Phantom Cavalry
"That one…!"
"Kh…!"
The moment they saw the undead knight who called herself Sirin—and heard her voice—Lillian and Priscilla could not stop the low sounds that escaped them.
They had watched, clear as day, as that same figure had carved out the heart of the royal knight-commander with a single thrust—the man whose sole duty had been to guard the king. His death had shattered the knights' formation in moments, forcing their own desperate flight. That undead was the one responsible.
They had never imagined the figure might be a woman. But the shape of that helm was unmistakable. It was the undead they remembered.
"Lillian."
"I know. I have to stay calm."
The father and mother the knight-commander had died protecting had, in all but name, fallen to that knight's hand. Finding the object of her hatred, Lillian set her own turmoil aside for the moment.
Countess Akina would never stand by and let a pointless massacre happen. And for the Halrot Kingdom, keeping its people alive is an advantage in every way. The Crime of Colluding with Otherworlders and all the rest of it—those are just tools the powerful use to keep their power.
First, she would deal with her parents' killer. She could wrestle with the rest afterward.
She sorted the tangle in her head, fixed her mind on vengeance, and glared at the image that had spoken its piece and vanished.
As expected, the expeditionary force tightened its watch. No one was about to take an enemy's word at face value and let their guard down. Still, one thing was clear: the Saryeong Kingdom side had yet to try any further tricks.
What if this Sirin, their commander, only moved because of our massacre?
Undead hated the living and attacked them. That was common knowledge. But these were otherworlders—and history itself had shown how wrong it was to measure them by human common sense and human standards.
Are we throwing away every gain we could win through talk, just to chase this idiocy called war?
She had also heard that they lent skeleton laborers to the common folk for simple work. If the skeletons took the hard, grinding labor and the farmers only handled the finer tasks, output per person would rise, food production would swell—and if that benefit could be bought cheaply by offering goods from outside, it would be as good as possessing the Black Soil without fighting for it at all.
The thought carried Akina far enough that she nearly decided to contact the royal court at once and stop the war. A moment's further reflection showed her how empty that hope was.
If the king wins this war, he claims the Black Soil. If he loses, he still weakens the nobles—and that alone will satisfy him. Trade with the Saryeong Kingdom, and the Purification Knights would be the first to revolt. The kingdom would be condemned as one that dealt with undead—and with otherworlder powers beyond them.
People saw Akina, who had reached the realm of Origin, as nothing more than a strong and warlike warrior. In truth she was a moderate, one who believed war was not the only road to a nation's growth.
To wage this empty fight for the sake of the king's power…
But she had accepted the post of supreme commander from the king, and that bound her to obey.
Still—knowing they can be reasoned with is a mercy. Even if the relationship began in the worst possible way.
She had wanted to see for herself what kind of people the Saryeong Kingdom were. They had turned out more rational and temperate than she expected. Of course it might still be a ruse; she could not be sure yet.
I'm sorry for Princess Lillian—but if I confirm they are people one can talk to…
When that day came, she would have to send Lillian away for opposing her decision. Kaisent was far too precious to lose—but better that than a war that served no one.
Her mind was still tangled with such thoughts when a scout's report arrived.
"We located their army roughly two to three hours out. Terrain is open plain. Numbers between about ten and thirteen thousand. No sign of the war engines our side has been using."
"With the cloud cover it must have been hard to get a clean count."
"Well… the undead lit their own lights. That was how we could tell."
"What?"
One of the commanders frowned at the scout's careful detail—and the answer that followed was startling.
"A feint?"
"There could be a trap somewhere…"
"But you said it was open ground."
"What if they've buried undead under the earth?"
The commanders, locked in the fixed idea that undead always plotted something underhanded, proposed halting the advance and strengthening reconnaissance.
Revealing their own numbers… So they want a straight fight?
If all of it was true, the enemy commander was either a knight of high pride—or a commander already certain of victory.
Interesting.
Akina, who had almost never fought a pure frontal clash like this, felt a strange thrill. No tricks. No schemes. A contest of raw strength alone. She had never imagined another commander would choose such a method.
So they want to fight fair and square.
A sense that this undead knight called Sirin might be of one mind with her settled over Akina as she led her forces on.
Just over two hours later, exactly as the scouts had said, magic flared high into the sky beyond them—bright as a flashbang—and laid their own army bare for anyone to see. Distance made the light tiny, but the intent was plain.
Faced with an enemy clearly angling for a single decisive pitched battle, Akina—just in case—ordered her army to rest.
"We rest here."
"Ma'am?"
"There's no telling what the undead might try."
"Try? Here? How?"
Akina pointed at the empty, featureless plain.
"The only thing they can do from here is attack with magic. And do you really think we would fail to notice the movement of that much mana? Even if they move, we will have time enough to answer. Rest."
Uneasy, the commanders nonetheless passed the order down.
On the Camelde Kingdom side, the situation was just as baffling.
"Distance or not—they're resting with the enemy right in front of them?"
"According to the reports, Countess Akina Karayden is a powerful knight and an experienced, capable commander…"
The vampires were still trying to decide how to take it when Sirin's shoulders began to shake.
"Heh… heh heh heh heh. Hahahahahaha! To think that in another world I'd find someone whose heart matches mine!"
"Lady Sirin? What do you mean?"
"It means she is telling us to prove for ourselves whether we will fight her openly—or not."
Every report the spies brought back from the human lands had only confirmed that the humans of this world were not right in the head. Democracy itself had been forbidden knowledge that shocked even their kind—and the wariness toward otherworlders it bred had long since passed all reason. And yet, in this mad world, there was a lord and knight who still held fair play as a virtue.
"No need for us to stay strung tight either. Rest until the enemy moves."
And so, at the very moment both armies should have been at their most savage, the most peaceful stretch of time passed between them.
They're not interfering with our rest. Do they really want a clean fight?
Resting with the others, Kaisent felt it clearly: the Saryeong Kingdom—or at least this knight called Sirin—had an honorable streak.
"Sirin…"
But Lillian, certain the woman knight who had named herself Sirin in the image was the one who had murdered her parents, was burning with killing intent.
"Winning the war comes first."
"I know."
Priscilla stayed close, holding her in check so that the hunger for revenge would not drive her into some ruinous folly.
"Hah… hahh…"
Her head knew Priscilla was right—but with the object of her vengeance right before her eyes, she was trembling with excitement like a raw recruit. Kaisent saw that nothing he said would reach Lillian now, and shared his thoughts with Artemis instead.
—Be careful.—
Of course I will. Lillian's this worked up…
—That is not what I mean.—
Artemis stressed that the one to watch was not Lillian, but Sirin.
—The Saryeong Kingdom has existed for ten years. They must have gathered all kinds of intelligence—and still they insist on a frontal clash with Countess Akina? That means either an unexpected trap, or the confidence to smash Countess Akina head-on.—
Lady Akina…?
—If the enemy has prepared a trap, the situation is still the better of the two. But Countess Akina is the core of this army and its strongest asset. If that asset falls to Sirin, the only answer left is defeat.—
Akina defeated? Kaisent had never even imagined it—and a deep unease settled over him.
Unease or not, Akina judged they had rested enough. She poured mana into her voice and raised it high.
"All of you—on your feet! We begin the war!"
Everyone who had been resting under watch rose at her call.
"Tanks—to the front line! Artillery commanders, report the moment you enter effective range!"
She opened with the orthodox strike: weapons first. The engines that could most easily deal physical and mental damage to otherworlders.
"They're moving exactly as the spies reported."
"Strike with those iron lumps they call tanks, then with long-range weapons. A textbook tactic."
"Hmph. If weapons like that could break us, we would have broken long ago. They're fools."
The vampires serving as Sirin's adjutants sneered at the expedition's conventional approach. They had already taken those war engines on their bodies during the nobles' assaults to reclaim Luciarkenel—and had crushed them by force. In the ten years since, they had developed techniques to counter those very tactics.
"Deal with the tanks first."
"Send the Phantom Cavalry!"
At Sirin's order, one adjutant shouted. From deeper in the formation, skeletal riders in tattered robes—bodies half-transparent, looking as if they had no defense at all—surged forward at a gallop.
"Unidentified cavalry confirmed!"
"They're fast!"
"Don't panic! We fire the moment they enter range—nothing more!"
The tank crews' duty was simple: shoot when the enemy came, and ram with the hull if needed. A fast cavalry charge was nothing to flinch at.
"Fire!"
The shells roared.
The moment the enemy entered range, the tanks fired for maximum effect. Their shells used mana for propulsion, but the powder packed inside was gunpowder born of Earth knowledge. The blast and the acrid reek usually delivered shock and terror to otherworlders who had never faced them—but the Camelde Kingdom already knew that lesson by heart.
A rush of air—
The Phantom Cavalry burst through dust and smoke. To everyone's shock, they were unharmed.
"No damage?!"
"No need to fear! They still can't pierce th—ghk!"
Even if the enemy took no damage, the crews had believed themselves safe inside thick metal armor. They were wrong. The half-transparent lances of the Phantom Cavalry slid straight through the plating and struck only the living things within.
Trusting entirely in their armor, the tank units had not even attempted evasive maneuvers. They were annihilated in moments.
"Tank corps wiped out!"
"Cavalry made of pure spirit…"
Akina and the mages alike stared. Forcing a way through solid armor was one thing—but piercing it as pure spirit and killing only the crew was a method none of them had ever faced. Necromancers in this world either stayed quietly in the Magic Towers to research, or were branded as evil mages and hunted down by knights. They had never even had the chance to test such a technique.
Having wiped out the tanks, the Phantom Cavalry lingered around the wrecks as if boasting of their spoils.
"Magic rifle corps—advance!"
If the enemy was pure spirit, mana-firing magic rifles should work. The riflemen were moving to clear the Phantom Cavalry when the silent tanks suddenly began to move again.
"The tanks?"
"Survivors?"
"No—wait. Something's wrong."
The tanks were moving, and the Phantom Cavalry paid them no mind at all. A moment later the gun barrels swung toward their own lines—and the faces of Akina and her officers went rigid.
The guns thundered.
"Aaaagh!"
"Ghk—!"
The crews, now zombies, handled the tanks with something like intelligence and opened fire on Akina's army. Over centuries of stable rule, the Camelde Kingdom had refined techniques for putting mindless skeletons and zombies to work as laborers of every kind. In a world where true necromancy had never properly developed, a kingdom where the art was widespread and constantly improved was a walking catastrophe for the living.
"Open fire on our own tanks!"
Tanks cost enormous time and coin to build—but sparing them now would only invite worse losses. She ordered the artillery to fire.
Shell after shell slammed into the tank line. One after another the machines burst apart and became scrap. Their work done, the Phantom Cavalry left the wreckage behind and withdrew.
…
No one in the expedition had imagined the tank corps would be neutralized this way—worse, turned against them. Aside from the screams of the wounded, a heavy silence settled over the field.
See? If we had ever truly meant it, the peace you enjoy would never have existed.
A perfect counter to the tactics of Halrot—no, of every kingdom in our world.
There would be methods to answer the artillery as well. Akina knew it in her bones: of every enemy she had ever faced, this was the strongest—and the most dangerous.