III
As the days passed, the fighting between the First Legion and the Helios Knights grew fiercer.
“New enemy units ahead and on both flanks!” cried a soldier as a mountainous enemy battalion came charging from three directions at once. Cornelius ordered a wedge formation held together by soldiers bearing great shields. The enemy force, rebuffed by the unflinching defense, was forced to split in two, heading straight toward where three ranks of archers lay in wait. The archers aimed their bows to the sky and, as one, pulled back their bowstrings.
Cornelius kept calm. “Shoot them with ten volleys. Four, two, four.”
“The enemy is pushing back the front line with heavy infantry! They’re overpowering the right flank!”
“Send word to the fifth and sixth units of the Caelestis Wolves. Tell them to rip their guts out,” Gladden said with cold fury. The Wolves deployed on the western side of the plains moved out, demonstrating the full depth of their ferocity as they cleaved through the First Legion, leaving carnage in their wake.
Ten days passed. As neither army gave an inch of ground, the conflict began to descend into all-out war.
First Legion Command
The drop in temperature between day and night caused a dense fog to settle over the battlefield with each passing day. Neinhardt hurried to take his seat amongst the assembled officers, with Cornelius presiding. He had just received new information from a messenger.
“Any news of the enemy’s movements?” Cornelius asked.
“Yes, ser. What we believe is an elite unit is advancing under the cover of the fog. They number between four and five thousand. Based on their current trajectory, I think they’re planning on ambushing the left flank.”
Cornelius said nothing, stroking his white beard. He wore the russet-brown armor he’d favored since the warlord period. It was heavily battle-worn, harking back to his decorated career. At his waist hung his prized blade, Lemuria.
Long ago, Fernest had invaded the small empire of Lemuria in the south of Duvedirica. The youthful Cornelius had fought like a demon until, at last, he managed to take Imperial Prince Yuri prisoner. The prince commanded the entire Lemurian army, and Emperor Ludwig von Josef the Fourth was distraught by his capture. Of his four sons, Yuri was the most talented and the one he intended to make his heir. Josef offered a vast sum of gold for his son’s return, but King Rafael of Fernest had ignored his entreaties. What had at last changed the king’s mind was Lemuria’s ultimate treasure—a legendary sword said to cut through lightning itself. Rafael had a penchant for collecting valuable weapons, so when heard the legends, he declared that he would return Yuri in exchange for the blade. Josef would have given anything to save his son’s life. Adding the condition that Rafael would guarantee his sovereignty over his territory, he relinquished the sword. The war between Lemuria and Fernest tailed off after this until several years later the empire was destroyed by another invading nation. Alfonse, the current king, had no interest whatsoever in swords and so had bestowed it upon Cornelius, who carried the blade to this day.
All right. What will Lord Cornelius have to say? Neinhardt thought. He and the others all looked to Cornelius, waiting for him to speak.
After a long moment of contemplation, the old general said, “The Helios Knights have run out of patience at last. They have one of the Three Generals at their head, and he is undoubtedly an excellent commander...” He smiled sadly. “But he’s still very young.”
He immediately laid out their battle plan. They would deliberately allow the ambush to go ahead, then have soldiers lying in wait to spring an ambush of their own once the enemy broke through. After that, the line of soldiers that had pretended to break would form up once more to catch the enemy in a vise.
All of the officers nodded, with no one raising any objection. The messenger standing by was sent running to the left flank. Almost at once, another messenger took his place. There were two silver stars on his red epaulets, showing him to be from the Second Legion. A silent ripple of tension ran through the room.
“My lord, the Second Legion has defeated the enemy at the Freyberg Plateau,” the messenger cried happily. “They are on their way to aid the First Legion as we speak.”
The tension melted from the faces of the officers, and they let out a cheer. For most of them, Neinhardt included, the Second Legion’s victory was an outcome they hadn’t dared hope for; now, presented with the happy news, they felt a new upspring of motivation for the fight to come.
Cornelius exhaled deeply. “I see,” he said quietly. “General Blood weathered the storm, then.”
“Yes ser. Things looked bad at one point, but with Major Olivia’s reinforcements, we were able to turn the tide,” said the messenger.
Cornelius blinked a few times. “Ah, the girl the imperials call a Death God...” he said. “I’ve read every report, of course, but they all sounded too much like the stories my great-grandfather used to tell. What is she like, really?”
It was Neinhardt who answered. As he spoke, Olivia’s exquisite features appeared in his mind’s eye. “I think—no, I can say without a doubt that she is the strongest soldier in the Royal Army. In all honesty, there has never been another I’ve been so relieved to know is on our side.”
As if to back up his claims, the messenger began to excitedly recount Olivia’s actions. If what he said was true, there was no question that no one else even began to approach the magnitude of her achievements. As hard as that was to believe from her usual attitude. The word that flitted across the back of Neinhardt’s mind was “hero.”
“To hear even you speak so...” Cornelius said thoughtfully. “She must be a warrior of such caliber as appears but once in a century. Perhaps we in the Royal Army ought to see her not as a harbinger of death, but as a goddess.”
“I agree. She does look the part.” Neinhardt meant it as a throwaway remark, but Cornelius’s eyes went wide, and he stared intently at Neinhardt. Even the other officers were looking at him like they’d seen a ghost. “Did I say something odd?” he asked.
Cornelius, trying to cover his surprise, cleared his throat several times. “No, it’s just that I’ve never known you to compliment another’s appearance before,” he said quickly. “That aide of yours—what was her name again?”
“Second Lieutenant Katerina?”
“That’s right. Lieutenant Katerina. I don’t think she’d be happy to hear you making such remarks.”
Neinhardt frowned, not understanding. “Why would it make Lieutenant Katerina unhappy?”
For some reason, Cornelius looked at him with pity. The other officers all began to smirk.
“Ah, dear. Even you, with all your talents, are lacking in some areas. Even when the heavens give with both hands, they hold something back, it appears. That poor girl must have had quite the time of it.”
“Well, I won’t deny that I have her work hard...” Neinhardt admitted. Katerina was an excellent aide, one that Neinhardt relied on heavily. He was cognizant of how much work this made for her, but precisely because he made sure to be aware of it, he couldn’t work out what area Cornelius thought he was lacking in.
“That’s not quite what I meant...” Cornelius said. “But no matter. One day, if we get the chance, we shall discuss it more thoroughly. But here and now...” He rose slowly from his chair; then, with the eyes of the room on him, he carefully drew Lemuria from its scabbard. Neinhardt had never seen the blade before. There was a bluish gleam to the steel that seemed to chill to the air around it. According to the legends, this blade had cut through lightning itself. Indeed, Neinhardt felt a sense of menace in the sword that made him believe it could cut through anything.
Cornelius’s eyes flashed as he thrust Lemuria into the ground in front of him. “Now the lion will show the Helios Knights its fangs! We will show them the might of the First Legion!”
“Yes, ser!” As one, the officers in the room rose and saluted, their faces alive with the will to fight. Cornelius looked around them with satisfaction, his eyes coming to rest on Neinhardt.
“Neinhardt, keep in close contact with the Second Legion.”
“As you command, Lord Marshal,” Neinhardt said, putting his right hand to his heart in a knight’s salute. Cornelius returned the same gesture and solemnly inclined his head to him.
General Headquarters of the Helios Knights
“It seems we misjudged the First Legion,” Oscar said. “Though it may appear that neither side is making any headway in the battle, they’re gradually closing in on us.”
Gladden grimaced. He certainly hadn’t underestimated the First Legion; he had brought the full force of the Helios Knights to bear against them. As it turned out, however, the First Legion was far beyond what he had expected. That, and by extension Cornelius’s leadership, filled him with a chilling fear he couldn’t put words to.
“Any word from the Caelestis Wolves we sent?”
“None, my lord.” The officer who’d put forward the idea of an ambush under the cover of the fog reluctantly spoke up. “I can only assume we’ve lost them...”
Gladden beat his fist on the table in a rage. “Lost them? Lost them?! You’re talking about five thousand Caelestis Wolves!” The assembled officers stared at him in dismay. Even when a soldier under his command made a mistake, Gladden rarely ever raised his voice. It was a common refrain of his that a commander was responsible for all the failures of his subordinates. He realized, with a rush of self-disgust, the extent to which this battle was weighing on his mind.
“Forgive me,” he said at length. “That was shameful conduct for a man in my position.”
“Not at all, my lord,” said Oscar. “The First Legion has demonstrated capabilities far outstripping what our analysts predicted. Right now, all that matters is that we waste no time in making our next move.”
At a glance from Oscar, an orderly came over to him with a cup of hausen tea. Gladden accepted it, silently grateful for Oscar’s delicacy in handling these matters as he took a sip. He breathed in the rich aroma as warmth spread through his body.
“Oscar is right,” he said, feeling himself regain some semblance of calm. “Does anyone have another plan?” He looked around his assembled officers who, as though they’d choreographed it in advance, all looked away from Oscar and down at the ground. Usually, they’d have launched into a lively exchange of ideas. Gladden’s outburst was probably one of the reasons for their reticence, but there was more to it.
They’re too used to winning, he realized. Now, even a single defeat terrifies them. And they’re supposed to command the Helios Knights! There’s a harrowing thought. I’ll have to do something about this later. He heaved a deep and deliberate sigh.
Just then, noises of commotion broke out outside the tent. They all looked to the entrance and saw a mud-splattered messenger, supported by a soldier on either side.
“Someone get him some water,” Gladden barked, and the officer closest to the entrance held out his canteen.
The messenger downed every drop, water spilling out over his face, then, regularity slowly returning to his ragged breathing, he knelt and said, “My lords. Lieutenant General Patrick is dead. His army was destroyed.”
In the silence that followed, a pin drop would’ve sounded clear as a bell. Everyone present, even Gladden, gaped at the messenger, unable to process what they’d just heard. It was the only rational response. In the most recent reports, they’d been told only that Patrick’s forces had the Second Legion backed into a corner.
“What are you saying?” Gladden demanded, finding his tongue once more. “In the reports I heard, the Second Legion were on their last legs on the Freyberg Plateau. Not three days have passed since then.” A horrible thought struck him. “Patrick wasn’t feeding us lies, was he?” As soon as he said it, though, he knew it couldn’t be true. Patrick was as frank and open as they came. Lies and subterfuge were not in his nature. He had even regarded Gladden’s reconnaissance units unfavorably.
Just so, the messenger shook his head, looking miserable. “No, Lord Marshal. General Patrick told no lies. Just as you said, he’d pushed the Second Legion to the brink of collapse.”
“Then how is he dead?”
“Because Death God Olivia joined the battle. It was by her merciless blade that both General Patrick and General Kristoff met their ends.” At this revelation, the officers exploded in an uproar.
“Death God Olivia?! What’s she doing on the central front?!” Gladden demanded.
At this obvious question, the messenger only shook his head hopelessly. “I don’t know, my lord. All I can say for sure is that it won’t be long before she arrives here.”
Gladden was speechless. If he took the messenger at his word, that meant the Helios Knights were in danger of being caught between two armies. As if that weren’t bad enough, one of them included Death God Olivia. In an instant, Gladden realized that, with the First Legion proving a stronger adversary than he’d predicted, a misstep here could lead to total ruination.
“Lord Marshal, if we have to fight the Death God as well...”
“I know,” Gladden snapped. “We have no choice but to retreat to Kier Fortress.” Everyone present nodded at once. Just as he began to consider whom to assign the most difficult post commanding the rear guard, Alexander volunteered himself, his eyes full of unusual confidence.
“Very well,” Gladden said at length. “Alexander, you will have five thousand soldiers. Show them what you’re made of.”
“Yes, ser!” Alexander replied. All of them rushed from the tent to get preparations for the retreat underway. Only Oscar remained. His eyes followed Alexander as the boy left, then he turned to Gladden.
“Are you sure about that?” he murmured. “I wonder if this might not be too heavy a burden for Colonel Alexander to bear.”
“I’ve warned him not to underestimate his enemy, and I never give the same warning twice. Whether he lives or dies from here on out is up to him.” Gladden sighed. “He will die though, I imagine.”
“Well, in that case,” Oscar said, and the two exchanged a nod of understanding.
Leaving Alexander and the rear guard behind, they began the march back to Kier Fortress.
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