The East, and Biraf (1)
Biraf. It was the Biraf Coalition Kingdom—an alliance of city-states built across the Biraf Desert.
Its territory was immense, yet most of it was worthless wasteland. Settlements therefore clustered around whatever held value: oases, mines, dungeons, and similar sites. Those outposts grew into cities, and from them the nation took shape.
Though the official name suggested a “coalition kingdom,” the actual system was closer to an aristocratic democracy.
Think medieval Venice from my previous life and you’ll have the right idea.
Beyond politics, another parallel stood out: this was a realm built on commerce.
With so much land, Biraf shared borders with countless neighbors. The real money, however, came from acting as middleman in trade with the empire.
This really is just like Venice raking in fortunes through Mediterranean intermediary trade back in the Middle Ages.
At any rate, the Biraf Coalition Kingdom’s entry into the war was an extremely awkward complication. Especially now, with the civil war reaching this level of intensity.
“How did Your Highness learn that the Biraf Coalition Kingdom had begun to move?”
The 1st Prince stroked his chin, pondering the question for a long time.
Roughly three minutes passed in silence. At last he spoke.
“...A gut feeling.”
That was all the answer I received—an unsatisfying one at that.
Is there a reason he can’t say more?
Still, I wasn’t in any position to press the 1st Prince for details. I had no choice but to let it slide.
I’ll have to ask the 3rd Prince about it later.
The two of them had been trapped inside the castle together, after all. Any information gained during that time would likely have been shared between the kingdom’s two highest authorities.
“In any case, the enemy possessing a Sword Master is a critical threat that could flip the entire war in a single stroke. We must find a way to deal with it. Any ideas?”
A Sword Master… was there even a realistic counter?
I always joked that I was a different species from the knights, or that we weren’t even playing the same game, but a Sword Master existed on an entirely separate plane.
If a regular knight was a Saiyan, a Sword Master was a Super Saiyan. Maybe not quite at the level of the protagonist who’d achieved his sixth transformation or the rival with the vegetable-sounding name, but at least Krillin-tier. That was the kind of gap we were talking about.
Even using my own father—the Sword Master I actually know—as a baseline, there’s no good answer.
How do you fight a man who can carve through a thousand enemies by himself?
In reality he hadn’t been fighting people but monsters. Still, during one subjugation campaign he had spent four days and nights alone slicing apart roughly a thousand of them, single-handedly reversing a losing battle. It was the stuff of legends.
If the enemy’s Sword Master operated on the same scale… the situation really did look hopeless.
In the end, the only response I could give was purely theoretical.
“The most important thing is to avoid direct engagement with the enemy Sword Master. Should contact become unavoidable, we must stall and drag the fight out rather than meet them head-on.”
“Hm, that does seem necessary. The real question is whether we can actually pin one down and keep them occupied…”
After a moment’s thought, the 1st Prince turned to me again.
“Sir Alvaro Sternfeld, is there any way for you to generate even greater firepower than what you showed us before?”
“If Your Highness can somehow secure 3-Circle mages for me, I believe it will be possible.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
It looked as though an idea had come to the 1st Prince.
“Your Highness, may I ask for your thoughts on the coming operation?”
“By all means. Watching your tactics last time, one thing stood out: you can strike the enemy with remarkable accuracy even from a great distance, yes?”
“Correct. Provided we can secure their positions in real time, it is entirely feasible.”
“I won’t ask how you obtain real-time intelligence. The key point is that we can secure overwhelming long-range firepower. In that case, couldn’t we fight as if we were inside a castle even on open ground? All we need is a solid formation, wouldn’t you say?”
A classic turtling strategy.
When you considered how modern artillery-centric warfare focused on bombardment followed by infantry occupation, it was actually a very rational choice.
“The greatest threat in that scenario won’t be enemy infantry but their knights. It would be ideal if we could pummel them one-sidedly, but the enemy won’t simply allow it. The decisive factor will be whether we can halt their knights’ charge.”
The 1st Prince paused briefly.
I spent the moment turning his words over in my mind. From what I had heard so far, the plan sounded reasonably sound. He lacked my modern knowledge of artillery and combined-arms tactics, yet he had improvised a strategy of this caliber on the spot. It was clear the 1st Prince possessed genuine military talent.
He continued.
“Holding with infantry alone would be preferable, but knights are simply too mobile. A breach is inevitable at some point. Given our superior long-range firepower, the enemy may decide to force their way through regardless of losses. Therefore, the most realistic solution is for our own knights to meet and block theirs.”
The 1st Prince let out a long sigh. Something was clearly still bothering him.
I had a fairly good idea what it was.
“Is it the Sword Master?”
“Precisely. When knight clashes against knight, the presence of a Sword Master creates an overwhelming disparity. Our forces will be pushed back in real time. The longer the engagement lasts, the more catastrophic our losses will become.”
“That is the problem,” the 1st Prince said.
“...It is the inherent limitation of the feudal system.”
“Hm? One could interpret it that way. You certainly approach the issue from an interesting angle.”
Ah. I’d spoken out of turn.
In a medieval fantasy world like this there weren’t any real alternatives to feudalism, yet my modern perspective had slipped into the conversation.
Even so, I didn’t think the observation itself was wrong.
This was quite literally the limit of feudalism.
The troops the 2nd Prince mobilized were not entirely his own, just as the forces answering the 1st Prince were not purely his. The logic applied with special force to the knights now being treated as the core of our strength.
They were the prized assets of individual noble houses. No lord wanted to watch his territory’s elite turned into mincemeat by a Sword Master overnight.
Therefore, even if the 1st Prince was the leader of the Royalist faction and supreme commander, plenty of men would still disobey his orders.
The grand strategy he had built carried the risk of collapsing from its foundations.
What if no one stepped forward to stop the Sword Master?
Then both the mage bombardment and the turtling strategy would amount to nothing more than empty theory fit only for the trash heap.
“Even so, these are men who trust me and follow my lead! I refuse to believe our unity is so fragile! Am I wrong?”
“No, Your Highness!”
The knights roared in answer to the 1st Prince’s rallying cry.
Amid their cheers he threw his head back and laughed boldly.
Yet—was it my imagination?—beneath the confident front, the 1st Prince seemed uneasy.
Once the meeting with the 1st Prince concluded, I led the surviving Weistenfel troops toward Hartzfeld Castle.
Hmm… I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it.
The previous operations had cost us nine knights—the very pillars of the marquisate.
As for the territorial troops, formed by gathering the able-bodied men who could be called the roots of the land… out of five hundred, roughly four hundred were either casualties or had deserted.
What in the world was I supposed to tell the 3rd Prince?
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
“Heh heh. Don’t look so gloomy. What’s done is done.”
Beside me, Sir Grautal spoke with a carefree expression.
“It must be nice, Sir Grautal. Since you spent the entire time opposing me, there’s no responsibility that can stick to you, is there?”
“Now, now, that’s no way to talk. A man must take responsibility for the words that leave his own mouth!”
The fact that he couldn’t quite hide his grin told me he was definitely teasing me.
Still, the casualties had resulted from the operation I devised. I had no right to blame anyone else.
Instead, I should count myself lucky that none of the surviving knights had voiced resentment over the comrades who died carrying out my plan.
Before long, Hartzfeld Castle appeared on the horizon.
Hmm. It’s smaller than I expected.
It was a modest mountain fortress, far smaller than I had pictured. No wonder they had run out of food the moment two thousand men arrived.
It wasn’t so tiny that two thousand people couldn’t fit at all, but it would still have felt unbearably cramped.
That was probably why, now that the immediate fighting had died down, the 1st Prince’s army had pitched camps outside the walls and begun living there.
At a sharp signal from Sir Grautal, the Weistenfel troops following behind us came to a halt.
“We make camp here! Unload your gear and set up the tents and quarters first! We eat once everything is ready, so if you’re hungry, work quickly!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Food! It’s finally food!”
“Idiot! Didn’t you hear we’re setting up camp? Stop wandering and start working over here!”
The soldiers burst into lively chatter.
They seemed almost excited at the prospect of finally being able to rest. It was hard to believe they had just come from a brutal battle; they moved with surprising energy.
Perhaps it was precisely because the fighting had been so harsh that only those with real soldier’s spirit remained.
It was tragic for those who had already fallen… but nothing could be done about it.
The living had to keep living. I couldn’t throw cold water on the buoyant mood of men who were finally able to breathe.
I would keep my mourning for the dead locked inside my heart for now.
Once this wretched civil war was over, we would return to Weistenfel and hold a proper memorial service.
I don’t know when that day will come, but I will make certain it happens.
No matter how common it was in this damned medieval fantasy world to treat commoners like literal livestock, I refused to become that kind of person.
Lost in thought, we soon reached the gates of Hartzfeld Castle.
Creeeeak… Groooan…
Sir Grautal and I passed through the heavy gates as they swung open with a grinding rumble.
The time had come to meet the 3rd Prince.