Preface 1: Looming Thunder

Imperial Year 851, late April—

It was still unpleasantly cold in the north. The layer of snow from the night before melted by dawn, dampening the rocky outer walls.

Regis Aurick was fast asleep in his room at Fort Volks, when he was awakened by a faint stream of sunlight spilling in through a small hole in the wall. As he sat up, the book he had fallen asleep reading slipped from his chest. He reflexively caught it before it could fall to the ground.

“Mn... Nn... Morning?”

He reluctantly parted with the thin blanket that had been wrapped around him, embracing his shoulders as if to shield himself from the cold that greeted him as he stepped out of bed. He then carefully weaved between the stacks of paperwork at his feet, making his way to his writing desk.

Upon reaching it, he removed the glass chimney from the oil lamp—which was also surrounded by papers—to expose the wick. In the dim morning light, he groped around until he had procured his tinderbox. It was a brilliant red box with a small drawer in it, and he had received it from Altina on his birthday just a few days before, on April 23rd.

He opened the drawer and took out some flint, as well as a wooden splint. Once he had them, he took the lid off of the tinderbox, revealing two small compartments: one that contained a small piece of metal, and another containing tinder. By striking the flint against the metal, he could direct sparks into the tinder-filled compartment, which kindled a weak ember.

Regis brought the splint over to the ember, and the flame effortlessly spread to its tip. He then carefully ferried the lit splint over to the oil lamp’s wick, taking extra care to ensure it didn’t go out. The second it touched the wick, light filled the room, and Regis hurriedly put the glass chimney back in place.

While Fort Volks did have the minimum number of small apertures necessary to navigate its tunnels, the amount of light they let in was insufficient for doing paperwork. For this reason, oil lamps were necessary even at the height of day.

Had today been any colder, Regis would have also used the still-burning splint to light his fireplace, but... even a small scrap of kindling wood was a valuable resource. He could see his breath, but his hands weren’t numb, so Regis pressed the splint into an iron ashtray to extinguish it.

As he placed the lid back on the tinderbox, the embers in the tinder-filled compartment were immediately snuffed out. He then returned the remaining tools to their respective places, before putting the tinderbox back where he had found it.

After stripping off his pajamas, Regis reached a hand toward the uniform hung on the wall—the uniform of the Beilschmidt border regiment, and one he had grown considerably accustomed to. It had a lot of buttons, which proved to be somewhat of a pain, but it was the perfect protection from the cold.

The insignia on his shoulder hadn’t changed; back in the capital, the supreme commander of Belgaria’s army, General Latrielle, had said he would promote Regis to a third-grade administrative officer. Unfortunately, the decree had yet to come, so he was still no more than a fifth-grade officer.

Perhaps he changed his mind... After all, right after that talk, not only had Regis found himself on the run from the First Army’s White Wolf Brigade, he had been responsible for at least half of them being incinerated. That would definitely be hard for Latrielle to overlook.

While a little disheartened by the raise he had missed out on, Regis valued his safety over an increase in salary. Not to mention that Regis’s self-confidence was still so low that he considered it a miracle he hadn’t been sacked yet. It went without saying that, as a soldier, he was about as much use as an elderly porter; his swordplay was worse than that of an untrained child, he was unable to draw a bow, and he couldn’t even ride a horse.

As he was midway through changing, Regis’s eyes scanned the desk.

“Huh?”

There was a document there he had never seen before—a report of a dispute within the regiment.

While the regiment Regis was stationed in was officially recognized as the Beilschmidt border regiment, ever since Altina—more formally known as Fourth Princess Marie Quatre Argentina de Belgaria—had assumed command, it was additionally being called “Marie Quatre’s Army.” But although the princess’s swordplay skills were first-rate, she was still just a fourteen-year-old girl. She would be fifteen come May, but regardless, she was just a child.

The combat unit was headed by Jerome Jean de Beilschmidt. He was a knight hailed as a hero, and he possessed a daring nature that had him charging to the very frontlines of any battlefield.

Neither he nor Altina really cared about what they considered to be trivial details; some would say this made them leaders who had an eye for the big picture, but others would call it an excuse to be somewhat sloppy...

Perhaps that style of command had worked out fine back when a majority of their forces consisted of regular imperial soldiers who knew one another. But Marie Quatre’s Army now had many newcomers among its ranks: soldiers who had been stationed in Fort Volks before its occupation, and mercenaries from far-off lands. Some had even joined accompanied by subordinates of their own.

They were in a situation where disputes were breaking out between the new and old soldiers, but the amalgamation of people from different cultures almost always caused some degree of conflict. Soldiers weren’t emotionless game pieces; more people meant more trouble.

Resolving any instance of discontent would require tender and open-minded care catered to each particular case. But Regis did not have that sort of time. This regiment had an overwhelming lack of administrative officers, meaning he was nearly the only one settling its organization and supply chain, alongside laying the groundwork for the plans he anticipated he would need.

That was why he had borrowed some help. The name of the person who had processed the report could be seen on the document placed on his desk.

“...Did Lillim drop by?”

“Verily,” came a voice from amidst the mountains of documents. Regis scampered back as he was taken by complete surprise.

“Wuh!?”

“If you would pardon my intrusion,” said the girl as her head abruptly sprouted up. She looked like a child wearing a maid costume. Her skin was tan, while her hair was as dark as the night sky. She was still young, but Lillim worked as the head maid for First Prince Auguste.

Under normal circumstances, she would have had nothing to do with the Beilschmidt border regiment, but, valuing her talent when it came to arbitration, Regis had entrusted her with the task of resolving conflicts within the unit.

Lillim stood up, brushing the dust off of her uniform. “Very sorry. When I came to deliver some documents this morning, you were very soundly asleep.”

“Y-Yeah... In which case, you could have just left after putting them on my desk.”

“Of course. That was my intention, but...”

“But...?”

“When I saw you sleeping so peacefully, I grew oh-so very sleepy myself.”

As far as reasons went, that didn’t sound very convincing. But there was no denying she had been working hard.

Regis quickly leafed through the document. She had done a good job summarizing all of the issues, and her proposed solutions seemed appropriate enough.

“...I see. Thank you.”

She broke into a very drowsy grin. “Glad to be of service!”

Then, there was a knock at the door, accompanied by a familiar voice. “Mr. Regis, are you awake?”

“Yeah.”

In the doorway appeared a young knight with luxurious blond hair, calming blue eyes, and a soothing, almost effeminate voice. It was Eric Mickaël de Blanchard. He was still only sixteen years old, but as the age of adulthood in the Belgarian Empire was fifteen, he was already considered a fine and very capable knight.

He had no brothers, and his father had passed away; if he wanted to protect the traditions of his family, he had no choice but to succeed the House of Blanchard himself. Though it did appear that there were some peculiar circumstances surrounding that.

“Good morning, Mr. Re—” Upon entering the room, Eric froze up like a wax statue, at a complete loss for words.

Regis looked over, confused by Eric’s sudden reaction. And then everything clicked into place; he had been distracted partway through changing. The blood rushed to Regis’s face.

“Ah, no... This is, you see—”

“How could this be!? For Mr. Regis to have removed his trousers in the presence of a child!”

“This is just a terrible misunderstanding, Eric. If you’d just calm down for a moment—”

“I could understand this kind of behavior if you were with Clarisse or the princess, but such a young girl!?”

“Mn?” Lillim cocked her head to the side, a quizzical look on her face.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Ahahahahahah!”

Laughter erupted from the officers’ dining hall in Fort Volks. Altina was clutching her stomach, tears forming in her eyes.

“...It’s nothing to laugh about...” Regis sighed. “I quite nearly died there. Socially speaking, that is.”

“M-My apologies,” Eric said, looking as ashamed as could be.

Regis, Altina, and Eric were seated at a table, while Clarisse waited on them. Lillim had to arrange breakfast for her own master, Prince Auguste—well, Felicia—so she was presumably hard at work in the prince’s room.

Incidentally, Felicia had requested that her guard, Eddie Fabio de Balzac, share the room with her. While they had both done their best to deny it, the two were quite clearly lovers, so no one was particularly bothered by the request. And as far as the regular soldiers were concerned, this was just a prince and a duke sharing a room. They were both male, so there was nothing suspicious about it. Well, there probably wasn’t.

That aside, upon hearing about the completely baseless misunderstanding surrounding Regis and Lillim, Altina had burst into laughter.

“Ahahahah... Oh, my stomach... It hurts... Ahah... Ahh... Well, I’m glad Regis isn’t into that sort of thing.”

“Of course not.”

“Then, how about you tell me what you’re actually into for once?”

“...R-Rather than waste our time on such a trifling matter, we should focus on the mountain of other, far more important issues we have to discuss. Even the time we have for breakfast shouldn’t be carelessly frittered away.”

“Tsk.” Altina tutted very deliberately, but received no reaction from Regis, who mercilessly continued to redirect the topic of conversation.

“Now then... As you know, last night we received news of the death of the queen of High Britannia.”

“Right.” Altina corrected her posture.

“...The urgent message arrived on the 25th, and reported that she had died on the 15th.”

Meaning, the queen had died on the first day Belgaria had been celebrating its anniversary. Her death was an important event on the international stage, but the transmission of such information usually took some time; when a lookout spotted an enemy, they could spread the news using smoke signals or noises, but more detailed messages could only be conveyed through letters which were carried by horse.

On well-maintained highways, transmission could be sped up by changing horses at each relay station, but this practice was hard to implement on the front lines. It was 23 lieue (100 km) between the border town of Theonveil and Fort Volks; not only were there no stations set up between them, there was also a forest inhabited by barbarians in the way.

Altina had made a secret agreement with Diethardt, known as the “Barbarian King,” so all Belgarian soldiers would most likely be able to pass through safely. But as she couldn’t make it public that she had joined hands with barbarians, the unaware messenger would have made sure to traverse the forest with the utmost caution, which would inevitably take even more time.

That said, the difficulty of passing on information wasn’t entirely a bad thing. It meant, for instance, that collusion wasn’t a very pressing issue. And even if collusion did take place, transmitting information to outsiders would be near impossible, as straying from one’s station or battalion was especially conspicuous.

In a large army, it wasn’t strange for one or two spies to be among its ranks—this was common sense, so a well-trained unit made sure to keep close tabs on its members. For this reason, a conspirator trying to sneak out for a secret talk was just as likely to be caught as an enemy who tried to crawl into their midst, if not more so.

Had a convenient method of conveying information not dependent on physical means been invented, the situation would have been completely different.

“... High Britannia is a nation ruled by a queen, but run by a parliament. If they’re following tradition, then the monarch’s death will have been followed by a week of mourning, after which the next queen should be announced by Parliament.”

“Parliament?” Altina asked.

“They’re somewhat similar to the ministers we have in Belgaria, but their authority is much stronger. For instance, when the queen gives an order, if at least twenty-four of the thirty members of Parliament speak against it, her order will be refused.”

“Huh, that’s amazing!”

“...Well, you could say it’s a safety measure put in place to prevent tyranny. Generally speaking, most policy matters tend to divide opinion pretty evenly, so in the end, the queen is granted the final say regardless.”

“Oh, I see. But that’s still a pretty interesting system.”

“Each new queen is supposed to be chosen by her predecessor and then approved by Parliament. It sounded as though the late queen’s death wasn’t an unexpected one; she passed away peacefully on her sickbed, so she has presumably already selected her successor.”

“Is that important?”

“Well, consider it like this: if a queen is able to choose her successor, then we can presume there will be no large-scale political changes. Although, looking at it from another angle, had this been a premeditated murder...”

“Gotcha.” Altina nodded. She may not have been particularly well read when it came to politics, but she was no fool.

“...It seems Prince Latrielle has come to the same conclusion. He hasn’t sent any reinforcements to the border we share with High Britannia. Well, the Second Army’s already stationed there, but... at the very least, we haven’t received any orders out here.”

“I see. What do you think he should do, Regis?”

“...I think he made the right move, perhaps? Sending a large army to a nation’s border so soon after it’s lost its leader would only serve to cause unnecessary tensions. Maybe if we were looking for an excuse to go to war, but right now we should really be avoiding any hostilities with High Britannia.”

“They’ve got their hands on all sorts of amazing technology these days.”

“Yeah. The invention of the steam engine was a large contributor to that; the railway and steamboat seriously increased the speed of distribution, and speeding up distribution hastens progress as it also speeds up the circulation of people, goods, and information... Right. Let’s say that, in the future, some form of technology is developed that lets you instantly converse with far-away people. Human lives would change at an unthinkable, dizzying pace.”

“Converse with... far-away people?”

“I can’t even imagine it.”

“You mean, like... talking really, really loudly?”

“...Erm, no. That’s not quite what I meant.”

“Oh... You know, I’ve been wondering... With technology that incredible, how come they haven’t attacked us already?”

“Yeah, uh... Does any country really have a reason to declare war on the Belgarian Empire, though?”

“It doesn’t matter whether they have a reason—if you’ve got that kind of strength, you’ll want to test it. It’s like how someone in a position of power wants to exercise their authority.”

“I see.”

Regis couldn’t really sympathize with Altina’s reasoning, but there was indeed some truth to her words; in his stories, there was no shortage of villains who acted precisely because they had the power to. All of a sudden, he recalled what had been bothering him for some time now.

“...Altina... You have more troops than ever before. If your forces continue to grow, are you thinking about taking on Prince Latrielle?”

Altina paused for a brief moment, deep in thought, her expression unusually serious. “...If I thought it was a battle the people would support, then yes, I would consider it.”

“I see.”

You sure have grown, Regis thought. Altina had gotten a little more judicious, having learned from her defeat a few days prior. He considered following up by asking what she would do if only half of the people supported the idea, but he decided against it. There was no harm in him thinking it over for her; after all, a ruler didn’t need to be omnipotent.

“Hey, then do we not have to do anything?” Altina asked, “Just send our condolences?”

“Hm... Well, it’s not like we have unlimited funding.”

Preparing for war would mean increasing emergency food stores as well as hiring mercenaries under terms they would usually never agree to in order to temporarily bolster their troops, and both required a considerable sum of money.

Say they used up their budget here. What would they do if, all of a sudden, they received a declaration of war? Without the required funds, they would be in a rather precarious situation, and at times like that the commander was always hard-pressed to make a very tough call.

“Ah, that’s right!” Altina furrowed her brow. “High Britannia is across the western sea, while Fort Volks resides far away on the north-eastern border. What’s more, there’s nothing that seems to suggest we’d be going to war, so there’s no need for us to make any preparations.”

“Yeah. It’d probably amount to nothing.”

But that reasoning was precisely why the north-eastern border would make for an ideal target. The thought did occur to Regis, but he gave it no mind; it would be impossible to reinforce the army in their current situation.

“...Since we’re on the topic of High Britannia...” Altina suddenly spoke up, as though she had just recalled something. “You reckon Bastian’s doing all right? I’m sure he’s healthy as can be, but do you think he’s causing any problems?”

“Third Prince Bastian? He’s studying abroad in High Britannia, isn’t he?”

“Nah. He just didn’t want to be involved in the power struggle so he ran off. I can see him doing something like that; he’s the unhinged type, you see. A weirdo. Or rather—”

“...I did a bit of digging, but... is that really true?”

“You think Latrielle was lying?”

“I can’t say for sure... But Bastian caused all sorts of problems in the imperial court. If we’re not considering Latrielle, I hear he was the least popular member of Belgarian royalty—even less popular than Auguste, who was so sickly he rarely even showed up.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. He was always causing trouble.”

“I can’t imagine he was even considered as a viable candidate to succeed the throne.”

“Ah, actually, maybe Bastian was sent away to stop him from causing problems. His mother or some other relative always had to apologize on his behalf whenever he worked his mischief, so maybe they finally had enough?”

That said, it would be an even bigger issue if the prince caused trouble in a neighboring country. Though it was probably a bit too late to worry about that; Regis recalled a rumor he had heard.

“...He allegedly got into a fistfight with a brigade of mercenaries at a bar. I have no clue what an underaged prince would be doing in a bar, and the reason why the fight broke out is still unclear.”

What’s more, he had then forced everyone to leave the bar. Whether or not that was true was unclear, but there was no doubting that the prince made no attempts to restrain himself.

Altina nodded. “I think that happened last year? Father ordered him to be placed under house arrest after that.”

“...His Majesty?”

“I remember Bastian saying: ‘The place sounded pretty interesting so I went to check it out, when I saw the waitress was being hassled by drunks. So I stepped in and saved her.’”

“‘Saved’?”

“Yeah. Then he said: ‘All of a sudden, my right hand was throbbing. Turned out I’d started swinging without even realizing it. What can I say? I am the law.’”

“...Not sure how I feel about ‘the law’ being someone who not only went to a bar despite being underage, but then tried to justify it by saying the place ‘sounded pretty interesting.’”

“You make a pretty good point...”

“He has a status to live up to. He can’t go around lashing out just because he thinks he’s in the right; he needs to act in a way that garners support from all sides.”

“Yep, yep. Just because he’s pissed doesn’t mean he should get involved in a bar fight. Bastian really is clueless.”

“...Oh really? I recall a certain someone lunging at the second prince out of anger just a few days ago.”

“Mrk...”

“Considering how impulsive his younger sister is, I’m not too surprised by Bastian’s personality.”

“Grr... I-I’m not as bad as Bastian. I think,” Altina reluctantly tacked on.

“Excuse me, uh...” Eric raised a hand. “In regard to General Latrielle, was there anything else to discuss?”

“What else would there be?” Regis asked.

“Well, we fought the First Army the other day, so I was just wondering... Are we going to be tried for treason? Or are we in the clear?”

“Oh...”

Regis could understand why that was something the soldiers would worry about, but it was an absurd concern as far as he was aware.

“If he wanted to take us to a military tribunal, he’d have to start by proving the legitimacy of the White Wolf Brigade’s actions. Of the two knight brigades that clashed on that day, the tribunal will have to determine which one was in the wrong.”

“That makes sense.”

“He sought to bring Prince Auguste back to the capital; I presume he wanted to invalidate Altina’s support by revealing he was a fake.”

Eric nodded. Altina was listening as well, a meek look on her face.

“Now then,” Regis continued, “what authority did General Latrielle have to issue a forceful summons to Prince Auguste, who had not only relinquished his right to the throne, but is also not in the Belgarian Army and so has no obligation to obey its commander?”

“Ah.” Altina and Eric shared an understanding nod. The White Wolf Brigade’s demands far exceeded their authority; it was true that Latrielle was a member of royalty, but when he had ordered the First Army to confront Auguste, he had done so as a general.

“...Although we would have needed to act differently had he ordered Altina to return.”

“What would we have done then?”

“Prince Latrielle’s order would be considered a summons for a military officer, and, as an officer, you would have naturally needed to bring your troops along as well. That would have given us a reason to return to Fort Volks, where we could make preparations.”

“What if he had ordered that I come alone, or said I had to come at once?”

“In a sense, having him pushed that far into a corner would make things easy for us. He may be your superior officer, but ordering a political enemy to come alone would be like announcing to the nation that he was about to assassinate his little sister.”

“I see. That’s terrible.”

“Going back to our siege on Fort Volks, Latrielle would have been frowned upon had you died in battle. He only took such measures because he was certain that, while the army may be expended, there was no risk to its commander. How many nobles would be willing to support a prince who’s fallen so far he openly declares an assassination?”

“Are you sure they wouldn’t still side against me?”

“The nobles only support Latrielle because they believe he will become emperor. But what emperor would choose a son who has displayed such shameful behavior as his successor?”

“Ah, that’s right! Father is really conscious of preserving the image of L’Empereur Flamme. It wouldn’t be strange for him to cut ties with such a conniving person.”

In the end, this power struggle was a popularity contest, the winner being whoever was chosen by the emperor. Latrielle understood that abusing his authority over the military to harm his sister would severely damage his reputation, and essentially remove him from the running. Though, presumably, had Latrielle been born with red hair, he would have already been made emperor—a fact that, when considered, made him almost pitiable. Almost.

Clarisse poured the tea she had brewed, and their breakfast conference came to an end. For once, Regis did not have any decisions to make; no matter how he scrutinized the information on hand, there was but a single option open to him.

✧ ✧ ✧

A mess of screams and yells echoed across the fortress, and injured soldiers were carted in one after another. Upon hearing the news, Regis raced down the stairs; the plaza just inside the main gate, which was still under repair, had become a battlefield.

Regis eventually reached a medium-sized room that was packed with blood-covered soldiers. Some were resting in beds, but the majority had nowhere to lay but the floor.

“Warm water! Bring as much as you can!” Everard shouted.

Keeping up appearances was the least of the knights’ concerns; they frantically ran to and fro, carrying buckets and vases. Meanwhile Jerome, who was clad in full armor, was crouched down over a young soldier who had fallen in battle, doing his best to administer treatment. He shook his head and slowly rose to his feet, fury in his eyes.

“Bring me a body bag!”

“Eh!? But we haven’t even recited prayers—” The perplexed soldier who had received Jerome’s orders stammered his words before the general thrust him away.

“This soldier’s just died! We’re in a fortress; this is a closed tunnel, not a ventilated plaza. If you don’t want an epidemic, you’ll fetch a body bag and you’ll do it now!”

“Y-Yes, sir!” the soldier cried, running off in search of a body bag.

The strength drained from Regis’s body. His knees buckled, forcing him to lean against the rocky wall to support himself.

“...Ghh.”

“Get a grip!” came a female voice from behind him, “You have to hold on!”

Regis turned around to see Altina encouraging a wounded soldier. The man was bleeding heavily from one shoulder, and the lady doctor was bandaging his wound using white cloth.

It stained red right before his eyes. Cleaning a wound and dressing it—that was often the most that medical technology could offer. From there, recovery came down to how well the person’s body could heal itself naturally, if at all.

A middle-aged knight walked up to Regis, then slapped a hand to his chest in salute. He was the commander of the unit that now faced so many casualties. “Reporting in, Tactician! We were attacked in the northern forest while training!”

“...What sort of attack?”

As Regis looked over the injured, he noticed they were wearing the minimum required protective gear. They must have been the new recruits who had only just arrived at the fortress, many of whom were still young.

“We sent a scout ahead, but I assume they were killed before they could report back.”

The soldier they had sent out to collect information on the ambushing enemy had never returned, and the attacked unit was full of newcomers who hadn’t yet grown accustomed to the land. That explained the damages.

Regis tried to contain the wave of nausea that had washed over him, instead putting his mind to work. “The enemy... Which army did they belong to?”

“We didn’t see a flag, but judging by the direction they came from and the weapons they used, I should think they are soldiers of the Grand Duchy of Varden.”

It was an attack by the territory who had formerly owned Fort Volks. Their domain was small, but the natural resources it contained—its abundance of high-quality iron, in particular—meant that Varden had access to considerable wealth; this, in turn, allowed them to gather skilled mercenaries and equip them with high-quality weapons.

Regis may have managed to snatch Fort Volks, but that was only thanks to a scheme; he hadn’t done much to weaken the duchy’s military strength.

“Those Varden bastards!” exploded Jerome, “Those incorrigible shot-clogs think they can take their fortress back!? Well, have at them! I’m not going to make the same mistake they made, and wait like some kind of pathetic mole in my little hidey hole! Oi, grab me my spear! And you, ready my horse! We’re going out at once to cleave open their inadequate skulls. Then we’ll see just how much of a brain they’re missing!”

Jerome was never one to hide his emotions, but even so, it was rare to see him express this much anger. The soldiers obeyed, as expected, until—

“Wait a second, please!”

“Huh!? Are you telling me to wait!? Oi, Regis! You seriously think you can stop me!?”

“...We received an urgent message from the capital just a moment ago.” Faced with Jerome’s rage, it took Regis a moment to gather the courage to speak.

“What do they want now!?” Jerome fearsomely scowled.

“...On the morning of April 23rd, the port city of Ciennbourg was attacked and left in ruin. The Empire’s Second Army is engaging the enemy, who has since come ashore.”

It was currently April 30th, so seven days had already gone by since then. Considering that the news had first gone to the capital, where it was discussed by the Ministry of Military Affairs, the message had reached the border rather swiftly. Regis knew the battle was likely already over, but there was no way he could know the outcome of a battle all the way across the continent.

Jerome groaned. “A port in the west? Don’t tell me they’re attacking us now!?”

“...Seems like it. The enemy warship was a steamboat... and on its hull was the crest of High Britannia.”

“What about General Latrielle? Has he said anything?”

“The Ministry of Military Affairs has ordered us to send half of our troops to the western front as reinforcements.”

Unrest spread among the soldiers who were listening in. An enemy of unknown capabilities was invading from the west, and the Grand Duchy of Varden had picked that very moment to launch an attack. What’s more, the supreme commander of the army had requested reinforcements; if Altina dispatched half of her troops to the western front, then those defending against Varden would be at a serious disadvantage. And now that the battle had reached the front gate, it was only natural for some to feel anxious.

Jerome looked at the soldiers, then paused in thought. He was a man who could manipulate his anger to whip the men into a fervor, but, if needed, could just as easily make level-headed decisions.

Altina stood up from beside the wounded man she had been tending to. “Regis, what do you think? Should we focus on sending reinforcements to the west, or on the enemy attacking the fortress?”

“I...”

His mind was blank. He was their tactician, but he didn’t have the intuition to make such a decision on the spot.

Jerome glanced at him. The soldiers were looking his way as well. Any traces of confidence had dissipated, and the thought of speaking his own mind in this situation made his heart stop. His legs were trembling. But right now, he was Altina’s tactician; he couldn’t run away.

Once again, Regis found himself scanning the bookshelves in his head—a place where he stored the knowledge contained in every book he had ever read. He thumbed through countless pages, breezing through as many stories as there were stars in the night sky.

“I can only offer... the teachings of others... Princess.”

On her request, Regis would call the princess “Altina” when only those close to her were around. But if any misunderstandings were to arise among the troops, it would lower their morale, so he made sure to call her “Princess” in public.

“That’s good enough. So, what do you think we should do?”

“...We’re lacking in preparations, information, and time. Even so, I believe we should start by fighting back against the soldiers from Varden.”

“But what about reinforcing the west?”

“Even if we were to send reinforcements out now, the soldiers would struggle to fight effectively knowing what was happening back at Fort Volks. For this reason, the best approach would be to first deal with the enemy threatening our home base.”

“Makes sense. They’d worry for the ones left behind. And if our fortress was breached, the towns where their families live would be the next targets.”

“Exactly. But it’s also true that we can’t waste too much time on them. Varden might have a drawn-out battle in mind, but... I propose we end things tonight.”

“Tonight!?” Altina’s surprise was understandable. While a fight on the plains could usually be settled relatively quickly, a siege on a fortress would usually span days, if not weeks, no matter the outcome.

The corners of Jerome’s lips curled up to form a ferocious smile. “Kukukuh... So we’re going out, then?”

Regis nodded in response. That was their only option.

The soldiers were astir. Had he really just suggested they purposely leave the fortress that gave them an unshakable advantage!?

Altina balled her fists. “Behind Fort Volks is Theonveil, and many other towns as well. And in the west are more people we must protect... Now is our time to fulfill the pledge of our flag!”

The princess’s flag was a simple one: a shield over a green pasture to symbolize the people. To protect those who made up the Empire—it was for this reason that Altina took up her sword.