No One Welcomes Summer's Fever (8)
For the past few days, Charlotte had scarcely felt good at all. The reason was obvious: the engagement mess encircling her life, and the irritation and rage toward those who had orchestrated it.
Of course, she wasn't oblivious to the fact that the freedom granted to her was like wax wings that could melt away at any moment. Quite the opposite—she knew it all too well, which was why she'd been dodging the fates awaiting her, just to fly a little longer. When she recalled the sacrifices made for that freedom, she knew she had to.
So when talk of this engagement arose, aside from the urge to run, she'd already resigned herself to it somewhat. After all, a noble status was upheld by a noble's responsibilities—it was self-evident. Without any incidents, the imperial princess would have ceased resisting, resigning herself to await the end of her fleeting freedom.
If not for him.
Werner von Hebel, Baron Hebel.
The rival who had first bested her.
The fool who had first demanded something of her.
The one who had made her feel joy for the first time.
Her first friend.
The one she could finally face without pretense.
...The one who had made her envy someone for the first time in her life.
If only he hadn't dared to offer his help for the first time.
If he hadn't concocted this absurd plan and flailed about with his meager power to make it work—
She surely wouldn't be galloping like this now, racing to aid him.
Did he know that?
...No, that man probably didn't. He seemed to ponder everything, yet he had surprising blind spots, places his hands couldn't reach.
Yet that was precisely why she trusted him, wasn't it? His arms might be short, but his eyes were sharp—he could always reach for the surest target. The opposite of her, who could grasp anywhere but whose vision was poor.
Perhaps she even admired that about him a little.
Not that it mattered. Because right now, even in this battle where her life's freedom might end, she was thrilled beyond measure.
Because dashing through this fake world with him, utterly free, was ridiculously fun.
So though it embarrassed her a bit... she didn't regret those words she'd spoken to him then, during their second bout, as they tumbled on the ground amid his bitter confession.
"Believe in yourself."
"—Target, one o'clock!!"
The empire's knights, stealthily withdrawing their cavalry without the enemy noticing amid the standoff, crossed the dry riverbank and trampled unburnt underbrush. Under her command, they surged as one toward the melee where elves and light cavalry in hideous forms tangled with Werner's beleaguered infantry and knights.
How had she mustered her cavalry from across the flat river plain without giving the standoff enemy time to react? And how had she pierced the enemy's disrupted communications and obscured vision to lead her riders to support her allies?
The answer was surprisingly simple.
While the enemy focused on magic and tricks, leaving her unchecked, she'd sensed something off in the irregular wind shaking the air and the floating ashes tethered somewhere—and immediately rallied her forces for the charge.
She hadn't cast spells, severed comms, obscured vision, or played any tricks. She'd even left her mages idle.
The enemy had simply fallen for their own reliance on magic.
Of course, coincidences beyond magic had piled up. The forest fire's aftermath disrupting the elves' mana sense, for instance. Or the Neustrians, fixated on rallying their own amid casualties, failing to notice in time. And in the gaps of those orders, she'd crossed the bank at the perfect moment, vanishing from elven sight briefly.
When such coincidences stacked and pierced the enemy's unreacting crevice, that too was skill.
"Charge, lances up, advance—!!"
Knights bursting from the woods, their formation disordered and unable to reform, piled behind her at the vanguard, hastily forming a wedge.
To describe it in human terms: moments ago, two fists clasped, pressing to crush Baron Hebel's hand. Now, Charlotte swung a spike through both arms.
What then? Hebel's fingers weren't unscathed, but his hand hadn't shattered yet. But with the Neustrian arms splintered at the perfect moment, it was as good as losing their swinging fists.
Indeed, Charlotte's timely strike sent the Neustrian cavalry—and the elven forces they'd clashed with—fleeing in unison.
"…Phew, that should do it… Kyaa?!"
She let out an untimely shriek at the sight of the naked berserkers dangling their grotesqueries as they fled…
'Do they have any sense of decency…!'
Blushing furiously, Charlotte swiftly tried contacting Werner. Comms were still down, yielding only static. But the distant trumpet blasts would serve as reply for now.
That was enough.
So—
"Alright, move…!"
She hadn't forgotten: they'd only seized local advantage; the battle's outcome remained undecided. Soon, the Neustrians she'd faced would close in. Maximizing this edge was the path to victory, beyond doubt.
*
The tide had turned smoothly. What could have been a catastrophe—losing my entire right-wing knights—was flipped into a turning point by Princess Charlotte's timely intervention.
Of course, the right wing that endured the assault had crumbled by nearly half, but knights' strength didn't vanish. More crucially, we'd severed Neustrian coordination—that was the key to this phase's dominance.
Now, to aid each other, they'd have to drag their main forces over. And Charlotte, with her strength intact, would smash any main force's rear with her hammer the moment it moved.
The form differed slightly, but this was the tactic I'd aimed for in last week's mock battle with my lord—realized brilliantly here.
Only our second time together, and our rhythm was syncing…?
'Though syncing so seamlessly in this situation feels a bit off…'
With the crisis resolved, I didn't hesitate: deploy the reserves resting in the rear.
The forest offered us no benefit, the enemy cavalry was shattered, and my rear flank stabilized by Charlotte eliminated ambush risks. No reason to hold back the rest.
The enemy, meanwhile, couldn't easily move any reserves or archers they might have. Adding mine to the main force would tip superiority my way.
'They could crossfire the princess with archers… but miss, and they'd lose them too.'
Minding that, I committed the infantry flanking my infantry rear and the cavalry waiting on the left wing to the enemy's flank, encircling their engaged troops with numerical superiority.
"Archers, prepare for unknown enemy approach…!"
My orders executed without hindrance, and soon the Neustrian infantry on my front felt the mounting pressure acutely. Billhook infantry charging the flanks of their curved-sword bearers shattered lines that had resisted well until now.
'How's the princess holding?'
With momentum on my front, I rallied the recovering right wing and climbed a hill overlooking the field—to pick the next move early.
Textbook strategy: charge the remaining Neustrians to crush them, with Charlotte as anvil and me as hammer.
But something obscured her standoff—perhaps like the comms jam. Her cavalry had long vanished from sight.
'Bad feeling.'
Of course, she wasn't the type to drop dead screaming. Who was she? As her brother said, a woman who could pull off anything.
Unlike me—talentless, relying solely on past-life knowledge and present smarts to output situational counters—she was the real deal.
If anything, she'd worry for me, not vice versa. Trust and wait: she'd repel them and claim gains, like me.
Still, I took the remaining right-wing forces and advanced. Better to confirm her status.
'She'd strain heroically, then—claiming friendship—flee to my house just to groan in bed…'
First impression bold and brash, but substance: friendless war-game hobbyist brat. Listing traits, not a military genius like Prussia's great king Frederick II, but his father, the Soldier King Frederick William I.
'Magic could clear it easily, but…'
My mages, who'd twice wrought field-wide upheavals, lacked the mana. Probably out till battle's end.
So check personally, command gap be damned.
And sure enough…
Over the ridge, my ill omen proved spot-on. While her main force crossed to engage remaining Neustrians, her knights—the ones she led, who should have returned—were pinned near the water, under fierce assault.
Culprits: Neustria's scant remaining heavy cavalry—likely guards. Plus naked berserkers, their corpses, and strewn gear.
Exploiting her front where forest lingered, they'd gathered elites like oathsworn for a beheading strike.
To me, it was desperation. Few elites left; even all-in, they couldn't annihilate her knights.
"Die!!"
Despite their roars, elven weapons wouldn't easily pierce knight plate.
Yet unease gripped me. I led the mobile remnants to her side.
No need to let even one bad omen linger…!