Battle in the North (3)

Turn the clock back to the moment Swen's party had just arrived at Kelstein Castle in the north.

In the royal keep of Lacline Castle — the easternmost stronghold of the Brans Army — Parfalle, State Tactician of the Brans Army, was speaking with Nate, the castle's lord.

"You mean to say our lord has sent forty-six thousand soldiers?"

"That is correct, Strategist."

Exactly ten thousand short of the fifty-six thousand she had requested. Fifty-six thousand had been the absolute maximum Parfalle had calculated could be fielded at once, after setting aside the border garrisons. In other words, ten thousand troops would simply sit idle as surplus.

Against the Asius Army under ordinary circumstances, the number would have been insufficient — but they were about to attack the Allepel Army. Finishing the campaign quickly would have been far more certain with the full fifty-six thousand, yet the force they had was not so small as to make the operation impossible.

"Have any troops been deployed elsewhere, aside from this front?"

"I hear ten thousand were sent north."

At Nate's words, Parfalle mentally struck her knee.

So she listened to him after all.

Swen. The man who had, unnervingly, seen straight through her entire plan. From the beginning, her lord Lin had held him in extraordinarily high regard. The council had ultimately passed Parfalle's proposal — but Lin's decision to send those ten thousand north was as good as saying, I cannot simply ignore him.

Of course, she had been startled that he had read the plan so completely. But the claims he made afterward had been so absurd that Parfalle herself had quickly lost interest. How many retainers had her lord brought in with high expectations, only for them to fall short? More than a few.

And yet — at the same time — few retainers had ever commanded this much of her lord's attention.

Moreover, though Swen had adjusted his position slightly, he had essentially sided with Airen's opinion. For Lin, who harbored an almost unnatural aversion to Airen, to go this far meant she trusted Swen a great deal in her own way.

She might have simply divided the forces according to the approved plan. Instead, she had done this — and that, in turn, had sparked Parfalle's curiosity.

The lord she served was somewhat willful and, critically, tended to hesitate when major decisions were required — but she was not a fool. If a woman like that held a man in such high esteem, then perhaps… Swen's words might actually be right.

The secret pact proposed by the Charam Army. Whether that pact itself was a blade aimed at their own forces. If it truly was, continuing this operation would be nothing short of dangerous.

…My lord must have her own thoughts on this. Which means I cannot dismiss the possibility that he is correct. It is worth keeping firmly in mind.

If the Asius Army really was colluding with both Charam and Allepel to deceive them — then shouldn't she turn this scheme back against them?

But if they had no intention of betrayal, her own actions could wreck the joint offensive entirely. She had to be careful. Charam was a crude man, but once he got his share he rarely made trouble — a simple creature, in that sense.

"Has there been any additional envoy from the Charam Army?"

"No, there has not."

She had already discussed the secret arrangement with Charam with Nate, the castle lord. Parfalle spoke carefully.

"If an envoy does arrive… would you summon me before receiving them?"

"You, Strategist? Well, if it is your request, of course I shall. But is there a particular reason?"

"There is something I need to confirm."

"Is that so?"

Parfalle nodded. Nate did not press further; he simply nodded in return, signaling his agreement. Within the Brans Army, at least, Parfalle commanded the trust of a great many people.

Having secured his answer, she left the keep and sank into thought. After a long deliberation quite unlike the decisive woman she was known to be, she finally resolved to set aside her useless pride.

…It would be best not to trust them blindly.

Parfalle. A woman who had built her renown through countless exploits in the Brans Army was, for the first time in years, taking another person's counsel into account.

After that, I spent most of my time following Airen, treating the wounded.

Each morning I woke to find that only a handful of the men I had seen the day before had improved. Most of the soldiers had spent their last breath right where they lay. Watching men weep bitterly at the sight of Airen's face, only for the flame of their lives to gutter out moments later, was a hard thing to bear.

In the game, they were nothing more than a number — people who appeared the moment you pressed the "Conscription" button. But could you really reduce these men to a single digit? Men dragged into a hopeless fight, who had fought bravely, and who were now suffering in vivid, living pain?

For some reason, James's face rose in my mind.

What had these people done wrong, to meet an end like this?

Should I… have somehow persuaded Kalintz and stopped him?

Of course, I knew that realistically there had been nothing I could do. No matter how hard I might have tried, Kalintz would have been immovable. And coldly speaking, if I had made a nuisance of myself trying to stop him and drawn his ire for nothing, it would not have been someone else's life at risk — it would have been mine. A strategist who speaks the truth is not necessarily beloved by every commander.

Besides, even the persuasion itself… what could I have done, when all I can see is the result? If Intelligence 100 had come with a dramatically enhanced brain, that would have been one thing. All I can do is make predictions that are always correct.

Having thought that far, I closed my eyes and offered a quiet prayer for the dead.

Your lord, Lin Brans, will carry your souls for the rest of her life.

Ironically, that was the only comfort I could give them.

How many ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠days passed like that?

A soldier recognized Airen as she tended the wounded and came running at full speed.

"A-Are you General Airen?"

"I am."

"Lord Miguel requests your presence urgently."

"Urgently…?"

The word "urgently" set an uneasy feeling in my gut, but it was better to take the beating sooner rather than later. Airen and I set off toward the fortress.

The moment we stepped inside, Miguel greeted us both with a dark expression.

"You've come, General Airen. Then that makes everyone."

"What is the matter?"

Miguel let out a heavy sigh, then delivered the news in a grim voice.

"…Word has come that Serpina's Army is advancing on this fortress with a force of some thirty-three thousand."

They say misfortune never comes alone. Miguel's words were the perfect illustration. A single misjudgment by a commander ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who had otherwise been competent — and that misjudgment had become a snowball, rolling toward us with unstoppable force.

Serpina's Army had launched an invasion.

They must have noticed that the fortress's garrison had been depleted. There was no chance they had committed troops only to this front — they would have sent forces against Cherien Castle as well. Kalintz had done all the work for someone else; cleaning up the situation would now be only a matter of time for Serpina's Army.

Of course, given Serpina's national power, Ian's rebellion would have been crushed quickly even without our interference — but there was no denying we had made it considerably easier. The proof was this very moment: the attack on the fortress itself.

Had we simply stayed put, they might have found us a mild annoyance and left us alone. But because we had burned through our garrison here, they had decided to tidy us up while they were at it. In other words, the attack on the fortress was a self-inflicted wound — we had scratched an itch until it became a rash.

"…"

Airen lowered her head, her expression dark. She seemed to have vaguely sensed that things would come to this. The way she had spoken up in the council meeting, too — she possessed a far sharper instinct than I had given her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠credit for. Her in-game Intelligence stat was not particularly high, but perhaps it was something like a warrior's sense, honed through repeated battle.

In any case.

Kalintz, the man who had caused this mess, was a prisoner and was not here. The one who had to clean it up was Miguel — the man with the next-highest influence in the army after Kalintz at this fortress.

"…"

But what clever solution could a man who had merely served as Kalintz's adjutant possibly produce in a situation like this? It was not that he was incompetent and therefore unable to find an answer. Sit anyone down in this position and devising a solution would be nearly impossible.

Simply running was the best option. Or rather — the even better option, in my view, was:

Burn this fortress to the ground and flee.

If we torched a fortress that had barely been finished and ran, we could at least prevent Serpina's Army from swallowing a brand-new fortification whole. The fortress itself was more strategically useful in Serpina's hands than in ours; from a purely strategic standpoint, burning it was the correct call.

Of course, only someone like Kalintz would have the audacity to do something that bold without the sovereign's approval. And among the garrison were countless men who had been here since the fortress was first built — how would they feel, watching a fortification they had poured their labor into go up in flames so soon after completion? Morale would plummet, without question.

Judging by his expression, though, Miguel did not have the backbone for a decision of that magnitude. Even now he was sweating profusely, agonizing over what to do.

At any rate, a desperate last stand is out of the question.

The silver lining was that, even if he could produce no answer at all, he did not seem the type to force a reckless defense under some banner of "for the nation." I did not particularly care if the Brans Army suffered defeat after defeat — but if Airen were taken prisoner in the process, or if her life were put in danger, that would be a problem. I was rather fond of my own life as well.

So when the time came to solicit opinions, I planned to raise my hand at a suitable moment and say something like, Losing the fortress is deeply regrettable, but for the sake of the future we must withdraw to Kelstein Castle.

And as if on cue—

"…I put the question to everyone present. In this situation, is there any good course of action?"

I slowly gauged the room. No one raised a hand. Well — openly suggesting they abandon the fortress would be a heavy burden for anyone.

In that case, was it my turn — the man who had no intention of remaining with the Brans Army for long?

Wait.

Still, since the question had been asked… just to check, I entered a query in my mind.

In this situation, is there any good method?

The answer I expected was [Burn the fortress and flee]. No matter how I looked at it, this was a battle with no angle. Kalintz's actions would ultimately prove to have been a complete waste — but based on the game knowledge I possessed, that seemed like the correct answer.

As always, the reply came almost instantly.

Hmm… take position and hold the fortress, is it. I see…

I turned the answer over in my mind — and then…

…?

I began, little by little, to grasp what the reply actually meant.

Wait a second.

What did it say?

Hold the fortress?

Holding the fortress is the correct answer???

Once again, the absolute compass inside my head was pointing in a direction I had never expected.