Chapter 5: The Battle of La Frenge

“‘Arrogance’ is the word that I would use to describe it,” Regis answered, having been asked why the Belgarian Army was losing so badly.

Altina nodded in response. “Would things have turned out differently had they fought more cautiously?”

“Their conviction that victory was guaranteed as long as they could make contact with the enemy was unfortunately presumptuous, though even I didn’t expect things to get this bad...” Regis said, swaying unsteadily atop Caracarla. “Still, when up against a weapon of unknown potential, there surely could have been a better plan. We had the numerical advantage, and the High Britannian Army is depending on a lengthy supply chain; the way I see it, a direct confrontation should have been saved as a last resort.”

The Beilschmidt border regiment had finally stepped onto the battlefield and was making its way over to the Seventh Army as they continued their advance. As they reached halfway down the hill, they could see the enemy move into a “U” shape. It was clear from their orderly movements that this was not the result of them breaking formation—no, this was something that had been planned in advance.

It was true that the Seventh Army had succeeded in breaking through the enemy’s front line, but it all seemed too convenient. Rather than the Belgarian troops having to slowly hack and slash their way through, it was more like the High Britannian Army had opened a path for them.

As soon as they breached the enemy formation, the “U” turned into just two columns, each firing upon the Belgarian soldiers now trapped between them. The battle was now as one-sided as a fox hunt. It wasn’t hard to imagine that the Seventh Army would be forced to retreat, but this would make them even easier targets as they could be attacked from behind.

There was no doubt about it—this was a complete and utter defeat.

“The regret’s eating away at you, isn’t it, Regis?” Altina asked from behind.

“...It is. We should have joined with the northern forces as I had suggested. If we had played our cards right, then we even could have pincered the enemy’s south-marching unit as we did so.”

Even with the enemy using the latest firearms, the Belgarian Army could have turned the tide of battle with an attack from both sides. They would have had an overwhelming numerical advantage with fifty thousand troops against the enemy’s ten thousand, and while the Seventh Army was composed almost entirely of slow-moving foot soldiers, the First Army had three thousand horsemen at their disposal.

No, wait... One of the First Army’s three cavalry units was partially incinerated.

The First Army had around twenty-five hundred cavalry now, but with the Beilschmidt border regiment’s Black Knight Brigade joining their ranks, it still added up to three thousand. Plus, by taking a detour around the battlefield and targeting their enemy’s flanks, the Belgarian Army would have suffered far fewer casualties than they had from the marché de la mort.

Regis had proposed this strategy during their first meeting with Barguesonne, but it had been rejected after barely any consideration. “...Would things have turned out differently had I phrased my plan better?” he wondered.

“What use is worrying about it now?”

“No, but—”

“Rather than regretting what’s already said and done, concentrate on what’s happening before your eyes! There’s still something we can do, right!?”

“...Yeah.”

It was easy enough for Regis to spot where the enemy’s main headquarters was, as he could see a black, one-horse carriage. They presumably had a noble tagging along with them, and the intelligence that Regis had collected led him to believe that it was the new queen of High Britannia—Margaret Stillart.

There was absolutely no doubt that High Britannia’s commanding officer, Oswald Coulthard, understood how strong Belgaria’s infantry was. He would know that, while they were bad at changing course, the force of their charge was second to none. For this reason, he couldn’t possibly keep the main camp at the front where it was the most dangerous. And so, as his forces formed its “U” formation, they would move their headquarters to one side.

Regis watched the war progress until, as expected, the enemy started to move its headquarters to its left flank.

“...Now’s about right.”

“What happens now, Regis?”

“It’s time for us to start moving as well.” Regis timidly raised his hand to catch the attention of Jerome, who was riding beside them. “Excuse me!”

“The plan!? Took you long enough!”

“Err, yes... We’re ready now.”

“Tsk... Speak with some dignity, won’t you!?”

“I’ll do my best...”

“Goodness gracious, is that really important right now!?” Altina exclaimed. “Just get to it, Regis!”

“Um... The Black Knight Brigade will take the lead, charging at the enemy’s left wing. That black carriage is where the enemy’s main camp is.”

“Right. So we’ll be fighting our way through their left flank!”

“Not quite. The enemy army will presumably have their backs turned, so they won’t even see you. It depends on how quickly their messengers relay information, but there should be some time between the cavalry being spotted and the news being reported back, so if you rush past while that happens, they won’t be able to change direction in time.”

This was the main flaw in strategies that involved large formation changes and moving the main camp—it was hard to maintain a surveillance network. The lines of soldiers moved so fluidly that there weren’t any gaps between them, and this obstructed the messengers. This was especially true during a formation change, when the location of the main camp and the route to reach it changed second by second. During this time, the enemy army was as good as blind.

This was precisely why it was so beneficial to station one’s headquarters on higher ground—it provided an excellent view of what was happening on the battlefield. The High Britannian Army, however, had set up camp on the base of the hill.

Jerome cocked his head. “They’ll have their backs turned? What kind of magic are you using here?”

“P-Please, enough of this whole magic thing... It’s honestly just something that I read in a book—”

“Kukukuh... Well, so be it. Even if they’re waiting for us with their guns and cannons at the ready, I’ll tear them all to shreds!”

“Ah, also, don’t attack from the front. Circumvent them and come in from the left.”

“Hm? Hah, so that’s your game... Just leave it to me!” Jerome raised his spear and started picking up speed. “Black Knights, follow me! We’ve got an army to crush!”

“UOOOOH!!”

Clad in black-painted armor, Jerome’s knights galloped toward the enemy camp. The thundering of their horses’ hooves grew louder and louder. On a quieter battlefield, the High Britannian Army surely would have noticed so many horsemen approaching them from behind, but they were partway through changing formation. It was near impossible to distinguish the noise from the loud clatter of several thousand armored soldiers marching in unison, and even if somebody did notice the oncoming cavalry, trying to coordinate a defensive line would be no easy feat.

Regis passed an order to Altina behind him as well. “Have the infantry advance at full speed.”

“Are you sure about that? We’re still about 10 arpents (715 m) away. Won’t that tire them out?”

“We’re not going to engage the enemy directly, so our troops won’t need to run that far. Once they’ve noticed the Black Knight Brigade, the enemy will move their headquarters to their right flank. That’s where we’ll aim our bows.”

“Huh...? How do you know they’re gonna do that!?”

“It’s simple enough: to protect someone from an oncoming cavalry attack, you simply move them out of the way of the charge, right?”

“Right. It’s pointless to move somewhere that’s still going to be in the path of the horsemen, but how do you know that they’ll not only go to their right flank, but also enter our firing range?”

Altina’s concern was understandable, but Regis had read enough on this particular scenario to know that they needed to take the initiative.

“The Black Knight Brigade will cross straight through the enemy camp. Each High Britannian soldier is armed with a rifle powerful enough to take out a knight in a single shot, so it is a dangerous role.”

“That’d be a concern if our cavalrymen were staying still, sure, but it’s hard to hit a charging horseman!”

“That’s right.”

For now, Regis could only pray that they returned in one piece. But whatever the case, the Black Knight Brigade was going to suddenly appear on the enemy’s left, so it made sense that they would try and move their headquarters to the right.

“So we’re going to be firing our bows at that black carriage, then?” Altina asked.

“...To be more precise, we’re going to be pretending to fire.”

“What!?”

“If we move too close then I fear the enemy will counterattack. We just need to help the Seventh Army and the Black Knight Brigade retreat. If our foe is so focused on protecting their headquarters, then any orders to pursue the retreating army will be delayed. After all, they only have so many messengers.”

“......”

Altina fell silent. This time, it was Regis who was anxious.

“...Err, did I say something strange? Is there something that I’ve overlooked?”

“When you think of war, you’d usually just picture a clash between armies, right?”

“You think so?”

“But you’re thinking about ways to obstruct the commander himself, not just his army.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. A book is often written from the perspective of an individual, not an army, and they’re often about commanders and officers. The parts I remember most are usually things like the least opportune time to deal with a cavalry attack, and how to shake things up to delay an enemy’s response.”

“Is that what’s written in your strategy books?”

“...No, but it’s very much the case in fictional stories. Take a play, for example—the protagonist is more often a knight or a prince than a soldier, right?”

“Is that also true for the books written by the wizard you mentioned earlier?”

“...Well, he also has stories like The Angelia Chronicles. That book has armies composed entirely of little girls.”

“Hah? Why only girls?”

“Because girls are cute, aren’t they?”

“Hm... Well, that’s definitely not something I ever expected to hear from you, Regis.”

“Please don’t make it sound like I’m completely devoid of emotion. I’m awestruck whenever I come across wonderful scenery, and I do find small cats and dogs to be cute.”

“And girls, right? That’s what you said.”

“...Perhaps.”

“So girls are no different from pets to you...”

“W-Wait! That makes me sound like some sort of deviant!”

Altina chuckled and then jumped up, actually standing on horseback. She drew the longsword at her hip, then thrust it out to the heavens above. “All troops, full-speed march! We’re supporting Sir Jerome!”

The soldiers cheered in response. “Vive Marie Quatre!”

“Keep advancing until further orders! When you hear the horn sound, fire your arrows at the enemy formation!”

The troops raised their voices again.

Advance, retreat, change formation, draw bow, charge... The soldiers had been trained so that simple orders could be communicated through the tune of a bugle, allowing the entire army to respond swiftly and in unison. That said, they now had mercenaries among their ranks, and there was no telling how well they would react.

When Altina swung her sword, the bugle bellowed to advance. Caracarla immediately picked up speed, and, for a second, Regis wondered whether the horse really could understand human speech. The foot soldiers behind them matched their speed, moving at a pace that was quick but not so unreasonable that they would tire before clearing the full 7 arpents (500 m). Was Altina deliberately guiding them at this speed? There was no doubt in Regis’s mind. She really was quite something.

✧ ✧ ✧

Oswald fired off order after order as he watched the enemy cavalry pick up momentum. “Move the main camp to higher ground! Up the slope to the north! As soon as possible!”

“Understood!”

The messenger ran off and a bugle sounded, but they were too slow. Margaret was gradually being moved, her black carriage being pulled by two soldiers at a time, but there was no guarantee that she would make it to safety in time; the guards in heavy armor were being scattered all too easily.

“They’re not supposed to be that weak...” Oswald murmured.

High Britannia’s riflemen and shield bearers were perfectly capable when fighting in the formation that they had trained for, but when attacked from an unanticipated direction, they were frail.

They displayed this weakness when Belgaria’s Third Prince Bastian attacked Fort Greybridge, too... The young boy had gotten through easier than expected, giving him the chance to do something as unforgivable as point a gun at Margaret.

“Hm... As long as one doesn’t panic, they shouldn’t be too hard to handle, but...”

This just goes to show how big of a difference experience can make.

Oswald walked toward the back line of the unit embroiled in combat, bringing no guards with him. He stopped when he was at a moderate distance. As the cavalry grew closer and closer, his soldiers seemed to wither away, looking on in fear as if caught up in some terrifying spectacle.

“Excuse me, good sir, but would you be so kind as to lend me your rifle?”

“Mn? Wha—!? C-C-Commander!?”

“Oh, no—I am but a petty strategy officer.”

At that, Oswald took the gun from the rifleman. He wasn’t forceful enough for one to say that he stole it, but he by no means had the time to wait for it to be handed over. Oswald wasn’t used to having to act in such a hurry, and slowly but surely, the gears in his head were turning astray.

“This cavalry has no clear direction. No aim. It is an unmitigated force. If I can just take down its leader...”

Oswald opened the breechblock and confirmed that there was a bullet loaded, then carefully closed the lid before taking aim at the horseman leading the charge. There was a line of High Britannian soldiers between them, meaning that he would have to shoot between their heads, but this wasn’t an issue—Oswald was taller than most soldiers, and he knew how to use a gun. On top of that, his foe was on horseback, which gave him an even clearer line of fire.

That glimmering silver jousting lance must be Les Cheveux d’une Dame, which means that’s the famed Black Knight, Margrave Jerome Jean de Beilschmidt. But no matter how great his lancing skills are, a bullet can kill any mortal man. We all die too easily.

Oswald took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. The hammer on the right side of the rifle swung down and struck the firing pin, which pierced the primer on the base of the bullet casing and induced a spark. An explosion burst forth within the breech, and the concentrated force rocketed the bullet out of the only possible exit point: the muzzle. The grooves inside the gun barrel imparted a spin on the bullet as it passed through, and the resulting gyroscopic effect helped it travel in a near-perfectly straight path that was sure to lead straight through the Black Knight’s skull.

...But Jerome moved the very instant that Oswald fired, and the bullet breezed through thin air.

“...Simply marvelous!”

«Come out here if you’re that eager to die!» Jerome yelled in Belgarian as he mowed down the line of High Britannian soldiers before him.

How did he dodge that...? Instinct? Experience?

Jerome had already been moving around in such a way that he was a hard target, but Oswald had accounted for that before he fired. It was like the man had noticed that he was being aimed at and had dodged accordingly.

Coincidence or not, I suppose that much can be expected of a hero.

Oswald returned the gun to the soldier he had taken it from. It was useless to him while it wasn’t loaded, and he didn’t make a habit of carrying around ammunition.

“He’s not an easy opponent... Shield bearers, form a line here! There is no need to block the Black Knight Brigade’s advance! We simply need to divert them from our main camp! It is regrettable that I must resort to orders I have not trained you for, but it is all to protect Her Majesty!”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

“Pass the message on to as many people as you can! A wall! A wall to protect Her Majesty!”

There was no time for messengers or bugles; he would get the soldiers into formation through word of mouth alone.

How slow they are compared to the movements we’ve rehearsed...

They had already been trained to take on a cavalry charge, and while this was merely a slight alteration to the situation they were prepared for, that seemed to be enough to throw them off. Their movements were hesitant, and the wall they formed was greatly misshapen.

Is that going to hold?

Oswald reached his right hand for his sword. His wrist ached, and as he tightened his grip around its hilt, the white cloth wrapped around his arm oozed with blood. This was the wound from when he had been sliced by the third prince of the Belgarian Empire just half a month prior. It seemed that the recoil from the gun had reopened it.

Oswald sneered. “Pfft... So this is how the prince protects his homeland.” He could feel his plan slowly falling apart, like a clock that was missing a crucial gear.

The riflemen frantically fired their weapons as the enemy cavalry continued to advance, while the shield bearers let out frightened screams. Jerome was drawing nearer and nearer. He locked eyes with Oswald for a brief moment, radiating the ferociousness of a wild beast, and appeared to mouth something. “Oh, so you’re Oswald?” he seemed to say.

Jerome was galloping like the wind, moving as fast as he would have on an open, empty plain. The soldiers had been trained to always aim for the horseman leading the charge, yet the shots aimed at Jerome had no effect whatsoever. It was like the bullets were avoiding him. One would graze his armor on occasion, but it would never pierce through.

His armor is so strong... Is that our new alloy?

It was a material that could only be produced in High Britannia, but there was no way to guarantee that its distribution had been completely contained. It was more than likely that some merchant might have sold some to an enemy nation with no consideration for the consequences, and, assuming that was the case, it would not be strange for a Belgarian noble to have it made into plate armor.

The Black Knight Brigade had been charging through the High Britannian Army like a raging tempest, but ultimately moved straight past the main camp. It seemed that the hastily constructed wall had served its purpose.

Were they just pretending to attack the main camp to exhaust us and disrupt our formation? Even if that’s true, we can just shoot them as they retreat.

But before Oswald could give the order, he heard a voice.

“Enemy infantry! They’re firing arrows!”

“What!?”

The dust that had been raised by the cavalry had settled to reveal lines upon lines of foot soldiers, all poised with their bows. But before Oswald could even speak, somebody screamed “Protect the Queen!”

I see. So the reason why our soldiers were able to manage despite their shoddy formation was due to personal motivation.

The shield bearers instinctively moved to protect the main camp, while the riflemen took aim at their enemy. At this rate, it would be quite an ordeal for the commander to regain control.

Oswald placed a hand over his mouth. “I see... A battle really can end up outside of one’s expectations.”

The sudden clatter of metal armor heralded the approach of a knight, and was quickly followed by a familiar voice.

“Oswald!”

It was Glenda, fully prepared for battle. She was usually seen carrying around an absurd number of weapons, and now that she had come out onto the battlefield, that number had increased even more. There was a long spear on her back, four pistols on her waist, and rows of ammunition slung along her breastplate and arm guards. With so much added weight, one would expect her to be extremely slow, but she had moved so quickly that it took a moment for her guards wearing light armor to catch up. They were gasping for air.

“I am very sorry for my tardiness!” Glenda apologetically declared.

“No need to apologize; there is no harm done.”

They had succeeded in keeping the Black Knight Brigade away from the main camp, and the arrival of Glenda’s unit prevented the troops from falling into a panic. It presumably wouldn’t be long before the enemy cavalry started to retreat.

I would love to pursue them, but...

The soldiers seemed entranced by the Belgarian archers who had appeared in the complete opposite direction. It appeared that Glenda had noticed them as well, as she immediately said, “We will return fire at once.”

But Oswald shook his head. “Calm down, Lieutenant... Their arrows can’t reach us from that distance—at least, they won’t reach the main camp.”

“Oh, you’re right.”

The enemy was still close to 200 yards (183 m) away, and while a particularly strong bow might have been able to skim the outermost rim of their formation, there was no way that their arrows would be able to reach the main camp. Returning fire wasn’t much of an option, either; while the High Britannian troops could technically reach the archers from this distance using their new guns, they were far away enough that their shots would be inaccurate.

“They are a threat whose aim is purely to cause chaos.”

“I-I see.” Realizing that she had fallen for it spectacularly, Glenda’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly red.

“If someone draws a bow on you, then it is only natural to think that their arrows will reach you. Regular soldiers have no way of measuring distance.”

That was why a professional tactician would survey the battlefield first, and firing would begin only when the commander gave the order. In armies where the soldiers were skilled enough to measure the distance themselves, all the commander would have to do was tell them where to fire.

“The enemy army is pulling back!” Glenda pointed.

“Yes, because the Black Knight Brigade has retreated. The Seventh Army too, unfortunately.”

“Ah!?” By the time Glenda had turned, the Seventh Army was too far away for adequate pursuit. Her expression darkened. “Is this what the horsemen and the archers were aiming for?”

“They deliberately chose to trail the Seventh Army while we were changing formation, then had the Black Knight Brigade charge us. And then, as their cavalry retreated, they made a show of their archers to confuse us.”

“The enemy must have a clever tactician.”

“Why, of course; the Belgarian Empire reigns supreme over the entire continent.”

“Y-Yes... That’s right.” In the heat of such a one-sided victory, she had forgotten the true might of their opponent.

Oswald solemnly stared at the flag being flown by the Belgarian archery unit, which was now taking distance as well. It was a shield over a green background.

“That flag... As I recall, it belongs to the Beilschmidt border regiment. So not only the Black Knight Brigade, but even the infantry are theirs.”

“I’m sure that I’ve heard that name somewhere before...”

“They are the unit who captured Fort Volks. I requested for Varden to stall them just in case, and even sent them cannons for the task, but...”

It appeared that they had been completely useless. Perhaps they hadn’t attacked the fortress at all, in which case he would need to dole out appropriate punishment.

Glenda angrily placed her hands on her hips. “So those people from Varden weren’t able to keep them at bay. What a pathetic bunch!”

“Don’t be too hard on them; that unit seems to be quite skilled. Why, we’ve just experienced that first-hand.”

“Y-Yes... If I remember correctly, their commander is an imperial princess.”

“That’s right. It looks like you’ve done your homework, Lieutenant. The Beilschmidt border regiment’s commander is the fourth princess of the Belgarian Empire, Marie Quatre Argentina de Belgaria... but I would argue that the real threat here is her strategist.”

“Oh, that’s right! I’ve heard of him too! His name was... Um... Err...” Glenda groaned, her face turning a deep red. Her martial arts were a cut above the rest, and her loyalty was stronger than steel, but her intelligence could sometimes be a bit... lacking. She was lost in thought like a student who had been given a hard arithmetic problem. This must have been a considerably rare display for her, as her light-armored guards had their eyes open wide in shock.

Just then, a messenger raced over, immediately dropping to one knee before Oswald. “I carry orders for our strategy officer from Her Majesty!”

“Is something the matter?”

“Err... ‘I’ve grown deathly tired of waiting’... That’s what she says...”

“...That is more of a message than an order. Very well. I salute your service.”

The messenger reverently bowed his head in response.

Oswald turned to Glenda. “Lieutenant, this petty officer must return to the queen’s side. Organize the soldiers here. We will begin our march soon.”

“Understood!” Glenda saluted, then lowered her voice considerably and started grumbling under her breath. “...If Oswald had just stayed in command the whole time, then there never would have been an opening for that imperial strategist. It’s all because she came out onto the battlefield...” It seemed that she was quite displeased about him being with Margaret.

Oswald simply shrugged. “Oh no, I am only myself when I am with Her Majesty. In this battle, we struck down twice our number of Belgarian soldiers and opened a path to the capital. What is there to regret? We should puff out our chests and sing the song of victory.”

“Y-Yes, sir!” At those words, Glenda’s cheeks flushed and a broad smile spread across her face. It was an expression that could quite easily be described as that of an innocent maiden, but the reality was proof that one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover; on the battlefield, she was known as “the Ogre.”

Oswald returned her salute, then began his walk back to the black carriage, chanting the name of the enemy strategist in his heart the entire way.

✧ ✧ ✧

The Battle of La Frenge—fought on May 19th in the year 851 on the Belgarian imperial calendar—was a complete victory for the High Britannian Army from beginning to end, and resulted in the Belgarian Empire’s front lines being pushed back considerably. This battle once again proved to the world, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the gun was the star of the battlefield, and things would remain this way for many centuries to come.

✧ ✧ ✧

Not much time had passed since High Britannia’s First Division had defeated the Seventh Army in battle, but they were already marching for the capital. They were currently camped out atop a hill not particularly far away, with their riflemen on watch and their cannons lined at the ready. It would not be easy to approach them, by any means.

Following their defeat, the Seventh Army had been reduced to a mere shadow of what they had once been. The loss of their commander had been especially hard-hitting. They had managed to outrun the enemy, but now they were too drained to even move. They had no defenses and no plan; they were completely and utterly powerless.

That evening, they joined with the logistics team who had circumvented the battlefield. At the very least, their wounds were being treated and they were being supplied with food. It was more of a refugee camp than a military camp.

As they hadn’t received word from the Seventh Army, Regis and Altina were visiting to draft up countermeasures. Once again, Jerome was not accompanying them; he was a strong warrior, but even he had sustained an injury during the battle and was currently undergoing treatment. It thankfully hadn’t been anything serious, but his Black Knight Brigade had suffered a fair few casualties. They were still trying to grasp the exact number, but they seemed to have lost around a hundred men.

Regis and Altina walked between the lines of exhausted soldiers toward a large tent—the only one that appeared to have been properly assembled. Once they had permission from the soldier on watch, they went inside.

“...Thank you,” Regis politely called back as he stepped through the cloth that served as its door.

The senior officers immediately turned to look at them. Altina frowned; their dark expressions looked grimmer than corpses, and Barguesonne’s chair was empty. The knight who had mocked them before the battle was still there, and even though he was averting his eyes, there didn’t seem to be anybody else they could talk to.

“The lieutenant general died in the line of duty, did he?” Altina asked to be sure.

“Kh...” He nodded.

“What of the others? What happened to the strategist?”

“The chief strategist... Vicente... has become like a child.”

“...Explain.”

“Like an infant who can’t comprehend that his mother has died, he keeps talking to the lieutenant general’s corpse... He’s a goner.”

“Good Lord,” Altina sighed, placing a hand on her brow.

As tragic as Barguesonne’s death is, his sacrifice will have been for nothing if the survivors stay like this. Regis closed his eyes. A moment for those we have lost...

Altina walked to the back of the tent and stood before the senior officers. “For starters, I am a major general. Now that Lieutenant General Barguesonne is gone, that makes me the highest ranking person here. Am I mistaken?”

“...N-No.” The knight who had mentioned Vicente’s condition was the only one who dared respond. His language had been vitriolic before the battle, but it seemed that his poison had run out.

“It looks like you’ve still got your tongue. What’s your name?” Altina asked.

“Coignièra. No, I mean— My name is Coignièra, ma’am.”

“I see. I saw the state of the army on the way here. You have two choices: return to your base on the eastern front, or choose a new commander and continue fighting High Britannia.”

The officers merely exchanged hollow looks; they didn’t have enough willpower to argue back. Meanwhile, Coignièra’s gaze dropped to the ground. “...Would retreating go against our orders?”

“I should think not. Your commander is gone, and no one would blame you for it. Deciding whether your retreat would count as a breach of orders is Latrielle’s job, but we don’t know whether he’ll be in his right mind to condemn you.”

This time, there was a stir. “What does that—!?”

“We received a message. The First Army engaged the enemy as well, and while they made significant military gains, their commander was injured. It’s not too often that an army wins when its commander is out of commission.”

Given the disastrous state of the Seventh Army, it was easy to imagine what sort of position the First Army was in. At the very least, this was far from the overwhelming victory that they had expected before the battle started. More than anything though, the soldiers would surely be discouraged by the fact that Latrielle, the emperor’s own proxy, had been injured. Many would no doubt be convinced that the Empire was going to lose the war.

Regis scratched his head. I wonder how many of the survivors are going to desert tonight. Out here in these parts, the only real options that await a deserter are dying in a ditch or becoming a bandit. His head started to hurt as he considered what that would mean for the surrounding villages.

“Latrielle apparently intends to rendezvous with us,” Altina continued. “He should be here by tomorrow night, so if you’re going to return to base, you’d better be gone before he gets here.”

Now that the Seventh Army had lost their commander, there was a good chance that they would be placed under the First Army’s command. Now was their last chance for someone to step up as acting commander and order a retreat.

Coignièra finally looked up from the ground. “We... We’ve lost... Lieutenant General Barguesonne!”

“...You have.”

“He died to protect the Empire!”

Altina nodded, while Regis remained silent, allowing the man to continue speaking.

“We lost way too much and fought even harder to compensate! Isn’t that enough!? You can hardly even call us an army anymore! With the miserable state we’re in, how am I supposed to tell the soldiers to march back into battle!? We’ll be returning to base!”

At that, the senior officers who had stayed silent finally spoke up.

“Th-That’s right... We should go.”

“We, uh... need to hold a funeral for the lieutenant general.”

“Defending the capital is the First Army’s responsibility.”

Altina held her tongue, but her lips were sullenly tapered.

Regis sighed. “Looks like it’s not going to work, then...”

“Talk about spineless.”

“It just goes to show how terrifying of an ordeal it must have been.”

“And the source of that terror is currently heading straight for—!”

“Just drop it, Princess. There’s nothing more dangerous than leading soldiers into battle who don’t want to fight.”

“I know.”

That was why she had given them two options.

Coignièra started making his way out of the tent. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. I’ll inform the soldiers now; I’m sure that those who don’t know any better will attempt to run tonight, otherwise.”

The other senior officers all expressed quiet words of agreement and, with somber expressions, followed Coignièra outside. Regis and Altina joined them; there was no point in staying here.

✧ ✧ ✧

The senior officers halted as soon as they exited the tent. Much to their surprise, they had been confronted by a single soldier—a large, well-built man. His upper body was bare, revealing his sturdy, armor-like muscles, and his chest, shoulders, and arms were wrapped in white bandages. They were wrapped around his head as well, and judging by the contour and bloodstains, he had lost his left ear. Just how many bullets had this man taken?

“I heard what youse were saying.”

“Who are you?” Coignièra asked.

The soldier introduced himself as: “Dukas, farmer from the boonies.”

“...I see. And what business does a farmer have with a senior officer?”

“Is it true that we’re gonna run away? Back to base?”

Knowing that he was speaking to someone of a much lower status than himself, Coignièra’s dark expression twisted into one of haughty arrogance. “‘Run’...? This is a strategic retreat! A conscripted farmer might not understand, but stepping back into battle in our current state is much harder than it appears to be! Protecting the capital should be the duty of the First Army! What’s more, there are thirty thousand troops worth of reserves on the way!”

Dukas glared at him. “Hmph... Wasn’t the Empire’s Seventh Army supposed to be unbeatable on the open plains? You were all so full o’ yourselves before the war began, but now look atcha... Thirty thousand troops on the way? Screw that. The Seventh Army had twenty thousand men and didn’t stand a chance!”

“S-Say what you want, but... Wh-What did you expect us to do!? No one fully understood the might of the enemy’s new weapons!”

“Hah! And what’s returning east gonna do for ya!? Are those High Britannians gonna go home once the capital falls!? Or are they gonna come right after us!? Over there, we already have enemies like Estaburg at our throat. Bring in a second enemy who we couldn’t even beat alone and then what? Ya think you can still protect the east then!?”

“Grr... If you’re so confident, then... then why don’t you take them on alone!? The enemy’s right there, up on that hill. If you want to charge to your death, then go ahead. Nobody’s going to stop you!”

“Quit spewing nonsense! I’m asking if you lot are gonna protect my homeland! I charged, and I killed, and I took every bullet that came my way, all because you said you were gonna keep it safe! All those men who died... Every single one of them... They all died on your orders, goddammit! You’re incompetents, the lot of you!”

Coignièra’s face turned red, and he immediately drew his sword. “Y-You lowly wretch... You’re nothing but a conscript! Do you really think you can get away with insulting a knight!?”

The senior officers frozen behind him cautiously stepped back, while the nearby soldiers were watching with bated breath. Coignièra’s silver blade was glowing red under the sinking evening sun. His intent to kill was real, and yet Dukas didn’t falter.

“Pfft. What, you gonna kill me? Go on then. I was supposed to die this afternoon! That’s what I’ve gotta do to protect my homeland, right!?”

“What!?”

“My wife’s giving birth to our fourth kid this July. I’ve got three sons. They’re all waiting for me back home... You said you’re a knight. Can you promise me you’re gonna protect them? If so, I’ll gladly give up my life! Cut me down!” Dukas spread out his arms. Tears were streaming down his face, and his voice was quivering. “Wh-What are we supposed to do...? You’re the officers, ain’t you...? Protect them... The Empire’s strong, ain’t it...? Can’t ya... protect my family...?”

“Urgh...”

“Can’t ya send those High Britannians packing!?” Dukas shouted through heavy sobs.

“How the hell are we supposed to do that!?” Coignièra screamed back. “That... Those... things! Those weapons! We lost! This war is the Empire’s loss!”

Just then, they were interrupted by a third voice. “...No, I’m pretty sure we can win.”

Everything went silent. Dukas’s bloodshot eyes shifted, Coignièra and the senior officers turned around, and even the nearby soldiers who had been watching the commotion from a distance looked over. The only one who didn’t react was Altina; in fact, she looked quite unperturbed.

Regis scratched his head. “...Truth be told, I had only intended to bring it up if the Seventh Army chose to cooperate with us.”

“You!!” A voice almost loud enough to make the ground tremble escaped from Dukas’s lips.

“...Yes?” Regis asked, faltering a little.

“We can... We can... seriously win? And protect our homes!?”

“Well, we can at least force the High Britannian Army to retreat. I can’t really take responsibility for what the other countries on the eastern front might do...”

Dukas ran up, shoving Coignièra out of the way. The large, robust man then got on his knees, clasping his hands together like he was praying to God. “Please! I’m begging you! Save them! My... My family! My kids!”

“O-Of course...” The talk of children made Regis think of his two nephews. If the High Britannian Army continued on, then they would reach Rouenne before long.

Altina placed a hand on the farmer’s shoulder. “You are all citizens of the Empire! We will do whatever it takes to protect you and your families, so please, lend me your aid!”

“Hm...?”

Come to think of it, the soldiers of the Seventh Army were never actually told who she was. It looks like they thought she was a maid or an attendant of some sort. I mean, what else would an underage girl be doing this close to the battlefield?

The girl with red hair and crimson eyes stuck out her chest. “I am the commander of the Beilschmidt border regiment: Marie Quatre Argentina de Belgaria, fourth princess of the Belgarian Empire!” Then, she firmly patted Regis on the shoulder. “And this is my strategist, Regis Aurick!”

A commotion spread through the gathered soldiers. While they hadn’t known what Altina looked like, they had heard of her exploits. The commander and her strategist who had captured the impregnable Fort Volks. The two who led the Beilschmidt border regiment that aided the Seventh Army’s retreat.

Coignièra marched up to her, still gripping his sword. “Quit spewing nonsense! That’s a lie! These swindlers are lying to you! If you really were able to protect us, then why didn’t we win today!? All you did was stay on the back line and watch!”

“Yes, because Lieutenant General Barguesonne ordered us to!” Altina refuted. Coignièra was but a young knight himself, so to a spectator they must have looked like squabbling children.

“Now, now...” Regis interjected, doing his best to ease the tension. “I, err... I was being honest when I said that we could win. I wasn’t just being presumptuous; I know a method that’s proven to work.”

“Liar!” Coignièra raised his sword, barking like a feral dog, but Altina shot him a sharp glare.

“Coignièra, could you shut up and listen? Just a moment ago, you called this man ‘nothing but a conscript,’ and while I would rather not say this... from my position, you are nothing but a knight. Am I wrong?”

“Urrgh...!” He was being disciplined by a member of the royal family, so there was nothing he could say in response.

Regis kept his voice as tranquil as possible. “...You just suffered a tragic defeat; I cannot blame you for being emotional. However, this is a matter where lives are on the line. Surely it warrants a proper discussion...? We must consider this calmly and rationally. Now, we were talking about how to defeat the High Britannian Army, weren’t we?”

Coignièra kept his mouth shut while Dukas nodded several times, urging Regis to continue.

“Um, well... It would be troublesome if the plan were to be leaked to the enemy so I won’t go into much detail, but, to put it simply...” Regis pulled a small, dull-looking piece of metal from his pocket, around the size of a human finger. “These are the bullets used by the High Britannian Army.”

Dukas and the other soldiers grimaced in disgust. So many of their friends had been killed by these bullets, and it was only by sheer luck that they hadn’t died along with them.

“A metal cartridge,” Regis went on. “I must say, this bullet and the technology used to produce it is far more revolutionary than the rifle itself. They are made by feeding sheet metal into a press, where—”

“Keep it brief, Regis!” Altina interrupted, clearly the most impatient person there.

Regis found himself scratching his head yet again. “So, uh, anyway... This is the enemy’s weak point. Something this complicated cannot be procured or produced on-site, which means their supply depends entirely on shipments from their homeland. Let’s say the warfront stagnates—they will be pressed by a need to replenish these bullets alongside other supplies. I have also heard that the barrels of these new guns wear down much faster than the previous models. High Britannia left an army of ten thousand men in the port city of Ciennbourg... I couldn’t understand why at first, but after a little thought, it hit me—those are the units meant to guard their transport ships. If we prolong the war, then they will inevitably need to restock their bullets and cannon shells.”

Dukas spoke up. “W-Wait a darn second! Prolong the war!? How do ya plan on doing that!? They crushed us in an instant today!”

“If we were fighting defensively, then we would have intercepted them at a stronghold. And we would have targeted the enemy’s supply chain.”

“C-Can we do that?”

Maybe I should keep it concise, Regis thought. “High Britannia’s army is strong, but their weapons require more supplies than ours do. If we cut their supply chain, they will be forced to return home.”

Coignièra glared at him, while Dukas openly voiced his skepticism. “They’ve got ten thousand soldiers at the port, eh? I don’t see how we can beat that.”

Regis smiled. “We can’t.”

“Huh!?” The large man immediately sprung up.

“...Which is why we should just give up fighting them on land, and attack from the sea instead. High Britannia won’t be able to receive supplies if they don’t have any transport ships.”

Dukas froze, wide-eyed. Coignièra looked unsettled, while the senior officers were visibly distraught. Meanwhile, the other soldiers exchanged curious whispers.

“The sea?”

“Transport ships?”

“How are we gonna do that?”

Even the all-important Altina cocked her head. “I’ve never gone to sea before, but I do recall hearing that the Empire’s fleet was already bested. Can we really do something about High Britannia’s transport ships?”

“Yes, we’re fine on that front. I know so many stories on how to defeat an undefeated navy that I could span the very sea with them.”