Chapter Three: An Ebony Blossom in a Perilous Dance
I
The Commander’s Camp of the Second Legion, on the Central Front
“They’ve penetrated the second line of defense, my lord,” announced a nervous Captain Lise. “The commander, Major Ignatz, was killed in the fighting. As things stand, it won’t be long before the Helios Knights reach the third line of defense.”
It was around two weeks since the Helios Knights in their shining silver plate armor had arrived at the central front. Despite the Second Legion’s brave resistance, they’d been unable to prevent the Helios Knights from pushing them back.
“These Helios Knights...” Blood muttered. “I can’t believe they just strolled through the first and second lines like that.”
“They are clearly a cut above the average army.”
“Yeah. Their taking Kier Fortress wasn’t just a fluke, it seems.” Blood stared down at the deployment chart spread out on the long table. The third line of defense was ringed by stone cliffs, and the route it ran along was suffocatingly narrow. The advantage of terrain was wholly on their side, making it the perfect spot for a small force to meet the enemy. “You’ve got everything ready, right?” he asked Lise.
“Yes, ser. I’ve had the steel wire strung up across the path we predict they’ll take. That’ll definitely slow them down. While their guard is down, archers with longbows will shoot off a six-stage volley from above and from the front.”
“Good. That should buy us valuable time,” Blood said. “But the real question is, what about the reinforcements?” He didn’t fail to notice how Lise flinched for a fraction of a second at “reinforcements.”
“According to our messengers,” she said after a moment’s pause, “it will be some time before the First Legion is ready to march.”
Blood made a noise of disgust. “So His Majesty told us to go to hell then, huh?”
“My lord!” Lise hissed, aware of the gazes of the other soldiers as she reprimanded his rashness. “Please keep your voice down—you know criticizing the king is punishable by death. You are right to be angry, of course, but please remain calm.” Blood only punched a fist into his palm, like he couldn’t care less about the king. Lise hurriedly changed the subject.
“In their stead, if you’ll pardon my interruption, I am told that Major Olivia of the Seventh Legion is being sent to our aid.”
“Major Olivia?” Blood repeated. “That’s that girl the imperials call ‘Death God,’ isn’t it? I thought the Seventh Legion weren’t in a position to leave the north right now?” He had heard the reports of the Crimson Knights’ defeat. Although in and of itself it was welcome news, he also knew that the Seventh Legion had sustained heavy losses. Right now, they had their hands full maintaining control of the north, and Blood was sure even Paul couldn’t spare any soldiers under such circumstances.
“Apparently, by happy coincidence, Major Olivia was staying in the capital. Brigadier General Neinhardt assigned her the mission, and she should be in the process of putting together a militia in the central lands as we speak.”
“A very happy coincidence, that...” Blood muttered, putting a drooping cigarette in his mouth and lighting it. However impressive this girl they were calling Death God turned out to be, he couldn’t honestly say he was eager to entrust her with the fate of the Second Legion. In which case, he had to decide things here and now.
He let out a fierce laugh, as much to bolster his own spirits as anything else.
“My lord?” Lise asked.
“Captain Lise, make sure we’re ready to fall back if it comes to that. I’ll head up the rear, of course.”
“My lord!” Lise exclaimed, her catlike eyes boring into him. Blood knew just what she wanted to say to him, but he couldn’t afford to give any ground here. His honor was riding on this too.
“Don’t get cross,” he said. “Any general worth his salt would send you all to your deaths for king and country, but I’m afraid I just don’t have it in me. Hey, now, don’t worry. I’ll make sure they know it was all my fault.”
“That’s hardly what I’m worried about, ser! I—!” Lise began, refusing to back down, but Blood cut her off.
“You’ve got your orders, Captain,” he said, fixing her with a steady gaze. “Repeat them back.”
Lise hesitated, then said, “Yes, ser. I will ensure we are ready to fall back.”
“Good. Very good.”
Lise gave him a listless salute, then left, dragging her feet.
Blood looked out to where the sun was sinking below the horizon.
“‘The people don’t exist to protect the nation; the nation exists to protect us,’” he said under his breath, taking another long drag on his cigarette. “That’s what you always said—right, Paul?”
The Cloudy Chamber in La Chaim Palace, the Holy Land of Mekia
Snow blanketed the landscape visible through the Mekian-style windows, glittering so brilliantly in the sunlight that it even outshone the grandeur of the Cloudy Chamber.
“Welcome back, Amelia. I commend you for your fine work on our ‘sympathy visit,’” Sofitia said graciously to Amelia, who knelt before her.
“You give me too much credit, my Seraph. I must admit, I made a mistake.” At this, Lara, standing beside her, shifted ever so slightly.
“A mistake? How very strange,” Sofitia remarked. “I have heard of nothing but your great success.” According to the owl’s report, Amelia’s superb surprise attack had delivered a crushing blow to the Crimson Knights. Though she had naturally sustained losses of her own, they were entirely negligible—nothing that Amelia could rightly call a mistake.
“Yes, everything I’ve seen indicates that your mission was carried out without fault,” Lara cut in, glaring daggers at Amelia. “Thousand-Wing Amelia, I will not have you spouting nonsense before the Seraph!”
“It’s nothing of the sort, Holy Wing.” Amelia looked up to reveal a rare expression of penitence. “While at the fort, I met Felix von Sieger—one of the Three Generals—but I was unable to slay him.”
“Oh, that isn’t anything to worry about,” Sofitia replied. “You were facing Lord Sieger of the Azure Knights. I can hardly expect him to be brought down so easily. Quite the contrary—I should congratulate you on having fought him and still returning hale and whole. Besides, Amelia, you gathered valuable information for us, did you not?”
Of the empire’s Three Generals, Felix von Sieger was the most shrouded in mystery. As he rarely ever showed himself on the battlefield, the owls had struggled in vain to learn anything about him. Trust Thousand-Wing Amelia not to let a once-in-a-lifetime chance to get information on him slip by.
“Of course, my Seraph,” Amelia replied. Sofitia smiled at her.
“Then there is nothing for you to trouble yourself over. You have distinguished yourself with your service here, Amelia, and for that, you shall be rewarded. Until then, you should rest.”
“Allow me to express my most heartfelt gratitude for your kindness, my Seraph,” Amelia said. She stood up and saluted before leaving the Cloudy Chamber.
Sofitia watched her go, then laughed softly. “See, Lara? Hasn’t Amelia done a marvelous job, just as I said she would?”
“Yes, my Seraph. I can but look in awe at your keen insight,” Lara replied, bowing low. Her shining silver hair fell in waterfalls down from her shoulders.
“You know flattery will get you nowhere,” Sofitia replied. “By the way, a little bird told me that the Helios Knights have marched from Kier Fortress.”
“It is so, my Seraph. I have reports that they are currently engaging the Second Legion.”
“Are they, now...” Sofitia murmured. “While we are on the subject, who do you think will emerge the victor?”
Silence fell over the Cloudy Chamber at this question, but it was soon broken.
“The Second Legion’s commander is supposed to be highly capable, but even then, I would pick the Helios Knights nine times out of ten,” Lara said forcefully. “Aside from everything else, the difference in their numbers is too great.”
Sofitia shared that opinion. The soldiers of the Second Legion had to be reaching the limit of their physical and mental endurance. She did have to credit them for having the sheer grit required to hold the central front alone, however. Sofitia wondered if their commander was indeed as talented as Lara said. Sofitia would happily show him any courtesy to entice him to join the Winged Crusaders, if it would work. There was no harm in having more strong pieces in play.
“So the empire has started to take this seriously at last?” she asked.
“The empire has suffered a succession of defeats as of late. While they still maintain an unmistakable advantage, they cannot afford to turn a blind eye to this state of affairs—something the timing of this makes very clear.”
Sofitia cupped her face in one hand and sighed. “Well, that is very bothersome. If the Winged Crusaders involve themselves any further, we risk exposing ourselves...”
The imperial army’s commanders were no fools. They had their own intelligence agents—the shimmers. Sofitia had considered that, at some point, they would arrive at the conclusion that Mekia was behind the surprise attack on Fort Astora, but it would be disadvantageous for the truth to come out now. If they were to clash with the imperial army head-on, they needed time to prepare. On the other hand, if the Second Legion collapsed, they might march directly on Fis. Fernest was one move away from checkmate, and the empire’s dreams of unification had abruptly begun to come true. Sofitia herself was plagued by doubt of how to proceed.
“The Winged Crusaders are ready to march whenever you wish it. What are your orders?” Lara asked, pressing her for a decision. At this, the Seraphic Guardians, the knights who protected Sofitia, all dropped to one knee. The clanging of their armor plates rang throughout the chamber.
“We shall watch and wait, this time,” Sofitia said at last. “King Alfonse surely isn’t fool enough to think he can stop the First Legion from marching now. I can scarcely believe I am saying this, but let us pray to Strecia for the royal army’s victory.”
“As you wish, my Seraph,” Lara said. She raised her left hand to her chest and bowed low to Sofitia, her Adders’ mage circle glittering emerald-green in the light of the chamber.
The Audience Chamber of Leticia Castle in Fis
“Your Majesty, what more can I say to make you understand?” Field Marshal Cornelius, supreme commander of the First Legion, took a step forward, a look of anguish on his face.
Above the palace, the sun had reached its zenith, bathing the grandiose audience chamber in light.
“I grow tired of this, old man. Do I have to say it again? The First Legion must not go into battle. Scarce days have passed since you set out to send guards of the central lands to the Second Legion’s aid.”
When Cornelius first proposed mobilizing the guards, Alfonse had been against that too. He protested that it would naturally lead to civil disorder in the regions they were drawn from, and that civil disorder would lead to unfortunate economic consequences. In the end, though, he had accepted that it was still better than sending the First Legion and had grudgingly given his permission. To now go ahead and send the First Legion anyway seemed to him like a cut-and-dried case of backwards logic.
“Your Majesty, they are but six thousand soldiers,” Cornelius pointed out.
“Six thousand is a full division. Is that not more than adequate?”
“Your Majesty. The report from our messengers put the Helios Knights’ forces at forty thousand. Combined with their rear guard, they shall field a host of eighty thousand. Of the Second Legion, only twenty thousand soldiers remain standing. Even with the militia force, it is a vast difference.”
“I thought it was a soldier’s job to be clever with your strategies and your tactics and make these things work. Surely you cannot expect to always meet your enemy on even footing.”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, all things have their limit. In the case of a small difference in numbers, I should not fault your reasoning. But this time, as I have impressed upon you, that limit has been crossed. Not only that, but our foe is the Helios Knights, and their commander, the most powerful man in the imperial army. I beseech you, my king, to reconsider.” Cornelius stared at Alfonse, with bloodshot eyes and such intensity in his gaze that it was hard to believe he was already well over seventy. Alfonse felt a cold sweat break out on his back.
“What about the Seventh Legion?” he said. “How do you explain their victory over the Crimson Knights?”
The Seventh Legion had snatched victory against overwhelming odds in a series of events that Alfonse thought bore a striking resemblance to their current predicament. Cornelius replied that, for the Second Legion, such a thing was impossible, but Alfonse found this difficult to swallow. Surely such a great gulf could not possibly stretch between the might of the Crimson Knights and the Helios Knights.
“I beg that you do not treat that battle as typical, Your Majesty,” Cornelius concluded. “It was a feat very few could achieve. I myself could not hope to replicate it, should anyone ask such a thing of me.”
Alfonse leapt to his feet, glaring at Cornelius. “So long as you stand at the head of the royal army, you shall not speak thus, old man!” he cried. “Shall I promote General Paul to field marshal then, and demote you to general? What say you to that?” The guards who stood on either side of him gasped sharply, all eyes falling on Cornelius.
There was a long silence, then at last Cornelius opened his mouth. “If you would then give the First Legion leave to march,” he said, “I accept it without question.” He knelt, bowing his head low.
Alfonse, who hadn’t imagined that Cornelius might agree, spluttered, “Forget it. I spoke in jest.”
“Well, I shall speak plainly, Your Majesty,” Cornelius said at length. “If the Second Legion falls, it will not be long ere the storms of war bear down upon Fis as well, and that will spell Fernest’s doom. King Alfonse will go down as the last ruler of a kingdom that has endured six hundred years.” He looked up unashamedly as he spoke. He had, in effect, told the king to his face that it would be his fault if—no, when—the kingdom fell. Alfonse felt his blood rising.
“You dare, old man...” he growled. “Even you cannot say such things and expect to live!” He turned to the guard behind him and thrust out a hand.
“Y-Your Majesty?! What are you...?!” the guard cried in alarm.
“Give it to me, at once!”
“I cannot, Your Majesty! Not that!”
“Insolence!” Alfonse wrested the sword from his guard, then turned to Cornelius, who was still kneeling.
“You’re prepared for what happens now, I trust?” Alfonse said. He slowly descended from the dais to stand before Cornelius, holding the point of the blade to the old man’s throat. From behind him, the guards cried out, begging him to see reason. Only Cornelius remained calm despite being held at sword-point, his serene expression only angering Alfonse still further.
“You are sorely mistaken if you think I won’t do it,” he said. Cornelius shook his head almost imperceptibly.
“I am ready to die,” he replied. “I would not see the kingdom fall and my king—Alfonse, that dear child—on the executioner’s block. Do it now, and spare me that agony.” With that, he took his sword from his belt and laid it on the floor, then slowly closed his eyes. The very image of dignity, he did not flinch nor show any fear.
“Very well,” Alfonse said at last. “I am defeated. I shall interfere no more—henceforth, you may do as you please, and know that even if the kingdom should fall to ruin as a result, I shall not hate you for it.” He laid a gentle hand on Cornelius’s shoulder. The old man’s eyes were still closed. So long as he lived, Alfonse would never forget what he saw next. As the great man, the once-feared Invincible General knelt there before him, a single tear ran down his cheek.
It sounds like it’s over... thought Neinhardt as the guards in the waiting area outside the audience chamber sprang into motion to haul open the great doors. As soon as he saw Cornelius, he strode over to him.
“How did it pan out, Field Mar—is everything all right?” he said, coming up short as he noticed the redness around Cornelius’s eyes.
“Eh? Oh, Neinhardt...” said the old man, stroking his long, white beard with one hand while waving him off with the other. “Nothing you need worry yourself over.”
“If you say so, ser...” Neinhardt said dubiously, then asked, “Now, what did His Majesty decide?” He swallowed loudly as he waited for the answer to the question that would likely decide the fate of the kingdom. Cornelius did not answer immediately, but placed a gentle hand on Neinhardt’s shoulder.
“The First Legion will immediately prepare to march. Make sure everyone knows.”
“You mean...?”
“His Majesty has given his permission,” Cornelius said, and a smile broke out across his tired face.
“Wonderful news, ser!”
“In addition, he intends to cede his authority as grand commander of the royal army.”
“He what?!” Neinhardt exclaimed with an uncharacteristic yelp. Cede his authority. In other words, Cornelius was now free to command the First Legion however he saw fit. Whatever had happened in there between Cornelius and the king, this was a happily unexpected turn of events.
“I’ll be taking command for this battle. We march with forty thousand soldiers. The remaining seven thousand are to remain behind to defend the capital, under General Lambert’s command. Understood?”
“Down to the letter, ser.”
“Good,” Cornelius nodded. “Have the city raise the banners of the First Legion.”
“Yes, ser!” Neinhardt answered with a magnificent salute.
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