Chapter One: The Girl They Called Hero; The Girl They Called Monster
I
Tempus Fugit 999
The leaves grew darker and more vibrant, leaving behind the graceful palette of early spring as summer drew near in the capital. Around this time, the city should have been at its most vibrant, alive with trade and commerce.
“I heard our army in the north got done in by the empire.”
“Eh? Doesn’t that mean they’ll be coming here soon?”
“We’ve got the invincible General Cornelius and his First Legion here, so I reckon we’ll be all right. Still...”
“Hey, don’t be so sure. He might do a runner and abandon us here.”
The citizens of the capital all knew of how the Third and Fourth Legions, riding on the wings of their victory at the Battle of Berchel, had then marched on the empire itself. So the news of their defeat had come as a heavy blow. Along with this came the realization that northern Fernest had fallen under imperial control. The shrewder merchants saw this, decided there was no hope for Fis, and one after another departed the city, making for the jewel of the south—the United City-States of Sutherland. Now, getting enough food to make it through each day was a matter of life and death for the people of Fis. As the number of merchants shrank, so too did the flow of supplies into the city.
Of course, the royal capital had storehouses to provide for the populace in such times, and the First Legion was constantly on watch, so there was none of the rioting and thievery that had broken out in other regions. Even so, none could fail to see that as the days went by, things were only getting worse.
The Audience Chamber in Leticia Castle, Fis
When the news arrived that Fort Caspar had been won, King Alfonse sem Galmond of Fernest was halfway through his meal. Despite this, he leapt to his feet in an ecstatic dance. It wasn’t just that this was their first victory in who knew how long. He felt sure that this could only add to the momentum they needed to make a move on Kier Fortress. Only two months later, however, the situation had turned against them once more. Upon hearing of the Third and Fourth Legion’s defeat, Alfonse plunged into an abyss of despair. Without the Third and Fourth Legions ready for battle, retaking Kier Fortress was off the table. It would be the height of foolishness to dispatch the First Legion in such circumstances.
And then the bad news just kept coming. When the Royce Company, merchants who had maintained intimate ties with the royal family for generations, vanished from the capital without a trace, Alfonse felt as though the ground beneath his feet was crumbling away. They might as well have declared to his face that Fernest was finished.
The light of the setting sun was fading, just like any hope for Fernest’s future, staining the silent audience chamber vermilion red. Not even the ever-present king’s guard were standing watch today.
Has it already been four years since this war began? It’s so much quieter here than it used to be... thought Cornelius. He had come seeking an audience with Alfonse. He looked over at the dais, set in a deep recess at the other end of the room, and smiled sadly. Now, there were none of the people who had once come every day seeking the king’s ear. The great doors carved with lions hardly opened at all. The chamber was as spotless as ever, but now all the grand ornaments and furnishings seemed to suck the warmth from the room. As he indulged this lapse into sentimentality, Cornelius heard the faint sound of several sets of footsteps from the door at the very back of the chamber. Amongst the perfect rhythm of the others, one of their number dragged their feet. Cornelius knew those footsteps well.
Well, well. His Majesty is here at last... Cornelius promptly knelt to show his respect. Moments later, the doors opened and Alfonse appeared, several of his king’s guard in tow. He glanced at Cornelius, then collapsed heavily onto the throne.
“What are we to do then, old man? I... I confess I am at an utter loss,” said Alfonse with a heavy sigh. “Not that I ever know what I ought to do...” His voice was little more than a feeble whine, devoid of any spirit, and his face was paler than candle wax. The king’s attendants had told Cornelius how Alfonse only picked at this food, and he had undoubtedly lost a great deal of weight. It was hard to believe the frail man before him was the King of Fernest, and the thought pained him.
“Now, Your Majesty, you mustn’t be so gloomy!” Cornelius said, trying to rouse him. “We have driven the imperial army from the south, and are poised to strike back in the north! With your leave, my king, I will lead the First Legion out to the northern front myself.”
“N-No!” cried Alfonse, his voice ragged. “That, I shall never allow. The First Legion is to defend the capital—the central lands. That’s all I have to say on that!” At the king’s vehement rejection, Cornelius sighed, his shoulders slumping. The royal capital of Fis sat at the heart of the central lands and had enjoyed generations of prosperity as a hub of trade. These lands were well traveled, far more so than the northern and southern regions, and with those people came money and goods. After their many defeats, there were far fewer travelers than in the past, but even now the central lands were vital in supporting the kingdom. Alfonse had next to no aptitude for military affairs, but he knew his way around finance. Cornelius, therefore, opted not to push any further for the mobilization of the First Legion. Alfonse’s denial this time carried far more weight than it had when they’d been discussing Fort Caspar.
“Does that mean, Your Majesty, that you will leave the defense of the central front to the Second Legion alone? If the imperial forces in the north come south, the Second Legion will be surrounded and wiped out.”
“I know!” snapped Alfonse. “It is a horrible situation. Even I’ve grasped that much. But there’s nothing more we can do...” He leaned forward, cradling his face in his hands. Cornelius was at a loss for words. He had stood beside Alfonse, watching over him since the king’s youth, but he had never seen him in such a pitiful state before. He was also reassured, however, to hear that Alfonse was taking the plight of the Second Legion seriously.
“Your Majesty, the Second Legion has requested the aid of the Seventh Legion in handling the imperial forces in the north. What say you?” demanded Cornelius. Alfonse looked up, his perfectly shaped eyebrows knitting together in surprise.
“The Seventh Legion...? Aren’t they defending Fort Caspar? And Galia Fortress?”
“You need not worry about that, Your Majesty. The Seventh Legion has established a rock-solid line of defense around Fort Caspar and can move without impediment,” replied Cornelius. Alfonse peered at him suspiciously.
“You aren’t trying to trick me?” he asked.
“My king, I would not dream of engaging in such duplicity,” said Cornelius, meeting the king’s gaze directly so as to expel all doubt. Alfonse continued to press him on what would happen if the imperial army marched from Kier Fortress. He seemed afraid that after their hard-won victory, Fort Caspar might be stolen from them again. Such anxiety was deplorable in a monarch, but as he was in charge of the military, Cornelius also knew he should bear the blame for inciting it.
“The Seventh Legion has a major general with a proven record in defensive strategy protecting Fort Caspar. The terrain around the fort is also in our favor. Even if the empire sends a great army against them, they should be able to repel it,” Cornelius answered with confidence. Alfonse’s eyelids drooped closed. Time passed. Five minutes, or was it ten? Or longer? Cornelius waited patiently until at last, Alfonse slowly opened his eyes again and heaved a deep sigh.
“Very well. I shall trust you on this, old man. You have my leave to send the Seventh Legion to the Second Legion’s aid. The First Legion stays here in the capital, for the defense of the central lands. Will that do?”
“Indeed, it shall! I am very much obliged to you, Your Majesty.”
“We can’t have you threatening to retire again, after all,” said Alfonse, his voice tinged with sarcasm. He rose, looking exhausted, then left the audience chamber. As his footsteps died away, the room sank once more into silence. Left alone, Cornelius sighed and stood up slowly.
I’ve done all I can do for them at my age... Now it’s up to the Seventh Legion—to Paul—to do the rest...
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