes. What I desire is a dialogue; I don’t seek to interrogate a prisoner of war.”

“Princess!? This man moves as fast as a monkey—he’s terribly dangerous!”

It was only natural for Everard to voice an objection. Altina met his eyes with an unwavering stare.

“Are you suggesting an unarmed foe could defeat me in battle? What’s more, I have a highly praised general at my side. Bring him closer; I won’t be branded a coward.”

“Gn... Mm... Very well.”

Everard had expressed consideration as he knew the princess was injured, but he was now before the troops, and there were times when the dignity of a ruler took precedence over safety.

His ropes untied, the barbarian king stepped forward five paces.

Regis struggled to swallow; his throat had dried out from nervousness.

The man looked around the same age as Jerome—in his mid-twenties. He wore clothing fashioned from beast pelts and bird feathers.

Within the empire, barbarians were invariably depicted as vile demons to be slain by radiant knights, boasting the faces of monkeys and bears. But this man’s appearance carried a somewhat noble grace.

He refused to kneel, instead looking down over the princess in a display of arrogance.

A normal audience chamber would have seated the monarch higher up, ensuring they remained above everyone else even when seated, but the room’s hurried construction had afforded no time for this luxury.

Everard frowned.

Altina addressed the king, paying his disrespect no mind:

“Let me introduce myself once more: I am Marie Quatre Argentina de Belgaria, fourth in line to the imperial throne of Belgaria.”

The man before her said nothing.

Can he even understand her? Feelings of doubt reached silently through the soldiers.

But Regis could see the man in deep thought. His eyes widened in slight anticipation as the barbarian king first opened his mouth.

«What a long name.»

He spoke in the native tongue of Germania. It was likely that was where he hailed from, and that he was educated enough to understand Belgarian.

While the empire was almost always at war, cultural exchange with surrounding nations was still a regular occurrence. Times of peace simply made such trade easier to achieve.

For that reason, it was only common courtesy for an imperial noble to study the dialect of neighboring lands. Regis was just a commoner, but had been taught Germanian as part of the military academy’s administrative officer curriculum.

Meaning everyone in earshot—aside from the soldiers watching blankly from the sidelines—understood Germanian.

“What utter disrespect for the name of our princess!”

«Disrespect? Belgarians really do enjoy their needless formalities.»

As Everard’s face reddened with outrage, Altina waved a dismissive hand in his direction.

“Pay it no mind. He is not of the empire; it’s laughable to demand respect from those who aren’t our subjects.”

The knight captain slowly exhaled through his nose as he conceded, and respectfully nodded in response.

Altina turned back to the barbarian king, this time speaking in Germanian.

«What should we call you? In the empire, it is custom to return a name when someone introduces themselves. Or are the rumors that barbarians are nameless true?»

«We do not consider ourselves barbarians. I am Diethardt; I have cast aside the name of my house. Our nation is Bargenheim.»

Jerome scoffed. He made a grandiose display, lurching back with his arms half raised in feigned surprise, and threw his voice so all the soldiers could hear:

“Hah... What a grand discovery. Who could have guessed that dreary forest was a nation! To think our neighboring territory wasn’t the godforsaken Germanian Federation, but a nation of savages—who knew the barbarians had a sense of humor!?”

Diethardt ground his teeth as the courtyard erupted into laughter, resentment raging inside him until—

A burst of sudden anger interrupted the revelry. Not from the ridiculed king, but from Altina. She punched her right fist into the chair’s oak armrest, which let off a resounding snap as it broke.

“Ah...”

Silence returned.

She cleared her throat. “It seems I’ll need to educate you all on how to treat a guest. You may leave at once.”

“Princess!?” Everard fiercely protested, but his words fell on deaf ears. She kicked back the half-splintered chair as she stood.

“All men, fall back thirty paces. This is an order!”

Jerome ran a thumb across the scar on his chin.

“Kukukuh... You sure? That barbarian might try to wring your neck.”

“Should that happen, you may intervene.”

“And if you’re taken hostage?”

“Oh? I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Very well. Chat with that scummy Germanian traitor all you like.”

Jerome receded to join the wall.

Regis moved to follow suit, only to be taken by the collar.

“Where are you going?” Altina questioned.

You just told me to leave, he thought, but decided to phrase it more formally given their audience:

“As you have commanded—”

“You are our tactician, now is your time to shine. Don’t you have anything to say?”

“...I’m parched.”

“Ah, that reminds me...”

Jerome and the soldiers retreated thirty paces, putting them against the courtyard walls. Everard and Eric heeded the orders as well.

On the princess’s command, two chairs, a table, and a glass bottle of wine were brought in.

Diethardt was seated first. Altina sat across from him, Regis stood to her side.

“Not bad at all. It’s like a café terrace,” the princess observed.

“...Quite right. I’m sure a café terrace out in the snow, surrounded by bloodthirsty soldiers, would be a great success back at the capital,” Regis remarked. “It’s got novelty, I’ll give it that.”

Altina leaked a good-spirited smile. “You think there’ll be a line?”

Diethardt, on the other hand, continued to glare daggers.

«So people of Belgaria drink their coffee on the roadside? I fail to see the appeal.»

«It’s too cold here in the north, but most of Belgaria is nice and warm, with a comfortable breeze. I say that, but I’ve never actually been to a café in town... Although I’d love to drink coffee at a wonderful little shop just once in my life.»

Having the imperial princess sat at an everyday café would quickly cause a lot of commotion. There was no way she’d be able to drink in peace.

But the imperial court has its own taxpayer-funded terraces. Regis kept those words to himself—a place infused with the envy and scorn of nobles would leave a bad taste in her mouth, no matter the coffee.

He urged her toward more pressing matters.

“...Princess, we don’t have long until sundown.”

«Allow me to ask, Diethardt: Are you the king of Bargenheim?»

«Nein. Bargenheim is a nation, but we have no king. Our people take notice of my words because I happen to be one of several who founded the nation.»

«Does that not make you a king?»

«I have never taken wealth nor food from my comrades.»

«Ah, I see. So your nation has no taxation.»

He responded with a single nod.

To Altina, this was a fresh, innovative idea.

“Regis, doesn’t that sound wonderful? A country with no taxes! Their people must be so content.”

“...Perhaps, if such a system didn’t nurture feelings of unjustness.”

“But wouldn’t everyone be equal without taxes?”

“...Say, for example, someone has to stand guard over the fields. Who decides who’s placed on watch?”

“Hm? Would it not be a representative like Diethardt?”

“In that case, Mr. Diethardt is the king, and tax is levied in the form of the labor spent on watch. For so long as people live together, they will naturally be divided into decision makers and servants. No matter what name they may go by, they are either the king or his taxpayers.”

“Ah, so that’s how it is.”

“To have no tax is akin to having no country. A nation can’t be maintained on ideals alone... You may win hearts through victory, but such feelings are seldom enduring...”

Regis caught sight of Diethardt and refrained from speaking further; the barbarian’s severe glare tore right through him.

«Bargenheim is certainly small as a nation, and I admit our principles are far from ideal. But your empire is misguided. In our ranks are many who have fled your land, having suffered under its oppression.»

“......”

Regis remained silent, awaiting the princess’s next words. This was the dialogue she had hoped for, and he intended to act only as her aide. If she was to walk the martial path, negotiations such as this were unavoidable. And considering Regis’s lowly status, it was possible certain diplomats would deny even his very right to speak.

That was why Altina needed to take the leading role in these conversations.

«I agree. The empire is misguided.»

Should I have answered in her place? Regis immediately regretted his decision, a grating pain forming in his stomach.

Her words wouldn’t reach Jerome and the soldiers by the courtyard walls, but even so, he never expected her to speak so openly.

Diethardt lowered his eyebrows into a dubious expression.

«Do you understand what you’re saying? Or is speaking in my language too difficult?»

«Being an imperial princess doesn’t mean I cannot criticize the empire, does it?»

«It means you shouldn’t. Such is your position and your obligation.»

And here was a princess being lectured on the proper behavior of royalty by a barbarian. What troublesome times.

But, despite his values, Diethardt proved to be surprisingly cultured; the points he raised were valid ones.

«I choose to live by my own beliefs. Not by the rules of a position others have forced upon me,» Altina replied as she shook her head.

«Even if doing so means rejecting the empire?»

«I want to save the people oppressed by its injustices.»

«You’re mistaken. If powers collide and a civil war breaks out, it is those very people who will suffer the most.»

This was something Regis had considered as well. But when he unraveled the threads of history, the necessary course of action was clear.

This was something Altina understood as well.

«If the people wish to be freed from oppression, should they not be the ones working for it? If they don’t want that, they can ignore me and stand by the current institution. I’m not God; I can’t claim to be able to erase all human suffering. No, the people can only save themselves.»

«If that’s true, what’s your purpose in this?»

Altina looked to Regis. At first, he assumed she was seeking his advice, but that wasn’t the case. She immediately continued:

«All I have to be... is the trigger.»

«I don’t understand. You Belgarians speak so indirectly, glorifying your sins. Speech should be logical and to the point.»

«Then, in short: If my criticism of unjust tyranny causes the people to act to save themselves, then that is my purpose. Don’t you agree?»

«Isn’t that irresponsible? Those with status have an obligation to bring happiness to those who follow them.»

Altina tilted her head.

“Regis, do I have such an obligation? Am I irresponsible?”

“...If you cause action and gather people to change the structure of the empire, then answering to those people’s expectations is your duty. It is a natural duty grounded in the simple logic of honoring your promises.”

“And should I collapse halfway there?”

“You’ll be harshly judged. That’s politics for you... In fact, the current greatest problem in the empire is how statesmen who are unable to bring happiness keep their power without criticism or judgment.”

She responded with a deep nod.

“I see. So the country I wish to create as the empress is a country that will judge me if I can’t deliver them happiness?”

“...That sounds about right.”

“Could I toil to be empress only to be put to death by the very laws I created?”

“It’s possible... Do you feel like giving up?”

“Why would I? When a ruler strays from their path, their people suffer and die. It only makes sense that the one who should suffer most is the leader who failed them.”

He recalled what Altina had said once before.

“If you expect others to risk their lives, you have to wager your own as well... Something like that...?”

“Right!”

You’re being far too extreme. That was what Regis wanted to say, but he kept the words to himself. If she was adamant about putting the lives of others above her own, then it was simply the duty of those around her to protect her.

She turned to Diethardt.

«I will become empress. I will change the empire. And the moment I stray from my path, I’ll accept my fate in the lunette of a guillotine.»

Her discussion partner’s expression changed: a face once overcome with hatred and disgust now appeared calm and sincere.

«I see... That is certainly... responsible. You speak with resolve.»

«Not that I plan on failing!»

«It seems I misunderstood you.»

«How so?»

«I assumed you were another shameless imperial exploiting the people, unaware you were even doing so.»

«And you weren’t entirely wrong. I have yet to make a single person happy. Even the bread I ate this morning was snatched from someone who worked hard to make it.»

«I see... That’s one way to think about it...»

«Admittedly, these are values I’ve learned from Regis.»

«...Perhaps... I am also mistaken... I believed a country with no taxes would be a true utopia... But, in reality, the sense of unfairness rises among our people. Is the lack of a definite social contract leading to inequality...?»

«It’s definitely possible.»

«If we wish to be a nation, we must establish laws and take taxes for the public good... But, if I can’t make my people happy... I shall be criticized and punished as the leader... I had the resolve, but...»

His words were heavy, as though he was thinking over each syllable.

As a leader, he must have had his own troubles.

To aid the princess, who was at a complete loss for words, Regis interjected.

«If the leader of an organization changes policy, there will be clashes and criticism regardless of the outcome. That’s why reform is difficult when things are going well. I think you made the appropriate decision, Mr. Diethardt.»

«...No... While I noticed the problems, I cannot correct them... I do not possess the integrity of the young princess.»

His eyes turned to Regis. These weren’t the malicious eyes from moments before, but eyes that showed respect.

«Are you a steward? A military officer?»

«I am... a tactician... more or less.»

«A tactician. So you are the man behind my capture.»

«...The soldiers were the ones behind your capture... But I am the one who conceived the plan.»

He isn’t going to get angry at me for leading him into a trap, is he? He knew it was a bit late, but he didn’t want to show an unsightly side to Altina. And so, even though he was cowering internally, Regis put up a false air of confidence and stood tall.

Diethardt spoke resignedly.

«Had I... a tactician like yourself... perhaps I would have met a different end.»

«Y-You overestimate me. With such a disparity in numbers, victory was always ours in an upfront confrontation.»

«No matter. It is my defeat... If I may make a request, I pray the others aren’t executed. At the very least, that their lives may be spared.»

«...If the princess may weigh in.»

She dropped her chin in a single nod, then Altina took over the conversation.

«I’d like to ask you something... Why did you and your men attack our fort? Was it revenge against the empire?»

«There are those in Bargenheim who resent the empire. Many lost their families and loved ones in the long years of war. But revenge was not our objective. The grand duchy of Varden, of the Germanian Federation, has started cultivating the forests, threatening our land.»

«That sounds like a very pressing matter.»

«Right... The population of my nation has seen exceptional growth this year, and so we require even more food and shelter. That problem would have been resolved if we captured this fort.»

«Hm. I would have preferred if you attacked Varden instead of us.»

«That’d be impossible with Fort Volks in the way.»

«What’s that?» Altina tilted her head.

Regis hurriedly whispered into her ear, speaking quietly so only she could hear:

“...A fortress in the grand duchy. In the forty years since its construction, no enemy force has ever set foot on its grounds. It’s been called ‘impregnable.’”

“Oh, didn’t know that was there.”

“...It’s quite embarrassing if our commander doesn’t know about the enemy fortress right across from us.”

“I-I know that. Up to this point, my direct enemies were Sir Jerome and my own emotions. This is where it starts for real.”

“Whatever works...”

She had not received the education to lead an army, and she would need more time before she was ready to do so. After all, right now Altina was only just at the age where one would normally enroll at the military academy.

Whatever the case, Altina put the conversation back on track.

«So Bargenheim didn’t invade out of hatred for the empire?»

«That was not our sole reason, no.»

«That’s sufficient.»

Altina leaned in. Her left arm was still hidden beneath her mantle, so only her right elbow planted onto the table. Then, she spoke again.

«I don’t feel like executing you!»

«...What?»

«I have a goal that I can’t achieve with the soldiers in this fort alone. I won’t force you to become my subordinate, but I wish for the cooperation of the people of Bargenheim!»

Altina was serious, and Regis had also been considering the idea. The three thousand soldiers of the Beilschmidt border regiment alone wouldn’t make for a force strong enough to oppose the other princes.

Diethardt, struck speechless, sat in consideration for a moment.

«I see... Instead of executing me, you want to expand your war potential. How rational.»

«Then you’ll help me out!?»

The barbarian king reigned in her smile before it could bloom.

«Sparing the lives of me and my soldiers isn’t enough... I have comrades who despise the empire. Unless I return with conditions that will satisfy them, they will brand me a traitor who sold out his country in fear of his life.»

“Oh, he’s right... Any ideas, Regis?”

“We should be fine in that regard. I’ve read plenty of treaties between nations; I should be able to come up with acceptable terms.”

“Hmm... That’s helpful, but... why were you reading treaties?”

“Eh? I mean, they’re freely available for anyone to read.”

“Was it any fun?”

“Mnn... The ones just renewing past treaties word-for-word were pretty boring... Oh, the treaty between High Britannia and Nederland in the year 809 was a masterpiece—in exchange for three hundred thousand pounds (approximately 136 metric tons) of silver, they accepted the same weight in tea leaves.”

“Just how much does that country love its tea?”

“Hahaha... It’s pretty standard to offer marriage or send gifts as a sign of peaceful negotiation.”

“Should we send something too?”

“As this is more of a secret agreement, you really shouldn’t make offerings that’d be evidence of— Ah, I mean, your highness, I believe such offerings are unnecessary.”

“You don’t have to speak so formally... So, what conditions are in order?”

Regis mentally scanned all the provisions he’d read and put together something appropriate.

“Fourth Princess Marie Quatre requests the assistance of the nation of Bargenheim. More precisely, the parties concerned shall erect a united front against the Germanian Federation. As collateral, we offer enough food support and temporary housing to pass the winter. Additionally, when the princess becomes empress, she shall recognize the sovereignty of Bargenheim, and agrees to mutual nonaggression henceforth.”

“Mhmm, I see. I don’t really get it, but that definitely sounds like a treaty!”

«You’re asking us to become a vassal state of the empire?»

«Both sides should be of equal standing, should they not? Both people and countries are better off without ranking their worth.»

Altina spoke as though her words were self-evident.

Diethardt fell into thought once more.

«If you can promise those conditions, I will be able to convince my comrades.»

«Then you’ll help us out, won’t you!?»

«I will.»

«Thank you!»

She presented her right hand.

“Ah...”

A handshake was bad news. Regis moved to stop her, but Diethardt was already shaking his head before he could.

«Your soldiers are watching. No soldier would see to it that a princess who treats a mere barbarian as her equal becomes emperor.»

«Yes, you may be right.»

«I need you to succeed. For the sake of my country...»

«Of course!»

«...Still, what a truly splendid individual you are. It’s hard to come upon such excellence... Upon someone I would be honored to bring back to my country as a partner.»

«Eh? Partner!?»

You want to marry me!? The very idea overwhelmed her.

Diethardt responded with a simple nod.

«This is the first time I’ve ever met someone I wanted to accompany me for the rest of my life. Perhaps this is what you call ‘affection’...»

“Wait... Wait—!” Altina shot up from her chair, her face such a deep shade of red that even her hair seemed to pale in comparison. “Regis, what do I do!?”

“W-What...? Well, of course, it’s not happening. You’re still fourteen. You can’t legally get married yet.”

“Eh? That’s your only reason?”

“...No... The rest depends on how you feel. Personally, if possible... Ah, but I have no right to make that decision for you. ‘Love led by one’s own will is the most important condition for human happiness.’ That’s what Coillier wrote... Ah, but I get the feeling he’s just a bit of a philanderer, so...”

This sudden marriage proposal had thrown Regis into a panic. He could hardly put his thoughts into words.

“Regis. You don’t care if I marry this man?”

Altina furrowed her brow and stuck out her lips in a show of discontent.

“...From my position—”

«What are you talking about?»

Diethardt rose from his seat and, without hesitation, walked over.

Up close, he was even taller than Jerome. His shoulders were wide, and his very presence carried a particular intensity. Perhaps it came from his barbarian robes made of pelts and feathers.

With his tempered fingers, he took Regis’s hand. Not Altina’s.

This was the hand of a seasoned warrior.

Regis’s was small and slender. Compared to this man’s, his was as delicate as that of a young girl.

Diethardt gazed at him with heated eyes.

«If you will permit it, I ask that you come to Bargenheim to guide me.»

“Me!?”

“Absooolutely not!” cried Altina, who was already forcing her body between the two. “Thoroughly, unreservedly, definitively not!”

«Hm. I understand. You would never relinquish such an excellent tactician.»

“Huh? Oh, yes. Regis is my tactician, you hear!?”

So he wanted to take me as a tactician. Thank God... Regis breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He had read before that nobles from the Germanian Federation expressed romantic interest in men and women alike. As that was likely where Diethardt hailed from, for a moment, a chill had trickled down Regis’s spine. This was the first time he’d ever sweat so much just from standing still.

The barbarian king kneeled to Altina.

«You say you will spare the lives of my brethren, will support us with supplies, and will even treat us as the empire’s equal... Imperial Princess Marie Quatre. I offer you my thanks, and promise my utmost assistance toward your ambition.»

«Thank you. I am grateful for your and your nation’s cooperation.»

Altina returned a deep nod, which Diethardt met with one last smile.

“Tous mes vœux (I wish you the best),” he said in fluent Belgarian.

✧ ✧ ✧

Regis thought about the founding of the empire, over eight hundred years ago—

Adrien Belgaria was born in Equitania, a region dotted with small kingdoms (and a western territory in the modern Belgarian empire). Due to a series of misfortunes, he was brought up under a nomadic tribe. Many believe this was why he developed an affinity for horse-riding and displayed such peerless strength with the sword.

Using these skills, he won every battle laid out before him. And he continued to win.

As the legends went, by the end of his days, he was matching wits with God and locking blades with the Devil. The likes of mere mortals could no longer compare.

Events from that era were only passed down by word of mouth, so it was quite likely dramatized, but... the fact stood that Adrien Belgaria became the first emperor of what would become the modern Belgarian empire. Inspired by his blazing red hair and crimson eyes, they would revere him as L’Empereur Flamme.

History still debates when he set out to found a nation.

The nobles assert: ‘The emperor was born an emperor.’

The churches preach: ‘He received a revelation from God.’

The soldiers and merchants maintain: ‘The victor may just as well call himself emperor.’

Regis believed the most exceptional book he had ever read was the Bible. As for why it was so exceptional? Simply stating he believed in it seemed to spare him from arguments with most people.

The second most exceptional work, however, came from a certain historian.

A historian who presented the theory that Adrien never once called himself an emperor.

He proposed that, after his death, the emperor was deified by his ministers so they could use the great leader’s influence to stabilize the nation. They would groom his son from an early age to be the second emperor, and enough evidence was presented to lend credibility to his argument.

Of course, his assertion could never be publicly accepted...

However it took place, Adrien Belgaria led his tribe through countless battles, merged the surrounding nations and settlements, and laid the foundation for an enormous power.

It was true that a new era was upon them, but in gaining the cooperation of the barbarians, perhaps Altina had taken her first step toward a similar path of greatness.

The moment he saw Diethardt kneel to her—

Regis’s body heat rose just a bit as he wondered whether he was taking part in history.

✧ ✧ ✧

Diethardt was released, and the barbarians were informed of the meeting’s results.

As the barbarian king had mentioned, there were those with grudges against the empire among them, so Regis expected some unsavory comments at the very least. But, because of their leader’s popularity—or perhaps the appeal of the promised support and supplies—there didn’t seem to be much friction at all.

It was equally possible they simply no longer had the strength to stage a do-or-die resistance.

The next day, they were offered the expeditionary tents and given preserved foods.

Also, while it wasn’t that Altina didn’t trust them, it would be laughable if the barbarians just made off with all the supplies. There was also the need to exchange information. And so, five soldiers who spoke Germanian were to accompany them.

The princess had gained a tactician during the height of a duel, entered and resolved a battle, and concluded successful peace talks—all within the span of twenty-four hours. Every single detail needed to be chronicled and reported.

What’s more, Regis couldn’t exactly be truthful about what had happened.

His administrative work was suddenly more than three times what it had been. This was an amount usually shared between thirty people.

So he spent his days buried in papers. And, before he had even realized, the year was over.

At a later date, Regis would calmly recount:

“More than when the barbarians invaded the fort, more than when the base camp was burned down, more than when I confronted the gray wolves in the blizzard... I thought I was about to die.”

Interlude

The year came to a quiet close, and paved the way for Imperial Year 851—

“Regis? Regis! Oh, there you are.”

Altina burst into the officers’ dining hall, having apparently been looking for him. She walked across to where he was sitting, and thumped down into the open seat.

It was currently three past noon, and the other officers were nowhere to be found.

“Please stop running around shouting my name... I’m not some kind of pet.”

“You’re right about that. A pet would respond and come to you if you called for them.”

“...I see.”

Now that he thought about it, he had never deliberately responded to anyone who called his name.

“In that case... I’m worse than a pet. Can you please stop running around, shouting my name?”

“Why?”

“It’s embarrassing... I’m always in the dining hall or my room. That’s where you’ll find me.”

“A little exercise would do wonders for your health.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of nobles who grow ill from lack of exercise. A disease the least of a commoner’s worries. If you’re concerned about my health, I could really do with a few more hours of sleep.”

“You’re not sleeping?”

“I still haven’t finished up that matter from last year.”

“Ah. That must be a lot of work.”

“If you sympathize, could you get some more administrative officers?” Regis pleaded, his voice ragged.

Altina shrugged. “I put in a request, but... it’s not working out. News that our border regiment doesn’t have any admin officers is finally spreading, and it’s giving the place a terrible reputation. Everyone thinks they’ll be worked to death, so no one wants to come.”

“Go tell the ministry I’m still alive, just dead on the inside. Oh, and my room is overflowing with paperwork. And I have no time to sleep...”

“You really want me to tell them that?”

“...Put down ‘safe, easy, and high-paying (opinions may vary)’ on the recruitment flier.”

“I’ll use my own discretion. More importantly, listen to this! I got a letter from a friend in the capital!”

Altina produced an expensive-looking white envelope.

“Say what!?” Regis doubted his ears but, on closer inspection, it was definitely addressed to her.

“Umm... I haven’t gotten to the surprising part yet. The surprise is what it says...”

“You actually have friends!?”

It truly was a surprise.

Altina furrowed her brow.

“Now look here... Is that really how you’ve been looking at me!?”

“I assumed you were isolated in the imperial court, so I just—”

“Gnn... Yes, I’ll admit I didn’t really hit it off with the other nobles, but...”

As their conversation continued, the maid Clarisse came in with tea. A mature, graceful woman. She was a little older than Regis, but it probably wasn’t this age difference that gave her such an impression.

“Pardon me. Princess, would you care for some tea?”

“I’d love some! Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome—and what about you, Mr. Regis?”

This set-up felt all too familiar. Last time Regis thought she was offering him tea, she instead teased him by saying, ‘I was simply asking what you planned to do next.’

I’m not making the same mistake twice, he resolved; and so Regis proceeded with the utmost caution.

“...Is that a question about my future?”

“Oh, how delightful, Mr. Regis. You wish to talk about your future with me? But we’re still in front of the princess... Ah, how embarrassing...”

“Wait, what!?”

“To think I’d be proposed to while pouring a cup of tea. What shall I do, princess?” Clarisse was now innocently batting her eyelids, swaying her hips from side to side like a smitten maiden.

Altina’s eyes shot open wide.

“That was a proposal!?”

“No! I did nothing of the sort!”

“R-Right. Ah, that was a surprise.”

“Ufufu... Here’s your tea. Incidentally, princess, is the letter from Balthazar?”

“Yeah.”

An important person from the capital, perhaps? The name definitely rang a bell, but Regis couldn’t put his finger on why. Going off the name alone, they were most likely male.

Regis felt a growing restlessness for a reason he couldn’t quite discern.

“...Is he a close friend of yours?”

“That’s right. He’s an old man going on sixty now, but he used to be quite the famous swordsman. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

“Huh? Wait, you can’t mean Duke Balthazar Basil de Balzac!? The strongest swordsman in the empire!?”

“Right, right. His sword has been passed down his house since the days of L’Empereur Flamme. Balthazar’s already retired, but he still drops by the court every now and again.”

“How did you come to know him?”

“Well, I was swinging my sword in the courtyard one day, and he suddenly roared, ‘Completely wrong!’”

Regis was at a loss for words. There were far too many points to retort.

Clarisse, on the other hand, responded with no more than a simple head shake.

“...The imperial courtyard... Princess, you were swinging your sword in the imperial courtyard?”

“Ahaha, I was ten. Don’t worry about it.”

“...That wasn’t the only time, was it?”

“Well, I was doing it... practically every day.”

Then being ten had absolutely nothing to do with it. Regis groaned internally.

“...And Sir Balthazar also sounds like something else... Exploding at a young princess...”

“According to him, when you’re swinging a sword, it doesn’t matter if you’re female or even royalty. You’re a swordsman, and so should be treated as one.”

“He’s definitely an odd one.”

He had to be, to deliberately speak to the princess while she was being ostracized by the palace.

“Ever since that day, he would train me in swordplay whenever he dropped by the palace.”

“He taught you!? The great Sir Balthazar!?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t take students, but he said he could give me pointers as ‘a fellow warrior pursuing the blade.’ That’s how we became friends.”

“It was written in a book on the various sword styles... that the house of Balzac only passes its technique on to their direct descendants. They don’t accept outside disciples.”

“Oh, I see.”

Regis was completely flabbergasted, but Altina took the news all too easily.

“They always looked as though they were having the time of their lives swinging those swords together... I often brought them water as they trained,” Clarisse reminisced.

“Good times.”

“Though I was very much troubled when he suggested I start learning swordplay too...”

“Ahaha, right, right. You think old Balthazar was actually just bored?”

“But wasn’t that style supposed to stay within his house!?” Regis interjected.

It was quite possible he only taught her the basics, and had sidestepped the forbidden techniques he was supposed to hide. Balthazar was old and retired, after all. Even so, it was amazing to hear Altina was a direct disciple of the man praised as the empire’s strongest. No wonder she was so skilled despite her lack of real combat experience.

But why did the old swordsman teach the imperial princess, who wasn’t related to him by blood, how to properly wield a blade? Was it on a whim? Did he feel sorry for her?

I’d like to have a good talk with him someday, Regis decided.

Altina pushed a finger beneath the flap of the envelope and, in one clean movement, opened the letter.

“So, you see, it turns out Balthazar heard the rumors about our border regiment.”

“What rumors?”

“See for yourself...”

She spread the parchment out over the table.

It was top-grade paper, scrawled with thick and powerful strokes.

The new year comes and goes, and so soon shall my time.

The world grows distant from me, but an exhilarating tale immediately brought a pen to my hand.

My dear friend has added barbarians to her troops on the northern frontier, bolstering her forces two, perhaps threefold.

It brings vividly to mind the legend of L’Empereur Flamme.

Watching those weak-armed nobles panic does wonders to spice up my days.

What fun it must be there. I aspired to head out myself, the emperor’s sword in hand, but my wife has regrettably detained me.

When you reach my age, not even fancy techniques and legendary blades stand a chance against the stubbornness of a loved one.

I intend to be your senior even in heaven. Don’t dare go before me.

To a dear friend,

Balthazar

“Hmm... I see.” Regis groaned.

Altina returned an innocent smile.

“Isn’t that amazing? We’re already the talk of the capital!”

“I did caution them not to make it public, but... I should’ve known it was inevitable. Of course the soldiers would take notice after we had them carry so many supplies.”

“Is there something bad about them knowing the barbarians are our allies?”

“That much is up to the discretion of the feudal lord, Sir Jerome, and you, as our fort’s commander. Regardless, nothing good will come of putting them on guard.”

“You think so? I think it’s better if they think we’re strong...”

“The trick to winning a free-for-all is to keep a low profile. Sir Balthazar is worried about you, too.”

“When he said, ‘Don’t dare go before me,’ he meant don’t die, right?”

That too, but... Regis pointed at the page.

“To most Belgarians, the barbarians are an unknown entity. No matter how effective their assistance could be, would it really boost our forces two or threefold...? The military authority doesn’t have a proper grasp on their strength. More pressingly, while this is a military matter, he writes that the nobles are panicking... They must hold quite a bit of antipathy toward you.”

“Really?”

“The enjoyment with which aristocrats look down on others is second only to their love of wine. It’s something they rarely give a second thought, but now that the girl they tormented has taken up a sword, perhaps they look back on their actions... and feel fear. You might even be their devil.”

“The way I see it, they’re the vile fiends sucking the lifeblood of the people...”

“You may think so, from a commoner’s point of view.”

The influence of her commoner-born mother had given Altina a deep understanding of the feelings of the people, despite her being a princess.

“In short, Regis, you’re worried the nobles might come to harass us?”

“In a nutshell. Just remember what happened to Sir Jerome.”

“Yeah...” She gave an empathetic nod.

That man had been shunned by the other nobles precisely because of his great accomplishments on the battlefield. He was undefeated on horseback, and very capable in commanding his squad.

And so he was reassigned to this borderland, essentially driven from the capital.

“They thought they’d taken care of a hero and a princess by exiling them both to the harsh front lines, only for them to gain an unexpected source of strength... How should they respond?”

“Summon us back to the capital?”

“That would actually be the best move. You’d be easier to deal with, so long as they kept you where they could see you. But I fear such a move won’t happen. Aristocrats treasure their comfort and standing; they would never risk having someone hostile toward them stationed so close.”

“Sounds about right. Then will they order us to stop cooperating with the barbarians?”

“That would be nice and simple to handle... The official report never said anything about an alliance, so we simply have to pretend no formal agreements were made.”

“Hm. So, assuming that’s their move, won’t we be fine?”

“I hope so...”

There were any number of means by which the nobles could chip away at their troops. Not to mention that the second prince, Latrielle, who had full command over the military, was rumored to be quite a sharp one. It was hard to imagine he would just leave a border regiment that had gained such unforeseen power to its own devices.

“...We’ll need to give the situation some thought.”