Imperial Friendly Match (7)
The so-called fifty-versus-fifty battle was, when viewed purely in terms of scale, rather modest. Even now, with the empire's centralization growing stronger and restrictions placed on the number of private soldiers each lord could maintain based on rank and territory conditions, fifty was hardly an impressive figure.
However, the meaning changed completely when every single participant was a knight-level fighter capable of wielding magic power. And not just any knights, but elite warriors handpicked from the empire's strongest military forces. When the commanders leading them were none other than the empire's prince and princess, and the spectator was the previous emperor himself, trivial concerns about scale became utterly irrelevant.
Even so.
Is it not too much to ask the prime minister of an entire nation to referee a children's brawl? Ordo von Devien let out a deep internal sigh.
What could he do about it? It wasn't as if he could resent the previous emperor, who sat high above with an unreadable expression, watching the match. Instead, he could only curse his own fate for appearing before the emperor right when the old man was pondering who to appoint as referee.
It wasn't that he didn't understand the reason. The stakes of this match were enormous, and the repercussions would be just as massive. Rather than risk accusations of biased judgment by appointing some mediocre figure, it was far more effective to plant one of the highest authorities in place and silence all complaints. If only that planted figure wasn't the prime minister himself.
"Hmm, it seems the position of imperial chancellor is more leisurely than I thought. I should drop by more often in the future for some tea."
The chancellor shot a cold glare at the old man beside him, who was deliberately scratching at his nerves despite clearly knowing the situation.
"A shut-in old man who rarely sees sunlight from his cave must have plenty of free time indeed. Though you seem far too old to be picking up new hobbies."
The court archmage—otherwise known as the pinnacle of all mages currently in the empire—Harbarb responded with a sly grin.
"There's nothing stopping me. Even that old codger from the temple, who's older than me, is rolling around among children in the form of a little boy. Enjoying tea would be a perfectly respectable hobby in comparison, wouldn't it? If a scandal about romance with a student breaks out soon, I guarantee I'll burst out laughing."
"...Let's move on. I'm not insane enough to lay hands on students."
While he wouldn't initiate anything himself, the worry that students might approach him instead briefly crossed Ordo's mind, but he quickly erased it. He already had more work than he could handle; he had no desire to worry about such nonsense. Besides, if that youth could be applied to others, it might be different, but since it was a personal constitution or ability close to a unique trait belonging to the White Light professor, it wasn't something the nation could utilize anyway.
"Make sure there are no issues with the barrier's condition. We must be thorough."
"Who do you think you're talking to? I've arranged it so that anyone who loses consciousness will immediately be transported to where healers are on standby. Barring extreme cases, they shouldn't die. Though if someone's head gets chopped off on the spot and they die instantly, there's nothing I can do about that."
At first, the chancellor had considered issuing life-preserving magic tools to all participants. In a normal mock battle, both sides would naturally hold back, but given the enormous political implications of this match, there was a high chance both factions would go all-out without restraint.
No matter how much this match carried the nature of punishment toward the second prince, the actual death of the second prince, the central army, or the reverse scenario would be an entirely different story.
Even at this very moment, countless soldiers of the empire are risking their lives preparing to fight against the wicked Ivestan Empire. Even though this is a mock battle, if our imperial family fights without any risk, everyone will laugh at us inwardly.
But the second prince himself had stubbornly refused to use protective gear, and the previous emperor had permitted it, ultimately banning its use on both sides. As a hasty measure, court mages and healers had been summoned to establish minimum safety measures, but the chancellor could only sigh.
And regardless of his feelings, preparations for the friendly match proceeded steadily.
"Report from the enemy force controller! The enemy side has completed all preparations!"
"The blue team reports the same!"
"I see."
The chancellor looked down at the scene unfolding below the hill. It was the previous emperor's private land, located a fair distance from the palace. Its formal name was 'Eagle's Garden,' but thanks to the old man's preference for watching military training over flowers, there wasn't even a proper flowerbed, let alone a gardener. Just plains, hills, and scattered small forests—this very field would serve as the stage to settle the chaotic events of recent times.
This fight was dangerous. But it was too late to stop it now.
Therefore, the chancellor declared:
The friendly match shall now begin.
A massive horn blast echoed beneath the clear blue sky.
— Render the enemy team's commander combat incapable.
— Locate and occupy the hidden main base of the enemy team.
— Render thirty or more enemy personnel combat incapable.
The first side to fulfill two of the above conditions shall be declared the victor.
After grasping the rules, Lucas declared:
"We'll divide our forces into groups of twenty, twenty, and ten. Ten will defend, twenty will serve as skirmishers, and twenty will form the assault unit. Baro, you'll take command of the skirmishers. Circle around the main base until further orders. If the base comes under attack, strike the enemy from behind."
It was a completely informal tone, discarding even the bare minimum of courtesy he usually maintained. Yet none of those present objected. From the moment they had been summoned here, they were all in the same boat whether they liked it or not. Their survival depended on Lucas becoming emperor. What did his manner of speech matter?
"Wouldn't it be better for all of us to move together? The enemy may have gathered as much strength as possible, but they still can't win against us in a direct confrontation. If we ignore their base and force a contest of pure power—"
One of the central army's adjutants, the highest-ranking knight among those cooperating with the second prince, offered his opinion. But Lucas shook his head.
"You fool! That won't be enough."
Lucas bared his teeth, openly displaying his fury.
"Do you understand? This match isn't simply about winning. We must crush them so thoroughly that it's nearly perfect. Only then can we minimize the backlash that will come after this friendly match. We cannot yield even a single point to them! Not one!"
"...Understood!"
"The assault team will search for the enemy's main base alongside me. Remember this well! The enemy consists of nothing but the dregs of the south—remnants of Spero's defeated forces and that foolish woman from Morian who has forgotten her proper place and is running wild! There is no factor that could lead to our defeat! Only victory and glory await you and me!"
"For His Highness the Prince!"
"For the Empire!"
Watching the group roar with vigorous cheers from a short distance away, the controller—Imperial Court Mage Valkius—thought to himself:
They're really putting on a pathetic show. If they get crushed after all that, the humiliation will be unmatched.
No matter how the victory or defeat turned out, it was someone else's business to the group known as court mages. But as both an imperial citizen and an office worker, Valkius sincerely did not want that particular prince ascending to the throne.
As he sent his familiars toward each separated enemy unit, he recalled the two people he had become entangled with during the festival and the Morian Lake commission.
No matter how he thought about it, that monster-and-silver-tongue combination didn't seem like they would go down easily.
Before the match began, Lyla had said:
"We have two advantages. First, Brother Lucas will aim for an overwhelming victory for the sake of what comes after, which limits his tactics. Second, the central army is not at full strength."
Ligret asked, "The overwhelming victory part makes sense. If he doesn't crush them completely, dealing with the aftermath would be difficult. But what do you mean they're not at full strength?"
Southern Legion Commander Callios answered:
"The central army is a massive organization. Some follow the second prince because of the martial prowess he displayed, but not everyone does. Honestly, if you look at the overall ratio, public opinion criticizing the faction that sided with the second prince is probably stronger. From their perspective, they likely want to offer up the ones who caused this incident as sacrifices and survive."
Fiore muttered, "That does make sense. If they lose this match, their budget will be slashed dramatically. And before that, many must have been shocked just by the fact that His Majesty the Great Emperor even brought up the topic. In other words, the people participating in this match weren't selected by skill level. It's highly likely that those cornered within the central army were forcibly pushed forward."
Alphonse spoke coolly, "Even so, the fact that their objective combat power is higher than ours doesn't change. What's our tactic?"
Various opinions were exchanged, and Chrome ultimately summarized the final consensus.
"Let's put our boar prince on a diet. If we make him run around like crazy, he'll lose some weight and his head might clear up too."
"Won't that just make him overheat?"
"If his blood pressure explodes and his lid blows off, wouldn't that be refreshing?"