Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 2 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The War God’s Machinations

As the sun sank below the horizon, the desert winds relinquished their scorching heat in favor of a bitter chill. Countless bonfires illuminated the night, spaced through the miniature city of over five hundred tents that was the Fourth Legion’s encampment. In the center rose a tent twice as large as any of the rest, marked with standards bearing a lily on a crimson field. Its mistress was absent tonight. The sixth princess was out among her troops, busily trying to raise morale.

A short distance away, within another tent, a meeting was in progress. Hiro sat at the head of a long table. General von Kilo and the advisors who had served under his command occupied the rest of the chairs.

Hiro spoke first. “No doubt you all have some idea why I have gathered you here,” he said, thumping the stack of reports by his side for emphasis.

The advisors paled. None dared raise their heads. They knew what was coming.

“General von Kilo.”

The man looked up in alarm. He didn’t seem to have expected that his name might be the one called. “Yes?”

“It is written here that you ordered several units to ransack nearby settlements for supplies.”

“Procuring supplies from enemy lands is a basic element of warfare.”

“In exchange for fair payment, yes. Pillaging is a weak man’s tactic.”

“Pretty ideals don’t win wars. Other nations do the same.”

“But we are the Grantzian Empire, and we take pride in our military discipline. Something our commanders must take particular care to uphold. By your actions, you have betrayed our most fundamental values.” Hiro’s voice was cold. “As such, I hereby strip you of the rank of general.”

“By what right?!” von Kilo protested. “Prince or not, you have no authority to order such a thing!”

“True enough, but the Ministry of Military Affairs does. And they will once I notify them of your conduct.”

“Y-You wouldn’t...!”

“If you wanted to stop me, I suppose you would have to dispose of me before I send the letter. I would recommend poison, although there’s nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned knife in the dark.”

“I would never consider such a thing, Your Highness.” Von Kilo’s face stiffened like that of a man caught red-handed. Clearly, he had very much been considering such a thing. Hiro suppressed a smirk as he nodded in acknowledgment. He was easy to read, this man.

“My apologies. That was in bad taste. Please ignore it.”

“I would never stoop to such cowardly methods. I would appreciate it if you did not insinuate otherwise.”

“A man of your virtues? Perish the thought.” Hiro switched tack from barbs to praise. “Now, I’m certain it hasn’t escaped your notice that the men gathered here are your most faithful advisors.”

Apparently, it had. Von Kilo’s eyes widened as he looked around. “So I see.”

“I trust you have some idea of where this is going.”

“B-But of course.” He clearly did not. He was visibly confused and struggling to meet Hiro’s gaze.

Hiro decided to feed the man the answer, marveling at his denseness. “But perhaps you want to hear it out loud.” He raised one finger with a smile. “If you do as I tell you, I’ll be willing to pardon you.”

“Pardon?”

“If you perform well enough, I would even be willing to recommend your reassignment to the central provinces. That is to say, I would put you forward for the position of high general. It’s not a bad deal, if you ask me.”

“Do you speak truly?”

“It would be a waste to leave a man of your talents to rot in some border province.” Hiro shook his head with a theatrical sigh. “Unfortunately, your indiscretions are beyond my power to downplay. It seems that the men you chose for the task have been talking.”

Von Kilo’s face fell. “I see.”

“With that in mind, I must ask you to lead the advance guard in tomorrow’s battle.”

“The advance guard?” Trepidation spread across von Kilo’s face. The mortality rate on the front lines was high—all the more so for commanders, who would draw the enemy’s attention. This was not an offer anybody would agree to lightly...or at least, not without a nudge.

“We have numbers on our side. You have nothing to fear. I do not intend to truly risk your life. This is all for a purpose: I need you to distinguish yourself. Our victory tomorrow is all but certain, but it will be difficult to justify your advancement if you remain on the back lines.”

“There is sense in that,” von Kilo conceded.

“Believe me when I say that the empire needs a man like you in a high general’s seat...as do I.”

The man hesitated. “I trust that His Majesty will hear of my valor?”

“You have my word,” Hiro promised.

He will hear of your valiant death on the field, he added silently, but he said nothing more, only extended his hand with an amiable smile.

Von Kilo eagerly accepted the handshake. “Then I will strive to acquit myself.”

“I’m glad to have eased your concerns. Here’s to letting bygones be bygones.”

“Indeed.”

Hiro took his seat again and addressed the rest of von Kilo’s advisors, who had been watching in silence. “I would also like you to join the advance guard. Is that acceptable?”

With von Kilo’s agreement secured, they could hardly refuse, but they needed an extra push. Hiro gave it to them.

“In two months’ time, you will all return to the capital as heroes.”

That convinced them at last. Slowly, the advisors began to nod. Try as he might, Hiro could not suppress the smallest of grins. He scratched his eyepatch to disguise it. “Now, I must insist that you rest. You will need all your strength for the battle tomorrow.”

“As you command, Lord Hiro,” von Kilo replied. “We will win glory, I swear it!” He exited the tent. His advisors followed suit.

Hiro’s eyes flicked to a shadowy corner of the now empty tent. The figure of a man melted out of the darkness to take the form of Drix, von Kilo’s former advisor. He approached Hiro and dropped to one knee.

“Our spies have successfully infiltrated the enemy encampment. As you commanded, I have also readied fifteen hundred camels on the outskirts of the camp.”

“Excellent. How are our own defenses?”

“In good order. Secure in most locations except for several deliberate holes.”

“Have any enemy spies snuck in?”

“Four, sir, at last count.”

“Have your men detain them.”

“It will be done.”

“Wait,” Hiro ordered as the man turned to leave.

“Is there something else, sir?”

“Spread word among the soldiers that von Kilo and his lapdogs are resting on the eve of battle.”

“As you command.” Judging by Drix’s expression, he had intended to do so anyway. The man excused himself.

At last, Hiro was truly alone. He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. Word that von Kilo was sleeping while his soldiers toiled would spread like wildfire. Not only would it sink the man’s reputation, it would shore up that of Liz, who was working tirelessly to maintain her soldiers’ spirits. Her detractors would dwindle and morale would rise. She gave the army a common cause to rally around. Every man would fight like hell for his princess.

“Now I just have to cull her enemies.”

Hiro stood and left the tent. The nighttime breeze ruffled the bonfires as it swooped low to caress his cheeks. After a short walk, he arrived at Garda’s makeshift cell. A group of soldiers stood watch outside the tent. Hiro took care to praise their vigilance as he stepped inside.

Garda raised his head as he registered Hiro’s presence. “You’re alone?”

“Of course. We have important things to discuss. We can hardly open up to one another with other people around.”

The zlosta snorted humorlessly. “If you opened yourself up, I wager I’d find nothing but a heart as black as pitch.”

“That’s not very nice of you.”

“Before I say more, Mille is safe, I trust?”

“As safe as she can be. She’s posing as Liz’s lady-in-waiting.”

“Very well, then. As long as she’ll not come to harm. What is it you wish to discuss?”

Hiro stared at Garda in silence for a moment, then reached out and cut the man’s bonds.

Garda looked down at the fallen ropes, then back up at Hiro with suspicion in his eyes. “What is the meaning of this?”

“We can’t speak comfortably with one of us tied up.”

“You’re a strange one. Most men would take more care around a prisoner.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Hiro sat down on the ground and produced a bottle of drink from inside his overcoat.

“Interesting trick,” Garda remarked.

Hiro shrugged. “You’d be surprised what I can fit in my pockets.” He tossed the bottle to Garda.

The man cocked his head. “Not drinking?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. It’s not poisoned or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I never fancied it was. If you wanted to kill me, you’d take my head and be done with it. No need for such silly games.” Garda popped open the bottle and took a hearty swig. “Well, out with it. What quandary have you brought me now?”

“I want the Liberation Army to fight for me tomorrow.”

Garda seemed to have been expecting the request. “You want two armies who’ve never fought together to stand side by side, eh? We’ll only trip over one another’s feet. What are you scheming?”

Hiro ignored the zlosta’s gaze hardening. “Let’s just say I’m looking to minimize my losses.”

“So you’ll make us fight in your place? If you make shields of my men, they won’t just run, they’ll turn on you.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t be first into the fray. The Fourth Legion’s advance guard will handle that. They’re about a thousand strong.”

“Hmm.”

“And I’ll see you rewarded for your trouble. Once the fighting is done, I’ll release your freedmen. The sellswords too. I’ll even find you land to start new lives.”

“A tempting offer. Too tempting not to come at a price.”

“It’s nothing too steep.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Garda placed the bottle down and fixed Hiro with a steady gaze, scrutinizing his every move.

Hiro produced a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Garda. “Once the fighting begins in earnest, I want you to slip into the chaos and kill von Kilo, the commander of the advance guard, and his followers. All the specifics are here.”

Garda stared for a moment. “You must have lost your mind.”

“I’d prefer you to wipe out all one thousand if you could, but at the very least, I need these men dead.”

“And what did they do to deserve this?”

“Von Kilo has committed crimes too severe to go unpunished.”

“Burned one too many towns, you mean?”

“You knew?”

Von Kilo’s reports had detailed his campaign of raids against the surrounding settlements. Even the units who had performed the task were listed, presumably in the hopes of receiving a reward. Those same soldiers now made up the advance guard—all the easier to wipe them out in one fell swoop.

“You get to hear these kinds of things when you command an army.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll agree with me when I say...” Hiro’s mouth was smiling, but his eyes were hard, and his face was a spine-chilling mask. “...that those who harm the innocent do not deserve to live.”

For a long moment, silence fell over the tent. Garda lowered his eyes. He picked up the bottle and sighed. “If you want the man dead, why not execute him yourself?”

“Believe me, I’d love to, but having his blood on my hands would only cause me trouble down the road.”

Von Kilo’s house, House Nikkel, was one of the more powerful families in the southern territories. Executing their head might earn the ire of all the southern nobles. For the moment, at least, Hiro did not want to stir that pot.

“I see,” Garda said. “The man’s too much trouble to leave alive and too inconvenient to kill, so you’ll make him a casualty of war...and dead men make good scapegoats. Do I have that right?”

“More or less.”

Garda had said nothing incorrect, but he had not grasped the full extent of Hiro’s plan. First, Hiro would make it known that von Kilo was responsible for all of the Fourth Legion’s military missteps. Second, by disposing of the man, he would throw House Nikkel into crisis. Finally, by lending his aid to House Nikkel in their time of need, he would make them his vassals and expand his influence over the south.

“So? Do I have your cooperation?”

“Very well. I’ll bring you the blackguard’s head.” Garda tossed the bottle back to Hiro. “With any luck, that’ll earn me better drink.”

The man lay down and turned his back, resting his head on his arms. Clearly, he had decided that their conversation was over. Hiro turned to leave, but at that moment, something seemed to occur to Garda. He rolled back over and looked up at Hiro.

“I was meaning to sleep a while. There’s nothing else you need me for, I trust?”

“No, that’s fine. Save your strength. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

“Aye, maybe I’ll do that.”

As Hiro left, he turned to the sentry at the entrance. “I’ll return tomorrow morning. Until then, nobody else is to enter.”

“As you command!” the man replied briskly.

With that taken care of, Hiro made his way back to his own tent. An infantryman ran up to him en route and fell to one knee, breathing hard.

“The enemy spies have been detained, sir,” he blurted out.

“Excellent. Have them brought to my tent.”

“At once, sir!”

As the soldier departed, Hiro stopped and looked up at the sky. A scattering of stars glimmered like jewels in the darkness, and the moon’s soft glow lent the nighttime chill the illusion of a gentle warmth.

“Just as beautiful as ever,” he murmured. His breath formed white clouds as he smiled to himself. “Some things never change.”

A memory flashed through his mind: a woman’s face as she praised a night sky just like this one.

It is in doubt that dreams are born and reality finds its brilliance.

She had been wise, and she had been kind; a veritable goddess who had loved the people with all her heart.

The world is filled with falsehoods, and humans are fated to live and die blind to the truth.

Now, those very humans whose blindness she had lamented stood tall as the rulers of the continent. Between humans, álfar, dwarves, zlosta, and beastfolk—the five peoples of Aletia—and the three others known as the wild races, this world was growing by the day. Yet the strife that had so grieved her still plagued it, even after all these years.

“There can be no order in the heavens while fools wear crowns.”

And so, although her flame was yet small, he would nurture the Valditte until she blazed like the sun and install her in the heavens to shower her light upon all. Hiro stretched out his hand to the sky, where dark clouds now stifled the moon’s light.

“But until then, I’ll keep her safe from harm.”

More power. That was what he needed. One man’s schemes could only go so far. One thousand years ago, the Black Hand and the Crow Legion had waited on his hand—an array of talent formidable enough to break through any obstacle. Their conquest had swept across the land like a devouring maw.

“And so it must be again.”

The favor of the heavens, the fealty of the earth, and the devotion of men. Liz still lacked all three, but once that changed, she would shine more brilliantly than ever. As the radiant full moon reigned over the sky with its host of stars, so too would she reign over the land with her host of faithful. Hiro turned his eyes to the princess’s tent.

“That day isn’t far away...but for now, she doesn’t need to worry about such things.”

The hem of the Black Camellia flapped in the night air as he turned away.

Hiro returned to his tent to find it swaying in the freezing wind. As he stepped inside, a gale picked up, whistling like a howling beast. He felt the temperature falling on his skin and pulled up his collar to gird against the cold.

A man entered, escorted by a soldier. At first glance, he seemed to wear the armor of the Fourth Legion, but on closer inspection, his garb was of an entirely different make, cleverly altered to attain a passing resemblance. The differences would have been obvious in daytime, but were subtle enough to go undetected under cover of night.

“You are one of the duchy’s spies, I assume?” Hiro asked.

The man gave no answer, but the soldier beside him nodded.

Hiro rested his elbow on the chair and cupped his chin in his hand, studying the man carefully. The spy’s face betrayed no fear, only grim resolve. This was a man who had made his peace with death.

“You look like someone who’s faithful to his country.” Hiro picked up a small pouch from the pile on the table and held it so the spy could see. “This is full of golden grantzes. Enough for a man to live off for two years.”

It took some time for the spy to answer. “What game are you playing?”

“Please. I’m not trying to buy you. I want to reward your loyalty, nothing more.” Hiro tossed the pouch. It hit the man in the chest and fell to the ground, spilling its contents across the ground with a metallic jangle. “Take it. You’re free to go. Give my regards to your commander when you make your report.” His smile deepened as he approached the man, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Of course, I can hardly send you back empty-handed. I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you the information you’re here for. That’ll save you the trouble of scouting out our camp.”

“What scheme is this?”

“Take me at my word or don’t, it’s your choice.” Hiro crouched down and lowered his voice. “We’re going to lead a night raid on your encampment. That’s what our fifteen hundred camels are for. We can’t afford your forces doing the same to us, though. Our soldiers are exhausted. We’ve made our defenses look secure, but it’s all a ruse to give our men a chance to rest.”

As the spy struggled for words, Hiro picked up the fallen grantzes and slid them back into the pouch, one by one. “I wouldn’t mention that you learned this from me. It’ll only make your commander suspicious. Oh, and feel free to inspect the camp for yourself as much as time permits. You’ll see that I’m telling the truth.” He slipped the pouch into the spy’s pocket and resettled himself in his chair. “He’s free to go.”

The soldier looked taken aback. “Are you certain, sir? Ought we not kill him?”

“He is not to be harmed. Don’t get any clever ideas once I’m out of sight either. Ensure that he makes it safely out of the camp.”

The soldier inclined his head. “As you command, sir.” He turned to the spy and with a brisk “After me!” escorted the man from the tent.

Hiro resettled himself in his seat and waited for the next spy to be brought in. As he sank deep into the chair, Drix appeared soundlessly beside him.

“May I ask what you are planning, sir?”

Hiro shot the man a sidelong glance, his gaze laden with suspicion. To be able to blend so seamlessly into the darkness of the tent was an unusual skill for a simple advisor to possess. Stranger even than that, though, was the strength of Drix’s loyalty. He obeyed Hiro’s every order with an unquestioning devotion that reverence for the second emperor’s scion could not quite explain.

“He would have been a hard man to buy, but he was too valuable to kill.” Hiro took care not to let his voice betray his misgivings.

“Forgive me, sir, but I do not see why. We have three others.”

“Better four than three. Every man who reports to this Marquis Rankeel makes their story that much more convincing.”

“I see. But how does it profit us to sell that story to the marquis? He will conclude that we are vulnerable and attack.”

“I’m counting on it. I’ll tell the other three the same thing. Well, all but one, of course. Someone has to draw the short straw...although I suppose they’ll all meet the same fate in the end.”

Drix thought for a moment. “So your goal is to sow paranoia in the enemy general’s heart,” he concluded.

“When a cautious man receives conflicting reports, his first instinct will be to ascertain the truth.” Hiro turned to Drix, scratching at his eyepatch absentmindedly. “If three men all agree and only one speaks differently, what will this Rankeel conclude?”

Drix paused. “That somebody has been bought.”

“Hence, these.” Hiro gestured to the three pouches on the table. “What will he do when he discovers enemy coin in his spies’ pockets?”

“If I were in his place, I would take their heads. But what if these men conceal their gold instead? Or what if they are faithful? They may well dispose of the gold on the way back to their camp.”

“That’s why I predisposed them to cling to life. When someone prepared for death is granted a sudden reprieve, it gives them a certain sense of security. They develop a powerful attachment to living. Giving them coin only heightens the effect. There’s enough in those pouches that they’ll feel compelled to keep it on their person.”

“And if they’re crooked, they’ll keep it out of greed.”

“Exactly. The result will be the same either way. Besides, Lichtein is teetering on the brink of destruction. Even if they somehow defeat us, their future is anything but certain. If you were them, wouldn’t you want to keep your gold where you could see it?”

“I see.”

Drix often had questions, but they never led to disagreements. The man simply filed the answers away in his head and carried on. Perhaps he was simply diligent about his work, but Hiro sensed there was something more to it. He narrowed his eyes as the other man sank into thought.

“Second Tribune Drix.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You may show the next man in.”

“Of course, sir.”

Despite his suspicions, Hiro had no time to confront Drix, nor any evidence to substantiate his concerns. That moment would come, but until then, it was better to leave the man to his own devices.

“While you’re at it, could you tell someone to bring me my swiftdrake?”

“As you command.” Drix bowed and left.

I can afford to leave him be for now. I have a good idea of who’s pulling his strings.

Hiro leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. The battle earlier in the day would have devastated the ducal army’s morale. Soldiers were probably deserting at that very moment. The enemy was wavering. All it would take to further thin their number was a well-placed nudge. Then, once von Kilo and his followers fell in the coming battle, this war would be over.

“That reminds me...I have a messenger to send.”

Soon, the final piece would slide into place and the plans he had laid long in advance would come to fruition.

“It’s almost time for the curtain call.”

Hiro leveled a keen gaze at the entrance of his tent, scratching at his eyepatch as he stared.

＊

A grim mood hung over the Lichtein encampment. Marquis Rankeel and his advisors’ faces were grave, and more than a few pairs of lips were blue. They did not lack for warmth—their tent had its fair share of heating devices—but the unfavorable state of the battlefield and the bleakness of their prospects leeched away any comfort it could provide.

An advisor turned to Rankeel. “My lord,” he said through trembling lips. “The men are deserting. Mostly slaves for now, but in time, the soldiers will follow.”

Rankeel scowled. “I thought I had made it clear that desertion would be harshly punished.”

Fear of the man in black was taking its toll, but there was little they could do to stem the bleeding. At best, they could try to ease the men’s terror, but their options were limited to supplying them with drink—and when the enemy could launch a night raid at any time, they needed their soldiers alert.

“If I know that, the enemy knows it too.”

The night raid was a fundamental element of warfare. If used effectively, a small force could devastate a much larger one with ease. The reverse was also true, however, as—after their stunt at sundown—Rankeel assumed the enemy must be aware. As a result, he had allowed his soldiers to rest but not to remove their armor. There was no telling if they would need it during the night.

“I sink deeper into this mire at every turn.”

He knew that he was letting caution get the better of him, but by the same token, he could not afford to act rashly. One slip would send his nation over the brink. These deserters were yet another prong of that same dilemma. It was one thing to punish them, but if he began spilling their blood to make examples of them, it would breed discontent among the rest of his men. Even taking them prisoner would cause more problems than it solved. His only choice was to let them go, but that meant accepting a constant drain on morale.

“All I can do now is wait for my spies to report.”

His course of action would hinge on whether or not the enemy was plotting a night raid. He knew the location of the enemy camp from his scouts’ reports, but their security seemed unexpectedly tight, to the point where an attack under cover of darkness would accomplish little. If anything, it might hurt their own troops.

“Nothing short of vexing...”

Hoping to break this deadlock, he had dispatched several spies to scout out the enemy encampment earlier in the evening. There was a limit to how much information they could gather in a matter of hours, but they might be able to shed some light on the enemy’s plans.

“The question is whether we can beat them to the punch.”

Rankeel had two thousand camel riders stationed outside the camp, awaiting his orders. Once his spies returned, he would decide the opportune moment to use them.

At that moment, something interrupted his train of thought. He turned to one of his advisors. “Where is Lord Karl?”

“He was taken by an unexpected bout of fatigue, my lord,” the man responded. “He is currently resting.”

As Duke Lichtein’s only remaining heir, the burden of ruling the nation had fallen on Karl’s shoulders, but the man’s sickly constitution meant he rarely even ventured outdoors. The exertion of their march appeared to be catching up with him.

“Increase his guard, just in case,” Rankeel ordered. “If anything were to happen to him, Lichtein would be finished.”

“At once, sir!”

Rankeel had hoped to have Karl inspire the troops, but the man’s health took precedence. If they lost him, their nation would be torn apart by the jackals at its borders.

“I never knew a man’s mind seized up so when his back was to the wall...”

The situation now felt far more desperate than it had two years ago when he had fended off Steissen. At that time, his death would not have meant the end—he had known that the high nobles were behind him, corrupt as they were, and that gave him the confidence to face forward without fear. Only now that they were gone did he realize how essential their presence had been.

“Pull yourself together, man. Moping about like this, it’s no wonder your soldiers won’t follow you.” Rankeel allowed himself a self-effacing grin, then raised his head to address his men again. “Do we know where the Fourth Legion are keeping their supplies?”

“Not precisely, sir. We believe it to be somewhere around here, but we cannot say for certain.” The man gestured to the map laid out before them, indicating a fort that the Fourth Legion had recently captured. Destroying the enemy’s supply chain would put paid to any hopes they might have of a protracted war. Their morale would fall and the tide would turn in the ducal army’s favor. The move could also backfire, however. A desperate enemy was an enemy that would fight as one.

“A dilemma indeed, but we need every advantage that we can get.” They could not afford to pass up the slightest chance. A victory there would provide a critical boost to morale.

“Indeed, sir. Now, if only the enemy would try to field the rebels...”

“Surely they would not be so foolish,” Rankeel said. “It would be impossible to coordinate with untrained slaves. They would only be a burden. If I were the imperials, I would cut their throats and be done with them.”

“But the Fourth Legion has kept them alive. It would be prudent to assume they did so for a reason.”

“I asked myself many times if there wasn’t some way to turn the rebel army to our purposes, always in vain. The enemy has no need of more numbers. Perhaps they might use them as human shields, but that would risk disorder in their own ranks if the slaves chose to run.” Rankeel crossed his arms and grumbled to himself. “If there is any sense in shackling themselves with such a liability, I do not see it.”

“Perhaps we are giving the matter more thought than they did,” the advisor quipped, trying to lighten the mood. Under normal circumstances, Rankeel would have dismissed the man for his impertinence. In that moment, however, he was grateful for the attempt at levity.

“If only that were so,” he said, taking the remark on its face. “If confusing us was their only goal, the battle today would have sufficed. They would have no need of incorporating such an unpredictable element into their own army.” He gave a defeated shrug. “But there is no sense in poring over such things. The more we tie ourselves in knots, the more we play into our enemy’s hands. We will decide whether to launch a night raid once our spies return. Until then, we will speak no more of this.”

They had enough problems as it was. Inventing new ones was folly.

After some time, word arrived that the spies had returned. Rankeel ordered them to be shown in. A man entered the tent and fell to one knee in a respectful bow. After congratulating him on fulfilling his duty, Rankeel asked him what he had learned.

“Of course, sir.” With his head still bowed, the man launched into a fluid report. “I infiltrated the enemy encampment to find the men had been given drink to raise morale and permission to rest out of armor. They did not seem concerned with the possibility of a night attack. As best I could tell, the troops were too exhausted to fight. The enemy is still preparing for a night raid, however. They have stationed fifteen hundred camel riders outside their camp for that purpose.”

Rankeel pondered for a moment. “So they are plotting to attack. What of their defenses? Could they fend us off?”

“Their defenses appear secure, but that is only a ruse. From what I have seen, a night raid will devastate them.”

“I see. You are dismissed. I will see that you are furnished with food and water.”

“My thanks, sir.”

As the spy departed, Rankeel’s advisors turned to him with delighted faces. “If the enemy is preparing for a night raid, we ought to seize the initiative and strike first.”

“We must not be hasty,” the marquis cautioned. “Let us hear what the others have to say.”

It would be foolish to rush to a decision based on one man’s report. If he had happened to overlook something, it might spell defeat. All of Rankeel’s rational instincts urged him to be prudent.

“Send the next man in.”

“At once, sir.”

The advisors seemed discontent, but ultimately assented. Rankeel understood the appeal of urgency. They were fewer in number, their men were deserting, and a single man had laid waste to their forces that very day. The spy’s report was enticing—but if it proved too good to be true, it would be not only them, but their entire nation that paid the price.

“We can afford to hear every man’s report. Time is still on our side.” Rankeel was starting to doubt even himself, but he shook his head to dispel his misgivings.

“I have brought the next man,” a soldier announced.

“Good. Send him in.”

“Yes, sir!”

The second spy knelt before Rankeel and delivered his report. “I infiltrated the enemy encampment to find the soldiers with spears and torches, equipped to fend off a night raid. They appeared tired, but morale was high, with the sixth princess working to lift their spirits. I expect that any attack will be easily repelled.”

The advisors blanched at the man’s words—the very opposite of the previous report. The tent took on a background hum of worried whispers.

Rankeel put a hand to his forehead and sighed. “What of the camel riders outside the encampment?”

“There were camels, sir, but no riders. It seems they are being saved for use by a select few.”

“Very good. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the spy departed, Rankeel sank back wearily into his chair. One of the advisors offered him water.

“My thanks.”

“This certainly complicates matters,” the man said. “Small discrepancies we could have overlooked, but with such glaring contradictions, who can say what our best course would be?”

“Agreed,” Rankeel replied wearily. “Send the others in. Once we have heard what all four have to say, we can come to a decision.”

The third and fourth spies’ reports agreed with that of the first, leaving the second spy the only outlier. Rankeel called the man back for questioning.

“Do you know why you have been recalled?” he asked.

“N-No, sir,” the spy stammered.

“There were discrepancies between your report and the others. Significant ones.”

The spy’s eyes widened with surprise. Rankeel scoffed internally. Clearly, the man was a good actor.

“Search him,” he commanded. “No doubt we will find enemy coin.”

The tent guards held the spy’s arms behind his back while the advisors rifled through his clothing.

“It’s here, sir!” a man cried from the huddle. “He has a pouch full of Steissen silver!”

“That settles it,” Rankeel snarled.

“Y-You’re mistaken, sir!” the spy cried. All the blood seemed to have drained from his face.

Steel glinted in Rankeel’s eyes. “About what?”

“I’ve not been bought! Every word I spoke was true! The enemy is prepared!”

“If you weren’t bought, then how did a pouch of Steissen silver find its way into your pocket?”

“I...” The spy scrabbled for words.

“Behead this traitor,” Rankeel declared contemptuously.

“No! Please, I’m loyal, I swear it! Mercy, sir, mercy!”

The soldiers forced the spy’s head to the ground and brought a blade down on his neck. Blood sprayed across the confines of the tent. Rankeel coldly stepped in the growing scarlet pool. “Your homeland stands on the threshold of ruin and you would sell it for coin?!” he spat, hurling the pouch at the spy’s decapitated body. The contents scattered across the ground.

Rankeel stood for a moment, chest heaving, before turning to his advisors. “The enemy is idle. Ready the camel riders!”

“Are they not also preparing a raid, sir?”

“What of it? We have told our men to sleep in armor for that very reason. Command our units to stay vigilant and ready for an assault.” Rankeel lowered his gaze to the map, considering the enemy’s path of advance. “If they intend to come at us from behind, they have a long way to travel. With fifteen hundred, their noise would reveal them. I doubt they’ll try, but just in case, I want our rear lit up with bonfires. Triple palisades to the flanks. We’ll force them to come at us head-on. Make ready our bows and our spears.”

“At once, sir!” The advisors surged out of the tent. For better or for worse, this night would decide their fate.

As his subordinates departed, Rankeel abruptly recalled the man in black. “Wait,” he commanded one advisor as he passed. “Send the elite unit I assembled to guard Lord Karl.”

“Understood, sir!” the man replied.

With the skill the man in black possessed, it would be an easy matter for him to plunge alone into the center of the camp. Rankeel would guard Karl from any such assault, all while crushing the enemy’s camel riders. That would raise the army’s spirits. Then, once their own raid broke the back of the enemy force, the man in black would be alone and at their mercy.

“I’ll spill your blood before this night is done,” Rankeel whispered.

His army was as ready as it would ever be—or so he believed.

＊

“If all is going well,” Hiro murmured, “our raid should be wreaking havoc.”

The night was chill, and heavy clouds covered the stars. Two hundred light infantry stood in silence at his back, their mouths firmly shut. All around was darkness and stillness. As they waited with bated breath, Drix leaned down to Hiro’s ear.

“What makes you so sure they will come this way?”

“I made certain they caught wind of our attack plans. They need their raid to succeed, so they can’t risk running into our forces, and the more trapped people feel, the more simplistic their thinking becomes. They need quick results, so they’ll choose the quickest path...and that will take them straight here.”

Drix exhaled in admiration. “How old did you say you are, my lord?”

“Sixteen. Seventeen soon.”

“Yet you read the battlefield like a general. You possess a frightening talent.”

“You’d be surprised what you can learn from leafing through old books.”

Drix looked unconvinced. “Surely it is more than that. Mars’s blood flows strong in your veins, I am certain, even after a thousand years. His Majesty Emperor Schwartz would be proud to know that he has such a worthy successor.”

Emperor Schwartz was standing right there, but Hiro could hardly say that. He only gave a noncommittal nod. At that moment, he heard a faint noise from up ahead and ducked down low. Drix quickly followed suit.

“They have two thousand camel riders, if our spies are to be believed,” said Drix, “and we have five hundred light infantry. Those are not favorable odds.”

“Not in a fair fight, but this won’t be one. Once I engage the camel riders, sound the drums. When you hear the enemy fall into confusion, order the archers to fire.”

“As you command, my lord. Be safe.”

“I leave you in charge of the men.” Hiro roused his swiftdrake with a tug on its reins.

“You mean to take your mount?” Drix asked, incredulous. “But what of the arrows?”

“The Black Camellia won’t let either of us get hurt.” Patting his chest with pride, Hiro disappeared into the night.

Drix stared for a moment, dumbfounded, but quickly set about issuing commands to the soldiers. Before long, the din of clashing blades and battle cries rose from the darkness. An unseen battle had begun.

“Strike the drums, loud as you can!” Drix bellowed. “Raise your voices high!”

A boom split the night air. More followed, the thunder of drums ringing from all around. Before the battle, they had sent one hundred soldiers to each of the other three sides of the field to lie in wait.

It was still too early to loose their arrows. Drix peered into the night. A glimmer of silver danced in the darkness, trailing brief arcs before flaring out. It made for an otherworldly sight, like an earthly shooting star. He watched in wonder for a while before a subordinate’s hand on his shoulder brought him to his senses.

“Enough!” he called, flustered. “Stop the drums. Launch the signal arrow!”

With a whistle, a signal arrow vanished into the blackness. Another followed several moments later. The second was the sign; the soldiers reached into their quivers and let fly arrow after arrow. Screams rose in the distance.

“We’re hitting our marks!” Drix called. “Keep firing! Rain death down on them!”

The soldiers had no sense of the enemy’s position. They fired blindly. As their quivers were beginning to empty, a cry of “Run for your lives!” went up from somewhere in the dark. If the sun had been high, they would have been treated to the sight of the enemy scattering in confusion, but the veil of night obscured the scene.

Before long, Hiro returned astride his swiftdrake. It was impossible to tell what state he was in. Dressed from head to toe in black, he seemed to melt into the darkness.

Drix ran up to him. “My lord! Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it. How much did we thin the enemy’s numbers?”

“I don’t know exactly, but maybe more than expected. I saw them attacking each other. We can only hope that they keep running instead of returning to camp.”

“Judging from the state of them, I doubt they could make their way back if they tried.”

Running blind at night was akin to drowning in the ocean. The enemy would hardly be able to tell which way was up, and that was if they were even in their right minds—the chaos of the ambush would have left their brains addled by panic. Many would lose their bearings and freeze to death before dawn. If any were wounded, their odds of survival would plummet. Drix began to wonder how many of the two thousand would survive the night, but he stopped himself. They would be able to see for themselves once the sun rose.

“We can honor the soldiers once this is over,” he said. “We must return to camp.”

Hiro nodded. “Agreed. We’ll need to be well rested for tomorrow.” He turned to the soldiers. “Every man who fought for me here may drink tonight. In moderation, though. I don’t want any hangovers tomorrow morning.”

A cheer went up from the men. Their steps seemed instantly lighter, as though their exhaustion had been dispelled.

“I fancy the enemy will soon discover our trick,” Drix said.

“I’m sure they will,” Hiro replied, “but they’ll need time and men to mount another night raid, and they don’t have either. Besides, they’ll hopefully be preoccupied.”

Something seemed to occur to Drix. “Pardon the change of subject, but why did you give one of the spies Steissen silver?”

“Tell me, what would you do if somebody confronted you with a barrage of questions?”

Drix seemed puzzled but took Hiro’s question at face value. “Curse them, I suppose. But I would try to answer as best I could.”

“It’s the same idea. Bombard the enemy with unanswered problems and deny them time to think. That’s what the Steissen silver is for. I bet our Marquis Rankeel is tearing his hair out right now trying to decipher what it means.”

“And you’ve arranged things so that before he can, he’ll have a new problem to deal with.”

“Exactly.”

“And have you given any thought to if all this doesn’t work?”

“I have, but I’d never get anywhere if I was constantly scared of failure. He’s fallen for all my tricks so far. All that’s left is to give him enough hope to keep him from running, then plunge him into despair.”

Hiro’s tone was nonchalant, but enough of a shiver ran down Drix’s spine to stop him in his tracks. This battlefield and all the people in it—this boy held them all in the palm of his hand.

He laughed. “‘A mind fit to serve a king,’ indeed. If only that explained it.”

Hiro was merely sixteen years old, but he already displayed fearsome ability. He was pitched against the Rising Hawk, a champion of Lichtein who had repelled thirty thousand men, and yet he was plotting the most audacious schemes—and succeeding. Heroes were like children to him. Storied champions were but toys. Just how far could he see? Had Mars, his distant ancestor, been this cunning in his time? An ordinary man like Drix could not hope to fathom the minds of such figures. What their eyes saw, what machinations they hatched...all were beyond him.

And that made it all the more fascinating, he thought, to see where their paths would take them.

＊

“Give me your report.”

Rankeel watched the flame consume the camel’s carcass—just one of many burning corpses dotting the camp, slain by the ducal army’s arrows. None of them had borne riders.

“Our losses are minimal, sir. A few wounded but no dead. The camels’ stampede sent several tents up in flames, but the fires were put out before they could spread.”

Soldiers and slaves alike sat on the ground, their breathing ragged with exertion. Their heroic efforts had foiled the enemy offensive, such as it was...although Rankeel was not even certain that was true. In terms of sapping his army’s strength—which was likely all it was ever meant to do—it was hard to deny that the raid had been a success.

Rankeel tore his gaze away from the carnage and set off toward a nearby tent, where his strategy meeting awaited. “Let the men rest,” he ordered his advisors as they fell in behind him.

“As you command, sir.”

“And one more thing.” He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. His army had been ready, but his enemy had shown itself to be nothing more than a riderless herd of camels—a preposterous farce. “Squeeze the spies for all they know, then cut off their heads.”

“At once, sir!”

“So this is what I get for taking the bait,” he sighed to himself. “I knew I shouldn’t have been so hasty.”

His enemy was employing children’s tricks, but each one had been devastatingly effective. They were both ingenious and terrifyingly calculated. Surely this commander must enjoy some repute in the empire—and if not, this campaign would mark the rise of a new star. Times were changing, the age was turning, and Rankeel found himself forced to acknowledge that he was becoming a relic of the past.

“I had thought myself still in my prime, but it seems I was mistaken.”

He had reached the limits of his potential. He was not young enough to grasp the spark of inspiration that could lift his army from this quagmire, nor wise enough to have a solution ready at hand. Perhaps his pride had gotten the better of him. He had let the name of the Rising Hawk convince him that none soared higher.

He stepped inside the tent and sank deep into his chair. The light was gone from his eyes.

“Perhaps we should retreat after all...”

But returning to the capital now would only invite the nobles to drive a knife into his back. Rankeel would be admitting that his promises of victory had only been bluster, and that he had let the enemy run rings around him. He could expect no mercy, least of all from men who had despised him from the first.

“And even if by some miracle they let me live, we’d never hold out.”

It wouldn’t take long holed up inside the city for the nobles to start turning their coats. Any siege would soon be broken by treachery. Every course of action seemed hopeless. He could barely even stand to think about it.

“I bear news, sir.”

One of Rankeel’s advisors entered the tent. He hastened to the table and placed three pouches upon it.

The marquis looked up at the man with lifeless eyes. “What’s this you’ve brought me now?”

“We found them in the spies’ pockets.”

“Did any confess?” He reached for the pouches and opened them up, not that their contents mattered anymore.

“No, sir. They insisted to the end that they had spoken the truth.”

“I see.” Rankeel glanced inside and grinned humorlessly at the contents. “Still you seek to confound me,” he muttered to himself. “Have you not yet had your fill?”

Each of the small bags was stuffed with golden grantzes. Strange. The liar’s pouch had contained Steissen silver. Rankeel began to ponder what it could mean—and a second advisor dashed through the entrance.

“My lord marquis!” the man cried. There was an edge of panic in his voice. “The night raid has failed! Fewer than five hundred of our riders have returned!”

Rankeel had expected as much. He had been so outclassed at every other turn, he had long since given up hope for the night raid’s success. What he had thought was an opportunity had only ever been a ruse.

“A pity,” was all he said.

“The Fourth Legion has thirteen thousand men now, sir, counting the rebels. Are we to drive them back with only three?”

That was the same number with which Rankeel had once fended off Steissen. Back then, however, he had known that even if he failed, Lichtein would endure. This time was different. He was the last line of defense between his homeland and the Grantzian Empire. If he fell here, the duchy would have no more time to raise another army.

He felt an invisible blade slide between his ribs, causing him no pain but seeking his heart nonetheless.

Retreat.

Those seven ominous letters seemed to hover before his eyes.

“My lord! My lord marquis! I bring good tidings!”

A messenger stumbled into the tent. The advisors turned to him with withering stares, but he seemed not to care. His attention was solely on Rankeel. The marquis stared back, furrowing his brow dubiously.

“Calm yourself, man. What is it you have to say?”

“We have discovered where the enemy is storing their supplies!”

“You have?!” one of the advisors exclaimed.

Rankeel himself rose from his chair. “Where?”

The messenger approached the table and pointed to the map. His finger landed on the very spot they had initially suspected: the old fort that the Fourth Legion had commandeered. “Imperial troops have been sighted carrying supplies into here.”

“What of their defenses?” Rankeel demanded. “Do you know their numbers?”

“Not precisely, my lord, but we estimate somewhere between eight hundred and a thousand men.”

“And what of the fort itself?”

“The main gate is burned down and the rear gate is rubble.”

“So it will not withstand a siege.” Rankeel cupped his chin in his hand, thinking. “If we rode out now, we could fall on the fort with all our forces, burn their supplies as the sun rises, then take advantage of their dismay to strike their army in the flank. Perhaps...just perhaps...it might work.”

The enemy knew that the Lichtein forces were desperate. They would never suspect such a daring move as targeting their supply train. If the ducal army captured the fort before dawn and torched it just as the enemy realized they had been outflanked, the shock would throw their foe into disarray.

Rankeel planted both hands on his desk and leaned forward, looking over his advisors one by one. “If anyone has any objections, raise them now.”

“What are we to do with our camp?”

“We leave it. Pulling down our tents will take time that we do not have. Besides, even empty, it will serve to disguise our intentions for a little while.”

The advisor nodded, appeased.

Rankeel continued in a lower voice, “But you must not speak of this to anyone. It is all but certain that enemy spies have infiltrated our forces. We will tell the soldiers that we are retreating. If any spy catches wind of that, so much the better.”

If their flanking maneuver was to be successful, they could not afford to let the imperials cotton on to their plans. If there were enemy agents among their number, let them report to their commander that the ducal army had fallen back.

Rankeel’s face was stern once more, and his voice was resolute. “Talk of attacking the fort will not leave this tent. If that is all, you may attend to your duties.”

“Yes, sir!” his advisors chorused.

The light had returned to his eyes, and the fog had cleared from his mind.

“I’ll break your stranglehold yet,” he said under his breath.

＊

The next morning

The Fourth Legion had packed up their camp and now stood in ranks facing north. The thousand-strong advance guard had just finished forming up one sel away. At their backs were the three thousand freedmen and sellswords who had once belonged to the Liberation Army.

“They’ve torched the fort.”

As the words left Hiro’s lips, a distant plume of black smoke spiraled skyward. It rose from the ruined fort in the distance, beyond the advance guard. War cries split the morning air as the ducal army arrived on the field. With the success of their ploy, morale was high.

The Fourth Legion, however, was not as dismayed as the enemy might have expected. If anything, they seemed bemused as to why the ducal army would bother setting a crumbled old fort alight. Their supplies were located elsewhere. The now-burning edifice was empty, save for the few shipments of weapons and provisions that Hiro had shipped there to mislead the enemy scouts.

“They never seem to tire of falling for our tricks,” Drix remarked.

Hiro only shrugged before settling down into the simple chair that had been laid out for him. “They’re desperate. With such tempting bait dangling in front of them, they can’t help themselves.” He scratched his swiftdrake’s head, glanced briefly at Drix, then turned his eyes eagerly to the field. The advance guard and the ducal army had clashed.

“Lord Hiro,” Drix ventured, “while they are mistaken, the enemy still believes they have burned our supplies. Their perceived success has them elated. I fear the advance guard cannot hold such numbers. If they fail and the Liberation Army behind them buckles, the enemy will push through to our main forces drunk with victory. That, I believe, would be...inopportune.”

Hiro raised a hand to interrupt the man. “That won’t be a concern.”

“I see. You have planned for this eventuality?”

“Victory is never guaranteed, even when the odds are firmly in our favor. I will act if the situation demands it...although something tells me that the enemy’s morale won’t last.”

The ducal army’s exhaustion was mounting. Hiro had taken great pains to ensure as much. He had forced them to remain constantly alert, endeavoring to deny them rest at every turn.

“They’ve been laboring valiantly since midnight, it’s true. I look forward to watching this unfold.” Drix’s mouth widened into a smile as he stroked his chin.

Hiro narrowed his eyes at the man for a second, then he gestured with his left hand. A standard-bearer saw the signal and raised a banner high: a lily on a crimson field, the livery of the sixth princess. The cavalry on the flanks saw the signal and steadily advanced. In a show of perfect coordination, the Fourth Legion’s formation transformed. The army’s commander, satisfied that everything was going according to plan, approached Hiro on horseback.

“Is it time?” she asked.

She looked as beautiful as ever with her flame-red hair. The grime of the battlefield did nothing to dull her loveliness. If anything, it made it shine all the brighter.

“More or less,” Hiro replied. “Not long now.”

“Then I should—”

“You should stay here, where it’s safe. Is that clear?”

He knew what she would say. She wanted to fight on the front line. There were times when such a thing was necessary, but this was not one of them. She would only be depriving the army of its leader, throwing the chain of command into chaos.

Liz puffed out her cheeks in a sulky little pout. With a diplomatic smile, Hiro gestured to the lady-in-waiting sitting in front of her in the saddle—Mille in disguise.

“Are you planning on taking her with you?”

“I was thinking you could...you know...”

“I don’t think she likes me.”

Ever since finding out that he had sent the Liberation Army to the front line, Mille had been pointedly ignoring him. “Hate” might perhaps be overstating it, but she certainly didn’t trust him.

“Oh, I’m sure she’s just nervous,” Liz said, clearly trying to make him feel better. “I can’t blame her, now that she knows you’re descended from the second emperor.”

Instead of replying, Hiro raised his arm, pointing to the ongoing battle between the advance guard and the ducal army. “Once the signal comes from the Liberation Army, we’ll send the left and right wings of cavalry into their flanks at full speed.”

“What about their rear?” Liz looked perplexed. “If they’re under attack on three sides, won’t they just run?”

“I’ve got a plan for that. There’s no way out. They lost before the fighting even started.”

Before the war began, even. From the very moment they had first crossed the imperial border. They fell short of the Grantzian Empire in every respect—in territory, military strength, resources, population. To attack such an enemy with no allies and no support was inviting their own doom. There was no way to know what chance they had believed they had; the nobles who had made that calculation were all dead, and Hiro pitied Marquis Rankeel for having to salvage their mistakes with the depleted remnants of their forces.

What would I have done in his place?

He knew without thinking that he would have chosen to fight, as Rankeel had. Indeed, that was exactly what he had done a thousand years ago. Perhaps he hadn’t exactly had a choice, as such, but in any case, he could empathize with the man’s situation. In his position, retreat meant ruin, and any time spent waiting would be better used forging ahead in search of an escape.

Although my situation wasn’t quite that bad...

Not only had Duke Lichtein been foolish enough to fall to the Liberation Army, he had taken his high nobles with him, leaving Rankeel with only the most inept parasites of the court at his back. It was admirable that the man had still chosen to fight under such conditions. His gambit—to bait the Fourth Legion deep into Lichtein territory, lure them into combat with the Liberation Army, and strike once they were exhausted—had been artful. Had it worked, he would now be returning to Azbakal a hero twice over, his name resounding throughout Aletia as the man who had tamed the imperial lion. No, it would be a waste to kill him. His mind was too valuable to lose.

I can use him...but only if he’s alive, and there’s no guarantee he’ll survive the day.

It was not easy to capture a man alive in battle, and fixating on it could do more harm than good. If Rankeel was the man Hiro hoped he was, he would survive the fighting; if not, Hiro would simply have to find another way. For that reason, he had not proposed capturing Rankeel to anybody, not even Liz.

Will heaven spare him or strike him down? Or perhaps...

Hiro stood and flung his right arm sideways. A new standard unfurled over the battlefield, its wide expanse billowing as though to clear the haze of sand—a dragon on a black field, clutching a silver sword in its talons. The banner of kings.

A cheer went up from the soldiers, and no wonder: for a thousand long years, this standard had languished in the detritus of history, depicted only in legends and dusty old tomes. Now it was reborn before their eyes, a sight to overwhelm the pious of heart. A smile graced Hiro’s lips as he grasped Excalibur’s hilt and drew it firmly from its resting place.

The soldiers fell silent at the sight. The gleaming blade caught the sun’s light as it pointed toward the firmament, splitting it into a halo of rainbow colors.

“All units, advance.”

He spoke without ornament, dictating only what must be done. His curt command was hardly more than a whisper, far too quiet to span the battlefield, but it carried all the same. Across the first cohort, then the second, then the heart of the army, soldiers beat their spears against their shields and raised their voices high.

Once upon a time, Emperor Artheus had said this of his comrade-in-arms:

That he was born to rule the battlefield.

That he was a strategist to transcend the world of men.

Thus, Mars needed no words to move men’s hearts, for his presence alone was enough.

“Phew...”

Hiro loosened his collar so that he could breathe a little easier. His chest was tight with nerves. A long time had passed since he had last given such a command. He glanced at Liz to gauge her reaction and found her with a smile on her lips. She was issuing orders to the soldiers, Lævateinn held high.

I guess it must have gone all right.

He let out a long breath. From the look of her, his performance had been convincing enough.

As relief filled his chest, a horn blew. Its shrill note raced through the ranks like a wave, and the soldiers joined in with battle cries, forming a solemn melody that shook the air like a dragon’s roar. The army began to advance in lockstep.

Normally, signaling the advance would have been Liz’s duty as commander, but she had staunchly refused. “This is your first battle, so you can do the honors,” she had said at the pre-dawn strategy meeting. “And fix that bedhead, mister. You can’t lead an army like that. Come here.” After that, he recalled, he had been mercilessly mothered.

“Are we going to attack straight away?” Liz asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Not yet. We’ll advance a little closer, then wait. With any luck, we won’t even...” Hiro cut himself off. A dust storm was whipping up over the front lines.

“It’s starting,” Liz said.

“And soon it’ll be over.” Hiro’s smile widened as he scratched his eyepatch. “We’ve given them hope. Now they’ll know despair.”

He stretched out his hand and closed his fist around the battlefield.

＊

On the front line, confusion had overtaken the Fourth Legion’s advance guard. The sudden sandstorm had obscured their vision, blinding them to their surroundings.

“What’s happening now?!” von Kilo snapped as he swung his sword down, cleaving through an enemy soldier’s chest. Crimson spurted high into the air. The man crumpled, hacking up blood.

Von Kilo raised his sword in triumph. “Take care not to strike your comrades!” he bellowed to his men. “The sand will soon clear!”

The enemy had penetrated too deep into their lines. They desperately needed to fall back and regroup, but they could not. Von Kilo ground his teeth as he looked behind him. The soldiers of the Liberation Army were blocking their retreat.

“We wouldn’t be in this position if they’d stop playing games!”

He needed to prove his valor if he was to be promoted to the central territories. He could not afford to disgrace himself, yet still these upstart slaves insisted on impeding him. With a snarl of fury, he swung his sword with renewed vigor. Screams rose. Blood sprayed. His blade found gaps in enemy armor and bit home, unerringly finding vital points as he cut men down.

“I’ll not be trifled with!” he snarled.

Von Kilo had not climbed to the rank of general for nothing. He had known battlefields and butchery in his time, and he had more than once wavered between life and death. In no sense was he wanting as a soldier.

“My lord!” an advisor shouted. “The enemy’s numbers are growing! We must fall back or we will be overrun!”

Von Kilo grimaced. “But if we do not stand our ground...”

“If we die here, all will be for nothing!”

“As well I know! But the slaves block our retreat!”

“They are only slaves, my lord! None will object if we spill their blood! If they stand in our way, we need only cut them down!”

“If Lord Hiro sees us abandon our men and kill our way to freedom, he will not be merciful.”

“We can hardly tell friend from foe in this sandstorm. We need only tell him that we lost our bearings.”

Von Kilo considered. “If that is truly the only way...”

“My lord, we have no time!”

“It is true that I can give no orders in this sand... Bah, there’s nothing for it. If we must fall back, then we must.” Despite his words, von Kilo’s expression was anything but regretful.

“At once, my lord! Let us—” The advisor toppled as he turned.

“Are you all right?” von Kilo cried, hurrying to the man’s sprawled body. An arrow protruded from the man’s skull. Blood trickled along the shaft to ooze into the sand.

“Arrows... Blast it all.”

The rest of the volley arrived mere moments later, raining down through the sandstorm. Scowling, von Kilo snatched up a nearby shield and huddled beneath it, but many of the men around him were not so lucky. They fell in droves, soldiers and advisors alike.

Von Kilo’s first thought was that the enemy must have been responsible, but strangely, the arrows were coming from behind. With the Liberation Army to their rear, the ducal army could not have taken up position there so quickly. The bombardment could only be coming from one source: the Liberation Army itself.

“Can those accursed slaves not even use their bows?!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

At last, there came a lull in the deluge of arrows. He stood and cast his shield aside, yanking a shaft from his arm with a grunt.

“Is anyone alive?” he called out. He set out walking through the cloud of sand only to stop in his tracks. An enormous figure emerged from the haze ahead—a familiar man with lilac skin. In his right hand the apparition held a bloodstained sword, and in his left, he clutched one of the ducal army’s spears.

“Why are you here? You can’t be here!” von Kilo spluttered.

The zlosta drew inexorably closer.

“Say something, you lumbering oaf! You ought to be tied up on the back lines! And why—?”

Why is your sword covered in blood? von Kilo meant to ask, but before the words left him, something slammed into his chest. Hot wetness surged up his throat. As he clapped his hand to his mouth to hold it back, he looked down and saw the zlosta’s spear running him through.

“What...? Why...?!” he managed. Blood dribbled between his fingers. He fell on all fours as the strength left his legs. An enormous shadow loomed over him. Confusion, for the most part, filled his bloodshot eyes as he looked up, but there was panic there too.

“Struggling to breathe so... What a pitiful sight you make.” The zlosta’s expression betrayed no hint of emotion. He looked down at von Kilo with utter indifference. “You reap only what you have sown. You ought to have had more humility.”

He pressed the tip of his blade to von Kilo’s neck. “I carry a message from the One-Eyed Dragon.”

Von Kilo stared back dumbly.

“Your ill-considered mobilization of uncoordinated slave troops, motivated by your selfish desire for glory, invited confusion to your ranks. For this, he holds you personally responsible. In view of that, and your previous violations of military codes of conduct, you are hereby demoted.”

The declaration as good as pinned all of the Fourth Legion’s failings on von Kilo. The man’s mouth opened and closed, but no protests emerged, only blood and froth.

“Farewell, General...or perhaps I should say Second Tribune.”

If von Kilo meant to plead for his life or curse his foe, he never had the chance. His head sailed through the air, trailing a stream of blood.

Garda tossed his sword aside, turned his back on the corpse, and walked off. A short distance away, he met up with a band of sellswords. One of the men handed him a camel’s reins.

“Our work here is done,” the zlosta said as he swung himself onto his mount’s back. “It is time we made ourselves scarce.”

“You sure we’re free to go, boss?” one of the sellswords asked.

“So I am assured...provided that we make quick work of it.”

The man grinned. “Leave it to me!”

“Very well, then. Once you’re ready, sound the drums.”

“You got it! Everyone on the boss! We’re getting out of here!”

Garda spurred his camel forward at top speed. The sellswords stayed close on his tail. At the sound of their drums, the freedmen infantry joined the flight, scrambling over themselves to leave the battlefield behind.

“Don’t let the ducal army see your arses!” the sellsword cried. “Pickings are tough in the desert!” Amidst a chorus of vulgar jeers, he pulled up alongside Garda once more. “Not a bad job, if I do say so myself.”

“Mercenary work through and through,” Garda remarked. With a sigh, he glanced toward the main body of the Fourth Legion’s forces. He and his men had played their part. All that was left now was to wait for the final act.

“I called you the One-Eyed Dragon, boy,” he said under his breath, “but the Hero Slayer might have been more apt.”

The illustrious Marquis Rankeel was no doubt coming to a similar realization. The nations of Soleil would tremble with fear to learn what had truly transpired on this battlefield.

“But now, I must flee, and quickly.”

He had to make good his escape before the sandstorm cleared, or he might pay for his tardiness with his life. He had conjured the storm himself, but it would not last forever.

“If only I still had Bebensleif, I would not have to fear my mana running dry.”

Unfortunately, now that his Fellblade had forsaken him, his mana was limited. Running dry would not be lethal, but it would mean passing out. On a battlefield, that was as good as a death sentence.

“I’ve done all that was asked of me. Now to rest on my laurels.”

He pictured the boy’s disagreeable face and snorted to himself.

＊

The Lichtein troops’ spirits were high enough to sweep even the Fourth Legion’s advance guard aside—and still, Rankeel could not quell the unease roiling in his breast. His long years of experience were screaming in alarm. By the time the sandstorm lifted, his suspicions had changed to certainty.

“I cannot shake the feeling that we are charging into another trap.”

“Is something wrong, Commander?” asked Karl beside him.

Rankeel answered with a reassuring smile before turning to summon one of his advisors.

“Yes, my lord?” the man asked.

“Have one hundred camel riders escort Lord Karl from the field.”

“What are you saying?!” Karl protested. “Why must I flee? Is this not the time to push forward?”

Rankeel laid a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “We have not won yet, my lord. We have crushed the Fourth Legion’s advance guard, but eight thousand of them remain.”

“But is the momentum not in our favor?”

“Victory is still far from promised.”

Karl set a finger to his chin and sank into thought.

“Should the worst come to pass,” Rankeel continued, “flee to the capital with your escort. We will buy time for your escape.”

“And what will become of you?”

“I will hold the enemy here while you—”

“Enemies sighted at our rear! Three to five thousand men, mostly cavalry!”

The messenger’s report sent a shock through the army. Soldiers turned to look, their breath caught in their throats. A large dust cloud was heading toward them. Flags bristled in its midst.

Rankeel turned to the messenger. “Are these the Fourth Legion’s troops?”

“They bear the heraldry of the empire’s eastern nobles, sir.”

“The eastern nobles? But why...?”

“The standard of House Kelheit is among them. It appears the east has sent reinforcements.”

“Did they not lack a leader? Has his widow taken a new husband?” Rankeel well remembered hearing of the death of the head of House Kelheit. He had hoped that the eastern nobles might tear themselves apart fighting over his succession, sending cracks through the empire, but little had come of it.

“There...is something else, sir.”

“What is it? Speak clearly, man.”

“The standard of the second emperor has been sighted on the battlefield. A dragon clutching a silver sword on a black field.”

“What?”

Nobody in this world could be ignorant of that heraldry—of the sacred standard of Mars, War God of the Grantzian pantheon and builder of the empire. Of the sazul.

“If you speak truly,” Rankeel said slowly, “that is an ill omen indeed.” A chill he could not quite name assailed him. His blood turned to ice, his fingertips went numb, his mind began to seize up. His voice trembled as he asked, “Are you quite certain?”

“If the history books are accurate, sir...”

“Was the second emperor’s lineage not extinguished?”

The Hero King of Twinned Black had passed away unmarried and childless, and not once had his standard graced the field since. Indeed, its unsanctioned use was punishable by death, regardless of the offender’s social station. Rankeel did not know why the imperials were so strict about the matter—fear of the Spirit King’s wrath, perhaps, or veneration of the deified Hero King—but if the sazul had been raised, it could only mean that the second emperor’s bloodline was alive and well.

“There will be no retreat to the rear, then,” he sighed. Better to take on the Fourth Legion, who would still be tired from the previous days’ exertions, than fresh reinforcements brimming with vigor. It would be foolhardy to engage these newcomers without knowing who they were or what they were capable of. The ducal troops had to press forward before the grasping arms of the enemy’s cavalry closed around them.

“Hesitation will gain us nothing. Charge!”

The ducal army might not succeed in breaking through the enemy’s center, but morale was high and they had momentum in their favor. That would be enough to at least see Karl to safety. This battle had been a lost cause from the moment the enemy appeared at their backs. High spirits would not save them from being slaughtered once they were surrounded.

“The fruit of my failings,” Rankeel said bitterly. “This is my cross to bear.”

He would wash his honor clean with a glorious death. He had been a warrior once upon a time, braving the melee himself with his sword as his only companion. There were worse ways to end his career than the way it had begun.

“I will clear a path, Lord Karl!” he shouted. “Take your escort and ride to safety!”

He did not wait to hear the man’s answer. It did not matter, in any case. All that remained was to pass the baton.

“Listen well, my lord! I leave to you my final stratagem! Now that we have burned their supplies, the enemy’s time is short! If they turn to pillaging, harry them from the rear! If they split up, crush them piece by piece! If you conceal yourself within the capital, provoke them and wear them down until they break themselves upon the walls!”

“What has possessed you?!” Karl cried. “You speak as though you mean to die!”

“Our nation is in your hands now!” Rankeel drew his sword and turned to rally his troops. “Have courage, men! Raise your voices high! This day, our enemy shall know defeat!”

With a roar, he plunged out of the sandstorm—and his hope gave way to despair.

“Impossible...” he breathed.

The soldiers who had preceded him into the dust cloud lay buried in the desert sand, their corpses studded with arrows. There were no survivors, only rapidly cooling bodies as far as the eye could see. The absurd sight brought the camels skidding to a halt, and the army with them. Karl blanched by Rankeel’s side, his brow creasing in dismay as he clapped his hands to his mouth.

“A dragon with a silver sword on a black field...”

Rankeel tore his gaze away from the flag, fluttering lazily in the breeze over the heart of the Fourth Legion, and looked to the sides, where the enemy cavalry was thundering toward them. A glance over his shoulder told him that the imperial reinforcements were closing in, their maw yawning wide to swallow their prey whole.

He chuckled darkly. “And so the trap snaps shut. There will be no escape, not even for Lord Karl.”

Before him stretched orderly ranks of light infantry, heavy infantry, and archers arranged in composite units—a masterful show of military discipline. How delightful it must be to lead such well-trained men into battle, Rankeel thought. Far more pleasant than commanding the exhausted pack of starving hounds at his back.

“I should have known something was wrong, right from the very start.”

His every stroke of inspiration had turned out to be anticipated. Every opening he had found only seemed to play into his foe’s plans. Since the very beginning, he had been dancing in the palm of his enemy’s hand.

“Then I suppose he already knows what I will do next.”

Karl had to survive, no matter what. Only Rankeel need pay the price of this defeat.

“Lay down your weapons and raise the white flag.”

The sword slipped from the hand of the man once called the Rising Hawk and thumped into the sand. His soldiers sank to the ground, defeated. The dull metal of their discarded weapons glinted in the sun, signaling their surrender for all to see.

“Yet one answer eludes me: to what end did the enemy crush me so thoroughly?”

Scratching at the old scar on his cheek, Rankeel watched the War God’s sazul waving indifferently over the imperial lines.

＊

No clouds marred the clear blue sky to shield the earth from the sun’s merciless gaze. The relentless heat leeched the vigor from those who dwelled below. Surveying the terrain revealed only sand stretching endlessly away, a telling glimpse of the land’s arid heart.

Here in the Duchy of Lichtein, a nation ruled by scorching deserts, a battle had come to an end. What name this battlefield would take in the ages to come, no one could say. For now, it had none.

Fierce-eyed soldiers stood in ranks, masterfully wrought armor shielding their chests, lethally sharpened swords and spears in their hands. They were the Fourth Legion of the Grantzian Empire, protectors of the south, born warriors all. At the heart of the army, surrounded by a heavy guard, were its commander, Liz, and her strategist, Hiro.

Liz raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare as she stared at the array of standards in the distance.

“Is that...House Kelheit’s livery? But why would my sister be here?”

Her confusion was understandable. For the eastern nobles to make their way here via the southern territories would take no small amount of time, all the more so with an armed force in tow. Hiro moved closer, intending to offer an explanation, but she sensed his approach and spoke first.

“Would you care to explain what my sister is doing here?”

“Is that what it looks like to you?”

“Who else could it be? Look at all those eastern noble flags.”

Hiro chuckled knowingly. “There certainly are a lot of them.”

Liz turned to stare at him, her neat eyebrows drawing together. “And just what are you smirking about?”

Hiro put a hand to his mouth, trying to hold back his grin, but the gesture only annoyed Liz more. She puffed out her cheeks in indignation.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hiro said. “So how many do you think there are?”

“Erm... About three thousand?” She sounded irritated, but she still took the trouble to consider the question. That earnestness was one of her best qualities.

“Try five hundred.”

“What? But how?”

“It’s a small force impersonating a larger force. They aren’t even from the eastern territories. They’re Kiork’s men.”

“Uncle Kiork?”

“That’s the one.”

“But they’re bearing the eastern nobles’ standards.”

“They are. I asked to borrow them.”

“So you’re saying they’re Uncle’s men, just carrying the eastern nobles’ colors?”

“That’s right. Not a bad plan for such short notice, if I do say so myse— Yeowch!” Hiro’s sentence turned into a yelp as Liz pinched his cheek.

“So that’s what you were acting all smug about.”

“Yesh.”

“Have you learned your lesson or should I keep this up a little longer?”

Hiro fell silent, thinking very carefully about what to say next.

“I’m very hurt, you know,” Liz quickly added. “I want an apology.”

“Ih’m very shorry.”

“That’s a good start. Now you just need to buy me a present and we’ll be square.” Her hand finally withdrew.

“All right, but nothing too expensive.”

Liz’s eyebrows arched. “That’s funny. I heard you just came into a lot of money.”

“That’s true, but I was planning to save it.”

The money Rosa had given Hiro would be vital for his future endeavors. His first priority was putting together a private force, which would need to be paid. Admittedly, he had parted ways with a handy sum of coin in recent days to fund his schemes, but he intended to recoup that from the duchy. Needless expenditures were still to be avoided.

“Don’t worry,” Liz said. “I won’t get anything that pricey.”

That could mean anything coming from a princess. It would be wise to set an upper limit. “All right, but no jewelry,” Hiro said, feeling like a deadbeat husband.

Liz waved her hands in front of her face, flustered. “Oh, never! Jewelry looks terrible on me anyway.”

“Really?” Hiro cocked his head, looking her over. Her face still had some of the softness of youth, but her smile was as bright as a flower in bloom and her shapely body would bring a sigh to anyone’s lips. If she hadn’t chosen to walk a soldier’s path, she might well have been the belle of the empire.

She might be right. Jewelry wouldn’t suit her.

She needed no adornment, anybody would agree. A roadside pebble would shine like a jewel at her throat. Anything more would be quite literally gilding the lily.

“All right, then,” he said. “Once all this is over, we’ll drop by Linkus.”

“I’ll hold you to that. On pain of Lævateinn.”

Hiro laughed weakly. “That sounds...lethal.”

“You’ll be fine. Well, maybe a little singed.”

Second Tribune Drix looked on as their banter continued. “From a distance, anyone would think them two ordinary children,” he murmured.

One was a Spiritblade’s chosen, the other carried the blood of Emperor Schwartz. He wondered if they truly understood the significance that carried.

“At the very least,” he whispered, “the world will rejoice at the return of the Kerukeion.”

The Kerukeion was an old sobriquet for the brother-emperors Artheus and Schwartz. After a thousand long years, their bloodlines had once more reunited. Once upon a time, Artheus’s encounter with Schwartz’s wisdom had set him on his path of conquest, and the parallels were uncanny—the sixth princess possessed Artheus’s uncommon ingenuity, and now she counted one of Schwartz’s descendents among her retinue.

This, Drix decided, was getting interesting.

It was only recently that the first prince had, at great length, won the allegiance of one of the long-lived álfar. The third prince, too, was beginning to win renown thanks to talents of the wunderkind he had dubbed Aphrodite.

“But whether this prophesizes glory or ruin for the empire...will all depend on how His Majesty plays his hand.”

Competition for the throne would only grow more heated. One false move could mean civil war, and that would lead to the fracturing of the empire itself.

“Lord Drix,” came a voice from behind.

Drix turned to find a messenger kneeling before him. “Yes?”

“The commanders of the ducal army, Count Karl Lichtein and Marquis Rankeel Gilbrist, have been captured.”

“Excellent work. Ensure that they are treated well.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Once the man had departed, Drix approached Hiro and fell to one knee. “Lord Hiro, the ducal army’s commanders appear to have been detained.”

“I’ll speak with them at once,” Hiro said. “Have a tent set up.”

“I’ll see it done.”

“Please.”

With another bow, Drix departed to set the stage for the coming negotiations.

＊

Rankeel took his seat, overcome by confusion. Beside him, Karl seemed to be of a similar mind; the man’s sallow face wore a discomfited but otherwise unreadable expression. Both had good reason to be apprehensive. It was a universal truth that prisoners of war could not expect gentle treatment, but they had received neither abuse nor violence. They had been stripped of their weapons, but their hands had been left unbound. Their captors had even escorted them like guests of honor to their destination: a tent that was pleasantly cool, in spite of the midsummer desert’s searing heat.

“What is the meaning of this?” Karl wondered aloud.

“It is some new plot of theirs, my lord. Mark my words.”

Rankeel sounded more confident in his words than he felt. He stroked his chin, muttering to himself. Even his mind was struggling to wrap itself around this puzzle. The enemy had nothing to gain from further trickery. Disposing of Karl and himself would be enough to ensure the duchy’s collapse. Widespread noble defections would plunge the land into civil war, bandits and brigands would run rampant, and in time, his home would become a barren place where only monsters roamed.

“Do you suppose they want our land?”

“They’ll raise that, I don’t doubt, but they hardly need us alive to take it.”

If the enemy wanted territory, they could simply execute Rankeel and Karl and carve off as much as they liked. Unpleasant as it was to admit, with Rankeel dead, none of the remaining nobles would have the spine to try and retake their lost land. They would fold without resistance.

“We may have lost,” Rankeel continued, “but we are not obliged to bow and scrape. If they try to force unreasonable demands on us, you are well within your rights to spit them back in their faces.”

“But that would mean...” Karl’s downturned face twisted in anguish. No doubt the man feared that offending his captors would see his head roll, but Rankeel had enough tact not to broach the subject aloud.

The guilt of their defeat weighed heavily on Karl’s shoulders, but he would need to take such experiences in stride and grow from them if Lichtein was to have a future. The nation’s woes, both internal and external, were far from over. Important decisions would need to be made, and there was no guarantee Rankeel would be present to lend a guiding hand. If their present circumstances had a silver lining, it was that they presented Karl with an excellent opportunity to learn statecraft, the better to see through noble deceit.

“I leave the final decision in your hands, my lord.” Resolve burned bright in Rankeel’s eyes.

Karl gave a hesitant nod.

An indeterminate time passed in silence, long enough for their glasses of water to grow lukewarm. Rankeel took an experimental sip, but the liquid inside was odorless and inert. He smiled ruefully at his own wariness. He had not sincerely expected poison, but the risk of assassination had been a fact of his life for many years. Some habits were hard to break.

A brisk set of footsteps approached the tent, and a teenage girl stepped inside. She wore the military uniform of the Grantzian Empire with a ceremonial overcoat—not unlike a haori—on top. “A pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I am Celia Estrella Elizabeth von Grantz, commander of the Fourth Legion and sixth princess of the empire.”

Rankeel had never seen her before, but her beautiful countenance matched the rumors. There was no doubt that she was who she claimed to be. It was not suspicion that brought a frown to his face, but the sight of the crimson sword at her hip.

So that’s a Spiritblade. The first I’ve seen in person, but even I can tell it’s no ordinary weapon.

Looking at the princess and her sword in turn, he immediately understood why some called her the Valditte. Perhaps naturally for a Spiritblade’s chosen, she carried herself with a conqueror’s presence that belied her years. Such people were to be feared, Rankeel knew. Their talent was quick to grow. Still, her flame was still feeble and her potential had yet to blossom. It could not have been her who outwitted him on this battlefield.

The boy who entered the tent next struck Rankeel speechless.

He wore an old-fashioned imperial uniform with a black overcoat on top. Embroidered dragons twined along his shoulders. A large eyepatch covered one of his eyes, and half of his face besides, but even so, Rankeel could see—

He carries Uranos?!

Also known as Baldick, the Umbral Sight, the black iris of Uranos most often graced heroes of myth. Rankeel knew it well. In fact, nobody in the world could be ignorant of its significance. Only one man in all of Aletia—at least, until now—had ever born the mark of the twinblack. One did not have to be familiar with the Grantzian emperors to know the name of Mars.

It seems surprises never cease this day. To think his blood yet lived...

Never before had Rankeel seen the Baldick in person. He, like everyone else in Aletia, had thought it the stuff of legends.

“I am Hiro Schwartz von Grantz,” the boy announced, “strategist to the Fourth Legion and fourth prince of the empire.”

His face was utterly unreadable. Outwardly, he was smiling, but he exuded the unsettling impression that, behind his gaze, he was constantly scrutinizing everything around him. The depthless darkness of his black eye seemed to scour Rankeel’s very soul, an abyss before which all deceit was laid bare.

“Excuse me, sirs...”

An official who introduced himself as Second Tribune Drix laid two sheets of parchment before Karl and Rankeel. “Please read through these and sign them, if you would be so kind.”

Rankeel turned his gaze to the terms.

The Duchy of Lichtein hereby cedes its northern territory to the Grantzian Empire and promises to issue reparations to the same for lost assets and military expenditures.

Furthermore, the Duchy of Lichtein and the Grantzian Empire hereby enter into a non-aggression pact for a period of two years, although the Grantzian Empire retains the right to annex any portion of the Duchy of Lichtein in the event of a threat to national security.

Those aren’t bad terms, Rankeel thought. Not bad at all. The northern territories are hardly a breadbasket, and losing one oasis city won’t be the end of us. The empire will no doubt try to meddle within our borders under the guise of peacekeeping, but we can turn that to our advantage. And as for reparations...the old duke died sitting on a sizable hoard of private wealth. That ought to fetch us the coin.

He tried to send Karl a meaningful glance, but he was interrupted by the black-haired boy drumming his fingers on the table.

“I suppose you only have my word for this,” Hiro said, “but in the event that the Republic of Steissen attacks Lichtein, you can rely on imperial aid. You will have to foot the bill, of course.”

“Do you mean it?” Karl rose from his seat. That was far easier promised than done. By sending reinforcements to Lichtein’s aid, the empire would risk starting a war with Steissen. It already had its hands full trying to reassert order in Faerzen—surely it would want to avoid getting involved in more hostilities.

“Only if you want, naturally.”

“What of the war in Faerzen? Do you have the authority to promise your forces elsewhere?”

Hiro flashed Karl a smile. “The imperial military will hardly notice the loss, I assure you.”

Rankeel shuddered at the gesture. This boy was plotting something, that much he could tell, but the shape of it was shrouded in darkness, and he could only fumble for it blindly.

Hiro spread his hands toward the sheets of parchment. “If you find my terms acceptable, may I ask you for your signatures?”

There was no time to try and gauge the boy’s intentions, and trying to stall would only make him worsen the offer. Rankeel glanced sideways to see Karl pick up the pen. With a sigh of defeat, the marquis signed his name as well. Hiro took the parchment from their hands, checked that all was in order, exchanged a few words with the sixth princess, then handed the signed agreements to the advisor at his side.

A silence followed, until finally Rankeel spoke. “I’d ask you something, if you’ll hear it.”

Hiro turned his gaze on the marquis. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“I must admit to being outmatched in battle. You surrounded us handily. If I’m not mistaken, you employed much the same strategy I used against your forces.”

Rankeel had sought to lull the Fourth Legion into overconfidence with a string of easy victories, lure them deep into enemy territory, and surround them once they were exhausted from battle with the Liberation Army. Meanwhile, Hiro had baited the ducal army into believing that they had the upper hand with his false supplies, allowed them to overcommit to an inescapable situation, and surrounded them once they were exhausted. There were superficial differences, but the more Rankeel thought about it, the more the broad strokes seemed remarkably similar.

“So a man has to wonder, if only for the record...did you plan your approach in advance or did you choose it to put me in my place?”

“I see why it might have seemed that way. I realized what strategy you were employing from reports of the ducal army’s movements, but I only decided on how to counter it around the time I joined the Fourth Legion.”

“And that was when General von Kilo was still in command, I suppose?”

“That’s right. I didn’t know what state I’d find the Fourth Legion in, so I didn’t know in advance what kind of approach I would need.”

“I see.”

The boy avoided giving a direct answer, but the truth seemed to have been somewhere in the middle. He had concocted a variety of plans in advance, but he had deliberately chosen one that mirrored Rankeel’s own in order to break the man’s spirit.

“If that’s all, the Ministry of Military Affairs will dispatch a messenger shortly. You may direct any further questions to them.”

Hiro and the sixth princess rose. The latter left first. As Hiro made to follow, Rankeel hurriedly stopped him.

“One more thing, if I may. Why did you let me live? I am not a man for boasting, but the name of the Rising Hawk is one that our people love and our neighbors fear.”

Rankeel was not ignorant of his reputation as a national hero. If he was of a mind to swear revenge against the empire, he could easily mount an invasion once Lichtein was on more stable ground. Surely this boy was too intelligent to have overlooked that possibility.

“I admit my defeat, but even now, a part of me burns to reclaim my honor,” he continued. “It would be in your interest to snuff out such sparks before they could catch.”

He was astute enough to know when he was beaten, but that did not mean that he would bow easily. Being so late in the game, perhaps his question amounted only to a beaten dog’s whining, but he felt compelled to ask it, even if it earned him derision. The old scar on his cheek itched as he stared at the boy’s back.

“I would have your answer.”

“Marquis!” Karl hissed. His face was deathly white. If this boy took offense, both their heads could roll within minutes. Indeed, Drix was glaring at them with open disapproval, and had he been in Hiro’s place, he likely would have ordered Rankeel put to death.

Fortunately, the twinblack prince was more magnanimous. Hiro looked back over his shoulder. “You’re a clever man,” he said, gesturing to Rankeel’s scar. “I’m sure you can work it out.”

With that, he left. Drix silently followed.

Once they were gone, Karl let out a long breath and turned to Rankeel. “What were you thinking? They could have— What’s wrong? Why are you sweating?”

Rankeel knew only too well. Every inch of his skin was awash with cold sweat. In the moment Hiro had turned around, he had been assailed by a cold and overpowering bloodlust. Never in his life had he felt more certain that he was going to die.

Karl drew closer, concern in his eyes, but Rankeel was worlds away.

If Lichtein is to survive, there is only one course.

Karl would be no match for Hiro. Only a handful of men alive could withstand such an aura of might.

If we fail to prove that our lives were worth sparing...

The madness Rankeel had glimpsed in the depths of that black eye would stay with him for the rest of his days.

...he’ll come for both our heads.

Rankeel traced his scar with trembling fingertips. This had been a warning—that their lives were the boy’s to take. A castigation and a curse for them to carry into the days to come.