II
The Imperial Army, Rosenmarie’s Camp
Rosenmarie looked up at her finished “stage” and gave an approving nod. “For a thing you built in a day, this is fine work.”
Oscar, who also looked up at the construction, now turned to Rosenmarie with a sour expression. “My lady, just what is your purpose in building a thing like this right in front of Kier Fortress?”
“That’s a surprise,” she replied. “Really, though, who’d have thought the Royal Army were such cowards without Death God Olivia around? Even animals don’t hold back when going after tasty prey that wanders across their path.”
“The Royal Army are not animals, my lady. They can hardly help but suspect a trap when we’ve been so brazen. For what it’s worth, if I were one of the enemy’s commanders, I would take care to avoid any rash action—especially if my objective were to keep us pinned down here.”
“Even then, if Death God Olivia were here, she wouldn’t be watching quietly. She’s that sort of woman.” With a smirk, Rosenmarie scrambled nimbly up the ladder beside them.
Not even Oscar, her chief of staff, was privy to exactly what it was that Rosenmarie planned on doing next. Perhaps the only ones who knew were the soldiers who followed her up the ladder with large wooden boxes strapped to their backs. Naturally, Oscar had questioned her about it at every available opportunity. But her answer was always the same—that it was a “surprise.” So long as Rosenmarie wouldn’t talk, Oscar had no choice but to guess. He racked his brains, and yet in the end he had still not arrived at an answer.
With even our own side in this state of chaos, the Royal Army must be at their wits’ end. Perhaps Colonel Guyel would have worked it out, after he served under Lady Rosenmarie for all those years. Not that there’s any way to ask him now...
Oscar sighed heavily as he grasped a rung of the ladder to go and see what Rosenmarie was up to.
Rosenmarie was in high spirits as she mounted the stage. With the same momentum, she went to stand front and center, planting her hands on her hips as she scowled imperiously down at the Royal Army below.
“A glorious view.”
Even at this distance, the confusion of the Royal Army troops deployed on the front line was palpable. In contrast, the Winged Crusaders showed no such uncertainty. What her bird’s-eye view from atop the stage had revealed to Rosenmarie was that the Winged Crusaders were preparing to retreat. As long as one was on the ground, it probably only looked like they were arranging their formations.
That implies they haven’t told the Royal Army about their plans. That’s odd...
Rosenmarie had no way of knowing the nature of the alliance between the Kingdom of Fernest and the Holy Land of Mekia. There was no doubt that it was an alliance purely of convenience, but even so, Rosenmarie couldn’t make sense of why Mekia would decide to retreat before it was clear which way the battle would go.
Oh well. If you want to retreat, be my guest. You still owe us for Fort Astora. Once I’m done wiping the Royal Army off the map, we’ll have plenty of time to enjoy ourselves. Her gaze drifted naturally to the Royal Army’s forces spread out at the very back. Like the Winged Crusaders, there was no sign of concern there either. There you are, Invincible General. So this little game isn’t enough to shake you. Nothing less from the man who outplayed Gladden.
The rematch with Olivia that she had been holding out for might have been delayed, but Rosenmarie had by no means entirely lost interest in the battle. Her crimson eyes roved around for the aged hero she had yet to regard.
“Lady Rosenmarie!” A Crimson Knight in Royal Army armor came up to her, sounding cheerful. “We’re ready at your command.”
The preparations, it seemed, were complete. Rosenmarie took the deep crimson cloak presented to her and donned it with a flourish.
“Then let’s begin, shall we?” Rosenmarie sang, announcing the opening of the show.
The First Allied Legion, the Front Line
The standoff between the Royal Army and the imperial army continued, concentrated around the rapidly constructed watchtower, when the sudden sound of battle drums emanating from the structure drew the Royal Army’s attention afresh. After a time, the drumming died away and a brass instrument started up with a sweet melody in its place. The melody, which might have been pleasing to the ear in peacetime, sounded nothing but eerie on that field ravaged by pure violence.
“First they build that strange watchtower, now this? These imperials holed up in Kier Fortress go from one bizarre ploy to another.” The platoon captain, who led a unit of light infantry, glared unremittingly up at the watchtower, perhaps to conceal the unease that had taken root in his heart.
The First Allied Legion, Neinhardt’s Camp
Seeing the soldiers suddenly begin to clamor, Neinhardt’s aide Captain Katerina Reinas barked, “What’s going on?!”
A nearby platoon captain with a spyglass in one hand called over to her. “Look over there, ser.”
Katerina, her severe expression unchanged, took her spyglass from the holster at her hip. Soon after, she went to Neinhardt’s side, her face now showing something between panic and fury as she pointed and, repeating what the platoon captain had said to her, said, “Look over there, ser.”
Neinhardt obediently pointed his spyglass at the watchtower. His brow knit as he took in the scene.
“Are they...” he said slowly, “putting on a play?”
Soldiers clad in what was obviously Royal Army armor raised their swords theatrically, while the Crimson Knights responded by putting up swords of their own. As both sides let out battle cries, a high-hearted tune began to play, and the stage descended into battle.
“General.” Katerina seethed in barely contained rage even with that one short word. Only an idiot, Neinhardt was convinced, could now mistake what was happening atop the structure for anything other than theater.
“So it wasn’t a watchtower, but a stage,” he observed. “They’re really laying the mockery on thick.”
The play went on even as he and Katerina spoke. The soldiers dressed up as the Royal Army fell clattering to the floor as they were routed by the Crimson Knights. The Crimson Knights in turn planted their boots on the fallen, then raised their spears and roared in triumph. Then, the music became sinister as a soldier with silver hair and black armor entered from stage right.
“Is that...?!”
“It’s obvious who that’s supposed to be.”
The silver-haired soldier walked forward, drawing her sword before cutting down the Crimson Knights who came at her one after another. Those who remained edged backward.
“Hark, wicked Death God! Your villainy ends here!” A woman’s gallant cry boomed out across the stage. At once, the musicians struck up a heroic tune as, with a dashing sweep of her crimson cloak, a red-haired soldier appeared from stage left.
“You don’t see red hair like that every day...” said Neinhardt. “With that appearance, she has to be Rosenmarie von Berlietta of the empire’s Three Generals.”
Rosenmarie strode to the center of the stage and raised her sword skyward. Then, she and the silver-haired soldier began to act out a duel. The clash of steel rang out as the pair pulled out an array of acrobatic tricks worthy of street performers. The climax seemed near at hand as the music swelled to a fever pitch. At the last, Rosenmarie’s blade raked the silver-haired soldier from shoulder to hip, and, pretending to writhe in agony, the soldier fell where she stood. Rosenmarie returned to the center of the stage and raised her sword in triumph.
“I have slain the Death God!” she cried. The Crimson and Helios Knights who were gathered around the stage broke out in thunderous applause, and so the play came to an end.
The First Allied Legion, Hermann’s Camp
As Hermann watched a unit disregard orders and charge at the enemy, his first thought even before it occurred to him to be angry was, No surprises there. A mere charade though it might have been, the imperial army had openly ridiculed Olivia, and while she was now the supreme commander of the Eighth Legion, she had originally served in the Seventh Legion. That it had been too much for the soldiers to bear was therefore a sentiment Hermann sympathized with. However, sympathy was one thing—disregard of orders was another.
“Call back the fools who charged off, right now.”
“Yes, ser!” His aide, Louis, immediately passed along the order. Hermann looked on, running a careful hand over the lonely strands that were what remained of his hair these days.
If the enemy wanted to provoke us into attacking without thinking, there were plenty of ways to do it without resorting to such a complex contraption. What’s their commander plotting, I wonder...?
Unfortunately, in the end, Hermann’s orders had no effect. After the first unit charged, others followed with no end in sight—indeed, not only Hermann’s own unit, but Neinhardt’s and Lambert’s were also swept up in the current. Here, Hermann understood for the first time that he had fundamentally underestimated what Olivia meant.
To think she held such sway... he marveled. I guess that’s what you’d call a hero.
It was not what the Royal Army command had intended, but the battle was underway once more.
The Imperial Army, Rosenmarie’s Camp
Rosenmarie dropped into the chair that someone had placed in the middle of the stage. In one fluid motion, she placed an elbow on one armrest, threw a leg over the other, then rested her cheek on her fist. As she gazed lazily out at the Royal Army, her lips curled like a crescent moon.
“You know, I think my debut performance was a hit.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, my lady?”
“Yes, I am. Aren’t you, Oscar?”
“I still can’t get past the part where I have no idea what the play was for.”
Oscar had watched the whole thing from off to stage left. The point of the play—perhaps the first in history to be put on in the midst of battle—had been to insult Rosenmarie’s bitter enemy Olivia. That much was clear. But Oscar couldn’t see what more there was to it, and so felt nothing but bemusement.
Rosenmarie, inscrutable, was still smiling. “Do you always need your entertainment to be for something?”
“Entertainment...?!” At this, Oscar was unable to keep his voice calm. “Are you telling me, my lady, that you did all of this to entertain yourself?!”
“What’re you getting worked up for now? I’ve been saying from the start that I wanted to have fun.”
Oscar did remember Rosenmarie declaring as much at the war council. But he had assumed she was simply being metaphorical. No one would have thought she really meant it. Except, you shouldn’t be so sure of that, Oscar reminded himself. He recalled the Crimson Knights who had taken the stage alongside her, and the relish they had seemed to take in playing their roles. In any case, his questions around all of Rosenmarie’s behavior now had answers.
Oscar came around to face Rosenmarie, then knelt.
“Now that the play is over, the players ought to leave the stage,” he said.
Rosenmarie laughed. “That’s practically witty, coming from you, Oscar. But no.”
“Why, my lady?”
“Why? Well, because the real show is about to begin.”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘real show,’ but we have no escape route here.” Oscar knew this without needing to check. Battle cries rose up to them as a thunderous rumble, telling him that the two armies had clashed. The air grew hot with the fever of battle, and moments later, a vast cloud of arrows rose up, heading for the stage.
“My lady!”
As one, the Crimson Knights raised their shields to protect Rosenmarie, who still lounged in her chair. But they couldn’t deflect every arrow. And just so, a single arrow weaved its way through a gap between the shields, straight at Rosenmarie. None of the Crimson Knights noticed. Oscar was the only one who caught it.
There’s no time to tell them!
Everyone, Oscar himself included, agreed that he was a thinking man. He didn’t have a shield to repel an arrow, nor did he have the skill to knock one out of the air with a sword like a skilled warrior might. Oscar did the only thing he could. Without hesitation, he threw himself in the arrow’s path—
“My...my lady?”
“Are you stupid? You are my chief of staff; you do not casually toss your life away for one piddling arrow.”
Thrown onto his backside, Oscar stared in stunned amazement at Rosenmarie, who now held the arrow clenched in her fist.
“I still need you up and doing your job, got it? Now hurry up and get off the stage.”
“O-Of course...”
“One of you lot go fetch my bow.” Rosenmarie rose unhurriedly from her chair, then held out an arm. At once, one of the Crimson Knights came forward with a longbow stained a deep red. When they then attempted to hand her arrows, however, Rosenmarie only said coldly, “I don’t need those.”
“Now we offer our finite lives to be consumed in the fires of battle—now is the real show. I’m going to savor every moment of it.”
Shifting only slightly, Rosenmarie avoided the incoming arrows, then somehow she caught one from the air and, in the same motion, nocked it to her own bowstring.
“You, first.” The arrow flew from the red longbow, cloaking itself in scarlet as it cleanly took off the head of a Royal Army soldier. The nearby soldiers froze in shock.
Even exposed to innumerable arrows, Rosenmarie bared her teeth in fearless glee, and where she stood, Oscar found himself thinking he saw a vision of Floressia, the mythical goddess of battle.
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