The Collective Will - 2
After Dorgon's appearance forced the Sarei Frontline to fall back, every front along the northern line went on full alert.
"The Passo and Tarke Frontlines have come under attack."
The report was grim, but the Duke of Victory only moved the pieces on his map in silence. By now, the high command had grown painfully familiar with such news.
Once Dorgon confirmed that the Sarei Frontline had withdrawn beyond the river, he began roaming the entire North as if it were his own backyard. The Empire's decision to pull its lines back was itself a declaration that it would focus on defense rather than counterattack — which meant Dorgon could dictate the battlefield unilaterally. There was no reason he would surrender an advantage like that.
And so Dorgon forced the fighting onto fronts that lacked natural fortifications — nothing like the river defenses at Sarei.
Sarei was lucky.
It was a bitter truth, but not every front possessed natural barriers the way Sarei did. And if they pulled the lines all the way back to every river or mountain range that could serve as a defensive wall, the chaos that followed would be even worse. So they held on, tears in their eyes.
No — blood, not tears, was the more accurate word.
Damn it all.
Dorgon either threw his entire force into a single assault, as he had at Sarei, or split his army and launched simultaneous raids. That the Empire still held its lines through this relentless hit-and-run was thanks only to the endless blood its soldiers spilled.
Under normal circumstances, simultaneous raids should have been impossible. Split a force of only about ten thousand and all you get is a recipe for being destroyed in detail.
But Dorgon, having already tasted success at Sarei, no longer aimed to retake occupied ground. His goal was short, vicious disruption. Before anyone could react — before the question of being destroyed in detail even arose — he was already gone. There was simply no answer for it.
They're in the thousands. You can't wipe them out the moment they appear.
If the forces hitting the lines numbered only a few hundred, or just barely over a thousand, they could be dealt with quickly enough. But Dorgon was no fool. He was never going to manage his troops in some miraculous way that handed them that opening. Wishful thinking, nothing more.
"Additionally, the Notan and Ikilat tribes are stationed at the Passo Frontline, and the Biroang tribe at the Tarke Frontline."
"Dispatch the Gorming tribe to the Tarke Frontline."
"Yes, Your Grace."
If there was any comfort to be found in this hellish war of attrition, it was that the Empire's cavalry strength had grown meaningfully.
These were tribes that had joined the Empire later than the others, and thus needed to prove their worth. At a recent banquet with the Duke of Victory, they had sworn to spare no military cooperation. The Duke, of course, had not refused the oath. He assigned the tribes across the various fronts, and through them the Empire had been able to reduce its losses.
Unfortunately, the tribes Dorgon had gathered were stronger still, so there was a limit to how much could be done. Still, reducing losses alone was something to be grateful for.
"Your Grace."
"What is it?"
The staff officer who had received his orders returned to his place, and the Duke of Victory was just rising from his seat when another officer spoke up.
"Marquis Barandiga requests an audience."
At that, the corner of the Duke's eye twitched for a moment.
Marquis Barandiga — the last remaining high priest of the North, and a man promised a marquisate. At the same time, a card the Empire absolutely could not afford to lose if it meant to complete its conquest of the North.
Given that overwhelming importance, the high command already treated the Barandiga chieftain as a marquis and dealt with him with exceptional goodwill. The same courtesy was extended to other chieftains promised titles, of course — but naturally a prospective marquis was valued more highly than a prospective count.
Whether he understood that consideration or not, Marquis Barandiga had generally kept a low profile and avoided drawing attention.
"He wishes to see Your Grace together with the other chieftains. He says he is deeply ashamed that he has yet to properly pay his respects to the man carrying out the sacred duty of punishing a great villain in His Majesty's stead—"
And yet that same Marquis Barandiga was now requesting a meeting first. Not even a private one — a group audience.
What is this about?
It was unexpected. Marquis Barandiga had been promised a marquisate, but that was purely a measure based on the Barandiga tribe's symbolic weight. There had been no bargain along the lines of "earn this title with matching achievements," so there was no particular need for him to approach the Duke of Victory.
Conversely, Marquis Barandiga was not the sort to brandish his prospective title and demand privileges. If he had been that ambitious, he would have done something before ever meeting the Duke.
Is there any reason for them to meet?
None. No matter how he turned it over, none. He could not imagine a reason that would make Marquis Barandiga break his silence.
This could be troublesome.
Only negative possibilities came to mind. Northern power holders who had not yet formally received their titles — who were not fully nobles of the Empire — had begun acting as a group with Marquis Barandiga at their center.
Of course, since the Empire had agreed to respect northern culture, it could tolerate northern leaders acting among themselves. Nobles were creatures of politics, and like-minded countrymen organizing together was no crime. Still, vigorous political activity before they had even sworn loyalty before the Emperor was a little awkward. Someone might suspect they already had other ideas.
Not him — the Emperor. That man's paranoia was a mystery even to those who knew him well.
"…They have already entered the Empire's embrace. There is no harm in granting them a seat."
After a brief deliberation, the Duke of Victory nodded and accepted the audience.
Whether he had guessed Marquis Barandiga's purpose or not, the truth was that either way it would have been difficult to refuse. If he rejected the meeting for no good reason and the prospective titleholders began to fear they were being discarded once their usefulness ended, that would create problems of its own.
A meeting place was prepared in one corner of the garrison. Not only Marquis Barandiga but the other prospective counts and ordinary chieftains would be attending, so a certain degree of care was required.
"Ah, Count Wiridia. It has been some time."
"A pleasure, Count Kaitana. I trust you have been well?"
"Haha. Quite well, thanks to you."
Having met a number of the prospective titleholders and chieftains before, I had been pressed into service as a guide. Count Kaitana was the first to appear. The garrison was a fair distance from his post, yet he had arrived earliest of all. A fine agent of ours, as expected.
"That said, for the Count himself to come out and greet me — I am honored."
"We are receiving honored guests. Someone of appropriate standing ought to come out, don't you think?"
"My, my. You give me far more credit than I deserve."
With Count Kaitana's burst of laughter as the start, the other chieftains began to appear one by one. Every last one of them looked genuinely moved to find me personally guiding them. All in all, the atmosphere of the meeting seemed likely to go smoothly enough.
"Count."
And before long, the man who had requested this gathering made his entrance.
"Ah, Marquis Barandiga."
"Marquis, please. Speak freely with me."
I bowed my head in greeting, and Marquis Barandiga waved a hand with an awkward look.
I understood how he felt, but what was I supposed to do? For a mere count to treat a marquis casually was practically insubordination. Worse still — if the very man who had personally delivered the marquis's seal on the Emperor's orders failed to respect the marquis's authority, the thoughts that would cross other people's minds were enough to make one's blood run cold.
"Your Lordship is one of only thirteen marquises in the entire Empire. If a count like myself treated you lightly, His Majesty would not permit it."
In short: you adapt. It was a cold truth, but an inescapable one, and Marquis Barandiga offered a stiff smile before nodding.
"Then I suppose there is no helping it. Still, I need not speak down to you, need I?"
"That is a matter of personal preference. It makes no difference to me."
I answered with a smile, and only then did Marquis Barandiga look relieved, his expression settling into a more natural warmth.
"I am glad. Speaking down to anyone would be difficult for a priest — all the more so to the man who holds a sacred relic."
He glanced at the sword hanging at my hip and opened his mouth—
— You bastard.
I hastily bit my lip against the sudden strike from the Eternal Blue Sky. I had nearly become the idiot grinning in a marquis's face.
— Doesn't even know it's a sacred relic, and he has the nerve to say it's 'difficult'… What kind of priest is that… Bastard…
But the Eternal Blue Sky's teary muttering kept jabbing my laughter trigger in real time.
I was losing my mind. This was not a laughing matter, and yet somehow the urge to laugh kept rising.
"I am only holding it in trust for a time. When the moment comes, it will return to its proper place."
Managing to hold back my laughter and produce a halfway decent reply, I felt rather proud of myself.
— Return it?! This is yours! Just keep it!
I understand, so please stop shouting inside my head…
At this rate, the question of transferring the sacred relic would have to wait until after Dorgon was dead.
Once everyone had gathered at the meeting place, the Duke of Victory appeared and took the seat of honor.
"That we have been so near one another and only now come face to face is truly a pity."
His casual use of familiar speech was natural enough, and every attendee wore a look of pleasure. For a duke of the Empire to address them that way meant he recognized them not as mere collaborators, but as members of the Empire itself.
"It was only proper that we pay our respects to Your Grace first. That we failed to do so out of fear of intruding upon your time is entirely our fault."
"How can consideration for this duke be called a fault? Think nothing of it."
Marquis Barandiga spoke as their representative, and the Duke of Victory shook his head in reply.
On the surface the exchange was warm, but the Duke's eyes remained deeply settled and still. He seemed still to be turning over the reason Marquis Barandiga had requested this audience.
"Today is a day for joy. Though a villain who rejects Heaven's mandate and disorders the order of the world yet remains, brave men who stand against him have gathered here. How could that not be cause for gladness?"
With those words the Duke of Victory raised the cup before him, and the other attendees lifted theirs as one.
"So for now, set aside whatever you came to say, and let us drink together."
A polite pressure: I will treat you as proper guests, so once you have eaten, state your business. Despite that pressure, neither the prospective titleholders nor the ordinary chieftains showed any sign of agitation.
Fortunately, it did not seem to be anything strange.
I chewed on mutton and discreetly took stock of the room.
The Duke, for his part, radiated no hostility, but his gaze was sharp as a blade. Of course it was. When men who had been quiet for so long suddenly requested a meeting all at once, anyone would wonder. A natural reaction.
If I drag this out any longer, the suspicion will only grow.
Besides, wasting the time of the army's supreme commander was not something one could afford. The banquet had loosened the atmosphere enough. It was time to move.
I turned my head and met Count Kaitana's eyes across the table. He seemed to share the thought, and nodded.
Good.
I drained my cup and rose from my seat. Taking that as their signal, the other chieftains stopped enjoying the banquet as well.
"Marquis Barandiga. What is this about?"
When I alone stood, the Duke spoke in a low voice. Even a child could have heard the peculiar chill mixed into that tone.
So I dropped to the ground at once and cried out.
"Your Grace! I speak now not as a marquis who has received His Majesty the Emperor's grace, but as a priest of this steppe!"
"Speak."
At that short reply, I hurried on.
"A villain who denies Heaven's will shakes the peace and order of the steppe, yet we who have no power could only bow our heads! But His Majesty the Emperor, who reigns over the continent by Heaven's mandate, has chosen to embrace even this barren grassland. How could we not be moved by such vast mercy and forbearance!"
Then came the sound of the other chieftains prostrating themselves as well.
"I, Gurte Batal of Barandiga, as a priest who serves the sky, prostrate myself and make this plea!"
I swallowed after those words. What came next would make the relationship between the Empire and the nomads one of eternal superior and subordinate.
But I could not hesitate now. I had already steeled myself for this.
"We beseech Your Majesty — become the Khan of us humble shepherds of the frontier!"
"We humble shepherds of the frontier beseech Your Majesty! Become our Khan!"
For this was the will of the North — the will of those who meant to live, and those who meant to know glory.