II
Rosenmarie, realizing that Death God Olivia had not joined the battle and assured that the siege of Kier Fortress itself was only a diversion, gave the order for the Caelestis Wolves to mount a raid that same night. The attack was carried out by a mere five platoons, but while the Helios Knights were famed for their defense, the Caelestis Wolves were the sole unit within them who were at their best on the offensive. With the Royal Army unprepared for an attack coming from the fortress, they suffered significant losses. However, when they continued night after night, those surprise attacks became no more than standard nighttime raids. Ten days after the first attack, Rosemarie’s forces had only succeeded in inflicting minor damage to the now unfailingly vigilant Royal Army.
At this point, Major General Zacharias Caralley, commander of the Caelestis Wolves, came to Rosenmarie to report. Zacharias was a battle-hardened veteran, but the smile Rosenmarie wore now was enough to send a chill up even his spine.
“The groundwork is more or less in place, then.”
“Yes, my lady. It all proceeded smoothly.”
“Then naturally the next step is to lay the foundations.”
Another five days passed. It was the midnight hour, when the dark hung deepest over the pall of night. At a point on the front line not far from Kier Fortress, two soldiers stood watch. One was a burly man in his prime, the other, a youth who still looked half a boy. The older of the two was looking up at Kier Fortress, still a commanding presence even in the darkness. He called over to the younger, who kept blowing into his hands.
“You that cold?”
“It’s freezing. Don’t it bother you, Captain?”
“I hail from the north of the north. This sort of cold’s nothing.”
“I’m jealous. Say, it’s been six days since them nighttime raids stopped coming, huh...” the younger soldier mused. “Guess they must’ve twigged that it was doing no good keeping them up.”
“’Course they did. All right, the first day we were hit hard when they caught us unawares, but when it goes on every night, you get watchful, whether you want to or not. Can’t make head or tail of what they’re playing at, myself.”
“Whatever it is, I just wish they’d use the night for sleeping, all quiet-like and such.” The younger of the two breathed into his hands again, this time marching on the spot as well. The older soldier watched him, smiling.
The pair never managed to continue their conversation. All of a sudden, an inky shadow slipped between them like a gust of wind. When it passed, all that remained were two corpses, each with a single stab wound through the heart.
The same mysterious happening that befell the two soldiers was carried out against all the soldiers who stood watch on the front line, without discrimination. The moon gave no sign of revealing its silver face from behind the clouds, and so the world remained covered in chill darkness.
On the battlefield, where death hovers always close at hand, the act of sleep was perhaps the most direct route to it. As he drifted in fragmented, nonsensical dreams, Major General Osmund Chrysler, though his ears perceived the discordant clamor of battle, was unable to recognize it as reality.
“Major General.” Someone shook Osmund. Unconsciously, he grabbed the blade he kept at his bedside, sitting bolt upright. He was met by the light of a candle held in a chamberstick. Slowly, Osmund looked up and his aide, Lieutenant Colonel Danish Stan, came blearily into view.
“What is it?” Osmund said at last.
“Our unit is currently experiencing a surprise attack,” Danish said, just as from beyond the tent flap, Osmund caught the sound of many hurried footsteps, along with voices calling rapidly back and forth.
“Major General, ser.”
“I hear you.” Dawn had not yet broken, as was evidenced by the thin light of the candle that lit up the tent. Questions rose up within Osmund in proportion to his growing awareness of the situation.
“It’s not a night raid?”
“It is a surprise attack, ser,” Danish replied without hesitation. The first nighttime raid they had not seen coming, the very definition of a surprise attack. After that, they had redoubled their guard, thanks to which they had not been caught off guard again. But now here was Danish, using the words “surprise attack” again.
“Were the watch soldiers sleeping on the job?” Osmund got to his feet, staring intently at the hard look he now clearly recognized on his aide’s face.
“An inquiry into that will have to wait. Please ready yourself quickly, ser.” Danish spoke in the same tone he used when they weren’t under attack, but that was what told Osmund just how dire the situation was. He swiftly donned his armor, using his teeth to pull tight the cords of his gauntlets. Danish waited until Osmund had strapped his sword to his belt, then in one breath, he blew out the candle.
“It’s hell out there, ser,” he said. “Prepare yourself.”
“They fell right into Lady Rosenmarie’s trap.” At his aide’s words, Lieutenant General Gazel Tolstoy, or the Ruddy General, as he was known, nodded.
“Well, that’s no surprise.”
After receiving word from the shimmers that their mission was accomplished, Gazel assembled a force of twenty thousand—close to the full might of the Crimson Knights—and rode forth. He divided them into three units: five thousand against the Winged Crusaders on the right flank, another five thousand against the Royal Army forces on the left flank, with the remaining ten thousand to charge the Royal Army forces in the center. The units he sent to the flanks served as barriers to prevent them sending reinforcements, his objective being the annihilation of the central Royal Army force deployed closest to Kier Fortress. By the time the central force, which had lost every one of its watch soldiers, became aware of the Crimson Knights stealing up on them, it was too late. The Crimson Knights, seizing the chance for revenge, overran the helpless Royal Army. Even then, as time passed some units began to mount a counterattack, but the scorching heat of the crimson inferno quickly put them to flight.
“There’s nothing they can do now.”
The central Royal Army was crushed under the Crimson Knights’ impressive force. Gazel himself led a special unit of three thousand soldiers, cutting a path deep into the enemy formation. Soon, he recognized a banner with the image of a wine cask. A frenzied look came into his eye, and he charged forward, knocking aside any Royal Army soldiers who stood in his way. Then, from beside him, there came a chilling roar. In the same instant, without his willing it, his body twisted to the right, dodging by a hair the spear that thrust toward him as, with perfect timing, he stabbed his own spear straight through the attacker’s head.
“A real seasoned warrior, eh? You came this close to having me.” The body of the soldier tilted heavily to the left, its skull shattered beyond recognition. Gazel spurred his horse to a gallop once more, striking out with his spear at will. The dead soldier behind him was already gone from his mind.
There you are... Gazel’s attention had shifted to another man who stood protected by a group of soldiers.
Try as Osmund might to rally his forces, his efforts came to naught in the face of the Crimson Knights’ indomitable offensive. It had been half an hour since Danish, announcing that it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed, had ridden alone into the oncoming storm, spear in hand.
Right now, the main force was in disarray, the clang of steel on steel ringing out from every direction. Watching his personal guard fall one after another, Osmund finally found his resolve.
Looks like this is the end... Osmund thought. He suddenly remembered the time that Olivia had saved him when he had been on the brink of death, then laughed at himself. Was some part of him thinking that she would show up just in time to rescue him again? A lost cause if there ever was one, I am...
As the last of his guards hit the dirt, Osmund raised his spear to the approaching imperial soldier.
“I am Major General Osmund Chrysler of the Royal Army.”
“And I am Lieutenant General Gazel Tolstoy of the Crimson Knights. You should be rewarded for not fleeing—I’ll grant you a swift death.”
A moment later, their spears met in an exchange of blows. Though they were both mounted and fought with the same weapon, Osmund’s opponent wielded his spear with a brilliance unimpeded by being on horseback, and he found himself in a bad position. The difference in strength between them was stark—it therefore felt to Osmund as though the gods had come to his aid when, just as their spears clashed, Gazel’s stirrup snapped.
“Thanks be to heaven!” he cried. No mounted warrior, no matter how mighty, could fight effectively without stirrups. Gazel was heavily off-balance. Osmund twisted his arm inward to magnify the speed and force of the strike that he aimed at Gazel’s heart.
“—ngh!” Osmund had been so sure his spear had found its mark, but, as if in mockery of him, it pierced only empty air. In an instant, the strength went out of his raised toes, and, no longer able to stand in his stirrups, he fell, the ground seeming to draw him down.
“It’d take more than a broken stirrup to unseat the Ruddy General,” said Gazel. Him losing his balance had been a feint. Not that that knowledge helped Osmund here. As if there were anything he could do now, with a spear through his throat. The sudden cold that gripped him couldn’t just be the fault of the temperature.
Tugging at the vanishing threads of his consciousness, Osmund let out a voiceless cry.
“I know. I haven’t forgotten your reward.” As the expressionless voice reached him, he felt a rush of the last of his body heat. But that too subsided before long. All Osmund’s senses left him completely as his heart ceased its beating forever.
“Well, that’s a relief. Should we use this momentum to take their flanks as well?”
“This is all the victory we need. Our job is to lay the foundation, that’s all. Anything more would rob Lady Rosenmarie of her fun, and if there’s anyone whose wrath I don’t want to incur, it’s hers.”
Gazel gave a helpless shrug. His aide smiled wryly. “I feel the same way, ser. I will send word to retreat at once.”
The Crimson Knights returned to Kier Fortress triumphant. In the east, the sky had just begun to lighten.
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