The Plains Battle
Beyond the Phalanx ranks, knights charged head-on.
The distance between the two forces shrank with every heartbeat. The closer they drew, the more the world seemed to slow — a measure of how completely he had focused.
He swallowed dryly. The smoke he'd inhaled left a rough scrape as it slid down his throat.
The Blessed Phalanx.
It was the strongest defensive wall he could field. If even these men failed to stop the charge, the Battle of Paonia might well be reenacted here.
While he was still thinking, the two forces nearly collided.
KRAAAANG!!
KRAAAANG!!
The Phalanx soldiers in the first rank were flung into the air by the impact. The second rank fared no better. By the third and fourth ranks, the distance they were thrown grew shorter.
And when the charge reached the fifth rank—
the knights' momentum finally broke.
Elite troops drilled for years. The Phalanx formation itself. And the priests' blessings.
When those three elements came together, they stopped a knightly charge.
More precisely, they held it.
The Phalanx had crumbled through four ranks, while the enemy — horses dead aside — still had their knights intact.
The knights wheeled about and opened distance.
And behind them—
"Musketeers! Fire!"
Bang!
Bang!
Horses unprotected by mana toppled in droves once more.
Toward them, one hundred fifty blessed mercenaries charged.
KRAAAANG!!
KRAAAANG!!
Knights and mercenaries. Individually, the mercenaries were outmatched.
But the knights had already spent vast amounts of mana, while the mercenaries had conserved theirs. Unlike the knights, the mercenaries were under the priests' blessing. And finally — one hundred fifty mercenaries were charging, while one hundred knights were tangled among their fallen mounts.
The dust kicked up by the collision settled, and the result became clear.
"Finally took those knights down."
A dozen knights lay on the ground from the mercenaries' assault. Even full plate armor couldn't withstand an Expert's strike.
Thud-thud-thud-thud.
The mercenaries glanced past the knights and prepared for another charge.
In the meantime—
"Musketeers! Volley fire!"
Bang!
Bang!
"Phalanx, advance!"
Step. Step. Step. Step.
Step. Step. Step. Step.
From the rear, the Phalanx and musketeers pressed in.
An anvil-and-hammer tactic, with the knights caught in between.
The hammer, ready at last, began to strike at full speed.
Then—
Bwooooo!
Bwooooo!
The duel was declared over.
"All units, stand down!"
"All units, stand down!"
The mercenaries halted their charge. The enemy forces withdrew.
They called the duel over, just like that? Why?
He lifted his head and scanned the surroundings — and found the answer.
Stern's main camp had raised a white flag.
"It's over. Sort the wounded! Priests, start treating the critical cases first!"
Stern's main camp.
"Young Lord..."
A staff officer called to Stern in a worried voice. The young lord had fought countless battles — and won every one of them.
Today, that same young lord had lost.
"Young Lord, in war there are times you win and times you lose. So..."
"Hm? What was that?"
The young lord turned his head. The face that came into view—
He's not disappointed?
—was far too calm for a defeated commander. If anything, a faint spark of anticipation lingered there.
"Ah... nothing, my lord."
Stern gave a short laugh and turned forward again.
A battle in which his side had been overwhelmingly crushed. Only his own troops lay fallen across the field. Among them, the dead would be many.
The purpose of coming here failed.
He had meant to kill Elwin and catch the Cult's eye.
But I gained something instead.
The new weapons Elwin used. Advanced arms still unknown to the continent.
If I can get my hands on those...
While he was still turning it over, an adjudicator approached.
"You must settle accounts. Please gather at the adjudicators' station."
"Understood."
On the way to where the adjudicators had assembled—
If I offer money, can I buy the weapons?
And if not? What then, if gold alone couldn't secure them?
Stern's mind was full of nothing but the new weapons.
I sat across from Stern. The adjudicators took their places in the center.
"This duel is a victory for Lord Elwin Frontier. Do both parties consent?"
"I consent."
"I consent."
"The Battle of Paonia that occurred on Ireland was a legitimate exercise of the Frontier's right of self-defense. Do both parties consent?"
"I consent."
"I consent."
"Lastly, the deaths of the Moon Cult's priests and temple knights that occurred in the course of those events were likewise not the fault of the Frontier side. Do both parties consent?"
"I consent."
"..."
For the first time, Stern hesitated. The adjudicator turned toward him.
"Do you consent?"
"...I consent."
When every question had been answered, the adjudicator handed over a document.
"Sign it."
The contents of the earlier questions were written out exactly as spoken.
I signed the final section, and Stern did the same.
The adjudicator added the last signature and raised the paper high.
"In accordance with Imperial law, the truth of this day is hereby declared. Any who object may file a formal challenge within the allotted term. Next..."
I wet my lips with my tongue. At last, the moment I had been waiting for had arrived.
Compensation.
The victor did not walk away with truth alone. He could claim duel reparations from the loser — no different from the spoils of war.
How much should I demand?
I hadn't given the compensation much thought. My entire focus had been on the duel itself. Even in meetings with my subordinates, we'd only discussed the battle.
Could I ask for something other than money?
While I was still turning it over, Stern spoke first.
"Along with ample war reparations, I wish to purchase the weapons fielded today."
Stern named a high sum — high enough that even the adjudicators nodded at the figure.
I had no complaint about the amount. The weapons, however, were another matter.
"The reparations are satisfactory, but the weapons are not for sale."
"This proposal is a single package. The reason I offer such generous reparations is that they also serve as an advance payment for the weapons."
They were early-stage gunpowder arms, and yet House Valois was this desperate for them.
The impact they made in the first engagement really was that strong.
"I will say it again — these are not weapons for sale. If you truly need something, I can sell you ballistae..."
Bang!
Stern slammed the table hard.
"Ballistae? We have plenty of those. We even produce them in our own territory. What I want is the weapon — the one you used today!"
Stern was so blinded by the weapons that he had lost all sense of the situation.
"Lord Stern, we did not meet here to negotiate a trade. Today I am the victor, and you are the defeated."
"..."
Even if a duel was not a true war, it had been a battle of steel. And the victor of that field was me.
Stern closed his mouth and seemed to weigh something. Then he put forward a new proposal.
"I have heard that the Frontier takes in a great many wanderers."
More precisely, it was me rather than the Frontier as a whole — but he wasn't wrong.
"That is correct."
"As war reparations, I will give you five thousand serfs — no, ten thousand."
Serfs, all of a sudden? It wasn't a bad offer. Personally, I preferred serfs to coin.
I was already making more than enough money from my various enterprises.
The reason I couldn't refuse their duel challenge in the first place was food, after all.
If another ten thousand farmers were added? Ireland's path to food self-sufficiency would accelerate.
I was about to accept when Stern spoke again.
"Is ten thousand not enough? Then I will give you fifteen thousand."
He was adding five thousand just like that? Even with the size of the Valois County and its great plantations, five thousand serfs was no small number.
And still he raised the offer.
That desperate? Why?
As much as I wanted serfs, Stern seemed just as eager to send them.
In that case...
"Thirty thousand."
"Wh— what did you say?"
"Thirty thousand serfs. That is what I require as reparations for this duel. If you refuse, then pay me in coin."
The average barony held a population of one hundred fifty to three hundred thousand.
Thirty thousand serfs would exceed ten percent of a baronial house's total population.
If I open at thirty thousand, I can settle at twenty or twenty-five.
In a negotiation, naming the number you actually want right away is foolish.
You start higher, then concede to the figure you had in mind all along.
And yet—
"...Very well. Thirty thousand. I will send thirty thousand serfs."
Huh? Should I have gone higher?
Regardless of my second thoughts, the adjudicators took the matter as settled, and the war reparations were fixed at thirty thousand serfs.
After the duel ended, on the road back to my territory—
Stern accepting thirty thousand so readily... it leaves a bad taste.
Thirty thousand was half the number I had gathered over several years.
In a single stroke, the autonomous territory's population had jumped by fifty percent. And still, something felt off.
If I'd said forty thousand, would he have given me forty?
I shook my head. By any reasonable measure, the number was absurd.
No one paid that kind of reparation just for losing a duel.
"A shame, but it can't be helped. Let's go build some villages!"
Stern's main camp.
Stern was leading his defeated troops back toward Valois.
They were now at the midpoint between Ireland and the continent, crossing the Vampires Bridge.
"Young Lord, thirty thousand serfs is far too many."
"I know."
Had it been simple war reparations, ten thousand serfs would have been more than enough.
"Then why, my lord? The Count will not let this pass!"
Population was military power and economic power. Used well, it became political power as well.
The foundation of a territory was its people. And he was handing over thirty thousand of them.
Stern fixed his staff officer with a long look. He understood exactly what the man was thinking.
"This is not mere war reparation. There is a greater purpose."
"A greater purpose, my lord...?"
"I intend to plant spies among the serfs — and through them, dig out the secret of those new weapons."
If he could obtain Elwin's new arms, the cost of thirty thousand serfs would not be too high a price.