Chapter 1: On Le Lucé

Imperial Year 851, May 22nd—

It was a day later than scheduled when the First Army arrived for the rendezvous. They were currently stationed atop Le Lucé—a hill covered in low, verdant grass that served as an excellent vantage point—where they had set up a tent for the express purpose of a conference.

Despite it being midday, the heavy clouds looming overhead made everything dim and gloomy. A fierce wind accompanied them, and every now and again a sudden gust would noisily rustle the grass underfoot. It wasn’t quite as bad as it would have been down on the plains below, but it was still strong enough to blow one’s hair about.

A black-haired young man—Fifth-Grade Admin Officer Regis Aurick—brushed his bangs away from his eyes, when all of a sudden, his gaze turned to the girl standing beside him. She was accompanying him on his trek up the hill, and her visage was so breathtaking that it was practically a fine work of art. Even under gray, cloudy skies, her hair boasted a fiery red luster.

As her pale, slender fingers swept back her hair, a few silky red strands tickled Regis’s nose. She was returning his gaze, her crimson eyes looking straight into his.

This girl, whose red hair and crimson eyes served as proof of her Belgarian royal lineage, was Marie Quatre Argentina de Belgaria. She was a princess of the Empire who, under normal circumstances, would never be walking side by side with a commoner such as Regis—even with him being her tactician.

But that wasn’t the only oddity in their relationship—whenever they were alone or in the presence of a select few, Regis would drop the formalities expected of one addressing a royal and call her by the nickname “Altina.” And when he showed even the slightest trace of reservation around her, the prone-to-emotion princess wouldn’t even try to hide her discontentment.

She never seems to get angry about it, though. In fact, I think it makes her sad more than anything else... Regis thought, though he wasn’t sure whether he was just overthinking things.

Altina parted her pale lips to speak. “Oh, sorry. Is my hair getting in your face?”

“...No, not at all.”

“Really? Hey, you’re spacing out a little. You’re not feeling unwell, are you?”

She reached her hand out to touch Regis’s forehead, and he inadvertently moved a step back. “I’m perfectly fine,” he replied tersely. There was no possible way he could admit that he had actually been enchanted by her beauty, and in an attempt to hide his growing shame, Regis wiped away a layer of sweat he hadn’t even shed.

“I hope that’s true... It’s been one bad thing after another. Please, don’t overdo it.”

It was as Altina said: following their engagement with Varden, the Beilschmidt border regiment had marched for twenty days only to fight a losing battle the day before last. If there was any consolation, the regiment itself hadn’t experienced any major losses, and neither she nor Regis had been injured. But there was no doubting that they were both worn down.

“...If I’m tired, then I can’t imagine how bad you and the soldiers must have it,” Regis said. He had made the twenty-day journey by carriage, and had even been given his own provisional office. He did not have to worry about lugging around a sword or spear, nor had he directly taken part in the battle.

Altina shrugged. “The soldiers and I, well... we’re trained for this. A lot better trained than you are, at least. That’s why you’re my biggest concern.”

“I see... I have no rebuttal.”

The princess teasingly poked out her tongue in response. “Eheheh... I beat Regis in an argument. Maybe I’ve got what it takes to be a tactician.”

“That would be wonderful. Now if you could just take over some of my work, I’ll have more time to read.”

“Ha, I’m only joking.”

“What a shame... Well, I suppose I have no other choice, then—I’ll have to cut down on sleep instead.”

“Err, Regis?”

“I’m only joking.”

“You’d better be... If you don’t get enough sleep, you really will come down with something.”

“I’ve already shaved down my sleep time as much as possible; it quite literally can’t go any lower.”

Altina’s expression turned serious. “Now you listen here, Regis...”

“Don’t worry, I’m at least getting enough sleep to avoid collapsing... I think.”

“Ah, of course! I’m just going to have to start sleeping with you! That way I can be sure you’re in bed at a reasonable time!”

Altina looked rather proud of herself, grinning like she’d just hit on a brilliant idea. Regis could already feel his cheeks heating up, and while it took the princess a little while longer to realize what she had just said, she soon turned red as well.

“No, wait... I didn’t mean it like that, okay!?”

“Right.”

“I’m a splendid adult now! I won’t even sleep in the same room as a man until I’m married!”

“But of course.”

The age of adulthood in Belgaria was fifteen, and just yesterday, Altina had welcomed her fifteenth birthday on the dreary plains of war. Her maid Clarisse had held a modest celebration, and the Black Knight Jerome had prepared some high-class wine as a birthday present. It wasn’t rare to give a person alcohol to celebrate their rise to adulthood. And almost immediately after she’d taken her first sip of alcohol...

Regis shook his head, immediately putting a stop to that derailed train of thought. “Well, whatever the case—I don’t think a man and woman should thoughtlessly sleep in the same room, regardless of age,” he said with a shrug.

“I-I know that already,” Altina replied with a nod, red to her ears.

They were now nearing the tent atop the hill.

“I know these are dark times, but Prince Latrielle is still your rival for the throne,” Regis said. “Take care not to say anything careless.”

“Um, what would count as careless?”

“...I suppose I wouldn’t have needed to warn you if you could make the distinction. In that case, please leave the negotiations to me.”

“Right. That’s probably for the best.”

Knights of the Empire’s First Army patrolled the tent’s perimeter on horseback, diligently on the lookout. It was only the month before when they had bared their fangs at Altina’s regiment, losing almost a third of their brigade to heavy casualties as a result.

Regis didn’t think they would seek retribution during such a state of emergency, but he still shivered nervously. Altina, on the other hand, was carrying herself so boldly that her attitude practically screamed, “If you’ve got a problem, come at me!”

The knights met her with immaculate salutes; their motions were textbook, and they moved in perfect unison. Altina responded with no more than a small nod before walking through, with Regis anxiously trailing behind.

✧ ✧ ✧

The entrance to the tent was just a dangling sheet of cloth, held down at the bottom with rocks. Altina pushed it aside and marched straight in.

A strong herbal scent drifted through the air inside, and there were around six knights stationed by the walls. First-Grade Admin Officer Germain was standing by a long desk wearing a grave expression. His face made it clear just how fatigued he was. Latrielle was seated beside him, dressed in his military uniform with a bandage wrapped around his head, staring hard at a map that had been spread out over the tabletop. Had he been injured in battle? His complexion didn’t look any different than usual: his skin was as pale as plaster, his lips were redder than a ripe tomato, and his face showed not even a hint of weariness.

The prince spoke without even moving his eyes from the map. “I’m glad to see you’re in good health, Argentina.”

“Likewise. You look surprisingly healthy, Latrielle. I’d heard you were injured.”

“Yes, the enemy got one over on me. They dropped rocks and logs on us from the cliffs above, then their cavalry charged down those very cliffs to attack us.”

“Doesn’t sound like anything special; I remember you used to run down cliffs all the time.”

“That was when I was still a child, youthful and invincible... I never anticipated that they would cut straight to the center of an army thirty-thousand strong, even with the narrow mountain path stretching our formation.”

“Where were you ambushed?” Altina asked.

Germain answered on Latrielle’s behalf, pointing at a spot on the map. “Right here—the narrowest point of a path through the mountains. The enemy attacked from above, then retreated into the valley below once the battle was over.”

“...I see.”

On terrain like that, there was no guaranteeing the safety of the army’s main camp, no matter how many troops they had at their disposal. The ambush appeared to have taken place on a pathway around halfway up the slopes, but the map alone wasn’t enough for them to discern how steep the cliffs around it were.

Regis fell into thought for a moment. Had they been moving through enemy territory, it would have been careless to discount the possibility of ambushes and traps... But the First Army had been well within imperial borders, and they were going up against an invading force.

One needed a thorough understanding of the surrounding land before they could competently select spots to lie in ambush, and large-scale traps required considerable preparation. In other words, this attack wasn’t down to the First Army being inept—rather, it was down to their enemy being extremely competent.

Altina pointed at Latrielle’s bandaged head. “We can say the attack was unavoidable. But how did you get injured?”

“This wound is from the trident of Mercenary King Gilbert. Just when I thought I had dodged, he caught me with a second strike. That man’s going to be quite troublesome.”

Altina groaned, her eyes fixed on the map. “Mrr... Those Renard Pendu folks really are something...”

“Sounds like you’ve had a run-in with them too.”

“You could say that...” Altina’s expression soured. During their battle against Varden, she had fought a girl named Franziska from the mercenary brigade Renard Pendu. Franziska was a crossbow expert who had managed to both take out Altina’s guard Eric and break the Grand Tonnerre Quatre.

Latrielle grabbed a piece from the corner of the map and rolled it between his fingers. “What’s become of the Seventh Army?”

“I’m sure you’ve already received the letter, but we lost Lieutenant General Barguesonne, along with the majority of his soldiers.”

The approximately twenty-one thousand soldiers of the Seventh Army had been cut down to a mere ten thousand. This figure accounted for four thousand dead, five thousand injured, and two thousand having deserted, but the reality was that some counted among the dead could have simply run away, and vice versa. When it came to losing battles, even the extent of one’s losses could be unclear.

Incidentally, the Beilschmidt border regiment had only lost close to one hundred soldiers, and these losses were exclusively from the Black Knight Brigade.

With some prompting from Latrielle, Germain spoke up. “I will henceforth report the state of the First Army. We had joined with the Third Army and, counting mercenaries, were approximately thirty thousand strong. We only lost one thousand troops in combat; there has been no major change to our fighting force, and our supplies are all in order.”

That was to be expected when the main camp had been ambushed and nothing else. Germain continued, next reporting on the High Britannian Army.

“At present, the northern and southern divisions of the High Britannian Army have merged back together. They now number around seventeen thousand.”

Germain placed a number of pieces on the map, red representing the Belgarian Army, and blue the enemy. Forty-four thousand against seventeen thousand—Belgaria had an overwhelming numerical advantage.

Latrielle set down the piece he had been playing with. “Considering the Second and Seventh Armies’ defeats, even this staggering numerical advantage does not ensure victory. In order to protect the capital, we have no choice but to join all of our forces and launch a coordinated assault.”

Germain bolstered Latrielle’s words with a deep, somber nod.

Regis couldn’t deny that, while it was a straightforward plan, it wasn’t a terrible one. While the Seventh Army had been infantry-centered, the forces now at their disposal included five thousand cavalry. By charging the enemy’s flank, they could keep casualties to a minimum.

However, the Empire had already lost thirty thousand soldiers. Were they to lose the majority of their remaining forces—especially the First Army—they would struggle to hold their other war fronts when this war came to an end. After all, High Britannia wasn’t Belgaria’s only enemy. Latrielle was painfully aware of this, and that was precisely why he was so torn.

“Sir Regis, do you have another idea?”

Regis could sense that something was slightly off. Based on what he knew about Latrielle’s nature, it was at times like these that the wise prince would normally look him dead in the eyes as he spoke, as if staring into his very soul. However, Latrielle instead continued staring at the map. Perhaps that simply went to show how serious the situation was. What’s more, he should have asked Altina for her opinion before bringing the matter to her tactician—at least, that was the proper protocol. Was the Empire so badly cornered that he was willing to ignore basic hierarchy?

That can’t be it. Perhaps... A thought came to Regis’s mind, but he immediately pushed it away. No, I shouldn’t pry into Prince Latrielle for now. As much as it bothers me, I’m in no position to deal with whatever I might find out. I shouldn’t dig around just to sate my curiosity; all it’ll do is make things more dangerous for us. After all, if it turns out the prince is hiding something, there’s a chance that he’ll need to seal some lips to stop the information from getting out... But anyway, enough about that—let’s get our information in order.

The Belgarian soldiers were separated from the capital by seventeen thousand High Britannian troops stationed half a day’s march away, and the reports they had received stated that the enemy hadn’t moved camp yet. As the weather seemed like it was about to take a turn for the worse, Regis predicted that Britannia would resume their march the next morning at the earliest, but the likelihood was that they wouldn’t start moving until a bit later than that. While their camp was set up, they could pitch tents to stave off the rain and prepare simple stoves to provide warm food. Once they started their march, however, they would have to huddle together on the hard ground for warmth and make do with cold meals. That much probably wasn’t different for High Britannia, even with their cutting-edge technology.

Forcing the soldiers to endure unnecessary hardships would bring little benefit, which was why—

“I think... the First Army should make for the capital at once.”

Latrielle finally raised his head. “In short, Regis, you’re saying we should avoid engaging them head-on. You have a plan.”

“Something of the sort... Verseilles has no outer walls, but there are still a few forts where we could set up defenses. Would we be able to use them to buy some time?”

“Hm...” Latrielle appeared pensive for a moment, as did Germain. Altina was the only one who had been told the plan in advance, and she was looking just a little smug.

“If we fight High Britannia head-on, the extent of our casualties will put the Empire’s continued existence in jeopardy,” Regis continued. “Even if we are able to beat them that way, we must avoid a direct confrontation.”

“True. Great costs will indeed hinder our future plans.”

“However, if we’re just stalling the enemy, we should be able to contain the damages. It would be impossible for them to scale our walls while holding up those large shields of theirs, and the newest guns do not have the same advantages in a siege; the Type-41 Elswicks may be powerful, but they aren’t strong enough to breach a fort.”

“Yes, stalling might be possible if we give our undivided attention to a defensive battle, but if we stay on the defensive then the Empire will still ultimately collapse. If those other nations sitting on the fence right now see us struggling against High Britannia, they’ll surely all come in for the kill.”

The neighboring countries were presumably readying themselves for war, and the moment they saw Belgaria on the defensive in a one-sided battle, they would rush in like an avalanche. Had the Empire built favorable relations with its neighbors, perhaps they might have actually provided aid in its time of dire need, but... Well, it’s not like we can do anything about that right now.

“...You have a point,” Regis said. “Due to the potential threat from the other nations, we’ll need to have driven High Britannia off by the end of June, at the latest.”

“Surely that would be impossible if we’re being sieged. What are you proposing, Regis?”

Regis once again scrutinized the plan in his head. He had skimmed through the many books he’d read over his life in search of a situation that was most applicable to the one they were in now, and while he was sure the scheme he had decided on would work, doubts still lingered in his mind.

“...I believe we should strike their supply chain.”

“I see...” Latrielle mused over the idea, while Germain beside him looked unconvinced. “And how would we go about doing that? Is this supply chain you speak of the ten thousand troops they have stationed at Port Ciennbourg? I have heard that over half are stevedores and hauliers, but they are guarded by the latest firearms all the same. Securing victory there won’t be an easy move, and if we prioritize the safety of the capital, we won’t be able to send too many soldiers.”

“Yes, those ten thousand would be tough to defeat. And even if we did manage to, it will be completely pointless once the next battalion has been shipped over from their motherland.”

“My point exactly,” Latrielle said. “In the end, High Britannia will simply replenish their goods and soldiers...”

Germain didn’t seem to follow, but the serious look on Latrielle’s face showed that he more than understood what Regis was suggesting. And his expression only turned grimmer as he continued.

“...Which is why you intend to take out their ships, Regis?”

“Correct. High Britannia’s supply chain is completely dependent on its sea routes; if we can remove them from the picture, we should be able to turn the tide.”

Latrielle cocked his head. “Unfortunately, that is not possible... The Empire’s sailing ships can’t beat their steam ships.”

“Of course not. We’d lose the moment we opened fire.”

Regis clearly recognized that High Britannia’s ships were far stronger than their own, but then what was his plan? Latrielle listened on in intrigue, but the bemused Germain quickly interjected, his tone now gruff.

“If you can’t take down their ships, then cutting off their supply chain is impossible, is it not!?”

“There are plenty of ways to defeat a navy that has nothing but its strength going for it...”

“What!?”

“Right now, I cannot think of any way to protect the Empire save for severing our enemy’s sea routes. If you have another idea to fend off a seventeen-thousand-strong army without any major casualties, then it’s probably a lot better than anything I can come up with.”

“You acknowledge that the enemy is stronger... yet we’ll still win. Is that what you’re saying?” Germain muttered, knitting his brow as if pondering a riddle.

“You’re asking me to... entrust the fate of the Empire to you?” Latrielle asked to make sure.

“If you have someone in mind who would be better suited to the task, then by all means. I just ask that you tell them to do something about the enemy’s supply chain.”

“That’s impossible. It’d take a magic spell to sink High Britannia’s steam ships.”

“Well, I’m no wizard...”

“But if you could manage it, you would need a plan no less astounding than magic. Perhaps you’d be more akin to a monster instead.”

“I have no special talents to speak of. This is a strategy that was already documented in a book, so I know it can be done.”

“I... see.” Latrielle closed his eyes.

Seeing his lord in such a state, Germain gazed at him with concern.

All of a sudden, Altina placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. “What are you thinking so hard about, Latrielle!? You called us here because you couldn’t think of any approaches beyond a frontal assault, right!? A victory like that would render us unable to protect the Empire, so Regis’s plan is much better! Just leave everything to us!”

Latrielle spread out a hand and pushed her back. “Don’t misunderstand me, Argentina... I do have a plan of my own. However, if Regis has a brilliant scheme that he wishes to act on, I have enough surplus to provide him a team to carry it out. That’s all there is to it.”

“Then you’ll approve Regis’s plan?”

“That depends on how many soldiers he’ll need.”

Altina looked to Regis. “So how many are we thinking?”

“Let’s see... I think the border regiment should be more than enough. That is, if we can get some of the locals to cooperate.”

“He says my army is plenty!” Altina proudly puffed out her chest, much to Latrielle’s chagrin.

“So you need the locals’ help? Altina isn’t very well suited to be an envoy.”

“I-I’m pretty quick on my feet, you know.”

“Hah... You have much to learn—war, finance, politics... Perhaps Regis will be a fine teacher.”

“Yeah, he’s teaching me all sorts of stuff.”

“Good. In that case, the Beilschmidt border regiment shall take in the survivors from the western front, and shall henceforth be known as the Empire’s Fourth Army. I appoint Argentina as its commander; I’ll have to alter your rank for that.”

“My what now?”

“Our admiral of the western seas is Lieutenant General Bertram. How would you lead him if you were of a lower rank? Given your achievements at Fort Volks, I could promote you to lieutenant general. Do you have any complaints?”

“Guess not. I’ve never really thought about my rank.”

“I don’t know what I expected... Germain, the order.”

“Yes, sir!” Germain took out a document and placed it on the table. The notice of appointment had already been filled out; maybe, just maybe, the plan that Latrielle was considering was very similar to Regis’s own. Had he even anticipated their proposal?

But what surprised Regis the most was that, it being a time of emergency aside, he hadn’t so much as hesitated to grant his political rival status and power. He really is an inexplicable man, Regis thought, finding himself overcome with awe once again.

“Order received!” Altina announced, grabbing the papers. “I’m sure Regis will do something about the steam ships, so we’re counting on you to buy us time!”

“Hm... Your trust in your subordinates and your boundless optimism are your strengths, Argentina. But remember—I also have loyal subordinates, plus my dignity as the Supreme Commander of the Belgarian Army. I don’t need to hear such words from my sister; under my leadership, the First Army will keep the capital safe!”

At that, Altina and Latrielle exchanged a smile.

Just as Regis and Altina were about to leave, Latrielle stopped them in their tracks. “Don’t be so hasty. Sir Regis, the paperwork to promote you to a third-grade administrative officer was completed just the other day. Have you already received your appointment?”

“...No?” Regis shook his head, bewildered.

“We didn’t get anything like that... Maybe it’s running late?” Altina suggested, sharing Regis’s confusion.

Fort Volks was located on the Empire’s furthest border, and actually crossed into the Grand Duchy of Varden’s territory. Delivering letters there took time, and the journey came with its own share of problems.

Latrielle nodded. “I see. In that case, we shall write one up now.”

As Latrielle picked up a pen, Germain promptly spread out a sheet of paper on the desk for him. The necessary fields had already been filled out; all it needed was the second prince’s signature.

Notice of Appointment

Sir Regis d’Aurick,

I hereby approve your promotion to the rank of third-grade administrative officer.

Imperial Year 851, May 22nd

Field Marshal Alain Deux Latrielle de Belgaria

Marshal General of the Belgarian Army

It appeared that Latrielle had risen through the ranks as well. Now that I think about it, I do remember hearing that the emperor had issued a direct dispatch order before the engagement with High Britannia. Maybe he granted Latrielle a new rank and privileges then.

Latrielle continued, his tone indifferent. “There should be no issue with the formalities; your direct superior Argentina is here to stand as witness. You will henceforth be treated as a third-grade administrative officer.”

“...Thank you, sir.”

That said, it wasn’t as though Regis’s job was going to change in any substantial way; he had been given authority and tasked with duties unbefitting his lowly rank from the very start.

Ah, but my salary should increase, so I guess I can at least buy more books. That sounds nice...

As Regis reveled in his meager blessings, Germain handed him the form. Then, he immediately produced another document. “With your promotion, you have also received the peerage of chevalier. Congratulations.”

“...Come again?”

Seeing Regis so taken aback brought a faint smile to Germain’s lips. Perhaps this was his petty way of getting back at him. As Regis gave the notice of appointment a closer inspection, he noticed a small “d” beside his name that hadn’t been there before.

It was Latrielle who handed him this new document. “When the war comes to an end, you may come to the capital, where the Ministry of Nobility will bestow upon you your certificate. Until then, that document shall serve as proof of your title.”

“Err... So does that mean... I’m a noble?”

In Belgaria, those whose military accomplishments had warranted their promotion to third-grade and above were also generally granted noble peerage. What’s more, while bestowing noble titles was usually something that could only be done by the emperor himself, for the rank of chevalier—and only the rank of chevalier—the Ministry of Nobility could stand in as his proxy.

Officially speaking, there was no relation between military rank and noble peerage. But over the course of Belgaria’s lengthy history, very few commoners had ever risen to the rank of third-grade without being made a noble as well.

Germain tilted his head. “I hear that many soldiers make becoming a chevalier their life’s goal... but it seems you are not one of them. You don’t look very pleased.”

“Oh, no, that’s not...”

Regis had made his resolve back when he first heard he was going to be promoted to third-grade, but now that the time had actually come, he couldn’t help but hesitate.

Germain narrowed his eyes in response. When he makes that face, the man reminds me of a snake, Regis thought.

“I have also heard that, among commoners, there are some who are hostile to nobles and the very system of nobility. You wouldn’t happen to be one of them, would you, Sir Regis?”

“The liberalists...? I wouldn’t dream of joining them.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“However... if those in power are under the impression that everyone with a peerage is blessed by fortune, and everyone without is cursed, then I do think there might be something wrong with the system. A nation exists to bring fortune to everyone within its borders; the privileges of nobles should be exercised not for personal interest, but to more efficiently distribute happiness among the populace as a whole.”

Germain furrowed his brow, but Regis lightly shook his head and continued.

“Of course, I’m sure that Prince Latrielle and Sir Germain are prioritizing the people’s happiness above all else. All I’m saying is that there’s no reason I should be happy simply because I’m a noble, and no reason that being a commoner should have brought me misfortune. Am I wrong?”

“...That is... certainly true.”

“In which case, it would be strange for me to be so simple-mindedly overjoyed at being knighted. My stomach turns at the thought of placing such heavy responsibility on someone so unworthy.”

“In...teresting. How terribly insightful. I expect no less from you, Sir Regis.”

“It is my pleasure.”

In the end, despite having received a peerage, Regis couldn’t even muster a smile. Latrielle, on the other hand, wore a grin as he gave the new third-grade a magnanimous nod.

“Ah, of course, Regis—your caliber expands beyond the title of chevalier. One day, perhaps you’ll be supporting me alongside Germain.”

“Y-You overestimate me...”

All of a sudden, Regis felt something tug hard on his arm.

“No chance! Regis is my tactician!”

“Then you’ll just have to join him and work as my right-hand woman. I don’t remember taking back my proposal from that night.”

Altina stuck out her tongue. “Not. On. Your. Life.”

It appeared that Latrielle was already accustomed to his half-sister’s childish, impudent attitude, as his expression didn’t change in the slightest.

Altina turned on her heel, keeping her vice-like grip on Regis’s arm, and threw open the hanging cloth that served as the entrance to the tent. “We’re off, Regis! To the west!”

✧ ✧ ✧

Latrielle closed his eyes; there was a sharp, throbbing pain in the back of his head. He could hear the tent entrance being pushed open, then noticed the surrounding light fade. Had the entrance been closed again? He couldn’t feel a breeze anymore.

Germain reassigned the guards in the room to security detail outside, ordering them to keep everyone away. Soon, another presence entered the tent.

“Pardon my intrusion,” came an incredibly nervous voice.

Latrielle opened his eyes. He could faintly make out a person with a stout build. “...Doctor.”

“Can you see me?”

“Better than yesterday.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“...I can’t say. But today, I can tell you’re holding up your right hand.”

“I-I see. Pardon me.” At that, the doctor pried Latrielle’s eyelids open with his fingers and stared deep into his pupils, continuing his examination. “...You’re on the road to recovery.”

“How long will it take?”

The doctor hesitated to answer this question. “...Before I say anything...”

“I despise equivocation, especially when it’s coming from a doctor. Do you understand me? Be frank, and tell me how bad it really is.”

But even then, the military physician was hesitant to continue.

Latrielle waited patiently. At some point, Germain handed him something which turned out to be water. It was only once he had gulped it down that the doctor finally spoke again.

“Hear me, O Lord in Heaven... His Highness Prince Latrielle’s right eye may recover in half a month. His left, however, will never heal. The poison has taken its toll...”

As it turned out, Mercenary King Gilbert had slathered his weapon in poison. Knights considered this to be shameful behavior, but Gilbert was not a knight—he was a mercenary.

“Is that all?”

“Prince Latrielle... Please, oh please, steel your heart. Know that this is surely all a part of God’s great plan. It must be a trial to pave the way to Heaven on Earth.”

“Out with it.”

“Your right eye may recover... for now. However, as it will need to compensate for your left, eventually... in a few years... it, too... will lose its light.”

Latrielle gulped.

There was a sudden thud as Germain’s hand struck the table, just barely managing to stop himself from collapsing. “That can’t be...!”

“Don’t lose your head, Germain.”

“B-But sire...!”

“I’ve learned the folly of my tactics and martial arts. I should be thankful I still have my life.”

“Ghh...”

“It seems I’ll have to rely on you even more than before... I’m sorry for the trouble I cause you.”

“Perish the thought! For your sake, I would even go so far as to surrender my life!” Germain exclaimed, dropping to one knee. But Latrielle’s vision had deteriorated so much that even this display of reverence was lost beyond a thick fog.

“My father would not name a blind man as his successor.”

“...Presumably not.”

Latrielle’s father, Emperor Liam XV, held a strong fixation on royal blood, and just as strong of an attachment to health and longevity. He had all-too-easily accepted the sickly first prince’s abdication of his inheritance, and the younger sister Felicia, who had been recuperating for so long at the family home, was never even considered a candidate, regardless of what she had to say on the matter.

Latrielle clenched his fist. “We must cover it up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“My succession isn’t the only issue... Say I do become emperor—if word gets out that I can’t see, it will give nobles and the surrounding nations cause to make light of me.”

“Then it must be covered up, for the sake of stable rule.”

“Indeed... Luckily, my right eye will heal in half a month. And it will hold up for a few years, correct?”

The doctor nodded. “Please be sure to allow it as much rest as possible.”

That’s easier said than done, Latrielle thought. Not only was he at war to protect the Empire, he was also the Marshal General leading all of its armies. What’s more, this was the front line—he needed to be ready to march at a moment’s notice at all times.

“I can maintain a siege while blind; that much isn’t an issue. By the time the battle is over, my right eye should be back. And Father is old—too old to lead the army in the nation’s time of crisis. He should reach his decision soon.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will become emperor, and I’ll change the country. We’ll be stronger then—a powerful nation that won’t fold to anyone simply because they have newer weaponry. The Empire’s weapons and industrial advancements will surpass theirs; our soldiers will be tempered like steel, and our agriculture and livestock will double. We’ll set up riparian buffers faster, and I’ll punish those nobles eating up taxes for senseless entertainment. We’ll do away with those silly banquets, remake those antiquated laws, and reduce the rights of the church that just keep growing unchecked... I must set the foundation so that, a thousand years from now, Belgaria shall remain a lustrous, eternal utopia—so that the Empire shall never wane.”

“Your Highness...” Germain’s own vision grew bleary.

Latrielle’s voice grew softer, but his words carried a heated intensity. “There are so many in this world who deserve to be rewarded, yet these precious souls are trampled down by unreasonable irrationality. How could this be permitted?”

“Sir.”

Releasing his firmly clenched fist, Latrielle took a deep breath. “And to that end... what we need now is Argentina’s victory.”

“Can the Fourth Army really win? At the end of the day, it’s a border regiment bolstered by the remnants of defeated armies. High Britannia’s ships were strong enough to fight off the imperial fleet.”

“Would it be possible for you, Germain?”

“You only need to give the order, sir! ...Well, that’s what I’d like to say, but I can’t see how it would be. Lieutenant General Bertram, who took command in the Battle of Touranne, is an accomplished man, yet even he was forced to retreat without any notable gains.”

“That tactician said we’d lose the moment we opened fire... so how is he planning to take out the ships?”

“I hail from the western coast, so I know the sea and land go by different rules. Regis’s tactics may actually prove useless out there.”

“...Right. He’s from an inland city, isn’t he?”

Regis’s personal history detailed that he had been born in Verseilles. There was a lake close to the capital, but it was a long distance from the sea.

“Is it not dangerous to expect this much from him?”

“...It’s also possible that he simply wanted to distance Argentina’s soldiers from the engagement with the High Britannian Army.”

“Urk... I see.”

“In which case, the future he is envisioning may be different from our own.”

“Princess Argentina aside, Regis seems to be as far from daring as you can get.”

“I’d like to believe he isn’t the sort who would lie to better his standing, but... should he fail to sever the enemy’s supply chain... both the commander and advisor of the Fourth Army shall be held accountable when the war ends.”

If the Fourth Army lost, perhaps the scramble for the throne would actually become easier. However, there was also a chance it would bring about a situation where the Empire’s continued existence was unlikely.

Latrielle winced as another stabbing pain pricked the inside of his head.

“Please get some rest, at least for now. Your blurry vision is taxing your brain more than usual,” the doctor firmly rebuked him.

“...Germain, we march tomorrow morning. Set up a route that will circumvent the enemy and allow us to reach a suitable stronghold before them. It should be possible if we abandon the cannons,” Latrielle said, before closing his eyes and leaning back into his chair.

✧ ✧ ✧

May 23rd—

The Belgarian Army marched through the rain that had picked up late the previous night. The First Army was at the center, supported by the Third Army, a sizable number of mercenaries, and even the remaining soldiers from the Seventh Army. They numbered forty thousand in total.

They had cast aside their cannons and camping supplies, allowing them to move faster than usual. The plan was to detour around the High Britannian Army and set up base near the capital before they arrived.

Meanwhile, the three thousand nine hundred troops of the Beilschmidt border regiment—now the Fourth Army—headed west. As they departed, the remnants of the Seventh Army played the bugle call meant for allied troops; the two forces had been at odds when they first met, but something had changed since then. Did they feel indebted to the border regiment after being saved in the Battle of La Frenge?

But, as always, Regis couldn’t help but wonder. Had I handled the situation better, could I have kept the death toll even lower...? If anything, he felt like he should be apologizing right now.

Under Altina’s orders, the Fourth Army’s buglers returned the same tune.

March on, brave soldier, one step more,

For triumph’s knocking at your door.

God graces you and guides the way,

We’ll share a drink again someday.

It was that sort of song.

They could see the knight called Coignièra saluting from horseback. He had initially scoffed upon seeing the regiment, but that was no longer the case. His true feelings came out in his salute.

Was Dukas somewhere amongst the lines of soldiers? To protect his family in the east, he had pleaded with Regis to push back the advancing High Britannian Army—to protect the Empire. Many soldiers likely shared this sentiment. The people of a defeated nation weren’t treated like real people; their assets and lives were left up to the whims of the victor. This was a fate more terrifying than any other.

Atop her beautiful steed, Altina gave Regis a gentle smile. “Looks like the people of the Seventh Army have changed quite a bit! At first, they seemed to think we were enemies.”

“We’re all soldiers under the same army; the fact we were quarreling to begin with is the strange part.”

“I know, right?”

“Hah...”

“What’s wrong? You’re looking down.”

“...I’m just not used to people having such high expectations of me. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“Don’t worry! I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

“I hope so...” Regis said with a shrug, before ducking into his white carriage.

“Fourth Army, march!” Altina raised her voice to address the troops and pointed westward, and on her command, the air echoed with the tumultuous tremor of a great many feet beating the earth.