Preface 2: The Lion and the Serpent

May 27th—

Owing to the rain that had carried on for three days straight, High Britannia began its offense later than expected. They were lugging along large, heavy cannons, which meant that muddy roads slowed their march considerably.

Thanks to that, the First Army under Latrielle was able to prepare for a siege. They awaited their foe at Fort Boneire, south of the capital—the last fortress to protect a city without walls.

Since the First Army had been bolstered by the remnants of the Seventh and the Third, they now numbered forty thousand and had plenty of cavalry at their disposal. Latrielle had stationed twenty thousand men outside the fortress, while the remaining twenty thousand were holed up inside. He had opted to do this rather than keep their entire army in the fortress as their defenses would serve no purpose should High Britannia simply ignore them and head for the capital. But this way, he was prepared to shoot the enemy in the back the moment they tried to pass through.

The High Britannian Army had appeared that morning not too long ago, and the battle had commenced just before noon. The enemy’s cannons, the Type-41 Elswicks, roared to life.

Fort Boneire stood atop a hill, forcing its invaders to scale an incline and allowing the fortress’s attacks to span a greater distance. But even then, it seemed that High Britannia’s cannons had a slight range advantage in an upfront shoot-out, as their cannon shells managed to strike the stone walls.

Belgaria of course returned fire, and a few shells landed among the enemy formation.

Constructed along the contour of the hill, Fort Boneire stretched from east to west in the shape of a crescent moon. Enemies that came from the front would be mercilessly bombarded by the east and west towers, and while the towers themselves were rather tough to defend due to their design, they weren’t connected to the main structure. In other words, even were the enemy able to take them, they would need to make their way through yet more walls to reach the center.

This fortress was, in essence, three forts supporting one another.

A map had been spread over the conference room table. Germain, Latrielle’s staff officer, was busy putting the last few pieces into position.

“It seems this is how they’ve deployed themselves,” he said. “Their cannons and foot soldiers are out front, while their horsemen protect their flanks and rear.”

Latrielle nodded. “Hm... I heard that their Oswald was quite the schemer. To think he actually began with a frontal assault.”

Also present around the table were nine others, most notably including the elderly commander of the Third Army and a young knight who was rallying the remnants of the Seventh Army. Foot soldiers in heavy armor stood on guard by the wall.

Lieutenant General Buxerou of the Third Army leaned in, his thick beard quivering as cried out, “Commander! We should put our cavalry on the offensive! So long as we attack them from behind, even the latest cannons and rifles are nothing to fear! Let’s teach High Britannia a lesson they’ll never forget!”

“Our duty is to defend this point...” cautioned Coignièra of the Seventh Army. “There is no need for us to expend ourselves.” He was a second-grade combat officer, and while that didn’t rank particularly highly in the Seventh Army, their commander Barguesonne along with most of their senior officers had died in battle. Those who remained cowered in the face of the High Britannian Army, leaving him to pick up the pieces.

Buxerou scoffed. “Lost your nerve after a single defeat!?”

“Kh... You’re underestimating our foe because you’ve never fought them head-on. Are you really so eager to send your men to their deaths?”

“Silence!”

With all the troops they had backing them, both were incredibly strong-willed. Gathering them together like this was proving to be a trial and a half, especially given the unspoken problem that Latrielle now faced. His vision was such a haze that he wasn’t even sure whether his men were glaring at one another right now; the most he could make out were vague shapes.

Around a week ago, Latrielle had fallen victim to a surprise attack from the Mercenary King Gilbert, coming away with a wound to his brow. The poison on his opponent’s blade had since affected his sight, so much so that his left eye was now completely blind. His right was currently on the road to recovery, but the doctor had said that it would only be a few years before he lost vision in that one as well.

Were the troops to find out, it would no doubt cause large-scale unrest. Latrielle would be forced to drop out of the competition for the throne. He couldn’t let the news spread.

Germain—his confidant, and the only one who knew his situation—moved the pieces from the map as an excuse to report everything verbally.

“The enemy’s formation stretches out horizontally. A fine formation to fire upon us, but perhaps they didn’t foresee us going out to counterattack. That said, they have lines of soldiers armed with rifles and shields. If we do leave the fortress to exchange blows, we will suffer great casualties.”

“...They have us at a stalemate.”

“So it seems, sir. The enemy’s cannon fire does reach our walls, but were I to make a comparison, they pose as much threat as a knife stabbing at brick.”

“The distance is much too great, after all.”

High Britannia’s shots lost too much force before they reached the fortress. Were they to stomach the risk and move their cannons closer, however, it would be a very different story. Stone walls were fragile once their bottoms had been hollowed, so even partial destruction would be enough for them to collapse under their own weight.

Latrielle raised a hand to his quibbling subordinates. “That’s enough. I understand their intentions.”

His men immediately closed their mouths and corrected their posture. The roar of cannon fire could be heard more clearly through the window—shots from both sides.

Latrielle made sure to speak calmly. As the commander, he could not show even the slightest trace of unease lest his men grow anxious.

“High Britannia intends to agitate us with their cannons, inviting us to attack. As things stand, I have no doubts that Fort Boneire’s walls will hold well enough. Should Argentina’s Fourth Army be defeated, only then shall we venture out... but it is much too early to make that call. In the meantime, stay wary of the enemy’s movements and devote your all to defense.”

The young knight Coignièra smiled, his suggestion having been accepted.

On the other side, Buxerou grit his teeth, his beard once again shaking as he voiced his displeasure. “Commander, do you doubt our martial prowess!?”

“Not once have I ever doubted the valor of the Third Army. Have I said anything to that effect?”

“Erk... No, not that I recall...”

“As long as the High Britannian Army cannot conquer Fort Boneire, they will remain locked here indefinitely. Eventually, they will have no choice but to split up, take distance, or retreat. And that is the moment we shall launch our counterattack. I have high hopes for you.”

“Yes, sir!” Lieutenant General Buxerou graciously stood and bowed, at which point the others did the same.

And so, the Belgarian Army resolved to stay on the defensive...

But the very moment that Oswald Coulthard discerned this was the case, he made his move.

That evening, Germain flew into Latrielle’s room.

“Big trouble!”

“What is it...?”

Latrielle had been resting his eyes, holding a damp cloth over them as he sat partially slouched in his chair. He removed the cloth and allowed it to soak in a pot, having been told to keep his eyes as clean as possible and to cool them should he come down with a fever.

Germain shut the door and saluted. “My apologies, sire. The enemy army has moved. There are refugees headed our way.”

“Mn?”

“Presumably from the towns and villages the enemy army encountered along their march.”

The people of Belgaria were not accustomed to being invaded; they had always been on the invading side. What’s more, High Britannia had managed to defeat both the Second and the Seventh Armies in almost no time at all during their engagements, allowing them to advance much quicker than expected.

As a result, most people were too late to flee. In most cases, such people would be killed and their assets repurposed. Some would even be made into disposable baggage carriers.

“How many?”

“A considerable amount. Over ten thousand, I presume. It seems they were moving slower than the enemy, which is why they only just arrived.”

Latrielle paused for a moment. “You mean to say the enemy army has taken our people hostage?”

“No, they’re being made to walk toward the fortress. No demands have been made. It looks like they’ve simply been released.”

“Hm... So that’s their game.”

“Should we open the gates and let them in? It may be dangerous...”

“It’s most definitely a trap. But if we keep them shut, we will enrage both the civilians and the soldiers.”

“As I thought.”

Germain’s wisdom was one of the reasons he had been made a staff officer in the first place; he already realized the danger.

“If we open the gates, then by the time ten thousand tired souls pass through, we’ll have permitted the enemy to charge...” Latrielle mused. “It would be near impossible to close them after that. Even if I were to give the order, our soldiers would not slaughter our own people.”

“Right.”

“It’s also possible there are enemies among the civilians, disguised in Belgarian clothes. Their standing army would never do something so shameful, but... they have hired mercenaries among their ranks, too.”

“Grr... If we let a single High Britannian soldier in, they could seize control over part of our walls. From that point on, we’re like a ship with a hole in its hull; the enemy would come flooding in.”

Latrielle would no doubt be criticized for turning down refugees, but at the same time, it was much too dangerous to accept them. He paused once again, deep in thought, before eventually voicing an idea.

“...If we can work together with the unit stationed outside, we can prevent the enemy from charging us. We’ll open the main gates only partially, allowing us to screen each civilian for weapons. It will be a slow process, though. It might even take all night.”

“Shall I arrange to have it done?”

“And if we take in ten thousand non-combatants, we’ll be hard-pressed for food.”

“C-Certainly... but we should be able to hold for half a month. By then, we’ll know the results of the Fourth Army’s efforts.”

The enemy army would surely stop fixating on the capital if Argentina managed to sever their supply chain. Were they to keep up this siege under those circumstances, they would almost certainly run out of supplies first. But Latrielle had other doubts.

“What actions do we take if they send ten thousand more?”

“Ah!?”

“Perhaps the next ones they send are the wives and children of the men we take in now. We would risk insurrection if we so much as suggested abandoning them. A civil war with ten thousand civilians in these narrow fortress walls—we wouldn’t be able to handle an outside attack then.”

“Mm... So we’d have to accept even more refugees.”

“We have no grasp on how many civilians have become their prisoners of war. Thirty to forty thousand is the point where our supplies are done for.”

“We would barely last two weeks...” Germain groaned.

They had to make a decision.

“Fort Boneire is the capital’s last line of defense. We can’t expose it to danger for a meager ten thousand people... The Empire is home to thirteen million.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

All of a sudden, the cannons boomed outside the window. Germain turned pale, and in no time at all, there was a messenger tapping on Latrielle’s door.

“Speak!” Latrielle ordered. There was no time to waste opening it.

“The enemy army is firing on our civilians! Lieutenant Buxerou is opening the front gates as we speak!”

“Unbelievable!” Germain shrieked.

Latrielle pressed a hand to his brow. His men had made the first move; they couldn’t ignore Belgarian civilians being shot right before his eyes.

“I-It’s not too late,” Germain stammered, his voice quavering. “Give the order not to let them in!”

“...No. It’s much harder to withdraw an outstretched hand than to never offer it at all. I fear the soldiers’ antipathy. Groups move more on feeling than logic. Our only option is to accept the civilians and plan around that.”

“Kh... Understood. Then we’ll check to ensure they don’t have any weapons.”

“Indeed.”

Latrielle rose from his chair, calling to Germain before he could leave the room. “...We’ve lost the initiative, all because I’ve been holed up in my room. I know I’ll cause you trouble, but I must stay at the ready.”

“B-But what of your recovery?”

The messenger was still present, so Latrielle brought Germain closer and whispered into his ear. “The poison’s fading... My condition’s a little better. My fever is going down.”

“Are you sure?”

“When we’re this close, I can see your face.”

“Your Highness...”

Latrielle was able to see Germain through his right eye, and while the facial features were still somewhat blurry, his sight was good enough that he could make out his expression. He may not have recovered enough to be able to strike down an oncoming arrow, but he could at least swing a sword now.

But more importantly, he would no longer have to rely on messengers to deliver his orders. This process inevitably led to delays, as they were now witnessing firsthand.

“Hm... I hear this Oswald fellow has a knack for unscrupulous deeds,” Latrielle said. “He’s not going to make this easy, is he?”

“My thoughts exactly. To use captive civilians... He’s as virulent as a poisonous serpent.”

“Though I’m not one to speak. Not after I considered abandoning them...”

“Th-That’s...”

“Don’t worry. You can’t wage wars on ideals.”

Latrielle pushed the door open with his own two hands, returned a salute from the messenger, and then stepped through.

Just you wait, serpent. This time, I’ll take the initiative.