Scorched Earth
The enemy was ignoring the fortresses along the front and racing straight for our main base.
They could do it because they knew a side path we didn't.
What they were after was the family of our lord, the Duke of Setia. Seize the duke's family as hostages, then force a favorable negotiation. That was the plan.
It wasn't merely about familial affection. A powerful man's wife almost always came from another powerful house. Lose her, and the in-laws would turn on you. Lose the children, and the line of succession died. The house itself would fall.
That was why a family made such excellent bargaining chips — from the enemy's point of view, at least.
In game terms, the enemy jungler had skipped the teamfight entirely and gone for a backdoor. From our side, it was a situation we simply could not ignore.
The problem was that I was far too weak to stop a backdoor push myself. So what was I supposed to do?
"What kind of operation is this?"
"One that, if it succeeds, will carry the Meyer name to fame."
"If it's that kind of plan, you should have told me ear—"
"Along with tremendous notoriety."
Notoriety. The moment she said it, I understood exactly what she was thinking.
I murmured under my breath.
"Scorched earth."
The Scorched Earth Strategy. A tactic in which we plundered every village the enemy might loot first, ensuring no food or supplies fell into their hands.
Honestly, it wasn't as if I hadn't thought of it. The idea had been floating around in the back of my mind. Even without an Intelligence of 100, anyone who'd studied military strategy would have arrived at the same conclusion. There was a reason, though, that no one reached for it lightly.
This would absolutely defeat the enemy. They had crossed the mountains, and while a side path might have been enough to move troops through, moving supplies was another matter entirely. A trail small enough that we hadn't even known it existed would be the kind of path a man could walk — but a supply wagon never could. Cut off their ability to forage, and the enemy would simply wither and die.
But if the operation succeeded, the Meyer family would earn a monstrous reputation. Of course they would. If we plundered the civilians' stores first, what were those people supposed to eat? They would starve.
Kill our own civilians before the enemy could. That was the cruelty of scorched earth.
"Is there nothing else?"
"Not that I know of."
"Do we really have to do this?"
"You already know there's another way."
Defecting to Kruzenstein…
If we sided with Kruzenstein, the whole thing would end without scorched earth. In exchange, we would wear the brand of traitors who had betrayed our lord.
I had three options.
Feed Kruzenstein's detachment and become a traitor. Plunder the food they would have foraged and become a butcher of civilians. Or do nothing at all. Feed them, and take the stain of betrayal. Take the food, and take the stain of massacre. But the worst of all was—
"The stain of being the heir to a strategist house… who did nothing."
Better to be hated as a bastard than as an incompetent.
"Either way, it's a stain… Haha…"
My first battle in this world, and they couldn't even let me decorate it with something glorious? Why did this world have to start like this from the very first fight?
The stain of a traitor. The stain of a butcher. The stain of an incompetent heir to a house of strategists who sat on his hands. Of the three, which was the least bad?
I thought it over for a while, then made my decision.
"We'll do it. We don't have a choice."
"Yes."
The conversation that followed was spare. We chose the stain of butchers.
"Hurry it up! If we don't get those boats in the water, we don't eat today either!"
"I know, Village Chief, stop nagging already~"
"It's because you half-ass the work that I have to nag!"
In one corner of Renoa Village, the chief was riding the villagers hard. They wore faces full of complaint, but they knew the place wouldn't run without him, so no one voiced it out loud. And then—
"Uh, Chief. I heard the next village over got plundered by the enemy…"
"And what of it?"
"Shouldn't we evacuate too? If they hit the next village, we could be next any day."
"And what do we eat if we evacuate?"
"…"
"Listen. This village is forty households. You think there's a town out there that will take in all forty? Work? Proof we won't get jumped by bandits on the road?"
"Well…"
The man lowered his head. The chief was right.
"People like us are mayflies the moment war breaks out. Whatever we do, we die when we die and live when we live. All we can do is pray to God that our lord wins."
"Ah…"
"But don't worry yourselves sick. We pay taxes to our lord, don't we? What do you think those taxes are for? Protection money — pay, and they keep you safe. Our lords have power and steel. No need to start thinking the worst alrea—"
A horn sounded from somewhere in the distance.
A young man came running down from the hill, shouting.
"Soldiers!!! Soldiers!!!"
Screams erupted from every direction. People scrambled for their houses, snatching up valuables and family members.
"We have to run! We have to run, Chief!"
"Wait! What banner are they flying?"
"An owl! It's an owl!"
At that, the chief's face lit up.
"No need to run! That's the army of House Meyer, the lords of this region! Reinforcements! They're reinforcements!"
"What? Reinforcements?"
"Everyone come back! They're ours!"
People exhaled in relief. What they had taken for the enemy was their own side. With friendly troops here, even the enemy army no longer seemed so terrifying. In the worst case, they could simply flee while the soldiers fought. But then—
"Here! Over here! Stop, please! Young lord! I am the chief of this village!"
The chief ran out waving his arms, but the knights on horseback did not stop. If anything, they spurred faster, and then—
A blade hissed free of its scabbard from horseback and cut the chief down.
"Shit! The chief's dead! Run! They're attacking!"
"I thought they were reinforcements?"
"How the hell should I know!"
That day, dozens of villages went up in flames.
Not by the enemy's hand — by our own.
Our forces killed every peasant they came across and put the villages to the torch. It was savage, but there was a reason it had to be done that way.
The reason, paradoxically, was that the peasants were human too. Peasants needed to eat to live. And they knew perfectly well that once their food was taken, they would starve to death in the end.
So if word spread that we were seizing grain, they would resist us — and fighting resistant peasants would cost us time we couldn't afford before the enemy arrived. Better to kill them as fast as possible and burn the villages so thoroughly that no one could hide stores in cellars or under floorboards.
It was the work of a mad butcher, and I had no intention of denying that. But it had its reasons all the same.
I ordered the soldiers to burn the villages and cut down anyone who fought back, and I knew full well what it was. Civilian massacre. History was littered with the same thing, and every lord or army that did it carried the brand of butcher for the rest of their lives.
"Between an incompetent and a piece of trash, I picked the trash."
I muttered it self-mockingly. Lucille, standing beside me, heard it and answered.
"You simply made the better choice."
"Right. Civilians died, but because of this the enemy's supply line will be completely severed. Once they pull back, our lord's house survives. And House Meyer's standing goes up a rank."
Along with its notoriety. I swallowed the rest.
"We did evil, but we saved the houses. Ours and our lord's."
"Yes."
My first campaign was bitter. Not because I had pointed my blade at the enemy — but because I had pointed it at our own.
A horn blared, and the castle gates swung open. Georg Meyer, head of House Meyer — my father — rode back at the head of his troops.
Just as we had expected, the army at the front had been nothing but bait. The moment they learned the detachment had failed, they withdrew. The war was over in the blink of an eye. House Kruzenstein and House Setia had fought more than ten times, and this, it seemed, had been the shortest war of them all.
I let out a breath of relief. The civilian massacre still sat heavy in my bones, but it was better than watching House Setia fall. And more than that — this affair would raise the Meyer name.
My sister and I bowed our heads before the gate. Father dismounted. Then—
His hand settled on my shoulder.
"Well done, my son."
"Yes, sir."
No further conversation was needed. Father understood the choice I had made, and he said nothing more.
That day's war council.
"The Eleventh Kruzenstein–Setia War ended easily when House Kruzenstein abandoned the field. But there will be a twelfth. There always is."
"Yes."
"First, to prevent the same situation, we must identify the side path they used. I will send agents south."
"Yes, Father."
"And for this affair, our lord intends to bestow a reward."
A reward? I hadn't thought what we'd done was that impressive.
"Franz. Present yourself at the castle soon. By our lord's command."
Presenting oneself at the castle meant ascending to the lord's seat of power. In other words — climb to Torgenberg Castle, the stronghold of House Setia.
A summons to the castle was a rare event. If our lord was calling for one, the reward was almost certainly something substantial.
"Yes."
I bowed my head, and resolved to prepare for the major event that would soon follow — the audience at the castle.
Presenting oneself at the castle meant traveling all the way to the capital of the region.
A vassal ascending to the castle at his lord's summons. For a country count like me, that was no small affair. It was a big event that might well change the course of my life from here on.
Every one of my tutors was dismissed except the etiquette instructor. Climbing to His Grace the Duke's castle with flawed manners could stain the family's face, so etiquette became the sole focus of my studies.
And then the long-awaited day arrived.
I set out for Torgenberg with my retinue.