Strange Love Triangle (5)
The fact that the number of mock battle participants had doubled meant our available resources for initial strategy planning had also doubled. Collaboration didn't reduce those resources, after all. So, the scale of the recreated forces—and the corresponding battlefield—would expand accordingly.
With standard resources, ensuring minimal quality, an individual could field between 1,500 and 2,500 troops. Even doubling that simply got us 3,000 to 5,000. And since both sides had that many, it meant anywhere from 6,000 to a maximum of 10,000 troops were parading across this battlefield.
Forces of that size weren't something even prominent lords could mobilize easily. Our own Ruticia Margraviate boasted over 30,000 on paper, but that included every neighborhood uncle; our actual usable strength was barely half of half that. It felt surreal to be drilling numbers like this in an academy exercise that even great houses struggled to field in domain wars staking their fates.
Not that it's new, but after training like this at the academy, jumping straight to real combat and handling troops would probably be a shock.
Still, the force compositions seem to match what we agreed on...
Our opponents—the future lord and lady—had brought exactly the setups we'd predicted. Erna, at the front, led with heavy beastkin infantry from the Baiken Grand Duchy. Albert, in the rear, went with the classic Ruticia Margraviate bow-pike-cavalry formation.
In response, Princess Charlotte in our rear brought elite imperial knights as her mainstay... and my new experiment: light infantry from the imperial southwest's 'Lusitania' region.
They wielded short one-handed spears, small shields, thick-bladed falcatas at their hips, and carried three or four hefty javelins like oversized darts, with minimal armor otherwise. They looked ragged, almost naked, but these were the elite troops from Lusitania who'd earned the greatest merits driving back the merfolk invasions ravaging the imperial south once upon a time. The so-called Lusitanian Pilgrims.
Backed by a handful of heavy infantry and guerrillas to fill the gaps, they covered most of the infantry power Princess Charlotte hadn't brought. My role: tie down Erna's infantry as the anvil while the princess swung the hammer to crush Albert in the rear. Simple.
Fighting separately like a game of whack-a-mole across this vast field isn't collaboration, but dividing roles to dismantle them piece by piece? That's cooperation—and tactics.
The surprise was how Albert and Erna brought their domain forces straight-up, no variations. Albert had few options beyond that daybilly centaur swarm tactics, sure, but Erna could've mixed it up.
You've confirmed it, right? We can proceed just as discussed. Unconsciously, I tried sending that via comms to the princess. A cold message immediately popped up, blocking me.
Communication cannot be used in the current settings.
Ah, right. Coordinating with teammates on-site is part of the experience, so no comms. I got that they blocked it for realism—real-time battlefield orders aren't that hard with magic, though...
These professors and their nitpicking.
Guess I'd have to send a runner or something. But even then, no need to worry about her. If anyone's fretting, it's her about me—not the other way around. My job was just executing the prep in reality.
"They're coming."
As expected, Erna's vanguard moved first. Her entire front-line infantry advanced—no scouts on horse or bow, no probing. Beasts marching with round shields slung on backs, axes and big blades gleaming in hand, eyes fierce even in broad daylight despite the slow pace. But give them confidence to charge, and they'd explode like predators lunging at prey.
To tangle with that, I'd need to wear them down first.
Alright, range looks good now...
My still-motionless troops waited as Erna's beastkin closed cautiously, measuring distance. Then, suddenly, light-clad guerrillas burst from the front grass where they'd lain hidden.
"Fire!"
At their NCOs' unified shout, slings whirled, unleashing a barrage of projectiles. Aimed at the beastkin not yet braced—shields down—the lead balls smashed heads with wet thunks or sent bodies tumbling.
A light-armed unit's privilege: forward deployment and ambushes. Seasoning before Erna's infantry clashed head-on with mine.
"Shields!"
"Shields up!"
They reacted fast, raising shields from backs—but that's what I'd baited.
Come on, creep closer. Don't wanna clash right away...!
This way, I delayed collision while aiming for the perfect moment to engage. Even natural berserkers like those beastkin would tell a different story if softened up first.
* The battlefield was a plain with tall grass. A pond to the right, a few hamlets nearby—probably near a monastery or city outskirts.
Erna's snap decision to advance after scanning it wasn't deep analysis. Open plains limited hiding spots, and she brimmed with confidence that raw power would win.
So that's what our baron prepared, huh.
To her northern eyes, rare southern human troops. Unlike heavy central or northern gear, these were lightly armed warriors—similar overall to her beastkin infantry style, from what she could tell.
This provocation, right? Yeah?
Then—a fierce metallic clang and sparks from a soldier's shield ahead.
……BOOM! A heavy blast unlikely from mere metal. One shield edge crumpled and tore beyond recognition.
Cause: the slingers' lead shot. Not cannon fodder fillers—these were trained pros.
Not just numbers, then. Right?
Simple: the baron aimed to bleed the beasts before hunting. Shocking to Erna.
Because he nailed it all—
Her teammate and fiancé, Albert von Beletia. She'd pegged him as a combat dunce despite other talents. But the battle opened exactly as he'd predicted.
Truth was, despite their closeness, Erna harbored unease about him. Wins seemed luck-based, no real growth despite studies. She worried he'd stray if unsuited—hence over-wary of the baron and princess.
She'd teamed up, but planned to solo the kills while they held.
Yet Albert had pitched strategy seriously: The baron will anvil upfront, give cavalry to the princess. Tie you down while she hits me.
Baron's knowledgeable, adaptable—but avoids frontline command. Princess thrives leading personally.
Reverse it, and we win. Let you do what you do best.
And now: he'd even predicted the baron facing her.
Maybe I underestimated him...
Per plan, Erna hoisted her shield overhead, advancing slowly with troops.
Whiiing—WHOOSH!!
Occasional pierced lead whined horrifically; shields shattered under impact, some warriors concussed by direct helmet hits. But few—mostly they endured, wolf warriors gnashing teeth sharper, jaws quivering in battle ecstasy with each jolt.
Silently pressing on, they passed the enemy slingers' former bush, foes now in sight.
"Steel—!!"
"Rise, steel—!!"
"Lusitania! Lusitania!"
Aware clash inevitable, the baron's frontline clashed weapons on flints, shouting sharply. Local war cry, probably. Impressive spectacle: sparks in daylight, thunderous voices.
But to Erna, mere simulated soldiers' rote chants—funny, not fearsome. No reproduced battle rite could instill dread; just comical. Especially imagining the baron bellowing like that.
Time for a demo.
Lead barrage ended; warriors lowered ragged shields, poised to charge. In the tense standoff, Erna stepped forward gripping a javelin, bellowing.
"Skilf—!"
The valkyrie's voice dominated the field—pure lung power, no tricks.
"Baiken!!"
"Baiken—! Baiken—!"
"Who are you?!"
"Warriors of the North! Blades gifted by gods in place of eyes and spears! God's beasts to carry enemy corpses!"
Clan and land names invoked, she unified her warriors instantly—unlike the foes' scattered yells. Fake or not, her lead made it real, lending power.
"I'll throw the first spear! Only the dead rest on this field!"
"Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!"
Amid shield-biting, shield-drumming baritus, Erna roared amid red-tinged vision.
"Alföðr á yðr alla—!!"
Allfather owns you all. Ancient cry thundering, she hurled her spear—muscles twisting—at the slinging foes prepping for her undefended moment.
Full army charge. Clearer than any order, her beasts surged ferociously behind.