IV
The Independent Cavalry Regiment was in the midst of an intensive divide-and-conquer strategy. Although the lords of the north had folded to the empire, amongst the common folk, resentment towards their conquerors was alive and well. Under such conditions, even a small spark could spread out of control. To head off any unpleasant surprises, Rosenmarie had spread her forces out over vast swathes of the north after subduing the region. It was precisely this that Independent Cavalry Regiment’s current strategy was taking advantage of. Taking half the north in one blow meant that, without realizing it, the imperial army had spread its troops too thin. In a series of nighttime ambushes, the Independent Cavalry Regiment had already taken out fifteen imperial companies, as well as three small forts. The traitorous lords had, without meaning to, ended up creating highly favorable conditions for the Seventh Legion.
As the architect of this plan, Ashton sat with Olivia and Claudia around a campfire, eating a late dinner.
“Everything’s going according to plan so far,” Claudia said, holding a roasted drumstick in one hand and marking an X on the map spread at her feet with the other.
“For now, anyway,” Ashton muttered darkly. Intelligence reports indicated that the combined forces of the northern army had over seventy thousand soldiers. The Seventh Legion, meanwhile, had only twenty-five thousand. Their divide-and-conquer campaign had brought the empire’s number down to around sixty thousand now, but they were still outnumbered more than two to one. In open battle, they had no hope of victory.
“Our enemy is no fool,” Claudia said. “She’ll have realized her mistake in spreading out her forces by now. We’ll be in trouble if she decides to call them all back together.”
“I agree, Lieutenant. That’s why I think we should call an end to the divide-and-conquer plan now.”
“Wait, what? I’m not following,” said Claudia. She frowned, and looked down at the map again. “Shouldn’t we keep trying to shave down their numbers right down to the last moment?”
“Sorry, Lieutenant. Let me explain properly,” Ashton said. “What I mean is, we don’t need it any more. Here.” He pulled a letter from his jacket and held it out to Claudia. “I think this will make things clearer.” It was a letter from the intelligence team Ashton had put together to support their mission.
“Oh? Let’s see it then,” Claudia said. She unfolded the letter. The Independent Cavalry Regiment’s success, it read, had inspired a rapid increase in anti-empire sentiments amongst the common folk. They had also placed spies within the enemy forces who were spreading rumors of coming revolt.
“I see,” said Claudia when she finished reading. “So you’ve been doing intelligence manipulation behind the scenes. Yes, this should mean they hesitate before calling their forces back. No one likes the idea of being stabbed from behind. Am I right to think that this was the real goal of our plan all along?”
“You are correct, ser. We could only ever reduce the empire’s numbers so much. As it says in the letter, the common folk’s anti-imperial sentiments are growing stronger. We add in rumors of insurrection to the mix, and the empire can’t afford to ignore it. Do you know how many people live in the lands they conquered?”
“Around...” Claudia’s eyes flicked up for a second as she recalled the figure. “Three million or so, I think.”
“That’s right, ser. And that means the imperial forces stationed around the region have to be very, very careful how they act. At least, that’s how I see it.” Stronger than chains of iron were the invisible chains of fear and uncertainty. Ashton was confident that with this, around thirty thousand of the imperial army’s soldiers were effectively no longer a threat.
“Ashton...” said Claudia, looking at him with awe. “You’re terrifying.” Ashton scratched his face, trying to hide his embarrassment.
“I’m doing everything I can to survive, ser. That’s all. Now we should match the Crimson Knights for numbers—the northern army’s main force. We might be able to give them an even fight.” The Crimson Knights, stationed around Windsome Castle, had twenty-seven thousand soldiers. Contrary to what he said out loud, however, Ashton privately thought that they were still at a horrible disadvantage. Their one encounter with the Crimson Knights at the Amalheim Plains had given him an up-close look at their enemy’s fearsome strength. He wasn’t going to underestimate them.
“We’ve come this far thanks to you, Ashton,” said Claudia. “Now let us handle the rest. When it comes to a real fight, you’re a liability!”
Ashton forced a laugh at Claudia’s teasing, and said, “You’re right there, ser.”
Despite his ongoing lessons with Olivia, his sword and spear work had shown absolutely no improvement. Gile, who’d been conscripted at the same time as him, must have had some innate talent for fighting, because he’d improved so much it was hard to believe he was the same man who’d trembled with fear at the sight of bandits. In fact, this was true of all the new recruits who’d been on that first mission to Fort Lamburke.
Lately, Olivia had taken to telling him, in a voice that was just a little too kind, “Humans are good at some things, and not so good at others.” Given Gile had, indirectly, told him the same thing in the past, Ashton was trying to convince himself that he was okay with this.
Everyone has their role to play, he told himself. Balance, that’s the important thing. It doesn’t bother me at all.
“Major Olivia looks like she’s sleeping well,” Claudia observed, looking over to where Olivia sat slumped against a tree. She must have been exhausted, because she still held a half-eaten drumstick in one hand. A string of drool dripped from one corner of her greasy mouth. It was hard to believe that this was the god of death who struck fear into the hearts of the imperial army.
“The last few days have been battle after battle,” said Ashton. “I think we’ve been pushing her too hard.”
“Mm...” said Claudia. Then she suddenly burst out, “Doesn’t it just infuriate you that they’ve started calling her a god of death?” She brandished her fist as she went on. “Who ever heard of a god of death this sweet and beautiful? If anything, she’s an angel!” The speech was a little ridiculous, but Claudia herself was dead serious. Ashton, taken aback, mumbled a half-hearted reply, only to find Claudia glaring angrily at him.
“What’re you mumbling for? This is your fault, you know. Getting the Valedstorm crest carved into her armor...” Feeling that this was even more ridiculous, Ashton looked pointedly at Claudia’s own silver armor and the crest—a winged helmet over a shield—engraved there.
“My fault? Getting your crests engraved into your armor is what you nobles do,” he protested. “Isn’t that the Jung crest, Lieutenant?”
“I... Well, yes, but...” Claudia turned away from him as though to hide the crest. She got like this every now and then when the subject of house crests came up, and everything was always Ashton’s fault. For some reason, she couldn’t bear Olivia being called a god of death. Whenever Ashton tried to ask why, however, she dodged the question, so he was still in the dark as to the root of her anger.
“Ser, I agree that the Valedstorm crest is creepy, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the only reason they call her that,” he said. A skull, red roses, and two crossed scythes. He could certainly see the “god of death” connection, but if he were to pinpoint the real origin of the name, he thought it was more likely Olivia’s own exploits and the way she kept cutting through imperial soldiers like training dummies. He was now totally comfortable with seeing corpses cut cleanly in half, thanks to her. Gile and some of the others praised what she did as “the highest form of art.” Ashton expected it wouldn’t be long before Gile, whose faith in Olivia bordered on fanatical, started calling her a goddess. That wasn’t how the imperial army saw her, though. Which brought them here.
“Oh? Then what do you think the reason is?” Claudia demanded, rounding on him threateningly, her eyes serious. Ashton decided the way she slices people up like sausage meat wasn’t a good answer here.
“I, um...” he stammered. “But I mean, it doesn’t seem to bother Olivia.”
“Yes, that’s true. I don’t understand it at all,” said Claudia, cocking her head and looking utterly baffled. “She hated it when they called her a monster.”
Olivia didn’t mind being called a god of death at all. On the contrary, she seemed to be enjoying it. Ashton suspected that was why Claudia kept all her frustration pent up like this instead of voicing it openly. It was obvious from her body language as she flung more branches onto the fire. Ashton, who often ended up on the receiving end of her outbursts, was getting sick of it.
“Well, how about this,” he tried again. “A god of death is still a god, right? Maybe she likes being thought of as a deity.”
“Of all the damned fool—!” Claudia shouted, then caught herself. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t speak so.” She threw a sharp look at Ashton, who stared at her, then turned her face away, clearing her throat. Her cheeks were slightly pink. She was embarrassed over her outburst.
“Huh. That’s another side to you, Lieutenant,” Ashton remarked.
“What are you smirking for?” she snapped back.
“I’m not, ser, it was just...unexpected. I know I shouldn’t say this to a superior officer, but it was actually quite cute.”
“C-Cute?!” Claudia said, now unmistakably bright red. “H-How dare you! You watch your mouth, Warrant Officer!” She threw another branch onto the fire. Ashton laughed, rubbing his head apologetically.
“Ashton, Claudia, be quiet!” They both spun around, but Olivia was still fast asleep. She must have been sleep-talking. Ashton met Claudia’s eyes, and they both snorted with laughter.
“Well, anyway,” said Claudia, her smile soft now. “The hard part is about to begin. Let’s make sure we’re ready.” She held out her hand to him. The Seventh Legion now matched their enemy in numbers, but that enemy was still the Crimson Knights. Any mistake, no matter how small, could be disastrous. There was a good chance they would die.
Even so, Ashton gripped Claudia’s hand tightly, and said, “Thank you, ser. I’m honored to fight alongside you.” He couldn’t help but feel like so long as he had these two at his side, they could face anything. He looked up at the sky, to where a multitude of stars shone above them.
The Council Chamber at Windsome Castle
A war council was underway in what had formerly been the throne room at Windsome Castle. The attendants sat around a heavy, thick-topped round table. The topic of discussion was none other than the disruptions brought up by the god of death.
“Anti-imperial sentiment is strengthening amongst the common folk after our forces in a number of locations around the north were wiped out by the god of death, my lady,” said an officer. “We’re hearing rumors of open revolt, and all the commanders are requesting reinforcements.”
Rosenmarie frowned. “As if we’d send them reinforcements! How stupid can they get?”
“Should I deny the requests then, ser?”
“Obviously. Tell them to handle it with the soldiers they’ve got. If they’ve got rebels running around, they can burn a village or two, for all I care. Make an example out of them.”
As far as Rosenmarie was concerned, commoners, as a species, were easily swayed. If they did rise up, the sight of a slaughtered town or village would cow them soon enough.
“Yes, my lady. I’ll see to it at once,” said the officer, before hurrying from the room. Another entered shortly afterwards, coming over to whisper something in Guyel’s ear. As he listened, Guyel’s frown grew deeper and deeper.
“What’s up?” Rosenmarie asked.
“It’s a report from our sentries watching Emaleid, my lady. They say the main force has moved out and is heading for Windsome Castle.”
“The main force?” Rosenmarie said, then chuckled. “Well, well. We’ve been outplayed. Whoever the Seventh Legion has on strategy must be quite the mastermind.” The other officers looked at each other in confusion. Guyel leaned forward.
“My lady? What do you mean?” he asked.
“Aren’t you listening? I just told you,” Rosenmarie said, snorting dismissively. For a few moments Guyel sat perfectly still, then he leapt to his feet.
“You don’t mean the Seventh Legion engineered this whole situation?!” he cried. “Surely not, my lady?” There was a pause; then the whole room erupted as everyone realized at once how the Seventh Legion had played them for fools. It was a wretched turn of events, but Rosenmarie wasn’t about to blame her officers for failing to see through a scheme she herself hadn’t seen coming until this very moment.
“You’re commanders, right? Look at the big picture,” she said. “The Seventh Legion has mobilized its main force at the absolute perfect moment to take advantage of the current situation. What more proof do you need?” Depending on how fast they moved, the Seventh Legion would be at Windsome Castle in three or four days at most.
“My lady, doesn’t that mean...” began a young officer hoarsely. “Doesn’t that mean that with the exception of the Crimson Knights, all our forces are effectively useless?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Rosenmarie replied. Amongst the clamor that filled the council room, Rosenmarie gave a deliberate shrug. Guyel was the hardest hit. He sat staring into space, his lips trembling.
“But if that’s...if that’s true, how can you be so calm, Lady Rosenmarie?” asked an elderly retainer, peering perplexedly at her. “The news seems to have barely affected you at all.” There was a general noise of assent from the others.
“What, were you all hoping to see me get hysterical?” she replied. “I still can, if you want.”
“Oh, no, not at all, my lady!” spluttered the old retainer. The other officers looked away awkwardly. She’d only been teasing, but apparently it hadn’t come across that way.
“There’s nothing to panic about, anyway,” she said. “Our intelligence says the Seventh Legion has twenty-eight thousand soldiers. We have twenty-seven thousand. I hope no one thinks the Crimson Knights are about to lose in an even battle.” She glared around the room at the officers. They all nodded emphatically, their mouths tightly shut.
Guyel broke the silence. “That would, of course, be unthinkable,” he said. “But there is still one problem.” His tone was laden with significance. Rosenmarie knew exactly what he meant without needing further explanation, but she asked regardless. It was more fun that way.
“And what’s that?” she said. Guyel hesitated for a moment, then seemed to steel himself.
“That, my lady, is the god of death lurking in their ranks. The god of death who murdered Colonel Vollmer like a cat with a mouse. I must warn against being too optimistic.” He paused again before continuing, picking his words carefully. “Not to mention that this god of death seems to be after you in particular, my lady.”
Rosenmarie laughed. “And what higher honor could there be? Our monster has been promoted to a god of death, and now she’s coming all the way here to see little old me. We’d better make sure to throw her one hell of a welcome party.” Before Guyel could open his mouth again, Rosenmarie moved the conversation on to battle preparations, then dismissed them. She left the council room in high spirits.
Not long now, Death God Olivia, she thought. I’m going to rip that pretty head of yours off and use it to decorate General Osvannes’s grave—along with my report of the Seventh Legion’s annihilation!
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