Chapter 6: Miscalculation

They cleared the vineyards and charged straight into the forest, along a path through the trees that continued across several mountains, eventually reaching Langobarti in the west. Stones and dead tree branches littered the way, and obstructive roots broke through the hard soil. A normal rider would surely have tripped and tumbled attempting to traverse such uneasy ground, but as expected of the finest picks of the First Army, the Belgarian horsemen raced as fast as the wind, completely disregarding the run-down roads.

Regis had initially shown some reservations about his riding situation. Is it all right for someone like me to touch royalty? he had wondered. Latrielle’s the marshal general of the army too.

“Wah?!”

Gonna fall! I’m gonna fall!

He had thought it was terrifying to ride with Altina, but this was something else entirely. They had maintained a breakneck pace the entire journey thus far, so he was being tossed every which way. Soon, he no longer had the leisure to show restraint. He clung on with all his might. He would fall off otherwise, and striking the rocky earth at this speed would certainly leave a mark. And with a legion of knights racing behind them, if the fall didn’t kill him, the stampede surely would.

Again and again, Regis accepted that he was about to die. His grip weakened as his hands grew weary.

Erk... This might be...the end...

Whenever he was riding with Altina, he was usually sitting at the front, where he could cling to the horse’s neck or grab onto its mane. He would often wonder whether the horse took issue with him inadvertently tugging on its hair. Now, however, he was sitting at the back, where he had no choice but to wrap his arms around the prince.

He’s huge... Is it the armor, perhaps? Latrielle seemed several times larger than usual, such that Regis could actually feel the man’s strength. This... This is the man who will become emperor.

And the man he would one day have to fight. They had a truce for now, but once Grebeauvoir was recaptured, Regis would once again be Altina’s strategist. They would return to being enemies for as long as their politics clashed.

“Hwuh?!”

A sudden jolt threw Regis up into the air. He clung to Latrielle for dear life, having nearly fallen from the horse’s rear. It wasn’t as though he was exerting himself sitting atop the steed, yet his heart hammered in his chest, his breathing was ragged, and his body trembled.

“Don’t fall off, Regis,” Latrielle said, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“Y-Yesh, shir!”

“There are several roads west of the fortress. One to Northern Langobarti. One to Western Langobarti. One that cuts through the mountains to the sea.”

It seemed that Latrielle had memorized the map of the area. That’s reassuring. If only Altina would do the same...

“Why do you believe they chose this path for their escape route?” the prince asked.

The queen fled down this road. Of that I’m sure.

“Th-This road to West Langobarti is the only one.”

“The only what?”

“The only road wide enough for her carriage.”

“The other roads are an appropriate size for a horse, but a carriage is a stretch—that much I can agree with. But are you sure they’re using a carriage?”

“Yes.”

“The queen had to use a carriage? I struggle to see why. Even if she doesn’t know how to ride, she can be transported as you are now.”

“Y-Yes, but...Queen Margaret will definitely have taken a carriage.”

“How can you be so sure?!”

“When we fought her with the Seventh Army, we had the Black Knight Brigade attack from behind. Even as the High Britannian main camp was in danger, the queen remained in her conspicuous carriage.”

“It might be different this time.”

“No...”

“Her advisors would surely have told her to escape by horse!”

“A queen willing to accept guidance from her advisors would not have joined this campaign in the first place, nor would she have occupied Grebeauvoir.”

“She could choose to ride on a whim.”

“Im. Pos. Si. Ble.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Even if she did choose to ride on a whim, that’s not the conclusion others would come to.”

“Mn?!”

“Anyone else would think she fled in fear of the imperial army—that she was so terrified that she left even the royal carriage behind.”

“So this is about her pride? She still ran nonetheless.”

“Perhaps, but she can always mask the retreat by adjusting her objective. Just as she did when she retreated from Fort Boneire, when the capital was a stone’s throw away.”

Latrielle fell silent.

Regis had a general grasp of the queen’s personality from their past engagements. There was no way she would flee alone, without using her carriage. And if she had with her any advisors capable of persuading her, she would have returned to High Britannia instead of occupying Grebeauvoir.

“If she’s wanting to save face, isn’t there a chance she’s still in the fortress? That she simply left command to the Langobart king?”

“If such is the case, then we are going on a wild goose chase, but we are losing nothing in the process.”

“Hm. So you would risk sending me on a wild goose chase?”

“Does it really matter, so long as we catch the queen either way?”

“I suppose not.”

A sudden rumble came from behind them.

“Huh?! What was that?!” Latrielle exclaimed, glancing back for a brief moment.

“I believe our final contraption has been activated.”

“So they released the water. How effective will it be? Does it really have enough might to decide the battle?”

“...Probably.”

Regis had only read about the method in books; this was his first time actually putting it into practice. There was a chance the dammed water would not be enough to defeat the enemy army, but that would mean every volume he’d read on the matter contained information that simply wasn’t true. Such a case would mean the Empire’s knights had a tough fight ahead of them, but that was why they had taken the high ground and why he had prepared a dam downstream. It was impossible for an army to stay long in a fortress once its bottom floor was ruined. The fortified city would no doubt be liberated.

There came a shrill whistling from farther down the path—a signal used by the First Army.

“They’ve found them!”

Their scouts must have sounded it.

Latrielle sped up his horse. The road swerved right, and so they leaned right to make it, veering so close to the side of the path that a branch nearly struck Regis on the shoulder.

“Wah?!”

Another leafy branch smacked Regis across the face. He nearly recoiled to the side in terror, but doing so would only make him lose his balance, so he instead gritted his teeth and tensed up. It was as Altina had taught him: “If you don’t want to die, then don’t move a muscle.”

Regis’s field of vision suddenly expanded, but what he saw made his breath catch in his throat. Beyond the narrow path stood a mass of soldiers, all with rifles at the ready.

High Britannian sharpshooters!

“Break through!” Latrielle shouted, drawing his sword and accelerating even faster.

The royal guard roared as they rushed to the front; then came the gunshots.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Haah...” Oswald Coulthard let out a short breath, gripping the sword that gleamed in his hand. The Empire’s cavalry were clad in armor and wore helmets, but there was a convenient gap beneath the armpit. He would take advantage of this to pierce through their hearts.

“Gah?!”

One of the Belgarian knights slumped forward and dropped from his horse. Without missing a beat, Oswald tugged on his own horse’s reins, urging it toward a black-painted carriage.

“This way, Queen Margaret!”

Margaret Stillart rode not in a box carriage, but in a light carriage for two. It was closer to a sofa with a roof and wheels, and while it was small enough to be drawn by a person, it was currently attached to a horse. This was a two-wheeled wagon known as a cabriolet, inside of which sat the High Britannian queen, one knee clutched to her body. Her skirt billowed in the wind.

“Oh my, Oswald...” she said, irksomely brushing aside her winding hair. “Won’t you do something about this? My hair is a mess. Do you know where my handmaid is?”

“My apologies, O elegant Queen Margaret. I ask for but a moment of patience.”

“It’s always like this with you. Always. You’re becoming a little fish again.”

“I apologize for repeating myself, but the knights who just attacked were most likely scouts. Their main force should not be far behind.”

“Oho... What a bother. Have we been driven into a corner?”

“It is as you say, my wise queen. Please, join me on my horse.”

Margaret smiled sweetly, folding her arms beneath and then pushing up her abundant chest. The thin fabrics she wore left very little to the imagination. “I refuse.”

Oswald paused for a moment before conceding with a polite “Very well.” He had expected such a response. There was no guarantee they would even get away on horseback. Oswald was not wearing any armor himself, and Margaret was probably lighter than the full plate armor the enemy riders had on, but Belgaria’s horsemen were simply much too fast—their horses were far better than even the finest steeds he had obtained upon capturing Grebeauvoir.

This much is to be expected of the First Army though, Oswald thought.

He heard gunshots ring out behind him. The soldiers he’d stationed along the path must have started opening fire.

So they’re already that close.

The sharpshooters were but a means to buy time. Oswald needed to slow the Belgarian riders for just a moment, or make them wary enough to proceed with more caution. That was his only hope of getting away, yet those hopes were quickly dashed as the hoofbeats continued to grow nearer.

“I’ve always known war can be unpredictable. It seems this is it. Please slow down, everyone.”

Oswald braced for the inevitable. He knew they weren’t going to escape their hunters, but he refused to surrender. No matter what, he could not risk anything happening to Margaret. If she continued fleeing at full speed and the horse drawing her cabriolet was abruptly slain, there was a chance she would suffer more than just a few injuries.

With their escape now but a pipe dream, Oswald determined it better to keep things so that the guards were still able to hear his orders. He sent out commands one after another.

“The twenty men of our rearguard, you shall dismount your horses and enter the forest! Open fire on those you see approaching Her Majesty, but you mustn’t shoot their commander!”

Following these orders, the High Britannian back line dismounted and concealed themselves in the forest with their guns.

“Everyone else, start setting up pavises in teams of three!” Oswald continued. “When you see our pursuers, aim for their horses’ heads!”

It was then that a knight in heavy armor, First Lieutenant Glenda Graham, lined up next to him. “Sir Oswald! I’ll buy us some time!” she declared.

“Thank you, Glenda. Don’t do anything drastic though.”

“Understood, sir! But how was the imperial army able to notice us?”

After catching on to Belgaria’s plan, Oswald had estimated the moment the civilians would escape and taken that opportunity to withdraw. This was the one instance when their enemy’s attention would not be on the fortress.

Oswald and the others in his escape unit had traveled quite some distance before the Empire’s horsemen began their pursuit, so the chances someone had spotted them were low. They must have been noticed after the fact. That said, there were several paths from the fortress’s west side; how had the enemy known which one they had taken? Or had they perhaps sent soldiers down all of them?

If there weren’t too many of them, we could intercept, but...

The Empire’s horsemen had appeared from behind and rode in single file, so it was hard to get a grasp on their numbers. Even so, the thundering hooves made it clear there were far too many—more than ten or twenty, at least.

It seems they anticipated I would take this path.

The enemy cavalry were closing in. They thrust out their spears, attempting to turn this into a close-quarters battle.

“Hraaaaaah!”

High Britannian guard soldiers moved to intercept, with Glenda already firing from horseback. Even though she wore heavy armor, she had numerous rifles on her back. There was also a cavalry spear on her horse.

“You bastards...will never get anywhere near...Sir Oswald!”

Her bullet pierced an imperial soldier’s breastplate, knocking him from his mount with a scream, but this did very little to stop the other horsemen streaming in from behind. She discarded the gun in her hands, grabbed another that was already loaded, and then fired again. Once more, her bullet struck its mark, but the enemy didn’t so much as falter. They grew closer by the second, their spears out at the ready.

“Raaah!”

“Gh...?!”

Glenda threw down another rifle, this time taking up her spear. She thrust at once, twisting her body to avoid the attack of an oncoming knight, and tore straight through her opponent’s flank.

One down!

“G-Glory to the Empire...” the dying man mustered in a breathless voice. He grabbed onto Glenda’s spear as a new Belgarian rider appeared from behind him.

I can’t pull it out.

Glenda let go of the spear in an instant and instead drew the sword resting at her hip, swinging at the new challenger with a resounding “Die!” She would brush aside the soldier’s spear and stab through his windpipe—or at least, that was her intention. She struck the encroaching weapon so hard that she nicked her own blade, yet its point was still coming straight for her. The strength of each individual member of the Empire’s First Army was greater than she had anticipated.

“What?! G-Gah!”

A sudden heat spread through her flank. Her intestines were on fire.

But...I can still fight!

She readied her sword to take him by the neck again. And then, all of a sudden, her foe was growing distant.

“Huh...?”

It wasn’t that her foe had moved; Glenda herself was falling over, tumbling headfirst. Her field of vision shifted rapidly as she dropped to the earth, her sword still in hand. There came a sickening crack from her neck as she landed, after which she moved no more.

The horsemen of the Belgarian Empire trampled the fallen bodies as they approached the carriage of Queen Margaret Stillart.

✧ ✧ ✧

Latrielle’s horse was at the center of the group, and it was from there that Regis issued his orders. “There should be an ambush in the forest! Please stop them before they can snipe at us!”

A portion of the cavalry leapt from their horses and sprinted into the forest. There were gunshots and screams, and in no time at all, the enemy soldiers in hiding were suppressed. All that remained was to capture the High Britannian queen; then the mission would at last be over. And yet, they had already lost twenty imperial soldiers.

Latrielle spurred his horse to the vanguard.

✧ ✧ ✧

The forest path grew dim as the sun began to sink away. Every last High Britannian soldier hiding among the trees had been taken out, and the high-class black carriage was now trapped in the center of an imperial encirclement. It had already come to a stop with nowhere to go.

Lying in front of the carriage were the bodies of many dead imperials. Among them stood a single man, defending his queen.

“Phah... Phah...”

He no longer had a horse. His sword was chipped. And yet, there he stood, the shadow commander of the High Britannian Army: Oswald Coulthard. There was a faint smile on his face.

Latrielle emerged from among his subordinates, gazing down upon the man from atop his horse. “Interesting...” he said. “To think you could take out so many of my elites. High Britannia has its share of excellent knights, I see.”

“Are you perhaps Belgaria’s marshal general and second prince, Alain Deux Latrielle de Belgaria?” Oswald asked.

“I am.”

“An audience with someone of your stature is far more than I deserve. I am Colonel Oswald Coulthard, a mere petty officer in the High Britannian Army.”

Regis was still riding behind Latrielle. He leaned slightly to one side, poking his head out to look at the man standing before them.

So this is Colonel Oswald Coulthard.

He was far smaller and thinner than expected; in fact, he was hardly any taller than Regis. He didn’t look particularly strong—perhaps owing in part to the gentle smile on his face—but there were many of the Empire’s elites dead at his feet. He was, no doubt, a man of unnatural skill.

Latrielle nodded. “Oswald Coulthard. I have heard your name plenty of times during this war. I’ve also heard you are Queen Margaret’s confidant and, in essence, the commander of the army.”

“Nothing of the sort, sir. Someone as perfect as Queen Margaret needs no confidant, and she may not be a soldier, but someone as incompetent as me could never possibly command the army of an entire nation.”

“I see... Then who was it who proposed all those immoral schemes?”

“‘Immoral’? Is that what you call it? Then I assume true justice is the strong taking up swords and spears to slay soldiers far weaker than themselves. Indeed, it must be wrong, evil, inhuman for the weak to even dare work their wit in opposition. Is that what you are implying, Your Highness?” Oswald asked. He sounded notably disinterested, yet he seemed to speak without end.

Latrielle shrugged. “I am not decrying the use of tactics. I am simply calling it immoral to blow up your own men and use civilians as cannon fodder.”

“Then what about ordering them to charge? You are sending men to their demise either way. What about taxing the civilians so heavily they starve to death? Is that immoral also?”

“You don’t understand,” Latrielle answered without a moment’s hesitation. “If someone dies in a charge, all that means is that they were not good enough. Perhaps they weren’t trained, talented, or lucky enough. Civilians are the same, for you see, the world isn’t sweet enough for every single hardworking soul to pass peacefully of old age. Farmers and merchants live not unlike soldiers—they give it their all, using their knowledge to innovate and adapt, yet poor fortune alone is enough to cut their lives short. That is simply what it means to live as a human being. But you... You would deny them even a chance at survival, sending them on suicide missions, binding the civilians and forcing them to take bullets... What else can I call this but immoral?”

“I see... As expected of the wise Prince Alain Deux Latrielle. I’m impressed.”

“I answered your question; now you may answer mine. Are you the one who devised those immoral schemes?”

“Indeed. They all came from the head of this petty officer.”

Latrielle paused. “I see. You know nothing of justice, but your ingenuity does show promise. To kill you here is a waste. Would you consider being of use to me?”

The surrounding soldiers were immediately astir. It was apparently rare for Latrielle to reach out to the commander of a hostile nation like this.

Oswald smiled. “I am fortunate enough to serve the eternal Queen Margaret. I am blessed with far more happiness than I deserve—happiness that I would never even consider giving up.”

At the mention of the High Britannian queen, Latrielle and the other soldiers turned their gazes behind Oswald, to where she was sitting in the cabriolet. A carriage of that make would normally have had a driver, but there wasn’t one in sight. Maybe he had fled for his own life, or perhaps he had died in battle. Whatever the case, Margaret now rode alone.

“I see...” the queen murmured, turning to Latrielle and cocking her head. “So you’re the young lion, Prince Latrielle.”

“Queen Margaret. I stand before you today as the commander of the Belgarian Army.”

“What a scary face you have there,” Margaret said with a giggle. “I’m going to be killed then, am I? Oh, I’m very dead. Very dead indeed. I’m getting chills just thinking about it.”

“If we wanted you dead, we would already be firing arrows. You shall be our captive. That should make High Britannia a little more inclined to negotiate.”

Margaret wore a sullen expression. “Oh dear. A nation as great as Belgaria is going to take a hostage? How small-minded. You’ve disappointed me.”

“I consider it a compliment to have disappointed a fool.”

“‘A fool’? Are you perchance referring to me?”

“High Britannia has an overwhelming technological edge compared to all its neighbors. You have such an advantage at your disposal, yet look at the result. Your name will forever be listed among history’s greatest fools.”

Margaret attempted to stifle a chuckle. “You think so?”

“Surrender now if you value your life, or if you want an honorable death. Should you oppose us, I promise you a miserable end, one befitting the foolishness you have displayed.”

“Aha... Aha ha... Aha ha ha ha ha ha! AHA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”

In an unexpected development, Margaret suddenly burst into laughter. Even Latrielle was taken aback. “What...? What is she...? Has she gone mad...?” he muttered.

The knights backed away as if dealing with some sort of monster.

“No, this looks to me like névrose narcissique,” Regis whispered from behind. “Narcissistic neurosis.”

“Hm?!” Latrielle turned.

It’s rather dangerous to look away when you’re facing a master like Oswald, Regis thought. “May I dismount now?”

It took some help from the imperial guard, but Regis was back on the ground soon enough. He was around ten paces from Oswald. It was a little far for a conversation, but considering the fallen knights littering the ground, he didn’t want to chance getting any closer.

“Queen Margaret so desperately desires to be special that she has become convinced she is special,” Regis explained. “Even in this situation, she believes that nothing bad could possibly happen to someone as extraordinary as herself—not in the truest sense, at least.” He was rubbing his behind as he spoke, having had so many rough landings over the course of an hour that he could feel the tingling all the way in his bones.

Margaret looked at Regis with a wry smile. “Oho ho... You say some funny things, don’t you? Who are you?”

“It’s a pleasure. I am Fifth-Grade Administrative Officer Regis Au—”

“Tactician Regis d’Aurick,” Latrielle interrupted, correcting him.

“Err...” Regis scratched his head, slightly ashamed. “I suppose that’s true in a sense. I’m a tactician in the Empire’s Fourth Army, currently accompanying the First Army.”

Oswald was taken by surprise at this remark, evidently just as shocked at Regis’s appearance as Regis was at his. Rumors about the famed tactician of the Belgarian Army must have resulted in him picturing someone more valorous.

“I see...” Oswald said. “So you were able to figure out we would take this path.”

Regis paused for a moment before offering his response. “That’s right. I thought this was just about right, what with the personality of your queen.”

That didn’t mean it was completely impossible for them to have taken another path, of course, so Regis had sent a few men down those as well. That effort had ultimately been for nothing.

“Oh, really?” Margaret sounded amused. “We’ve never met before, yet you claim to understand me?”

“High Britannia is currently united enough to wage a war, so its policies should at least somewhat reflect the personality of its leader. The movements of the troops should as well, particularly during this war.”

“Hm. So? Who am I then?”

“Your words and actions are founded in a bloated sense of narcissism. You believe you are special, that you are unique from everyone else. People like you tend to be overconfident in everything they say, seeking out nothing but praise from others. They might keep someone close who showers them with excess compliments, for instance.”

Margaret silently glanced at Oswald.

“Since this praise is all you need from others, you are wholly indifferent to their feelings,” Regis went on. “You are an extreme idealist who tends to set unrealistic goals, such as besting the strongest empire on the continent with the forces of a small island nation.”

“Aha ha... Interesting. Very interesting. Are you trying to tell me I’m sick?”

“In short, yes. Queen Margaret, in scholarly terms, you can best be described as remarkably unremarkable. You just coincidentally happen to be royalty.”

“What...?” For the first time, the smile disappeared from Margaret’s face.

Regis shrugged. “It’s still an emerging field; it might be some years before it’s accepted as an actual science,” he said. The fact it hadn’t yet been acknowledged meant it wasn’t included in noble or royal curricula.

“You’re calling me—me—unremarkable?!”

“Well, you might be a little ill, but not enough to require treatment. I’m only talking about your sense of values and slight tendencies in your behavior. They can apparently hinder one’s livelihood if serious enough. I’ve only read about them in a book, but if the discrepancy with reality is too great, it becomes impossible to even hold a proper conversation.”

“I’m thirsty,” Margaret said, averting her eyes. “I could do with some tea.”

“...Pardon me?”

Margaret had abruptly changed the subject. “You’ve been going on for so long that I simply can’t stand it anymore,” she said with a giggle. “Haven’t you said enough? We all know your conclusion.”

“Actually, I haven’t even reached my conclusion yet. You know, contrary to popular belief, losing focus partway through a conversation does not indicate brilliance or quick-wittedness. It simply means you are not exercising your ability to think. You’re only skimming the surface without making any new discoveries. All you’ve done is reduce the stimulation to your brain.”

“What?!”

“If your intellect were greater, a single event might lead to far more discoveries, and you would notice that there is much more to take into consideration. If you’ve grown sick of the conversation when we’ve barely even started, that is merely a sign you need to study more.”

“You’re calling me a fool again...” Margaret breathed, her voice quavering. She had previously been relaxing on her sofa with an air of elegance, but now her teeth were gritted, and a frustrated crease ran across her brow. Even so, Regis did not hold back.

“You’ve kept your distance from all those who don’t affirm your beliefs, seeking out cheap, unearned praise rather than putting in any actual work. You’ve also given your people an unrealistic ideal, instigating them with a fantasy that started a thoughtless war. As I’m sure you know, many lives have been lost as a result.”

“What about it? Everyone dies someday, but this is a war that will go down in history.”

“In history? At most, you might get a sentence or two.”

“Eh?” Margaret was looking at him doubtfully.

“Have you ever properly read a history book before? I don’t mean recent history, mind you; I mean the ones starting from the founding of your nation. High Britannia changes its calendar system every time the ruling house changes, and you’ve had around three hundred years under your current system. Are you aware how many wars were fought in that time span? There was a war exactly one hundred years ago too. Do you remember the nation you fought against?”

“I-I don’t have to remember every little detail.”

“It was Belgaria.”

“...? What...?!”

“At the time, the Empire was expanding its war fronts, and its troops crossed the sea to go to war with High Britannia. Our nation ultimately retreated when the situation worsened on the eastern front. No one gained or lost any land, and the king did not change either. It was an event no one concerned would ever forget, but now, most history books here hardly even touch on it. It gets a sentence, or a paragraph at most. Oh, I haven’t read too many High Britannian history books, so I don’t know how much recognition it gets in your country, but it stands to reason that if the queen herself didn’t know about it...”

“S-So you’re saying this war will...be treated...the same...?”

“You wouldn’t even have to ask if you had properly studied your own history.”

“But... That can’t... I mean, I’m—!”

“This is no more than an unremarkable event in the uninterrupted thread that is history. If we look at this from a military standpoint, the fact that High Britannia lost is even worse—it weakens the impact of the shift from the era of swords and spears to the era of guns. Even with your apparent advantage, the Empire won—that is what most leaders will take away from this. They will need something a little more convincing to change their current values.”

Margaret finally went silent.

“You’re quite harsh, you know...” Oswald commented with a sigh.

“And you already knew all of what I just said, didn’t you?” Regis asked. “You knew everything and manipulated your queen. Was it to rise through the ranks?”

“Absolutely not. Everything this petty officer does is for the sake of the great Queen Margaret.”

“How can you say that? Surely you knew that fulfilling her misguided wishes would only worsen her immature mentality.”

“I adore even her most broken parts,” Oswald said plainly, his smile not faltering in the slightest. Regis found this whole situation strangely uncanny. The mere thought that someone like this was leading an entire nation sent a chill down his spine.

“How could this be...?” Regis groaned.

It was then that Latrielle came forward. “I understand now. I’d considered it a waste of your military talents, but I have no need for a deviant who would knowingly ruin a nation. Move, or I will show you no mercy.” He jumped down from his horse and drew his sword, immediately sending his guards into an uproar.

“We can handle it, Commander!”

“He’s far too dangerous!”

“Leave it to us!”

Latrielle took one more step toward Oswald. “My inept command has cost me many good men in this war. I’m not going to lose any more.”

✧ ✧ ✧

“This is what you desired, isn’t it?” Latrielle asked, his attention focused on the High Britannian shadow commander.

“You know that, yet still you’ll indulge me with this duel. As I thought, the Belgarian royal family is quite fascinating.”

Regis sighed. Latrielle acted calm, collected, and mature, but he was still Altina’s brother. He would not run from a challenge. Oswald must have known that and deliberately cut down the imperial guard, having foreseen this very situation.

Well, even if Oswald was aware this would get Latrielle’s attention, actually cutting down so many knights is an amazing feat to manage.

Latrielle began swaying his longsword back and forth impatiently. “What’s wrong? I’m granting your wish. Are you going to keep me waiting?”

“Oh, not at all. I’m simply so grateful that you would serve up victory to someone as meager as me.”

“Nonsense!”

It was the second prince who kicked off the ground first, shooting forward ten paces in the span of one breath. His movements were as swift as when he had dueled Altina on the night of the celebrations in April, and just as he had then, he swung at his opponent in the blink of an eye.

Oswald twisted his body such that the sword merely glanced his shoulder, cutting through cloth but not skin. He then used Latrielle’s speed against him, focusing an attack on the prince’s left shoulder.

“You’re slower than expected,” Oswald goaded. “Is that armor weighing you down?”

“You and your bag of tricks!”

Latrielle also managed to dodge at the last second, but there was blood spilling from the gaps in his armor. He had evidently been injured, and now his left arm hung limply. Perhaps he couldn’t put any strength into it.

The knights surrounding the pair started beating their chest plates, their swords and spears at the ready. But this was a one-on-one duel—interfering now would only disgrace Latrielle.

“Hm! Hah!”

Oswald attacked again, this time with a flurry of thrusts. Most glided across the prince’s armor, but the ones that made it through the gaps bit into his arm and flank. The imperial guard was astir.

“H-He’s strong!”

“What speed...”

“Is the commander all right?!”

Latrielle glared at his foe. “I can tell you’re not trying to kill me. You mean to take me captive?!”

“Aha. An appropriate hostage is necessary to save the radiant Queen Margaret.”

“Hmph. You might want to check your calculations! Me, for the measly queen of High Britannia?!”

“I suppose I’ll have to demand a ransom as well then.”

Oswald picked up speed as he continued to attack. Latrielle swung his sword for what it was worth, but his opponent was always just barely out of reach. To make matters worse, he could no longer move his left arm. His wounds were slowly getting worse, putting him at a clear disadvantage.

“Grrk!”

“I see, I see. I thought it was strange that you tried to end our duel early with that reckless approach. Yes, how interesting.” Oswald chuckled, eliciting a slight grimace from the second prince. “Your eyes are losing their light, aren’t they?”

“Grr...”

The guards were in an uproar at this development, but Regis wasn’t surprised. He had considered this possibility on a number of occasions, but Latrielle certainly hadn’t been acting as though there was an issue with his eyesight, so Regis had concluded that the prince had already recovered. Sight was clearly a large factor in a battle between masters.

So he really does have an eye affliction...

Oswald continued to laugh, his shoulders trembling in amusement. “It’s getting dark. Can you even see my sword anymore?”

“Silence.”

“Ha! Aha ha ha! Of course! I knew it! Queen Margaret is special. She is beloved by God! See what luck we have been blessed with as we take our last stand! The wonderful Queen Margaret is the chosen one! What else could she be?!”

“Quit your yapping.”

“Oh, I’ll yap all I want! This is wonderful. Truly wonderful! I’m even struggling to hold back the tears! It’s a miracle! A true miracle! The radiant Queen Margaret truly is without equals! The one and only of her kind in the world!”

“Fool!” Latrielle shouted as he took a stance and thrust. “I might be struggling to see, but that doesn’t mean I won’t win!”

“I don’t see how you could win.”

Oswald’s blade closed in on Latrielle’s chest, only to change course at the very last moment. It was too fast for Regis to follow with his eyes. Perhaps the second prince might have been able to anticipate the attack had he been in perfect condition, but he was in no state to dodge. The blade pierced through his right thigh.

“It’s over.”

“Thinking that is why you’re a fool!” Latrielle barked. His dangling left arm suddenly sprung to life and immediately gripped the High Britannian’s right wrist.

“What?! But I wounded you!”

“That tiny blade of yours ain’t enough to break me!” Latrielle declared, using his free hand to swing his sword with as much force as he could muster. Oswald could no longer take distance; it was a guaranteed hit.

“Aagh!”

Oswald held up his left arm as a last-second shield. The blade dug into flesh before severing the limb entirely. Within moments, the Armée Victoire Volonté, the second treasured sword of the Empire, had eaten its way from the shadow commander’s left shoulder to his chest.

“Gh?! Aah! Gaaaaaah!” Oswald screamed as blood spouted from the fresh wound, and then he collapsed. His hand no longer clasped his sword, its tip now stuck into the ground at the second prince’s feet.

Latrielle had moved so shrewdly that it was easy to forget, but he had at the very least taken heavy injuries to his left arm and right leg. Still, he maintained his composure, raising his blood-coated sword into the air.

“We are victorious!”

✧ ✧ ✧

There were cheers and cries as Latrielle’s remaining men gathered around him.

“Vive l’Empire!”

“M-More importantly, we need to get your wounds looked at!”

“Hurry back to camp, Commander!”

“He can’t ride a horse with those wounds! Someone get a doctor!”

“What are you saying?! They’ll take at least a couple hours to get here!”

Latrielle could not give orders due to his injuries, and Oswald had managed to take out the guard captain, so the men currently lacked a commander. Their lack of unity was beginning to surface, and there were arguments abound.

Regis stuck out his finger. “Why don’t you use that carriage?” he interjected, pointing to the cabriolet in question. The knights all turned their eyes to where Margaret sat in her carriage. Barely a moment passed before they started closing in, swords in hand, out for blood.

“Yeah, that’s right! Let’s use the carriage!” one man yelled.

“What about the woman?” another asked.

“Just kill— Wait, we were ordered not to kill her, right...?”

All of a sudden, one of the guards cried out.

“Ah?! T-Tactician!”

Regis raced over as a flustered voice called to him. The carriage’s fine black sofa was covered in blood, and the woman inside allowed a wry smile to play on her lips. On her left side, he could see the hilt of a knife sprouting from her flank, just above her slender waist. It was a fruit knife.

“Ha... Aha ha ha... I’m...not going to be your captive. I’m not afraid of death...nor am I going to plead for my life.”

“What...?!”

“Aha...ha ha... Are you surprised now...?” she asked weakly. Her face was whiter than paper.

Regis felt a sudden heat rise up from within him. “You idiot!” he snapped. It had been a while since he had gotten angry.

The dying queen stared up at him in silence.

“I... I didn’t think you were this stupid. You have a duty to take responsibility for this war. If you want to die, you should at least die by the Empire’s hand. You’ve made even your own death completely worthless now!”

“That’s...not my problem. I’ve lived as I pleased...and I shall die as I please too.”

“Hate to disappoint, but you’re going to survive!”

“Wh-What do we do, Tactician...?” the guard knights asked, notably flustered. They were expert killers, not healers.

“Spread that flag out over the ground and place the queen onto it! It seems she’s been stabbed in the flank. Strip her until the wound is exposed. Also, get as much water as you can!”

“Understood!”

Margaret glared at the knights as she was dragged from her carriage. “O-Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you...? But it’s so painful... So very, very painful... I’m sure I’m...going to die...”

“If you can still talk like that, you’re going to be fine. I’ve seen plenty of people die so far, and I can tell you now, you’ll survive if we take the appropriate emergency measures.”

“Aha... Appropriate measures? Aha ha... How do you figure? I don’t see any doctors around...”

Regis began rolling up his sleeves. “No, but I read a few medical books at the military library.”