Trivial Incidents Often Become Major Events (2)
They say natural disasters aren't meant to be confronted but avoided. And the situation barreling toward me right now was no different from one.
Out of nowhere, the empire's princess storms in and declares that since I seem to have made her lose, we should have a match immediately. What the hell was that supposed to mean? This wasn't some Pokémon battle…
Of course, my reaction was sharp. She seemed caught off guard by my outright refusal, letting out an astonished “Hah?” first.
“What… did you just say?”
“It seems Your Highness graciously wishes to test your skills against mine in some contest, but if I may be so bold as to have a choice, I must decline, Your Highness.”
“……May I hear your reasons?”
She was the type to pester a margrave for days after a single loss—obviously, I held back from saying that no matter how we dueled, things wouldn't end cleanly. Instead,
“It's simply that I'm clearly not worthy of Your Highness's discerning eye, so I'm knowing my place in advance.”
“No, I don't think that's your real motive. You're surely presuming it would be burdensome due to my status. Worried I might harass you with my authority or something.”
She dismantled my humble deflection with a single scoff. But you are harassing me right now. The victim's tears(?) were right here. I forced a smile and kept talking.
“It's true I gave the Ruticia Margrave a clever ploy. But that was just a stratagem, not proper doctrine. It was merely something I recalled from an old book, so it's troubling if you expect anything from it and demand more of me.”
“Oh? A book. Which one did you reference?”
“A chronicle by an anonymous author from some thirty years ago. It recounts the war in the east involving the Ruticia Margraviate.”
Her eyes narrowed as if peering into me at my fluent reply. I felt pinned, unable to look away, staring straight back—until her lips finally curved upward.
“That must be the tale of the centaurs. It's been around that long since they waged their long war against the empire. And the ploy you taught the margrave was none other than their tactics.”
A race with human torsos atop bodies of horse or goat: centaurs. They lived beyond the eastern mountains, occasionally surging over them in greater numbers to invade the empire when their herds grew. The war that had ensnared the Ruticia Margrave, as I'd mentioned, was against them.
Thanks to their unique physiology, they wielded overwhelming mobility that most races, humans included, couldn't match—a core of their strategy.
“Old tactical manuals called it swarm tactics.”
“……You knew of it.”
“Yes, I've had ample chance to devour books myself. That's why I was surprised. In this era, for a young person who only knows centaurs from rumors to actually employ that method.”
Plains nomads typically lack resources for proper arms, leading them to extreme aversion to melee. That's where their lifestyle shines: horsemanship for swift movement, archery for hunting. Combined, they master the advanced art of mounted archery. They avoid direct clashes, peppering foes with arrows or javelins in hit-and-run fashion until exhaustion sets in. Then they strike the openings—like a swarm of insects. Hence, swarm tactics. Fortunately, this world called it the same.
The key difference: here, centaurs filled the nomadic role, and being equine themselves rather than mere riders, they boasted even greater combat prowess than real-world steppe folk.
I'd just leveraged game knowledge from my past life to tip off the margrave with a cheap trick—nothing truly impressive. Bluntly put: snipe from afar, flee if pursued, repeat until an opening, then smack them. How's a newbie supposed to counter that properly? They'd flail helplessly and just hold back. Know the counter? The user's inexperience makes it easy to dismantle. Plant solid infantry and endure—even arrows alone can't easily break that.
“In that case, Baron Hebel.”
“……Yes?”
I blinked dumbly at her natural use of my name. I'd never dreamed she'd remember a mere baron like me.
“Why so surprised? Did you think I wouldn't know who you are? Sir Werner von Hebel?”
“Well…. Yes, that's right.”
We'd shared maybe one lecture… For a vassal's retainer with no real stake, remembering the name was astonishing.
She gave a light scoff at my reaction and continued. “Anyway, Baron Hebel. Does that mean you've seen centaurs in person to teach it to the margrave?”
“No, I read about it in that book. Our academy library has it.”
“So from a brief passage, you grasped their tactics and trained someone to use them in actual combat? Isn't that right?”
More precisely, past-life Total War nomad horse archer meta—but I couldn't say that. Glancing at the margrave, I replied,
“That seems to be the case.”
Her eyes gleamed brighter. “That makes it all the more peculiar. Among the military research department's freshmen, plenty know war history in theory, but few can apply cases to practice. Let alone teach it? Does that sound like mere cleverness?”
“That's……”
Uh… I'd never thought of it that way. No recent centaur fights in the histories, so newbies wouldn't know counters. Flip it: among rookies, knowing how to use it stands out. My contrived rebuttal stalled there, trying to wriggle free.
And unfortunately, this princess knew exactly when to press. “If you're truly capable of that, I think you're essential talent for the military research department. That's why I must test the one who bested me.”
“No need to go that far…”
“Others beg and pay to enter the military research department?”
“I'm in history…”
“Perfect then! The military department teaches history too!”
Her gaze closed in, smoldering purple eyes tightening the noose. Aaah, save me, Margrave!
“That's enough, Your Highness. No matter what, Baron Hebel is my retainer. Even for nobility like you, laying hands on my vassal isn't proper.”
Thank goodness our margrave wasn't irresponsible. I sighed in relief—though her glare flicked sharply past me.
But this princess didn't know defeat. “What does Hebel Barony need most right now, Ruticia Margrave?”
Sudden curveball. He glanced at me. “Uh… Baron Hebel, what do you need? I vaguely recall you mentioning the bridge is rickety and dangerous… Right?”
“You remembered……”
A mere vassal's fief details? I was touched. If only the princess hadn't cut in.
“A bridge? Excellent. I'll fund its rebuild. In exchange, duel me…”
“Why go that far…?”
Bridge rebuilds weren't pocket change! For one game match?! The margrave looked baffled too—then Princess Charlotte murmured,
“Truth is, I felt a thrill.”
“Pardon…?”
“Every mock battle opponent so far has been utterly predictable. Like they had a cheat sheet, all using the exact same approach.”
“……Isn't that because lower years can't pick diverse races or units?”
“No, it's different!”
She shook her head firmly. “Everyone just parks trained units and knights on the right flank, turning it into a tail-chasing contest—nothing more!”
That's standard for small fief skirmishes… Most familiar method, unavoidable. But our sheltered princess, unscarred by noble mudslinging, declared,
“So when I saw a completely fresh style, I knew: this guy's fun to fight!”
“Fun……”
“Yes, fun.”
Probably demo delusion meeting a full-game vet… But her eyes were dead serious—eyes I'd seen plenty in my past life: a bored kid finding epic entertainment.
“Pfft—haha!”
“Baron Hebel!”
I burst out laughing, refreshingly unable to hold it. The margrave panicked at my rudeness, but the princess stopped him.
“No, let him be, Ruticia Margrave. Truth be told, I was about to laugh myself.”
She'd vented freely, then seamlessly regained her poised grace, as if asking what I thought. Well, if it wasn't some burden, I'd dodge anyway—but I didn't hate mock battles either. Her gripe about rote foes hit home; I'd felt it killing time too.
So I had no choice. “If fun's the goal, can't be helped. I'll play one match.”
“Really?”
“But no more bothering my lord.”
“Don't worry. No further business with him now.”
Too bluntly honest. Glancing, the margrave seemed more relieved to escape than irked.
“I have business now, so shall we meet at the mock battle arena after classes tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
She smiled radiantly at my ready agreement—befitting nobility, her lips curving in an enviable crescent of goodwill.
But then, I should have noticed. Amid that overflowing amity, the faintly sinister glint unbecoming a princess.