Wolf and Dog - 2
The central army forces, having taken their final rest in the Hablem Duchy, advanced toward the border. There they joined the two contingents already waiting, fusing into a single complete host. Best not to dwell on how much coin was burned simply gathering an expeditionary force of two hundred and fifty thousand at the frontier. War has always been a bottomless maw for gold, after all.
Still, it was a little unnerving. Mere movement had already produced no small expenditure—how much more would be flung away like refuse once the real fighting began?
Occupational disease, maybe.
In the old days I never fretted over money on the eve of war. Apparently I really have become a Ministry of Finance officer.
The thought of the Minister coughing up blood while drafting the budget almost made me smile. A warrior who once charged across the field was now Minister of Finance, wrestling with budget allocations. You truly never know what life has in store.
"Inspector General. His Excellency summons you."
"Understood. I'll go at once."
I rose at the voice from outside the tent.
One more step and we would leave imperial soil for the North. With every senior officer of the expeditionary force gathered in one place, this would be the last council held on empire territory.
When we returned, I hoped the next meeting would be about preparing a victory banquet.
Unlike the previous council, the northern and western command staffs were present as well, so even the Duke of Victory's tent felt cramped. For a moment I wondered whether some would have to stand.
Of course the Duke's aides were not so incompetent as to miscount seats; everyone found a place.
"You've all waited patiently. No doubt many of the men are champing at the bit to cross the border this very moment—you kept them well in hand."
"You honor us, Your Excellency."
Seated at the head, the Duke of Victory praised the northern and western forces that had stood ready at the border; the Northern Front Army Commander answered for them all.
One might shrug and ask what was so hard about simply waiting. But with no telling when the nomads' hit-and-run raids might begin, and with officers and soldiers alike half-drunk on dreams of glory and plunder, maintaining perfect silence and order was no small feat. It deserved the praise.
Imperial military law is stern, of course. Yet the saying exists for a reason: gather five men and one will be trash. Life occasionally produces fools who cannot contain their excitement and do something insane. Fortunately none had appeared this time.
"There has been no first strike from the nomads, and control during the waiting period was smooth. The expeditionary force maintains morale more than sufficient to cross the border at once."
The Northern Front Army Commander, who had been bowing his head, and the staff officers studying the map on the table all turned their eyes to the Duke.
"Reconnaissance shows no nomad movement within the Muskar tribe's territory. Once we cross the border we will advance straight into their lands."
Commanders and staff nodded as one. The Muskar domain lay in the southernmost reaches of the North—right against the imperial border. It had been the first tribal land crushed in the last Great Subjugation War, and for two full years it had served the imperial army as a well-used base.
There was plain enough for a great host to camp, a river and hills nearby for easy defense, and water ready to hand. Leaving it unused would almost have been an insult to the terrain.
"Once the Muskar territory is secured, deploy purification magic as before."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
The Platinum Mage Corps Commander, attending as representative of the mages, bowed.
That the Muskar lands made an excellent base was a fact the North knew better than anyone. The ground or water might have been tampered with; purifying on arrival was essential.
Fuck.
Old memories made me scowl. I still remembered the days of misery after drinking water laced with curse magic.
"Once the camp is established, we will seize the territories of the Sutio tribe to the east, the Bakiria tribe to the north, and the Hitra tribe to the northwest."
"And the Narlan tribe to the west, Your Excellency?"
"We leave them aside. Better to secure the minimum necessary ground and focus on reconnaissance than overextend."
The Duke of Victory spoke quickly, tapping the map; a staff officer recorded every word.
The tribes he named, and the Narlan mentioned by the 2nd Corps Commander, had all been crushed in the last war, just like the Muskar. They were vacant spaces the imperial army could occupy at leisure—small domains that, even if other tribes now occupied them, could never hold large numbers.
"Clashes with the nomads are inevitable, but there is no need to fight them on the terms they prefer."
In other words: rather than wandering the plains and getting stabbed from every direction, expand outward from a fortified camp. The classic "you come to me" strategy—and not a bad one. Facing tens of thousands of cavalry on open ground was far worse than fighting from a position that could be even lightly fortified.
Moreover, the conquest the Emperor desired was not one bought by grinding armies into blood. It was to bring as many tribes as possible under imperial order as peacefully as possible. In that light, the Duke of Victory's patient approach was the right one.
"For now, ascertaining each tribe's exact location and the balance of power among them takes priority. Deploy the Ministry of Special Affairs' full strength for reconnaissance—"
"Even if we avoid open conflict, a show of force might still be worthwhile, might it not? If the mage corps loosed magic into the sky or against a mountain—"
More opinions followed, but I frankly let them enter one ear and leave the other.
Strategy was never my domain. As Inspector General I had no business interfering in it anyway.
Had I belonged to the military I might have thrown myself into it—but I had stopped the Crown Prince from running off to the army. All that bastard's fault, in the end.
The moment we reached Muskar territory, the anomaly arrived.
Knights returning with word that no nomads lay in ambush nearby; mages spreading purification magic into every corner; soldiers raising tents and digging drainage ditches; senior officers gathering toward the Duke of Victory's tent, the first to be pitched—
Every man, no matter what task he was performing, felt the same wrongness at once and looked up at the sky.
"So I see that again."
Some sighed in shared irritation with the Duke's muttered words; others, who had missed the last war, simply stood slack-jawed.
Slack-jawed was still a mild reaction. Last time many had seen it in the middle of battle and their minds had cracked. At least this was a camp and not a battlefield; the shock was lighter.
Lighter than before, yes—not absent.
"Sky Slash..."
At the Northern Front Army Commander's murmur, a relatively young staff officer flinched. Fair enough. Seeing a catastrophe you had only ever read about in records would make anyone's heart pound.
I looked up with the rest, but inside a hollow laugh was trying to escape. The only ones under heaven who could tear the sky like that were me—or that bastard.
Son of a bitch.
Putting on airs as the master of the place and greeting me so flamboyantly.
Not nearby, at least.
Since the host had greeted first, a guest ought to return the courtesy—but the size of the tear suggested he had sent his greeting from a considerable distance. Returning the favor properly would be difficult.
Then again, when not even ordinary nomad soldiers were in sight, it would have been stranger still for the Khan himself to come close.
So it really is you.
Staring at the rent sky, I felt the corner of my mouth lift at last.
Until we reached the North I had worried a little. The skill that had reunited the shattered nomads certainly looked like yours, yet I had fretted that some ambitious nobody might simply be borrowing your name. That you were already dead or rotting in some remote hole, and some stranger I did not know was calling himself Khan under your stolen banner.
Thankfully not. A mere cub borrowing another's name could never cut the sky. The only madmen under heaven who do that are you and me.
Thank you.
Thank you for still being alive, for crawling out in front of me. Now all I have to do is kill you and everything is finished.
With that feeling I drew the sword at my waist. People nearby startled at the sudden motion, then—realizing what I meant to do—quietly gave me space.
You sent one, so I have to return it.
Even if the host was far away and the reply would be only a faint silhouette.
I detonated my mana. Not the half-assed Academy method— the way I had used it in the North long ago.
Mana that had been thrashing wildly around my heart flooded every corner of my body. In moments a vast quantity gathered in the right arm that held the sword.
Good.
Perfect. With no wound to fear, there was no need to overtax only the right arm. The recoil of cutting the sky could be distributed through my entire frame.
So I swung. From low to high, a simple upward stroke.
- ■■■■■■■■■■■──!!!!
And the sky split.
Not long after the sky had been cut, it split again.
"Indeed."
A scar visible even across that vast distance—a wound that had torn the heavens open in ruin.
It ought to have inspired awe. Instead it filled me with satisfaction.
"So you have come as well."
I laughed. Under this sky, only two beings dared to cut the heavens.
One of them was me. And the sky just now had not been cut by my hand, so who had done it was obvious.
"Karl Crassius."
The one who broke the collective will of the North. The one who ended the charge of that great one.
"Yes. I knew you would come."
Just as I want you, you must want me. I believed you would naturally come north.
Truly fortunate. At last this tiresome bond can be brought to an end.
Only you can close my ending.
And the reverse is equally true.
That is what I believe, Karl Crassius.