III
Crimson Knight Command on the West side of the Carnac Ravine
“What’s the current state of the battle?” Rosenmarie asked, throwing herself into a chair in the command tent.
“We have the advantage at present, my lady,” Guyel replied. He spread a map out on the table and filled Rosenmarie in on the details of the fighting so far. Although the mist had resulted in heavier losses than anticipated, it was all within an acceptable range. The Seventh Legion’s strategy centered around longbow attacks. They were as good as admitting that the Crimson Knights had the upper hand in close combat. Guyel wanted to strike a decisive blow and force an end to it all, but the Seventh Legion’s pet death god threw a wrench in that plan. They couldn’t afford any rash mistakes.
“I get the picture. It’s all pretty much going how we wanted,” said Rosenmarie. “Now, have you found the death god yet?”
Guyel shook his head. “None of our units have been able to locate her.”
“Seriously? She’s still creeping around like a rat out there?” Rosenmarie said. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her crimson eyes. She herself didn’t seem to realize how her obsession with killing the death god radiated from her. As far as Guyel could tell, it wasn’t a dark and brooding sort of obsession. Rather, it was like the wind, crisp and refreshing. It seemed to invigorate her. This terrified Guyel in a way he couldn’t explain, and from that fear a new sense of resolve welled up within him. No matter how many had to die, the death god had to be killed—before Rosenmarie took matters into her own hands. He heard rapid footsteps just as a messenger came dashing into the tent.
“I have a report, ser!” they announced. “We found the body of Major Mills around the middle of the river. Reports say a great number of bodies washed up further downstream. Everything indicates that Major Mills’s unit was destroyed.”
Faint lines appeared on Rosenmarie’s forehead as she turned to Guyel. “That’s the unit you sent to attack the Seventh Legion from behind, isn’t it?”
“Yes, my lady,” he replied. He hadn’t expected this. It would impact the rest of his strategy. Guyel sighed, then looked down at the messenger who still kneeled before them. The messenger was staring at him, as though asking permission to say more.
“What?” he demanded. “Was there something else?”
The messenger hesitated, then said, with an air of conviction, “Ser, know that what I say next is merely my own conjecture.” Guyel, feeling strangely uneasy, glanced at Rosenmarie. She nodded her approval, and he turned back to the messenger.
“We’ll hear it. What’s this conjecture of yours?” he said.
“Thank you, ser. According to my sources, Major Mills was found cut in half, along with a number of the other corpses in a similar state. It’s hard to believe this was the work of ordinary soldiers.”
“Which is to say you think it was the death god,” Rosenmarie cut in. The messenger gave a nervous nod. As they did so, another messenger entered the tent, falling heavily to one knee before Rosenmarie.
“My lady!” they cried. “Major General Listenburk is dead! He fell on the Levis Pass. His unit was utterly wiped out!” The dismay felt by other officers in the command tent at this latest piece of bad news was palpable. Unlike Mills, Listenburk was a general—the first general to die in the battle. Processing the sudden turn for the worse the battle had taken, Guyel’s unease expanded rapidly.
“General Listenburk had four thousand soldiers under his command! You can’t—” Guyel began, hunting desperately for a way to deny it, but the messenger cut him off.
“They were defeated by the Death God Olivia and her army, a force of three thousand!”
“No...” Guyel said helplessly. He was unable to deceive himself any longer. The significance of what had happened was clear. In the fourth day alone, the death god and her army had wiped out more than a fifth of the Crimson Knights. He felt as though the death god’s great scythe, hanging above them, had now come swinging down. A shudder ran through him.
Rosenmarie only laughed darkly. “Death God Olivia...” she hissed. “She’s putting on a real show for us now. The slaughter isn’t going to end, not until I go out myself.” She took the water flask a servant offered her, drained it in a single gulp, then banged it down on the table. Her crimson eyes gleamed like those of a predatory beast eyeing its prey.
Guyel, seeing all his fears made real before him, began to panic. “My lady, please reconsider!” he cried.
“What’s there to reconsider?” Rosenmarie retorted. “Do you have another idea for how to stop her?” She finished with a derisive snort.
“I have a plan, my lady! A good one!” Guyel said, rushing to explain.
First, they would gather up their scattered forces. Then they would surround the death god and her army with ten thousand soldiers, wearing them down with successive waves of attacks. However formidable, she still only had three thousand soldiers. In war, it all came down to numbers in the end. The simplicity of a strategy that relied purely on that fact would make it almost impossible to counter.
Rosenmarie listened in silence, and Guyel saw a flicker of uncertainty on her face.
“That’s hardly a plan,” she said. “You want to send more than half our force to attack the death god? Let’s say we do just that. The rest of the Seventh Legion isn’t just here for show. While all our attention is focused on the death god they’ll probably come and strike at me directly. That’s what I’d do if I were them.”
“You’re right, my lady, I can’t rule that out,” Guyel admitted. “But if we are to weigh the death god’s army against the rest of the Seventh Legion, the death god is surely the greater threat. If we can only kill her, we can mop up the rest later.”
Guyel didn’t mean to make light of the Seventh Legion. He simply genuinely didn’t believe that they posed a threat to the Crimson Knights, and all the reports he’d heard had only confirmed his opinion. He calculated that even if the Seventh Legion sent a massive force to mount a surprise attack, if the Crimson Knights closed their defenses and held their ground it should be possible to hold them at bay. If they could only kill the death god, the Crimson Knights could turn around and catch the Seventh Legion in a pincer strike. He heard the other officers expressing their agreement. Now, he just needed Rosenmarie to change her mind.
“No,” she said shortly. “Your suggestion is rejected.” Guyel knew he couldn’t just back down here, though. Rosenmarie’s life was at stake.
“Why, my lady? At least give me a reason.”
“Why...?” she echoed. “Fine, let’s go through it then. It’ll take time to gather together our forces. Do you think the death god is going to sit quietly in the meantime? We’ll just be giving her time to continue picking off our units with this divide-and-conquer plan. Above all, the ravine is too narrow to move ten thousand soldiers around in. The reason we chose this area is because our soldiers’ experience with mountainous terrain makes it best suited to their skills. That’s also why we broke them up into smaller units that can coordinate attacks. Now, Guyel, you’re asking me to take away their edge.”
“But my lady, we’ve seen that the divide-and-conquer strategy is working. And there are places within the ravine that can accommodate a force of ten thousand.”
“That’s true,” Rosenmarie said, but her smile was mocking. “How do you plan to get the death god there? Offer her sweets?” Guyel countered, suggesting that they send a unit in as bait—the very strategy that had led to the empire’s crushing defeat back at the Battle of Berkel. The scale was much smaller this time, but the circumstances were otherwise fundamentally identical.
Rosenmarie made an approving noise. “Not bad. Except that it requires the death god to be a total moron.”
“What do you mean?”
Rosenmarie smiled like she’d been waiting for him to ask. “Forgotten already, Guyel? This girl neutralized thirty thousand of our soldiers. In other words, she’s not going to fall for your trap.” She ran her slender fingers softly down his cheek. Guyel groaned in frustration, and she patted him lightly on the back as though comforting a child.
“Don’t look so pathetic, Guyel. I won’t stand for it from my own aide,” she said, laughing. “The death god won’t fall for your trap, but I haven’t ruled out your plan just yet.”
“You... You mean...?” Guyel said, leaning forward eagerly before he could help himself. Rosenmarie held up a hand and he fell back.
“We’ll use your plan as a base. I’ll add the finishing touches.”
“Finishing... My lady, what are you planning?” Guyel demanded. Rosenmarie only smirked. She wanted him to guess. Guyel wracked his brains, but failing to alight on any obvious answer he shook his head, admitting surrender. Rosenmarie’s smile grew wider. She leaned forward so that her lips almost brushed Guyel’s ear.
“Don’t you see? The bait we use to lure the death god into our trap will be me.”
“You’re not going to tell me where your commander is either? You know if you do, we’ll let you live,” Olivia said. “Oh, and I’ll give you a cookie! Just one, though.”
“Die in hell!” the man in front of her roared, his face twisting in anger as he swung his sword at her. Olivia caught the blade between her fingers just before it reached her throat, and the man’s blue eyes bulged in shock. Olivia, unfazed by this interruption, held the edge of her sword up to the man’s neck.
“Let’s try that again. Please tell me where your commander is?” When the man was silent, she added, “I’ll let you live, and I really will give you a cookie—Oh! Are you worried about your teeth rotting? Don’t worry, they won’t really rot.”
The man still didn’t answer.
“Oh, well. Okay then,” Olivia said. She adjusted her grip, then slashed her blade across the man’s neck. A burst of bright red blood splattered across her face.
“Major, we’ve cleaned up the last of them,” Claudia said, then saw the man’s head on the ground. “I see this one didn’t give the location up either,” she remarked, handing Olivia a handkerchief. Olivia thanked her, before beginning to scrub at the blood on her face.
“No, he wouldn’t say anything at the end. I don’t get why they’re all in such a hurry to die.”
“They’re soldiers to the bone, and soldiers stay loyal,” Claudia replied with an approving nod. “It’s admirable, even in an enemy.”
“But they’ll never eat tasty food or sweets ever again...” Olivia said. “That’s a big no from me.” Claudia watched with a bittersweet smile as Olivia cleaned the blood off her blade and returned it to its scabbard.
“That, ser,” she said, “is what it means to be loyal,” There was a hint of pride in her voice. Olivia, meanwhile, wasn’t convinced that loyalty was as important as all that. She didn’t get it at all. There was still a lot about humans she needed to learn. Claudia, however, obviously valued it highly.
I know one thing, though, she thought. If Claudia goes and dies for the sake of “loyalty,” I’ll kill it. I swear, I’ll kill it dead on the spot. Olivia’s hands curled tightly into fists.
Just then, a familiar voice echoed out. “Olivia, orders came from the lord commander. He wants us to return to command,” Ashton called, waving as he walked over. Olivia narrowed her eyes at him.
No, I don’t need to worry about Ashton, she thought. He’s not about to start talking about dying for loyalty.
“Huh?” Ashton said, touching his cheek nervously. “Is there something on my face?”
Olivia smiled at him. “Oh, no, there’s nothing. What’s that about calling us back? Did something bad happen?”
“Not sure. Though from what the messenger told me, the battle’s been going poorly for the rest of the Seventh Legion,” replied Ashton. “We’d better head off as soon as we’re ready. Get some rest, okay?” He then turned to Claudia. “Lieutenant, might I have a word about our plans from here on out?” He pulled out a map, and the two of them walked away, deep in discussion.
Why does my chest get all warm when I look at those two? It’s so strange. I feel like I just ate a bowl of hot soup, Olivia thought. The sensation mystified her. In all the years she spent living with Z, she had never felt anything like this warmth. Perhaps if she stayed with Ashton and Claudia, one day she could solve this latest mystery.
With her mind still on this, she ran over and dived on the other two, then squeezed herself in between them. While they looked at her in surprise, Olivia linked her arms into theirs, locking them in her viselike grip. The smile she gave them was innocence itself.
Seventh Legion Command, the Carnac Ravine
The Independent Cavalry Regiment returned to command, as Paul ordered. As though he had been waiting for them, Olivia and the others had barely set foot in the camp when they were summoned to a war council.
“I summoned you back here urgently for one reason. We’ve had word of major activity within the enemy army. Colonel Otto will explain.”
“Yes, ser,” Otto barked, standing up before turning to the ranks of officers. He informed them that what appeared to be the Crimson Knights’ main force had reassembled downriver. Their commander was protected by a mere three thousand soldiers. According to the Seventh Legion’s scouts, there was no trace in the vicinity of the other units that ought to have been there protecting the camp.
“They’ve chosen a particularly wide-open section of the ravine here,” said one of the Seventh Legion’s older veteran officers. “The Crimson Knights are at their best fighting in the mountains—that’s how they’ve been overpowering us so far. But now they’ve thrown away that advantage? It’s madness. And to leave their command exposed with a mere three thousand soldiers...” He shook his head. “I just don’t understand it.” The other officers nodded in agreement. Only Ashton didn’t react. He was staring at the battle map on the table, deep in thought. Olivia, meanwhile, had a brand-new bit of cloth out and was using it to polish her armor. She seemed very pleased with the ebony plate. Otto kept shooting frosty glances her way, and every time he did so Claudia would hiss at Olivia to pay attention. Olivia would obediently look up, but soon enough she returned to her polishing. This cycle had been playing on repeat for a while.
“It’s a puzzle, no doubt about it, but might this not be the chance we’ve been waiting for?” pointed out one officer.
“Just so,” agreed another. “If we can catch them unawares, we could take out their commander. Lord Paul, we should march out right away.”
“I think so too,” said a third, as the other officers all murmured in agreement. It had been a hard battle, and many of them were happy for any way out. The whole room seemed to be leaning towards a surprise attack on the enemy command. Paul listened, stroking his chin, then without warning, he turned to Ashton.
“Warrant Officer Ashton, what do you think? I want your honest opinion.”
“Y-Yes, ser...” Ashton answered. “I think we can safely say that this is a trap. We definitely shouldn’t just march in there.”
“Oh?” said Paul. “And what makes you so sure?” Ashton took the black piece representing the enemy command, and placed it on the battle map. All eyes around the room were fixed on him. He had contradicted everyone else in the room, but not one officer raised their voice in dissent. It was hard to argue with Ashton’s record. Even Osmund, who had been so quick to mock him last time, was quiet as a mouse. There was something like shame in his eyes as he hung on Ashton’s every word.
“Why are they suddenly trying to appear totally defenseless?” Ashton began. “At a glance, it might look like the perfect opportunity to strike at their command, but the moment we do so is when the trap will snap shut.” He placed a number of new black pieces on the map in a ring around the first. “Their forces will be lying in wait for us at a distance. That’s why our scouts didn’t spot them in the vicinity of the enemy command. When we march in...” He put a white piece on the map next to the enemy command, then slid the surrounding black pieces in one after another. “...the waiting soldiers will swoop down on us. We’ll be surrounded and wiped out in moments. I’d wager that these other units are all around an hour’s march away.” His explanation complete, Ashton saluted, then sat back down. The officer’s voices, almost moans, filled the room.
Paul, looking crestfallen, said, “You’re telling me their commander is betting that even if we send in our whole army, they can hold us at bay for a whole hour?”
“They must think very little of us,” Otto remarked dryly before Ashton could reply. If Ashton was right, then Claudia had to agree with Otto. The Crimson Knights, however, had shown just how far they towered over the Seventh Legion. It wasn’t a gap that could be bridged overnight.
“I think exactly that, Lord Paul,” Ashton said. “The force currently stationed around the enemy command is likely made up of their most elite warriors.”
“I see what you’re saying, Warrant Officer,” a young officer piped up. “But why now? The Crimson Knights have been beating us across the board since the fighting began. Why switch to such a risky ploy?” He voiced the question everyone in the room had been thinking, Claudia included. The Seventh Legion was reduced to less than twenty thousand soldiers—at this point, The Crimson Knights didn’t need to resort to tricks to hold on to their advantage. Even considering the Independent Cavalry Regiment’s smaller victories, it was obvious that the Seventh Legion was losing.
“Oh, well, that’ll be because of the Independent Cavalry Regiment.” A voice like a tinkling bell came from beside Claudia, cutting through her thoughts, “They’re getting fed up with us. It turns out we actually killed a major general at some point.” Olivia, still polishing her armor, sounded cheerful. “Anyway, I think they probably just want to crush us and be done with it. Hammer down the nail that sticks out, you know?” Osmund, perhaps reacting to the words “major general,” visibly shuddered. Ashton scratched his head with an embarrassed smile.
“Yes, just as the major says,” he continued, “it appears our enemy sees the Independent Cavalry Regiment as a far greater threat than we anticipated. The Crimson Knights likely set this trap specifically for us.” There was a buzzing murmur from the other officers, but Paul nodded.
“So that’s it,” he said, sounding convinced. “The Independent Cavalry Regiment does stand head and shoulders above the rest of the Seventh Legion, no mistake. I know it, so it’s only natural the enemy commander recognizes the threat too. Warrant Officer Ashton, everything you say makes sense to me. Colonel Otto?”
“Yes, ser,” Otto said. “There are any number of ways we can counter such a plan. The important thing is that we appear to fall into their trap, while in fact setting one of our own.” His face broke into a rare, fearsome smile.
“Good. Colonel, you and Warrant Officer Ashton go and work out our plan. Waste no time. When you’re done, we move out.”
“Yes, ser!”
“Y-Yes, ser!”
Ashton’s really grown into this... thought Claudia. It wasn’t long ago that he was stammering and trembling, but it seems that’s all under control now. Well, mostly... As she watched Ashton salute, his eyes glazed over like a dead fish, it was all she could do to keep from laughing.
Crimson Knight Command
“You played us yet again, did you? I’m never living this one down,” Rosenmarie said with an ironic smile as she gazed out at the wall of flames that blazed in the distance. The plan had been working. The Seventh Legion had shown up with barely ten thousand soldiers, far fewer than Rosenmarie had expected, and a number her forces could easily hold off for an hour. No sooner had the battle begun, however, than the plan went astray. The ring of flames had sprung up, changing everything. Now, when their forces lying in wait returned, the fire would prevent them from joining the battle. Short of a sudden downpour, the fire would go right on burning. It was a brilliant tactic, and it made it clear that the Seventh Legion had seen right through Guyel’s trap. First rendering half the imperial army useless and now this—Rosenmarie couldn’t help but be impressed by their tactician.
“It’s pretty daring, right? I mean, if we stay here too long, we’ll be burnt up right along with you!” Standing before the lake of blood that pooled around Rosenmarie’s personal guard, the girl giggled, then did a graceful twirl on tiptoes. She might as well have been dancing at a ball.
“Death God Olivia...” Rosenmarie said. “Enjoying your little game?”
The girl had long, glossy silver hair that reached all the way down her back. Her skin was white as porcelain, and her features were so perfect and delicate she appeared almost doll-like. Her ebony armor bore a crest that could only be meant to symbolize death. Then there was the pièce de résistance. An ebony blade, wrapped in dark mist. She was, in short, the spitting image of all the stories. In case there’d been any doubt, however, Rosenmarie was also fairly sure that there weren’t many teenage girls out there who could make the murder of her entire personal guard look like child’s play.
“That’s right,” Olivia replied. “Though I’m not actually a god of death. You’re the commander, right? I feel like I’ve been waiting to meet you for ages. Did you get my message?”
Rosenmarie smiled widely. “I did. It was wonderful. It’s why I invited you here—though I admit I wasn’t planning to host you quite like this. I suppose you’re going to kill me now?”
“Yep, that’s the plan,” Olivia replied promptly, smiling from ear to ear. Rosenmarie found the directness refreshing. Smiling wider still, she reflected that the heavens had sent her a worthy opponent at last.
“In a way, our goals are one and the same,” she said. “I think we’re going to get on well.” She reached up to release the clasps that held her cloak at her shoulders, then slowly drew her sword. Though silver at first, the steel began to glow with heat, turning steadily scarlet. Olivia put her hand on the hilt of her sword, then drew it once more.
“You’re right, I think we will get along,” she said. “Hey, mind telling me your name?”
“Why not? It’ll make a good souvenir for you to take to the land of the dead. My name is Rosenmarie von Berlietta. One woman to another, I hope we’ll be friends.”
“Rosenmarie von Berlietta. That’s such a nice name. I’m Olivia Valedstorm. Looking forward to getting to know you.”
Olivia and Rosenmarie exchanged a smile; then they both sprang forward. Their swords clashed with the earsplitting screech of steel against steel.
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