The Results Will Speak for Themselves (3)

Boom. Boom. Boom.

A low drumbeat rolled out from the enemy lines.

"It's begun."

The appointed day of battle had dawned.

That would be some kind of advance signal the Second Prince's army had arranged. I looked toward the opposing camp, and sure enough, their infantry was on the move.

Unlike us, they had not split their forces into army groups. A host of seventy-five thousand filled the pass between the two mountain ranges and came on like a tide.

The communication artifact hummed, then crackled. I fed mana into it and spoke.

A screaming rush of air—then a rolling, earth-shaking detonation.

Countless fireballs hammered the enemy infantry's front rank without pause. Those innumerable Fire Balls fell as if someone had laid a ruler to a map and drawn a line, scouring the enemy infantry from the field.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

And still they came on. Someone in the rear was shoving them forward, no doubt—and meaning it.

Whether an enforcement officer had a blade at their backs, or the lord who'd dragged them here was holding their families hostage in their hometowns—either way, the enemy showed no sign of stopping.

"Commence sequential fire! Maintain firepower until further orders!"

Other voices followed with similar confirmations. Once I had confirmed that the entire Magic Corps had acknowledged the order, I switched channels and addressed the First Prince.

"Your Highness, this is Baron Sternfelt."

I gave a brief report: we were holding the enemy infantry's advance without difficulty, and the Magic Corps was operating as planned. Then I passed on what worried me.

"There are no enemy knights visible on the front. Does Your Highness know where they might be?"

This was a problem.

The Magic Corps had committed its full firepower to stopping the enemy infantry. If the enemy knight orders and their Sword Master launched an assault now, we would have no spare capacity to respond at once.

If I could at least see them clearly, I could peel off some reserves in that direction...

We had knights of our own, of course, but I couldn't shake the impression that we were handing the enemy the first move. And above all, the Sword Master on their side was a headache.

We've dug trenches, but without barbed wire they're little more than palisades and pits meant to foul enemy cavalry. Against a Sword Master, it's hard to call them useful.

Against enemy infantry and ordinary knights, the trenches would bite well enough. Our own knights had taken one look at the finished works and clicked their tongues, calling it an ugly position to assault.

The problem was that a Sword Master played by an entirely different set of rules. This was an enemy who could stamp once and cross from one trench to another in the blink of an eye.

A Sword Master bursting out wouldn't collapse an army group in a single instant, of course. But the honest truth was that I desperately wanted to keep our casualties as low as I could.

We weren't even speaking face to face. Had he read the anxiety in me anyway? The First Prince spoke up suddenly.

He added that last with a laugh. Even facing this enormous clash, it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was a proud, upright laugh.

"...Thank you for the advice."

He was right. Looking back, I had been anxious the whole time. Watching our people fall, the only thought that had circled my head was whether I might change something.

Well—of course. I was a reincarnator. I'd clawed and scraped, convinced that modern knowledge might let me change something—anything—and I'd been desperate to seize results with both ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hands.

I did change a lot, in fact. But yes—His Highness is right.

You can't do everything alone. The knot in my chest—that lingering regret, that obsession with cutting our losses—eased a little. It wouldn't vanish entirely. But I could look at the battle with a lighter heart.

Right. No need to be anxious. The situation so far has been far more favorable to us.

As things stood, the enemy had managed no effective advance and was being held by our bombardment, while our side conserved its strength at range without spending itself. Even if the enemy knight orders launched a massive charge from here, they couldn't wipe out a Magic Corps that wasn't bunched in one place—and they might well find themselves surrounded and slaughtered instead.

The whole reason we'd divided the army into groups was so that if one took a Sword Master's assault, the neighboring groups could support, encircle, and destroy them. So long as the premise held—that a single army group could endure even without the enemy knights and Sword Master in sight—that was no longer a variable. It was a constant we could account for.

"I can sense unusual mana stirring deep in the enemy headquarters. But it is too far in the rear to strike."

An altar, most likely—not a portable, jury-rigged installation like the ones I made, but the genuine article: a real magic circle and altar going up in their rear. One might wonder why we didn't simply hit it with the Magic Corps. The opponent was a 6th Circle Archmage. He would already have finished preparing against that kind of long-range fire.

They knew perfectly well we were deploying mages. Even if they hadn't hired one of their own, it was hard to imagine the enemy command wouldn't have equipped themselves with defensive artifacts.

I agreed. In the end, our best option was to slip their scheme and drive a hard counterpunch home. For now, all we could do was watch.

"Why is this taking so long to prepare? The enemy is pouring fireballs like madmen!"

Idiot, he thought—but he did not let it show. He merely bowed his head as if apologetic and finished the work at hand.

"Damn it. Mages—ours or theirs, I can't stand the lot of them."

The Second Prince's nonsense went on, but whether it did or not, the man offered only mechanical, reflexive replies and devoted himself to preparing the spell.

This piece of work swallowed half the fee I took for this campaign. It had better perform.

The Blue Magic Tower had high expectations as well. This was his magical experiment—a step beyond the weather-manipulation magic he had practiced until now. Even with the aid of a magic circle and altar, once completed it would approach nearly 7th Circle in power.

The man—Frostrich, Vice Tower Master of the Blue Magic Tower—fitted the last component into the altar and let out a sigh of relief.

That was when it happened.

The tent flap snapped open. Another unwelcome visitor appeared: Count Windhafen.

"Are the preparations complete?"

"I finished this very moment."

Unlike his manner with the Second Prince, Frostrich met the Count's eyes as he spoke. Anyone watching would have known at a glance who truly held power in that tent.

But the Second Prince, who hadn't a shred of that kind of awareness, latched onto the word finished and started talking.

"Then can we wipe out those damned mages?"

The moment he spoke, a rolling blast thundered not far away.

Well. They are shooting a lot.

Fireballs falling often enough to seriously disrupt the work. Irritating creatures, he couldn't deny that much...

"That is not what it is for."

Count Windhafen's correction came from the side.

"I-is that so? Ahem. We are not well versed in magic."

Watching the Second Prince retreat, embarrassed, Frostrich let out a quiet snort of laughter.

Can't tell who's whose dog. For a member of the royal family to be that pathetic. Heh heh heh.

"Vice Tower Master, can it be used at once?"

"Once I finish a few minor checks, it should be possible within ten minutes."

"See to it. When you are ready, inform me by messenger."

The tent flap snapped again. Count Windhafen left, and the Second Prince trailed after him, still deflated.

Left alone in the tent, Frostrich looked upon his completed masterpiece and smiled with satisfaction.

The research he had pursued at the Blue Magic Tower—his attempt to recreate catastrophic natural phenomena through magic—stood complete before his eyes. A masterpiece combining every method of moisture concentration and generation, built upon Weather Control, the spell that commanded the skies.

There was still much lacking, but those were matters to improve after experimenting here.

It will be well worth observing just how far a magically generated flood can spread.

Still smiling, Frostrich began the final inspection.