First Victory
The Second Company launched their counterattack in perfect time with Ellen’s orders.
Their fire was not scattered. They poured it into a handful of points Ellen had marked for them in advance.
In the canyon battle of the previous timeline, the imperial forces had followed their surprise magical assault by sending soldiers down into the gorge on Feather Fall. Drifting slowly from the heights, the Gosen troops had butchered the Prode army. That was when Ellen had taken the deep sword wound across his back.
To receive Feather Fall together, the soldiers always clustered around their mages. Ellen knew that well.
“Thy power shall seize all things and purify them—Burning Hands.”
Whoosh.
Flame magic tore through the imperial soldiers packed into the canyon. Once one man caught fire, the blaze leapt to those beside him in an instant.
“Keep attacking anyway.”
“Do not stop for anything!”
Even as the men next to them burned alive, the imperial troops refused to break off their assault.
They don’t care at all if their own soldiers die? At this rate the barrier will shatter.
Ellen felt the situation tightening by the second. The terrain was against them, and the Prode mages had no room for anything but defense.
Crash.
Under the relentless barrage, the barrier finally broke.
Barrier. Fire Burst.
Ellen raised a new barrier even as he detonated simultaneous explosions at several points along the canyon rim. The blasts thinned the rain of attacks from above—if only a little. Casting so many spells at once, however, slammed a sudden strain through his body.
Damn it, Vermouth. I knew you were cold-blooded, but not this cold.
Ellen had expected them to raise defensive magic the moment they came under fire. Had they done so, the battle would already look far better; with the mages free to support, they could have scoured the canyon clean in moments. Instead the enemy kept attacking without the slightest regard for the soldiers they lost, and in doing so they pinned the Prode mages in place.
From the battle of the Tramore Plains onward, the general directing the empire’s tactics had been Vermouth. In the last war he had been the single greatest obstacle standing in the Prode Kingdom’s path. His strategies always exacted a heavy toll—not only because they were strong in themselves, but because they pursued efficiency to a ruthless extreme. To him, even his soldiers’ lives were just another line on the ledger of cost.
“General, the enemy’s resistance is too fierce.”
“That one is the problem.”
Vermouth watched Ellen fighting desperately at the bottom of the canyon.
Every move he makes fits the situation. He fights like a man who has survived hundreds of battlefields. Prode should not have a mage like that.
The Prode Kingdom’s strength rested entirely on its mages. Yet the kingdom’s closed, rigid structure had left those mages far weaker, on average, than they had once been. The mage below was cut from an entirely different cloth than the pathetic specimens Vermouth had grown used to seeing.
“If we linger any longer, what we stand to lose will outweigh what we can gain. We withdraw.”
Vermouth turned on his heel at once.
“If we pull back now, their attacks may catch us from behind.”
“All units withdraw except the lead company. Use the time they buy us to open as much distance as possible.”
“Withdraw!”
The adjutant relayed Vermouth’s order. The ferocious assault that had been hammering them only moments before began to fade.
They’re retreating?
Only then could Ellen draw a proper breath.
“Hiiik—!”
“Aaaagh, my arm!”
But the scene at the bottom of the canyon was grim. The ambush had inflicted heavy losses on the Prode army.
Compared to the past… is this almost light?
Last time the unit had been all but annihilated. The slaughter after the magical opening strike, when the imperial troops dropped into the gorge, had been catastrophic; barely one in five survivors had staggered out of the canyon. This time the empire had been the first to fall back. By any fair measure, it was a Prode victory.
“D-did we win? We actually won?”
Germil had spent the entire battle flat on the ground. Only when the explosions finally stopped did he lift his head, look around, and push himself up.
“Yes. The enemy has retreated. All of it thanks to Your Excellency’s command.”
Aide Sabe helped Germil to his feet as he spoke.
“W-well, that’s a relief, then. Let’s get out of this dreadful place at once.”
“Your Excellency, there are so many wounded that moving immediately may be difficult.”
Basel, who had already begun assessing the damage the moment the enemy withdrew, reported.
“How much longer, then?”
“We need to load the men who can’t walk onto the casualty wagons. Ten minutes should be enough.”
Germil shook his head hard.
“I will not spend so much as another minute in this place. Have the other soldiers simply carry them. Sabe, get the army moving at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sabe raised the amplifying crystal orb.
“All units, form marching column! The wounded will be carried by their comrades!”
The voice rolled through the canyon, and the soldiers’ faces darkened. They had not been granted even a moment’s rest after the fighting—and worse, many of the wounded had yet to receive proper first aid.
“Move with haste.”
The order came again. An order was an order, so they forced their exhausted bodies upright.
“We leave the canyon.”
Once clear of the canyon, the Fifth Army made camp a day’s march from Roche, intending to regroup and recover their strength before taking the fortress.
At the center of the camp stood the staff headquarters tent.
“What? The Grand Marshal is coming here?”
Germil’s voice, thick with alarm, carried from inside.
“Yes. I only just received word myself. By royal command, he is coming to commend our merits in the battles of the Tramore Plains and Ruaturu Canyon, and to encourage us for the capture of Roche.”
Basel held out the letter the messenger had brought.
“When the Grand Marshal arrives, he will hold me accountable for failing to detect the ambush at Ruaturu Canyon. The losses from this attack were severe; there will be no easy way to escape blame.”
“And the Second Company’s performance with the Magic Unit will stand in stark contrast to our own.”
Sabe spoke carefully to the agitated Germil.
“That must not be allowed. The Grand Marshal is a man who measures merit and fault with a blade.”
At those words, cold sweat beaded on Germil’s brow.
“I have an idea.”
“Oh? What is it? Speak quickly.”
“We make certain the Magic Unit cannot be compared favorably with us. Those men planned independent tactics without reporting a word to Your Excellency. That is a clear challenge—and an insult—to their superior officer.”
Understanding dawned, and Germil’s face brightened.
“What’s more, we are at war. In wartime, contempt for a superior and insubordination can be punished by summary execution. We raise the charge, seize them on it, and lock them away for a short time. When the Grand Marshal arrives, we can simply let the matter pass in silence.”
“Sabe, your mind is truly sharp. We will punish them first thing tomorrow.”
Is this truly how a commander is supposed to behave?
Watching them, Basel felt a chill of revulsion. He had known Germil was incompetent, but he had never imagined it would sink this low. To stay alive himself, he had swallowed the curses rising in his throat and bowed his head. But Ellen had saved their lives twice. Twice he had turned certain defeat into victory. And now these men meant to destroy him simply for fear that their own failures would come to light. As a knight, Basel could never accept that.
“Go dig up whatever dirt you can use against them.”
“Yes. If you will only convene a court-martial, I will see the matter handled cleanly.”
“Good. Reliable as ever.”
Thud, thud.
Unable to watch any longer, Basel stepped out of the headquarters tent. The night sky was clear of every cloud. Looking up at the full moon, he felt a guilt he could not quite name. He remembered the day he had sworn, upon becoming a knight, to uphold his honor—and at the same time he saw himself fawning under an incompetent commander. The image was sickening.
I have to warn them.
His resolve set, Basel started toward the Magic Unit’s tents.
“Is something the matter?”
Ellen, training even outside his tent, called out as Basel approached.
“You never rest for a moment, do you?”
“Even a mage won’t survive battle if his body can’t keep up.”
Basel looked at him with quiet admiration.
And they mean to lock a man like this in a cell.
He vowed he would stop it, no matter what.
“The truth is, I came to speak with you and Jett.”
Ellen tilted his head. Of all the staff officers, this was the one he had judged most decent. The grim set of Basel’s face told him something serious was afoot.
“Would you step inside for a moment?”
“Very well.”
Click.
They were seated, Ellen’s tea cooling in Basel’s hands, when Jett entered the office.
“What brings you all the way out here? Whatever you have to say could have waited for the next meeting.”
Jett took the chair opposite him as he spoke.
“The Grand Marshal has decided to visit the army.”
“Has he? You’ll have your hands full, then.”
Jett treated the news as if it were of little consequence.
“When he arrives, he will review the merits of the last battle and this one. Naturally, every eye will turn to the Magic Unit—especially to you, Remi.”
Ellen nodded. That had been precisely what he intended.
“And Germil and Sabe are already moving to check you. They will do anything to keep their failures from reaching the Grand Marshal’s ears.”
“They mean to pin us down with a court-martial?”
Ellen saw through their design at once. He had watched the same play more times than he could count.
“I thought you’d catch it immediately. Yes. They mean to charge you and Jett with contempt of a superior officer and insubordination, and haul you before a court-martial.”
“Since you’re telling us this, I take it you mean to stand with us?”
Jett regarded Basel as the only man among the staff he could truly call a knight.
“I do. Follow a fool like that much longer and ten necks wouldn’t be enough. And my honor as a knight would never allow it.”
“You have our gratitude for your courage, Sir Basel. Can the start of the court-martial be delayed? I would like it to coincide with the Grand Marshal’s arrival.”
“As things stand, the Grand Marshal will reach us in two days. As for the court-martial—if I obstruct Sabe, it should be possible. What do you intend to do?”
Basel was already prepared to give Ellen’s plan his full support.
“Then I have a request. My plan is…”