The man courteously bowed. His surname, Blanchard, quickly sparked Regis’s memory.
“Don’t tell me... you’re Sir Everard’s grandson? You were with Marquis Thénezay, as I recall.”
“Yes!”
He had heard from Everard that his grandson had been stationed in the noble army Regis had previously served. When the barbarians exploited the gap in their defenses, decimating Marquis Thénezay’s main camp, this man—Eric—came under the impression he had only survived thanks to Regis’s command.
Regis, however, was certain such credit should be owed to the combat officers in the reserve forces.
Regis took another good look at him. This was definitely what it meant to be fine-featured.
Knight Captain Everard was a bald, bearded giant—as if a gorilla had donned plate armor and taken up a polearm. Regis considered Everard a man still in his prime, so he was relatively shocked to see Everard had a grandson this old.
But perhaps the greatest surprise was the complete lack of semblance between the two.
Blood rushed to Eric’s cheeks.
“Back then, Mr. Regis... Your dignified figure, your calm demeanor, your precise command... I was convinced, then and there, that you were the lord I should wager my life on.”
His words were strong but not forceful, his smile invigorating like a glimmering spring.
To think such a high evaluation had just been handed to someone run ragged by a staircase. Regis almost wanted to apologise.
“...I heard you volunteered to come here.”
“Yes! I arrived just last night. I had hoped to extend my greetings then, but you looked extremely busy.”
“Why would you come to the front lines of your own volition? This is a dangerous place.”
“That’s exactly it. You saved my life, Mr. Regis. Becoming your shield is the very least I can do.”
“...I know I should feel grateful, but... I don’t believe I’m worthy of such a noble proclamation.”
“You assumed the role of tactician, did you not? You declared as such in the duel a moment ago. I was watching.”
“Erk.”
Given the situation, he’d had no other choice. It wasn’t as though his proclamation had been insincere, but to Regis, who wasn’t used to being the center of attention, the memory made him want to curl into a ball.
“For someone of my... ineptitude... to become a tactician... Whether I’ll be able to serve my role is... Ah. More importantly, the commander of this border regiment is Fourth Princess Marie Quatre. As a knight, should you not pledge your allegiance to her instead?”
Although Regis had received permission to call her Altina, he very much wanted to avoid any baseless rumors, so he made sure not to use the nickname in front of anyone else.
“Of course. As a knight of Belgaria, I offer my life and my sword to the emperor, his blood, the nobles, and the people. But the bonfire of hope you rekindled in the hellscape of chaos and despair shall never be forgotten.”
A line so poetically exaggerated it could have come straight from a classical play. Regis was happy enough reading such dramas, but to be involved in one was the last thing he wanted.
“B-Bonfire, eh...? I remember having a lantern back then, if that’s what you’re referring to.”
His gaze wandered around the corridor, lingering anywhere but on the young man before him.
Eric’s mood held firm as he offered a cheerful smile.
“On my grandfather’s orders, we’ve brought the princess’s sword here.”
“Oh, so that’s why you’re here.”
Regis finally regained his breath and looked toward the conference room.
A cloth was spread out over the table, with Altina’s treasured sword—the Grand Tonnerre Quatre—placed on top. As she hadn’t been in any state to carry it after the duel, it had to be transported by other means.
The mud and snow had been cleaned off, restoring the weapon to its former glory. The blade looked immaculate, showing not even a single scratch from the violent clash.
The large window partition to the balcony was open with a knight stationed on each side. As Regis came into view, they saluted in unison.
He passed through and out onto the balcony, the battlefield now spread out before him. A fresh layer of snow piled high on the outlook.
✧ ✧ ✧
The wind continued to blow strong.
This was his second time coming to the strategy room balcony. The first had been with Altina the morning after he arrived.
Back then, the uninterrupted view had allowed for a spectacular sight. But now, because of the blizzard, the distance had become a white haze he couldn’t quite make out. Regardless, right now the scenery was the least of his concerns.
A battle was raging right before his eyes.
Fort Sierck was situated on a north-facing slope. A great many soldiers gathered in the plaza, awaiting their orders to march. Excluding those at defensive stations, the troops on standby numbered roughly two thousand.
Three hundred cavalry had already been dispatched. From what he could see, they were up against six hundred barbarians.
After the first exchange, both sides took distance to exchange menacing glares.
In a free-for-all, combat would usually last until one side took flight. But with proper regulation, an army could take distance and rest before exhaustion claimed any needless casualties.
Jerome and Everard’s cavalry units had set up encampments to defend the fort. The barbarians watched from afar, like starving beasts setting sights on their prey.
Strewn across the white, trampled-down snowfield, a number of bodies lay fallen and unmoving. While it appeared the barbarians had suffered more casualties, that didn’t mean the imperial cavalry hadn’t taken some losses of their own.
Eric came up beside him.
“Those are quite considerable numbers for barbarians.”
“Yeah. I hear the barbarian forces are especially strong in this region... And there are probably even more of them coming.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Watch how they behave—they keep taking glances behind them. Were it only the rearguard, I might have guessed they were just securing their path of retreat. But those at the vanguard are doing the same... I think it’s appropriate to assume they’re expecting reinforcements.”
“I see. But then, why have they decided to attack in waves? Could they be hauling artillery?”
“Barbarians have no artillery. I believe the plan was for the advance six hundred to launch a surprise attack in the blizzard and then hold the gate open for reinforcements.”
“Such a plan from mere barbarians!?”
“They’ll give it that much consideration if they’re attacking a fort... but they should have retreated the moment their plan failed. Perhaps circumstance requires them to take the fort at all costs...?”
The stalemate did not hold for long. The barbarians roared as they charged forward, and the battle started once more.
The cavalry accepted the challenge, lances at the ready. They would usually be able to push back: against six hundred barbarians, three hundred cavalry should herald a one-sided victory.
But there were many strong fighters among the barbarian ranks, making the result much harder to anticipate. Among them, a gaudily dressed man swung a large war axe from the lead. Not only his appearance, but also his strength were a cut above the rest.
A knight opposing him thrust a spear from atop his horse, but his weapon was cleaved by a single swipe from the barbarian. As nimble as a monkey, the barbarian leapt higher than the horse’s back, and again swung his axe with a single hand.
Blood spewed from the knight’s open throat as he powerlessly fell from his horse.
A barbarian able to surpass a knight stationed on the border one-on-one was considerably rare. The men here were incomparable to those based in the imperial capital—men who were knights in name alone, lavishly enjoying the peace away from the war zone. These were elites who had cut their teeth on the front line—it was not common for them to meet such capable opposition.
Regis gazed ahead and sighed.
“So that’s... the king of barbarians.”
“Who’s that?” Eric asked from beside him.
“According to the reconnaissance party’s report, there’s an extremely skilled man leading a union of at least three barbarian tribes.”
“I see. So that man is their king?”
“I don’t know his actual position in their hierarchy, but the strongest lion in a pride is most often the king.”
“...Making him the barbarian king.” Eric nodded, convinced.
His tone was still calm, but he no longer smiled. The atmosphere was too heavy for light-hearted conversation.
Two more mounted units were lost.
It was then that a jet-black horse broke into a gallop as Jerome raced over. He had fought the duel in his military uniform and then had been immediately called to battle, leaving him without armor. He no longer carried the short spear that had been hewn by the princess, instead wielding a silver cavalry lance.
“That has to be Sir Jerome’s mighty lance, Les Cheveux d’une Dame (The Dame’s Locks).” Regis pointed. “It’s renowned as the weapon of heroes: not only does it have an impressive length of 42 palms (311 cm), but its tip was supposedly forged from trystie.”
“The same trystie bequeathed to L’Empereur Flamme by the faeries?”
“According to legend... but the theory it’s a naturally occurring alloy is gaining steady ground.”
Jerome carried into a thrust. Even seen from a distance by a layman, his sharp attack was clearly of a different class than his subordinates’. His spear drove through the air like a majestic bird.
The barbarian king caught the blow with his axe, closing the distance for a counterattack. Having read his movements, the tip of Jerome’s lance was already refocused on his opponent.
Mere millimeters before it could pierce his skin, the barbarian king contorted his torso to dodge.
Allowing the man no time to recover, Jerome once again pushed into an attack, aiming for his heart. Once again, it collided with the axe.
The enemy was forced to retreat.
They were matched in ability, but the reach of Jerome’s weapon and his position on horseback put him at an advantage—Regis played out what would follow in his head.
Eric leaned in.
“It’s grandfather!”
Everard was scattering barbarians with his mighty fauchard.
“I’d expect no less.”
“I can fight as well. Mr. Regis, please allow me to join the battle! If the enemy has reinforcements, should we not send another wave of our own!?”
That would be the normal order to give. No matter the specifics, both sides would eventually clash head-on at full force.
“...The enemy will run if we send reinforcements now.”
“Isn’t driving them away our objective?”
“That sounds good on paper, but if we allow them to retreat, they’ll just regroup and attack again. If possible, I want a result that’ll leave a lasting impact.”
“‘A lasting impact’? What do you mean?”
“Err... Could you fetch me a pen and paper...?”
“Right away!”
Eric dashed into the conference room, returning with a sheet of paper, a pen, and a bottle of ink.
Regis moved to lay the sheet on the table, only to be reminded of the grand sword already rested upon it. There was enough room for him to write, but should he somehow manage to spill ink on the revered weapon, it would surely leave an embarrassing mark on the pages of history. Given how clumsy he was, that wasn’t a risk he was ready to take.
“...I’m sorry, could you hold still a moment?”
“Of course.”
Regis used Eric in place of a desk, setting an inkwell in Eric’s hand and holding the page against his breastplate as he smoothly wrote out line after line.
“All right, that should just about do it. They’ll probably get the message...”
He signed his name and rolled the paper into a scroll. The ink was hardly dry, but it would be fine so long as the words were still legible.
Regis handed it to Eric.
“...Please pass this to Sir Jerome, then Sir Everard, and then whoever is taking command of the soldiers in the square.”
“Understood! This is your first command as our tactician!”
“Mn? Yes, I guess you’re right...”
“Knowing you, Mr. Regis, I’m sure you wrote up a most wonderful strategy.”
“Hahaha... Hardly. Maybe if we lived in an era where an army comprised three hundred men, but this border regiment alone contains three thousand. Truly versatile command is but a pipe dream.”
“Is that so?”
“In this day and age, we need to invest in messengers. Being able to plan five moves ahead is useless unless those orders are actually carried out.”
Eric stared intently at the roll of paper he had received.
“Then... you’re saying you have the next five moves written here?”
“Well, you could call it that.”
“It’s like you’re a prophet.”
“I can’t divine the future, nor can I stand listening to those who believe they can... On this occasion, however, our situation just happened to resemble a battle record I once read.”
“I’ll stake my life on delivering these orders!”
Eric’s eyes were shimmering. He thumped his right fist against his breast.
“No, no. If you lose it, I’ll just write another one. Take care not to injure yourself. Please.” Regis scratched his head.
“Y-Yes... Understood.”
Truth be told, the state of the battlefield was ever changing, so he wouldn’t be writing the same thing twice. But Regis could feel the dangerous follies of youth radiating from this man.
Once he’d departed, Regis addressed the knights on standby in the room.
“I’ll be fine here. Could you guard Eric?”
They exchanged surprised glances, but demonstrated understanding with a salute.
The three knights were now gone from the strategy room.
“Good grief...”
Regis placed an elbow on the balcony railing and rested his cheek on his hand.
Should he have told Eric, ‘The future of the empire relies on this message’? It would have definitely motivated him, to say the least...
“Perhaps, but when you say that, the young soldier is prone to a bout of sudden death.”
✧ ✧ ✧
Jerome’s one-on-one clash with the barbarian king was like a furious storm. Each thrust was filled with such thirst for blood Regis could make it out from afar. It wasn’t that he had held back in his duel against Altina, but rather that he now had no concerns about taking his opponent’s life.
The barbarian king was a marvel himself. He turned aside the ceaseless barrage of attacks with such a heavy axe, aiming to sever the lance whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Perhaps Jerome would have lost by now had his spear not been made of faerie silver.
As their weapons met once more, the axe suddenly shattered, forcing the barbarian king to pull back. But before Jerome could give chase, Eric arrived. He relayed the orders to the general...
...who immediately glared at Regis, completely disregarding the distance between them.
The central tower where Regis stood was too far from the battlefield to make out any expressions, let alone in the midst of a blizzard, and yet he could somehow feel the rage in Jerome’s eyes.
But Regis was their appointed strategist; there was little Jerome could do to oppose his command.
Had he not been so far away, Regis was sure the man’s gaze would have been enough to stop his heart completely. Had he been close enough for words to reach, what would he have said?
✧ ✧ ✧
A short while later, Jerome’s one hundred and Everard’s two hundred cavalry cleared a route to the front gate, gathering themselves on either side. There was clear animosity in their actions, but they obeyed nonetheless.
They then drew a half-circle, enclosing the barbarians from both sides.
At the same time, the massive iron door of the front gate opened outward.
Regis’s attention was suddenly drawn to the hurried footsteps approaching the conference room. He turned.
“Hm?”
“Ah, there you are!”
Altina entered, her left arm hung in a sling. Her dress was new, and she had equipped even more armor since he had last seen her.
Behind her was the maid, Clarisse, and... a woman in a white coat.
“Princess, did I not tell you to get some rest?” the woman sighed. She wore spectacles, an item so rare and valuable it was hardly even seen in the capital. Her short-cut hair gave her a rather masculine appearance. She was twenty-nine and held the position of imperial doctor.
Regis never got her name. Female medical practitioners were rare in the empire—in fact, she was the only one at the fort—and everyone simply referred to her as the ‘lady doctor.’ Docteur féminin. Just like Clarisse, she had apparently followed the princess from the imperial court.
Altina’s complexion was considerably improved. Regis smiled in relief.
“Hey, are you all right now?”
“Yep!”
“She’s not all right!”
The doctor raised her voice, narrowing the eyes behind her spectacles.
Altina dismissively waved her off with her right hand.
“I’m fine, I tell you! I can walk just fine. You worry too much, Docteur.”
“Your arm is fractured!”
“True, but—”
“What!? You broke it!?”
The doctor responded to Regis’s surprise with a look of pure exhaustion, managing a small nod.
“God, she’s supposed to be a princess. I’d give her three months for a full recovery. Are you listening, princess? Please don’t add to my workload.”
“Won’t you get bored if you don’t exercise your skills every now and again?” Altina wasn’t discouraged in the slightest.
Clarisse sighed. “A wild animal still hunts, broken bones or not. That’s just how it is. We have little say in the matter.”
Almost in unison, Regis and the doctor sighed deeply.
“Hah... So our princess is the same as your common loup gris,” the doctor opined.
“How bothersome...” said Regis.
“W-What’s with you people? What else could I do? It was a fair duel! More importantly—Regis, how is the battle going!? Did we win!?”
Altina moved to Regis’s side and joined him in watching the situation from the balcony.
Her face immediately drained of color.
“Eh!? What’s going on!? The enemy’s entering the fort!”
“Yeah... I had Sir Jerome and Sir Everard’s units move to the sides and then opened the gate. It threatens the barbarians with an attack from three sides.”
“Yeah, but you’re supposed to protect the front of the fort, and then divide the troops only once reinforcements have been deployed. If you open the gate beforehand, they’ll just charge straight in!” she explained in a flurry.
Regis found himself quite impressed.
“That’s incredible. You know the basics of strategic warfare?”
“Enough to know there’s been a catastrophic error made here! The enemy’s entering through the gate— Aah, they just keep coming in!”
The barbarians poured into the parade ground ahead of the central tower. They met with the imperial soldiers gathered as reinforcements and the battle resumed.
The doctor’s face went even paler than Altina’s.
“Hey now... Is this going to be all right, Strategist!?”
“...For now.”
“I believe in you, Regis.” Altina stared him down. “So please explain.”
“Explain, huh? How should I put it... Let’s say you’re the barbarians. All of a sudden, mid combat, the cavalry defending the fort parts and the front gate stands open. What crosses your mind?”
“It’s a huge chance!” Altina immediately answered.
“I’d think it’s a trap,” answered the doctor.
Clarisse simply replied with an “I don’t know.”
Regis continued his explanation.
“Yes, I expect opinions will be divided. Between those who see it as an opportunity and charge ahead, and those who suspect a trap and freeze up... a difference in response naturally comes about. But the tricky part is, unlike in chess, soldiers in real combat won’t always move as they’re ordered. Soldiers stand on the battlefield under a delicate balance of ambition and fear.”
“So you’re saying they won’t all do the same thing?”
“If they’d been able to predict our strategy beforehand, perhaps they’d be able to regulate their ranks. But the barbarian chain of command is already muddled as is, so if you offer them a sudden opportunity to strike, they’ll all attack, albeit gradually.”
The doctor tilted her head.
“Why would they all attack, even knowing it might be a trap? If it were me, I’d remain no matter who else went. I can make my own decisions.”
“Because the imperial cavalry is simultaneously closing in on both sides. If your allies are pushing forward, you have no choice but to follow. The only alternative is certain demise.”
“Oh... I see... Then they really have no other option.”
“Yeah. But, on a snowy incline, cavalry is overwhelmingly faster than foot soldiers moving uphill. Sir Jerome and Sir Everard’s units will no doubt reach the front gate before they can.”
It was just as Regis stated. Of six hundred barbarians, only around two hundred managed to enter the fort before the cavalry bisected their sluggishly-moving forces from the sides. The horsemen had become a second wall glaring inside and out.
Altina clapped her hands together at the realization.
“I see! The plan was to separate them!”
“...That, too.”
“There was another reason?”
“The division is just a means to an end... A means to surround the most troublesome piece on the enemy side. The barbarian king is strong—even Sir Jerome was struggling to take him down. And that could well be why he chooses to stand and fight in the vanguard.”
Just like a certain princess, he was quite a reckless one.
“Quite right.” Altina nodded in earnest. “It’s a given for the commander! Why should anyone follow if you’re not there to lead them?”
“In the regiment I used to serve, the main camp was always the furthest back... Whatever the case, I made use of that. I thought he’d be the first to charge if he saw the chance.”
“Is it going well, Mr. Regis?” Clarisse interjected.
“...We’ll probably win.”
“In that case... why do you look so worried?”
“Eh? Is that the face I’m making? That’s not very promising...”
“That’s how it looks to me.”
On Clarisse’s indication, Altina and the doctor looked at him, too.
Regis awkwardly scratched his head.
“...For the most part, this battle is following a situation I’m already familiar with. But I do have one concern. See, this plan fails if the barbarian king doesn’t surrender.”
✧ ✧ ✧
Eric had relayed the directive to the soldiers in the square.
Men equipped with large shields moved shoulder to shoulder, forming a defensive wall on the inner side of the front gate. Behind them stood a row of soldiers armed with long spears.
The front gate began to lower as they laid this impromptu trap. Before it even met the earth, barbarians barreled in like an avalanche.
“UOOOOOOOOH!!”
Roaring like wild beasts, they drove their axes into the shield wall, scattering shreds of leather and splintered wood...
And leaving them vulnerable to the spearmen eagerly waiting at the ready.
“Graaah!!”
Debris mixed with blood as one barbarian was pierced through the chest.
It was a bold strategy. Should their formation be breached, they would not only risk the lives of the men on the field, but of the noncombatants housed in the fort. There would be a harrowing number of casualties.
The imperial soldiers in the square numbered a thousand against only five hundred barbarians. Such inferior numbers could normally be subdued without issue.
But from the ranks of the encroaching barbarians, one man cleared the defenses with a single, impressive leap.
Regis pointed from his vantage point on the observation platform.
“That’s the barbarian king.”
“Oh! Is he strong!?”
As Altina leaned herself over the balcony...
A single arrow tore through the air toward them.
His attention fixed on the man now forcing his way through the empire’s ranks, Regis stood completely unaware as it reached for his flank.
One of the barbarians must have noticed him.
Even had he not been distracted, Regis lacked the finesse to successfully dodge it. He processed no more than a faint glimmer as the arrowhead suddenly appeared in his peripheral.
“Eh—?”
An abrupt impact forced the air from his lungs—accompanied by the dull schwing of metal—and the still-dazed tactician was knocked from his feet.
Altina had pushed him aside, striking down the arrow with the protector on her right arm—it was only as he noticed the arrow on the stone beside him that Regis realized what had happened.
“Wh— Woah!?”
“What’s wrong!? Did it get you!?”
“A-Are you— Are you okay, Altina!? Your wound—!?”
“Huh, wound? I blocked it with my armor. There’s no way an arrow from a normal, upward-fired bow could pierce iron plating.”
“That’s not what I meant...”
It seemed she was fine.
✧ ✧ ✧
The king of barbarians leaped higher than the surrounding heads, using the nearest shoulders as stepping stones to rise higher still. He soared above the imperial soldiers poised with shields and spears.
“Hrraaaaaah!!”
He gripped a new, larger war axe, which he brought down into the skull of a hapless soldier.
The man beside him, splattered by the blood of his now-dead comrade, swung his weapon in a panic. It cut through air and then dropped to the ground as his arm was almost fully severed from his torso.
Resounding terror spread through the crowd; those in the path of the barbarian king quickly descended into frenzy.
So widespread was the pandemonium... Perhaps their encirclement would collapse entirely.
Years ago, in combat with the neighboring Germanian Federation, Black Knight Jerome had penetrated the opponent’s armored cavalry head-on, completely turning the tide of battle. It had been that sheer power that earned him his reputation as a hero. Perhaps this barbarian would manage the same, becoming a new legend in the annals of war.
That is, he might have, had the opposing tactician not already enacted a plan.
As Regis lay on the cold stone of the balcony, the intercepted arrow beside him, his orders were already underway.
A portion of the encirclement thinned out in such a way that could only be discerned from above. As expected, the king leaping overhead seized the sudden opportunity—he had no other choice. If he was too slow in breaking through the regiment’s formation, the barbarians who’d entered the fort would be surrounded and wiped out.
So the barbarian king continued to jump from shoulder to shoulder, pressing toward the opening.
“Hup!!”
A number of seemingly unarmed soldiers who had been lying in wait amid the crowd called out in unison as they threw something at the king overhead.
Three weights tied together with rope. These were projectile weapons called bolas, and were generally used in hunting. Unlike arrows, they spread out when thrown to cover a wider range, making it easier to ensnare fast-moving beasts. Though they rarely saw use on the battlefield...
Not just one, but several were hurled from among the mass of soldiers.
The king curved his axe and struck three of the bolas down.
“Grraaaaaah!!”
But a fourth managed to wrap around his arm. As he struggled to remove it, another entangled his legs. And then a sixth was thrown; the rope snagged the barbarian king’s waist, and the momentum-carried weight slammed into his stomach.
He was dragged from the air, just barely managing to catch himself with one arm as he smacked into the ground.
“Ghh!?”
He lifted his head; a number of imperial polearms were already honed in on him.
“Don’t move, you ape!” the captain leading the attack roared, readying his blade.
“Don’t kill him!” resounded a voice so loud it eclipsed even the dissonance of combat in the square below. The voice belonged to Altina.
Regis, who had been beside her, held his now-ringing ears.
Her orders had reached them. The captain kept his sword raised, but the barbarian king had been spared.
“...What are you doing?” Regis queried, still clasping his ears.
“I want to speak with that man.”
“Eh? Could you run that by me again?” Regis was so surprised by her words he had to make sure he’d heard them correctly. Especially as the tinnitus hadn’t quite yet fully alleviated.
To the people of Belgaria, the barbarians were to be treated as harmful beasts.
If a man-eating wolf was captured, and someone said they wished to speak with it, they would surely be met with looks of disbelief; it was a common assumption that words did not reach barbarians. Regis wasn’t convinced, but he was still surprised to hear the princess say she wanted to speak to the barbarian.
“It’d be a shame to let such a skilled warrior die, wouldn’t it?”
“...No, I don’t understand that sense of values. But I do endorse conversation. Moreover, I think that’s just what you need right now.”
“I’m not really sure what you mean, but I’m glad I have your approval!”
Altina took in a deep breath. This time, Regis took a preparatory step back and covered his ears. He glanced over to see Clarisse and the doctor had done the same.
The princess raised her voice again:
“I am the fourth princess of the empire, Marie Quatre Argentina de Belgaria! I wish to speak with the king of barbarians! Both sides, cease your fighting at once!”
Her words were merely a sincere expression of her intentions, but the soldiers took them as a proclamation of victory. She had announced the barbarian king was captured.
The heavy air of unrest was replaced with sudden excitement as the men raised their swords and spears, shouts of celebration thundering across the plaza.
“UOOOOOOH!!”
“Vive l’empire!!”
“Vive Marie Quatre!! Vive l’empereur!!”
The battle had been conclusively decided. The barbarians had scaled a steep slope in the midst of a blizzard, battled through a formidable cavalry, and then had been immediately surrounded once they entered the fort.
They were exhausted beyond their limits, and the resounding cheers only further chipped away at their remaining shreds of morale.
One by one, the barbarians dropped their weapons, many collapsing to their knees on the spot.
✧ ✧ ✧
The barbarians who had stormed the fort had been gathered into a corner, separated at ten-pace intervals with their backs to the wall. The regiment’s soldiers stood guard, bows and spears trained on their captives.
The blizzard was letting up, but the bitter cold of winter still seeped through the plaza.
Altina’s dialogue with the barbarian king needs to be settled before sunset. If we keep the men in these conditions overnight, many will no doubt freeze to death.
Regis was pulled from his musings by a chorus of victorious roars from outside the fort. The barbarians who hadn’t charged into the plaza, numbering close to four hundred, had distanced themselves from the battle and regrouped halfway down the mountain.
It would be easy for the regiment’s cavalry to pursue and decimate this army, especially now their most powerful warrior had been captured, but Regis had already forbidden such a move. Instead, he ordered them to spread word of a discussion between the barbarian representative and the imperial commander.
A massacre had been what he feared the most.
Had the barbarians not surrendered, they would have most likely been massacred by the surrounding imperial army. Granted, it wasn’t a particularly rare sight on the battlefield, but it was one he wanted to avoid nonetheless. For both the strategic and emotional consequences.
Thank God I managed to keep the casualties down on both sides. He let out a relieved sigh.
It wasn’t long before the barbarian reinforcements arrived, just as he’d predicted.
They joined the gathering outside of the fort. Regis watched them carefully, anxiously awaiting their next move. But the barbarians stood in place, neither attacking nor retreating.
They appeared to be waiting for the results of the discussion.
Fort Sierck’s last battle of the year 850, tense as it was, neared its tentative resolution.
✧ ✧ ✧
“Oi, Regis!”
Upon returning to the central tower, Jerome closed in on Regis with the speed and intimidation of a cavalry charge.
“Ah, um, yes...?”
Regis had been sat at a desk in the conference room, filling in a report on the battle. This was normally the work of a specialist, but as Jerome had driven out the regiment’s administrative officers, there was no one else it could be entrusted to.
Altina had returned to her bedroom to change into more appropriate attire; she could hardly put pressure on him with her arm in a sling.
Jerome leaned in close.
“What the hell was that battle plan!?”
“...That, uh... If they retreated into the blizzard, it would’ve proven near impossible to chase them down, let alone capture their most powerful unit.”
“So you let them into the fort!? To think, our walls were breached by lowly barbarians! We’ll be the laughing stock of the empire!”
“That’s quite all right. I’m sure they’re already so entertained at our commander being a fourteen-year-old girl that they won’t pay this any notice.”
“Even worse!” Jerome snarled through gritted teeth, so plainly irate it seemed he might snap at any moment.
Regis spoke in a softened tone as he attempted to soothe him:
“What does it matter? Let them undermine us and lower their guard. Concealing one’s true strength is an effective strategy in both offensive and defensive combat.”
“I see. A petty scheme befitting such a weak-willed man. But there’s one thing you overlooked.”
“What’s that?”
“I can’t stand being looked down on!”
“...I... I see.”
Regis scratched his head. The general was right—it wasn’t something he’d accounted for. He had considered maybe Jerome would fly into a rage over the discernible risk of such a strategy, but never that it would be a problem of dignity.
It seemed reality wouldn’t progress as smoothly as in the books he read. In such a situation, Regis would usually be quite uneasy about his competency as a strategist, but with the vehement Jerome still leaning mere centimeters from his face, he instead felt uneasy all over.
“I noticed there are barbarians held captive in our fort. Why aren’t they dead yet?”
“The princess wished to speak with them.”
“‘Speak with them?’ Is she an idiot? Either put them to work or hang them from the ramparts.”
It was clear he wasn’t being cynical or facetious: there was a sincerity in his tone that showed he truly doubted her intelligence. The barbarians weren’t beasts—that was what Regis believed, at least, but he understood that outlook was in the minority.
This was a gamble to get closer to a goal otherwise too distant to see. This dialogue had to succeed. If communication broke down, she would be judged as a whimsical, irrational leader. But this hurdle was an inevitable one. Her sights were fixed on such a reckless aspiration that the path had to be paved with disadvantageous gambles.
“...It won’t be too late to reconsider the princess’s intellect once the talks are over.” Regis rose from his chair. “It’s about time.”
Jerome turned to the exit as well.
“I opened the storehouse. Meat and ale.” His words were completely devoid of emotion.
“...Oh... I see.”
Regis had wondered what the reward for battle would be, and it did seem this regiment customarily held banquets. Come to think of it, they had also put out meat and ale following the bandit subjugation.
In the noble army Regis had previously worked in, the highest success was rewarded with jewels and art, but they had no such funds here. And Regis had to wonder whether this regiment’s soldiers would even be grateful for such gifts.
“Thank you for the advice.”
“This isn’t for you or for her. It’s a leader’s duty to reward his men.”
“I’ll take that to heart.”
“Hmph... Quit being so quick to humble yourself. Are you mocking me?”
“No, but... Ah. That’s a difficult order.”
“Just say what you’re thinking deep down. That spineless nature of yours is why others have such a hard time trusting you.”
“You want me to be honest?”
“Yes, no secrets. Speak at will.”
“...I want some paid vacation. And I need some more books.”
“The hell would I care?”
“How callous.” Regis slumped his shoulders in disappointment as his hopes for a break ended as quickly as they began.
✧ ✧ ✧
Hasty construction turned the courtyard usually used for training into an impromptu audience chamber.
Altina was seated in the center with a large mantle draped across her left shoulder and down to her knees. It served to conceal her wounded arm.
Regis stood to her right, and Jerome to her left.
There was no red carpet, but soldiers lined through the impromptu hall to create a path, flying the empire’s banner at the ends of their spears.
The flag was made from red cloth to represent L’Empereur Flamme and decorated with seven swords. This design was a newer innovation: It was believed the first emperor fought under a white flag, but in the modern era these were recognized by neighboring territories as a sign of surrender.
The king of barbarians was led between the walls of soldiers.
His hands were bound at his hip with rope, Everard keeping a tight hold on him from the side. Regis caught sight of Eric behind him.
The group came to a halt roughly ten paces away.
“I really don’t mind, bring him closer. How can we speak comfortably at such a distance?”
“But...”
“And undo the ropes. What I desire is a dialogue; I don’t seek to interrogate a prisoner of war.”
“Princess!? This man moves as fast as a monkey—he’s terribly dangerous!”
It was only natural for Everard to voice an objection. Altina met his eyes with an unwavering stare.
“Are you suggesting an unarmed foe could defeat me in battle? What’s more, I have a highly praised general at my side. Bring him closer; I won’t be branded a coward.”
“Gn... Mm... Very well.”
Everard had expressed consideration as he knew the princess was injured, but he was now before the troops, and there were times when the dignity of a ruler took precedence over safety.
His ropes untied, the barbarian king stepped forward five paces.
Regis struggled to swallow; his throat had dried out from nervousness.
The man looked around the same age as Jerome—in his mid-twenties. He wore clothing fashioned from beast pelts and bird feathers.
Within the empire, barbarians were invariably depicted as vile demons to be slain by radiant knights, boasting the faces of monkeys and bears. But this man’s appearance carried a somewhat noble grace.
He refused to kneel, instead looking down over the princess in a display of arrogance.
A normal audience chamber would have seated the monarch higher up, ensuring they remained above everyone else even when seated, but the room’s hurried construction had afforded no time for this luxury.
Everard frowned.
Altina addressed the king, paying his disrespect no mind:
“Let me introduce myself once more: I am Marie Quatre Argentina de Belgaria, fourth in line to the imperial throne of Belgaria.”
The man before her said nothing.
Can he even understand her? Feelings of doubt reached silently through the soldiers.
But Regis could see the man in deep thought. His eyes widened in slight anticipation as the barbarian king first opened his mouth.
«What a long name.»
He spoke in the native tongue of Germania. It was likely that was where he hailed from, and that he was educated enough to understand Belgarian.
While the empire was almost always at war, cultural exchange with surrounding nations was still a regular occurrence. Times of peace simply made such trade easier to achieve.
For that reason, it was only common courtesy for an imperial noble to study the dialect of neighboring lands. Regis was just a commoner, but had been taught Germanian as part of the military academy’s administrative officer curriculum.
Meaning everyone in earshot—aside from the soldiers watching blankly from the sidelines—understood Germanian.
“What utter disrespect for the name of our princess!”
«Disrespect? Belgarians really do enjoy their needless formalities.»
As Everard’s face reddened with outrage, Altina waved a dismissive hand in his direction.
“Pay it no mind. He is not of the empire; it’s laughable to demand respect from those who aren’t our subjects.”
The knight captain slowly exhaled through his nose as he conceded, and respectfully nodded in response.
Altina turned back to the barbarian king, this time speaking in Germanian.
«What should we call you? In the empire, it is custom to return a name when someone introduces themselves. Or are the rumors that barbarians are nameless true?»
«We do not consider ourselves barbarians. I am Diethardt; I have cast aside the name of my house. Our nation is Bargenheim.»
Jerome scoffed. He made a grandiose display, lurching back with his arms half raised in feigned surprise, and threw his voice so all the soldiers could hear:
“Hah... What a grand discovery. Who could have guessed that dreary forest was a nation! To think our neighboring territory wasn’t the godforsaken Germanian Federation, but a nation of savages—who knew the barbarians had a sense of humor!?”
Diethardt ground his teeth as the courtyard erupted into laughter, resentment raging inside him until—
A burst of sudden anger interrupted the revelry. Not from the ridiculed king, but from Altina. She punched her right fist into the chair’s oak armrest, which let off a resounding snap as it broke.
“Ah...”
Silence returned.
She cleared her throat. “It seems I’ll need to educate you all on how to treat a guest. You may leave at once.”
“Princess!?” Everard fiercely protested, but his words fell on deaf ears. She kicked back the half-splintered chair as she stood.
“All men, fall back thirty paces. This is an order!”
Jerome ran a thumb across the scar on his chin.
“Kukukuh... You sure? That barbarian might try to wring your neck.”
“Should that happen, you may intervene.”
“And if you’re taken hostage?”
“Oh? I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Very well. Chat with that scummy Germanian traitor all you like.”
Jerome receded to join the wall.
Regis moved to follow suit, only to be taken by the collar.
“Where are you going?” Altina questioned.
You just told me to leave, he thought, but decided to phrase it more formally given their audience:
“As you have commanded—”
“You are our tactician, now is your time to shine. Don’t you have anything to say?”
“...I’m parched.”
“Ah, that reminds me...”
Jerome and the soldiers retreated thirty paces, putting them against the courtyard walls. Everard and Eric heeded the orders as well.
On the princess’s command, two chairs, a table, and a glass bottle of wine were brought in.
Diethardt was seated first. Altina sat across from him, Regis stood to her side.
“Not bad at all. It’s like a café terrace,” the princess observed.
“...Quite right. I’m sure a café terrace out in the snow, surrounded by bloodthirsty soldiers, would be a great success back at the capital,” Regis remarked. “It’s got novelty, I’ll give it that.”
Altina leaked a good-spirited smile. “You think there’ll be a line?”
Diethardt, on the other hand, continued to glare daggers.
