Counterattack (2)
Vermouth, standing at the very front of the formation, raised his hand. At once the imperial army halted as one.
Before him stood a great stone door—the entrance into the Ruaturu Canyon anthill dungeon.
"We go in."
At Vermouth's command a mage poured mana into the door.
With a deep rumble the stone shifted and groaned open.
As if long accustomed to the place, the imperial troops filed into the opened passage. The dungeon was wide enough for several hundred soldiers to enter at once.
Another heavy grind of stone, and once every soldier was inside the mage sealed the door again.
No light entered from outside, yet a faint radiance that rose of its own accord from the walls kept the interior dimly visible.
"Advance at speed to the central hall, then take the positions assigned after the last battle."
"Yes, sir!"
Under Vermouth's orders the imperial army moved with perfect coordination. Before long they reached the central hall.
The instant Vermouth stepped into that open space an inexplicable sense of wrongness swept through him.
"General? Is something the matter?"
One of his adjutants, noticing the change, asked quietly.
"It is nothing."
Am I simply on edge?
He decided the unease came from a tension he had not felt in a long while.
The soldiers gathered around him in the central hall. Countless holes riddled the walls—passages that linked the chamber to every corner of Ruaturu Canyon.
Just as Vermouth was about to order the dispersal of his forces, massive boulders came hurtling into the hall.
There were well over a hundred of them. At the same moment a colossal rock erupted from the floor, sealing the entrance through which they had just arrived.
"What—?"
Even for Vermouth the sight was beyond imagination. His lips moved of their own accord.
The boulders crashed down among the troops.
"Take cover!"
"Aaaargh!"
Screams erupted wherever men were crushed beneath the stones. Yet Vermouth still could not collect himself. He had survived countless battlefields, yet never had he been thrown into such utter confusion.
"How can they be here?!"
What met his eyes were Prode soldiers already entrenched in the surrounding passages. Among them Ellen's figure stood out with terrible clarity. Ellen lowered the hand he had raised.
In answer to that gesture another volley of boulders came screaming through the air—just as many as before.
"Protect us—Protect!"
The imperial mages finally recovered their wits and flung up hasty Protect barriers.
The improvised magic shattered almost at once, yet it still lessened the carnage compared with the first strike.
"Damn it—this is no time to stand gaping!"
Only then did Vermouth snap back to himself. Never once on any battlefield had he allowed his mind to blank. Shocked though he was, he had to respond.
"High-ranking mages, raise defensive barriers! Junior mages and archers, suppress the enemy! Infantry, seize the assigned passages at once!"
In a single breath Vermouth grasped the situation and issued his orders.
Even in the midst of chaos Ellen was startled by how swiftly Vermouth chose the best remaining strategy and how instantly the imperial army obeyed.
Still, you won't have it all your way.
Ellen had already anticipated exactly this. Even Vermouth's options in such a trap were limited.
"Grease them."
To climb from the hall into the passages required stairs. At Ellen's command the assistant-mage unit coated those stairs with Grease magic.
"Clothe yourselves in strength—Stone!"
The mages attached to the imperial infantry cast spells so their comrades would not slip.
"Spearmen, ready! Archers, fire!"
Ellen's voice rang through the entire central hall—necessary if he was to command troops scattered across every passage at once.
I'll deal with the mages myself.
"That stance—!"
Janette let out a breath of admiration at the posture Ellen had taken. It was the same form he had shown once before at Tramore.
Magic Missile.
From the staff gripped like a bowstring a dark-blue bolt of light streaked away.
Too fast for the eye to follow, the missile punched clean through an imperial mage's chest.
Ellen sniped the mages climbing the stairs with the infantry. Intent on countering the Grease, they crumpled to the floor without even knowing why they had died.
All the while more boulders continued to rain into the hall; the mages and assistants Ellen had held in reserve kept casting without pause.
There is no way out.
Vermouth felt despair settle over him. He swept the battlefield again and again, yet no escape presented itself.
The exit had been sealed from the start. The troops trying to climb the stairs were being slaughtered helplessly. Continuous bombardment made it impossible for the main body of mages to support them.
He had pinned his hopes on the mages embedded with the infantry—yet those same mages were being cut down one after another by "him."
Total defeat.
In all his career he had never once known it. Now, for the first time, a boy who looked barely past his late teens was teaching him the meaning of the word.
Just who is that creature?
Vermouth was at a loss. He had never so much as heard the name. Where in the world had such a youth suddenly appeared?
A dragon, perhaps?
The boy was so singular that the thought of a legendary being crossed his mind.
These passages were known to no one outside the imperial army. How the Prode forces could be waiting here defied every explanation.
Yet something even more incomprehensible gnawed at him.
How did he know I would come here?
That they had anticipated his arrival was simply impossible to accept.
He had moved only after confirming that their main force was on the march. If that movement itself had been a ruse, then the boy must already have read every one of his strategies.
Seeing their commander's stricken face, the imperial soldiers' morale collapsed completely. To the Prode army they had become nothing more than practice dummies.
It took little time for the Prode forces to seal the victory. Most of the imperial troops were slain; the rest were taken prisoner.
"Lord Remi, isn't he incredible?"
"Nothing like that bastard we used to serve."
"Just thinking about the way he fires those Magic Missiles still sends chills down my spine."
The Prode soldiers chattered excitedly about their new commander, Ellen.
"Attention!"
Ellen stepped forward to declare the triumph.
"Waaaaaah!"
No longer only the 2nd Company—now the entire Fifth Army roared his praise.
"Thanks to all of you we have won a complete victory. Clear the field swiftly and withdraw from this place."
The cheers of the Prode army swelled still louder. Vermouth and the surviving imperial soldiers could only hang their heads.
After their total victory in the anthill dungeon the Fifth Army marched straight for Roche. When they arrived, the vanguard Ellen had sent ahead was already waiting inside the city.
"Lord Remi, we found nothing unusual. The citizens appear to have abandoned the city some time ago. The warehouses are empty of food and supplies. We have already secured every building, including the lord's castle."
As Ellen entered, the vanguard commander reported the state of Roche.
"Well done."
Ellen clapped the man on the shoulder, then turned.
"Dispatch a messenger with news of the victory and the occupation of Roche. Prepare Vermouth's execution at once. It will be private—simply bind him. The rest of the prisoners are to be held for a possible exchange with the Empire."
"Yes, sir."
The Prode army locked every staff officer except Vermouth in the underground dungeon of the lord's castle. Vermouth alone was taken to a separate interrogation chamber below.
I never imagined it would come to this.
Dragged in by the soldiers, Vermouth could manage only a self-mocking smile.
One of them kicked the back of his knees.
With both hands bound he could offer no resistance and was forced to his knees.
"That's enough. All of you, leave us."
Ellen entered the chamber and dismissed the guards.
"Yes, sir."
The well-disciplined soldiers withdrew with crisp, measured steps. Once they were gone Ellen helped Vermouth to his feet.
"Sir Vermouth, the Bloodless General—forgive their rough handling."
"Heh. Courtesy toward a man about to be executed?"
Vermouth snorted at Ellen's manners.
"Is that how it appeared? Please, sit."
Ellen offered him a chair. Vermouth steadied his staggering legs and sat.
"I may be a stranger to you, yet I have long known your renown. Brilliant strategy, and at times a ruthless efficiency that seemed almost to discard humanity itself—I wished to learn every one of those things from you."
"The leisure of the victor, is it? A right the winner is free to claim. Then may this loser ask one question?"
Ellen nodded.
"How did you see through my plan? Was there a spy among us?"
Ellen did not answer; he merely regarded the man in silence.
"I asked if there was a spy. I was certain that strategy would bring me victory."
In the end it was Vermouth who spoke again.
"There was no spy. Your subordinates were all loyal."
At those words Vermouth's expression eased a fraction.
"Then you simply out-read my plan?"
Once more Ellen kept silent. Frustration flickered across Vermouth's face.
"It seems you have nothing more to say. Very well. Learning that none of my men betrayed me is enough to satisfy me."
Only then did Ellen open his mouth—and the words were nothing Vermouth had expected.
"Your talent is far too great. If you would stand at my side, nothing could please me more."
"Please. Was that all you wanted to say? I have no reply for such an offer."
"You are too valuable to die here. Why not open a new future together with me?"
This time Vermouth fell silent. Though he had been an inhuman commander, his loyalty to the Empire had surpassed every other man's. Ellen already knew that truth.
"It cannot be helped, then."
He also knew further persuasion was useless.
Steel whispered from its scabbard. Vermouth bowed his head in resignation.
"You asked how I knew your strategy."
Ellen approached, the tip of his sword angled toward the floor, and whispered beside Vermouth's ear.
"Because I saw that very strategy more than twenty years ago. I came from the future."
At those words Vermouth let out a hollow laugh.
"Unbelievable. Yet if it is not true, nothing else can explain it—so I must believe, must I not?"
He lifted his head.
"One last question before I die."
"Anything. The moment I told you my secret, you earned the right to hear everything."
"The outcome of this war—does it match what I had thought?"
Ellen gave no answer. He only offered a bitter smile.
Seeing that smile, Vermouth lowered his head once more.
"I can only hope the future you know is wrong."
In the same instant Vermouth's head fell to the floor.