X. The Battle of Schapendorf (9)
X. The Battle of Schapendorf (9)
The battle near Schaffendorf.
The result was twenty-six dead, fifty wounded ranging from minor to grave, and a hard-won victory bought with their sweat and blood.
At least, that was the result for Sir Lothar's army. Moans rose throughout the camp as they quietly prepared to withdraw.
The scene was a far cry from the victorious revelry of the night before, when the camp had reeked of drink. Keldric frowned.
No victory, however complete, came without loss.
A victory with no casualties was impossible, especially without a brilliant strategist on their side.
Then who bore responsibility for the seventy-six men killed or wounded?
Keldric had no desire to spout hollow rhetoric about responsibility. But every effect in the chain of cause and consequence carried responsibility with it.
They had won, but someone still had to answer for the losses.
And Baron Yaven would not shoulder that entire burden himself.
When conscripted peasants were killed or wounded in battle, it was considered the fulfillment of their duty as subjects.
The idea that a lord would compensate the bereaved was pretty-sounding bullshit. At most, he let them keep their right to work the land.
Mercenaries were even simpler. They were paid to risk their lives.
If they lived, they earned money by risking their lives. If they died, that was the end.
Anyone looking for the hard life of a rough man had only to become a mercenary.
But a lord's household troops—and the elite soldiers Keldric had brought—were different.
If they died, Baron Yaven would normally compensate their families.
He might take a dead soldier's child into service or pay the family silver: preferential recruitment for the bereaved and financial compensation.
The elite soldiers Keldric had brought were not so different.
With three of the forty dead, Baron Yaven's compensation would probably be sent to Bogenberg.
Three out of forty. Few or many, Keldric could not easily judge the weight of that number.
Keldric had never felt much reluctance about killing. He was not going to start agonizing over their deaths now.
Yet a sense of moral responsibility remained.
After all, he was the one who had brought them here.
Their deaths would be transmuted into a handful of silver coins, and that money would find its way into the hands of children who had lost their fathers and women widowed overnight.
Those few silver coins were the price assigned to what people called 'responsibility.'
In contrast to the paltry price of a soldier's life, the weight of Keldric's thoughts kept growing.
Was responsibility really such a weightless word?
"Sir Keldric. Is something out there?"
"Ah, Sir Rutger."
As Keldric stared blankly outside, lost in thought, Rutger entered the tent and addressed him.
"It is cold. Close that. Sir Lothar is coming."
"Right. Of course."
Sir Rutger gestured to an attendant inside the tent. The attendant moved swiftly and dropped the tent flap.
All five knights had gathered except Sir Tomar, who was bedridden with his wounds.
"I wonder where Sir Lothar intends to head..."
"I suspect he'll press the advance further."
"And the wizard's body..."
While they waited for Sir Lothar, Keldric collected his thoughts.
Whatever else happened, nothing could be done for the dead.
What mattered now was where the survivors went next.
And Keldric had survived. For now, that was enough.
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"We advance to the Rhamdus Plain."
Lothar opened with that without preamble. The knights stared blankly for a moment.
Keldric was just as blank. The Rhamdus Plain meant nothing to him.
"The Rhamdus Plain, you say?"
Rutger seemed to know it. He asked back, surprised, and Lothar nodded as if it were obvious.
"If that brat Gofrit retreated, where do you think he went?"
"Well..."
"His army is exhausted. He has lost a great deal of manpower, and he will not recover quickly."
Whether Sir Lothar had obtained that information from somewhere, or had concluded it himself, was anyone's guess.
But it sounded entirely plausible. Sir Rutger listened to him in silence.
"He would not have gone straight back to his castle. That would be as good as abandoning this campaign."
An attendant picked up a wooden stick and sketched a terrain map on the dirt floor.
Their current position was marked by several rounded hills. Following the line farther led to Einhorn.
Einhorn was the village that had been plundered and reduced to ashes earlier. Keldric's brow furrowed subtly.
"Our losses were not severe. Our forces are still intact."
As Lothar said, the army could still fight.
Even after subtracting the dead and wounded, they had a little over one hundred fifty men. A modest reinforcement would restore them quickly.
"But we need reinforcements, Sir Lothar."
"I'd like your opinions. What should we do? I want to secure this victory."
And catch that damned brat Gofrit.
The bloodlust behind the unspoken words needed no explanation. The knights exchanged glances and considered their options.
"...What about hiring mercenaries?"
"Mercenaries, hm."
Their options were limited. The most viable was to hire more mercenaries.
"To do that, we would have to return to Bellam, though."
"I suppose we would."
"Which means we'd be letting the enemy we've already smashed to pieces simply walk away."
"..."
Sir Lothar did not seem particularly pleased with that prospect.
And he had good reason. Baron Gofrit's army had suffered what could only be called a catastrophic blow.
Even by a rough tally, some sixty of their men had been killed and forty taken prisoner.
Among them, one knight had died, while Gerhard had been captured and released for ransom.
Baron Gofrit would need a great deal of silver and manpower to rebuild his army.
Once an enemy had been shattered, hunting down and destroying the remnants was standard.
That was what Sir Lothar wanted. But the knights' response was lukewarm.
"Sir Rutger, I respect your experience and the honorable choices it has taught you to make."
"You honor me."
"But I must say that we should not stop here."
Would they pursue the crippled remnants, or take one step back to advance two later?
Keldric could not choose either option. A frustrated sigh escaped him.
'This is driving me mad.'
He had never imagined how narrow his military understanding was.
He needed education, but more than that, experience. Few strategies and tactics had been formalized in this world.
Keldric's mind raced. In this way, he worked through both scenarios.
If they pursued, they would leave the dead and critically wounded at Schaffendorf and march out.
That would mean forcing soldiers already worn down from one battle to press on through the snowfields. They had hardly any waypoints along the route where they could rest, either.
The situation at their potential objective, the Rhamdus Plain, was even worse. Einhorn Village, which would have to serve as their supply base in that vicinity, had already been reduced to ashes.
It was not a good option. But success would pay off enormously.
Second, they could withdraw to Bellam.
That would not be a disaster. Baron Gofrit would return home safely, but he could not raise a force of that size again quickly.
Their side could replenish its ranks and then advance.
The problem was that Gofrit's army would have time to prepare its defenses.
Both options had advantages and disadvantages. Keldric thought hard.
And if he kept thinking, sooner or later an idea was bound to come.
"Sir Lothar, how about this?"
Keldric spoke with confidence. Every eye turned to him.
"Let's hear it."
"Split the army. Separate a highly mobile elite detachment from the main force."
First, the detachment would use its mobility to pursue Baron Gofrit.
They would avoid direct battle, but repeatedly threaten the retreating army and prevent it from replenishing its ranks.
That would keep Gofrit's army from easily returning to his castle or a town.
Meanwhile, the main force would return to Bellam, replenish its ranks, and come back.
"Then they'll be forced to fight without having properly reinforced."
Surprised looks came from every direction. Feeling awkward, Keldric scratched his jaw and waited.
"Sir Rutger. What do you make of Sir Keldric's proposal?"
"It's not bad. But we'd need to focus on harassment."
They would not avoid all contact. They could confuse the enemy with torches and shouts, conduct night raids, and wear them down.
Rutger fleshed out Keldric's rather bare plan.
"Sending messengers to undermine their morale wouldn't be a bad idea either. We could lie that Baron Salzhoff's troops are joining us and tell them to surrender."
"Ohhh..."
Lothar murmured in admiration. The other knights seemed impressed as well.
"It seems best to proceed as Sir Keldric suggests. Any objections?"
Naturally, no one objected. It offered a way to catch both rabbits at once.
"But there is a problem."
"What is it, Sir Rutger?"
Sir Rutger turned toward Keldric. Keldric simply blinked, having no idea what was coming.
"Who would be best suited to lead that mobile detachment?"
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Lothar's army completed its preparations to withdraw.
A few crude wooden fences remained, but the shepherds could tear them down if they got in the way.
By the time even the last tent had been struck, dusk was already settling over the snowfield.
Lothar ordered a brief stop in Schaffendorf. The soldiers looked as though their lives had been saved.
Then, as dawn began to break, a group of soldiers left Schaffendorf.
"Damn, it's fucking cold. I miss the arms of a beautiful woman..."
"..."
It was the mobile detachment led by Keldric and Henri.
After resting at Schaffendorf, they slipped out before dawn and advanced across the brightening snowfield.
"W-why are we..."
Alisa shivered, close to tears. Keldric avoided her gaze.
Having his strategy recognized was good. Growing through his own experience was good. Everything was good, except...
'I should have kept my mouth shut.'
The man who proposed a plan was expected to lead by example. That was exactly what had happened to Keldric.
Unable to resist Rutger's expectant look, Keldric ended up carrying out his own proposal.
'It was your brilliant plan, so it is only right that you take the most honorable and important duty.'
When it was put that way, he had no argument to make.
Feeling guilty, Keldric draped his wolf cloak over Alisa's shoulders.
"Tell me if it's too hard. I'll send you back separately."
"I-I'm fi—achoo!"
"...Are you certain you're fine?"
"Nngh... I'b fide..."
Keldric turned to look back. The snow-covered plain stretched out before them.
In the distance, darkness hovered on the verge of retreating from the horizon.
Before long, dawn would break over that pure white horizon. Then the cold would ease a little.
"Let us hurry. The more we move, the warmer we will get."
And they would be able to chase down Baron Gofrit just a little faster.
The mobile detachment—two knights, one wizard, five cavalrymen, and twenty elite infantry—pressed onward through the cold.
The horses' heads were turned westward.
That direction eventually led to the northern Everfrost, territory Keldric had never visited.
And Baron Gofrit's lands.
When given an opportunity, one had to act.
And he had a responsibility to punish the man who had inflicted an unforgivable wound.
So Keldric headed toward that land of opportunity and responsibility, risking danger as always.