Chapter Three: Titans Clash!
I
The Plains of Rias
The Plains of Rias lay at the eastern extremity of the Holy Land of Mekia. A broad river ran there against a backdrop of mountains, dividing the plains between east and west. Spring was nearing its height, and the beauty of the plains when all its myriad flowers blossomed was famous, but now, not a trace of them could be seen. The miserable flowers had had their short lives ended, trampled under countless feet for no other reason than that this was where the Winged Crusaders and the Stonian Army, ninety thousand soldiers in all, had met for battle.
In the Stonian command camp, Field Marshal August gibb Lanbenstein stood with his arms folded, wearing an expression of indignation. He was a man of robust stature and strength unmatched by common men.
Back in Tempus Fugit 997, when the empire had unilaterally demanded vassalage from the Principality of Stonia, he was also one who had advocated until the end for unyielding resistance. But Roman, chief amongst the Four Sages, had had his say, and Prince Sylvester had chosen to acquiesce to the empire. August had given in to the empire without a fight.
He spent his days since then cradling a gloom that refused to dissipate. On more than a few of those days, he’d drunk himself senseless in an attempt to forget his depression. Yet now, the royal order had come down from Sylvester that they were marching on the Holy Land of Mekia. What did I tell you? he’d thought when the orders arrived, laughing to himself. To avoid war, on the grounds that it would bring ruin to Stonia, they had accepted vassalage, but in the end, war had been forced upon them anyway.
Not only that, their opponent was the holy land for those faithful to the Goddess Strecia.
Even the soldiers could tell that war with the empire from the beginning would have been preferable to this, if their recent behavior was anything to go by.
“—is my read, but what do you think? Am I wrong on anything?” August directed the question at his chief of staff, Major General Cecilia palla Cadio, who stood beside him clad in leaf-green armor as he surveyed the deep purple banners and the army. Cecilia, hailed as the most talented woman the Principality of Stonia had produced since its founding, had pushed her way through the ranks of other accomplished officers to achieve her current position.
“I think your rage is justified, Lord Marshal,” she told him. “Having said that, bringing it up now will do us no good. The die is cast.”
August knew this full well, but he couldn’t stop himself saying it. Not when faced with this idiotic war. But he was the field marshal, and he knew that as such, if he continued to voice his displeasure, it would only do more damage to his soldiers’ already low morale. It’s times like these the title is a nuisance... he thought. He forced his dark and murky thoughts down into a corner of his heart, then launched into a rousing speech for his spiritless soldiers.
“—I did think the enemy force would be a lot bigger, though,” he mused. “I heard forty or fifty thousand.”
In reality, there could only be around thirty thousand soldiers out there. It was a long way off the information the empire’s envoy had brought.
“Yes...” Cecilia agreed. “Is it possible that the empire’s estimations were off?” She looked to her right, as she asked this question, at a man in azure armor and cloak. Felix von Sieger, dispatched by the empire as military advisor in the battle against the Holy Land of Mekia, calmly surveyed the battlefield, his arms folded.
“No, I think that unlikely. Their intelligence agents, those ‘shimmers,’ are damn good at their jobs. Not to mention, they sent us the strongest man in the empire,” August said. “Doesn’t look like any more than a pretty boy to me, though,” he added in a mutter.
The ladies of the palace had taken to calling Felix, arguably their enemy, “Lord Azure.” They were beside themselves. More than a few fights had even broken out over whether one or another had met his eyes or not.
It was decidedly ridiculous, but even August recognized that Felix possessed a rare beauty. His hair was a lustrous black that almost looked blue, and his features were exquisitely proportioned. In his intense azure eyes there was a softness that belied his reputation as the strongest warrior in the empire, as well as a gleam of intelligence. There couldn’t be another man who cut such a figure by simply standing there. Even August could see how such a man might set women’s hearts aflutter. Even so, when he’d seen the daughter of the prince himself gazing at Felix with starry eyes, it had carried him right past anger into a stupefied state.
“He is quite alarmingly handsome, it’s true,” Cecilia said. There was a sultry note to her voice. Not you too, August lamented privately.
Out loud, he cleared his throat and said admonishingly, “Major General Cecilia.”
“E-Excuse me, ser,” Cecilia said, recollecting herself. “Anyway, if the empire’s estimate was accurate, there’s only one possible conclusion.” She looked at him uncomfortably and August, cottoning on to what that look signified, furrowed his brow deeply.
“These damned Winged Crusaders aren’t taking the Stonian Army seriously?”
“Though I am loath to say it...”
“Well, after we rolled over and wagged our tail for the empire instead of fighting, I suppose they might well think as much.” August laughed, but it rang hollow. If he were in his foe’s place, he might have arrived at the same conclusion, but even with that in the equation, sending only thirty thousand soldiers was surely taking this confidence too far. Though there was no way of knowing what an enemy commander was thinking, the outcome of a battle corresponded directly to the size of one’s force. Accordingly, August was fielding his entire army.
“We have twice as many soldiers as the Winged Crusaders. All paths lead to victory for us...” Cecilia trailed off. Her face was troubled, belying the confidence of her words. August supplied the continuation for her.
“But our soldiers’ morale is effectively nonexistent; thus, even with double their forces, we don’t know how the battle will play out. Is that what you wanted to say, Cecilia?”
She hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded. “Regrettably, yes,” she said. “During the march, a fair few of our soldiers even attempted to desert.”
“Were those soldiers followers of Strecia?”
“Just so, ser. They seemed to be particularly ardent believers.”
August turned his gaze up to the sky, sighing deeply. Deserting in the face of an enemy was punishable by death, no matter the reason. Even an aborted attempt earned the culprit no quarter. It was a testament to the depth of the faith of those soldiers that they still had tried to go through with it despite the known consequences should they fail to escape unnoticed.
“The Goddess Strecia...” he muttered. “A more confounded nuisance I never knew. The only god I need is the inimitable Zorbeth, the god of war.”
Zorbeth was a Stonian god, worshiped in that land since antiquity. He had three eyes and six arms in which he held such weapons as chakrams and a trident. Where Strecia was a goddess of creation, Zorbeth was a savage god who brought wrack and ruin.
“‘Zorbeth, the god of war’?” Cecilia repeated. “It’s been a long time since I heard that name. In fact, I think the last time was when I read The Founding of Stonia when I was five.” She sounded cheered by the memory. The Founding of Stonia was not, as it happened, a book remotely within the cognitive grasp of a five-year-old child. On the contrary, it was the sort of tome perused by scholars of history.
Choosing not to remark upon this, August said instead, “Young people these days aren’t interested in tales of gods. It’s the popularity of Strecia that’s the aberration. You agree, don’t you, Major General Cecilia?”
“Er, yes, ser,” Cecilia agreed, not entirely wholeheartedly.
“Well, that’s neither here nor there. You haven’t executed the deserters yet, have you?”
“Fear not, ser. They are at present merely detained. Military law would have them beheaded on the spot, but I judged our circumstances to be somewhat different.”
Anyone other than Cecilia handling the matter would have meted out immediate punishment. August could not have faulted such a decision; it was, if anything, the natural one. It was precisely this ability of Cecilia’s to think outside the bounds of convention that made August value her so highly.
“You were right. Our victory won’t bring an end to this. The Holy Illuminatus Church won’t let this pass in silence.”
If the church got word that Stonia had executed its followers, it might even declare holy war and dispatch the Knights of the Sanctuary. August had to take great care in how he dealt with the faithful if he was to avoid this. It was thoroughly humiliating, but such was the cold reality for Stonia.
“My lord, the enemy’s vanguard is moving,” said Cecilia. August turned and saw that the enemy army had assumed an arrow-shaped formation. So well-disciplined was the maneuver, it was even beautiful. This was not a trick that could be learnt overnight. Their standard training must be incredibly strict, August thought. And yet...
“An arrowhead formation against an enemy with twice their numbers? What are they thinking?” Cecilia asked.
“They must be very confident about the battle’s outcome,” August replied. Either that, or they merely didn’t know how real battles were fought. Whichever it was, this was an opportunity they could not squander.
“How do we respond?”
“What’s the saying? ‘Like moths to a flame.’ We lure the fools deep into our ranks, wait for our moment, then immediately surround and destroy them. That should give a bit of a boost to our soldiers’ spirits too.”
“Understood, ser. I’ll make things ready!” barked Cecilia. Her voice echoed across the battlefield.
The Vanguard of the Winged Crusaders
Amongst the thirty thousand Winged Crusaders, Amelia led the vanguard, a unit of seven thousand foot soldiers in light armor. Twirling the ends of her hair around her fingertips, she gazed coolly ahead. In the distance, the sixty-thousand-strong Stonian army stood assembled.
Her guardians had assumed an arrowhead formation and now, in stark contrast to the Stonian soldiers, their faces brimmed with unparalleled excitement. Amongst them was Senior Hundred-Wing Jean Alexia, one of the Twelve Angels who stood guard at the Sixth Gate of La Chaim Palace. Cross spear in hand, he came up behind Amelia, who stood at the front, and saluted.
“Thousand-Wing Amelia, everything is ready,” he announced. “We can commence the attack at any time!”
Taking her time, Amelia drew out a pure white pocket watch. Its cover was rimmed in silver and engraved with the image of the Goddess Strecia. She opened it and checked the time.
“Fifteen minutes to get into formation. That is remarkably slow,” Amelia said flatly. “Have you forgotten that this is this battle whereby the world shall know the majesty of the Seraph?”
Jean gulped audibly. “I beg your forgiveness!”
Amelia looked at him for a moment. “I suppose you may have it, this time.”
“Thank you for your benevolence, ser!”
“But there will not be a next time,” Amelia said, glancing back. “Be sure to remember that.”
Under her piercing gaze, Jean took a step back as though pushed by an invisible force. He quickly regained his composure, however, and barked, “Yes, ser! I won’t forget!”
“One other thing. It is a great honor for a warrior to lead the attack. Make sure they all know that if any of them display cowardice in battle, I will kill them myself.”
“It shall be as you say, Thousand-Wing Amelia!” Jean turned on his heel, then dashed away. Before long, his orders were passed round and with a roar, the guardians raised their weapons.
“May the blessings of Strecia go with you!” they cried as one. “In the name of the Seraph, victory shall be ours!”
“Then it is time for us to overrun them,” Amelia said. “Now, the revelry begins.” She drew her sword, and then, in exultant tones, gave the order to advance.
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