Chapter 1: Cannon Fire at Midnight

Imperial Year 851, April 30th—

It happened a little before the noon bell rang. At Fort Volks, a mine that had been repurposed as a sturdy defensive base, a unit of wounded soldiers was carted into the front plaza. These new recruits had gone out to train only to fall victim to a surprise attack from Varden’s vanguard. Their pained cries filled the square. So many were injured that it was quite clear night would fall before they could all receive medical treatment. Every able man would have to do his part.

But Regis had a different role to fill.

Fort Volks, command room—

White walls, lined with black pillars and beams—this stark, simple room had barely changed since it had been seized from Varden by Belgaria. A vase had been placed in one corner, and the flowers inside were regularly swapped out for fresh ones, but the refined scent of small red roses was now completely masked by the thick stench of blood; the clothes of everyone present had been stained while treating the wounded.

There was a large table in the center of the room, and the commander sitting in the furthest seat—Altina—let out a sigh. “Why did it have to come to this...?”

Across from her, Jerome slouched his large physique back into his chair. As a seasoned veteran and general, he was considerably calm, not even making an attempt to wipe the blood from his uniform. “Hmph... You won’t get anywhere if you get all depressed every time a few new recruits die,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter that only a few died, or that they were new recruits—we still lost our brothers-in-arms today.”

“Will a princess’s lament bring back the dead? Leave the grieving to their families. If you don’t want any more deaths, concentrate on what you can do.”

“Erk... I-I know, but...” It was a cruel thing to ask of the fourteen-year-old Altina, but she definitely needed to change her mindset.

Jerome furrowed his brow, shifting his gaze to her side. “And you too, Regis! How long are you gonna sit around looking all pale!?”

“R-Right... Sorry...”

Regis had participated in battle before and had seen wounded soldiers more times than he could count, but this was the first time he had lost troops to unanticipated circumstances since taking charge as Altina’s tactician. He thought he had been considering every possibility and acting appropriately, but now it was like the dead were condemning his ineptitude. As these thoughts ran through his mind, Regis felt a crushing pain in his chest, growing so intense that he struggled to even breathe.

Then, a firm hand gripped his shoulder; it belonged to Everard, who was sitting beside him. He was an old knight, over forty, characterized by his bald head and thick beard—a large, muscular man who was built like a bear. While he had originally been the regiment’s knight captain, he was now the head of its garrison. “Sir Regis, we are soldiers on the battlefield. We all came here knowing that we might die. This is not a burden for you to shoulder alone,” he said.

“...Thank you. It’s okay, I’m fine.” Regis couldn’t afford not to be. A lapse of concentration would lead to even more deaths; he couldn’t keep hanging his head, fixing his gaze on the contours in the wood grain. Instead, he steadied his breath, looking up and taking in the command room around him.

Altina was seated to his left. She was always overflowing with energy and beautiful enough to cause a stir in the imperial court, but now even she was wearing a pensive expression.

Beside her was her guard officer, Eric. He was a young sixteen-year-old knight who was somewhat lacking in combat experience—or at least, that was the conclusion that Regis had come to. After seeing the injured, Eric had turned just as pale as Regis.

Another seat down was Sir Eddie. He was the young head of the Balzac House, which was widely heralded for its expert swordsmanship, but as he had put it himself: “I’m just not good at the whole killing thing. I’m pretty great when it comes to the close combat stuff though, so how about you put me to good use?”

His sword skills were apparently exceptional, even in a country like Belgaria that was already teeming with seasoned fighters. To Regis, this couldn’t be any more reassuring.

And then there was First Prince Auguste, who, for a particular reason, had relinquished his succession rights before His Majesty the Emperor. This request was granted, meaning he was no longer a candidate for the throne. In reality, however, the person that almost everyone knew as Auguste was actually his younger sister, Princess Felicia, in disguise. The only ones in the fortress who knew were the seven presently in the command room and two special maids.

Were it ever discovered that Auguste was a fraud, then not only would his expression of support for Altina have the opposite effect, Felicia would be sent to the gallows for the heavy sin of deceiving the emperor. To prevent this from happening, she continued to wear Auguste’s clothes and was now taking an extended stay at Fort Volks as a guest of honor.

At present, she was despondent, and heavy shadows were cast across her face. She was usually a rather unaspiring young girl, but right now she was especially listless. “...Do you think my mother’s... all right?” she muttered.

“I’m sure she’s fine. The House of Touranne has its own forces, and the Empire’s Second Army is stationed in the west as well,” Eddie mindfully replied.

Felicia was the daughter of the emperor and his second consort, Catherine. The territory of Duke Touranne, which was where Felicia’s mother called home, was located in the west, precisely where a neighboring country was currently invading. According to the information they had received at Fort Volks, the port city of Ciennbourg on the western coast had fallen seven days ago on April 23rd following an enemy bombardment that very same morning.

The enemy commanded a steamboat from the Queendom of High Britannia, which was equipped with the Type-41 Elswick Cannon—a scaled-up model of what had already been the greatest cannon in the world, improving on both accuracy and output. In contrast, the Belgarian Empire only had sailboats, meaning that any naval battles would be hopeless.

The enemy army had only sent a ten-thousand-man vanguard, but they would undoubtedly send more. It had been on the afternoon of the 23rd that the Empire’s Second Army marched to intercept the invaders, and seven days had passed since. Had the battle already been decided?

I can only hope we were able to fight them back, but...

Regis conjectured that a crushing defeat was inevitable: the Empire’s Second Army was not prepared to engage foreign powers. It was mainly stationed in the west for political purposes, and its numbers didn’t even reach ten thousand. Meanwhile, High Britannia had prepared the latest firearms and cannons, and was using armor made of a new, stronger alloy.

Belgaria’s soldiers were veterans—the crème de la crème—but only when it came to using spears and bows. The new firearms they were up against would be the greatest hurdle by far... but Regis deliberately cut that train of thought there.

“The west not only has the Second Army, but is also receiving reinforcements from all over the Empire. We’ve even received an order to mobilize on the northern border. The nearer units should have arrived by now.” Regis offered what was ultimately an empty consolation, but what else could he say?

“...Yeah.” Felicia nodded.

In Belgaria, it was the emperor who held supreme power over the armed forces. However, as the current emperor, Liam XV, was too old to even reach the front lines, command over the entire Belgarian Army had been passed over to Second Prince Latrielle, the commander of the First Army. He was the one who had ordered the border regiment to send half of their troops to the western front.

Regis went over the situation once again: “While the Belgarian Empire is known for waging wars on all fronts, a large majority of these are just skirmishes centered around a single stronghold. This time, High Britannia has invaded having prepared for large-scale war. They have a clear intent to capture our territory, or at the very least, that’s what General Latrielle has determined. I share his opinion.”

Altina nodded, and everyone in the room remained silent, motionlessly hearing out his words.

“...Fort Volks is considerably detached from the western battlefield; there’s no guarantee that we’ll make it in time even if we do send out reinforcements. That’s why Latrielle is calling us in as reserves. Strategically speaking, there’s no real need for us to hurry.”

“And if you weren’t speaking strategically?” Altina asked, tilting her head as she prompted Regis to continue his explanation.

“From a political perspective, there is a pressing need for us to hurry. You and Latrielle are caught up in a struggle for power, after all.”

“I see. So whoever performs the best against the invading High Britannian Army will gather the most support.”

“In a nutshell. I don’t know whether half of our regiment would be able to achieve anything great enough to change the course of this war, but... we need to avoid the disaster we’ll inevitably face if we don’t show up at all.”

Altina appeared conflicted. “I see, I see... I agree that we need to get there as fast as possible, but politics? That isn’t the problem here! If our allies need help, then I want to do whatever I can!”

“...Right.”

Altina could be described as virtuous to a fault, and while that made her as straightforward as an infant at times, this unwavering determination was precisely why Regis wanted her to become empress.

“Whatever our reasons, that summarizes the High Britannian situation on the western front. Now onto the army from Varden closing in on our fort: it will be hard for us to dispatch a battalion to the west without doing something about them.”

“Yes, we can hardly be expected to concentrate on an expedition when we have to keep worrying about our backs.”

It wasn’t only Altina—Jerome piped up as well. “Like hell we’re leaving them be! We’ll make them regret not having learned their place! They dared to challenge us, and they’ll damn well wish they hadn’t when they’re lying in their coffins!” He had always been rough around the edges, but it was rare to see him display such intense anger. Despite having moments ago declared that the new recruits weren’t worth his concern, he truly did seem to care about his men. He was surely seething inside.

Regis had already selected a number of applicable plans from the books he had read in the past; all that remained was to gather the information required to choose the appropriate strategy. Given that they were now in the middle of a war, the door to the command room had been left wide open. A lone soldier suddenly appeared in the doorway, saluted, and then raised his voice.

“Report! Enemy approaching the b4 area! Three thousand foot soldiers!”

“...So that’s the route they’re taking. Are they armed with the latest guns and cannons?”

“Not all of them, but some soldiers do have guns!”

He was immediately followed by two more soldiers.

“Enemy spotted in the b3 area! Two thousand foot soldiers!”

“Message in! Two thousand enemy troops in the g5 area! They’re hauling the latest cannons along too!”

Information was gradually coming in from those who had been sent out to scout. Upon receiving each report, Regis placed a yellow piece over a map on the desk to signify where the enemy army was.

Altina’s expression clouded over. “That sure is a lot. And aren’t they surrounding us?”

“They must have scraped together as many mercenaries as they could. I believe that’s why many of them don’t have guns; mercenaries only use the weapons they’re most accustomed to.”

“But experienced mercenaries are still a formidable threat.”

“Yes, but the more experienced they are, the quicker they’ll be to flee a losing battle. Don’t worry, we’ll have this finished tonight.”

“I know we need to hurry, but do you really...” For a moment, a look of uncertainty crossed Altina’s face, but she quickly shook her head and looked straight at Regis, newfound resolve in her eyes. “Okay! I believe in you, Regis! So tell me, what do you want us to do?”

“Let’s hear this plan of yours, Regis,” Jerome declared, standing from his seat. “I’ll tell you now, though: I won’t permit showing the enemy a shred of mercy. We’ll crush them so thoroughly that Varden will never even consider invading us again!”

Everard stuck out his chest. “The soldiers have trained for this day. Feel free to use them as you see fit!”

“And I’ll definitely protect the princess!” Eric added, leaning forward in anticipation.

Regis noticed that Eddie and Felicia were looking over at him as well. He couldn’t help but wince whenever he became the center of attention; he had to do something about this despair-inducing lack of self-confidence. But all that aside, he already had all of the information he needed to decide on a plan.

Regis touched his finger to the map on the table. “The enemy is bringing the newest cannons, so they must be under the mistaken assumption that these will help them capture our fortress.”

Altina raised her hand. “Regis, as I recall, this fortress should also have the latest cannons, right?”

“It might be hard to tell the difference, but the cannons here are Type-38 Elswicks, whereas the ones Varden have are the latest Type-41s. These have an advantage over the Type-38s, both in firepower and accuracy.”

“Then doesn’t Varden have the upper hand?”

“...In the aforementioned aspects, yes. But those new-model cannons are also a weakness we can exploit.”

A quizzical look crossed Altina’s face, and the others seemed just as confused. If the cannons at Fort Volks were inferior to those being used by their enemy, how could that be seen as an opportunity?

Regis continued his explanation: “The Type-41 is powerful, but designed to be used on steamboats; transporting it across land is a very slow process. If we put our recon reports together, we can discern that Varden’s forces will regroup at our fortress come nightfall... meaning we have time to prepare. This is a large point in our favor. I’m certain the enemy army is relying on their Type-41s, so if we can show that the cannons aren’t as superior as they think, they should lose their confidence and retreat.”

“I understand how we can use the slow transport times to our advantage, but... under what circumstances is having newer cannons not an advantage? How could we outdo them?” A contemplative scowl creased Altina’s brow, a clear sign that she didn’t understand what Regis meant. But this expression did not take from her beauty—in fact, it even carried a sort of charm.

“Another underhanded scheme!” Jerome exclaimed, slamming his fist onto the table. “The enemy’s cannons are far superior, and yet you mean to shake their superiority? What do you think you can do!?”

“It’s a plan that will only work at night. The construction team is already making headway. Sir Jerome, please take command of the pursuit team.”

Altina suddenly closed in. “I’m going out, too!”

“Pardon me, Princess, but staying in the fortress would definitely—”

“If I act cowardly here, I’ll lose the trust I worked so hard to gain. A commander who hides in her base is no commander at all!”

“Hm...” Altina did have a point: For most of the soldiers who had joined after the occupation, this would be their first operation under Altina. These were men who had not seen her defeat Jerome, and no matter how many tales of her accomplishments they heard from the other soldiers, the new hands would undoubtedly grow to respect him more upon seeing his prowess on the battlefield. It would be tough to maintain organization if support for the commander grew too thin. “...It just had to be a night battle of all things.”

“Regis, a dangerous battle is all the more reason for me to lead the charge!”

“I... Sure, why not. I guess you— Err, no, I mean, I shall respect the princess’s esteemed opinion.” On her request, Regis usually called the princess “Altina” and treated her as a close friend. A large majority of those present were aware of this fact... but not the elderly knight Everard, who spoke of Altina as a goddess and worshiped her as such.

Altina was definitely attractive, and her pale, slender build carried unimaginable physical might. It was no mystery why the sight of the beautiful young princess swinging around the giant sword known across the Empire inspired divine mystique in the hearts of all those who respected the martial arts. Regis did not even want to imagine the kind of mess he could end up in by speaking to Altina in such a familiar manner in front of her devout adherent Everard. Plus, there was no telling when the next recon report might come in, and if a misunderstanding about their relationship spread among the troops, it would no doubt have a negative impact on morale. Regis was a tactician, but that didn’t change the fact that he was still a commoner, and Altina an imperial princess.

“...Very well, Princess... I’ll station you here at the main camp.” Regis placed a red-colored piece onto the map, outside of Fort Volks. They would intentionally leave the safety of the fortress, risking danger in the hope of settling the matter quickly.

“Are you really all right with this, Princess?” Regis asked, making doubly sure.

Altina clenched her fist. “I am! We’ll fight Varden back tonight, and then it’s off to the west!”

✧ ✧ ✧

It was a moonless night. The ground almost seemed to shake as Varden’s forces approached; they were still some distance away, but the sound of clattering footsteps was unmistakably clear. They deliberately stayed out of range of Fort Volks’s cannons, setting up camp by the outer edge of the forest. This was practically the same location from which Regis had captured the fortress two months prior.

However, during that attack, Regis only had two thousand soldiers to work with, and the cannons in their possession were small, old, and cheap. From what he could piece together from his recon reports, Varden’s army numbered twenty thousand, and they had prepared twenty Type-41 Elswicks. Only the first wave had arrived so far, but they already numbered four thousand. To say this was a sizable army would be an understatement.

10 arpents (715 m) away, hidden in the forest depths, Regis’s unit stifled their breaths. They were few in number—only two hundred strong—meaning they would be all too easily surrounded and annihilated if spotted by the enemy. Not that this mattered, though: if their attempted ambush was discovered, the plan would fail regardless. For this reason, increasing the number of soldiers only made their mission more dangerous; it was optimum to send only the minimum necessary personnel.

As usual, Regis had taken inspiration from a book. He had studied the situation closely on paper, but the fear of experiencing it first-hand was something else entirely. He felt overwhelmed, like a blade was being held to his neck, and despite how cold it was outside, his hands remained coated in a sticky layer of sweat. In the northern regions, the night air was frigid even as April came to a close. Regis found his sole salvation in the forest, where the trees blocked the wind.

Altina was beside him, her eyes closed, and her body completely still as she waited.

“......”

A sword taller than she was, the Grand Tonnerre Quatre, hung at her hip. As one of the seven swords fashioned by L’Empereur Flamme, the first emperor of the Belgarian Empire, it was 26 palms (192 cm) in length, and its glimmering silver blade was tucked into a wide sheath.

The plan had yet to begin. The figure across from Altina was supposed to be Eric, but his features had already melted into the darkness, so much so that Regis could only make out a faint silhouette. That was simply how dark it got on nights when there was no moon.

Eddie was tagging along as a guard, but if everything went as planned, then he would not need to do anything at all. Meanwhile, Felicia had stayed behind in the fortress, unable to hold her own in battle. Altina, Latrielle, and Bastian all possessed superhuman physical prowess, but Felicia had never been blessed with such strength; she was no different from a normal girl.

Everard was commanding the garrison and had been tasked with defending the fortress. While he was far safer in this position than those in the ambush squad, he held an important role in the operation nonetheless.

And then there was the division being led by Jerome. While they were only five hundred men strong, each soldier was a battle-hardened elite, and they had concealed themselves as close to the enemy as they thought possible.

But there was another team who were stationed even closer—so close that they could hear the enemy breathe. A single wrong move would lead to them being discovered, and the entire plan falling apart. They were practically walking on a tightrope, and Regis found himself growing anxious that each breath—each heartbeat—might alert their foe.

Is it time yet? He pulled out a pocket watch; there was no moon out, but under the gentle twinkle of the stars, he could just barely make out what it said. He was depending on the faint rays streaming in through the leaves to read the hands.

“...Now.”

A thunderous roar tore through the silence as the cannons lining Fort Volk’s outer wall burst into life, one after another. This caused an uproar among the enemy officers: half were surprised, while the other half simply sneered, certain that there was no way the shells would reach. They had once occupied Fort Volks, so they knew first-hand that the cannons stationed there were outdated; at this distance, no shot would ever reach them, no matter how many were fired. At most, one might land just beyond the edge of their formation.

In the darkness, Regis was convinced of victory. Another loud explosion filled the air, coming not from the midway point between the two forces as one might expect, but from the forest behind Varden’s main camp. As a huge flaming pillar shot up into the sky, the enemy soldiers immediately understood what had happened—despite the cannons at Fort Volks not having the range to reach them, their shots were somehow reaching the forest behind them.

The shots from the fortress continued. Next, an explosion erupted in the enemy army’s right wing. In no time at all, the camp was in a panic, and hysteric screams in Germanian could be heard among the chaos.

«Commander, it’s the cannons! The cannons in the fortress! We’re in range!»

«That can’t be! There’s no way the Type-38 can shoot that far!»

«B-But look!»

There was another explosion behind them, even closer than the first one. Given the circumstances, the experienced mercenaries were not going to wait for orders—if they were in range of cannon fire, their only options were to charge forward or to run, and unless there was an explicit order to charge, their natural response would be to fall back. The enemy forces had previously taken on a crescent formation, and now a number of mercenaries were scrambling to escape.

Perhaps the commander suspected that such long-range bombardments were impossible, but Regis had no way to know for sure. Either way, it was irrelevant—a commander’s intellect meant nothing when their soldiers were in a panic. No matter how capable a commander was, it was difficult to unify an army that had already started to rout. The cannons that should never have reached were upon them, so taking distance seemed like the most obvious move. Troops would retreat back into the forest to hide from the shells, and the best way the enemy commander could prevent them from dispersing entirely was by ordering them to retreat.

«Pull back! Retreat deeper into the forest!»

«We’ve received the order to retreat! All troops, fall back!»

The most loyal of soldiers, who had waited for the commander’s orders, raced into the forest as though being set free.

Another volley of fire came from Fort Volks, and a series of explosions went off along the outer edge of the forest. The soldiers likely assumed they would be out of range as long as they could get beyond that point, but the black beast lurked in their path—a ferocious animal who was now on the loose.

Raising a manly cry, the general leading five hundred elites, the hero Jerome, swung his longsword. It was true that they were heavily outnumbered, but a large portion of Varden’s soldiers were simply rank and file troops, many of whom had already panicked and started fleeing through the night. They hadn’t even considered that the imperial army might already be lurking in the forest behind them.

In a matter of moments, the battle had become one-sided. The Beilschmidt border regiment, led by Jerome, had wrapped white cloth around their sword hands; before moving to attack, their sword stances would show the raised cloth. Whistles were also used to confirm where others were, and thanks to these, the regiment could recognize its own soldiers in the night, both maintaining organization and avoiding striking down comrades.

In contrast, the Grand Duchy of Varden had arrived foreseeing a drawn-out battle, and had not prepared for night warfare. It would be cruel to call the enemy commander incompetent—after employing great numbers of expensive mercenaries, it would not be realistic to spend the additional time and money to prepare for a battle that was not likely to happen.

Even more pillars of fire seemed to erupt from the ground, making the forest more visible. Now that they were able to see, the enemy began its counterattack, but the majority of their soldiers had already retreated. Having been ambushed seemingly out of nowhere, the scattered troops didn’t want to risk sticking around in case they were left behind.

“Looks like it’s going well so far, Regis,” Altina said, still visibly tense.

“Yeah... Just have the cannons fire blanks, and the construction team set off explosions near the enemy’s camp.”

“No doubt they’ll think they’re in artillery range.”

“They’d easily be able to notice the gunpowder pouches if it weren’t so dark out.”

Just then, a soldier arrived at Regis’s main camp to deliver a report. “Varden’s main force is moving north-west!”

“Yes, just as the book said. If a single commander is unifying the enemy army, then their movements usually become hard to read. However, when these troops are in a panic, a large majority will come together in one homogenized, simple direction.”

These soldiers fleeing of their own volition would almost certainly run toward the border to Varden; this was basic human psychology. When one’s life was in danger, they had a tendency to head in the general direction of where they lived, or otherwise run the same way as everyone else.

Regis had stationed separate ambushes in their path, and, facing attack upon attack, the enemy troops were rapidly killed or captured. It seemed that Varden had fallen under the delusion that they were surrounded by countless imperial soldiers.

Their formation continued to crumble.

✧ ✧ ✧

Even though they were on the enemy side, Regis personally wanted to let the fleeing soldiers go free. However, not only would the Beilschmidt border regiment be dispatching half of its troops westward early the next morning, both Altina and Jerome would have to join the expedition; the fortress would be short-handed, so Regis needed some large military gains to make sure Varden could not attack again anytime soon. He understood this, but still couldn’t help but sigh.

“Hah... I’ve always been terrible at pursuing.”

“I’m not fond of attacking retreating foes either. I have to say though, something has been bugging me for a while now—aren’t we stationed a little far away from the action?”

There were some who had sensed the impending ambush, and purposely broken formation to run in the complete opposite direction. Thanks to this, there were occasional skirmishes breaking out at the main camp, but nothing serious enough to warrant Altina getting involved.

“...Does it really matter? Even if you were to join the fight, we’re in the middle of a forest in the dead of the night. The other soldiers aren’t going to see.”

“Err, Regis? Don’t tell me you stationed me here knowing this would happen?”

“You don’t just recklessly move your king onto front ranks. That much is common sense,” Regis replied, speaking softly enough that her guards wouldn’t be able to hear. But Altina clearly didn’t take it well.

“I was tricked again! Regis tricked me!”

“I wouldn’t say I went that far.”

“Liar.”

“I stationed you outside the fortress, just as you asked. You’re still on the battlefield, you know; don’t let your guard down too much. There’s no guarantee that something won’t happen.”

“...!!” Altina’s eyes shot open, and she drew the large regalia hanging from her hip. Its new scabbard had been open the whole time, allowing the weapon to be unsheathed at a moment’s notice. There was a quick glimmer of silver, and Regis was sadly, mercilessly beheaded for his crimes—or at least, that was what he thought was about to happen. Instead, the sword grazed the tip of his nose, then immediately sailed past him. There was a sudden metallic clang, and then something fell at Regis’s feet. It was an arrow.

«Phwoo!» A cheerful whistle came from high up in the nearby trees, completely out of place on a bloody battlefield. Moments later, a person climbed down from the treetops as nimbly as a monkey. It was... a child? That was Regis’s first thought, given their small build.

«Not bad at all! I’d taken you by surprise and it’s really dark out, so I never imagined you’d strike my arrow down!» The voice clearly belonged to a woman, and she spoke in Germanian.

Altina readied her sword, replying in Belgarian: “I’d hardly call that taking me by surprise—you just attacked me head-on! And no matter how dark it gets, it doesn’t take long for my eyes to adjust.”

Regis had been outside for just as long as Altina, but he couldn’t feel his eyes adjusting to the darkness, nor had he been able to notice the arrow flying toward them... Either she was especially skilled, or he was particularly hopeless. It was likely a combination of both.

Their opponent sauntered out from the shadows. Her features were illuminated by the starlight, and it quickly became apparent that she was holding a small crossbow and had a quiver of arrows on her back. She was clearly a young woman, though her attitude was so bold and fearless that this was hard to believe; her perfect composure didn’t so much as waver as Altina’s heavily-armored guards drew their swords.

«Ahahahah! Belgaria’s got quite an interesting princess!»

“You’re pretty calm for someone in the middle of an enemy camp.”

«Of course I am! I mean, there’s no way I’m going to lose!»

The girl swept aside her hair, part of which was tied into two low ponytails, and then flashed a cheerful grin. Was this a bluff, or was she really that confident? A silver necklace dangled around her neck, and under the meager starlight, the glint of metal could barely be made out as a fox suspended upside-down. Regis immediately recalled something he had once seen in a book.

“Wait, are you with Renard Pendu!?”

She looked at him curiously. «You sure know your stuff. Or does my reputation precede me?»

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Altina exclaimed, struggling to follow what was going on.

“They’re a mercenary brigade who have accomplished a great deal in the Germanian Federation. Up until now, they were only taking part in the civil wars up north...”

«We’re not really fixated on civil wars or anything. Since the Belgarian warfront was stagnant, the pay wasn’t worth the effort. But the work is just flying in now that you lot have taken our fortress. So yeah, I’m here to kill your princess and make it big!»

“You fool! That’s what they call selling the bearskin before you’ve killed the bear.”

«Ahahahah! My big brother scolds me all the time, saying that it’s always too early to claim it’s a good day. Are you trying to be my brother?»

“I don’t even know your brother!”

«Well you should! His name’s Gilbert, and he’s super-duper cool!»

It was a name famous enough for Regis to recognize: Gilbert Schweinzeberg was the captain of the mercenary brigade known as Renard Pendu, and had earned himself the moniker of “Mercenary King.” He was undefeated in both one-on-one and group combat, and even excelled when it came to negotiations. As far as rumors went, he was a large one-eyed man who fought using a trident.

“He’s your brother? Does that make you the younger sister, Jessica?”

«Oh no, that’s my big sis. I’m the second sister, Franziska. And whoa, you really do know your stuff. Are you a fan? Do you want to shake my hand? Ahaha!»

Despite her playful laugh, Franziska had already nocked an arrow and was aiming her crossbow. It was a model that used short arrows and favored rapid fire over power, and the string could be drawn simply by pulling a lever at the crossbow’s base.

Altina darted forward before it could be fired, yelling “I won’t lose to a crossbow at this distance!” Despite having a number of heavily armored guards at her disposal, she had decided to charge in alone. Perhaps she was in dire need of a lecture on what guards were for.

Altina thrust her treasured sword straight out, aiming for Franziska, when—

“There are more enemies in the trees!” Regis cried.

While Franziska had been the only one to come down from the tree, they couldn’t ignore the possibility that she had comrades lying in wait. The best course of action would be to act with that in mind—after all, maybe Franziska was simply acting as bait to lure them out.

As expected, a second arrow came down from above. Altina forcefully pulled back her sword mid-thrust, using the flat of her blade to block it. Another arrow shot toward Regis, but moments before it could make contact, Eric stepped in and knocked it away using his shield.

“Are you all right, Mr. Regis!?”

“You saved me there, Eric. Please help the princess!”

“Got it!”

A number of Altina’s guards were injured in the sudden barrage of arrows from the trees. It was hard to block projectiles fired from such close range, especially in the dark of night. However, despite their situation, no one seemed inclined to retreat and leave the commander behind.

“Return fire! Return fire!” Eric yelled. “Protect the princess, and show them how strong the Empire really is!”

“GRAAAAAAH!!” The guards let out a determined roar in response.

Altina stepped in once again and sliced at Franziska. She tended to develop serious tunnel vision when in battle, and was thus completely unaware of everything going on around her. The princess let out a thunderous cry as her sword came down...

“HYAAAAAAH!!”

«Whoa there.»

...But her attack was easily dodged. Franziska was fearsomely fast; while Altina’s swings were relatively slow, one had to move back a considerable distance to avoid her sword’s reach. Dodging was not as easy as it seemed, especially in a dark forest.

«You’ve got some bite to you! Coming here was a good move for sure—I got to play with a fun opponent, and once I kill Belgaria’s princess, I’ll be swimming in gold!»

“Over my dead body!” Altina shouted, swinging her sword once again. But as Franziska dodged to the side, Eric thrust his sword in her path.

“Hah!”

«What’s this!? Don’t get in my way!» Franziska exclaimed, throwing herself onto the ground to avoid the attack. In this very same motion, she released the bolt nocked in her crossbow.

“Erk!”

For a moment, Eric stopped moving entirely. Regis could feel the sweat trickling down his back, overcome with shame, while Altina, who had seen the attack up close, called the young knight’s name. But before Eric could offer any response, he had collapsed onto the ground.

“Someone! Get over here!” Regis cried.

The soldiers who raced over to help were once again met with a volley of arrows from up above. One landed right at Regis’s feet, and he hurried behind a nearby tree trunk for cover—sustaining an injury here would just make him a hindrance. Were the archers in the trees relying on sound and the dim starlight to aim their shots? They were from a famous mercenary brigade to be sure, having amassed considerable talent.

However, Belgaria’s soldiers were not so weak as to be one-sidedly taken out. They returned fire, sending a few dozen arrows into the treetops where the enemy presumably lay. A second later, a number of weak cries could be heard, and three enemy attackers immediately fell from above. More were soon to follow. The poor visibility made it impossible to tell whether that had been all of them, but whatever the case, this afforded Altina’s soldiers enough time to reach Eric.

Please be alive... Regis could do nothing but pray.

Altina continued her battle against Franziska. The two remained in such close quarters that nobody on either side dared to aim their gun or bow in case they hit the wrong target. What’s more, with Altina waving such a large sword around, any rash attempts to approach would lead to even ally soldiers being cut down.

“How dare you!”

«Too slow!»

Franziska lowered her stance to evade a horizontal swipe. It would usually be impossible to counterattack from such an awkward position, forcing her onto the defensive, but her weapon was a small crossbow—at the pull of a trigger, she could send out an arrow faster than the thrust of the finest knight.

«I’ve got my bearskin!» She fired an iron crossbow bolt, which was essentially just a giant needle. Its point encroached on Altina’s right eye.

“Like hell you do!” Altina ducked her head to the side, narrowly avoiding a point-blank arrow to the face. Her fiery red hair flowed behind her, standing out against the dark forest backdrop.

«You’ve got to be kidding me!»

“I’ve got you now!” Even though it was designed to prioritize firing speed, the crossbow was useless unless loaded and drawn.

«Kuh...» Franziska stepped back, ready to flee. Knowing that there was no risk of a counterattack, Altina was able to charge forward without hesitation. She swung her sword, its glistening silver blade drawing a large arc through the air before encroaching on Franziska’s torso. But right before it reached skin, her opponent disappeared into the sky.

«Ahahahah!»

“What!?”

Keeping ahold of her crossbow in her left hand, Franziska had used her right to snatch the branch of a nearby tree. Then, she had flung her body up into the air to avoid the blade. It was no different from a bird soaring up into the sky to escape.

The powerful attack from the royal sword cut straight into the tree’s trunk, and Altina’s expression warped. “Argh!!” In most cases, striking a tree with a sword would either lead to the wielder’s hands getting injured from the recoil, or the blade cutting too deep to be retrieved.

Having been hanging by her right arm, Franziska leapt down and spun through the air. In that time, the lever had been pulled. The moment she hit the ground, she slammed in another arrow from the quiver on her back.

«Ahahahah! It’s always a good day for me!»

Altina frantically tugged at her sword, eventually managing to slice through the trunk and wrench her blade from its wooden prison. As it came free, the weapon let off an ominously dull clunk. She thought she had drawn it from the trunk, but that wasn’t quite the case... Her regalia, the treasured Grand Tonnerre Quatre, had bent near the hilt. The darkness made it hard to make out what exactly was wrong, but the blade was clearly dangling at an irregular angle, its tip dragging along the ground.

The emperor’s sword... had broken?

“N-No way...” Altina’s eyes opened wide, and there was a clear sense of dismay in her voice.

Not one to let such an opportunity slip by, Franziska unleashed another bolt at the princess. Regis was certain his heart was about to stop, when a man clad in black suddenly stepped in.

It was Eddie Fabio de Balzac—a tall man with broad shoulders, wearing a black military uniform beneath a tattered robe. Using L’Empereur Flamme’s seventh sword, the Défendre Sept—a wide, rather bizarre-looking blade with comb-like notches along its spine—he had knocked the flying arrow out of the air.

“Hey now, Argentina, are you playing around?”

“I-I’m not!”

“But weren’t you almost killed there?”

“Urk...”

As childhood friends, the words they exchanged were casually playful.

Now standing between Altina and Franziska, Eddie turned to face his foe and readied his sword. Franziska had already loaded her next arrow, but refrained from firing it; sensing that she was up against someone of considerable skill, she didn’t want to attack carelessly.

«And... who are you supposed to be!?»

“I am Duke Balzac. If you’re a mercenary, maybe you’ve heard the name?”

«Hm. So you’re the Dull-Blade Duke.»

“That’s one way to put it.”

While Eddie was lauded for his excellent swordsmanship, word had spread that he would never attack another human on the battlefield. This had led to him earning quite the shameful moniker.

«So, what, you’re scared to fight to the death? What a laugh!»

“Well... not exactly.”

«I have to kill that princess. Out of my way!»

Franziska suddenly closed the distance. Her weapon was a long-ranged crossbow, so no one had expected her to actually charge her opponent; Eddie quickly swiped his sword horizontally to force her back, but she simply dropped down to avoid it. Her aim was already set behind him, locking onto Altina who had nothing but a broken weapon. Surely there was nothing the princess could do to block an attack.

«I’m back, bearskin!»

“Erk!”

A metallic twang echoed out as Franziska pulled the trigger. Altina winced, trying to brace herself... but no arrow came.

«What now!?»

Franziska looked at her crossbow in shock, only to see that its bowstring had been severed. Their exchange just moments ago flashed through her mind—that was the only time it could have sustained damage.

«Y-You...!?» She hurriedly moved back, glaring at Eddie.

“Sorry about that. That’s a dangerous weapon you’ve got there, so I took the liberty of putting it out of action.”

«No way! I thought you were supposed to be the Dull-Blade Duke... What gives!?»

“I think you’ve misunderstood... I refuse to injure others not because I’m scared of dying myself, but because I don’t want to kill anyone.”

«Wh-What’s up with that!? Are you mocking me or something!?» Franziska grit her teeth; she was so worked up that she had turned completely red in the face.

Seeing that the enemy could no longer use her weapon, the armored Belgarian infantry scrambled to close in on her.

“Take her down!”

“Surround her! Don’t let her get away!”

«Scheiße!!»

The soldiers were quickly cutting off Franziska’s means of escape. She kicked off of the ground, evading their sword swipes as fluidly as if she had done this a thousand times before. Engaging in close combat armed with nothing but a crossbow meant she had to dodge each incoming attack without using a sword or shield—it wasn’t something any normal person could accomplish.

A few swift movements later, she had slipped through the encirclement. Had their encounter taken place during the day, she could have easily been sniped down as she ran... but they were in the middle of a forest at night, so she immediately melted away into the darkness.

The Belgarian soldiers aimlessly fired a few arrows into the trees, hoping to strike her by chance, but all that returned was Franziska’s spiteful voice.

«I’ll get you next time, princess! And your little Duke Balzac, too!» The words echoing through the forest sounded like a witch’s curse.

Eddie sheathed his sword. “If possible, I would rather not meet you again.”

Regis ordered the troops to move at once; the enemy now knew where their main camp was located. Once he had ensured that they were on their way, he raced over to Eric, who was already undergoing treatment.

✧ ✧ ✧

Fort Volks, infirmary—

A white coat, glasses, and short, evenly-cut hair—the person before them was both a woman and a doctor, which was a rare sight in the Empire.

“It’ll leave a scar,” she said.

“...I’m... alive?” Eric muttered, gazing up at the ceiling. A sheet of white cloth had been hung around the bed he was on, acting as a curtain to separate him from the other injured soldiers; the lady doctor must have taken his unique circumstances into consideration.

As a mere fifth-grade combat officer, Eric was still considered a junior officer—under normal circumstances, he would have been treated at a field hospital consisting of no more than a tarp spread across the ground.

Several layers of cloth had been wrapped around his left shoulder, securing his upper arm to his torso. His fingertips were gradually starting to go numb, and while he could still move his arm from the elbow down, he couldn’t help but feel a bit like a stone statue.

Back in the forest, he had been too slow in raising his shield. Franziska’s arrow had pierced his left shoulder, but just a little more to the right and it would have gone through his heart.

The doctor had already gone to see the patient in the next bed over. “You’re lucky we won the battle, otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to treat you in time. You probably would have died.”

“...We won the battle...? Does that mean the princess...?”

“She’s somewhat depressed, but managed to walk away with little more than a scratch,” the doctor replied through the curtain.

“Is that so... That’s good news... It truly is...” Eric breathed a sigh of relief; as her guard officer, that was all he could have hoped for.

“Sir Everard wasn’t the only one who came to visit—the princess and tactician came to see you as well. I’d already heard about your body, so I drove them out when it was time to treat you. Want me to tell them you’re awake?”

“...No. They’ll be departing west in the morning. It looks like I won’t be able to join them... There is no need to waste their valuable time on a good-for-nothing.”

“Hey now... ‘Good-for-nothing’ is... Well, it’s your choice.” The doctor held her tongue, choosing to abstain from the lecture she was about to give and instead focus on treating the patient in the next bed over.

Eric held his right hand over his eyes and clenched his teeth, then pulled the blanket up over his face. Tears began to well up in his eyes, and he was overcome by a deep pain not related to his injuries.

“Snff... Uuu...”

Perhaps the lady doctor could hear him—if so, she was pretending not to notice and simply continuing her work.

Some time later, Eric’s attention was caught by the doctor’s voice. He could hear her speaking to someone beyond the curtain.

“Mn, what’s this? How nice of you to visit, Tactician.”

“I see you’re working hard,” a male voice responded. It was Regis.

Eric could feel his entire body tense up. He hadn’t been able to serve as the princess’s shield. What sort of a guard officer did that make him? He must be terribly disappointed in me, he thought, too nervous to even poke his head out from beneath the covers. Instead, he just lay there, cowering in place.

“What are you here for?” the lady doctor asked Regis.

“The sun’s starting to rise, so we should get ready to depart.”

“Oh, it’s that time already? Sorry you had to come and get me. Are you sure you don’t need to sleep?”

“Lack of sleep shouldn’t be an issue for our troops: aside from the princess and Sir Jerome, the unit going on this expedition is composed of soldiers who did not participate in last night’s battle. Though I am sorry that we’re leaving before you’ve had a chance to sleep.”

“You’re the one I’m worried about, Tactician. I can always sleep in the carriage on the way there.”

“Hah... Well, I’ll be in the carriage too.”

“Oh right, of course.”

“How is Eric doing?”

Upon hearing Regis mention his name, Eric swallowed hard. There was a short pause before the lady doctor replied: “Seems like he’s still asleep.”

“...I see.”

“I wouldn’t advise bringing him along—it’ll be about a month before his wound heals, and another month before he regains his strength.”

“Yeah, I thought as much. I just wanted to give him my thanks.”

“Your thanks? He charged the enemy only to end up getting shot—is that not what happened?”

“Before he was injured, he protected me. Had he not been there, I’d be the one on that bed right now.”

“I see. The fact that you don’t wear armor makes me think you’d be in a casket instead.”

“Urk... Perhaps.”

“That’d mean less work for me, though.”

“H-Haha... Well, I’d rather not give more work to the priest either...”

“Why don’t you at least put on some light armor?”

“No, I can’t do that. If the troops see their tactician wearing armor, they’ll assume that we’re expecting the enemy to come for the main camp and start worrying. It gives off the impression that I have no confidence in my plan.”

“What’s the real reason?”

“...Truth be told, I can barely even stand up when I’m wearing armor.”

“Just how feeble are you!?”

“Haha, err... In any case, I came to thank Eric. I don’t think it’s major enough to warrant waking him up though, so maybe I’ll leave him a letter?”

“Why not just wait until you’ve returned from the expedition? I think this is something you should say to him in person.”

“I see... Then that’s what I’ll do. Well then, Doctor, when you’re ready to depart, please come to the plaza on the first floor.”

“Yes, I know.”

At that, the two bid each other goodbye, and the sound of Regis’s footsteps grew quieter and quieter. A short while passed before the lady doctor opened the curtain around Eric’s bed. A sob immediately escaped his lips.

“Waah...”

“Hey, some people see what really matters. Don’t get too down.”

“Snff... Yeah...”

“I have to accompany the princess, so I’ll leave the rest to my assistant. You are to listen to their instructions, and get better before the tactician returns.” This time, when she spoke, her voice was unusually kind.

“Kh... I... I want to get stronger... I want to... be more useful...” Eric wept.

But the lady doctor said nothing in response, instead just placing her hand on Eric’s head and gently tousling his hair.