Flanking Strike
Even trivial incidents often escalate into major affairs (5). Flanking strikes. The effectiveness of this simple, clear-cut tactic is proven by countless examples. The most famous is probably the Battle of Jangpyeong from the Chu-Han Contention, known for the phrase "backwater formation." The so-called hammer and anvil tactic people often mention is ultimately about pinning the enemy with the anvil and then hammering them from the flank.
Of course, for this tactic to work, there are two major prerequisites. The anvil must hold firm until the hammer swings, and the hammer must arrive before the anvil shatters.
The anvil was easy enough to achieve. No matter what, holding the line is the dwarves' specialty. But the problem was the hammer. The only mobile strike force the dwarves could muster was that ragtag goat cavalry. Sending those barely-cavalry-like riders out recklessly would just turn them into pincushions for the archers or get them massacred by the enemy cavalry.
You might think that if they were at least fast, they could rely on charge bonuses like those freak units in the Total War series... but goats aren't faster than horses.
Yet if this mock battle recreates the myriad races and units from history, it means the dwarves are employing what seems like a useless unit. Why? Because it looks cool on a mount? That could be part of it... but historical records say it's because they live in rugged mountains. On mountains, horses are useless, while goats nimbly traverse the treacherous terrain, allowing dwarves to ambush from unexpected angles. This tactic largely offsets their lightly armored weakness.
That's why my plan was a surprise decapitation strike using the cliffs: exploit the mock battle rule where losing the commander means defeat.
The terrain's a plain, so I was worried... but luckily, we secured that hilly spot with some elevation.
Hold out against the princess's fierce assault until the goat cavalry could loop far around the battlefield. Until she committed her waiting medium cavalry. By the time she'd sent out nearly all her forces and left herself exposed, my dwarf goat riders—wielding axes, hammers, short spears—charged from behind her position.
That single blow crippled her guards, throwing them into chaos. She'd urgently recall the cavalry from the front to protect her, but I'd been waiting for this exact moment—I wasn't about to let that happen.
"Enough defending. Charge the enemy."
The dwarves, who had maintained near-perfect formation even in the melee, surged forward. Her lines, disrupted by constant cavalry-infantry swaps, plunged into instant disorder. Up until now, her two units had been trading positions to hammer our formation, but now it backfired.
Just buy time like this, and I'd win. Or so I thought, unshakeably—until the princess led a handful of guards through her shield-wall of troops and charged the front herself.
"What the—?"
Of course, a few medium cavalry remained in the rear besides her guards. But they'd taken heavy losses ramming our shield walls multiple times. No matter how poorly equipped we were, there was no reason 200-odd dwarf goat riders couldn't overwhelm fewer than 100 battered medium horse.
So the princess gambled. Better to counterattack than be surrounded and lose.
But how?
"Regroup!"
As she raised her sword, a tiny fraction of her front-line medium cavalry—those tangled in our ranks—broke free to the rear. Even so, they numbered fewer than 40. What could they do against our shield wall, which hadn't buckled under 200 charging riders?
Then it hit me.
Damn it, I ordered the attack and disrupted our own lines...!
It was just a tiny gap, not even empty—just thinned out. Reinforce with another unit, and it'd be fine. But she clearly knew it was our weak point.
"—Charge!!"
Without a second's hesitation, her medium cavalry barreled straight for that spot. The thin line of two or three dwarves shattered under the heavy, disciplined assault.
...She targeted it on purpose.
No other explanation. With enemies suddenly at her back, her forces under total assault and in chaos, she instantly stalls her rear cavalry for time, rushes to the front herself, gathers what riders she can in a flash, and pierces our weakest point. No way that's possible in that split second. Not by my standards, even with mock battle game buffs.
Unless she's one of those so-called geniuses people toss around lightly...!
"...Guards!"
Our dwarf line, which no imperial medium cavalry had breached before, was pierced. My only card left was the guards.
Pitch-coated shields gleaming, the dwarf guards charged the cavalry, weapons flashing. But the momentum-driven riders trampled some, and the follow-up wave smashed into the guards, tangling them in chaos.
In that moment, amid the disrupted cavalry and dwarves, I saw her—the woman in battlefield-mismatched finery, sword in hand, charging straight at me.
Can the princess really join the melee...?
Sure, no law against women fighting here. And she didn't seem superhumanly strong. But facing a charging medium cavalryman swinging a blade up close? Only a fool wouldn't flinch. Especially someone like me who barely knows weapons.
Alone in the chaos, I had no plays left. Just like she couldn't retreat her forces, I couldn't pull mine back now...!
So, improvise. Play the joker.
"St—op—!!"
Squeezing out my last strength, I dodged her as she broke through even the guards, spurring my horse. But this dwarf-provided nag couldn't match imperial warhorses. As she nearly caught me—her sword tickling my neck—I leaped off, tumbling across the dirt.
"Gaaah...!!"
I'd braced, but it hurt. Felt like my whole body was mush under the plate armor. As long as I didn't die...!
"What...?!"
A confused voice as she paused to assess. Amid my virtual agony rolling through me, horse screams and a crash followed, then a woman's cry.
"Gahk...!"
Dull thuds continued, soon joined by faint, spinning wheel sounds. It was the goat carrobalista chassis, flipped earlier by archer fire.
She had no reason to slow chasing me alone—so I'd lured her toward it, bailed, and let her smash head-on.
"Haa... haa..."
"Hngh... hngh..."
For a heartbeat, our ragged breaths mingled—me sprawled on the ground, her tumbling from the crash. The end was inevitable.
In the heart of the dwarf phalanx, late-arriving dwarves swarmed her.
She had one move left.
"I... sur... render...!"
With her squeezed-out words, everything froze. Before my eyes floated the stark word:
Simulation Complete
I'd won. Me. Against the princess.
*
"Hah... hah..."
As consciousness resurfaced from the virtual space, my body—watching the crystal screen—let out heavy sighs. Body fine, but mind exhausted, forcing deep breaths. Throat sore from the strain, cold sweat dripping. Eerie sensation.
"The victor is... Baron Hebel, Werner von Hebel."
Professor Bisbaden's solemn announcement from the podium nearly made tension-freed me collapse.
"Are you okay?"
"Are you all right, Your Highness?!"
No one cared about my state. Students rushed the platform, swarming the princess. Only one came to me—my kind, devoted lord and backup, Margrave Albert von Beletia of Ruticia.
"You okay, Werner?!"
"F-Fine... just dizzy. Probably from that last wild move."
"Scared me jumping off like that. Good thing it was just a match..."
He sighed in relief, stroking his chest. I managed a dry laugh, dazed.
Before reunions finished, she pushed through the crowd like breaching dwarf lines.
"Baron Hebel!"
"Y-Yes...?"
Her quick strides shook the floor, laced with irritation? Remembering I'd caused her fall, I braced for scolding—too harsh, maybe?—when a soft white palm extended, not her sword gauntlet.
"...That was a really fun match!"
"...Ahaha. Glad to hear it. I enjoyed it too."
"Knew you'd pull off stuff no one else would. How many chills did I get in that short time! Ahh...!"
Her rollercoaster fangirl review left me chuckling helplessly. Worried our margrave might notice, but even he grinned this time.
Hey, if it's fun, that's what matters.
"Lots of improv thanks to match rules, but you both fought brilliantly."
Professor Bisbaden, descending with papyrus tucked underarm.
"Baron Hebel, one question."
"Yes?"
"If the terrain hadn't favored those goat riders, how would you have used them?"
I wiped sweat beading on my forehead.
"I don't think there was any terrain where they couldn't be used."
"Why?"
"On open flats without hills, I'd have attacked with infantry to pin her archers, using the goats to harass and suppress their fire."
"Wouldn't her medium cavalry counter-harass you?"
"That'd still be a win. Tying down her numerical superiority with a small force as a feint."
"It wouldn't be that easy."
Princess Charlotte cut in coolly, composed unlike me still reeling. She'd taken worse injuries... impressive resolve.
"Mm... guess I'd have tried harder then."
"Of course. And next time, tricks like that won't work?"
If there's a next time. I just smiled wryly instead.
Bisbaden, catching our subtle vibe, spoke.
"Fascinating answers, Baron Hebel. Good work today. See you next time."
We exchanged farewells; he departed. If only he hadn't declared, "Report analyzing this match due next," it might've ended warmly.
As folks screamed over extra homework and left, the princess turned to me again.
"Oh, right. We had a wager? Winner's trivial request granted."
"Yes... Your Highness. Mind if I cash in one now?"
"My, so eager. What is it?"
"Got anything to wipe with...? Sweating buckets from earlier."
"Oh? Only have a handkerchief on me."
"That'll do."
"Really?"
The sticky feel on my brow-wiping fingers grossed me out; I nodded firmly.
"Yes."
"...Pfft."
Charlotte's meaningful smile burst into mischievous giggles. From her bosom came fine purple cloth.
"Here."
"Thank you..."
Wiping my sweat on what was clearly embroidered finery felt criminal; she kept giggling, our margrave gawking.
"...Huh?"
Confused, glancing between them, she beamed.
"Seems Baron Hebel forgot what a lady's handkerchief means—or thinks demanding the 'trivial' is reasonable. Margrave of Ruticia, your thoughts?"
"I'll school my vassal better on etiquette... return the handkerchief..."
"No, he wanted it, so give it to him. Deserves some reward for beating me twice."
She laughed delightedly, uncontained. The purple fabric beyond her gaze somehow seemed more vivid.
"See you? Baron Hebel."
"Wait, the handkerchief..."
Too late to return it; she waved cheerily and vanished.
Our margrave facepalmed.
"...Just so you know, Baron Hebel. Even if you propose to Her Highness... I can't help. You get it?"
"...? Oh, right."
Handkerchief. That meaning. Realizing my blunder as she sauntered off, thoroughly amused, my dazed mutter hung in empty air.
"I'm in deep shit..."