Interlude
Interlude
The fortified city of Grebeauvoir—
A grand terrace looked out across a courtyard, at the center of which was a pond drawn from the nearby river. The pond was fashioned in such a way that its water flowed without pause, which did wonders at cooling the surrounding air.
The terrace itself was covered by an awning that blocked the intense sunlight and furnished with softly angled chairs in which one could kick back and relax. These chairs were basket woven, meaning the wind could easily pass through them. It was as though the entire area was designed to maximize comfort, and so it was easy to forget about the summer heat.
Sprawled on one of the chairs was a woman in a silk dress, who leisurely plopped a piece of fruit into her mouth. “Oho. Belgarian castles sure are pleasant,” she cooed.
She was Margaret Stillart, the queen of High Britannia. A native Belgarian maid waited beside her with a wine glass in hand, while another held a bottle, and a third some fruit. They provided whatever services the queen desired.
Near the door leading into the fortress, which was several paces from Margaret’s chair, stood the sole man in the vicinity—a man who wore a white uniform, and a slender, single-edged longsword at his hip. He was her strategy officer, Colonel Oswald Coulthard.
“O dazzling Queen Margaret, it pleases me beyond belief that Castle Grebeauvoir is to your liking.”
“Indeed. I must admit though, capturing it really was quite the farce. We should have been in La Branne by now, and yet here we are, among the mountains on the country’s northern edge. This certainly hasn’t gone as planned, has it? I didn’t get anything I wanted. The fact this castle dares to oppose my will is the only thing I like about it.”
Oswald lowered his head. “My apologies. This petty officer lacked the strength to see Her Majesty’s wishes through.”
The High Britannian Army had been a mere stone’s throw from Verseilles, only to be thwarted at the last hurdle. Their supply unit had never arrived, having ultimately been annihilated, and a report had come in that the Fourth Army was approaching from behind. Oswald had accepted the likelihood that he would be put to death when he proposed a retreat, but much to his surprise, the queen had instead burst into laughter. She had been more jovial than he had ever seen her before, to the point that she even started skipping around like a child.
Margaret perceived war as nothing more than a way to kill time. The prosperity of her nation, the extravagant buildings and treasures to be claimed in Belgaria... None of these mattered to her in the slightest. She had been granted everything from birth—a blessed lineage, enchanting looks, outstanding talents—and so she quickly grew fed up with life. It hadn’t been long before her days were filled with nothing but boredom.
Margaret twisted in her chair, moving in such a way that her dress rode up to reveal her pale white thighs. “Hah... Is Belgaria going to attack again? Our little vacation has dragged on for much too long.”
“The enemy army set up camp three miles away at noon. They number just under twenty thousand, and our intel suggests they brought with them a large number of construction workers. They will presumably be readying something before they attack.”
Margaret let out a refined giggle. “Is that so? I can’t wait...”
“I shall ensure that nothing worrisome befalls the esteemed Queen Margaret. Please, spend your days in peace.”
“In peace? I’ll die of boredom.”
“Then allow me to summon the musicians.”
“I’ve heard their songs a hundred times before.”
“We have rare wine...”
“I can no longer tell the difference between one brand and the next. They’re all so delicious. All so boring...”
“Why not enjoy the rustic beauty of two prisoners fighting to the death?”
“Why should I care which one of them dies?”
“Then I shall take part.”
“That makes it even more pointless. No matter who you’re up against, and no matter how close the match, you’re going to win anyway.”
“...My humblest apologies.”
It was at this moment that the door connecting the terrace to the fortress was forcefully pushed open. The booming voice of a young man resounded from within, speaking in Germanian.
«Oh, Queen Margaret! There you are!»
Out stepped a man in his mid-twenties, dressed in an impeccably neat military uniform. He boasted a tough but young-looking face, and the way he conducted himself made him seem like an adult who knew all that life had to offer. He was prone to going on about the nature of the world, but despite his confidence, his youth made him ignorant to much of what all men came to learn with time.
This man was Paul Langschultz, the new king of Langobarti.
Paul was noticeably disciplined—his hair was swept back without even a single strand astray, his uniform was the textbook definition of perfection, and numerous medals lined his chest. It seemed nobody in Germania had ever reprimanded him for his taste in women, however, as he had taken to Margaret rather warmly. He had asked for her hand in marriage the very first time they met, and then at nearly every subsequent meeting since.
«Have a look at this! I found an odd dress in the city. You like odd things, yes? Then rejoice!»
«Oh, I see... I’d say you’re the real oddity here, Paul.» Margaret replied in fluent Germanian, her words causing the king’s eyes to crinkle in delight.
Oswald, meanwhile, maintained a flawless half-smile, then reverently bowed to the ruler of their allied nation. He couldn’t help but wonder whether the queen’s last statement had been a compliment or an insult. It was most likely the latter. Paul was surely smart enough to realize this, but he seemed happy nonetheless. He certainly was an oddity.
«Margaret, you are as lovely as ever. Incidentally...what became of the dress I gave you yesterday? A splendid piece, it was.»
«I could not stand it, so I threw it away.»
«I see. That’s understandable. It was a foolish little number, after all.»
«Hey. Is Belgaria going to attack again? We’ve gone out of our way to occupy their base, so it’d be rather drab if they put an end to the war here.»
Paul thought for a moment. He was crass enough to ogle Margaret and brazenly glance at her exposed thighs even while standing at attention, but he did not lack the skills needed for his position.
«Once summer passes, the other countries in Germania will have finished their preparations to join us. I’ve heard that Estaburg in the east has declared war as well. The Hispanians are cowards, but even they’ll be willing to fight once the Empire’s spread thin on the northern and eastern fronts. Their kind is rather susceptible to bait, after all.»
Paul always spoke conclusively, as though he had extreme faith that his words were true. This was because he kept any uncertain speculation to himself. As far as he was concerned, rather than wasting his time voicing mere theories, he was better off gathering more information to confirm his suspicions—such was the Germanian way of doing things.
The king was by no means incompetent. His analysis of the situation matched what Oswald had gleaned himself, but even so, Margaret regarded him with scrutinous eyes.
«I don’t care about the other countries. When will the slaughter begin? Where is my mountain of corpses?»
«Belgaria has gathered fifty thousand construc—»
«Oswald already said.»
«Hm.» Paul gave Oswald a rather displeased stare, but the de facto commander merely bowed his head out of respect.
«It pains me to admit it, but Her Majesty did request my opinion on the war effort just a moment ago.»
«Think nothing of it. You are a High Britannian strategy officer; there is nothing wrong with you reporting to your superior. Now then, you were asking when Belgaria will attack, correct? That much remains unknown,» Paul said, offering a very upright answer.
«Then I suppose I really will die of boredom...» Margaret sighed.
Paul shook his head. «We can’t have that. I need you to be my queen.»
«Oh, is that so...? But being queen of some small country sounds even more mundane than ruling High Britannia.»
Oswald broke into a cold sweat. Margaret had abruptly dismissed their ally as the king of “some small country,” though Paul seemed entirely unperturbed.
«I shall not be the king of a small country forever. San Preussen has gradually been absorbing the other nations in the Germanian Federation. Once it reaches mine, I will show no mercy. After using Grebeauvoir as a foothold to secure more Belgarian land, I’ll take in my neighbors, then swallow San Preussen whole!»
«I’ll consider your proposition once you’re king of Germania.»
«Splendid!» Paul exclaimed, confidently nodding to himself. «In that case, to secure our engagement, I must smack down the Belgarians before us. They have a mere twenty thousand troops to our thirty thousand; I see no reason we would lose.»
Oswald couldn’t help but feel that Paul was treating the situation much too lightly. The Langobart forces stationed at Grebeauvoir may have made up only a small portion of the nation’s total army, but the ten thousand High Britannians were all Oswald had at his disposal. He had lost twenty thousand men and several warships since their invasion began, and the king treating High Britannia’s soldiers as his own to use was simply unacceptable.
«Please excuse my boldness, but High Britannia’s soldiers are still exhausted from the long march, so they will have a hard time keeping up with your nation’s elites.»
If you’re heading out, go with your own men—that was what Oswald had truly wanted to say.
Paul pondered the situation again. «I see... Will they need time to recover then?»
«Our foes wave the flag of the First Army—the flag of Second Prince Latrielle himself,» Oswald explained. «They are the strongest force the Empire has to offer. They have many capable horsemen, so we will undeniably find ourselves at a disadvantage if we fight on the open plains.»
High Britannia’s soldiers were already feeling war-weary, so keeping up their morale in the midst of combat wouldn’t be easy. Paul was quite evidently displeased about having his proposal rejected, but he was no fool. He swiftly changed the topic of conversation.
«I received a report that the First Army had a certain strategist traveling with them. Do you know him? ‹Aurick› is apparently the name he goes by.»
«That’s...»
«This information must be important if our spies decided to relay it, but I’ve never heard the name before.»
«He is the tactician who captured Fort Volks.»
Paul’s eyes widened in intrigue. «Interesting... I did hear about the fortress being seized, but I was under the impression that the fourth princess was responsible. Am I wrong?»
«He serves Fourth Princess Marie Quatre Argentina as a staff officer, and additionally managed to sever my supply chain. He’s a dangerous opponent.»
«I see. It makes perfect sense to sever the supply lines of an invading force.»
«Yes, unfortunately.»
The tactician Regis d’Aurick had managed to sink steamships with mere sailing ships, and he had produced fog at will. His skills were extraordinary enough that rumors claimed he had a contract with the devil, but no matter what Oswald said about the man, it could not serve as an excuse for his failure. He promptly shut his mouth, deciding that such talk was pointless.
Had they only been facing Latrielle, Oswald was sure he could have managed with Langobarti backing him. The presence of this infamous strategist, however, flipped the script considerably.
«If that tactician is indeed there, then affording him time is the worst thing we could do...» Paul mused.
«Perhaps, but I think sending our exhausted soldiers to engage the enemy would have a much worse result. Grebeauvoir is rather uniquely designed, but the defenses around the city are weak. I presume the First Army intends to have their workers build siege weapons so that they can attack the southern ramparts.»
«Even if they do manage to capture the city, there’s still a strong wall separating them from the fortress.»
«Indeed, but I have a feeling Sir Aurick will want to prioritize the civilians. My sources tell me he is the compassionate sort.»
«Oh... But what about the prince?»
«Latrielle would not have brought Sir Aurick with him unless he intended to take his advice seriously. He must have been appointed for his skilled responses during his previous engagements.»
Regis d’Aurick served Argentina as her strategist, though her naivete when it came to military matters meant he essentially commanded her forces as well. The fact she would concede such a vital subordinate to Latrielle was a sure sign that she no longer intended to oppose his rule. Or perhaps she instead saw this battle as one that would decide the fate of the Empire.
It was practically known by this point that Aurick had joined the expedition, but nobody could confirm that the fourth princess hadn’t come with him. The risk was low, as her flag was nowhere to be seen, but Oswald couldn’t shake the feeling that the Empire’s Fourth Army might be lurking nearby. If the Black Knight Jerome was present, that made leaving the fortress an even worse move.
The reality of the situation was one that Oswald couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams. Even with his great analytical skills, he never would have guessed that Regis had merely joined the expedition to avoid a practical exam. The surrounding nations believed that even Belgaria’s pet poodles were the mightiest around.
«If we allow Belgaria to occupy the city portion of Grebeauvoir, they could use the shadows of the buildings to easily approach the fortress walls, making them much harder to protect...» Oswald said. «They’re going to start by aiming for the southern outskirts of the iron district.»
«Can you say that for certain?»
«I’m merely anticipating the enemy’s goal, so I cannot say anything for certain.»
«Then I can’t risk sending out my troops. I’ll gladly send them out to meet the enemy, but I won’t have them go somewhere the enemy might not even be!»
«Very well then. I will station High Britannia’s riflemen there instead.»
«Leave the cannons in the fortress. No matter what happens with the city, we won’t lose so long as we hold our position here.»
«...Understood.»
Why was the king of Langobarti giving orders on the placement of High Britannia’s cannons? Oswald wasn’t his subordinate, but it seemed the man already considered Margaret and himself a married couple, and so he treated her armies as his own. When all was said and done, however, this was nothing more than a matter of semantics. Oswald had already intended to leave the cannons in the fortress, along with enough High Britannian soldiers to keep Margaret well protected.
Oswald had considered a number of potential situations. He knew that High Britannia’s new rifles could deal with any siege weapons Belgaria could muster, but the presence of their fifty thousand workers raised another possibility—perhaps they weren’t building siege weapons at all. Word had it that Fort Volks had been captured through the use of an underground tunnel, but that was surely impossible in this case; the nearby river meant that any such passageways would be flooded with water.
Another approach that Latrielle could take was to construct another fortress south of Grebeauvoir. In that case, the First Army would simply retreat from their current position once the lines were secure. Recapturing the stolen city would naturally be a better deterrent for the surrounding nations, but as long as their new fortress could put a stopper on any foreign invasions, that was enough. If this was the plan that the Empire ultimately went with, then Paul was right—their only option was to leave the fortress to meet them. Losing their strategic value was as good as a loss.
It was also possible that Belgaria might force a battle on the open plains, but with only twenty thousand troops at their disposal, they would surely be overestimating their strength in doing so. But this only posed further questions: Did they have reinforcements elsewhere? Would those reinforcements arrive before the other nations of Germania could invade?
Whatever happened, all Oswald could do now was watch and wait. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Margaret only needed to give the order to march, and his plans would crumble to pieces. He shot her a brief glance, but she simply yawned; it seemed that all their talk of war had bored her, and so she shooed everyone away with her hands.
“I’m all sweaty,” she announced. “Prepare a bath for me, Oswald.”
“Of course.”
Oswald sighed to himself, politely asked Paul to leave, then had the maids begin preparing the queen’s bathwater.