Counterattack (1)
"General Vermouth, the Prode army's movements have changed. It appears they're about to begin their invasion."
Vermouth's aide burst into the conference chamber, gasping for breath.
Vermouth was studying the map spread across his desk. Pieces representing the Imperial forces and the Prode army were scattered across it, evidence that he had been drafting strategy right up until this moment.
"Hmm. So they're finally on the move. Fortunate that they gave us more time than expected. Summon the staff at once."
His composure stood in stark contrast to his aide's fluster. Somehow, that calm alone steadied the younger man.
"Right away, sir."
The aide finished his reply and bolted back out of the chamber. Watching him go, Vermouth lifted the teacup he had been nursing and brought it to his lips.
By the time he had finished the cup, every staff officer of the Imperial army had assembled. Their faces were uniformly taut — the situation was that grim.
"If everyone's here, we'll begin. Is there anyone who has a clear grasp of our present circumstances?"
Vermouth always asked for others' opinions first. Outwardly it looked like he was soliciting counsel; in truth, he was measuring their competence. Even in an emergency, he behaved no differently than usual.
"At present, the Prode army has won two battles in dramatic fashion, and their morale is sky-high. Ours, by contrast, is the exact opposite."
"In particular, the men are terrified of magic."
A soft trickle sounded as Vermouth refilled his cup. A fragrant aroma unfurled through the entire chamber.
"You've assessed it correctly. Then tell me the strategy you have in mind."
"Their spirits may be high, but we hold the defensive position. To win a siege, the attackers need at least three times our numbers. Right now, their strength is roughly equal to ours. If we simply hold until reinforcements arrive from the capital, that should be enough."
One of the aides answered Vermouth's question.
"Indeed."
"We've been overthinking this. Reinforcements will be here soon enough — so long as we defend properly, that should settle it, shouldn't it?"
At his words, the officers' expressions brightened. In the ashes of successive defeats, they had found a spark of hope again.
"And we have General Vermouth as well."
The aide who had earlier rushed into the chamber shot to his feet as he spoke.
"Yes, exactly."
"With General Vermouth here, even if the enemy had four or five times our numbers, they still couldn't take Roche."
At the mention of Vermouth's name, confident smiles of certain victory began to form on the staff officers' lips.
In the Gosen Empire, the name Vermouth was all but a guarantee of victory. In decades of military service, the battles he had lost could be counted on one hand.
He had suffered two defeats against the Prode army recently, true. But even then he had only withdrawn — and if one measured pure casualties, the gap between the two sides was hardly vast.
Even in disadvantage, his cold-eyed judgment maximized enemy losses while minimizing his own. That was why, even when he lost, the scale of damage always remained comparable. His epithet, the Bloodless General, had been born of exactly that.
"Of course, if this were an ordinary siege, your reasoning would be sound."
Until then Vermouth had only been sipping his tea. When he spoke at last, every officer's eyes locked onto him.
"But if he is with them, simply waiting may be a dangerously complacent choice."
The staff knew at once whom Vermouth meant. The man who, in two battles they had been certain of winning, had single-handedly overturned the field with peerless performance — Ellen.
"His personal prowess is formidable, but what we must truly be wary of is his command. There's no telling what kind of variable he'll become in this siege."
Ellen's leadership maximized the ability of every soldier under him. That alone was a decisive variable capable of flipping the outcome of a battle.
"Then what are we to do?"
An officer, recalling the image of Ellen cutting across the battlefield without rest, let his anxiety show. Every gaze fixed solely on Vermouth.
"So we make the first change. Something they won't be able to anticipate."
Unlike his anxious staff, Vermouth's expression was relaxed. He even wore a faintly intrigued smile.
Having seized command of the Roche occupation operation through Akard's one-sided declaration, Ellen was swamped.
The moment Akard finished shaking his hand, he plunged straight into a tactical conference. As it was their first meeting, no concrete battle plan emerged — it was simply a session for reporting on the enemy's situation and the state of their own reinforcements.
When the conference ended, Akard assembled the entire Fifth Army. There, he introduced Ellen. Contrary to expectations, the soldiers' reaction was positive.
From their point of view, it hardly mattered who held command. What mattered was who would better keep them alive. By that measure, Ellen was all but the ideal commander.
Among the officers, of course, more than a few nursed grievances. But Akard crushed every last complaint in the conference chamber itself. No one dared talk back to the Grand Marshal and Grand Master. They could only grumble behind his back and swallow their frustration.
Once the major announcement was done, Akard returned at once to the capital, citing the need to finish interrogating the criminals.
You've risen to Marshal in a single breath. In all my years, you're the first I've seen climb this high within two months of enlistment.
Proveng spoke up for the first time in a while. To conserve the mana required to maintain his form-shift magic, he ordinarily kept silent.
I never imagined it either. I never thought things would fall into place this well.
Ellen walked the camp, turning the Roche occupation over in his mind. In truth, he already knew what strategy the Imperial army would bring.
I never saw it coming back then.
He let the memory rise.
After the crushing defeat at the canyon, the Prode army had eventually committed even parts of the Fourth and Third Armies to Tramore. Prode poured every scrap of its strength into taking Roche. Bolstered in a single stroke, the Prode forces pushed through the canyon and reached the city, intending to seize it with overwhelming numbers and magical firepower.
But when they attacked Roche, no one was there. Not so much as an ant. Staring at the utterly empty city, the Prode army could only feel bewildered.
Having occupied the place for the moment, they sent a messenger to Tramore to report the victory. The messenger who rode out never returned. They sent more after him, again and again — still no word.
It was not only the messengers who failed to come back. Days past the date when supplies, including food, should have arrived, nothing came. Only then did they understand what had gone wrong. Their supply line had been completely severed.
I thought we were going to starve to death. One loaf of bread a day, was it?
The Imperial army under Vermouth had abandoned the city, looped around, and reoccupied Ruaturu Canyon. Cut off from supplies, the Prode forces slowly destroyed themselves inside the hollow city. Forcing the canyon would have meant annihilation — yet they could not simply sit and wait in Roche either.
Then a scout spotted Imperial reinforcements approaching Roche. The Prode army fell into deep turmoil. Already starved half to death, the soldiers had no strength left to fight. In the end they chose surrender. The Imperials reentered Roche without shedding a drop of blood.
On the condition that half the commanding officers be executed and Tramore Castle handed over, they released the Prode army.
The Bloodless General, Vermouth. What a terrifying man he was.
Because of Vermouth, the Prode army had suffered damage beyond words. Only the strong showing of Prode forces on another border had barely kept the balance. Without that, the Ellen of the past would have spent the rest of his life as a colonial subject.
But this time I know everything. I won't walk into the same trap.
That command of the army had fallen to Ellen was, in a sense, pure fortune. The strategy he had in mind could never be executed with a mere company or single unit.
After walking the camp for a long while, Ellen stopped.
I'll make use of your renown myself.
He turned toward his tent — the Marshal's pavilion of the Fifth Army.
Master, I'd like a magic lesson.
You won't even skip a day as busy as this one? You'll wear me out.
Missing even a single day would waste too much of the time I've already spent.
Truly incorrigible, you are.
A few days later, the Prode army struck its camp. The occupation operation was beginning in earnest. Once the fortifications were down, they would set out for Roche and arrive roughly a day later.
The Imperial army had already marked their movements. The moment the scouts saw it, they spurred their horses toward Roche. This was news that needed to be delivered faster than any other.
"Begin."
With the camp fully dismantled, Ellen gave the order to Jett.
"Understood."
Jett nodded, and the mages and Magic Assistants began to chant.
"O mana, take form as a vessel that projects my own image."
⟨ Scarecrow ⟩
A soft rustling filled the air. As the 3rd Circle spell Scarecrow took hold, straw figures in the shape of soldiers appeared. Every member of the magic unit had cast it, and the numbers were enormous.
"You've all poured in enough mana to last at least a day, I trust?"
Jett prodded one of the scarecrows as he spoke.
"Of course, sir."
The unit members answered with confident faces.
"The vanguard advances with these."
Ellen's voice carried from the amplification crystal orb that Germil had once used. At his command, roughly a quarter of the Fifth Army began to move. With the scarecrows summoned by the magic unit trailing behind them, they looked like a substantial force indeed.
This should be enough to fool the enemy.
Ellen surveyed the scale of the advancing vanguard with quiet satisfaction.
"The rest of us will swing around back and head for Ruaturu Canyon."
Taking the remaining forces, Ellen turned toward Ruaturu Canyon. He intended to be in position there well ahead of time.
Meanwhile, the Imperial scout who had ridden without rest reached Roche.
"The Prode army has begun to move."
At the scout's report, every face in the conference chamber tightened with tension.
"The civilians have already been evacuated. As planned, gather every supply and withdraw from the city."
Vermouth set down his teacup as he spoke.
"Yes, sir. We obey."
Tension and anticipation rolled through the chamber together, and the answer rang out like a bell.
Prode — this will be your end. His included.