The North's Will - 1
Dorgon appeared like the wind, and he departed with equal artistry. The problem was that his artistry belonged to the abyss—something that would only play well in hell. An assault by more than ten thousand nomads was more than enough to turn the Sarei Frontline into a living hell.
Of course, the nomads did not linger long on the front. Yet because they packed so much concentrated chaos into that brief window, the results were nothing short of catastrophic. The horses that trampled the soldiers, the riders who swung blades and loosed arrows from their backs—all of them entered the fight at full strength. How nightmarish must it have been?
"We pull the front line back."
That was how dire the situation had become—the family head himself issued the order. Yet it was not merely the scale of our casualties that forced his hand. The true problem was this damnable terrain, which no reinforcements from other fronts could salvage.
To be fair, most of the North was poor ground for defense, but the former territory of the Sarei tribe was especially bad. The Sarei had never been a people who worried about being attacked; they were the ones who rode out and battered others. They had claimed land suited for expansion, not for holding a line.
"From now on there will be no more small-scale skirmishes of the sort we have seen. Dorgon's offensives, with him at the head, will continue."
The other staff officers nodded in agreement. Against hundreds or thousands of nomads the Empire had been able to nibble the front forward bit by bit, but now that the Khan had appeared at the head of more than ten thousand, the only sensible course was to shift to the defensive. Keep playing land-grab the way we used to and lose an entire legion, and none of us would be able to face the Emperor.
For an expeditionary force to dig in and defend felt a little strange, but we were not fighting fortresses and castles—we were fighting a mobile host. Even if our occupied territory shrank and we surrendered ground, so long as we could destroy Dorgon and the army under him, the victory would still be ours.
"There is a river to the south. We will make that our new line."
Turning the very river we had just crossed into a wall again left a bitter taste, but there was no choice. Better to cross the river twice than to be hammered flat twice by Dorgon on open ground—bitterness would be the least of our problems then.
"Inspector."
"Yes, Marshal."
I snapped to attention at the family head's sudden summons.
"Thanks to the Inspector, I and countless soldiers were able to escape the traitors' blades. As commander of this front, I express my gratitude once more."
With the other officers watching, he spoke from a strictly official stance. Yet for all the stiffness of the words, his voice carried a subtle warmth.
"You honor me too highly."
So I inclined my head with a faint smile of my own.
This battle had achieved nothing worth celebrating, yet we had at least kept the family head alive. I could return to headquarters with a clear conscience.
Because of the fighting on the Sarei Frontline the Empire had been forced to pull back, and we had even let the Khan—the entire objective of the campaign—slip through our fingers. Judged by the bare results, the Empire had taken a one-sided beating.
Yet looking at what followed, the battle turned out to be a net gain for the Empire.
"The tribes that had remained neutral to the very end have all surrendered at once."
At the staff officer's report the Duke of Victory gave a slow nod.
Dorgon's personal offensive had been a concentrated blow by the entire anti-Imperial coalition aimed straight at the Empire's solar plexus. Flip the coin, however, and it was also Dorgon announcing to the world, "These are all the forces I have."
Tribes that failed to show themselves while the Khan himself led a major campaign? They could no longer hide behind the word "neutral." They had clearly parted ways with Khan Dorgon—and in the middle of a war, parting ways with the Khan meant standing with the Empire.
If you don't want to die, you'd better join us.
From that day the tribes that had fretted under the banner of neutrality cast the label aside and began a mass defection. They had done nothing worse to the Empire than test the waters, but in Dorgon's eyes they had committed the unforgivable sin of failing to join the Khan's personal campaign. Their choice was only natural.
Natural, yes…
What a pathetic lot.
Even so I could not quite hide the complicated feeling. Even before this mass flight of the neutrals there had been plenty of reasons for nomads to surrender to the Empire—the Kaitana tribe's early collaboration, the Barandiga tribe's joining, and more.
Yet they had agonized until the last possible moment and only now thrown in the towel. Whether it was a nomad's pride that could not bow to the Empire, or simple decision paralysis, I could not tell.
A pity, really.
Of course the pity belonged not to the Empire but to the latecomers themselves. The dilemma of those who surrender late is the classic one: they join when they are no longer particularly needed.
They had not charged in head-first from the opening of the war like the Kaitana, nor did they carry the symbolic weight of the Barandiga. There was no special reason to treat them with great ceremony. The Empire already knew full well they had surrendered only because every other option had vanished. Where exactly did they think they were going to go if they refused us?
Insufficient standing caused by arriving far too late. For latecomers, that was a truly grim reality.
"They have expressed a desire to lend their strength against the wicked enemy. They claim that, being accustomed to life on the steppe, they will prove useful—"
And so, to overcome that reality, the latecomers launched an aggressive courtship campaign.
Until now the surrendered tribes had not been thrown into direct combat. Ordering people who had come over purely for safety to "go fight too" would have caused an obvious stir, and we ourselves had been uneasy about turning our backs on men who had been enemies only yesterday. We had simply been content that the enemy's numbers were shrinking.
But latecomers who desperately needed to prove their worth had no such luxury.
"A truly valiant resolve. I shall meet them myself—prepare the meeting."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
The Duke of Victory knew it as well, and so he summoned the chieftains who had surrendered last.
With Dorgon now ranging freely, securing cavalry that could stand against him was vital; refusing their request would only make the latecomers anxious in an entirely different way. I was not sure the comparison was exact, but it felt a little like receiving a standby order after being passed over for promotion.
Just hand out titles to the ones who fight well.
If a precedent was set that even latecomers would be properly rewarded once they earned merit, it would benefit the Empire as well.
I no longer knew how long it had been since I last set foot here. The first time since the war ended—nearly three years?
There had been many chances to come during those three years, yet I had deliberately stayed far away, just in case. The Empire surely knew this place was special to me. Wandering around and getting noticed would only invite headaches.
"So only now do I come to pay my respects."
I muttered the greeting under my breath, though no one was listening. Dashan was nearby, but from the moment we arrived he had been acting as though he were both blind and deaf, so I could leave him out of it.
That excessive loyalty of his never changed.
Was I the same once?
The thought struck me unbidden. Had I looked any different to Him than Dashan did to me? Whenever He said He was going somewhere, I had insisted it was too dangerous to go alone and that I must accompany Him—even though there was no one in the entire North, or the entire continent for that matter, who could truly threaten Him.
And yet when He was truly in danger I had been unable to help. When someone needed to be at His side, I had not been there.
Pathetic.
Thanks to that I had thought of ending my own life several times a day. What use was a retainer who failed to protect his lord, a successor of a fallen nation, living on alone?
The only reason I still clung to this wretched existence was that there were still things only someone like me could do. Or perhaps I simply wanted to believe that.
At this point it hardly matters which.
I walked on in silence, taking in the surroundings. Three years had already passed, yet traces of the battle still remained—the place where the North's will had been broken.
And the place where He had breathed His last.
"I met him."
I knelt and ran my hand across the earth. I knew the gesture was meaningless. Yet knowing this was the ground where He had last stood, I could not simply remain still.
"The one who killed Tala, Jailug, and even Illai has returned to the North once more."
Once the words left my mouth a laugh escaped me. Tala the vanguard commander, Jailug whose talent He Himself had recognized, Illai the greatest shaman of the North—he had either killed them with his own hands or driven them to their deaths. The man was a monster in human skin.
And I myself had faced that monster more than once and somehow survived to the end. In his eyes I was probably a monster as well.
"Yet it is a strange thing. When I learned he had come north again, what I felt was neither rage nor despair, but relief."
I almost wondered whether I would have been angry if he had never come at all.
"It has been a long, bitter fate. Two years of fighting, three years of waiting. Now I can settle that long entanglement and bring everything to an end."
Laughter burst out of me again. Persistent bastard—what the hell happened between us in a past life? Nothing short of a monstrous grudge could sink roots into a man's life for five full years.
Still, I held no resentment. I must have been making an equally spectacular impression in his life as well. With Him and the others dead, I was his only true adversary left.
I drew the shamanic codex from my breast. The most skilled of the shamans who shared my purpose had poured every ounce of his power into crafting it.
The finale should be decorated like a finale.
That was why I had made it. It might be nothing more than my own stubbornness and tantrum, but I believed he would like it too.
"Your father's blood must be why it turned red."
"Congratulations. Your father is dead, but his blood lives on with this sword—so this sword is as good as your father. A long-overdue family reunion."
"Ah, come to think of it, since I'm the one who handles your father, that would make me your grandfather."
Hmph.
Remembering the words that bastard had spoken made fighting spirit surge up again.
I had thought two years had made me thoroughly used to it, yet three years without hearing that voice had eroded my immunity. A regrettable development.
Damn it.
It was going to take quite some time to get used to it again.
Whether I would grow accustomed first, or die first, I could not yet say.