The Results Will Speak for Themselves (2)

Three weeks into the march, we were gradually drawing near the far edge of the Eastern Plains.

Looks like I called it.

Enemy scouts had begun appearing here and there three days ago, and sure enough, the enemy had taken up position exactly where I'd expected. A relatively low valley plain, nestled between the White Mountain Range reaching down from the north and the Rotkamm Mountains. Streams and wetlands hemmed the land on every side, which meant the only route a large army could take was the choke point they now held.

A beautifully chosen position. Then again, I'd have done the same.

"Commander, His Highness the First Prince summons you."

"Tell him I'm on my way."

I left the message with Hans and started mounting up. On the battlefield I always kept my gear ready, so preparing didn't take long.

"Hiyah!"

The horse whinnied as I spurred it forward, hooves hammering the ground. I finished getting ready in short order, swung into the saddle, and headed for the First Army Group, where the First Prince was waiting.

Hopefully nothing too eventful once I get there...

I wondered how this was going to play out.

"What is the enemy's strength?"

"No significant difference from what we already knew. Seventy-five thousand infantry, one thousand knights."

The Third Prince's existing intelligence had put them at seventy thousand infantry and a thousand knights, so it wasn't a major discrepancy. Still — five thousand extra infantry. Where had they conscripted those from?

The meeting continued regardless of my private questions. They were going over whether the existing tactics had any problems, checking the condition of each army group's soldiers, trading confirmations back and forth, when the entrance to the command tent swept open and a messenger burst in, looking urgent.

"Urgent report! The Fourth Army Group reports that what appears to be an envoy has departed from the enemy's main force!"

At the messenger's words, the First Prince's face hardened.

"An envoy, at this stage? Tell them we have nothing to say to that lawless rabble."

"That's... the report says the Second Prince has come in person."

The Second Prince?

"Does he... have a death wish? Ah—forgive me. That was a slip of the tongue."

The Third Prince had been so startled that his inner thoughts had spilled straight out of his mouth. He corrected himself, calling it a slip, but honestly everyone here had thought the same thing. I'd wondered if he'd lost his mind, too.

The First Prince looked equally shaken, but perhaps some lingering affection for his own blood remained. He couldn't refuse as firmly as he had at first, and in the end he granted an audience.

Three hours later, the man in question — the Second Prince — entered.

"Well, well. If it isn't that worthless lowborn mongrel — and the damned traitor who crawled from the same womb as I did, only to betray me."

Wow. He walks into the middle of enemy territory and that's the first thing out of his mouth?

"You bastard! Do you have any idea where you are?!"

A man who appeared to be one of the First Prince's close retainers shot to his feet, jabbing a finger at the Second Prince in a fury. The Second Prince merely snorted and sneered.

"Hah! I merely spoke the truth, and you dogs who serve a lowborn bark just as vulgarly as your master!"

Well. I'd have to give him credit for sheer nerve, at least. Whether that came from genuine guts or from a completely empty skull with no filter whatsoever, I couldn't say.

Despite the Second Prince's outrageous attitude, there was a hint of pity in the First Prince's eyes. That look aside, his tone remained firm.

"Watch your tongue, Second Prince."

Calling him "Second Prince" at all may have been the First Prince's last remaining courtesy. Ordinarily, he referred to the Second Prince's faction as revolting traitors, or the wicked.

"Hah! How laughable, to hear that from a man inferior in every respect save the accident of being born first."

Coming from the Second Prince — who was inferior in everything except bloodline — it sounded almost comical. Swordsmanship, character, charisma, even wealth: was there a single area where he measured up to the First Prince?

Is that exactly why he clings so desperately to bloodline?

The First Prince's mother had been born a viscount's daughter, but that didn't mean her house was obscure. It was a family with a history nearly as long as the Rosenfels, which was probably why the late king's marriage hadn't caused much of a stir. Of course, I'd heard she grew frail and passed away not long after giving birth to the First Prince. The second queen taken afterward, at the urging of the court, was the mother of the current Second and Third Princes — a marquis's daughter. I'd heard all this directly from the Third Prince, so it was probably accurate.

"That's enough, Second Prince."

The Third Prince, unable to watch any longer, tried to intervene. The Second Prince only grew more heated, bellowing at his younger brother.

Looking at them like this, it's hard to believe they came from the same mother.

According to the Third Prince, their mother hadn't been the one to fill the Second Prince's head with this nonsense. Which meant his personality might be the result of a long-festering inferiority complex toward the First Prince, warped into something ugly.

Not that any of that makes his garbage personality acceptable.

If I had to guess, the Second Prince wasn't particularly popular even within his own faction. He was probably only hanging on because of the symbolic value of being royalty. I'd actually heard from the Third Prince that the real power in that camp was Count Windhafen, and that seemed more than plausible.

"That's enough. State your business and be done with it."

Even the First Prince couldn't take any more; he clearly just wanted to hear the purpose of the visit and throw him out. More precisely, everyone except the First Prince had been holding on by a thread, and he'd judged that he could no longer keep them in check.

At those words, the Second Prince flung a piece of parchment from his breast onto the table with a slap. Then, still with that insolent attitude and voice, he spoke.

Wow. Right to the bitter end. At this point, why not just swap his title from Second Prince to Professional Death-Wisher?

"You insolent—!"

"Enough!"

Most of the nobles seated around the table had risen in outrage, about to shout — but the First Prince's roar thundered out a beat ahead of them, and every movement stopped at once.

"Let us read it."

A servant at the First Prince's side scanned the document with a silver rod and various poison-detection instruments, then delivered the parchment the Second Prince had offered into the First Prince's hands. A moment later, having finished reading, the First Prince spoke.

"Hah! To kick aside Our ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠final mercy like this. You'd best prepare yourself, you lowborn thing."

Footsteps receded. The Second Prince's voice rang out as he barked at the knights flanking the tent.

"What are you standing around for?! Open it, you lowborn things!"

The tent flap swept aside. The Second Prince left, turning everyone's stomachs to the very last.

The moment he was gone, the meeting tent erupted — mostly denunciations of the Second Prince, and a flood of venomous remarks thick with outrage. Even so, as the First Prince watched his brother's retreating back, a trace of sorrow still seemed to linger in his gaze. Then he closed his eyes, as if composing himself.

When he opened them again, every emotion from a moment before was gone, replaced by nothing but fighting spirit.

"Well then. The declaration of war has arrived, so let us continue the meeting."

After a rather lengthy meeting, it was well past dusk — the dead of night — before I could return to the Second Army Group, where the Magic Corps was stationed.

"How was the meeting, sir?"

"Hans, you still haven't gone to sleep? Were you waiting for me?"

"I had just finished unit administration myself and was about to turn in. A fortunate coincidence of timing, wouldn't you say?"

Hans added that last part with a straight face.

...A lie.

His hands had no ink on them. Anyone doing paperwork with rough parchment and a quill always ended up with ink stains. There were none. This was a hundred percent a lie so I wouldn't notice he'd been waiting for me on purpose.

Of course, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I pretended not to notice and played along. He was going out of his way to be considerate, worried I'd feel guilty if I knew he'd waited.

"Is that so? Then let's get some sleep. The meeting ran long, so I'm tired."

"I heard the Second Prince entered during the meeting. Nothing of note happened, then?"

Ah, look at me. I'd been so pleased by Hans's consideration that I'd nearly forgotten to pass on the important information.

"The Second Prince delivered a declaration of war and left. Hostilities begin at sunrise, two days from now. It's late tonight, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so spread the word once everyone wakes up in the morning."

I told Hans as much and returned to my tent. Of course, I couldn't go straight to sleep the moment I stepped inside. I scraped a chair into place, sat down at the desk in the corner, and started repairing artifacts.

Two days left. In that time I need to inspect every last ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Altar Cannon — the original ones and the saddle-mounted ones — and make sure nothing's wrong.

With two days until the fighting started, if I put in a little effort I could probably inspect all of the unit's equipment.

It's just pulling an all-nighter. I'm still a strapping teenager — I'll manage.

Clink. Click. Click.

And so the night passed.