Chapter 1: Roads and Coaches

Only the light of the oil lamp guided the military carriage as it meandered across the dark plains.

Before it towered a colossal fortress that seemed to reach into the very heavens themselves. Various holes could be seen halfway up the sheer cliff face that was its front wall, each one lined with deep black cannons.

The iron front doors opened outward, revealing a number of small bonfires which dotted the grounds. Robust soldiers stood on guard, spears in hand.

No more than two months prior, this had been the impregnable fortress of the Grand Duchy of Varden. But now it had passed into Belgarian hands and had become the base of what was coming to be known as “Marie Quatre’s Army.”

Its name was Fort Volks.

The coachman driving the carriage raised his lamp, moving it around in a designated sequence as a signal. The sentries at the gate returned a separate signal to show they had understood.

Moments later, the officer in charge of the security detail stepped out, touching his right hand to his chest in salute.

“Splendid work, Tactician!”

“...Oh, thanks... I should say the same for you.”

Regis, who was huddled to the side in the cabman’s perch, lowered his head in a show of embarrassed respect. He was talking to a noble a number of years older than him—and a few ranks higher in the military, to boot.

Now recognized as “the tactician who’d captured Fort Volks,” Regis had been lionized to a considerable degree.

Our victory came down to Altina, though, Regis muttered in his heart, knowing he could never truly voice his dissent.

The carriage stopped at a large entrance that had been carved into the surrounding rock. Regis thanked the driver before climbing down.

He held his luggage to his chest as he ascended the staircase to return to his room. The long climb was a stark reminder that the fortress’s major drawback was its abundance of stairs.

“Hm?”

“You’re finally back, Regis!”

Along the way, he bumped into his commander, who was on her way down.

“Hey, Altina.”

When there were people around, Regis would address her in a manner befitting her station, attempting to speak cordially and referring to her only as “Princess.” Acting casually was too risky of a move, and, as he had been told once before, the baseless rumors that could result would impact troop morale.

That said, due to her incessant requests, he would drop this front and speak normally whenever possible.

Under normal circumstances, Regis wouldn’t have had to worry about such rumors; she was still just fourteen, and was thus widely recognized as a child. But something about Altina was simply so alluring. Perhaps it was her red hair, which seemed to shimmer and sway like a blazing inferno with each step she took. Or her eyes that glistened as though they were rubies. Or maybe her skin which, despite years of harsh sword training, was as smooth and pale as the finest porcelain.

As he looked over her, her shapely, rose-colored lips turned sharp and sullen.

She very quickly closed in on him.

“Don’t tell me you went into town again.”

“I did. But no need to worry—I didn’t waste any money.”

“I’ll quit worrying once you’ve paid back what you owe me.”

“H-Haha... You’ll get it soon, I assure you.”

“Good grief. You’ve been gone so long I nearly forgot your name.”

“Eh? I haven’t been away for that long... I was only away for three days this time, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, three whole days! And you didn’t even tell me you were going!”

“That’s...”

Whenever he told her he was going to town, she would always stop him for one reason or another. In cases where that didn’t work, she would try to tag along. But having the commander accompany him meant they would also need to bring guards, by which point his leisurely outing was more akin to an expedition. After all, given the circumstances, she couldn’t just keep sneaking out.

Surely she understood that by now...

“How could you leave without telling me?”

“...I had business to attend to in town. And, Altina, you have your own duties in the fortress.”

“I’m aware. But next time you leave, at least give me a heads up, would you?”

“S-Sure.”

She had been her usual self when they first moved to the new fortress, but as of late, she’d been acting in a way one would expect of a lonely child.

A normal man might assume she had awakened to love or some such nonsense. However, to Regis, who had extremely low self-esteem, it was impossible to even entertain the idea that a woman had fallen for him—especially when said woman was of such a considerably higher status than him.

She must be growing anxious about her meeting with Second Prince Latrielle, Regis thought, To make such a strong-willed commander this troubled... He must be quite a terrifying individual.

“...It’ll be fine, Altina. Prince Latrielle is already the subject of enough dark rumors. He can’t afford to do anything that would sully his reputation even further.”

Some said he had even attempted to poison the first prince, Auguste, to take his place as next in line to the throne. This seemingly baseless accusation had reached all corners of the Empire.

The incident had occurred in July of the previous year, making it already eight months ago. Auguste had apparently spat up blood and collapsed after a banquet. He had always had a weak constitution, but ever since then the man had secluded himself in his residence.

Whether the rumor was true or not, Latrielle’s reputation would undoubtedly be torn to shreds if any harm came to Altina in the capital. In fact, it was for that very reason that Regis was more concerned about Auguste’s faction, fearing they might send assassins after the princess to take advantage of the circumstances.

“Hm?” Altina cocked her head to the side. “Why are you talking about Latrielle all of a sudden?”

“...H-Huh?”

“I’m talking about the terrible man who went off into town without telling me.”

“Why—a man very devoted to his professional duties, no doubt.”

Looks like I really am incapable of nonchalantly soothing a woman’s worries like some kind of suave story protagonist... Regis shrugged in response to his own internal dialogue.

Altina changed the topic.

“Though, on that note, Auguste’s residence burned down not too long ago.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard... I was gathering information in town. The official report maintains it was the work of bandits, but there are rumors it was another assassination attempt.”

“Is that so?”

“A guard from the capital garrison reported it was ‘caused by bandits attempting to steal the work of a renowned painter.’ The newly appointed commander of the garrison, Lieutenant General Baudouin, took full responsibility and resigned.”

“Oh my... Well, it was a detached residence, but you could say a part of the imperial palace was burned down. I can’t blame him for stepping down. I’m just glad that Auguste came out all right.”

Altina was fourth in line to the throne with a goal to become empress—was it really okay for her to rejoice over the safety of the first prince? She was presumably just delighted to hear that her brother was safe, and hadn’t given the situation any deeper consideration than that.

However, finding absolutely no motivation to try and convince her she should desire the death of a family member, Regis carried on the conversation.

“...Baudouin was a noble from Latrielle’s faction. I can’t see why he’d resign.”

“Mn? What do you mean? Faction or not, he was in charge of the garrison when the attack took place—shouldn’t he be held accountable for what happened?”

“Yeaaah... But, no matter how valuable a painting may be, would bandits really target a property where the first prince was living? It’d be more natural to assume that the commander of the garrison in charge of his security led the assassination. In which case, wouldn’t he be resigning because he failed to finish the job?”

“Regis.” Altina furrowed her brow. “You’re jumping to so many conclusions here that I can’t quite follow.”

“You think so? I thought the plot was rather well-written, if you ask me.”

“Are you really confident in this one?”

“Yes, I’m certain of it. Give it maybe half a year, and we’ll see the release of a spicy play based on that very same conspiracy theory. With the names changed, of course. Perhaps the book’ll come out before the production...”

“Have you just been talking about your books again!?”

“Ah, no... Well, the truth of the matter aside, it’s crucial that we plan for the worst and prepare as much as possible before we leave for the capital.”

“Right! Into the lion’s den we go! But it matters not what foul beast we come across, so long as we have the sword to slay it!”

“...That idiom isn’t supposed to be so optimistic.”

“Oh, really?”

As their conversation continued, the clatter of metal armor rang through the stairwell. As the two turned in response, the shape of a large, well-built man appeared.

His eyes carried a wild, sharp glint, and his lips were bent in a discontented grimace. His wide shoulders and tight muscles gave him quite the intimidating aura.

It was the hero bearing the moniker of the black knight—Margrave Jerome Jean de Beilschmidt.

“What are you doing here?” he snarled.

“Err... Reporting on the retirement and likely accountability of Lieutenant General Baudouin.”

Regis couldn’t bring himself to admit he had actually been exchanging idle gossip.

“Baudouin? A lieutenant general? I’ve never even heard that name before.”

“He was recently appointed as the commander of the capital garrison, but resigned upon taking responsibility for an incident where bandits attacked a detached residence.”

“Hmph. The capital garrison, eh? Experts in sucking up who never actually march out to war. Trash of the useless variety.”

Having been deployed onto the battlefield more times than he could count, Jerome tended to harshly condemn those who never left the safety of the capital and fought only in internal conflicts.

This was a sense of values shared by most soldiers stationed on the front line.

“Regis—that trash aside, how did that matter go?”

“...All arrangements have been made.”

And so a meeting was held in the command room.

✧ ✧ ✧

In the command room at Fort Volks—

Given that the fortress was a former mine that had been fortified by the Germanian Federation, it was as far from elegant as one could get—a simple room consisting of no more than white walls and a black, inorganic table and chair set.

The only decorations to speak of were the vase of red flowers that had been placed in one corner following the occupation, and the banner Altina had designed which hung on the wall. It featured a large shield, drawn onto green-colored cloth to signify the common people.

Four members in total surrounded the crude long table made with only durability in mind: Altina, who was wearing her arm and leg guards over her dress; her tactician, Regis; General Jerome; and the old knight, Everard.

Just as Regis finished reporting all of the information he had gathered from town, there was a knock at the door.

“Eric Mickaël de Blanchard!”

“Enter.”

“Yes, sir!”

In came a young knight, only sixteen years of age. He wore a well-maintained uniform with his blond hair tied behind his head—a handsome man with blue eyes and a slender face. As always, his voice was as velvety as that of a young girl.

He was apparently Everard’s grandson... Though Everard was black-bearded and bald-headed, with a muscular body akin to a large ape.

Altina looked over at Regis as if to say, “I’m leaving the explanation to you.” In response, the strategist rose from his seat and presented the proper papers to the young man before addressing him:

“I’m placing you in charge of the guard detail escorting the commander, as per the recommendation of Sir Everard.”

“Y-Yes! I’ll gladly accept this appointment!”

“...When the princess leaves the fortress, you are to ensure her safety. I trust you can do this.”

“I swear it on my life!”

With that, Eric sealed his lips and gave a salute.

Altina flashed a smile. “I’ll be in your care.”

Even though Everard had been the one to make the recommendation, his expression was surprisingly grim.

“I’d hoped to serve as the princess’s sword and shield myself,” he admitted.

“That would be quite troublesome... After all, you’re the captain of our garrison, Mr. Everard.”

“Yes, I understand.”

With Fort Volks as their new base of operations, the Beilschmidt border regiment currently housed around six thousand officers and soldiers. Rather than a regiment, it was now closer in scale to a large brigade. And lately, the soldiers had indeed begun to call themselves Marie Quatre’s Army.

This was the general line of command.

Within the Belgarian Empire, all regiment matters were entrusted to the commander. As letters were the only form of communication, it was unreasonable to expect regular guidance from the capital. It was for that reason that commanders—especially those on the border—were granted exceedingly broad jurisdiction.

Despite that, neither Altina nor her predecessor, Jerome, had any particular interest in organizational matters. Thanks to that, there were quite a few inadequacies in their current system of command.

Military physicians, cooks, smiths, and stable hands, for example, also counted among their ranks, but their definite superiors had yet to be decided.

Were they to be added to the organizational chart, the head chef and master smith—among other such roles—would be ranked on par with the tactician, Regis. However, this meant their presence would also be required at strategy meetings, which they would only find a nuisance. For this reason, they were generally treated no different than the common soldiers.

Jerome scoffed, scrutinizing the still-saluting Eric.

“Hmph. Not that I think this princess needs a guard.”

“I thought so too, at first.”

“Kukukuh... It’d be embarrassing if the one being guarded was stronger than her guard.”

“Indeed...”

Eric bit his lip.

It wasn’t hard to imagine that Altina was stronger than him: the imperial princess’s strength had even been enough to overwhelm the hero, Jerome, on one occasion.

“...But we can’t have the princess thoughtlessly draw her sword,” Regis stated, shaking his head, “Especially not in the capital.”

Altina nodded meekly in agreement.

“I know that already. Plus there are places where it would be inappropriate for me to bring my sword at all.”

“That’s right. The celebration will be a three-day party at the palace. Naturally, you’ll be in attendance as a princess...”

She would be all dressed up—definitely not carrying a treasured sword taller than she was.

“I hate fancy dresses! I could carry my sword if they’d just let me attend as a general.”

“You’re asking for the impossible.”

“Latrielle gets a sword!”

“...He’s the commander of the First Army.”

“And I’m the commander of this regiment.”

“...Yes, but... Well... He is a man, after all.”

“Gnn...! That just pisses me off! How am I supposed to accept that!?”

In this era, the distinction between men and women was akin to a difference in status: dishearteningly great and near impossible to overturn. A house which bore only female children, for instance, would have to welcome a male from elsewhere as its successor—meaning said children were forced to concede inheritance rights to the second or third son of another house.

As such, problems of succession tormented many aristocrats, royal or not.

“Well, whatever.” Altina beckoned Eric close. “Take a seat.”

“Y-Yes!”

Upon receiving his orders, Eric lowered himself down into the seat allotted to him.

Regis placed the next document on the table.

“...Sir Jerome, this one’s about that matter we discussed. I’ve spelled out the items and arrangements we’ve prepared in detail.”

“Hmph. Looks like you made another large purchase. Where did the money come from this time?”

“We had a few Varden nobles among our prisoners of war... It means we don’t have much money left anymore, but this is the only chance we’ve got, so...”

Aristocrats taken as prisoners of war could be released for a ransom. This was an important source of revenue for any military.

“You’ve done quite a bit. I’ll admit, I’m impressed.”

“...We’re at a numerical disadvantage. Such preparations are more than necessary.”

“Hah. Victory is determined by valor more than numbers.”

“Perhaps, Sir Jerome... but we can’t risk weakening our cavalry at the moment. Avoiding combat is our best bet.”

“Believe me, I don’t plan to lose any men either. That’s why I’m playing along with your cheap tricks.”

“Thank you ever so kindly.”

“Hmph. I’ve got nothing against strategy, but in the midst of battle, death does tread closest to the cowards, Regis.”

“...I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jerome took the document from the table and gave it a quick look before stuffing it whole into a leather sack.

Altina gave Regis a dubious look.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“...Just a little insurance. Meaningless preparations, if nothing happens... Next, we should decide the program for the trip to the capital. I think it’s appropriate that the Black Cavalry accompanies us part of the way there.”

“I thought so too, but isn’t that a bit much if we’re only traveling within the Empire?”

“That may be so, but it’s not uncommon for a royal to mobilize an entire army as an escort.”

Altina waved her hand dismissively. “That’s just showing off.”

“...But we need to demonstrate appropriate status. Won’t having too few followers only lead to ridicule?”

It seemed Regis’s attempt at careful persuasion had had the opposite effect. The look in her eyes grew sharp.

“Only a noble would say something so ridiculous. I think it’s wrong to use taxpayer money to flaunt status! What’s wrong with being the same as everyone else? I don’t see why we aren’t just taking a stagecoach.”

“W-What are you talking about!? Of course not— Err, no, I mean... I feel it would be inappropriate for someone of your caliber, Your Highness.”

“Regis, you traveled from the capital to Theonveil via stagecoach. And the cheapest one, at that.”

“...A fifth-grade administrative officer of common upbringing and an imperial-princess-cum-major-general are completely different stories.”

“But it’d be much cheaper than sending an army, yes?”

“...Yes.”

“Then it’s decided—we’ll be going by stagecoach! I’ve always wanted to ride in one!”

“That’s—”

“Not a chance! That’s far too dangerous!”

It wasn’t Regis, but Everard who raised his voice in fervent disagreement. Eric nodded along.

“Kuhahah!” Jerome roared with laughter. “Let her go. Let them laugh.”

“...Who knows what they’ll say in the imperial court...”

I failed... Regis held his head in his hands. It was a foolish mistake to ever bring up budgets in front of Altina. She always listened to what he had to say before making her own conclusions, but what she decided from there was oftentimes irrational.

A royal, of all people, brushing up against who knows who on a public stagecoach!

“...Actually... That does sound rather familiar...”

Regis recalled a similar development from a book he had once read.

“Regis, what’s wrong?” Altina looked at him anxiously. “Are you angry?”

“No... This might work in our favor. No matter how well you conduct yourself, the nobles are going to scrutinize you for every little thing regardless. The color of your dress, the shape of your hairpin... The list of potential criticisms goes on.”

If honoring etiquette would only have her condemned for something else, it wasn’t such a bad idea to take a chance. After all, Altina’s goal wasn’t one that could be attained through normal means.

✧ ✧ ✧

Imperial Year 852, April 9th—

A carriage departed through the morning mist. Four large chestnut horses leisurely swung their heads to and fro as they walked along, in no apparent rush.

This was the stagecoach that made the round trip from Theonveil only once per day. It was a rather large carriage that seated twelve with three rows of four seats and had room for luggage on the roof.

Seated in the center row were Regis, then Altina and Clarisse, and then Eric.

Clarisse was a maid who had served the princess from the days she had lived in the capital, and was a woman around two years older than Regis.

Her caramel-colored hair was fastened behind her head, and as they were on a special outing today, she wore an indigo one-piece dress rather than her usual maid uniform, a red sash around her waist and a white shawl draped over her shoulders.

Her refined features made her look more like a lady-in-waiting than a maid.

They had deliberately positioned themselves so that the men were protecting the women from either side, but Regis had a feeling he was the weakest one here.

Altina glanced down at Regis’s waist and gave a wry smile.

“It’s rare to see you carrying a sword.”

“...It occurred to me yesterday that I probably shouldn’t be seen without one,” Regis said, prodding the sword hanging from his belt, “I had to scour my room to find it.”

“Right. An unarmed soldier would seem out of place. You really had me worried when you said you’d pawned it.”

“Erk... Sorry for the trouble.”

While he had once pawned it to buy books, he had been able to buy the sword back using the money the princess had lent him.

“Have you been maintaining it properly?”

“Well, uh... Let’s just hope it’s as durable as your treasured sword...”

“Even I oil my sword.”

Altina’s sword, the Grand Tonnerre Quatre, was a legendary blade made from Trystie, a rare metal that was said to have been bestowed upon the first emperor of the nation by the faeries.

The sword was rumored to be able to shatter even the strongest weapons with a single blow, take no damage from even the sharpest spears, and be immune to rust and wear.

However, it was also taller than Altina herself, and so was too large to be brought into the carriage’s seating compartment. It would consequently remain in the luggage hold for the remainder of their journey.

Many researchers had theorized that Trystie—also known as faerie silver—was in fact no more than a naturally occurring alloy, and a new strain of steel that could almost rival its strength was currently being mass produced in High Britannia.

Regis unsheathed his own sword ever so slightly. It slid from its scabbard with considerable ease, revealing the dull sheen of a blade.

“...It’s actually in pretty good condition.”

“Oh, so you actually do perform proper upkeep! I’m starting to see you in a whole new light.”

“...It sat around abandoned for so long that Eric said he couldn’t bear it anymore, so he took care of it for me.”

“And now that respect is gone! C’mon, give it back!”

“W-What exactly... do you want from me...?”

Altina turned to Eric, who was seated on the other side of Clarisse.

“You shouldn’t spoil him!”

“Y-Yes, ma’am! But, due to the tactician’s heavy workload, I thought I should help him out however I could.”

“I understand that you’re busy, but...” Altina drew her face close to Regis. “...if that’s the case, just ask me. Why did you go to Eric?”

“Eeh!? Why, that’s... Using common sense, do you not think a lowly fifth-grade administrative officer asking his major general to maintain his sword for him is somewhat... ludicrous?”

“I see no problem with it. I’ve got time to spare.”

“In that case, there’s a mountain of documents that need your signa—”

“Ah, I see the mountain! Do you suppose that’s the one Fort Sierck is on?” Altina averted her eyes to the surrounding landscape, masterfully changing the subject.

She was skilled when it came to using a sword and was rather competent when it came to analyzing situations, but she wasn’t as great at reading or writing. As a result, she was always running from study and desk work. This also meant that, whenever the commander’s signature was needed, Regis found it easier to just sign for her. It wasn’t a major burden compared to his total workload, but...

Regis shrugged, and Eric gave a gentle smile.

Clarisse sat as quiet and unmoving as a doll. She would joke and laugh with her trusted friends like Altina and Regis, but when others were around, she stayed silent and expressionless. Eric was also in the carriage with them, and the other rows of seats were all occupied by guards.

These sturdy soldiers wore light armor under their street clothes and had swords at their hips. This all made the coach feel rather cramped.

As per Regis’s suggestion, the stagecoach had been fully reserved by the imperial army.

“...The nobles might laugh, but the common folk will see you more favorably. I think.”

“Is that what happened in one of your books?”

“Pardon?”

“What are your thoughts? Will a commander who arrives in a carriage like this make a more favorable impression?”

“Hm... Well, perhaps I would feel more compelled to support you than if you were riding an extravagant carriage surrounded by rows of knights.”

“There are nobles who say that a ruler must be imposing and magnificent for the people to feel pride in their nation.”

“...That may be true in the capital and other affluent regions, but a majority of the towns we’ll pass through are remote regions near the front lines and the poorer lands of the north.”

“When you’re struggling to make a living and someone shows up all fancily dressed telling you to be proud of your nation, it’d be insulting if nothing else.”

“...Quite a few nobles can’t seem to grasp that.”

“Yeah. Maybe I was one of them once. Thank you for taking this all into consideration, Regis.”

“Ah... No... This was originally your idea, Princess.”

The thought of reserving a stagecoach and loading it with guards had also come from something he had read in a book once.

The carriage cleared the valley, and the forest around them gradually grew denser. Ever since they had occupied Fort Volks, the roads leading into imperial territory had been improved and were rather well maintained. But there was still the potential threat of the barbarians who lived in the forests.

The guards grew tense.

“...Do you reckon Diethardt’s doing all right?” Altina whispered into Regis’s ear.

“...I should think so. We already informed Bargenheim of our expedition,” Regis replied, speaking quietly enough that only she could hear, “In a sense, these woods should be safer than the capital.”

✧ ✧ ✧

The first day came to a relatively smooth close; they had stopped off and spent the night in the margrave’s manor.

Elin had intruded on Regis’s room, ultimately leading to another quarrel with Clarisse that was resolved only when Altina threatened to draw her sword. It had all been a little unsettling, but, right on schedule, the reserved stagecoach departed for its next destination.

Altina was in a noticeably good mood.

“That was quite a sendoff from the townspeople.”

“Yes, they took to you better than I thought. Thank goodness.”

“Those people from the merchants’ guild were especially kind... Was that your doing?”

“...Hahaha.”

Well, someone has a keen eye, Regis thought as he gave a dry laugh.

“Don’t tell me you... actually paid them to do all that?”

“I’m not that underhanded. We managed to keep the costs down on this expedition, so I was able to pay off some of our orders in advance. New bedding, additional equipment, and the like.”

“I see.”

It wasn’t as though everyone in town had received work, but large orders did breathe some life into the townsfolk. And, naturally, they’d be passionate in seeing off a regular customer.

“...Showing some gratitude to the ones who padded their pockets isn’t so bad, is it?”

“Right!”

Having seen the people of Theonveil smiling from the bottom of their hearts, Regis was starting to believe in Altina’s goal even more.

✧ ✧ ✧

Second-Grade Combat Officer Abidal-Evra would turn thirty-eight this year.

He was a commoner and the youngest son of six, but his strong build, his sword arm which had been tempered by his older brothers, and—above all else—his honest nature had him singled out by the hero Jerome. He was knighted and subsequently gained peerage as a noble, despite coming from a much humbler upbringing.

He was now a breadwinner shouldering the expectations of his family.

It was only three days prior that Abidal-Evra had been issued an order he quite nearly took as a joke—

“Abidal-Evra,” Jerome called out after training, “What do you think about Regis and Eric?”

“Sir! I see them as a skilled tactician, and a promising young knight!”

“Then what about the princess?”

“She is a popular commander, sir!”

“Hmph... I should’ve expected as such from a rockhead like you. All right. Abidal-Evra, I’m putting you in charge of security for the expedition to the capital.”

“Yes, sir! It’s an honor, sir!”

That much was within his expectations. He had already heard that the princess, Marie Quatre, would attend the foundation day celebration, and in her absence the general, Jerome, would have to act as her proxy—as such, he had to stay at the fortress with the troops. And Sir Everard had just been appointed captain of the garrison.

Given the situation, he thought it only logical that he, or someone of equal rank to himself, would be given the mission. He felt proud to have been chosen.

However, General Jerome’s next words caused him to doubt his ears.

“You will be traveling by stagecoach, and there will be eight guards, yourself included.”

“Sir! Wait... A stagecoach...? Eight guards...? And we’re expected to protect the imperial princess!?”

“Saying you can’t do it?”

“Ah, no! I-If that’s the order—”

“Hmph. Every word I speak is an order. It’s Regis’s plan, so he must have put some thought into it. It’s in your hands now.”

“Yes, sir! Understood, sir!”

The hand he raised in salute was trembling. Could it be this was some sort of conspiracy, and he was being sent to his death along with the princess? Perhaps he was being used as bait. Was he fated to die?

He spent a sleepless night pondering these questions.

The other guards selected to accompany him were all soldiers who had no families to leave behind. He had to wonder whether that had been a criterion.

He felt as though he was already on the verge of death passing through the sea of trees the barbarians made their home. While he could feel at ease in Fort Sierck and in Theonveil... those familiar lands were behind them as they quite quickly found themselves on the main road.

This was a guard mission that would normally require mobilization of a thousand troops, yet there were only eight soldiers in total.

Abidal-Evra could feel his hands becoming damp with sweat.

“Ah, Regis! That’s the station, isn’t it!?” the princess, Marie Quatre, cheerfully cried out.

“...That’s right. Is this your first time seeing it?”

“When I came to Fort Sierck from the capital, there were so many soldiers around me that I couldn’t take in any of the scenery. They wouldn’t even let me leave the carriage.”

“...That sounds about right.”

My thoughts exactly! the knight screamed in tacit agreement with the strategist.

And yet it was this very same tactician who had proposed this bad joke of a situation. He couldn’t understand what the man was thinking.

They had reached the first station two hours from Theonveil. This was the area where the hills and vineyards spread so far they touched the horizon, and, as it was now early April, the flowers had bloomed and colored the land.

A small station stood at the edge of a poor farming settlement. A simple station—nothing more than a modest rest area and stable, where their carriage stopped for a break.

“Good work, everyone,” said the driver, “We’ll be departing after a thirty-minute rest.”

In a normal stagecoach, the clients would probably chat as they wandered about. But Abidal-Evra and the others were trained soldiers, tasked with protecting an imperial princess. Promptly disembarking the carriage, they stood at their predetermined posts, surrounding it from all sides, keeping an eye on their surroundings.

Abidal-Evra opened the wooden door from the outside. From the order they were sitting in, it was the tactician, Regis, who stepped down first.

“...Ah, thanks.” The man respectfully lowered his head.

Abidal-Evra crisply saluted back.

This tactician was terribly humble, his attitude so servile it was impossible to tell what was going through his head. But his skills were by no means lacking. Fort Volks had earned its title as an impregnable stronghold long before Abidal-Evra was even born. Yet this man had brought it down as though it were nothing.

He’s still a fifth-grade admin officer from a common background, but it shouldn’t be long before he’s granted knighthood like me, he thought.

Knighthood was an honorary peerage bestowed upon those who displayed great achievement. It was a non-hereditary title, meaning it could not be passed down to one’s children.

However, simply being a noble made it easier to take important offices in the military, taxation was more lenient, and one was free to start up a business.

Once Regis had departed the carriage, he was followed by Imperial Princess Marie Quatre. Her crimson hair flowed as it caught the wind. She brushed aside several long strands clinging to her neck, revealing her pale nape.

She truly was a beautiful young woman.

Her appearance wasn’t at all exaggerated. Perhaps due to her trained muscles, even the simple act of dismounting a carriage came off as such an elegant gesture.

Her spectacular elegance stood against the clear blue sky made her look like a mural one would find on the walls of a church.

It was the first time Abidal-Evra had ever seen the princess so close, and it made him terribly nervous.

The maid disembarked next, and then finally Eric.

By that time, another soldier had already confirmed the safety of the rest station. He sent over the hand signal to indicate there were no issues.

Abidal-Evra offered a reverent bow.

“Princess, please take a seat in the rest station.”

“Hm. I feel bad for saying this, especially after you’ve gone through so many checks, but... I’d much rather stand, if possible. My bottom’s starting to ache.”

“Dear God! A doctor! Call a doctor!”

“Wait, wait—it’s nothing serious! The seat was just a bit hard, that’s all.”

“Ah, understood! I’ll arrange to have it replaced with something more comfortable at once!”

“I-I don’t need that either.”

As the princess dismissively waved her hands, the tactician beside her let out an offhanded chuckle.

“Hahaha... Perhaps we should have used a fancier carriage after all.”

“Absolutely not! This is all just a part of the experience. I’m having a great time!”

“Thank goodness. We wouldn’t make it in time for the ceremony if we swapped carriages now.”

“Hm. Regis, is the ceremony more important to you than my bottom?”

“...I don’t mind switching carts, but... the masses will surely find it more than entertaining if you tell them, ‘I was late because my bum hurt.’”

“How terrible.”

“You’ll get another strange nickname, I presume.”

“Ah, stop! I told you I’m fine! How about you, Regis? Does your bottom not ache as well!?”

“...Well, I’m generally sitting in hard chairs every waking hour of every day. In fact, this is the perfect environment for an office worker like me.”

“That feels a bit unfair.”

“Haha... What do you expect me to do about it...?”

The princess puffed up her cheeks, which elicited a wry smile from her tactician.

Abidal-Evra was taken by surprise. They’re pretty close... He had always believed Altina was a commander who wouldn’t discriminate against commoners, but as someone of imperial lineage, she was acting more casually than he ever would have expected.

The princess’s maid prepared tea, bringing it over on a tray. As ceramic utensils could be broken, the teapot and teacup she carried were made of silver.

“Princess, would you care for some tea?”

“Thank you, Clarisse. Do you have enough for everyone?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll go right ahead.”

The princess glanced over at Abidal-Evra with a warm smile on her face.

“We’ve got plenty of time, so how about some tea?”

“Eh!? B-But... We’re on the job, so...”

“It’s fine—perfectly fine. There’s such a nice view, and it’s so clear out we’ll notice if anything comes at us.”

“Y-You do... have a point, but...”

“Resting when you can is part of a soldier’s duty. I wouldn’t want you to be worn out when it really counts. Here.”

Of all things, he ended up taking a tea cup from the princess. Resting in his rough, callused hand, the silver cup was small and dazzling like a precious treasure.

“T-Then I’ll treat everyone to some.”

“Yep! Call them here.”

“Right away. GUAAARDS. ALL HANDS, ASSEMBLE!”

The carriage was ready to depart again by the time the guard soldiers had all finished their tea. They boarded, returning to the same seats as before.

Abidal-Evra was seated in the center of the back row. It was his duty to protect the princess’s back, even if doing so should cost him his life.

She and the tactician were talking again:

“They changed out the horses.”

“Yes, such is the merit of a stagecoach. A knight’s horse is a personal possession, and a military horse is trained specially for war, so they’re hard to swap out. But a stagecoach can change its horses at a relay station, allowing it to maintain an impressively quick pace.”

“Who do a stagecoach’s horses belong to?”

“...This highway is under direct imperial control, so that would be the Ministry of Transportation. They’re the administrative body that manages the important roads and ports, though some territories have coaches managed by their respective feudal lord as well.”

“I see.”

“Each rest station where the horses are swapped is called a stage, and the stages are what make it a stagecoach.”

“It’s all very convenient. Is that something the military can use, too?”

“...I’m not sure whether it would be feasible on the northern warfront, but in the south, the military makes use of a similar system. It’s nowhere near developed enough to transport an army, but it can be used to carry orders and reports in a hurry.”

“You’ve been to the south before?”

“I’ve read about it.”

“Oh, right. This is Regis we’re talking about.”

The carriage rattled around as it pressed on. At this rate, they’d reach the next station right on schedule.

“Regis,” said the princess in a serious tone, “when I reach my goal, there’s one thing I’m going to do.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to make stagecoach seats a little softer.”

The imperial princess restlessly shifted her posture.

✧ ✧ ✧

Before noon, on the sixth day since leaving Fort Volks—

While the roads were well maintained, a long trek of over a hundred lieue (444 km) was definitely tiresome. Regis looked over at Altina sitting beside him.

She was snoring soundly, slouched over Clarisse’s shoulder. While she probably wasn’t too heavy...

“...Are you all right, Ms. Clarisse?” Regis asked anyway.

“Perfectly.”

“...We’ll be at the capital soon.”

At that moment, one of the soldiers on watch at the front raised his voice.

“It’s an army!”

Tensions flared through the carriage. Altina shot up at once.

“What!?”

“Princess... Please make yourself presentable first,” Regis said, peering out of the window.

From the summit of a gentle slope approached a line of mounted troops, kicking up dust behind them.

As Clarisse wiped Altina’s mouth with a handkerchief, the princess sullenly whimpered.

“Mnn... So? Who is it!?” she asked.

Who did the unit belong to? Regis looked at the flags the cavalry had raised.

“...A gold lion and sun over red cloth... Tsk... It’s the First Army—the soldiers led by the second prince, General Latrielle.”

The air grew ever more tense. Some in the carriage even seemed to be preparing themselves for death.

The unreasonable order to capture Fort Volks had made it clear enough that Altina and Latrielle were political enemies. It wasn’t public knowledge that the fourth princess was aiming to take the throne, but she was surely seen as more of a threat than the first prince, Auguste, who was now too feeble for public office, and the third prince, Bastian, who was living an uneventful student life.

“...Please calm down, everyone.” Regis spoke in a gentle tone, attempting to soothe those in the stagecoach as they neared the line of soldiers who looked to be out for blood. “We’re on a main road, in broad daylight, with the capital just beyond the hill. There are plenty of carriages passing by. No matter the reason, Prince Latrielle would never draw his sword here, especially with his banner held high. This may just be a test of our decorum.”

I see... Abidal-Evra nodded.

“To take us by surprise, invite unrest, and then prod at a failure in decorum to damage the princess’s reputation...” the knight mused, “Is that the enemy’s scheme, sir?”

“...Any funny business from our side and we’ll play right into his hands.”

“Very well. We are all former soldiers of the capital. We shan’t do anything that may sully the princess’s good name!”

“Yes, I’m counting on you. I’ll be as cautious as I can, myself...” Regis said, keeping his voice as level as he could.

The still young Eric, on the other hand, was making quite the worried face. Clarisse, however, was as collected as ever.

Altina was firmly gripping her own dress.

“I might be the worst at that. Latrielle was always cautioning me about my manners...”

“Is that why you’re not so good when it comes to handling the prince?”

“I mean, he’s so bloody petty! He even gets in a state over where you set down your fork!”

“...Ah, yes... My sister gave me an earful on that one, too... It’s all right. He can only be so petty here.”

“I hope so.”

The stagecoach slowly climbed the hill, coming to a stop as they reached the frontmost line of cavalry.

His resolve clear through his expression, Abidal-Evra disembarked the carriage with his men and opened the door from the outside.

Regis stepped out, immediately scanning the Empire’s notorious First Army.

Normally, the strongest soldiers would stand at the front, while the less experienced troops would be moved nearer the back to pad out the numbers. But he couldn’t spot any weak-looking troops here. Their equipment and discipline were first rate, each soldier seeming to brim with confidence.

“......”

“How does it look?” Altina quietly asked as she stepped down behind him.

“...The First Army consists of three knight regiments—a thousand men each—along with seven thousand foot soldiers. From what I can see, only the White Wolf Brigade is here.”

“Even so, that makes it eleven against a thousand. That’s around ninety per head.”

“...There won’t be any fighting, okay? And please don’t include me in those numbers. It’s just not happening.”

“I’m counting myself twice.”

“Hey...!?”

“Here he comes,” Altina muttered.

From among the ranks of horsemen, a man in red armor riding a white horse proudly made his way forward.

He boasted magnificent golden locks, his face gave off a beautiful, sharp impression, and his eyes were like blazing red gemstones.

The longsword at his hip surely had to be the first emperor’s regalia, the Armée Victoire Volonté (The Victorious Call to Arms). Its hilt was adorned with jewels and had been dyed a gaudy crimson.

There was no mistaking it...

This was the second prince of the Belgarian Empire, Alain Deux Latrielle de Belgaria.

He approached alone.

As he came closer still, he dismounted his horse.

Altina stiffened up. While she was wearing a dress now, if she had had her sword at her hip, she would have reached for it.

There was nothing Regis could do. There was nothing any of them could do. Who in their right mind would obstruct the path of a prince?

The clatter of metallic armor grew louder as he approached, step by step by step.

Altina gritted her teeth as she looked up at her foe.

He was finally close enough to shake hands—no, closer than that.

Latrielle spread his arms wide and locked her in a gentle embrace.

“I’m so sorry... dear sister.”

“Ah, wha—!?”

She froze in his arms, unable to even speak properly.

“I’ve put you through such hardship,” Latrielle continued, speaking in the tone of a gentleman, “All because of my incompetence. What a fool I was to entrust an army to my dear sister. Please forgive your undeserving brother.”

“...Err... Latrielle?”

“Argentina, when I heard you were coming to the capital by stagecoach, it broke my very heart. To think you had fallen into such an unfortunate predicament!”

“Eh? It’s not what you’re thinking. This is so I can see things from the perspective of—”

“Oh, there is much to talk about, I’m sure. But, for now, repaying you and your subordinates comes first. Let us hurry to the capital and find you somewhere to rest.”

“Y-Yeah.”

“It is not nearly enough to congratulate your victory, but I prepared a horse for you, Argentina.”

“A horse?”

Latrielle’s gaze moved to his army. Moments later, a soldier from the rear lines appeared, leading along a horse.

A chestnut steed whose coat was so glossy it practically glimmered. Its cleanly cut mane and long tail were golden, and its left hind leg was white from the knee down.

It was a beautiful, burly war horse.

Latrielle took the reins, urging Altina closer.

“Fufu. A well-natured and clever mare. I do hope you get along.”

“Yeah. R-Right. Incredible.”

Regis had already recovered from the shock.

“...I see.”

Latrielle was trying to win her over. What’s more, he seemed to have a good grasp of her personality—as expected of her brother. To the girl, this was a present far more effective than any amount of gold or jewelry.

Regis pored over the bookshelves in his head, fishing through literature he had once read in an attempt to find an effective solution to their predicament.

“All right, in this situation—”

“Fufu. And, of course, I also prepared horses and a carriage for the strategist, Regis, and his fellow travelers. I apologize that they were picked to my preferences, but would you care to accompany me?”

Latrielle’s eyes were fixed on him.

“Eh!?”

Prince Latrielle, a member of the imperial family and effectively supreme commander of the Belgarian Army, is actually going to give a common fifth-grade administrative officer the time of day!? Regis was shocked yet again.

A miscalculation.

Regis had an excessively low opinion of himself—that was precisely why he had never even considered the possibility that the prince might acknowledge his presence. No matter how thoroughly he searched his repository, a development this terrible was nowhere to be found.

His only option was to nod.

“...Thank you.”

Eric, Abidal-Evra, and the others were given high-class war horses, while Regis and Clarisse were encouraged to board the carriage. A glossy green carriage, as if carved from emeralds.

A special wagon was readied for their luggage.

There was no way for them to decline. Regis gave his thanks to the stagecoach driver for the long ride, and bid a tearful farewell to the hard bench that had accompanied him over the past six days.

He got us.

They had been completely swept up in Latrielle’s momentum.

Regis recalled what he had once said to Altina:

“That was all just surface knowledge I learned from books. If I were to fall into an unfamiliar situation, I’m certain that my expertise wouldn’t be of any use.”

Good grief. It seemed he had been right.

Prince Latrielle showed talent in both military and civil matters; he was appraised to be worthy to be the next emperor. It felt as though a small fragment of said talent was currently being shoved in his face.

He made the first move. Now what should I do?

✧ ✧ ✧

The emerald carriage seated four passengers, containing two rows of seats facing each other.

A ginger-haired soldier sat in one of the rear-facing seats. His drooping eyes gave a peaceful impression, while his age appeared to be near Latrielle’s.

From the gold and silver ornaments adorning his uniform, it was clear he was a noble—and a high-ranking one, at that.

He greeted Regis with a bright smile as the tactician opened the door.

“Oh, I know you. You’re Regis, the tactician, aren’t you? I’m First-Grade Admin Officer Germain Laurentiis de Beaumarchais. Call me Germain.”

“Ah. Right. I am Fifth-Grade Administrative Officer Regis Aurick. Have we come into the wrong carriage?”

“Oh, no. It’s only a short distance to the capital, but I would be honored if you would accompany me. Won’t you sit down?”

“Y-Yes... That’s...”

Regis turned to look at Clarisse behind him, but the maid was calm, her expression unchanging.

“Please pay me no mind and proceed. If there is no space for me in the carriage, I do not mind going on foot.”

“Definitely not! If I allowed you to do that, the princess would never let me hear the end of it.”

“And I would almost definitely be reprimanded by Prince Latrielle,” Germain added, “Come in. Take a seat.”

“...Very well. Thank you for your consideration.”

Having been urged by Regis and Germain, Clarisse bowed and boarded the carriage. She sat in the innermost seat, while Regis took the one beside the door.

Germain sat comfortably across from him.

Normally, a maid would have to take the less desirable rear-facing position, while Germain would take the seat of honor, right where she was presently seated.

First Altina’s welcome and now this. They really are thorough.

Regis had to appreciate their efforts.

Germain spoke up, a sociable smile on his face.

“Regis, my good sir, I’ve always wanted to have a good talk with you.”

“...Err... I’m a commoner, and a fifth-grade officer... You don’t need to address me so respectfully.”

“Oh, my apologies for that. I’m the third son of a marquis, you see, and I always had two competent brothers around, so I’ve gotten used to this way of speaking.”

“You have brothers?”

“Yes. My brothers are stationed on the western front.”

“Now that you mention it...”

Regis recalled the names of the commanders in the imperial army. At present, the Second Army had been dispatched to safeguard the west, and their commander and deputy commander were two brothers from the Beaumarchais family. But Regis hadn’t known their third brother was a staff officer for Prince Latrielle.

The man gave a wry smile.

“The Beaumarchais are a military lineage, but I was terrible at swordplay, spending all of my time buried in books, so I was sure I would never be a soldier. However, I happened to catch the prince’s eye while in the military academy, and now I serve as one of his officers.”

“Oh, I see.”

Regis felt it presumptuous to compare the third son of a marquis to a commoner such as himself, but he still felt an affinity between them.

“And I heard you were quite the intellectual yourself.”

“Me? No, no... I wouldn’t go that far. It just so happens that reading is my one and only hobby.”

“I understand. What have you read lately?”

“I’m ashamed to admit, not much. I’ve been so busy... The Ponytail Next Door by Yorgol, perhaps?”

“Hmm...?” Germain tilted his head. “What sort of scholarly paper is that?”

“It’s a work of complete fiction.”

It was a best-selling romance novel in the capital. Regis had tried to bring up something safe that the ginger-haired soldier was likely to know about.

“Ha-hahahah!” A broad grin spread across his face. “Good one. I’d expect no less from you. Your jokes are first-rate.”

“...Huh?”

“Fufufu. As staff officers, we must serve our Lord with our wisdom. We have no time to occupy ourselves with such meaningless entertainment.”

“Erk.”

“In fact, I’ve always thought such frivolous works should just disappear.”

“...Excuse me?”

“Don’t you agree? Such idiotic fabrications stained by a vulgar desire to do no more than soil the prestige of our great empire. They are the height of depravity. Yes, wouldn’t you say such base literature belongs not on our bookshelves, but on the pyre?”

Germain’s tone made it clear he was being serious, honest in his claim that such a book burning would be of great benefit to the country.

Regis looked down at his lap, purposefully avoiding the man’s gaze.

“...Who can decide what is and what isn’t acceptable?”

“The Ministry of Justice, I’d suppose. As we are now, they’ve deemed all works critical of the Empire as treasonous, and our knights are more than willing to enforce that decree.”

“...Is their sense of values absolute? If so, all manner of expression deemed erroneous by the ministry would be expunged without question.”

“Yes, of course! Naturally! It’s only natural for a nation to restrict all potential threats to its sovereignty.”

“That’s absurd... If this country were to proceed down a misguided path, you would silence those who tried to voice wisdom? You attended the military academy, so I’m sure you already know that only a foolish commander refuses to hear his men... Are you going to make this empire a nation of fools?”

“Err, well, no. Academic papers pertaining to politics won’t be burned. Only worthless entertainment.”

“...What decides the academic worth of a paper...? Ah, that’s another issue entirely. Whatever the case, there are those who change minds through entertainment—change that ultimately benefits the Empire.”

“Even assuming that’s true, there are innumerable people who’ll be swayed to crime by those works.”

“And just as many to turn away from it.”

Germain fell silent. Regis relaxed his fists, which had become tightly balled in his lap.

What have I done?

He had inadvertently allowed his passion to get the better of him.

Considering Altina’s position, perhaps it would be more effective to play along with Latrielle’s plan to win him over for the time being. It was a bit late to consider it, but should he have feigned agreement to maintain his political standing?

To Regis’s surprise, it was Clarisse who broke the silence. She spoke softly, her expression stagnant.

“...I can’t say I understand such complicated matters, but... it’s the human condition to be born, to live, and to die. If we’re all going to die someday... a life you can look back on fondly is a life that holds meaning. That is what I think.”

Silence fell upon the carriage once more.

Regis had given up on trying to make amends. He hadn’t said anything wrong.

Germain donned a fake smile. “Fufu, how rude of me. We’ve spoken of rather difficult matters in front of a lady. Talk of politics and religion is taboo at a party. Please, forgive the discourtesy of this country bumpkin.”

“...No, that should be my line,” said Regis.

Germain turned his gaze to the passing landscape. Tensions seemed to subside.

“We’re almost at the capital.”

“So we are.”

Regis looked at Clarisse beside him. He could see the pangs of nostalgia in her narrowed eyes.