Chapter 49
Chapter 49
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: A New Verilak and Stalling Reinforcements
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A moment of silence from all of us for the guildmaster who founded the Verilak Merchant Guild and grew it into such a massive enterprise.
...
Alright, now let's pick the next guildmaster.
We chose the fairest method in the world: drawing lots.
A fierce-looking Hirak with sharp horns caught the eye and was selected as the new guildmaster.
Was it really pure coincidence? Since all the mercenaries I hired were "me," we breezed through selecting a new one.
Good. From now on, your name is Verilak.
Henceforth, the name of this guild's master will be uniformly Verilak—no exceptions.
We wouldn't want anyone getting confused from constant changes, right?
I'd originally planned to support the Holy Nation to push the Empire into a disadvantageous position, but I've changed my mind.
Who knew the Empire was hiding such a cute little machine?
If we're not throwing away the Verilak Merchant Guild we've so painstakingly built, then Count Maximilian has to win this battle.
The Holy Nation's priests might inspect the machine after victory and let it go without issue since it's not a weapon, but we should avoid gambling whenever possible.
We're parked in a war zone, so we can't protest now about why they're targeting civilians.
On the other hand, complaining that Lushaka Kingdom civilians were attacked would contradict our original goal.
Our true aim was to use a third party with no ties to PATO to drag out the war as long as possible, bleeding both sides dry.
But which side bleeds first? That's up to me.
I don't know who sent the vanguard, but you killed my precious Verilak—chosen after much deliberation from billions of Lushakans.
Even if one Holy Nation vanguard fleet runs into trouble, it won't sway the overall war.
So this time, let's have our priests make the sacrifice.
The Holy Nation's 22nd Fleet, composed of volunteer enlistees.
Few among the volunteers were wealthy enough to bring their own fleets.
The Holy Nation professed to be a theocracy, but like most nations, the richer one got, the more distance they naturally put between themselves and intangible values like duty, doctrine, and faith.
Those sorts wouldn't use their fleets to protect personal assets, let alone generously support the nation. The Prophet didn't expect that either.
Those truly loyal to the Prophet and worshiping Oztilan were usually pure and frugal enough that amassing such wealth for private starships was a pipe dream.
So the Prophet loaned fleets to those priests.
Thus, aside from occasional exceptions, most who brought fleets were mercenaries trying to cash in on the war.
The Corallak Mercenary Corps was no different—a ready-to-deploy force.
Other volunteers mostly crewed stone-block ships provided by the Holy Nation or joined ground forces for planetary assaults.
Among those mercenary groups, the Corallak's massive fleet naturally gave them outsized influence.
As the largest military stakeholder in the 22nd Fleet, the Corallak Mercenary Corps could report directly to the Holy Oztilan Army's supreme commander, the Prophet.
"We should approach the Botadidi Star System with caution."
The first order of business was blocking reinforcements.
No matter how many ships the combat priests entering Count Maximilian's territory brought, they were still just a reconnaissance fleet.
Beyond the anti-gravity devices blocking hyperlane transit, the count would have thoroughly prepared his defenses.
But if reinforcements poured in from the Botadidi Star System, the count would inevitably be pushed back.
With the vast Holy Nation-Empire border, it wouldn't be easy for the defending Empire to concentrate forces on one star system.
"We can decide on entry after the reconnaissance fleet returns. It's not too late."
Of course, it wouldn't return.
If the anti-gravity devices are intact and it comes back, that means they've captured Count Maximilian's territory—no need for reinforcements, so no reason to linger in Botadidi.
But no need to spell that out directly.
"No asset is harder to replace than a fleet. Better to act cautiously than boldly in the war's early stages."
"Well said. The 14th, 15th, and 22nd Fleets stationed in the Botadidi Star System will stand by. Priest Tla'Kalan of the 15th Fleet's reconnaissance should handle it and return. We'll issue orders after."
The Corallak Mercenary leader bowed and withdrew at the Prophet's command.
As Corallak stepped back, another priest prostrated before the Prophet for a report.
"Preparations to enter the Balakstrot Star System are complete. Awaiting orders..."
Ignoring the priests' reports, Corallak returned to the fleet.
I'd tasked a granted autonomous sub-mind with the report, and it went smoothly.
If I'd controlled it directly and the Prophet asked why I was there, it'd be a mess.
As confirmed before, unless my main consciousness took direct control, the Prophet couldn't detect it.
Weak, so weak. Not even a peer at the edge of the psyche—I should call her "senior."
Anyway, we've smoothly blocked reinforcements to the Maximilian Star System for now. All that's left is winning the battle inside.
I shifted back to Verilak II's viewpoint.
The Verilak Merchant Guild was currently docked on the surface of Maximilian II Planet.
The docking site was so brightly lit by daytime sun that we couldn't see the count and Holy Nation battling in the sky.
No laser is brighter than the sun.
Thanks to the count's refusal, we hadn't signed a mercenary contract, so joining the fight here wouldn't yield much reward.
We've blocked Holy Nation reinforcements too, so the count will probably win anyway.
If he does, he'll likely avoid mercenaries afterward and rely on his own forces.
Having won without them, he'll gain confidence he doesn't need such help.
He's already brimming with it, and this won't dent that.
Tla'Kalan the combat priest? Hopefully he'll push just enough to slightly humble the count's pride.
First, I need to head to the battle site.
We're safe on the planet, but I can't gauge the current situation from here.
If the count's barely holding on, I'll join dramatically, win without asking for reward, and leave.
A count who values honor would be moved to tears—lubricant streaming from his eyes.
With his pride humbled, joining as mercenaries in future battles will be easy.
If he's overwhelmingly winning, we quietly return to Maximilian Planet, sightsee, and leave.
War drags on forever anyway—no rush.
If the count loses?
Let's not entertain such nightmares.
"Grrr..."
The Treegalaons lifted off toward planetary orbit.
We rose to the space station and surveyed the entire star system.
I figured the count would defend near the stellar base, but he was fighting fiercely midway along the orbit.
Charging like that makes it hard to get base support, right?
As if affirming my thought, the stellar base's batteries were idling to avoid friendly fire.
Count, sir... is this right?
I steered the fleet closer to the battle for a better look.
Up close, the count was fighting astonishingly well.
True to his domain, he exploited the star system's geography perfectly.
The Maximilian Star System had an asteroid belt in the middle like a solar system, and with all orbits mapped, he used them aggressively as cover.
Some Holy Nation ships tried close-quarters to overcome the terrain disadvantage.
Engines burning from the outer system, they charged—only to be bisected by beam sabers.
Incredibly, the count's fleet included bipedal giant robots—Gundams mixed in.
The one broadcasting comms presumed to be the count himself was piloting it.
"Maintain the current front! Show these trespassers on Imperial soil what the Empire's made of!"
The giant robot spewing that signal darted nimbly through the asteroid field, slicing apart the incoming rock ships.
The Empire... might actually be a good nation.
No, snap out of it. The key is that if the front holds, the Empire overwhelms the Holy Nation's recon fleet.
If the battle goes this way, the Verilak Merchant Guild just vacations on Maximilian Planet and leaves.
The Holy Nation seemed aware, attempting various tactics to break the deadlock.