Chapter 3: Late-Night Coffee

The night breeze was strong enough to rattle the windows of the houses in Grebeauvoir, but such luxuries did not exist on the mountain range around 5 lieue (22 km) away. It was early in the summer, so the forest was densely packed with leaves that obscured their vision.

Regis felt as though he had become a shaman straight from the age of mythology—beings who communed with spirits of the trees, the earth, the water, and the breeze. They lived among the faeries, and in a forest like this untouched even by the moonlight, it wasn’t strange to think they might run into one or two.

The First Army had been traversing the road stretching from the capital to Grebeauvoir when they decided to set up camp. Having their headquarters somewhere in plain sight wasn’t an option, since they would most likely be spotted by enemy scouts and made susceptible to a sneak attack, so they had made sure to hide themselves in the forest.

Their opponent was fighting on unfamiliar terrain, but they had already launched a successful surprise attack in the past—and on the First Army, no less. They couldn’t afford to drop their guard.

Regis was currently using the standard tent for senior officers. A single sheet had been spread over the damp soil, on top of which sat a collapsible chair, table, and bed. Another sheet was then stretched around its perimeter, serving as a partition.

Most soldiers were similarly afforded a sheet of cloth to place over the earth, but little else; this was where they slept, and only the particularly lucky ones were given a second sheet to cover themselves. It was calculated that the addition of just one senior officer—or at least one treated favorably enough to deserve a tent—required an additional one hundred supply carriers, plus even more to carry the food for them.

Incidentally, not even Regis’s tent had a roof, though this was hardly an issue. The northern parts of the Empire very rarely saw rain, and while it was indeed possible that he would get drenched, the weather usually cleared up soon enough and the air was so parched that most things dried in no time at all. For these reasons, it was rare for an army venturing to these parts to take measures to ward off rain; in fact, the only personal tent to come equipped with any covering was Latrielle’s.

Had the First Army been camping out on the open plains, they might have prepared the house-like tents used by the Fourth Army. These were far more comfortable, but they were unusable in the forest. It was the commander’s job to decide on their campsite beforehand and to ensure their unit carried the appropriate supplies.

The hanging cloth that served as the entrance to Regis’s tent shifted ever so slightly, causing the tactician to look up from his papers. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” came a familiar voice.

“Oh. Come right in.”

“I apologize for bothering you at this hour.”

The one who pushed through the cloth was Fanrine Veronica de Tiraso Laverde. She had black hair that reached down to her hips, and she wore a black one-piece dress with a sash around the waist.

Fanrine was a noblewoman who looked completely out of place on the battlefield. Her initial assignment from the Ministry of Military Affairs had been to escort Regis to the capital and then watch over him during his stay, but when the tactician was asked to join an expedition led by Second Prince Latrielle, she volunteered to accompany him out of personal interest.

In her hands was a tray laden with fresh bread and coffee.

“You’re still awake, I see. I know it might seem rude of me to intrude, but I thought you’d want a late-night snack.”

“It smells wonderful. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Regis removed the papers from his table and tucked them into the wooden box at his feet. It was double-layered, built so that its contents would stay dry even in the case of rain.

Fanrine placed the tray on the now cleared table. On closer inspection, bread wasn’t the only snack she had brought—alongside it were peeled oranges and sliced peaches.

Regis picked up the wooden mug of pitch-black coffee and brought it to his lips. The strong drink was just hot enough to heat up his body and melt away his drowsiness. “This is really good,” he said with an appreciative nod.

“He he... That’s reassuring to hear.”

“Do you usually prepare your own late-night snacks back at home?”

“Not usually...but I decided to learn nonetheless. Any woman would at the very least want to be able to prepare snacks for her husband.”

“That sounds rare for a noble, but I suppose it’s always good to be proactive.”

“Thank you. Are you reading again?”

“Yes. Now that I’m an officer with the First Army, I’ve gained access to quite a few documents that I was previously forbidden from looking at.”

Regis reached for the bread. It was hard, owing to them being on an expedition, but also nicely buttered—quite an indulgence, considering their circumstances.

“So, are you not going to say it, Ms. Fanrine? Everyone who usually sees me reading this late tells me to go to bed.”

The orange glow from the oil lamp cast pleasant shadows across her face, making her appear even more alluring than during the day.

“I presume that is because they all worry for your health.”

“Oh, of course. I understand that. And I’m grateful for their consideration.”

“I also worry about your health, but I appreciate that you’re going to such lengths to achieve your goal. Not everyone has that drive, and I don’t want to get in your way.”

“I see...”

That’s one way of putting it, I suppose... Regis thought. Fanrine wasn’t just being kind—she seemed to have her own take on the situation.

Regis took a segment of orange and popped it into his mouth, savoring the wash of sourness, sweetness, and bitterness. “How about you? Would you like some?” he asked, gesturing toward the tray.

“I’m okay, thank you. I’m going to call it a night soon. Have you grown accustomed to being with the First Army yet?”

“It seems we’re not on bad terms, per se... Not on the surface, at least.”

“That is fortunate. You seemed quite concerned when we last spoke about it.”

“...Though I doubt the remaining members of the White Wolf Brigade think too highly of me.”

“The skirmish near the capital did cause quite a stir. There were noble sons among the First Army’s knights, after all.”

The brigade had lost both its captain and deputy captain in the engagement. Regis naturally hadn’t wanted any undue casualties, but Jerome’s Black Knight Brigade numbered five hundred, while the White Wolves numbered a thousand; one wrong step and it would have been his men being annihilated, so he couldn’t afford to hold back.

The current captain of the White Wolves was a new appointment who didn’t seem to harbor any ill feelings for Regis, but there was no doubt that the other knights who had witnessed the battle still resented him. He couldn’t afford to drop his guard even for a second.

“For the moment, they acknowledge me as Latrielle’s staff officer; their loyalty to him is winning out over their animosity toward me,” Regis said. He didn’t know of any other commander who could unite his men to such a degree.

“Latrielle is going to take the throne, isn’t he?”

“I reckon he will, once this war is over. And since the enemy is holed up in a fortified city, this will probably be the last battle.”

“What do you mean...?” Fanrine asked. She was good at her job and very knowledgeable of politics, but it seemed she was estranged from military matters.

“A siege is generally over once the attackers find a way into the castle,” Regis explained, biting into the buttered bread. “Those inside are rarely able to escape, so unless the enemy has another considerably sized army stationed elsewhere, they’re unlikely to manage any further attacks. Regardless of who’s at the helm, they’d be as much of a threat as bandits; it would be high time to proclaim the end of the war.”

“I see. So you’re confident we can win?”

“Hm... In any siege, the defending side needs to chip away at the attacker’s forces enough that they are forced to retreat.” Stalling long enough for reinforcements to arrive was also an option, though this likely wasn’t an option for High Britannia. That said, having the war remain at a stalemate for several more months risked the surrounding nations marching on Belgaria.

“I’ve heard that Grebeauvoir is a very sturdy city.”

“Yes, it truly does make a splendid fortress. It’s a marvel how it fell into enemy hands in the first place.”

“Do we still not know what happened?”

“No... We’ve apparently heard the story from those who escaped, but as a guest, this information hasn’t yet made its way to me.”

“Oh. How rude.”

“I’m sure I’ll hear it during tomorrow’s strategy meeting. I must admit, this is my first time in a position where other people are organizing the information for me, so I’m at a bit of a loss...but I need to match their way of doing things,” Regis said. He didn’t want to assert himself and risk causing a commotion, though he did find the situation rather unsettling.

“So, Regis... I thought you were pushing for Princess Argentina to become the next empress,” Fanrine prodded, changing the subject entirely. “Are you sure you should be helping Latrielle?”

“Saving the people of Grebeauvoir takes priority, as does ending the war early. I can’t risk standing by and twiddling my thumbs, else who knows when the next attack will come. That’s why I need to put aside my thoughts on the political power struggle, at least for this matter.”

“Right.”

“What’s more, I need to see whether Prince Latrielle’s policies are really so different from Princess Argentina’s. My goal is not to secure power, but to ensure Belgaria is on the right course. I’m hoping for a peaceful shift to pacifism.”

“But I appraise Prince Latrielle to be a template hegemonist.”

“He was, but our losses in this war have been massive, and the introduction of the latest firearm is going to change warfare as we know it. We’re entering a new era, and my hope is that the prince’s opinions will change along with it. Though these are only hopes...”

“And what if they don’t change?”

“...That is a difficult question to answer. Should the prince decide to wage another war to expand our territory, then I will naturally be forced to take some measures, but he will already be emperor by then,” Regis sighed. Once Grebeauvoir was recaptured, Latrielle would surely be enthroned. “After his coronation, there isn’t all that much I can do...”

Fanrine quizzically cocked her head. “If Latrielle is enthroned, Princess Argentina loses her inheritance rights, doesn’t she?”

“That’s right. There are no laws when it comes to inheritance, but there are customs. The grand chamberlain currently has the strongest say in the matter. He not only holds a high position in the Ministry of Nobility, but he also previously served terms as the minister of military affairs and the minister of ceremonies. He has strong ties to the current ministers as well. If the grand chamberlain doesn’t recognize a coronation, then chances are the other prominent nobles won’t recognize it either. In that sense, there is a form of parliament in the Empire, though not one stipulated by law.”

“But the emperor is meant to be the strongest power in the country. It feels odd that the grand chamberlain should have the final say in such a matter,” Fanrine said, lowering her voice to a whisper. She hadn’t been speaking very loudly to begin with, but now she was being extra cautious.

Regis could understand her bafflement. “He was appointed by the previous emperor and has a vested interest in keeping his position. But, well...putting that aside, we were talking about customs. Namely about the fourth child losing their inheritance rights when the second son takes the throne.”

“Right.”

“Belgaria is special in this regard. In Hispania, High Britannia, and the nations that make up Germania, a king without any offspring will normally be succeeded by a sibling. Like this.” Regis picked up an unimportant sheet of paper and started writing out the standard line of succession.

Ruler’s offspring → ruler’s oldest sibling → ruler’s oldest sibling’s offspring → ruler’s second-oldest sibling → ruler’s second-oldest sibling’s offspring...

In Belgaria, however, the siblings of a reigning emperor could not inherit the throne. This caused the order to change quite drastically.

Emperor’s offspring → emperor’s oldest sibling’s offspring → emperor’s second-oldest sibling’s offspring...

“As for why our system is unique, there was a tragedy long ago that involved a touch of assassination,” Regis explained. “Brothers were killing brothers, and the Empire very nearly fell apart as a result.”

“And I assume that was especially problematic here, considering the nature of our royal family.”

“Precisely. While this doesn’t necessarily apply to them all, the members of our royal family are each a match for a thousand men, coming equipped with indomitable willpower. The rationale is to avoid this strength being misused in quite reprehensible ways...”

As he spoke, there was one story in particular that stood out in Regis’s mind.

✧ ✧ ✧

The records were vague, and opinions clashed among historians, but there was an event in Belgarian history that forever shaped the Empire. It had taken place approximately 500 years prior, when the capital was still in the west and much of the modern Empire’s land still belonged to other nations...

There were three princes of similar ages, all of whom were blessed with red hair, red eyes, and splendid physiques. Some said it was as though the first emperor had been reincarnated thrice. All three performed splendidly on the battlefield, contributing greatly to the expansion of the nation. It was during their era when the groups who occupied what was now the capital were driven east.

It was thought that the Empire would remain firm no matter who took the throne.

When the reigning emperor died of an illness, the eldest son naturally succeeded him. He was now in a position to give orders to his two siblings, but opinions would diverge with every debate. The new emperor would argue with his brothers on how to handle the counteroffensive of the tribes they had previously driven away, and what measures were right for the famine caused by a natural disaster.

Then came the assassination.

The second prince killed the emperor—or so the story went. There was no evidence, and so despite all suspicions, he was next to take the throne. This was a mere half year after the first prince had been crowned.

Of course, the second prince was just as skilled as his brother, so the Empire did not waver in the slightest.

Another half year later, the third prince managed to expose the second prince’s crimes. While the details remain unknown, it is hypothesized that he managed to capture someone involved with the assassination. There were no laws by which to judge the royal family, and with no legal recourse, it was already too late for anyone else to take action. Thus, the second prince was executed by his brother, a fellow royal.

If only the tale ended there...

There were nobles who asserted that the second prince’s son was a more worthy successor than the third prince, and claims began to spread that he should have taken the throne following the second prince’s death.

The third prince turned to the nation’s customs, proclaiming that the previous emperor’s death annulled the enthronement of any offspring he had. His intention was to establish himself as the rightful heir to the throne, but his faction was simply too weak to silence the second prince’s advocates. In the end, the situation came to a head, and the two forces became embroiled in a civil war.

Modern studies of ancient documents and precedents suggest that the third prince had most likely been correct, but it was ultimately the second prince’s faction that came out victorious. The third prince was exiled, though none truly know how he spent his remaining days. Some say he raised another nation; others say he spent his last years in seclusion, and still others say he died in battle.

The result of this feud was that Belgaria lost three very competent leaders. Many crucial issues were neglected as the princes focused their efforts on the civil war, and so countless lives were lost to famine and attacks from indigenous tribes.

In this tale of so many uncertainties, one thing that is known for sure is that the eldest son of the second prince took the throne. It is from him that all current members of the royal family descended, and many say that they each inherited his nature.

The new emperor was young but still very talented, so the Empire managed to regain its power...but there was no denying it had been on the verge of demise. To prevent this grave mistake from ever repeating itself, a new custom was established—siblings were always to support an enthroned emperor.

...Or so the history books said.

✧ ✧ ✧

Regis’s coffee had cooled enough that he could down the rest with ease. “I must admit though, I’m against the idea that one’s blood should play any role in these situations. I’m also quite skeptical of using a past dispute as a basis for our system of rule.”

“So that’s where the custom came from?” Fanrine mused. “Interesting...”

“In any case, for as long as an emperor has living children, they take precedence over his own brothers and sisters. This custom stands in other countries as well.”

“Actually, if you don’t mind me asking... Say Latrielle becomes emperor and then abdicates before conceiving a child—what happens then? Would the throne go to Argentina’s offspring?”

“Hm... Not necessarily. We’re speaking hypothetically, of course, but in such a situation, Prince Auguste’s children would take priority. Something similar has occurred more than once before, and in those cases, the late emperor’s mother served as ruler until the child who was next in line came of age. If we see this trend continue, this would be Latrielle’s mother—Her Majesty, the empress consort herself.”

“His mother?!”

“She wouldn’t take the throne, mind you. She’d simply serve as a proxy.”

“And this has happened before, you say?”

“The Empire is currently home to over ten million people, but its population was much smaller three hundred years ago. Even back then, we were trapped in a never-ending string of wars, and sometimes both the emperor and the first prince would wind up dead from careless missteps in a losing battle. The throne would then go to the child of a relative.”

“I’m surprised any ties to the original royal family still remain...”

“Hah... We’ve got a princess with crimson hair and red eyes, so I think it’s safe to assume the first emperor’s blood still lives on.”

Fanrine fell into thought for a moment. “What about in High Britannia? If Queen Margaret is cut down in this war, would her sister become the next queen?”

“Yes. Their country has a parliament and clearly stipulated regulations for succession. That said, Queen Margaret doesn’t have any sisters—at least, not as far as I’m aware—so I assume her cousin Princess Elizabeth would take the throne instead. Oh, but the High Britannian parliament does have the right to dethrone their monarch. Considering their future relations with Belgaria are on the line, Queen Margaret might be booted out even if she does return alive.”

“How peculiar... What sort of person is this Elizabeth then? I would rather not have another war.”

“She has never appeared in public, from what I recall, and she’s still only sixteen, making her a minor in High Britannia.”

“Oh, I see.”

“It won’t matter who the queen is though; High Britannia is going to have it rough. Our peace terms will almost certainly include a demand for reparations, so if they accept, they’ll either have to pay an exorbitant sum or be forced to hand over their advanced industrial technology. And if they refuse, the war will only continue. I’m against an invasion, but...I don’t know what Latrielle intends to do.”

Fanrine nodded. “So your main concern is what His Highness will decide when the time comes.”

“Something like that. I’m personally counting on the prince to seek out peaceful diplomacy.”

“Say he instead pursues military domination after taking the throne—what would you do then?” Fanrine asked. The light from the oil lamp reflected in her eyes—orange flames dancing in two black pools.

Regis was well aware that he had passively stood by and allowed the situation to devolve to its current state. At this point, he would most likely be unable to prevent Latrielle from becoming emperor, but if the prince did indeed start expanding the war fronts, what action could he take...?

“...If that happens, I’ll do what I can. I won’t sit on the fence, I can assure you that, though I cannot go into any further detail. My apologies.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize. I should be apologizing to you, if anything. It must be embarrassing having a woman like me ask you all these questions about politics.”

“Not at all. In fact, I should thank you. Our conversation has helped me to arrange my thoughts.”

“Ah, is that so? Well, I think I’ve interrupted your reading for long enough. It’s about time for me to call it a night. See you tomorrow, Regis.”

“Yes. Good night.”

Fanrine gave a courteous bow, then she exited the tent.

Regis sighed. Perhaps the actions he planned to take would simply cause a repeat of the feud that had occurred five hundred years prior—a tragedy that would be forever etched into Belgarian history. If such were the case, there was a good chance that the history books written five hundred years later would consider him a heinous criminal.

“...I pray we can solve this without bloodshed.”

Regis didn’t want to see another feud between siblings. In his ideal world, he would never have the opportunity to prove himself as a military tactician; he would always be deemed useless, laughed at, and then left in the corner to read his books.

✧ ✧ ✧

Imperial Year 851, July 5th—

It was afternoon, and the Belgarian First Army was 60 arpents (4,287 m) from the fortified city of Grebeauvoir. Its ashen walls were visible just over the green plains at the end of the mountain path, though they weren’t yet close enough for cannons to enter the fray. The soldiers with the most excellent eyesight could even make out the flags of High Britannia and Langobarti, meaning the intel they had gathered so far was correct.

After finishing his lunch, Regis headed for the First Army’s headquarters. The atmosphere at the camp was completely unlike what he had grown accustomed to; the soldiers were all training as hard as they could, and they maintained order so well that he could hardly tell they had been marching for several days. He couldn’t see anyone walking around practically naked, nor was there any gambling or fighting among the troops.

There was no doubting the soldiers’ discipline as they continued practicing with their weapons, but they also took breaks when necessary. On the whole, morale seemed to be incredibly high. Regis had felt a sense of excess and complacency the last time he was stationed in the capital, but that no longer seemed to be the case, perhaps owing to the sheer number of casualties they had suffered in the war so far.

Regis stepped into the large, circular tent serving as the army’s strategy room—one of the few tents in the camp with a roof. There was a circular table inside but no chairs; meetings were to be conducted while standing.

I’m certain this was the agreed time, and yet...

Latrielle was the only person in the room, clad in light armor.

Regis hurriedly took out his pocket watch to check the time. “M-My apologies!” he stammered. “Have I come at the wrong time?!”

“Not at all. It is five minutes to one, just as I said.”

“But I don’t see anyone else here...”

“Indeed. That is because I told the others that the meeting would start at two.”

Regis felt a peculiar sense of unease; he could immediately sense that Latrielle was acting differently than usual. Perhaps he had somehow managed to rub the prince the wrong way, and this was where he would meet his end. He also couldn’t help but realize he had done nothing but read since he joined the First Army. Considering this poor work ethic, it was possible he would be driven from the capital once more as an inept fool.

Execution or expulsion... Which one will it be?

Latrielle placed a hand on the table. “Regis, it seems you are having a hard time integrating with our battalion.”

“Expulsion then...” Regis whispered.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, nothing. Um... Does my work not meet your expectations?”

“Honestly? No. You did not hesitate to speak your mind on Le Luce Hill, but in our most recent meetings, you’ve done nothing but listen.”

“...That’s because your administration has been so thorough that I haven’t seen much need for my input.”

“I see. I’d assumed you were too anxious to speak out among the others.”

“I apologize for worrying you...”

“That’s why I decided to hear you out before the meeting began.”

“...Yes, sir.”

“Could you take a look at this?”

Latrielle spread a map on the table. The scent of fresh ink wafted from the parchment, meaning new information must have been added quite recently.

Grebeauvoir was a provincial city located at the base of numerous hills. Its surroundings didn’t stretch high enough to warrant calling the place a valley, but the incline was steep enough to give carriages trouble. The city essentially lay in a basin among the mountains.

Thanks to its location, more than enough wind passed through Grebeauvoir to turn its windmills; the gusts would always move along the mountains, starting from the south and escaping north. The city also had access to a river that flowed in the same direction. It was vast and deep enough to carry a warship, eventually emptying into the western sea after crossing through Germanian territory. Its currents were notably powerful, such that it would take quite a skilled swimmer to make it from one bank to the other.

Rain was very rarely seen in Belgaria’s inland regions, so strongly flowing rivers were considered very valuable. In fact, the city had initially been built not only to put a check on Langobarti, but also to turn this abundance of water into a flourishing industry.

Next to Mordol, which lay across another mountain range to the south, Grebeauvoir was one of the nation’s leading manufacturers of paper and iron. The high-quality grapes it produced were also of great renown.

The Empire had stationed the Third Army to guard this key point on the northern front, but its commander, Lieutenant General Buxerou, had died in the war against High Britannia, and the Third Army had lost nearly half of its forces. Even so, there should have been more than ten thousand troops who remained at Grebeauvoir. Now that the city was captured, chances were they had been killed or taken prisoner. Either way, they could not be counted as usable war potential.

I see... Regis thought as he stared at the map.

“According to our reconnaissance reports, a majority of the allied High Britannian and Langobart forces seem to be inside the fortress portion of the city. They number around thirty to forty thousand.”

“A siege is a risky move when we, the attackers, are at a numerical disadvantage.”

“It was never a decent plan to begin with. That’s why I’ve solicited your help.”

Regis broke into a cold sweat. “No... That’s...” It was surely too late to bring it up now, but there was no omnipotent magic that could overturn any situation. He had thought things over and made some preparations, but he couldn’t guarantee they would be of any use.

Latrielle closed his left eye, staring at Regis with his right. “Our disadvantage is why you need fifty thousand sappers, correct?”

“...Yes, that’s right. The terrain is similar enough to what I anticipated, so I think they should prove their worth.”

These individuals technically weren’t real sappers, given that they weren’t part of the Belgarian Army; rather, they were hired construction workers gathered from around the capital, the majority being refugees who had lost their homes and farms in the war. Many had joined for the compensation they would receive for participating in the expedition, since this money would keep their families and them afloat for a while.

When all was said and done, Belgaria still needed to come up with a way to financially aid the families who hadn’t been able to send any workers. The current plan was more of a secondary relief measure to help the victims of war.

Regis prodded the map, placing his finger on the city portion south of the fortress. “The citizens of Grebeauvoir should be here, correct?”

The fortress portion of Grebeauvoir was built with circular ramparts, since curved walls were known to provide superior protection against attacks. Straight walls were harder to maintain, because their corners provided the enemy two directions from which to fire. It was far more of a challenge to use round walls when planning a city, however, so while the fortress was constructed in such a way as to optimize its defenses, the rest simply had to make do.

When looking at the map, it was clear to see that one area in Grebeauvoir had expanded west beyond the city’s original boundaries. This was a district almost entirely dedicated to the flourishing iron industry, and so most of the buildings there were related to its production and distribution.

Latrielle pointed at the expansion. “According to the escapees, the civilians have been imprisoned here in the iron district. The enemy are making use of the larger city.”

“There were escapees?”

“Indeed.”

“Does that mean there’s a secret passage, perhaps?”

“Unfortunately not. A few who were ordered to repair the wall decided they were better off jumping into the river below. They swam upstream to escape.”

“The river?! They must be master swimmers to have managed that.”

“Yes, it certainly isn’t something we could risk doing ourselves. The First Army is lauded as the Empire’s finest, but not even we have many soldiers who could accomplish such a feat.”

“But you do have some?”

“Naturally.”

As expected of an army comprising the Empire’s elites...

“What about the prisoners of war? Do we know where they are?”

“All we know for sure is that they aren’t being kept with the civilians. They must be elsewhere in the city or in the fortress itself.”

“If we consider this rationally, they’re most likely somewhere in the city.”

“Most likely.”

So long as the enemy army maintained their hold on the fortress, they couldn’t lose. Even if some mistake allowed their prisoners to incite a rebellion, the sturdy wall separating the fortress from the larger city would mitigate any damages.

Limited space was another reason for keeping the imprisoned soldiers in the city portion of Grebeauvoir. The enemy had at least thirty thousand troops, which was already enough to occupy every bed in the fortress. Wells and stoves were also in short supply, meaning there certainly weren’t enough to accommodate a further increase in numbers.

“This is assuming they haven’t all been killed, of course...” Latrielle muttered.

Regis offered a gloomy nod. In times of war, it was up to the enemy whether captured soldiers lived or died. “Have we figured out how we lost the city in the first place?” he asked.

Latrielle nodded in turn. “Yes. We have a few escapees among our ranks who were there when it was taken,” he said. And with that, he told their tale.

✧ ✧ ✧

It had happened on the evening of June 11th—the scouts on the southern, inland side spotted an army racing between the mountains. The dark of night had already begun to set in, so the soldiers themselves were hardly discernible, but their red flags bearing a golden sun identified them at once.

It was the Third Army, flying the very same flags that flew over Grebeauvoir. Their comrades were rushing home.

“It’s Buxerou!” screamed one of the lookouts.

“They’re being chased!” cried another.

The Third Army’s pursuers soon appeared from among the mountains. Those in the Grebeauvoir garrison had never before seen the flags of the High Britannian Royal Army, but they had heard enough through word of mouth to know they flew two red lines on a white background.

The High Britannian troops opened fire, taking out several men in the Third Army’s rearguard. Seeing this, the fortress’s acting commander immediately ordered his forces to intercept. They made sure to close the city gate behind them on the off chance that their unit was breached.

Their response was exemplary. The interception unit swiftly got to work, the soldiers expertly putting their daily training to use as they got in formation around their fleeing comrades in the Third Army.

There were close to ten thousand High Britannian troops giving chase, but Grebeauvoir had sent only three thousand to meet them. They knew that defeat was inevitable in a head-on battle, and to make matters worse, the Langobart Army had appeared opposite them to the north. There wasn’t a moment to lose; they needed to get the Third Army into the fortress, and fast...

As per standard military regulations, even a friendly army needed to go through proper checks before being allowed into the city. In this case, the fort’s commander should have at least confirmed that Buxerou or one of his staff officers were present. But the moment the incoming Third Army reached the front gate, someone began to scream, “We need a doctor! Lieutenant General Buxerou is gravely injured!”

The commander should have given his men the order to hold the gate, but as he headed for the entrance to perform the normal procedures, it was said that the soldiers outside continued to pressure the garrison for a doctor. From there, the situation only became more and more tense. The remnants of the Third Army were battered and bruised, with many having been struck dead before they could even reach the city limits. Their wounded couldn’t be ignored, and the Langobart soldiers drew closer with each passing second.

The exact events which led to what came next were still unknown, but the truth remained that the city gate was opened before any proper checks were made. Perhaps it was an order from the commander, or perhaps the gatekeepers had felt the urgency of the situation and acted of their own volition.

In any case, once the gate was open, the rescued Third Army threw down their flags and took up arms against the garrison. As it turned out, they were not Belgarian soldiers, but rather High Britannians in disguise.

The three thousand who had marched to the impostors’ rescue failed to receive reinforcements during the abrupt chaos and were subsequently annihilated. It wasn’t long before the fortress’s west gate was captured, after which the High Britannian soldiers moved through the city to secure and open the north gate for the Langobarts. It was at this moment that any Belgarian soldiers continuing to resist finally raised the white flag.

The soldier who reported all this had apparently been stationed on the western rampart. Upon seeing the Grebeauvoir garrison surrender, he threw down his sword and armor, then leapt into the river and swam to salvation.

✧ ✧ ✧

Regis pressed a finger against his brow. “Hm... It’s not like I can’t understand why they made that decision...”

“One might also say they fell for the oldest trick in the book... But we cannot ignore that the enemy actually fired upon and killed their own men to deceive the garrison. That’s not something any sane man would do.”

“I’m sure they weighed the loss of a few soldiers against the benefits of securing a key fortress, but I can’t imagine any decent army even attempting it.”

Latrielle frowned. “Any man willing to give such a reprehensible order would surely lose the loyalty of all his soldiers.”

“Right. Well, it goes to show that loyalty is not the only means through which one can mobilize an army.”

“This has that man’s name written all over it...”

“Colonel Oswald Coulthard, you mean?”

“Indeed,” Latrielle replied with a bitter nod, having suffered heavy losses to the man’s underhanded ploys at Fort Boneire. Oswald had gotten his soldiers to hide inside barrels of gunpowder, then ordered them to ignite the powder using an external signal. Those who lit the fuses had naturally been blown to pieces.

It seemed that Oswald—the man who was High Britannia’s commander in all but name—had an affinity for plans that required sacrificing his allies.

“Buxerou served as a powerful unifying force among the Third Army. Do you think the enemy knew this and abused that fact...?” Regis mused aloud.

“Hm... Perhaps Oswald had already predicted that their land routes might be severed and their attempt to take the capital might fail. This attack on Grebeauvoir may not have been a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

Regis was also the sort of person to prepare for various scenarios, but the thought that Oswald really had been ready to take Grebeauvoir left him in awe. High Britannia evidently had Langobarti on their side, so it would have been far easier for them to ride the river to the sea and escape home. Even if that didn’t work, they could have simply traveled by horseback; Langobarti had a prosperous horse breeding industry and were famed for their cavalry.

When Regis had first heard the news, he had guessed that the High Britannian Army had captured Grebeauvoir at the whim of the new queen—that was simply how pointless the move seemed to be. Now that he had the full story, however, he could tell that Oswald had made a considerable number of preparations for this mission. Had he foreseen the queen’s desires, or did the city truly hold some strategic value?

“There’s one thing I just don’t understand though...” Regis muttered to himself.

“And what’s that?”

“Oh, er... What’s Oswald thinking? What’s his nature? I’m having a hard time grasping his character.”

“Isn’t that a given? You’ve never even met the man.”

“Just as you can learn about an author by reading their books, you can understand a commander from their strategies. But he’s a formidable opponent...”

“Oh really?” Latrielle asked.

Regis didn’t think he had said anything strange, but the prince was now regarding him with a curious expression. It was possible that he didn’t believe in such a concept, and the fact that Regis still couldn’t gauge Oswald’s intentions made it even less convincing.

Does he have a goal of some sort there...?

A plan that involved sacrificing one’s own soldiers was definitely underhanded, but it was also most effective against a nation whose troops were famously honest and upfront. Oswald was smart; he had an extreme knack for micromanagement and winning small engagements, but when it came to his grand strategy as a whole, he had carried the war on a series of poor and overall reckless decisions. It was almost as though he was purposely marching his army to their deaths.

Assuming High Britannia were using the war to stimulate their economy, there was no need for them to single out Belgaria, which was known to be the strongest country on the continent. And while the tactics Oswald employed with his nation’s new rifles were beyond impressive, did he really think he would reach the capital with a mere thirty thousand soldiers? He had managed to capture Grebeauvoir in the blink of an eye, but surely he should have given an order to retreat instead.

Admittedly, there was some potential value to their current move. Were High Britannia to hold the fortress for a prolonged period, it would vastly lower Belgaria’s reputation, potentially spurring the armies of the surrounding nations to join the war themselves. Regis had already done what he could to prevent this.

Could it be that Oswald was planning to use the prisoners of war as bargaining chips to ensure his safe passage back to High Britannia? Regis couldn’t imagine Latrielle would allow them to escape so easily, especially considering all the damage they had done to the imperial army.

“Mn...” Regis groaned.

“...Buxerou chose the wrong man to command in his absence,” Latrielle eventually said with a sigh. “Regardless of whether his superior’s life was at risk, as long as there was reason to suspect an enemy trap, he should have prioritized the safety of the fortress.”

“Right. And there were definitely ways to check the army without wasting time...”

“For instance?”

“They could have stationed officers who would recognize the lieutenant general and his men outside the fortress when they sent out the interception unit, for instance. These men would have potentially lost their lives, but there would have been far fewer casualties.”

“That sounds appropriate.”

“It’s a rather simple plan. They must have panicked.”

“I suspect so.”

Regis pointed to the city portion of Grebeauvoir on the map. “Our first course of action is to rescue the civilians. We’ll almost certainly suffer some casualties in the process, but the soldiers will struggle to fight if we leave so many hostages.”

“It’s standard practice to assume that the civilians of a captured city are already as good as dead.”

“Do you not think we should put at least some effort into rescuing them before making that assumption?”

For a brief moment, Latrielle’s expression was tinged with surprise. He folded his arms and closed his eyes. “Of course. I don’t intend to sit back and allow helpless civilians to die.”

“Yes, sir.”

Latrielle once again opened only his right eye. “Do you have a plan, Regis?”

Regis paused in thought for a moment, resting a hand on his chin.

“So this is a troublesome matter even for an esteemed tactician.”

“A-An esteemed tactician...?” For a moment, Regis thought he might have misheard the prince entirely.

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t refer to you as such? Just consider your accomplishments.”

“I can’t say I deserve the recognition. That aside though, there are a number of ways to rescue the people of Grebeauvoir.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m just not quite sure which one is best...”

Latrielle didn’t respond, instead just widening his open eye in surprise.

Regis awkwardly cleared his throat. “I really am just regurgitating knowledge that has already been published elsewhere.”

“I’ve read more treatises on strategy than I care to remember, but none that would apply to this situation. What country is this book from?”

“I don’t think it’s something one would find in the imperial court...”

Regis had a particular interest in fantasy, drama, and miscellaneous essays. It was his nature to habitually read anything he could get his hands on, but he found works that played around with new, unfamiliar concepts the most intriguing.

Latrielle’s own adjutant Germain had written fantasy off as unnecessary to the Empire, so Regis naturally assumed that Latrielle avoided it as well. He had seen the books in the prince’s study, and not a single one had particularly caught his eye.

That said, I’d actually be quite concerned to see our future emperor with a copy of A Tale of Villainy Most Heinous on his bookshelf... It’s a story in which girls are shipped in boxes labeled as food. Admittedly, it was quite a thrilling read.

“Erm... The source of my knowledge aside, I do have a plan to propose.”

“Very good. I shall have you elaborate once everyone is gathered.”

Regis checked his pocket watch again. It was already nearing two, meaning it was about time for the others to arrive.

Latrielle gave a bitter smile. “Hm... It’s as I thought. You’re quite unique, Regis.”

“I respectfully disagree. All the knowledge I possess has long since been accessible throughout the Empire.”

“No, I’m not referring to your plans. I am a prince, a leader of armies, and a skilled swordsman. There are many who follow me, but few who dare question me.”

“Wh... Have I spoken out of turn?”

“When I suggested leaving the captured civilians to die, with the response you gave me, you might as well have said, ‘At least bother to put in the effort.’”

Regis winced, wondering whether he had acted too disrespectfully. “Th-That’s...”

“I understand that you are skilled, Regis, but I must admit, there were times when I wondered why Argentina permits such disrespect and a lack of decorum. I thought her foolish for doing so. Now that we speak, however, I’m starting to understand where she’s coming from.”

“Um...”

Unsure whether he was being scolded or praised, Regis ambiguously nodded. If Latrielle considered it disrespect, then surely this was a reprimand, but the prince looked more at peace than he had ever seen him before.

“Because of my position, no one lectures me anymore.”

“That wasn’t my intent—”

“All right. I see your point, Regis. Abandoning the effort because of the difficulty alone would be unjustified indolence on my part. Thank you for your advice.”

“That may be, but what if the plan fails? Surely then, leaving the civilians would have been the correct decision to make.”

Latrielle merely shook his head. “It seems I was rushing to make a decision, but as commander, I must consider all possibilities. From here on out, please do not hesitate to scold me for my haste.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”