Chapter 44

Translator: Willia

The Eldeira Ducal Army, in other words, the force committed to the operation to capture Grinnen, numbered roughly five hundred.

Their total strength was a thousand, but more troops had been assigned to guard the supply lines, reducing the number actually available for the operation. As with everything else in life, war rarely went according to plan.

Fortunately for Valery, Count Winsloe's banner was nowhere to be seen. He had been assigned to the rear of the marching column and put to work guarding the supply lines.

It was commonly said that taking a castle or city required at least five times as many attackers as defenders. Grinnen had around eighty troops, so the attacking force had met that condition.

That did not mean Grinnen's situation was hopeless, however. They had a fighting chance, and so did the enemy.

The attacking force did not seem to be some ragtag mob thrown together at random. They showed at least some signs of being a proper army. On the first day after arriving, they stayed beyond bowshot and began setting up camp.

It was neither particularly sturdy nor orderly, but they dug trenches and drove stakes into the ground, giving it the rough shape of a proper encampment.

It was late summer, or perhaps the beginning of autumn. The air was cool, with an occasional cold gust that hinted at the coming winter. Everyone found themselves hoping that sense of unease would settle over the enemy rather than their own side.

Watching the enemy from atop the wall, Valery said,

"They're too close. Let's show them that being out of bowshot doesn't mean they're far enough away."

"And what are you planning to do?"

Arne asked.

"You, me, and Skard. The three of us ride out and stir them up. We charge in through there, then break out over there."

Valery pointed across the enemy camp as he spoke. Arne stared at him in disbelief.

"......You want the three of us to do that?"

"They've been harassed by the Marquis's army all the way here. Look at them. They haven't slept properly, they're exhausted enough to drop, and now they're building a camp the moment they arrive. They're miserable. This is when we hit them."

A Siege Defense could not be fought by simply hiding behind the walls the entire time. The defenders had to sally out now and then to harass the enemy and, if they had siege weapons, destroy those as well.

As long as the timing of those sallies was chosen carefully, numbers were not all that important.

War was fought by people, after all. No one could remain battle-ready all day long. They still had to eat, sleep, and rest.

Keeping a constant watch meant exhausting people. So when the enemy tightened their guard, the defenders would stay put. Once they started to relax, the defenders would sally out and harass them again. When the enemy tightened their guard once more, the defenders would wait. By repeating that cycle, they could wear the enemy down.

At its core, whether attacking or defending, a siege was a battle of nerves and endurance. Whichever side broke first lost. That was Siege Warfare, and that was Siege Defense.

But even if that was the truth of it, actually putting it into practice required extraordinary nerve.

Valery put on his helmet and fully equipped himself for battle before mounting Snow. His surcoat was white, emblazoned with a green Frog Crest.

A sword hung at his waist, and just in case, he had Torvald's logging axe secured to his saddle as a backup weapon. In his hand, he carried a spear.

Arne and Skard armed themselves and mounted their horses as well. It had been five months now, nearly half a year, since they had begun trusting Valery and following his lead. They could not help wondering just how far this friend of theirs intended to go.

No matter how they looked at it, this seemed wrong. Yet whenever they came to their senses, they found themselves following right behind him.

The ordinary soldiers and citizens of Grinnen found it just as unbelievable.

They were relying on this man to lead their Siege Defense, yet their commander was planning to charge out on the very first day. They could not help wondering whether this was really a good idea.

"Open the gate!"

But at Valery's sharp command, they had no choice but to obey.

The pulleys turned as donkeys and men pulled and pushed together, and the gate, made from thick logs tightly bound together, slowly opened.

Valery rode slowly and confidently through the gate. He had not been particularly conscious of the people watching him, but with everyone watching, that was all the more reason to carry himself with confidence.

The exhausted enemy were busy hauling heavy loads, pitching tents, and driving stakes into the ground, so at first they did not even realize Valery had come out. They only noticed him once he had ridden about halfway toward them.

Two men followed behind him with spears in hand. From appearances alone, it almost looked as though some sort of delegation had come to meet them.

Then Valery picked up speed and leveled his spear forward. Only then did they realize something was wrong. By the time they did, however, the charge was already upon them.

THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD!

CLANG! THUD! CRACK! CRUNCH!

Valery ran one enemy soldier through, then trampled tents and camp equipment beneath Snow's hooves. He drew Und and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"How dare you build your camp in Grinnen's own front yard!"

The Dwarven Steel sword he held high caught the sunlight and flashed like a lightsaber. The nearby soldiers scattered in panic, while Valery headed straight for the makeshift stables being set up.

The knights hurried to bring out their horses, only to see Valery bearing down on them and scramble out of his way.

Valery reached the warhorses and swept past them, slashing with Und as he went.

NEIGHHH!

Several horses were killed or wounded in moments, while the rest panicked and began thrashing wildly. Naturally, the chaos only grew worse.

Valery wheeled his horse around and broke out to the left. Anything in his way was rammed aside or trampled underfoot.

The enemy hurriedly grabbed their weapons and tried to counterattack somehow, but all they managed to do was mill about in confusion. Whenever Valery approached, they were too busy fleeing to do anything else.

After thoroughly tearing through the enemy camp, Valery glanced behind him. Arne and Skard were following with faces so wild with exhilaration that they scarcely looked sane.

They did not seem to have enough presence of mind left to swing their weapons from horseback. Still, simply keeping up without falling behind was an accomplishment in itself.

Just as the enemy finally began recovering from their confusion and preparing some sort of counterattack, Valery turned his horse around again and headed back toward Grinnen.

CLATTER-CLATTER-CLATTER-CLATTER!

The three warhorses pounded rapidly across the ground.

When they reached the gate, the people greeted them with roaring cheers. And who could blame them? What they had just witnessed was unbelievable.

Seeing three men charge five hundred, run rampant through their camp, and trample everything in their path was hardly something a person could expect to witness in a lifetime.

"WAAAAAH!"

"Salt Prince! Salt Prince!"

"Long live The Froskar!"

Once the gate had closed again, Valery returned and looked around at the people. Their eyes were so bright they seemed ready to shine. He had unquestionably succeeded in crushing the enemy's spirit while raising the morale of his own side.

Valery immediately dismounted Snow and climbed the wall. Looking outside, he saw several knights who had belatedly ridden out in pursuit. With the gate already closed, all they could do was ride pointlessly back and forth over bare ground, kicking up dust. What else could they do?

The defenders fired a few arrows at them. None struck, but the knights had no choice but to retreat. The five hundred troops also pulled their camp much farther back.

Around sunset, someone from the enemy camp approached the walls with an escort. He did not come especially close, but shouted loudly from a distance.

"Hey! Bastard!"

Valery had been resting below when someone told him he was being called, so he climbed the wall. There he saw none other than Gunnar, the First Young Lord.

Gunnar spotted Valery from afar and shouted again.

"I've never hated you! Surrender! I'll spare you if you do! And give Knut back!"

"Don't be absurd! You tried to kill Knut, and now you ask me to return him!?"

"Th-that wasn't me! Father did it!"

"Exactly! What kind of father tries to kill his own son!? Even if he returned now, how could you possibly guarantee his safety!?"

At Valery's question, Gunnar had nothing to say and merely scratched his head.

Even intelligent people had a hard time beating Valery in an argument. Gunnar was not particularly bright to begin with, which made settling anything with words even more difficult.

"Then hand over Grinnen! I'll let you and Knut go!"

That was the real objective. In truth, whether Valery and Knut escaped or not did not matter much. They were merely the justification. The true purpose of the war was, and had always been, to capture Grinnen.

"That is even more out of the question! I have sworn to fight alongside the people of Grinnen, even if it means dying with them! I will not surrender this city to anyone!"

"Do you really have to go that far!? Father will scold me if I don't capture it!"

This time, Valery was the one left speechless. He had never expected someone serving as Supreme Commander to admit such a reason with his own mouth.

Unable to watch any longer, one of Gunnar's retainers spoke from beside him. If Gunnar was allowed to keep talking, he might lose whatever dignity he still possessed as a commander.

"You have done more than enough to urge their surrender. We should return now, Young Lord."

"You think so? What a shame. It would be so much better if we could settle this with words instead of fighting. How sad."

He was simple-minded and ignorant, but he did not seem like a bad person at heart.

In any case, regardless of what had motivated either side, there was now no backing down for either of them.

Night fell. Then people carrying shields and torches began leaving the enemy camp in small groups and approaching the walls.

At first, the defenders wondered what they were doing, but it was not the beginning of a full-scale attack. They were merely coming close to the walls to search for weak points.

The archers guarding the walls fired arrows at them, but in the darkness there was little chance of landing a hit. The arrows either buried themselves in the ground or struck shields. Occasionally one would catch someone in the calf, but that was all.

At dawn, the Ducal Army began its attack in earnest. Men carrying ladders, sandbags, and shields formed ranks and advanced toward the walls.

Valery commanded from the wall, having gone without sleep all night while taking care of one preparation after another.

Valery commanded the wall to the right of the castle, while Skard and Arne commanded the opposite side.

"Don't let them fill the moat! Get the peat ready!"

The moat had been hastily prepared, so given enough time, it was bound to be filled in. Their job was to delay that as long as possible and inflict as many casualties as they could.

The enemy provided covering fire with bows and crossbows, and before the sun had even risen, arrows were already flying back and forth, announcing the beginning of the battle.

"Get right up against it! I said get right up there no matter what!"

"Once you've dumped the sand, move off to the side and get out! Don't just stand around!"

The enemy commanders shouted themselves hoarse, and their soldiers carried out their orders with grim determination. Those with shields held them overhead for protection while the rest carried sandbags and stones.

The defenders rained arrows down from the wall, but with fewer than twenty archers, they could not stop several hundred men. They fired until their arms felt ready to fall off, but they were lucky if even one arrow found its mark.

The real countermeasure came once the enemy had filled in part of the moat. The other soldiers began hurling peat down onto them. It had been mixed with flammable substances, and once they had thrown enough of it down, they tossed in torches and the flames roared to life.

Burning peat already had a particularly foul smell, but perhaps because of whatever else had been mixed into it, the smoke was viciously acrid, so harsh that it felt as though the lining of their noses might melt away.

"Ugh!"

"Fuck!"

More than anything, the heat was so intense it felt as though their faces were roasting.

The men who had just been about to set ladders against the wall could not help recoiling. But their comrades were pushing from behind, leaving them no room to flee.

"Stop pushing! I said stop pushing!"

"Fire!"

Even amid all that, the moat continued being filled elsewhere, and the moment any section looked sufficiently packed, the enemy set a ladder against the wall without hesitation.

But with thick black smoke billowing upward, the Grinnen soldiers atop the walls could not exactly fight in comfort either. The wall was only a little taller than a man and was not especially high.

As armed enemy soldiers finally began climbing the ladders in earnest, Valery suddenly vaulted down from the wall. Enemy and ally alike froze in shock for an instant.

Then Valery drew his Dwarven Steel sword and swung. Helmets, shields, it made no difference. He sliced through everything like cheese. Arms and legs dropped like falling leaves, and blood poured across the ground.

The flames burning all around them reflected off the mirror-smooth Dwarven Steel sword, making it flash red every time it moved.

The enemy had been so occupied with filling the moat that long weapons such as spears were not properly at hand, making an immediate response difficult.

With flames burning on every side, Valery slaughtered his way through the enemy, then climbed one of their own ladders back onto the wall.

By this point, the allied soldiers near the ladder were staring at him wide-eyed.

Valery ignored them and swung Und, cutting clean through the sturdy ladder in a single blow.

Arrows from the enemy's covering fire whipped past Valery's cheeks and head. He was truly fighting with his life on the line.

On the right-hand wall, the enemy had been so thoroughly intimidated that they could no longer bring themselves to do anything. Without stopping to rest, Valery descended from the wall and headed for the section on the opposite side of the gate. A fierce battle was still raging there.

One enemy knight climbed a ladder like a tiger, killed an allied soldier, and desperately tried to open a path. Skard and Arne engaged him, but they could not kill him immediately.

The knight boldly leaped down alone from the wall into the city. He seemed to be planning to open the gate somehow from the inside, but he had the misfortune of running into Valery.

Valery closed the distance quickly and brought his raised sword down as though he had been waiting for exactly this. The knight instinctively raised his own sword to block, but against Dwarven Steel, that was never going to work.

His sword snapped, his skull split open, and he dropped dead on the spot.

Without stopping, Valery climbed back onto the wall. Then, just as he had on the right side, he leaped down, hacked through the enemy almost indiscriminately, and returned by climbing one of their own ladders.

At this point, it was practically as though he were defending the entire city by himself.

Watching from a distance, Gunnar and Count Winddale were so dumbfounded that they could only stare. Was that even something a human being could do?

"......What in the world is that sword?"

"Even an Ulfberht shouldn't be able to do that...... Could it be Dwarven Steel? Where did he get it?"

Watching shields, helmets, and armor all get sliced apart made them wonder, if only for a moment, what in the world they were supposed to do against him.

There were still more ladders available, but the soldiers had been too badly shaken to continue attacking. With no other choice, the assault that had begun at dawn ended with the Ducal Army withdrawing around midmorning.

But even more despairing news than Valery awaited the Ducal Army. Their first food shipment arrived, and it was nowhere near enough.

"Why is this all there is!?"

Gunnar was both bewildered and angry as he pressed the officer responsible for transporting the food.

"W-well, you see, on the way here......"

"What happened on the way!? Are you saying that old barbarian robbed you!?"

"No......"

"Then did someone steal it!? Spit it out properly!"

"No, it's just that... there are troops guarding the supply line, aren't there? They have to eat too, so while we were coming here, the food kept getting used up along the way... and this is all that's left."

What kind of nonsense was that? Not only Gunnar, but the Captain of the Guard and Count Winddale stared at him in disbelief.

What had happened was simple. While the food was being transported, the troops stationed along the supply route had consumed it along the way.

It was beyond absurd. The troops actually capturing the city were the most important part of the entire army, yet because the food shipment reached them last, they ended up receiving the least.

This was why a proper logistics officer was so important. Food had to be distributed precisely, but the Ducal Army had transport officers and no position responsible for overseeing and managing the entire supply system.

"Wouldn't it be difficult to last even three days like this?"

Even Gunnar, for all his ignorance, could see that something was wrong. He asked the Duke's Captain of the Guard, but there was no real answer he could give.

"We were told the mercenaries are coming, so until then, somehow......"

Even an ordinary person struggled after going a day without food. For soldiers fighting with their lives on the line, it went without saying.

"Then do we at least have three days' worth of food right now?"

"From what I've determined, we have roughly enough for two days. If we reduce the rations, we should somehow be able to stretch it to four."

"When is the next food shipment?"

Gunnar asked the transport officer again.

"In a week."

"What!? A week!? How does that make any sense!? Even if we stretch it as far as possible, we only have four days, and the food comes in a week!? What are we supposed to eat while we fight!? Are you kidding me!?"

It made no sense from a common-sense perspective, but that was simply how war was. Things did not go according to plan, and once a plan went wrong, enormous problems could arise from the most ridiculous places.

If anything had been a mistake, it was their initial assumption that Grinnen would fall within a day or two once their army arrived.

The Captain of the Guard, who had originally drawn up the operation, was so ashamed that he could not raise his head.

Gunnar did not go out of his way to blame him, however. Things had already gone wrong, and blaming someone else was not going to fix them. Right now, he thought, they all had to join forces and fight together. Gunnar was a simple man, so that was how he saw it.

Gunnar thought as hard as his none-too-bright head would allow, then said,

"Let's just let everyone eat until they're stuffed today and tomorrow, then stake everything on one decisive push. The soldiers aren't in a very good mood right now either, are they? It'll only get worse if we wait."

It was his own decisive gamble. Whether it would succeed or fail remained to be seen.

For all his flaws, Gunnar did possess courage, decisiveness, and stubborn resolve in fairly generous measure. More so than his own father, in fact.

And surprisingly enough, people were quite willing to follow him. He might not have been very bright, but there was something guileless and warm-hearted about him.

Thus ended the first bout of Siege Warfare. The next began that very night.

The Ducal Army had no time to spare.