Chapter Five: The Battle of Vilan
I
It was the Burning Moon, Tempus Fugit 1000. The Northern Perscillan Army under the command of Argerion Gravis Arthur marched from Fort Safar and entered the Feldona Hills that bordered on the Kingdom of Fernest’s southern lands. From there, they at last began their invasion.
With a combined force of around forty thousand soldiers, Arthur went through capturing smaller forts as they pressed on to the north-northeast. When they stopped to rest by the crescent-shaped Lake Sith, he held a war council.
“Is something wrong?” Arthur asked.
“I have news that cannot wait.” Arthur’s adviser, Argerion Lasie Hile, listened, nodding a few times as the soldier whispered in his ear. Then, he quietly approached his master.
“Our scouts have captured a number of deserters from the Royal Army. One of them says that if we spare the lives of their troops, they will give us valuable information...” Lasie paused, then said dubiously, “What do you think, ser?”
“Valuable information? I wouldn’t expect deserters to have much of use to us...” Arthur mused. “But why not? Bring them to me.”
“At once, ser.” Lasie passed the order on to the soldier, who came back in no time with the bound prisoners. They didn’t appear at all cowed.
“I don’t think much of deserters,” Arthur told them. “Though you’ve got some pluck by the look of you.”
The man before him had a glint of intelligence in his eyes, and there wasn’t an ounce of extra fat on his body. His appearance did not give the impression of incompetence, but at that moment, a smirk spread across his face.
Lasie chastised him for this disrespectful attitude, then whispered to Arthur that the prisoner held the rank of captain.
“I wasn’t interested in staying any longer on a sinking ship,” the man drawled.
“A sinking ship, you say...” Arthur said slowly. “An apt expression, on the whole. But what of your loyalty to Fernest? Do you have none?”
Given the current state of the kingdom, it wasn’t hard to understand why a soldier might desert. But that sort of thing was only for conscripts. Though there was no proof that this man was a captain, his appearance left no doubt as to its truth. He was, therefore, not like some common soldier. The Royal Army might have fallen far, but even then, Arthur had only scorn for an officer in command of other soldiers who could so easily abandon his post.
“Loyalty...” the man said thoughtfully. “You can only have loyalty when there is someone to offer it to. I’m afraid that in the kingdom as it is now, having loyalty is impossible.”
At this, Arthur showed a certain degree of understanding. Word had reached even him of the foolishness of Alfonse sem Galmond. He was undoubtedly a far cry from a figure who would inspire loyalty.
“I have heard enough about this. Let’s hear this supposedly valuable information you have.”
“First, I ask for your word that you will spare my soldiers.”
“That will depend on what you tell us.”
“I am confident that you will be satisfied.”
“That is not for you to judge...” Arthur began, then stopped. “Oh, very well.” Overlooking a few vermin could hardly lead to any harm to his force. He gave his word on his honor as Arthur Mau Finn, and just like that, the deserter began to speak.
“It’s just as you predicted, ser,” Lasie said, staring at Arthur in awe. The other assembled officers wore more or less the same expression.
“It’s hardly shocking,” Arthur said. “We knew very well their forces were utterly insufficient for their conflict with the empire.”
“Even so, I never imagined they could only put together a force of ten thousand. How the Land of Lions has fallen...”
Already, the Northern Perscillans had captured three small forts without a single loss, thanks above anything else to the fact that each had been utterly deserted of enemy soldiers. Holing up in a castle when faced with a great force wasn’t always the correct course, as it was a strategy that ultimately relied on the existence of reinforcements. Having said that, a sturdy fort with enough soldiers to defend it and ample supplies could potentially repel an attacker.
All the forts they had taken thus far, however, were plainly remnants of the warlord period. They could hardly be called sturdy, and with Sutherland’s economic blockade still in effect, ample supplies were far out of Fernest’s reach. Arthur had been told that when they opened up the storerooms, they had not found even a crumb of bread inside. Fernest was hard pressed for both soldiers and food. It was inevitable that this would limit the tactical options available to the Royal Army, so that they were forced to concentrate their forces into a surprise attack. This, the deserter’s story had made clear.
“What position will the Royal Army choose? I would guess around here, incidentally.” Arthur pointed his baton towards a point on the map of southern Fernest that lay spread open on the table: it read Galloch Canyon. The canyon was a journey of two or three days from their current location, a great rent in the land formed by the erosion of the Madross River. It provided the perfect terrain for staging a battle with a smaller force.
“You are correct, my lord,” the deserter confirmed at once. “The Royal Army will be positioned in the Galloch Canyon.”
“Then this will be easy. We will circle around the canyon.” Tracing his finger along the map, Lasie explained that passing through the nearby Calbadia Hills, or else the Olstoy Forest, would bring them to the Vilan Plateau, and how from there, they could march south and hit the Royal Army from behind. It was a sound strategy, as one would expect of an advisor. But Arthur dismissed it at once.
“Circling around will take too much time. We will march directly to the Galloch Canyon.”
“Directly, ser?” an Argerion Petrus asked hesitantly.
“Directly.”
“Then you mean to deliberately step into the enemy’s trap?”
Lasie’s eyes widened, as did those of the deserter, staring at Arthur with unease quickly spreading through the assembled officers like ripples in a pool.
“We will march directly on the canyon, but we will not, of course, take our whole force.”
“What do you mean, ser?”
Arthur went on to explain his plan, which went more or less like this:
The army would split in two. Arthur would take the main force of twenty thousand and head straight for the Galloch Canyon, where they would engage the enemy. The remaining twenty thousand he would leave with Aurion Baltza, who would circle around the canyon on each side before regrouping on the Vilan Plateau. From there, they would immediately march south and hit the enemy from behind.
“I am honored to accept!” declared the courageous commander Baalze, beating his fist to his chest. “They won’t know what hit them.”
Lasie, on the other hand, was doggedly massaging his brow, as was his habit when he was thinking. “You want to split the second force of twenty thousand again to go around the canyon on both sides? Not just one?”
“There’s always a chance our enemy will try the same move. But even if they do, they’ll only have a few thousand soldiers. They can’t possibly win. And when they fail to pincer us, they’ll lose even more of what scarce soldiers and morale they have.”
“I follow your reasoning, ser...” Lasie said reluctantly. “But what sort of trap could they even be planning?”
“Knowing that would save us a lot of trouble, but the important thing is that we don’t let the enemy make the first move.”
That the Royal Army had abandoned the forts without a second thought made him think they had a talented commander. And the more talented they were, the harder they would look for a way out. Just like the surprise attack their enemy planned to spring, Arthur would respond by dangling an opening in front of their nose, as bait—bait so tempting they’d throw their own strategy aside to go after it. Then, when they had gathered like insects to the light of a bonfire, he and Baalze would strike.
When Arthur had explained all this, Lasie said, “I see. So we set a trap of our own and lure them into it.”
“It’ll be easy to predict how they’ll advance so long as we keep the openings limited to set points. Then, once we get them where we want them, it’ll be all over. We might even finish them off before Baalze arrives.”
“It’s possible, depending on how the Royal Army deploys. But even if they’re exceptionally cautious and don’t take the bait, they’ll still end up hemmed in on both sides. A double-layered plan, I suppose.”
“Exactly. Whatever happens, it looks like I will soon have good news for Her Majesty.”
Aurion Gravis Drake was unaware that Cassandra had made Arthur a secret promise: as soon as he won this battle, he was to be promoted to Aurion Gravis, and given the highest grade of seniority. In other words, Arthur would take Drake’s place at the top of the Northern Perscillan Army.
First on the agenda will be clearing out all the old fossils like Drake. And then... Arthur allowed himself an inward smirk.
“—tion was perfect...”
“Eh? What did you say?” Hearing the deserter’s voice, Arthur looked over. For some reason there was reverence in the man’s eyes.
“Oh, no...” the man said. “I only thought how pitiful the Royal Army seems in comparison to you, my lord. I’m glad I chose to desert.” His mouth twisted and he let out a peculiar laugh. There was something about the sound that Arthur found maddening.
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