Crushing Defeat
"The enemy is gathering cavalry. Location: the southwest plain. Looks like they want a real fight this time."
"Let's teach them a lesson!"
"We'll smash them to pieces!"
The commanders of the suppression force at Fort 4 roared in unison.
"If that's what they want, we might as well give them a proper battle. Still, we can't rule out the possibility of a trap. Since this isn't a decision I can make alone, I'll put it to a vote. Raise your hand if you believe we should commit the entire army to the attack."
Hands shot up across the room. Only one person remained seated without raising a hand—the peculiar knight who remained fully armored even indoors, helmet still on. It was Pelline, commander of the Holy Knights.
"The majority has already decided, but I'll hear your objection anyway. Holy Knight Commander?"
All eyes turned to Pelline at the supreme commander's words. After drawing a deep breath, he spoke in a low, measured voice.
"I believe it's still too early to commit to a pitched battle."
"Too early? Why?"
"We've won too many battles. The prisoners held at Fort 4 already exceed ten thousand. The camps can't be built fast enough to keep up, so I understand we're even using the arena and the zoo for holding them. If we commit the entire army and something goes wrong at the camps, we could lose Fort 4 from the inside."
"Are you saying we can't even manage the prisoners properly?!"
"How dare a commoner speak such nonsense!"
"Calm down. His point is valid."
When the accusations began to fly, the supreme commander slammed the desk and silenced the room. Many had long resented that a commoner leading a small knight order was allowed to attend command meetings with voting rights.
"That's why we've entrusted their management to the mage mercenaries. Physical security plus barriers. Even if the suppression force leaves Fort 4, it won't fall in an instant."
Pelline said nothing. It seemed he was the only one who didn't trust those mage mercenaries. Handing over the management of so many prisoners to hired swords? He couldn't accept it, but pressing the issue would only turn even the supreme commander against him. So he stayed silent.
"Aside from the prisoner issue, has anyone detected signs of an enemy trap?"
In Pelline's view, the odds of a trap were extremely high. His instincts, honed by countless battles, screamed it. The lowlands lay just beyond the plain. Recent heavy rains would have turned them into a quagmire. If the enemy lured them in and surrounded them with infantry, the cavalry would lose mobility and be forced into a disadvantageous fight. But pointing that out would only earn the retort that they could simply withdraw before entering the mud. The decision had already been made. He had no desire to grumble and leave a bad impression.
"No, sir."
"Understood. Then I'll issue the assembly order to the entire army. Prepare to sortie and form assault columns. We'll conduct a night attack."
"Yes, sir."
The commanders rose and hurried out of the meeting room. Pelline followed and headed straight for the inn serving as the Holy Knights' barracks.
"We're moving out. Everyone, full armor and bring your warhorses."
At Pelline's command, the young soldiers moved in perfect unison. They had only just shed the last traces of boyhood. Most were orphans who had endured grueling training under Pelline and Vice-Commander Taylor. Though nervous about their first real battle, they followed orders without complaint.
The Holy Knights were always positioned in the rear during engagements, yet they had still distinguished themselves. They particularly excelled in the chaotic melee that other knights found difficult.
"Are we fighting on that plain? There's lowland behind it—if we're not careful, we'll be lured in and surrounded..."
"The supreme commander knows. Still, just in case, keep the warhorses positioned on the outer edge so we can withdraw quickly if we enter the lowlands."
"Understood. I'll see to it."
It wasn't that Pelline distrusted the supreme commander. This was simply a precaution. There was no harm in being careful.
Soon, fully armed knights filed out through the gates. Their movements were disciplined after several battles, but to Pelline they still lacked the fluidity of the rebel light cavalry. Why had the enemy never given proper heavy armor to cavalry of such caliber? Duke Lorraine could raise tens of thousands of soldiers—why would he skimp on investing in such a vital force? It made no sense.
"Advance! At walking pace!"
The supreme commander's order spread through the chain of command. A formation of roughly a thousand knights began to move slowly while maintaining perfect order. Their target was the low hill beyond the plain. Thanks to the bright moonlight, the rebels' spears were already visible atop the hill.
Both Pelline and the supreme commander realized it at once: the enemy had not yet fully prepared their defenses. Those massive spears looked threatening at a glance, but without sufficient numbers they were useless.
"Charge!"
The short, decisive order fell. No further instructions were needed. The cavalry accelerated while holding formation—first to a trot, then a canter, then a full gallop. The entire formation moved as one living creature.
"Enemy cavalry! They're retreating!"
Caught off guard, the enemy was in chaos. Rebel horsemen mounted whatever animals they could find and fled in disorder. The spearmen showed no will to resist.
Once the cavalry crested the hill, the spearmen immediately surrendered.
"Send word to the fortress garrison. Bind these men and send them to Fort 4. We'll continue pursuing the enemy cavalry."
"Commander, the land beyond is lowland."
"I know. We'll catch them while they lose mobility. Even if they counterattack, our heavy armor will prevail."
There was no hesitation. No matter how light the enemy cavalry might be, they couldn't be allowed to remain intact on open terrain. They had always retreated skillfully before, but this was the perfect opportunity to crush their cavalry strength in one blow.
"Pursue! Charge while maintaining formation! Prepare for a counterattack!"
The cavalry surged over the hill and into the lowlands. The once-green grassland gave way to rocky, uneven ground. The formation began to break as riders swerved around large boulders. An ominous feeling crept over them—one every rider sensed.
"We've caught up."
The enemy cavalry came into view. Upon reaching the mud, they had dismounted.
"Dismount! After them!"
"Uwaaaah!"
The knights leapt from their horses. Though they preferred mounted combat, even on foot each knight was like a walking fortress.
"Uwaaaah... aaah... aah..."
The knights' battle cries stretched out and then faded. From the forest beyond the lowlands, heads began to emerge—beastkin armed with axes and clubs.
"Damn it. We walked right into it."
Enemies surrounded them on all sides—far more than their own numbers. The beastkin had already closed in from the rear, tightening the encirclement.
"Move the horses aside so they aren't harmed. This is a melee now."
The knights spread out and drew their swords, facing the snarling beastkin who looked ready to tear them apart. The standoff at less than ten meters dragged on. Just as the supreme commander was considering a breakthrough attempt, a horn sounded.
"Waaaaah!"
The beastkin charged from every direction, filling the air with their war cries. There were no cowering foes like before—only frenzied beastkin foaming at the mouth. The knights' arms trembled with a fear they had never known.
"Don't be afraid! They're just mad dogs!"
The supreme commander's voice cut through the din. The two forces collided.
...
"Haa... haa... haa..."
Thud. Taylor's sword struck with a dull impact. The back of the enemy's head, which should have been cleanly severed, was instead crushed.
"Haa..."
Looking at his blade, Taylor let out a sigh. The edge was completely ruined. He tossed the sword aside and drew his arming sword from its scabbard.
"Kraaaang!"
"Son of a bitch!"
A heavy blow struck the back of his helmet. He nearly fell, but managed to stay upright by planting his feet in the mud. Spinning around—
"Die!"
"Ugh. Damn it."
He drove his sword into the charging beastkin's neck. Even then the creature kept pounding on his helmet with its fists. The blade was stuck too deep to pull free. Taylor drew his dagger and rammed it into the beastkin's mouth.
"Kkhh... khh..."
"Die already. Just die."
Only then did the beastkin's strength fade. Taylor flipped it over, straddled it, and kept stabbing its face until it was unrecognizable. The body finally went limp.
"Kraaaah!"
"Damn it!"
Another beastkin leapt at him from behind. He reflexively buried his dagger in its forehead, but it stuck too deep to retrieve. More enemies were rushing in.
"Haa... haa... Damn it. Come on then."
Inside his helmet, hot steam filled the air. Taylor exhaled and stood. He had lost his longsword, arming sword, and dagger, but it didn't matter. His fists would suffice.
Thud! Crack!
"Kek! Kack!"
"Yip!"
The beastkin swarmed him, but none could penetrate his flawless armor. Taylor focused on keeping his legs free and drove his fists into face after face. Each swing of his steel gauntlets sent blood spraying through the air.
"Damn it!"
Crunch!
"Die!"
Crack!
"Just a bit more!"
Thud!
The final beastkin's face caved in. Taylor struck its skull once more to finish it, then stood. His arms felt foreign. His legs trembled, his breath came in gasps, and his chest felt ready to burst. He wanted nothing more than to shed the heavy, cumbersome armor. But he knew an arrow would find him the moment he did, so he trudged through the sinking mud toward the edge of the lowlands.
"Damn it. Made it out. That cursed place..."
Glancing back, he saw the chaotic melee still raging in the mud—knights and beastkin locked together. Despite being outnumbered and surrounded, it wasn't a losing fight. Not a single knight had fallen yet; they were cutting down beastkin one after another.
Of course, Taylor wasn't deserting just to rest. The commander had ordered him to check the rear. Otherwise, he would never have broken through the encirclement alone after taking down over twenty beastkin.
Once free of the mud, the soft grass underfoot felt wonderful. His steps grew lighter, almost as if he were flying. Suppressing the urge to remove his helmet and breathe fresh air, Taylor straightened his back.
In that instant, a wave of exhaustion crashed over him.
"Ha."
Enemy cavalry filled the horizon. It wasn't a stretched formation meant to look larger. From the lowlands he could clearly see ten full ranks of enemy cavalry descending. They weren't light cavalry. Instead of the usual leather armor and short spears, every rider wore proper silver full plate. At least five thousand heavy cavalry charged at full speed. The thunder of hooves grew louder, shaking the ground like an earthquake.
"We're screwed..."
"Commander! No—Supreme Commander! Emergency! We have to retreat!!!"
Taylor staggered and began running back. The beastkin infantry hadn't been trying to annihilate them. They had only been buying time.
...
Clang... clang... A faint metallic sound echoed. The mage, seated and flipping through a book, frowned and looked up. It was Darius, the one-eyed wolf beastkin known as the rebel army's vice-commander, tapping on the iron bars with a sinister smile.
"Keep it down. Everyone's trying to sleep. Don't your subordinates get sleep privileges?"
"Mage. Have you thought about our offer?"
The mage sighed. The offer was simple: they would pay him to secretly release the prisoners, including himself. It was so brazen it was almost admirable.
"Are beastkin always this direct? Can't you express what you want indirectly? No wonder you got driven out of the plains and stuck in the Great Forest."
"I still haven't heard your answer."
"Ha. An answer. Fine, I'll give you one. I'll put it simply so even an idiot like you can understand. Mercenaries live on trust. Sure, we're seen as money-grubbers, but that's before we take a job. Once we accept a contract, we owe absolute loyalty to our employer. We're not in this for a quick score. There's no reason we'd betray our client for your pocket change..."
"Ten million tirions."
"...!"
"If you don't want cash, we can prepare gold or silver of equal value."
The mage's eyes widened. Ten million tirions? That was enough to retire from mercenary work and live as a landowner. Enough to throw trust and reputation away. But the client was the imperial family. Betraying them would bring severe retaliation. The sum was tempting, but he had no choice but to refuse.
"N-no. Besides, it's a lie. How could you possibly prepare that much in hard currency?"
"Mage. When did you get to decide the terms?"
"What?"
"Take a good look around."
The mage stood and surveyed the area. The atmosphere was tense. The main army had just sortied to crush the enemy, yet the soldiers were moving to defensive positions within the fortress instead.
"We've received a communication spell! Our forces are in danger of being surrounded and annihilated!"
A fellow mage rushed past, delivering the news. As the mage stood stunned, mocking laughter came from behind.
"Heh heh heh. Now do you understand the situation? If you release us for ten million tirions, we'll guarantee your safety. If you refuse, every mage stationed here will be executed by dismemberment."
This wasn't a deal. It was blackmail. Accept ten million tirions and become a fugitive forever hunted by the empire, or be torn apart by beastkin. There was no real choice. The answer was obvious.
—Cavalry alert! Five thousand enemy heavy cavalry approaching! We cannot engage! We will withdraw—Fort 4 must prepare defenses!
Hearing the supreme commander's voice directly through the communication spell, the mage's pupils shook violently. The shadow of death was clear on his face.
"S-so... a deal must be honored, right...?"
"Heh heh. Of course."
Amid the growing commotion, the mage's trembling hand reached toward the iron bars.