Chapter 1: Today or Tomorrow

June 3rd—

Upon liberating Port Ciennbourg, the Empire’s Fourth Army set up camp in the highlands 10 lieue (44 km) to the east, an area covered in grassy fields where the wind was gentle and cool. The sun rose high up into the blue sky dotted with white wisps of cloud. Had they not been in the middle of a raging war, it would have been the perfect place for an afternoon nap.

After replenishing their supplies in the west, the main camp was once again a rather large tent. They had previously discarded their old tent and even their cannons in a battle against time to get from La Frenge to the western coast, during which their main camp had consisted of no more than hemp cloth partitions without so much as a roof.

This new tent was a splendid piece that even came with windows to allow light through. It was guarded by foot soldiers in heavy armor, and inside waited the army’s commander, Altina; her strategist, Regis; and the maid, Clarisse, who was busy preparing tea.

“Enjoy.”

“Thank you, Ms. Clarisse.”

Regis took the teacup offered to him and doused his parched throat. Altina, meanwhile, impatiently tapped her finger against the map on the table.

“Jerome’s taking his time...”

“We did ask for a lot. For now, we should just rest; we won’t get another chance to anytime soon.”

At that, Regis opened the book he’d brought with him. This one was about a young boy who was going through military academy for the second time—not because he was repeating a year, but because some strange power had sent him back in time. It was a tale of adolescence.

All of a sudden, Altina poked her finger into his cheek. “Reading’s good and all, but how about keeping me company sometimes?”

“Hm? Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

“Not that. I mean, you know, every now and again... Just a little talking... kicking back, drinking tea... Where’s the harm in that?”

“The books I’ve read are just about the only things I know how to talk about.”

“That’s fine with me,” Altina responded, her cheeks puffed up. She was being strangely pouty today, yet it didn’t quite seem like she was in a bad mood.

Regis searched through every book that he’d read across his life, searching for something that might explain her curious behavior. It most closely resembled that of a budding young woman hoping to be pampered by her lover, but... that couldn’t be it, surely.

Altina was the fourth princess of the Belgarian Empire, and second in line to the throne, at that. She was also the commander of the Fourth Army, holding the military rank of lieutenant general. Sure, she was only fifteen, but she possessed the ambition to become empress. What’s more, she had earned the support of many soldiers and commoners, as well as the upstart nobility of the south.

To summarize: Marie Quatre Argentina de Belgaria couldn’t possibly be like any other girl.

Then again, Regis’s self-esteem was notably low. He had happened upon situations that were similar to the books he read, been saved by talented comrades, and been blessed with incredibly good luck that saw his plans through. Not once had he ever thought that he himself was anything special—in fact, he was certain that his incompetence would be proven the moment they ran into a problem that he hadn’t previously read about.

He might have been Altina’s strategist, but it had been Eric who saved her from that money-grubbing inspector. And back in April, when they had visited the palace, he was initially powerless before Latrielle’s devices; the counterattack he had eventually devised was mostly thanks to a hint from Eric, information from Elenore, and Altina’s intuition.

There was also the fact that, when the Seventh Army had gone up against High Britannia’s riflemen with their traditional close-knit formation, Regis had failed to come up with a proposal good enough to change the late commander’s mind. As a strategist, surely he was worse than second-rate.

All this wasn’t even considering the sad reality that he couldn’t properly swing a sword nor ride a horse. As a man, what appeal could he possibly have?

In Regis’s mind, that was enough to rule out any possibility that Altina was looking at him in such a way. It wasn’t even worth consideration. In which case, what did she want?

“...I’d hazard a guess that you have too much time on your hands, and thus want to hear a story. I must admit, though, I don’t quite have the skills to be a minstrel,” Regis said with a wry smile.

Altina looked at him dubiously. “You’re making me sound like some selfish tyrant.”

“I think you’re safe in that regard. Well, unless you demanded that I read you stories each night and threatened to kill me otherwise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?”

“You’ve never heard that one? Once upon a time, the king of a far-off land...”

Regis recited a story that he had read once before. He was simply recalling what was written in the book, of course—it wasn’t as though he’d ever written a story himself—but he’d read enough to have a general grasp on how to keep her interest. Soon, Altina wasn’t the only listener; Clarisse was lending him an ear as well.

They sipped tea, chatted, and got exceedingly invested in the tale until...

“Brigadier General Beilschmidt and Lieutenant General Beaumarchais have arrived,” a guard called from beyond the tent entrance. Jerome stepped inside soon after.

Jerome Jean de Beilschmidt was a man whose reputation as a valorous warrior had earned him titles such as “the Black Knight” and “the Hero of Erstein.” He was currently serving under Altina, but his skills likely made him one of the most capable fighters in Belgaria. In battle, Regis trusted him over anyone else.

Accompanying him was an orange-haired knight—Lieutenant General Benjamin Emanuel de Beaumarchais, commanding officer of the Empire’s Second Army and eldest son of the Beaumarchais House. His younger brother, Justin Gabriel, was his deputy commander.

Incidentally, the house’s third son was Germain, Latrielle’s confidant.

Regis had caught a glance of the siblings during the commemoration festival in April, but they hadn’t exchanged any words back then. On this encounter, they had already exchanged formalities... but Benjamin’s expression was already curled into a scowl.

Under Latrielle’s orders, the defeated Second Army had been absorbed by the newly established Fourth Army. As a result, Benjamin was now Altina’s subordinate.

Not only was Belgaria a strongly patriarchal society, but Altina was still only fifteen; it was inevitable for a middle-aged male lieutenant general to feel dissatisfied at this decision. And if that wasn’t enough, Count Beaumarchais was one of the influential nobles with an estate near the capital, putting the house in Second Prince Latrielle’s faction. Fourth Princess Altina was a political enemy.

He surely wouldn’t dare to sabotage them during a battle in which the Empire’s continued existence was at stake, but he was a man to be wary of nonetheless. And, thinking about it, he probably sees us the same way, Regis mused. It wouldn’t be strange for him to fear that the princess might use this opportunity to send him to his death for even the slightest advantage in this political game.

Once in the tent, he looked around restlessly.

“......”

“Please, take a seat,” Regis said.

Benjamin thought for a moment, then nodded. “Very well.” Jerome had already slumped down into the nearest seat as though he was at his own estate, so he didn’t want to be the only one still standing.

“Good grief. You really know how to work a man to the bone, Regis! Are you sure you aren’t confusing cavalrymen with caravans!? Oi, Regis!”

“Haha... I’m sorry. It would have taken much too long had we sent foot soldiers.”

All hands were gathered at the center table. Altina was closest to the rear of the tent with Regis to her left, while Jerome was nearest to the entrance with Benjamin on his right.

Meanwhile, Clarisse was standing by the wall, as unmoving as a statue. She laughed and joked around with those she trusted, but in the presence of even a single stranger, she became silent and expressionless.

Noticing that Benjamin seemed nervous, Altina spoke up first. “Good work. How’s everyone looking?” she asked in her usual amiable tone.

In response, Benjamin pursed his lips as though he was working through a difficult math problem. His fists were clenched, and he was staring fixedly at the table.

“......”

From his point of view, Altina was royalty as well as his commander. However, she was also a fifteen-year-old girl and the representative of an opposing faction. He was so caught up in matters of standing and ulterior motives that he couldn’t even engage in small talk, and a greasy sweat soon dampened his brow.

Jerome shrugged. “The soldiers? They’re all feeling lost as hell after being put on that incomprehensible mission, of course. ‘Fetch as many barrels of lake water as you can,’ she says. What, are you making a pond or something?”

“No, not exactly. I’m pretty sure I already explained what we would be using it for,” Regis replied.

“Hmph,” Jerome snorted. “It sounds like nonsense coming from you. Like some magic spell. You’ll get the inquisition on your back one of these days.”

“It’s just fundamental sciences naturelles...”

Altina shot forward. “Oh, while we’re talking about Regis—we were just getting to the good part. He’s a natural at this!”

“N-No... I was just telling a story...”

Jerome stared at him suspiciously. “Oi, Regis? I thought you were some sort of strategist, but now it turns out you were a minstrel all along... No wonder you’re such a wimp!”

“I am not trying to be a minstrel. And I know that I’m a wimp.”

“I hated that sissy bunch back at the capital. Every time I spotted them in the palace, I was always telling ’em: ‘If you’re a man, you should be swinging a sword!’”

“Wouldn’t you be reprimanded for swinging a sword in the palace?”

“Then start thrusting a spear!”

“I don’t think that’s the problem here...”

“Hah! My point is, any bloke who seduces women with words instead of actions is a complete lowlife. You got that, trash!?”

“Wait, are you referring to... m-me and the princess!? I’m not seducing anyone!” Regis exclaimed, vehemently shaking his head.

“Fwha—!? I... I haven’t been... seduced, right? That’s absolutely not what that was. Okay, the story was interesting and all, but... but there was nothing else to it,” Altina said, now red to the ears.

On the sidelines, Benjamin’s eyes were practically spinning in confusion. The current conversation went against everything he knew. Royalty were meant to be revered, meetings were supposed to be strict, and nobles were meant to speak elegantly.

Jerome prodded a finger against the map on table. Ordinarily, it was supposed to show the area around the camp, but that wasn’t quite the case; the one here depicted a completely separate area a short distance to the east.

“Regis. You said the High Britannian Army was going to stop here, right?” Jerome asked. “What makes you think that?”

“I sent the engineering team ahead and had them set something up.”

“Like a trap? They’re not rabbits, y’know. Are you trying to stall them there? Digging another hole?”

“Yes, well... the soil around here is too damp and loose for us to dig a hole. It would probably be possible in the granary regions, but they belong to Duke Chautiene who has been raising sheep here for many years, and I wouldn’t want to damage his—”

“Enough! Seriously, Regis, who cares about that!? There are ten thousand enemy soldiers five lieue (22 km) ahead of us! Now, tell me you have some way to get rid of that filth!”

“Don’t worry. I know this situation,” Regis said calmly. He seldom trusted his own wit, instead relying on the knowledge he gained from books, and thankfully he had read of a similar development once before.

“This again?”

“Jorge Jean went into a lot of detail in The Hero of Canequi Plains. The author was a natural scientist who used his real-world knowledge to set up the—”

Jerome was giving him a certain look again. “How many times are we going to rely on those books of yours?”

“Hm, well... it’s nothing too special... Everyone relies on their own experiences, using the things they’ve heard or the books they’ve read to make their decisions. You can’t make a call on something that you know nothing about, don’t you agree?”

“...Maybe.”

“And when you’re solving a problem, you don’t often put much consideration into where you’ve gotten the information. My knowledge is only grounded in books, so I can remember which ones the plans that I recall come from. That’s all there is to it.”

Jerome paused. He was usually quick to write Regis’s opinions off as absurd, but was this time different?

“Hm... Like the relationship between muscles and food, then.”

“Oh, that’s right. The body develops based on the food we eat every day. However, you don’t think of what food you’ve eaten every time you use your body.”

“I get it now. In other words, you’re the sort of guy who moves instinctively, then remembers what you ate to let you move like that! What a weirdo!”

Jerome’s unpleasant tone caused Regis to panic a little. “Y-Yes, if you want to put it like that... But knowing where your knowledge comes from isn’t that—”

“Hah! Forget about it. Just talk about the plan!”

“Wah... This is unfair...”

The exchange didn’t sit right with Regis. Why was he being called weird, simply because he was aware of something that others oftentimes weren’t?

✧ ✧ ✧

Krueger, a knight and second-grade combat officer, had worked under Sir Jerome for five years now, having served him since before the Beilschmidt border regiment was even formed. The unit he belonged to had grown more and more since then, eventually becoming the Empire’s Fourth Army, but his talent meant he was still among its most capable fighters. It was for this reason that he had become one of Sir Jerome’s most trusted knights.

He was a man with short, orderly brown hair, his sharp eyes and the deep scar across his cheek giving him a stern appearance. Though he preferred not to admit it, the scar had come not from a fierce battle, but his wife’s kitchenware when she discovered his infidelity.

Krueger considered Abidal-Evra—a fellow second-grade combat officer—his contemporary. The two men were almost the same age and shared similar backgrounds, both commoners knighted in honor of their martial prowess who had since played pivotal roles in their brigade.

And yet, that April, Abidal-Evra had been the one selected to guard Princess Argentina. He had clearly done the job well since he maintained the position from that point onward, accompanying her to Rouenne and then her strategist, Regis, to Hugovie.

Until recently, Eric, the grandchild of garrison head Everard, had served as the princess’s official guard. But following an injury in battle, Abidal-Evra had essentially taken up the role in everything but name.

As for Krueger, while his unit was continuing their contribution to the war effort, his personal accomplishments had been few and far between. His current, agonizingly mundane duty was to guard the sappers—their engineering team.

“Keh... Look how wide the distance between us has grown. How am I supposed to do anything noteworthy out here?”

June 3rd, evening—

Krueger led one hundred knights eastward, and not on a valorous march. He sidestepped High Britannia’s supply unit around 20 lieue east of the Fourth Army’s main camp, his job being to protect their sappers, who numbered two hundred in all.

They knew the enemy army would march straight to them, and yet, for some reason, they were supposed to be setting up camp. This was all under the order of the strategist, Regis... whose commands Krueger could make neither heads nor tails of. It wasn’t as though they were laying a trap or an ambush, and the location did not seem to be particularly special; relatively low hills stretched out in every direction.

As the sun made its way westward, painting the sky in hues of orange, the shadow at Krueger’s feet stretched across the damp undergrowth. He let out a deep sigh just as the sapper captain, Ferdinand Stuttgart, arrived.

Ferdinand apparently hailed from western Germania, having earned much praise for his measurements and excavating during the capture of Fort Volks. He was a small man, sporting a mustache and a friendly smile.

“We’ve just finished up work, Sir Krueger!”

“You have? That was faster than I expected.”

“Yes, that’s because the strategist recommended we leave it only half complete.”

“I can never understand what that man is thinking!” Krueger exclaimed, his raised voice earning him a bitter smile from Ferdinand. Meanwhile, the sappers went about collecting their tools, purposely leaving some behind.

“We’re only abandoning the old stuff we don’t need,” Ferdinand explained. “It wouldn’t be much of a disguise if we properly cleaned up.”

“Was that on the strategist’s order, too?”

“He certainly has an eye for the finer details, sir.”

“Hm, well... For now, let’s send out the folks who are carrying the heavier tools. The rest we can carry on our horses and wagons,” Krueger responded, repeating the plan they had previously agreed on.

Ferdinand gave an affirmative nod. He turned around to deliver this message to his team, when out of nowhere—

“The enemy! The enemy is coming!” a lookout yelled, racing in from the west.

“How many troops?” Krueger asked sharply.

“Around thirty! Scouts, from what we’ve seen!”

Scouts were used to run ahead of an army’s main force, usually to look for any potential traps or ambushes. Under normal circumstances, such groups would remain as small as possible so that they could easily hurry back to report anything suspicious, so thirty was quite a sizable number. But perhaps High Britannia had sent more to ensure that their scouts weren’t so easily wiped out by a surprise attack, or maybe they intended to take any civilians they came across as prisoners of war. Those who were captured were usually stripped of their assets and forced to haul supplies, as was common practice in the midst of war.

Ferdinand paled. “The enemy, Sir Krueger! We must hurry!”

“Wait. If we run away now, they’ll see right through our plan. The strategist told us to be careful about that.”

“R-Right. It’s meant to look as though we set up camp here, unaware that the enemy was nearby. We have to look like we were caught off guard...”

“Just stay calm. You’re safe with me.”

“I understand, but... the enemy has Mercenary King Gilbert on their side. I don’t see us surviving an encounter with them.”

Krueger narrowed his eyes, glaring to the west. “Yeah... I guess they do have him on their side.”

Mercenary King Gilbert was known for his masterful proficiency with a trident, having honed his skills to the point that he was reportedly undefeatable in battle. But this reputation was the result of more than just his fighting ability—his excellence as a commander had brought his men to victory on many an occasion.

But what if we manage to take him out? Krueger wondered. High Britannia’s supply unit had become such an integral piece in the war that its fate would decide the victor, and since the Mercenary King was leading them, it was safe to say he was a foe who held the Empire’s very future in his hands.

By overpowering him, Krueger could pave Belgaria’s path to victory, and his dream of earning a first-class medal would quickly become a reality. Perhaps he would even be revered as the Hero of La Frenge, just as Sir Jerome had become the Hero of Erstein five years prior. And then, maybe—just maybe—he would ascend from his position as a non-hereditary knight. He could become a baron—a real noble...

Krueger could see the enemy horsemen crossing the west hill. It was the High Britannian Royal Army. These were, of course, mere scouts, but the main force surely wasn’t far behind.

Upon seeing Belgaria’s numbers, the scouts came to a halt. They were armed with the latest firearms, but even then, a battle of thirty against one hundred horsemen and two hundred foot soldiers would surely not end in their favor.

Little did they know that the two hundred Belgarian foot soldiers were actually sappers, something that was near impossible to discern based on appearance alone.

The scouts turned back. By holding his ground here, Krueger would surely encounter the enemy’s main force, and there was no way that the proud Mercenary King would shy away if challenged one-on-one. Just as the princess had taken on the Hero Jerome half a year prior, he could picture himself courageously crossing blades with this formidable foe and coming out triumphant in the end.

“Fufufu...”

“Are we not going to retreat, sir!?” Ferdinand asked, worry seeping into his voice.

No. I’ll end this war for you right here, right now. That was what Krueger had wanted to say, but he stopped himself at the last moment. “Tsk... I’m just remembering what that strategist said.”

“Eh? About what?”

“His words were: ‘Don’t do anything worthy of merit. Your job is simply to retreat; do not engage them in combat.’ Seriously... I can never understand him.”

“Sure, that ‘don’t seek merit’ order was certainly strange, but... he is the Wizard, after all.”

Regis’s astounding achievements had earned him a moniker among the troops. It was surely no more than a fantastical name, but no ordinary human could have taken Fort Volks, saved the crumbling Seventh Army, or turned the tide of battle against High Britannia’s overwhelmingly better equipped navy.

“I’m sure the strategist has something in mind,” Ferdinand said optimistically.

“Let’s hope so...”

Now that Krueger thought about it, this was the same strategist who had ordered his troops to open fire while their target was still out of range, readied arrows from too great a distance, and, in the naval battle... purportedly sunk his own ships on purpose. Just the thought made a chill run down his spine.

“The enemy’s main forces are in sight!” the lookout cried.

They must have received their scouts’ report; High Britannian soldiers equipped with firearms raised a powerful war cry as they charged forward. Mercenary King Gilbert was presumably somewhere among them.

Krueger drew his sword. He knew precisely what order he needed to give.

“All hands... retreat! Hurry!”

The knights turned their backs to the enemy troops, with the remaining sappers hopping aboard carriages and horses. They fled at once, leaving their half-finished campsite behind.

Damn it! Seriously, what was the point in any of this!?

With the sun at their backs, Krueger’s unit crossed two hills to the east. Their enemy was a supply unit half comprising vulnerable transporters; they weren’t going to chase horsemen.

Following a large detour, the knights reunited with the Empire’s Fourth Army at the dead of night.

✧ ✧ ✧

June 2nd, afternoon—

A lone wagon pressed down a narrow road in the La Frenge highlands, the blacksmith Enzo seated in its loading tray. It was a large, canopied, two-horse wagon that he had borrowed from the Guild. They had been reluctant to lend it to him at first, well aware that he was headed into a war zone, but their tune quickly changed when they learned he was delivering an esteemed sword to Princess Marie Quatre Argentina herself.

In fact, their stance had changed so drastically that the Guildmaster himself came to see Enzo, shouting that a failed delivery would “disgrace all the blacksmiths in Rouenne,” before lending him a finer wagon than he had asked for.

Enzo had, of course, needed to show them the Grand Tonnerre Quatre to prove he was telling the truth. The Guildmaster had apparently seen the paintings of the treasured blade before, so he was simply elated.

It was a weapon bestowed upon Princess Argentina by the emperor himself, though a previous restoration attempt during an era of peace had reduced the sword to little more than a decoration. Adjustments had been made to reduce its weight as much as possible—perhaps so that it could be used in ceremonies, or so that the emperor at the time could actually carry it—which had ultimately moved the blade’s point of balance and made it near impossible to wield effectively.

Regis had mentioned that there was a painting of the Grand Tonnerre Quatre in the museum—one from before this tragic restoration. Enzo had burned the image into his mind, then returned the weapon exactly to its former glory. Now, with all sincerity, he could say it was perfect; the hilt of the latest iteration had been made thicker, with a counterweight fixed onto its pommel. This had been done to better distribute the blade’s weight, but he couldn’t help but wonder—who would possibly be able to wield it now?

He recalled the princess’s slender body. Since she was the one who had brought the sword in, it was safe to assume that she would probably still be able to lift it, but he had never seen her fight before. All he could say was that he’d done exactly as ordered. He was certain it would serve as a much better weapon now, though it would require even more strength to wield.

Well, we can get down to the nitty-gritty when we actually see each other.

Enzo glanced over at his toolbox, having brought it on the journey in case any necessary adjustments needed to be made. Sitting beside it was his apprentice Lionel, who was expertly whittling some wood despite the shaking of the wagon.

“Mn? Something up, boss?”

“Hm? Oh, no... I’d planned on leaving you to watch the shop while I was gone, is all.”

“I became your apprentice because I was so enamored with your skill. Plus, a job like this comes around once in a lifetime, right, boss? Why wouldn’t I want to see it through?”

“The others turned blue when they heard where I was headed.”

“You should be thankful you have so many people available to keep house. Looks like our other jobs are going to be completed on time, too,” Lionel said. In the end, he was the only one who had opted to accompany Enzo on the delivery.

“I guess so.”

No matter how important the princess’s work was, Enzo couldn’t risk shirking his other clients. As long as his apprentices completed each project up to its final stages, there was enough time before the expected delivery dates for him to return and make any last checks.

“Well, I suppose that won’t really matter if you don’t survive the journey, eh?” Lionel said with a smile.

“R-Right.”

Enzo had noticed before that his apprentice said some terrifying things, but with the most peculiarly calm expression. From time to time, he wondered whether it was a sign of confidence. Or perhaps he was simply trying to find a bright side to their current situation.

“We should reach town soon, right?”

“Yeah. It’s a pretty small one, but thankfully large enough to be on the map.”

There was a curtain between where Enzo and Lionel were seated in the wagon and the driver’s seat, designed to keep the rain from getting in. Enzo reached over and pulled it open just as the driver called out to him.

“So, uh... about that town!”

“Yeah...?”

“It’s in ruins!”

“What!?”

Since the town was some distance from the larger highway, Enzo had been hoping it had been spared during the enemy advance. But as the wagon slowly rolled through, the harsh reality became clear. The fences set up to keep out beasts had been destroyed in places, and there were corpses by the roadside with bullet holes in their backs.

“So the High Britannians did attack...” Enzo groaned.

“They sure do get up to some horrible things,” Lionel observed, placing his hands together in front of his chest.

“What do we do!?” the driver asked, clearly panicked.

“...We’ll pass through,” Enzo replied. “Slowly.”

Whenever an invading army attacked a town, their main objective was to plunder, making off with people, goods, and anything else of value. If someone—anyone—still remained, there was a high chance that it was the enemy.

As they proceeded with caution, Lionel suddenly pointed outside the carriage. “Someone’s there!”

“Erk!” Enzo hesitated. They desperately needed to avoid any encounters with the enemy, but at the same time, perhaps the person Lionel had spotted was a survivor.

“Should we flee?” the driver asked, looking back at his two passengers. He was a small man with naturally wide eyes—eyes that were opened even wider than usual.

“No. We need to know for sure.”

The wagon began moving slower than before. Enzo, Lionel, and the driver fixed their gazes on the human figure in the distance, leaning closer in an attempt to get a better look.

...It was a mantle caught on a tree, wavering in the wind. Nothing more.

“Jeez... Lionel...”

“I-I’m sorry, boss... Must have been seeing things...”

“Phew... Seriously, don’t scare me like that,” Enzo said with a sigh.

But no sooner had he voiced his relief than the horses brayed and stomped, coming to a very abrupt halt.

“Wha—!?”

“Whoa there!” the driver exclaimed, trying to calm the horses.

Enzo had very nearly been thrown out of the wagon, barely managing to catch himself with both hands. “Wh-What’s going on!?” he shouted, pulling his large body back in.

“Sorry! Something must’ve crossed in front of us!” the driver called out in response.

Something? What, like an animal?

“Ah, my apologies. I didn’t mean to spook them.”

A nearby voice startled them a second time. Someone was standing right beside the halted wagon—an old man wearing a brown robe. He held a carved wooden bear in his hand.

“You dropped this,” he said, handing the small carving over to Lionel. The pronounced wrinkles on his face grew even deeper when he smiled.

“Th-Thanks...” Lionel replied, bowing his head. “And, er... You... Are you from these parts? A survivor, maybe?”

The old man shook his head. “Nay. I arrived not too long back. Since then, I’ve been searching to see if anyone made it...”

Silence fell over the group—a moment of respect for the townsfolk who had perished in the attack.

A short while passed before Enzo finally asked the question on his mind. “So, why did you come here in the first place?”

“I was running short on supplies. Stopped by hoping to buy something and found it like this.”

“That’s... unfortunate.”

“Precisely. War is very unfortunate.”

Enzo crossed his arms in thought, then let out a groan. They didn’t have much in the way of supplies themselves, meaning there wasn’t much they could share with the old man. Since they needed the wagon to move as fast as possible, they hadn’t brought anything that would be considered excess weight.

But would sharing some food really save the old man? What good would one or two days’ worth do when they were out in the middle of nowhere?

They had come from Rouenne in the west, their path running in the opposite direction to the High Britannian Army, so the other towns along that route were hardly in any better condition. Most were looted settlements whose residents had already fled, and while a few safe ones remained, Enzo knew it would take more than two days of walking to reach anywhere that was still inhabited.

“So, what now?” Enzo eventually asked.

“Would you be willing to sell me some food?”

“...Sure.”

Despite his actual thoughts on the matter, Enzo gave in almost immediately; he was terrible at haggling and couldn’t bring himself to lie. But perhaps his true feelings came through in his voice, as the old man gave a bitter smile.

“On second thought, just the sentiment is enough. The fact that you’re out here means you must have an objective of some kind, right?”

“You could say that.”

“Far be it from me to drag any of you young’uns down. I might end up rotting in these lands, but I’ve lived a full enough life. I’m satisfied.”

While Lionel listened with deep intrigue, the driver was visibly anxious. “Sir, I wouldn’t want our food running out,” he said.

“But we can’t just leave him...” Enzo responded. But no sooner had he said the thought aloud than he remembered the very reason he was there in the first place. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning back to the old man, “but we are headed to the battlefield. We’re to meet up with our guide not far from here, who will then take us to a certain division of the imperial army. There are no towns within walking distance to the east, you’ll have to cross mountains to reach anywhere north, and there are no settlements to the south.”

“Yeah, well...” The driver began to speak, but then quickly trailed off.

“For that reason,” Enzo continued, “a few days’ worth of food will provide little salvation.”

The driver groaned. “You’ve got a point...”

“If abandoning him is our only other option, I’m thinking that even the battlefield would be a welcome improvement. If we hurry, we should have just enough food and water for us all to last the journey.”

“All right. Fine,” the driver eventually conceded.

If push came to shove, Enzo decided he could just offer their new passenger his share of supplies. After all, he wasn’t going to die from a day or two without food.

“You’re headed to the battlefield?” the old man asked.

“Yes, on a very important errand.”

“I see, I see... I may be better off with you there. I can’t imagine my odds of surviving will be any smaller than they are here, at least.”

“With any luck, we’ll meet up with the imperial army. I’m sure they’ll have some food and water to spare.”

The old man offered a deep, appreciative nod, then quickly looked up. “Well, what a splendid turn of events!”

“...Pardon?”

“You’re a true gentleman. I must say, I’ve taken quite a liking to you!”

“Well, uh... thanks, I guess.”

“I’m just an old geezer from the capital but, please, if you would be so kind as to bring me along with you...”

“I’m a blacksmith from Rouenne. This is my apprentice.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name’s Lionel. From sewing needles to plate armor—whatever you need, we can provide.” The apprentice’s relaxed words despite their current situation earned him a chuckle from the old man.

“Lionel, clear some space,” Enzo said, pointing to a cluttered area inside the wagon.

“Right away. Though, man, this stuff is heavy... We might want to tie it down, too. Just give me a second.”

“Sorry for all the trouble,” the old man apologized, climbing into the wagon. Enzo’s eye caught something hidden under his robe, hanging from his left hip.

“You brought a sword...?”

“Of course. It’s dangerous to travel unarmed. If you’re anxious about it, I don’t mind leaving it with you.”

“Oh, no. Given my line of work, swords tend to grab my interest.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s nothing special... Just a cheap one I picked up who-knows-where.”

The old man pulled his robe aside to reveal the weapon. As he had said, it was a common, mass-produced model—an exceedingly normal longsword by all accounts.

After making some space, Lionel urged the old man toward the newly cleared area on the floor. “My apologies. I’ve done what I can, but I can’t imagine you’ll find it very comfortable.”

The old man gave a wry smile. “Compared to lying on the dirt, I’m sure it’ll feel like a cloud.”

“Also, I have to ask... Would you let me sharpen that sword of yours? I have to keep busy or else my skills start to decay.”

“Hm? Of course, that shouldn’t be an issue...” the old man replied, looking over at Enzo as if making sure this was okay with him as well.

“You’re welcome to leave your sword with my apprentice,” Enzo quickly chimed in. “He does pretty decent work; I’d say he might even be able to go independent next year.”

“Oh, I definitely couldn’t do that,” Lionel responded, already assembling his sharpening tools. “There’s still so much I need to study. I want to learn as much as I can from the boss while I’ve got the chance.”

“If you’re going to sharpen it, at least wait until our next rest stop,” Enzo cautioned him.

Meanwhile, the old man entrusted his back to a wooden box, letting out a relieved sigh. “Feh... Praise be to the Lord, and to you all.”

“It definitely must have been His will that led us to meet...” Enzo agreed. “I only did what came naturally to me.”

The driver shook the reins, and the wagon slowly began to move once more.

✧ ✧ ✧

June 3rd, night—

A plethora of stars twinkled in the sky overhead. The day had almost come to an end.

Since they had resupplied, the Fourth Army’s camp had improved considerably. The commander and her senior officers could now sleep in large, luxurious tents, while the regular soldiers were given ones that were a lot simpler in design but still protected them from the elements.

Regis had seen the rudimentary bed in the large center tent where Altina and her maid, Clarisse, would sleep. Given that he was now a senior officer himself, a tent had been prepared for him just next door... yet he instead opted to sleep in his carriage, which had since been disconnected from its horses.

It was a beautiful white box-shaped carriage, wide enough to accommodate six people with the seats facing one another. Its window was made of glass, which was considered a luxury item, while the wheel axles were fixed onto leaf springs. Indeed, this was the finest carriage that one could expect at the time, and one that was certainly not within the border regiment’s budget. Elenore, a noble from the south, had sent it to Regis personally.

The compartment was set up as a moving command room with a folding table, which Regis had pulled out and spread numerous documents over. The flame of an oil lamp wavered from its fixture on the wall.

Tap. Tap.

There was a knock on the door.

“Mn?” Regis raised his head from the stack of papers and looked out the window. The highlands were almost pitch-black, barely lit by the stars above. The only thing he could see was his own face reflected back in the glass.

Whoever it was, Regis was sure that it couldn’t be anyone dangerous; it would have been strange for anyone who meant him harm to knock first. He gripped the inner knob and pushed the door open.

The lamp quickly illuminated his visitor. Her blazing hair seemed to glisten even under the dim orange light, and with her porcelain-white skin and ruby-colored eyes, she truly was a sight to behold.

“......”

“Do you have a moment, Regis?”

It was Altina. There was a smile on her face, but he could hear the nervousness in her voice.

Does she want to consult me on something?

“Yes, of course...” Regis replied, starting to bunch up his papers.

Something in particular was making him feel peculiarly unsettled. It was late at night, to be sure, but it wasn’t too surprising for a commander to consult her strategist the day before an operation. Her appearance, however, lingered in his mind. Cut out from the darkness behind her, she carried a charm unlike anything he had witnessed during the day. A peculiar scent seemed to follow her, too—one that could have easily belonged to a fairy tale. For a moment, Regis had to wonder whether this was all a dream.

Altina stepped inside, sitting down across from where he had been seated just moments ago. “Thank you for all your hard work. I see you haven’t slept yet.”

“...I’ll probably be up all night.”

“Have you not finished preparing for tomorrow?”

“Quite the contrary—with any hope, the plan is already being enacted. Sir Jerome should be taking care of everything that needs to be done. The sappers have returned, and our reconnaissance shows that the enemy has set up camp exactly where we anticipated.”

“Do you think we can win?”

“Allow me to put it this way—if we fail to defeat the enemy’s supply unit under the current circumstances, then I’d have to suspect they have a real wizard in their ranks.”

“You sound very confident.”

“Well, actually—”

“I know, I know. It’s not that you’re confident, you just know things,” Altina said with a chuckle.

While Regis awkwardly scratched his head, the princess picked up one of the documents he had been going through and examined it carefully. It was a map of the region, stretching from Port Ciennbourg in the west to La Frenge in the east.

“...Is something wrong?” Regis asked.

“I know I always struggle to understand the more complicated parts of your plans, but... there’s something in particular that’s been bugging me...”

“Oh?”

“...I’ve been wondering—did you predict that High Britannia’s supply unit would leave the port before we could reclaim it?”

For once, it seemed that Altina was choosing her words carefully. Regis kept silent, allowing her to continue.

“You had Jerome and his men stationed nearby. Why didn’t you have them attack when they saw the enemy leaving? I heard about the order you gave.”

“...Right.”

“You could have, for instance, blocked the supply unit from leaving the town. Then we could have gotten our warships to bombard them. Under those conditions, even the Mercenary King would be forced to surrender. I’m sure you’d considered that already, of course, since you’re so much more capable than I am at these kinds of things, but... I wanted to ask what you had in mind.”

She didn’t seem to be doubting his competency. Instead, her tone was brimming with curiosity, like an eager student speaking to their professor. It’s dangerous to place so much trust in your subordinates... Regis thought. But for now, he decided it might be best to simply appreciate her faith in him.

“Hm... I can’t say it too loudly.”

“It’s okay. There wasn’t anyone around when I arrived, and I would’ve noticed if someone approached since then.”

That much was true—Altina’s ears were as sharp as a dog’s, and her night vision was excellent.

“...Right. In that case, I’ll tell you what’s been going through my mind... Be warned, though—it’s nothing pleasant to listen to, and should others learn the truth, it could be a cause for conflict. That’s why you mustn’t tell anyone, no matter how much you trust them.”

“O-Okay.” Altina meekly nodded.

Regis spoke in a hushed voice. “To be blunt... I couldn’t trust the Second Army.”

“You mean their fighting strength?”

“...No. That’s always important to consider, of course, but...” Regis hesitated for a moment, but he had already said too much to stop now. He steeled himself, preparing for the worst. “Who’s to say the Second Army isn’t colluding with High Britannia?”

Altina said nothing in response; her mouth simply dropped open in shock.

“Sir Jerome and the knights of the border regiment are well disciplined, so I was certain they wouldn’t let their guards down when they met up with the Second Army. As such, even were the Second Army to reveal themselves as turncoats, I doubt our forces would have been in any real danger. You would have remained safe, so... I decided to leave things to them.”

“I see.”

“However, things become a little more problematic in the midst of a war. Should they decide to betray us during an engagement with the enemy, we would suffer a far greater number of casualties.”

“...But of course.”

“Just because we come from the same country, there’s no guarantee they will always remain our allies.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

“You’re much too upfront. I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to hide your cautiousness, which would only worsen your relationship with the Second Army. As it currently stands, many are quite displeased that they weren’t given a say in your appointment as commander.”

“Benjamin did have that strange look on his face...”

“They suspect that their new commander might betray them—or rather, use them as a stepping stone to better her own position.”

“I’d never do something so vile!”

“...As malicious as it sounds, if we do ever end up in a situation that requires us to sacrifice, say, half of the Fourth Army, I would prioritize saving the soldiers who have been with us since our border regiment days. Otherwise, they would most definitely revolt.”

“Urgh... I... I get that.”

The Beilschmidt border regiment had been reorganized into the Empire’s Fourth Army, but in the process, they had forcibly absorbed the Second Army with little room for compromise. And since Altina was the commander, her own unit had become its central core.

Those who had followed her lead for so long no doubt expected preferential treatment; anything less would be considered unfair, and unfairness was a powerful driving force, especially when there were lives on the line. Jealousy and fear would quickly turn to righteous indignation, which would in turn lead to impulsive and destructive behavior.

“Whenever we take in new troops, it is crucial to ensure that those already in our service don’t feel neglected. Too big of a distinction, however, hinders those new troops from adapting to the unit. And when I considered that balance... Altina, I didn’t want you to be any more antsy than was necessary.”

“You may be right, Regis. Had the thought occurred to me that they could betray us, it might have come out in my attitude when I met with them.”

“Huh...” Regis mumbled, impressed. That’s a bit of a surprise.

Altina tilted her head. “What’s up?”

“I was just thinking... You’ve really grown.”

“Y-You think so? Where? What part of me?” Altina asked, her cheeks flushed. She bashfully brushed her hair aside and placed a hand against her chest.

Regis paused for a moment, thinking hard about his answer. “Had we spoken about this not too long ago, you would have most likely gotten angry and shouted something along the lines of, ‘I absolutely could have hidden my emotions!’”

“Erk...”

“If you had been this mature back at Fort Sierck... I wonder... Perhaps you could have bettered your relationship with Sir Jerome through discussion, rather than challenging him to a duel.”

Her present situation was somewhat similar to when she had first been appointed. Of course, she was only in her current predicament because she had won the duel against Sir Jerome, but... had she known how to negotiate and win people over, perhaps that might have been a better solution.

Altina tapered her lips. “Th-That’s completely untrue! The actions I took back then were absolutely necessary! I’ve always been aware of what I can and can’t do. Never have I ever put up a childish strong front.”

“Are you sure? If Sir Jerome had requested that the duel instead be a jousting match, what would you have done then?”

“Eh? Err, well... I-I knew he wasn’t the sort of guy to do something like that. I just knew!”

“I see, I see... You really have come a long way. The old Altina would have argued that she could’ve beaten him regardless.”

“Grr...” Tears were welling up in Altina’s eyes.

Seeing the princess’s reaction, Regis wondered whether he had gone a little too far. He gave her a bitter smile. “Don’t worry about it too much. You’re still only fifteen. Embracing this growth is the only way you can make it as an empress.”

“Does that mean I’m still not good enough yet? ...What if everything turns out to be too much for me?”

“We all have room to better ourselves. I’m sure your journey will teach you many things.”

“...Yeah.”

“I know it’s unfortunate, but one thing in particular that you’ll need to learn as a ruler is how to doubt people.”

“Don’t worry. I’m already prepared for that. I could have spent my days reading poetry books, staring wistfully out the window of my estate. But instead, this is the path I chose.”

“I suppose so.”

Altina was a woman born into royalty, meaning she could have very easily spent her days in peace. But she had abandoned that life to follow her ambition, subsequently marching onto the battlefield. Any undue concerns would only be a hindrance to her.

At that, the princess pulled the conversation back on track. “So, the reason Jerome didn’t engage High Britannia’s supply unit in Ciennbourg was because you couldn’t trust the Second Army. Is that right?”

“Yes. I also wasn’t sure they could win.”

“But the enemy only numbered about ten thousand, right? And only half of those were actual combatants.”

“Yes, but consider this—the Seventh Army was composed entirely of soldiers and had twenty thousand men at their disposal. Even then, they were still defeated by ten thousand High Britannian troops.”

“I see. We only have sixteen thousand, and a lot of them are injured.”

“I’m sure the Seventh Army drilled their soldiers harder, too... My point is, Sir Jerome would have struggled to take them down. Plus, a victory alone wouldn’t have necessarily been enough.”

“Really? What do you mean?”

“...When this is over, we have to win our war against Prince Latrielle. We wouldn’t want to lose any of the forces backing us.”

Altina frowned. “Isn’t that something for us to consider once the current emperor has passed away?”

“As Professor Villoresi says in The Walls of Tipoli, ‘He who cannot see a thousand years ahead should have no say in the development of a nation.’ A ruler must consider the future as carefully as they do the present.”

“But if we lose here in the present, there won’t be a future.”

“...That may be so, but you need to consider them both equally. Ceasing to think beyond the now is a right permitted only to those who can afford to work in the moment; such indolence from a nation’s ruler would mean devastation down the line. And there are plenty who will need to live in that era of ruin. The nation bears responsibility for its future people as well.”

“Wah... A thousand years later?”

“It’s more of a metaphor. When you’re thinking up a solution to an issue, you should consider whether it might cause problems a thousand years later. Of course, that doesn’t mean you should neglect the potential consequences a day, a year, or even a hundred years down the line, either.”

“What if we reach a situation where we have to choose between the present and the future?”

“You should avoid sacrificing either. There was another line in the book that went, ‘If given the option to drink poison today or tomorrow, he who chooses either option is not suited to rule.’”

“Is that really how it works?”

“The most common answer would be to drink the poison tomorrow, since something could happen in the meantime that provides you a route of escape. As a result, you place your hope in that.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“But if a luck-reliant gambler or a wide-eyed maiden with her head in the clouds ran a country, what would become of their people? There are no miracles in the real world. The metaphorical prince atop his white steed never comes, so the nation would be plunged into ruin.”

Altina gave an understanding nod. “A ruler should never hope for a miracle.”

“If you were offered the poison... what would you answer?”

In his book, Professor Villoresi had gone on to say: “The one who picks the third answer, refusing to drink the poison entirely, is the least suited of them all, for he stays well away from the unfavorable and never looks hardship in the eye. He is an imbecile who does not even search for a resolution.”

This conversation was ultimately little more than small talk, but Regis could feel the tension growing in his chest as he awaited Altina’s answer.

She responded almost at once, puffing out her chest with pride. “Well, I’d beat down the guy trying to get me to drink his bloody poison!”

At first, Regis was taken aback. But then, he chuckled. “Hahahaha... I see. Yeah, that definitely sounds like you.”

“Wh-What? Did I say something funny?”

“No... Well, I mean, yes, it was funny. But not a wrong answer, in my opinion.”

Altina had found her solution by tackling the issue head-on. Her mindset was quite admirable, and while there was still a lot she needed to learn, that wasn’t as much of a concern to Regis; he was happy to assist her by coming up with any plans they needed himself. Despite his lack of confidence, he knew his responsibility. He had known it since the very moment he took on the mantle of strategist.

“Ah, for crying out loud. Seriously, what’s so funny?” Altina groaned.

“I’m sure the first emperor thought the same way when he founded Belgaria. Each era has its own solutions, but for now, I think tonight’s plan should complement that mindset quite nicely.”

“Right! What matters most is that we stop High Britannia’s supply unit. When and where we do it isn’t important, nor does it matter that we’re up against the Mercenary King!” Altina boldly declared, standing from her seat.

Regis’s eyes shifted to the clock on the carriage wall. “If all goes well, the attack should happen four hours from now. You should get some sleep.”

“What about you?”

“I need to prepare for what comes after the battle. Oh, no need to worry about me, though—I’ll be asleep by noon.”

“Because you know we’re going to win?”

Regis smiled at Altina, but did not answer. A wide grin spread across her lips, her face beaming like a radiant gemstone, and then she swung open the door.

“See you soon, Regis!”

“Yeah. We’re still at camp and all, but... be careful.”

“I know!”

At that, she nimbly faded away into the darkness of the night. Regis peered through the window from inside his carriage, but before the door had even closed, she was already nowhere to be seen.