Chapter Three: Scattering Death
I
“Why is it taking so long to conquer one damn fort?!” Field Marshal Liberal Altoria of the Royal Swaran Army bellowed at the row of officers before him. Just over a week had passed since they stormed Fort Peshitta, which was defended by the Sixth Legion. Despite their initial optimism that the fort would fall in less than three days, its gates remained tightly shut. Attempts to scale the walls directly with ladders had been beaten back before they could make it inside. Liberal crushed the letter clenched in his fist and threw it to the ground.
I’ve had it with Gladden, that old bastard. Sending an urgent messenger with this dreck. “Hurry up and take the fort or I’ll strip you of your command”? Who the hell does he think he is?! We might have been defeated and ended up a vassal to the empire, but no one talks to me like that!
One year earlier, just after Fernest lost its prized Kier Fortress, the empire had expanded the scope of its campaigns to invade the Swaran Kingdom. The hot-blooded young king, Hyde von Swaran, tore up the official letter the empire’s messenger brought him on the spot. It was a lengthy missive, but the key point was that the glorious Asvelt Empire had, in the height of arrogance, placed the Swaran Kingdom under its protection. In a blind rage, Hyde cut down the messenger and, ignoring his ministers’ remonstrations, declared that he himself would lead the army out to meet the empire.
Their clash in the Leanwell Hills, at the northernmost point of Swaran’s lands, was later dubbed the Battle of Swaran. At the hands of Georg and the Steel Chargers, the Swaran Army suffered a crushing defeat. Hyde was captured, and three days later he and most of his ministers were executed. Following this, the empire had not made Swaran part of the empire, but rather crowned the young Allen von Swaran as its new king. Swaran was still recognized as an independent nation in name, but anyone could see that Allen lacked the power to rule it. In the end, Gladden was appointed as chancellor-regent, and he now wielded absolute power over the nation’s governance from the far-off Kier Fortress.
As Liberal gnashed his teeth in rage, one officer tremulously spoke up, shrinking away he did so. “My lord, the enemy soldiers look exhausted. I think things will look up for us soon.”
“‘Soon,’ ‘soon,’ all any of you can say is ‘soon!’ If memory serves, I’ve been hearing that word for three days straight. Tell me, just when is this ‘soon’ of yours, exactly?” replied Liberal, glaring at the officer. The young officer shrank away further still as he mopped at the sweat running down his face.
Although neither the officers nor Liberal himself realized it yet, after the Swaran Army’s incessant assault, the Sixth Legion was, in fact, almost at their breaking point.
Sara’s Room at Fort Peshitta
“Princess Sara, your dinner is ready.”
Sara sat up slowly in bed and looked at the tray Roland had left on the table for her. Brown bread cut in half and water with a few scraps of vegetable matter floating in it that was supposed to be soup. Totally unfit for a princess under normal circumstances.
“Thank you, but I’m afraid I’m not hungry,” she said, shaking her head and looking down to avoid Roland’s anxious gaze.
“I beg your pardon, Princess, but you said the same thing six hours ago. You must eat something, or you won’t regain your strength,” Roland said. He showed no sign of leaving. He clearly intended to stay right where he stood until she ate something. Silence hung in the air for a brief moment, then Sara looked up to regard Roland straight on.
“In that case, I shall speak plainly,” she said. “I am still a princess, and this disgusting muck turns my stomach. The very sight of it offends me. Take it away at once,” she said, then flung a nearby pillow at Roland, sending a cloud of feathers fluttering into the air as it made contact. Sara grimaced, then looked away.
“Princess Sara...” said Roland, “You can play-act the fickle princess all you like. It may work on others, but it will never fool me.”
“Wh-What do you...” Sara stammered. Roland smiled sadly.
“You are a good person, Princess. You think that anything you don’t eat yourself can be passed on to the soldiers. Is that right?”
Sara gave a derisive laugh. “Oh, Roland, your fanciful notions are becoming positively delusional. As I said, I will not eat anything not fit for a princess,” she scoffed. The look Roland gave her in response was harsher than any she’d seen until now.
“And not only that—you mean to give up your life in the end,” he said. Sara was shocked speechless as he continued. “I have served you for ten years, Your Highness. I flatter myself that I understand you well. Most likely, you intend to sacrifice yourself in exchange for the lives of your soldiers. You should not assume, however, that our enemy will accept such terms.”
“But I’m a princess—”
“So I was right, then...” sighed Roland. Sara realized her blunder too late. No number of excuses would convince him now. She decided to come forward with the truth.
“There is no other way. If there’s any possibility that my life could save everyone else’s, I have to make that gamble... Not that my last gamble paid off.”
“You mean the hope for reinforcements, Your Highness?” asked Roland. Sara nodded mutely. A week had passed since their messenger had left Fort Peshitta, and they had seen neither hide nor hair of the Seventh Legion. Sara had already made up her mind that they weren’t coming.
“We don’t... We don’t know that yet,” Roland said, but Sara could hear the faint tremor in his voice. She got up from her bed and stretched.
“I’m afraid time is already up,” she said. “Now, bring me my armor. I’ll never be able to face the House of Rivier if I’m beheaded looking like this, let alone the Royal Family.” Sara tugged on the sleeves of her nightgown and gave Roland a particularly beaming smile.
The Rear Guard of the Swaran Army
Second Lieutenant Marcel was enjoying a leisurely breakfast when a young soldier came rushing into his tent, the color drained from their face.
“What’s the racket at this hour of the morning? Has Fort Peshitta fallen at last, then?”
“N-No, ser!” replied the soldier. “The enemy is coming to surround us from behind!” Marcel spat out the bread he was chewing.
“The enemy?! You mean Fernest?!”
“Y-Yes ser! They’re flying lion banners!”
When Liberal assigned Marcel to the rear guard, he had left him with a mere five hundred soldiers. The message was that this was a mere formality, and indeed it was. Liberal had dismissed Fernest’s army as little more than a nuisance, believing that in its current state, there was no chance of reinforcements arriving. Things had been so quiet that Marcel had almost forgotten there was a war going on. Getting this news felt like being doused with a bucket of ice water.
“How many?!”
“Huh?” The soldier looked nonplussed for a moment.
“What the hell do mean, ‘huh?!’” Marcel bellowed. “Tell me how many soldiers the enemy has!”
“A-Around three...three thousand, ser!” the soldier replied, swallowing several times as they spoke.
“Three thousand...” Marcel, too, gulped loudly. It was simple arithmetic—the enemy force was six times their own. It wouldn’t even be a fight. Marcel’s thoughts went straight to retreat.
“What are your orders, ser?”
“Orders? Get ready to retreat, what else?” He thought that he should send an urgent message to the main force to call for reinforcements, but there was no time even for that now.
“You... You mean retreat back to Swaran?”
“Are you an idiot?! We rejoin the main army! Now get out of my sight and start preparations!”
“Y-Yes, ser!” The young soldier barreled out of the tent. Marcel watched them go and heaved a great sigh. A great number of promising soldiers had been lost at the Battle of Swaran, so while the main force might be better off, the rear guard was made up of green recruits with next to no experience in battle. They looked like they’d been plowing fields up ’til not so long ago.
Even if I had twice as many soldiers, I wouldn’t like my chances for victory... Marcel thought with a self-deprecating smile. He picked up his sword where it sat propped up.
When he exited the tent only a little behind the young soldier, the shock of what met his eyes struck him dumb. He understood now just how complacent he had been. Already, his company was hemmed in by enemy soldiers, who held their bows taut and ready to shoot at any moment. All his allies had their arms raised in the air.
“What happened to them?” he asked a pale-faced soldier, looking over at a number of corpses that lay in front of them. Both were cut in half, like a child’s idea of a sword fight. That was not normal.
“Th-That one did it, ser. A-Alone,” replied the soldier, lifting a trembling hand. Where he pointed, there stood a young girl so radiantly beautiful she might have come down from heaven. Blood dripped from the ebony blade in her hand. She wore the armor of Fernest’s royal army, which meant she had to be a soldier, but Marcel couldn’t quite wrap his mind around this.
That little girl killed those soldiers? And from how the others are acting, she’s their commander. Is this some kind of joke? He struggled to connect the bodies, cleaved in two, and the young girl in his mind. The girl smiled, showing white teeth, then came slowly towards him.
Eh? Marcel started. What’s this strange sense I’m getting?
Marcel, descended from a family of mystic seers, began to sense an unnameable aura emanating from the girl. As the distance between them narrowed, the feeling grew stronger, until he was left struggling to hold down the fear and nausea that threatened to bubble up from his stomach. The girl stopped in front of him.
“You’re the commanding officer here?” she asked.
“That...That’s right...”
“What’s your name?”
“Ma...Marcel,” he said. It was as though the world was being swallowed by darkness.
“I’m Olivia. Nice to meet you. I actually have a favor to ask, if that’s okay.”
“At this point, we don’t really have a choice.”
Oh. I know this sense. There’s no mistaking it.
“Okay. So I want you to take us to the main force of the Swaran Army. To the commander there, if possible.”
“Very well. I’ll take you myself. In exchange, I request you spare the lives of my soldiers. Almost all of them were just farmers until the other day.”
I cannot defy this girl.
“Got it. You can rest assured that so long as they don’t resist, I won’t kill them. You know, you Swaran soldiers are much better behaved than the imperial soldiers. Everything goes so much more smoothly,” the girl said. “Right, first we all need to change so they can’t tell we’re from Fernest. Ahh, this is going to be fun! Just like the Masked Knight Shalia from my picture book!” The girl ran her finger slowly along the armor of a soldier who looked like they might burst into tears.
This girl...
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