Chapter 69
Chapter 69
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Becoming a Wave of Iron Armor (2)
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"It's not right to offer drinks to men marching out tomorrow, so let's just have some tea."
The 8th Legion Commander had summoned me.
Others present included the commanders of the 8th and 6th Legions.
"I won't ask if you're confident. I have no intention of pushing you to win at all costs."
These seemed like odd words to say to someone about to head into battle, but I kept quiet and listened.
"Just survive and come back. Bring back as many as you can."
When we first met, he'd thrust an impossible mission upon me. Now, all he wanted was for me to return alive.
"Things are different now than they were then."
I couldn't tell if he meant the situation had changed or our relationship had.
"The Bluecoats embody the spirit of Thracia itself. They charge straight ahead, shattering on impact rather than going around. But lately, I've been wondering if that's always necessary."
The 8th Legion Commander spoke gravely.
"In the last war, the Bluecoats never retreated. They charged to the very end, over and over. And what happened? Their numbers, once near a regiment's strength, dwindled to barely three hundred."
I listened in silence.
"I still think about it sometimes. What if they'd pulled back then? What if they'd survived to this day, serving under you now? Useless hypotheticals."
His words wandered, but I sensed what he was getting at.
"Hurry as much as you can, but don't push too hard. If things look bad, abandon a fortress or two. When we arrive on the battlefield, greet us as proudly as you are now."
He extended his hand.
"Good luck."
I clasped it firmly.
Grip.
I felt his sincerity in the tense grip.
Release.
I stepped back.
Snap.
I brought my heels together sharply and raised my chin.
For Thracia.
As I saluted, everyone rose and returned it. Even Colonel Varnechi, who couldn't stand the sight of me, wished me luck this time.
And the next day.
"8th Legion!"
"6th Legion!"
From early morning, infantry packed the walls and gates, stomping in unison.
"Salute Thracia's lances!"
"For Thracia!"
The chant from thousands of soldiers rang with deep respect.
"Deathsworn."
Thirteen hundred fifty cavalrymen beat their breastplates in reply.
"March out."
Thirteen hundred fifty cavalrymen stepped forward as one.
With the sun at our backs, we faced the western sky.
"Troop, trot."
My Royal Gift Horse stamped the ground briskly.
-Troop, trot!
-Troop, trot!
The echoed response lingered like thunder.
Astoria's southern fortresses had fallen to Thracia.
With victory reports arriving one after another, Thracia's nobles threw parties nightly, toasting prematurely as if they'd won the victories themselves, competing over who could be the most lavish.
Thus, the capital Trakiel reveled in extravagance.
But the drunken festival didn't last.
"The Kazan army suffered a crushing defeat, and Astoria's forces are advancing south rapidly!"
The sudden news of Astoria's southward push hit like a bolt from the blue. The nobles' mansions, once filled with parties, now hung heavy as if in mourning.
"Thirty-four thousand troops!"
"That's Astoria's entire western army, isn't it?"
The border lands Thracia had captured no longer existed in the nobles' minds.
"I... I need to flee south."
"Thracia's fate..."
They rushed to pack their belongings.
But not all the capital's nobles were cowering, plotting escape.
"Your Majesty! The kingdom's fortunes hang by a thread!"
"You must decide swiftly!"
A considerable number flocked to the palace, daily urging the king to act.
"Langrid, I can't fathom what decision those fools want from His Majesty."
"Open the royal treasury. Hire mercenaries or whatever to stop the Astorians. It's not the first time these nobles have whined."
The princess clearly had no patience for the nobles disrupting the palace daily.
"If they'd offer their own retainers first, that'd be one thing. Aren't they Thracians too? How can nobles lack such duty?"
"Compared to those who fled south early with packed bags, these at least act noble."
"Does this kingdom even have proper nobles? They're all useless."
Langrid Guldiv dodged the question.
"So, what has High Command decided?"
"They're considering pulling some troops from other fronts to reinforce the north, but..."
Moving border forces carelessly could give other nations pretext, so High Command hesitated on a swift response.
"More importantly, he sent a letter."
The princess furrowed her brow.
"He believes Astoria's army will keep pushing south and strike Thracian soil."
Her expression hardened further.
"The northern fortresses lack the strength to stop them. This is dire."
"It's just a possibility. High Command isn't giving his view much weight."
"Langrid, what's your opinion?"
"...I think it's likely to happen as he says."
No sooner had she answered than the princess rose.
"Where to?"
"To inform His Majesty."
That her and his opinion mattered more than High Command's.
"I see why Langrid came to me. You want me to sway His Majesty, don't you?"
"How dare I."
Langrid Guldiv denied it, but the princess seemed indifferent.
"Let's go together."
As the two prepared to meet the king.
"Major Yannick Schrelgriff and the Deathsworn have mobilized to block Astoria's advance!"
Another urgent report arrived.
Yannick Schrelgriff.
The man who had repeatedly turned certain defeats into victories, now a symbol of Thracia's northern army.
The capital's anxious mood flipped entirely.
But this time, it ignited for a different reason.
"Thirteen hundred fifty cavalry!"
"Unprecedented for a mere major to command that many!"
The capital's nobles ranted that the Deathsworn's strength was excessive.
"Isn't strong Deathsworn good? So many risking life for the kingdom is inspiring."
"Nonsense from someone out of touch! What if he harbors ill intentions? He was investigated for treason before! Strip his command now!"
"How, when His Majesty granted it?"
"Anyway, we must stop it. Thirteen hundred fifty cavalry could cross the kingdom in a flash if turned against us. It's not the same as a thousand infantry!"
Hearing the debate, the princess was dumbfounded.
"The nobles want the Deathsworn disbanded or weakened? Is that really what I heard?"
"Northern cavalry have unusually strong bonds compared to other branches, so privatization isn't impossible. And his achievements make other cavalry admire him excessively."
"Langrid. Langrid. Don't say things you don't mean. We both know he's not the type to crave power. Why are you so critical of him alone? It almost feels like you're avoiding giving me cause to complain."
Langrid Guldiv fell silent.
"Are you worried I'll resent losing him to His Majesty and spout madness like the nobles? Is that why you defend him?"
"How dare I favor another before Your Highness."
"Langrid. Langrid. Do you think I don't know you?"
The princess sighed.
"I don't resent him hiding behind His Majesty. I've never given him up. I'm not so petty as to hold a grudge against the man who'll eventually be mine."
She narrowed her eyes.
"...So what exactly is your relationship?"
"I don't know why you're asking."
Langrid Guldiv met the princess's gaze calmly.
"No matter. Langrid would never betray my trust. Even if there's something, it won't harm me."
"Your Highness..."
"Still, I'd prefer not hearing it from others later. Learning my ally's spring has begun via rumors on the wind would sting, even for me."
Her tone was half-joking, but Langrid Guldiv didn't smile, aware of the warning beneath.
"Regardless, we can't avoid seeing His Majesty."
Resuming preparations for the audience to assess the situation.
Just as she was about to leave her palace.
"H-His Majesty has issued a summons!"
A breathless attendant rushed in.
"All royalty and nobles in the capital must attend, no exceptions!"
"I'll be direct."
With all capital nobles and royalty assembled, Igor Trakieri spoke coldly.
"Mind your words and actions."
The stark warning froze nobles and royals alike.
"Remember, your reckless speech could tarnish the king's favor and trust."
It was a clear threat.
Anyone slandering his appointed cavalry commander with base motives would be deemed an enemy.
No one present was ignorant of how merciless their king was to foes.
"Yet I know your concerns stem from loyalty to this land. I only say your direction is misguided."
Igor Trakieri's voice softened, like frost melting.
But nobles and royals tensed further.
The king's mercy was reserved for the faithful.
This gathering was a test of loyalty.
As expected.
"Thracia's fate teeters on a knife's edge. Yet this kingdom brims with loyal nobles. I believe unwaveringly that you won't let those vile Astorians defile our soil."
The nobles paled at the king's words.
Polished phrasing, but it demanded troops to halt Astoria.
"Thirteen hundred fifty righteous souls race toward death even now. They wish a noble end, but I won't allow it. Nor will you."
Even a time limit.
No time to conscript levies; they had to yield elite blood.
"House Enovich, four hundred retainers, gladly offered for the kingdom."
In the silence, the young Count of Enovich—who had secured his house this spring—spoke first.
Light gleamed in Igor Trakieri's eyes.
He knew his cavalry commander's origins and why he'd joined the army.
"Oh ho."
Gazing piercingly, he curled his lip.
"Blood runs thick, even so."
He murmured ambiguously.
"I'll remember Count Enovich's loyalty."
To the nobles, it sounded like a vow to remember those withholding troops.
"...House Yakubakov, thirty heavy infantry and a hundred light. Use them for the kingdom."
"House Reinich, sixty archers and ninety spearmen at your call."
"Boroviypov. Sending a hundred five infantry to the front."
"Vishovsky, our house's eighty elites..."
Nobles hastily offered retainers.
Igor Trakieri praised each, vowing to remember their loyalty.
The total exceeded a legion.
Despite losing precious elites, nobles showed no displeasure.
They looked relieved, as if spared.
But the ambitious king wasn't satisfied.
"Your stacked loyalties will form Thracia's ramparts. Yet these forces alone can only briefly halt Astoria's greed. Return swiftly to your lands and crush it."
Retainers quenched immediate fires; now, raise levies to support the front.
Nobles blanched at the demand.
No withdrawing now.
Comfort came in opportunity.
Igor Trakieri rewarded merit openly and generously tore from others to honor the deserving.
Perfect targets: nobles who'd fled south early.
These gathered would rule next year's capital.
Without such calculus, no noble would've yielded elites.
"High Command shall consolidate these noble contributions into units, dispatch north swiftly, halt at Killigrad Fortress to assess, and do likewise for reinforcements."
With that, Igor Trakieri rose from the throne.
After leaving the fortress, a royal messenger arrived.
How urgent, to send not a regular but a Redcoat.
"...?"
The Redcoat thrust the letter and collapsed.
Foam at his mouth; he'd pushed to exhaustion.
"Clear him out."
I left cleanup to the Bluecoats and broke the seal.
[Don't worry about the rear. Rampage freely. Like ten years ago.]
The bold script made my eyes widen.
"What does it say?"
The Bluecoats asked boldly about the king's message.
"They'll handle the rear, so fight at my discretion?"
I handed the fainted Redcoat to Lieutenant Staretzka and resumed the march.
"Like ten years ago..."
I smiled.
The stage is set.
Time to rampage.