Final Chapter: The Port on the Southwest Sea

October 9th—

A warm breeze blew in from the southern sea and across Tarnoritz, a port city in the southwest reaches of the Empire. It was constructed over the largest harbor in the south, and there were several massive sailing ships moored at its docks. The clatter of wooden hammers echoed out from a great shipyard.

Far more ships were unloading their cargo at Tarnoritz than ever before, owing to the western port of Ciennbourg being in the midst of an extensive reconstruction. A great many people hoisted jute bags and wooden crates, vigorously carrying them to and from the holds of vast ships.

Tarnoritz was a lively city—rats raced along the streets, cats chased after them, and curious children followed along behind. It was also the principal residence of House Tiraso Laverde.

In place of a hefty estate for the city’s lord was a massive trading firm, so grand that all those who passed through it had to take at least a glance at its broad selection. Its goods ranged from daily necessities to accessories and fine art. Lately, herbal medicines from the far east had grown increasingly popular.

Three streets down from this bustling enterprise, Regis was being herded into a brick reception hall. It was a peculiar building—a mix of elements from Belgaria, its neighbors...and even nations across the distant sea. The doors and pillars were Hispanian in design, while the fine ceramic pots, wood carvings, and hanging scrolls seemed to come from various eastern nations. It was almost like a museum. The most Regis could muster was an astounded, “Extraordinary...”

“Aha ha!” Altina chuckled. “This is kinda fun!”

Behind them, Elize walked with a serious expression. A servant guided the trio to the farthest room on the third floor, where the new head of the ducal household, Elenore Ailred Winn de Tiraso Laverde, awaited them.

Elenore smiled. “Well met, Princess.”

“Feels like it was just yesterday,” Altina replied. Both women were bold in their own right, so they greeted one another as though they were old friends.

Elenore shot Regis a glance. “And you too, of course.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Regis said. “This is a marvelous manor.”

“Oho ho... You like it?”

“I do.”

“It could all be yours. You need only say the word.”

“N-No... That’s much too—”

“Or you could take my little sister Renoir, if you’d prefer.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“We have over ten thousand foreign books in the basement.”

Regis had to pause and think about that one. Only when Altina yelled, “Hey, Regis?!” was he able to regain his composure.

“Ahem.” Regis cleared his throat. “I have an objective and my own duties to attend to, I’m afraid.” He had said something quite similar before, yet Altina was now staring at him for some reason.

Elenore gave a bitter smile. “All teasing aside, I could never be so brazen. Take whatever books you want back with you. You’ve graced me with something so lucrative that I would gladly allow you an entire boatload.”

“Huh?! You’ve settled that matter already?!”

“Haggling with the upper crust is a specialty of mine. I told you that, didn’t I?”

“Still... That was fast.”

“Well, hesitation was not an option, else someone else would have snatched away my opportunity. I did need to make a few concessions; I paid a sizable amount to another noble interested in the rights to these new guns and settled things with the blacksmiths’ union by setting up an annual payment for ‘engineering guidance,’ if you can even call it that.”

“I see... You were liberal with your spending to settle things quickly. How bold of you.”

“You can negotiate on such a level too, can’t you, Regis?”

“Oh, no... Negotiation isn’t my strong suit.”

Regis held some lingering regrets. If only he had approached the situation in Aloe-Marroe with better foresight—perhaps then he wouldn’t have lost the Sixth and Eighth Armies. Still, there was no point in him lamenting his failure; a month had already passed since then.

The Sixth Army had been dismantled, and its soldiers had mostly returned to the capital. There, they would face little repercussion for what had happened. They were close with prominent nobles and presumably had plenty of career options open to them.

Meanwhile, investigators had managed to pin down the majority of the merchants receiving embezzled goods from Dorvale—or so Regis was told through reports. He was not directly involved in the matter. The gendarmerie had worked with a portion of the Fourth Army to storm seven firms in three cities, all at once. As it turned out, not only were the suspected merchants dealing in unlawful goods, but they were also involved in tax evasion. They were all apprehended.

Unfortunately, some had already fled the Empire and were now beyond the reach of the law. Dorvale was confined in the capital and awaiting his judgment.

As punishment for his breach of conduct, Rockhoward of the Eighth Army had been forced to pay reparations of such an astounding amount that he could no longer hold an army. He had even needed to sell his estate.

Surprisingly enough, most of the men serving under Rockhoward had voiced their desire to transfer to the Fourth Army. Regis had accepted them all. They were, it seemed, much less loyal to their disgraced commander than he had assumed.

Soon after, the former soldiers of the Eighth Army had performed fiercely in the liberation of Etruscan-occupied Sembione. The battle had panned out just as they had anticipated prior to the war—during the siege, Belgaria’s latest firearms and artillery demonstrated their might and allowed them to secure an overwhelming advantage. Etruria’s weapons had a vastly inferior range, so for as long as they refused to leave their base, they were victim to a one-sided bombardment.

Now, the Fourth Army was twenty thousand strong.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Thank you for all the assistance you’ve afforded me,” Elize said with a courteous bow. “Truly.”

“Spare me your words of gratitude,” Elenore replied. “I shall receive your thanks in material goods one of these days. I expect good returns.”

“Certainly...”

“Now, as long as you don’t forget that...feel free to strive toward your ideals.”

Elize bowed even deeper. “I will give it my utmost.”

“A new notice arrived from my relatives in High Britannia,” Elenore said, taking out a letter.

“Has something happened...?”

Elenore held out the paper. “It would be easier for you to read it yourself.”

“Pardon me!” Elize took the letter in quivering hands and immediately began devouring its contents. As Regis and Altina did not know the circumstances, Elenore provided an explanation.

“House Tiraso Laverde has a branch family in High Britannia,” she said. “The business there is run by a fine woman named Marlborough.”

“Oh, I see...” Regis muttered. “It’s easier to work so closely with relatives.”

“I cannot say I trust them all that much. They are my largest business rivals,” Elenore said with a chuckle. She then returned to the focus of the letter. “High Britannia’s parliament has voted to dethrone Queen Margaret.”

“What?!” Altina exclaimed, her eyes wide.

So, they went forward with it after all... Regis thought.

Latrielle fully intended to invade High Britannia, but he needed just cause. That was why he had presumably demanded reparations that the nation was incapable of accepting. Instead, those governing High Britannia intended to push all accountability for the war onto Margaret.

“Parliament apparently intends to welcome Elizabeth Victoria as the new queen,” Elenore continued. “This has not yet been announced officially, and for two reasons. The first is that Margaret is in Belgarian custody, and negotiations are still underway. High Britannia wishes to form a peace treaty—not because of any particular change of opinion, but because they fear what might happen when the Empire strikes back. And as for the second... Elizabeth is presently unaccounted for. How can they enthrone a new queen when she is nowhere to be found?”

Elenore turned to look at Elize, prompting Regis and Altina to do the same. Elize was still reading the letter. It was written in Belgarian, so it took her a little longer than she had wanted.

“Am I...too late, once again?” she asked weakly.

“Fret not,” Elenore replied. “You were right to leave that chaotic land. Had you been caught by Margaret’s faction or the anti-monarchists, you would not even be alive right now.”

“Urk...” Elize swallowed.

“Will you be able to send a ship to High Britannia?” Regis asked.

“We are still at war from a diplomatic standpoint, so direct contact has been severed,” Elenore explained. “Our routes through a third party have recovered, though.”

“Would that third party happen to be Hispania?”

“They are our fastest route.”

“The faster, the better.”

Elenore met this response with narrowed eyes. “So, the next target is Hispania?” she asked, having discerned the tactician’s meaning.

“So it seems.”

“A most troublesome nation, but a crucial trade partner. Does His Majesty not understand this?”

“I think he does,” Regis replied. Latrielle simply did not share the same sense of values; he believed that conquering alone was the solution to their problems.

“Not that I want to invade anyone!” Altina interjected, her lips pursed into a disgruntled pout.

“Defying the emperor’s edict would make us traitors,” Regis noted, trying to pacify the princess. Her determined nature meant this was something of a familiar exchange between them, but there was little else they could do.

“And we’re not ready for that. I know.”

“As we are now, we don’t stand a chance against the First Army,” Regis explained. “We aim for peace with the surrounding nations, but that is because we aim to better the lives of the oppressed people. For that, we must do away with war and class division. We must not confuse our means with our ends, though. Our intention is not to topple the current regime, nor are nobles our enemies. Acting on our emotions will save no one.”

“How many times have we had this discussion now? I’m not going to blow a fuse just because I’ve been issued an order that contradicts my ideals.”

“I trust that you won’t.”

“So I wasn’t imagining it...” Elize said anxiously. “The two of you really do intend to rebel against Emperor Latrielle, don’t you?”

“Naturally!” Altina exclaimed with a vigorous nod, her fists clenched tightly.

“Please keep it a secret,” Regis added, scratching his head.

“O-Of course!” Elize stammered. “I won’t say a word!”

“The path that His Majesty has taken leads to a destination far from our own,” Regis said. “To make matters worse, his current policies will eventually lead to catastrophic failure. The Empire might soon come apart at the seams if we aren’t adequately prepared.”

Elize nodded meekly. “Does that have anything to do with...what we talked about?” she asked. It was clear that she had sharp intuition.

“It does,” Regis said plainly. “Truth be told, I have a request for you.”

“I’ll do whatever I can, so long as it’s not to the detriment of High Britannia.”

“I...can’t say for sure. It’s hard to determine what will prove good or bad for our neighbors. If you would rather Belgaria wither away, this request might not be so enticing after all. But what if you could do something that would prevent a war between our nations—that would spare the lives of tens of thousands of people?”

“I would act in an instant.”

“That’s good to hear. We can work together, then.”

“So, what’s the request...?”

Regis produced a sheet of parchment from the bag slung across his shoulder and then spread it over the table—with Elenore’s permission, of course. It was a blueprint of some kind, containing diagrams of a peculiar object from the top, bottom, and side. Exact measurements were provided for each and every small segment. Regis had even brought with him one of the finished products, which he held out on his palm.

“I’m sure you’re aware, but this is the metal casing of a bullet. This one in particular happens to be for the Fusil 851,” Regis said. He had just divulged a secret of the utmost importance—one that would soon have a lasting impact on the nation...and yet, the three women did not react in the slightest.

Regis had already told Altina about the bullet, so she had nothing more to say on the matter. Elize and Elenore, meanwhile, were a tad unfamiliar with matters pertaining to the military. Their expressions made it clear that they were lost on a more fundamental level. Had it been Latrielle bearing witness to this casing, he would no doubt have kicked back his chair and jumped to his feet in shock—not that Regis had any intention of showing him.

Somewhat disappointed that the women did not share his enthusiasm, Regis began to explain. “By using metal cartridges, the Fusil 851 can become more precise and reliable than any existing model. Reload times will decrease, which will in turn allow for a much greater output. In short, it will allow us to gain an overwhelming advantage.”

“I see. I see.” Elize nodded along. “That sounds quite amazing.”

Regis paused for a moment in thought, realizing there were a few details he had yet to explain. He decided to settle on a brief summary...

...and thirty minutes later, he had just about covered the basics. Elize now understood perhaps half of what he had covered—at least, he hoped she did. Her brows were knitted into a concentrated frown and she wore a strained expression.

“So in short,” Elize began, “paper cartridges are the main flaw of the Empire’s current firearms, and there is a huge advantage in using metal ones.”

Regis nodded. “Correct.”

“But these metal cartridges cannot yet be manufactured in Belgaria.”

“Not for another few years.” High-precision presses only existed within High Britannia, although the other nations would catch up soon enough.

Elize stared at the thin metal cylinder in Regis’s hand. “Then, if you can mass-produce that...”

“It will mean two things from a strategic standpoint. First, as I said earlier, the performance of our firearms will improve drastically. Metal casing will increase the power of the Belgarian military without us having to hire any more soldiers. Second, it will eliminate the supply problem. Emperor Latrielle intends to prevent rebellion by restricting the circulation of ammunition.”

This was how guns differed from the swords and spears that had ruled the Empire for so many generations. Ammunition was being mass-produced near the capital. Altina’s forces would receive replenishments while they were pitted against enemy armies, but those provisions would naturally cease once they turned coat.

“So you intend to receive them through High Britannia’s sea routes?” Elize asked.

“If our situation comes to that.”

“You can’t start making them somewhere in the south?”

“Well, we don’t have the necessary forging presses.” Regis held up the casing in his hand. “A piece like this can be made with enough time and effort, but we’re going to need tens of thousands of them if civil war breaks out.”

“That many?!”

Most importantly, making the shells within the country carried a greater risk of the operation being discovered. They needed to avoid leaving any evidence of their rebellious intent before they were prepared to act upon it.

Regis produced another diagram. “Of course, we can’t just insert a metal cartridge into a Fusil 851 and expect it to work,” he said. “This chamber piece will need to be refashioned as well.”

“For what reason?” Elize asked.

“Paper cartridges burn up on discharge. Metal ones, on the other hand, expand from the explosive pressure and stick to the chamber. We’ll need a mechanism of some sort to eject them, since the breech is too hot to touch after the gun is fired.”

“Wait... Aren’t paper cartridges better, then?”

“The paper burns up, but it still remains in the chamber as ash. This can lead to a malfunction, and trying to clean it out is much more troublesome than expelling a metal casing.”

“I see.”

Incidentally, brass was being used to make the shells. It was more resistant to corrosion than iron, more readily available, and easier to cold form. Perhaps the biggest inconvenience was that brass shells would expand and end up stuck in the chamber, but brass was quick to cool, which made them easier to expel.

In addition to everything else, High Britannia had seen great developments in its brass-processing technology. In Belgaria, the metal was used mostly for ornamentation.

“If you will cooperate, Ms. Elize, then we will send engineers of the Fourth Army to accompany you,” Regis said. “They will ensure your safety.”

“Very well,” Elize replied. “I would much rather support a peaceful neighbor than a callous conqueror. I promise my cooperation.”

Regis lowered his head, while Altina held out her right hand. “Thank you, Elize. Or should I call you by your real name now?” she asked.

“I’ve not yet come far enough for that. In fact, I haven’t even taken my first steps. One day, when we are of equal standing, I would like to introduce myself again.”

“I’ll be waiting!”

“I won’t let you down,” Elize said as she firmly grasped Altina’s hand. These girls weren’t rulers, nor were they anywhere close to reaching their goals...but if they continued to forge such valuable bonds, perhaps they would attain their goals someday. Regis could feel a pleasant warmth in his chest as he witnessed their camaraderie.

Content that their discussion had reached its conclusion, Elenore stood. “We depart in three days, then. Anyone who wants aboard can stay at my mansion. I will not forbid you from going out until then...but do take care; there are more than enough High Britannians in this city.”

“You have my thanks,” Elize said. “I can’t even count my debts to you...”

“I am a merchant, and doing business is much easier during times of peace than war. As long as you are helping our princess, that’s enough for me.”

“I thought that merchants—especially those dealing in arms—longed for war above all else. Many were incited in my homeland.”

“Hmph... Such people haven’t the faintest clue about running a business. Since when do the dead buy wares?”

Elize nodded in response and then gazed outside the window. The seas were vast, but she would need to cross them to reach High Britannia. That was where she belonged...but it was also where her true battle would begin.

A new battle was unfolding for Altina as well.

✧ ✧ ✧

November 3rd—

Word on the wind said it was snowing in the capital up north. Down in the south, however, it was just a little more bearable than the summer months.

An express messenger carried the emperor’s direct order to Sembione. The city had been temporarily occupied during the Etruscan invasion, but once liberated, it became the temporary base of the Fourth Army. Its walls and portions of the town bore the scars of cannon fire.

The fortress overlooking the city was constructed in the Belgarian style, with a great hall at its center. This was, apparently, where the parties of nobles had once been held every night. It was now being used as a place for the commander to convey orders or welcome envoys. The interior was still quite gaudy, but the art that had once decorated its walls was gone, either taken by the Etruscan Army or destroyed. Or perhaps Dorvale had sold them along with the rations—that was still up for investigation.

The messenger from the capital presented a letter, which Abidal-Evra took, inspected, and then offered to Altina with a polite, “Your Highness.”

“All yours, Regis.”

Abidal-Evra proffered the letter to Regis this time with a respectful, “Tactician.” Regis did not believe this was how an edict from the emperor should be handled, but he accepted it nonetheless.

“So be it.”

Regis confirmed the emperor’s seal on the envelope; then he broke the wax and scanned through the parchment.

“So?” Altina prompted. Her elbow was planted into her armrest and she was resting her cheek on her hand. “Is it safe to show me?”

“I will keep hold of this for now,” Regis replied. It would be quite a major incident for the emperor’s blood relative to tear apart a letter right in front of the emperor’s messenger...and the details would surely compel her to.

Regis decided to relay its contents. As well as Altina and Abidal-Evra, Eddie, Eric, and the other officers were present as well. He spoke so that all could hear him.

“Etruria has surrendered.”

The officers were immediately astir, but after remembering that they were before their commander, they quickly contained themselves.

Altina narrowed her eyes. “Surrendered, you say?”

“Indeed,” Regis replied. “The enemy’s primary force of thirty thousand was annihilated while defending Sembione, and with our most recent batch of reinforcements, the Empire has sixty thousand men stationed in the south.”

The core of this unit was the Fourth Army—twenty thousand soldiers under Altina’s direct control. Alongside them were the newly formed Twelfth and Thirteenth Armies, each with just as many men and a large supply of guns.

Latrielle was serious. He was demonstrating his stalwart will to conquer all the neighboring nations within two years.

“Still, our newcomers aren’t quite up to snuff yet,” Altina said with a shrug. “It’s going to be a while before they’re combat-ready.”

“Some of the Etruscan top brass seem to disagree,” Regis replied. “Their king had demanded a do-or-die resistance, so they usurped the throne. They’ve brought about political change through militaristic force—a coup d’état, so to speak—and their new leader has shown allegiance to Belgaria.”

“I see.” Altina nodded. “Well, the method aside...I’m thankful we won’t have to go to war.”

“Right.”

Belgaria had threatened to invade unless the Etruscan Army surrendered at once. Etruria’s rulers would be accepted as nobles of the Empire if they agreed, but a harsh fate awaited those who submitted so soon after hostilities commenced.

By a rough estimate, Etruria had ten thousand troops remaining. Surrendering was the right decision—it was too reckless for them to fight against the Empire’s sixty thousand—and so the battle between the Belgarian and Etruscan Armies reached its anticlimactic conclusion.

Regis sighed. “The main issue is the next part...”

You are to conquer Hispania.

Regis could sense that the princess was overcome with rage the moment she heard the order. “Généralissime, this is an imperial command,” he reminded her.

“I know that!” Altina snapped. “I’m fine. Really. This isn’t my first time attacking our neighbors. We conquered Fort Volks, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

According to the letter, Belgaria had offered the Hispanian Empire the same terms: surrender before the invasion or perish. They had refused, and now Latrielle wanted them dealt with. He was giving Altina until April to suppress them.

It was the same situation as when they were ordered to capture Fort Volks in the Grand Duchy of Varden, except they now had a more reasonable sixty thousand troops at their disposal.

Are we really going to be all right, though? Regis wondered. We’ll need to target civilian towns this time.

The invasion would start off as a battle between armies, but as they seized victories and continued their advance, they would eventually need to capture towns as well. Would Altina be able to maintain a level head under those circumstances? Regis grew anxious at the thought, but there was no other way.

“We have received our orders,” Regis told the messenger with a reverent bow of the head. “The généralissime shall carry out the invasion to the best of her ability.”

“I shall take the généralissime’s assent back to the capital,” the messenger replied. It was technically Regis who had accepted the mission, but his words were interpreted as having come from his commander.

Altina ordered her men to prepare somewhere for the messenger to rest; he had delivered a most troublesome command, but he was not to blame. After spending close to half a month racing south, he would need to head straight back the way he came.

✧ ✧ ✧

Once the audience was over, it was time for a council of war.

Regis first returned to his room to gather some materials; he had considered it only a matter of time before they would need to invade Hispania, so he had taken various steps in preparation. However, when he arrived, he found a large man standing in front of the door. Regis recoiled as he was caught in the daunting figure’s stern glare.

“Regis d’Aurick.”

“Gilbert. However can I be of assistance?”

“I’ve heard you’re going to invade Hispania.”

“News sure does travel fast...” Regis muttered. “That’s right. Oh, did you want to talk inside?” He reached around the Mercenary King to open the door and then gestured for him to enter.

Gilbert followed with a stern look on his face. “First the princess, then you...” he grumbled. “Does no one here know what it means to be wary?”

“Only a select few are allowed in these parts,” Regis explained as he began stacking up sheets on his desk. “We wouldn’t be nearly as productive if we had to spend time worrying about important staff officers being betrayed or assassinated. I trust you enough to have given you a unit, so I take no issue with your being here.”

“I understand that you’re very selective,” Gilbert said once he had shut the door behind him. “Why do you trust me?”

“Because the way I see it, betraying the Empire would put you in a very unfavorable situation.”

“I could take your and the princess’s heads and present them to Hispania. Haven’t you considered that?”

Regis gave a weak chuckle; then his lips curled into a bitter smile. “Belgaria can beat Hispania just fine, with or without me. I also think it unwise to assume Hispania can be so easily trusted.”

“You’re confident, are you?”

“I’m just conscious of a thing or two. You’ve seen our new guns, haven’t you?”

“They’re a crude imitation of what High Britannia accomplished.”

“Correct. But their performance is the same, if not better.”

“High Britannia lost,” Gilbert stated indifferently.

“True.”

It seemed that even Gilbert knew Hispania stood very little chance against the Empire. He hadn’t the slightest intent to betray Belgaria—that much was clear—so Regis tried to deduce the reason for his impromptu appearance.

“Is there another question you would rather ask?” Regis ventured. “Is this idle banter meant to make me more talkative?”

Gilbert looked at him unpleasantly. “You’re quite similar to Jessica,” he said. “Annoyingly quick-witted.”

I think “annoying” is a bit much. She cares quite a lot about you.

“Your choice of small talk is a little too aggressive for me,” Regis admitted. “I would have much preferred a chat about the weather or dinner.”

“Does it look like I’m interested in either of those things?”

“Oh. I see.”

Gilbert folded his arms and leaned his back against the wall; Regis was sure he heard the room’s pillars creak in response. He then fixed the tactician with a serious look and said, “I thought you and the princess were pacifists.”

“We are.”

“Well, the order is for us to invade Hispania. Are you really going to fight?”

So that’s it...

Regis nodded to himself as the pieces came together. The Mercenary King had come to probe out his commander’s true intentions. The relationship between two nations was a complicated thing—it wasn’t rare for a war to begin and then remain unsettled for many years. It could end up being dragged on for the express purpose of waiting for peaceful arbitration.

During such wars, it was the mercenaries who sacrificed the most. A battle was only taken seriously when there was bloodshed, but no commander wanted to lose their own soldiers. That was why the mercenaries were sent out—why they died instead. Gilbert was wary of such a farce.

Regis shook his head. “Hispania will fall. His Majesty has said that we have until the snow melts. I want to end this within the year.”

“Huh?! You’re not trying to trick me, are you?”

“I think you’ll be convinced after you see the first battle.”

“What happened to pacifism?”

“I have my position to consider.”

“If you were that obedient,” Gilbert spat, “you wouldn’t have picked a fight with the prince who was almost a shoo-in to become the next emperor!”

Regis was surprised. He had assumed that Gilbert merely led the mercenaries in his brigade while Jessica made the plans, but he seemed to be quite sharp. Intelligence was a rare trait for the warrior types who often preferred to swing their weapons about without thinking.

“To be honest, I’m a little worried...” Regis admitted and scratched his head. “I fear the princess may change her mind when the time comes. She might insist that we must prioritize the people.”

“And you’re different?” Gilbert asked. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Hmm... How can I explain this? Pacifism is my ideal—the end goal that I strive toward.”

“Hm?”

“And that is precisely why we must defeat Hispania.”

“Jessica was right,” the Mercenary King said through gritted teeth. “This tactician sure loves to beat around the bush.”

“Ah. Sorry... To summarize my thoughts on the matter—Hispania’s current regime is a hindrance if we want to form peace treaties with the surrounding nations.”

“Explain.”

“Hispania is disguising its navy as pirates to attack merchant vessels. The nation is promoting theft and fraud.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“My idea of pacifism is for nations to help one another in times of crisis; I do not hold an unrealistic dream of avoiding battle entirely.”

“So you see Hispania as a crisis to face?” Gilbert asked, sounding rather amused.

“I won’t deny that. The nation has lost the spirit it was once founded with. Now, it seems no better than a large criminal organization.”

Hispania was formed after several powerful nations were divided and conquered. Around three hundred years had passed since the forces that gathered around a certain religious leader had scattered the local armies and proclaimed independence. Back then, the people were deeply pious...but the idea of creating “a pure and just land for the people of God” had since warped into the belief that all those outside the perceived “holy land” were impure and deserved no justice.

“I believe that Hispania’s deeds cannot be overlooked,” Regis proclaimed.

“Fine. You can convince me of your beliefs during battle.”

“All right.”

It seemed that Gilbert trusted him enough to at least participate on the battlefield. “Keep a firm hold of that princess’s reins,” he said before leaving.

“‘Reins’?”

She’s not a horse, Regis thought. Although he somehow understood exactly what he meant.

✧ ✧ ✧

Two weeks later—

It was mid-November, yet the weather was fine enough for shorts. Regis rolled up his sleeves as he stood on the battlefield, staring at the enemy formation through a spyglass. The Hispanian Army looked to be around thirty thousand strong—just as reported.

Belgaria could not leave its base unguarded, so only the Fourth and Thirteenth Armies had mobilized. This gave them an advantage of ten thousand, and on the gently sloped terrain, the Empire had the high ground. Visibility was still somewhat limited, however; there were many rocks large enough for soldiers to hide behind and great trees that had yet to lose their leaves.

Altina was standing beside Regis and taking in the restricted view. “They must have chosen this location on purpose,” she said.

“I’m sure they did. The first few battles must have been enough to alert them of our firepower.”

There were several fortresses on the mountain range that served as the border—all effective structures that made good use of the territory’s natural steep inclines. Still, the battles had progressed the same as when the Empire recaptured Sembione.

Belgaria had assailed each fortress it encountered with cannon fire, forcing the enemy between a rock and a hard place—either they remained in their stronghold and endured the onslaught, awaiting the inevitable, or they marched out to meet their opponent. In the case of the latter, the Belgarian Army was unmatched on open plains. Perhaps the Hispanian Army had chosen this rocky terrain with that in mind; the riflemen would have a harder time taking aim, and cannons would prove less effective against its formation.

Altina drew her sword from her back. The metallic ring as it slipped from its scabbard drew all eyes to her. “If we can’t use guns, we’re on equal ground!” she declared.

“No, I never said we couldn’t use them...” Regis noted.

“So we can?”

“Yes. And not just the guns—our cannons are the latest model, so I reckon we’ll get decent use out of them too.”

As they continued their conversation, a report came in: “The enemy is moving!”

Regis returned to peering through the spyglass. “I see, I see...” he muttered. “It seems they intend to disperse through the shadows of the rocks and trees to approach us. I don’t know whether that’s very wise.”

“What do you suggest?” Altina asked. “On this terrain, we’ll need to meet them with a charge, otherwise they’ll overwhelm us with their momentum. If we’re not doing that, we’d best retreat.”

She’s thinking like a proper commander, Regis thought. Of course, she was especially clever for someone her age, but she had also experienced her fair share of combat and was being more diligent with her studies. Perhaps someday she would not need a tactician at all.

“But for now...she can leave things to me.”

“Did you say something, Regis?”

“The enemy’s tactics are effective against our old cannons.”

“But not our current ones?”

“Spreading out as they are costs them full control of their units. I don’t think they have too many on-site commanders skilled enough to grasp their own position while straining to hear bugle orders and then issuing accurate orders to their men.”

One reason armies maintained formation was to facilitate the transmission of orders. This ensured the commander’s directions promptly reached their destination.

“Altina,” Regis said, “order the cannons to fire.”

“Is there a reason to...?”

“I’ve already told them what to target. You need only give the signal.”

“If you’ve already done that much, you don’t even need my involvement.”

“No... I wouldn’t say that.”

Regis had concealed his plan not because he looked down on Altina, but because he had a unique countermeasure for a number of possible enemy movements he had anticipated. Explaining them all was a waste of time, especially when it was unlikely that she would actually remember each one. She was now commanding forty thousand troops, and they had more types of units to work with than before. The battlefield was growing increasingly complicated.

Altina pouted. “Sure, I’ll give the signal,” she said as she raised a hand, “but at least tell me what you’re firing at.”

“The obstacles.”

“You can do that?”

“Well...we can certainly try. Have the front-row artillery open fire,” Regis said. They had already taken aim.

“Hmm...” Altina’s eyes were spinning. She thought the plan was ridiculous, but she saw no reason to refuse it. After taking a deep breath, she raised her voice and said: “Front line! On your marks! Fire!”

Her order was echoed a beat later by a short and sharp bugle tone, and then—a thunderous burst of cannons shook the earth. The bang of a gun was considered intimidating enough, but the physical shock wave that resulted from the seemingly innumerable cannons was felt even through the troops’ uniforms. Those closest to the front lines were given small corks to plug their ears.

The Fourth Army now had at its disposal two hundred of the latest cannons, the shells of which were mightier than those of the High Britannian Type-41 Elswicks. Despite only being as heavy as the old midsize models, they boasted twice the firepower.

These cannons were known as the Type-40 Alain. They were breech-loaded and designed almost identically to High Britannia’s cannons, but the quality of the iron and gunpowder used was superior.

Unlike the Fusil 851s, the Type-40 Alains were not going to be produced in the tens of thousands; each individual cannon was instead the product of much time and effort. Belgaria’s blacksmithing techniques allowed for a superior build compared to those mass-produced in High Britannia—the precision on the barrels and chambers was far greater despite the identical construction, which made them lighter and more powerful.

In addition to this, while the High Britannian models required the cannonballs, powder charges, and primer to be inserted separately, the Type-40 Alain fused them all into metal cartridges. These tidy packages saved on labor and made the cannons quicker to reload, although it came with the downside of making each shell heavier. A single shot weighed as much as a hundred livres (around fifty kilograms)...and yet the Belgarian foot soldiers hoisted them about as though they were nothing.

Shots fired one after the next, making the very air around them tremble. Their ammunition took not the round shape of a cannonball, but the more pointed design of a rifle bullet. These masses of metal flew faster than sound.

Those of the Belgarian Army cheered as the rocks and trees dotting the landscape were blown to pieces, and the scattered Hispanian Army was suddenly faced with an entirely new battlefield. Countless muzzles were pointed their way, and the dispersed units were unable to regain unity—some charged while others ran away.

By the time the enemy commander had given the retreat order, their thirty thousand soldiers had been reduced to twenty thousand. Corpses littered the devastated earth.

Regis shuddered. “Guns really are terrifying...”

“Right,” Altina agreed.

“Not too long ago, most of the soldiers who could no longer fight were simply injured. Most would live and return to their homelands.”

“But with guns like these...things are different.”

“Yeah...” Regis replied. He could feel an intense pressure weighing heavy on his heart.

“But we have to keep moving forward. Don’t we, Regis?”

“We do. If we can’t win the battle before us, our ideals will remain dreams and nothing more.”

Altina nodded and then thrust out her sword. “All troops, advance!”