Engaging in the Opening Skirmish
"Your Grace! How could you hold such an important meeting without me? Please, execute me!"
"Hahaha! No, no. I'm glad you made it. It couldn't be helped."
"Punish me for not finishing my duties faster!"
"It's fine. Really, it's fine."
Jamuchin had finally returned. He'd inspected areas even farther north than Winter Castle. Of course, he hadn't seen everything, but he'd brought back quite a bit of valuable information.
There were two reasons nomads came south: war, or sheer desperation to survive.
The North was home to many peoples, but it wasn't overflowing solely with those from the south. In fact, most were nomad descendants, and some tribes had even established permanent settlements within our borders. We sometimes called them semi-nomads.
"I'd heard the number of semi-nomads was growing, but surprisingly, there were quite a few up in the far north."
"Yes, Your Grace. Among them, many already looked like proper settlers."
The power of the Central Forge Reactor was immense. The harsher the winter, the more nomads abandoned their traditional migratory ways. This winter hadn't been that brutal, but for nomads, it was grueling all the same. If their horses couldn't move properly and they couldn't head south, their only option was negotiating with us to winter over inside our borders—in an environment where starvation was otherwise inevitable.
"That's a solid proposal. The more semi-nomads we have, the easier they are for us to manage."
"Indeed, Your Grace."
But in principle, since we were at war with the nomads, there were strict conditions for any who wanted to come south. While Jamuchin toured the northern nomad territories, one semi-nomad had made a suggestion.
Even combined, the tribes clinging to the nomadic life couldn't muster a full army—and as winter approached, they'd starve. Attacking south was futile anyway; our castles, centered around the Central Forge Reactors, were too tough to crack. We couldn't ignore their raids either, so we waged periodic preemptive wars.
"Chagatai Khan, was it? The semi-nomad leader."
"Yes. I met him this time and thought it was a good idea, so I reported it to you, Your Grace."
"Hm. Allow them to form a new unit in the northern army."
"Exactly, Your Grace. A unit made entirely of nomads would give us superior mobility and the psychological edge of using one against the other."
In short, create a foreign legion. Not a bad idea at all.
Using nomads to counter nomads was a risky proposition at best. But if we could soothe their ethnic tensions, it wasn't a terrible choice. Plus, it would boost our military strength organically.
Nomads rode horses from childhood, their training ingrained like second nature. And if we built it around semi-nomads, over time, they'd likely settle down like the rest.
In that case...
"Make it happen. But recruit primarily from semi-nomads. How many could we get?"
"Your Grace, in the current situation, forming a unit of at least a thousand would be trivial."
"That many?"
"We survived only because of you, Your Grace. No one else could endure a northern winter."
"I'll discuss the organization with the military council, but it's a great idea—push it forward quickly."
A nomad-heavy army. The southerners would flip if they knew.
After Jamuchin left, I summoned Lord Reward and the other generals.
Foreign legion creation. Of course, our veterans—who'd fought nomads endlessly—found the idea deeply uncomfortable. Betrayal or them forming their own power base would be disastrous.
"Your Grace, why not give a few troops to James de Wintergard instead? I'd kneel the entire nomad horde and pacify—"
"You've already done most of that. And it's winter—how do you plan to march? You don't intend to freeze unprepared soldiers, do you?"
"Th-that's..."
"You've subdued them. Now learn to harmonize. Isn't that right?"
"Y-yes, indeed."
The generals in the winter chamber looked uneasy. Commanding them would be tough, training would breed resentment, and loyalty to the North was questionable.
"Then, Your Grace, what if we send them south?"
"South?"
"Yes. We're already dispatching forces there. Attach the nomad unit for training."
"Hm, that's a brilliant approach. The commander would be..."
"If I may be so bold, I'd like to take the role, Your Grace."
"You?"
Darmian. A young general, but he'd lagged behind Leor Reward in battlefield merits. Truth be told, Darmian excelled not at leading charges but at training and logistics. I could trust him with this. Plus, he'd risen through the ranks on pure merit after enlisting in the northern army.
"You have command. You'll do well in the south too, right?"
"Entrust it to me, Your Grace."
"Good. Once the unit's formed, Darmian heads south with the dispatch. Leor returns home."
"We shall fulfill your will, Your Grace!"
The military swung into action, and the nomad unit formed swiftly. Jamuchin had estimated a thousand recruits, but far more semi-nomads and nomads applied—some tribes sent every able-bodied man.
Spring would bring warmth after winter, but rumors swirled among nomads that even that would bring famine after this harsh season.
Time flew. I'd told the Bart family I'd visit personally, and Leor confirmed he'd accompany us. The nomad unit was shaping up fast.
The marquis-level noble conclave was held in an all-too-transparent spot: an imperial villa between House de Bosch and the other southern nobles.
I and the northern contingent headed first to Bart Territory.
"It's so obvious. Don't you think?"
"Y-yes, Your Grace."
Leor's 150 cavalry followed at a leisurely pace. Legally dicey, perhaps, but...
Daniela, I, Leor, and Marquis Roland rode together in one carriage. Calling it an escort for the delegation—or noble conclave—was an understatement. But we needed this many.
"Daniela, are you really okay with this?"
"Father, I told you, I'm fine."
With all the right commanders and personnel here for our goals, it should be alright.
House de Bosch's lands weren't far from the Barts'. Too close, really—that was the problem.
There'd once been a count's domain between them, but it had recently fallen. The reason? One count: rebellion against the Crown Prince.
"What was the name? House Marni? Such a pity."
"A-an absurd pretext, but... l-likely the Crown Prince's doing."
"Probably. Did House de Bosch absorb them all?"
"Y-yes."
House de Bosch's scheme was clear. They were after Bart's gold mines, no doubt. With the buffer gone, nothing stood in their way.
Bart had ditched the imperial side for the North. But de Bosch hadn't anticipated how much power we could project south.
"So, what plan has Marquis Roland devised?"
"A-hem. Y-Your Grace?"
"Hm? No plan at all?"
"N-no, it's not that, it's just..."
His reaction was odd. Roland kept clearing his throat. Beside him, Daniela smiled faintly, gripping her father's hand tight.
"Daniela's my daughter, and you're practically my son-in-law."
"Ah! Is that it? Why didn't you say so?"
"My title's lower, but still."
"Understood, father-in-law. Tell me your plan."
Daniela burst out laughing—hahaha. I caught it too, chuckling along. The carriage filled with laughter. Leor gave an awkward smile before resuming his stern facade.
Loosen up a bit.
"No grand plan, but we have goals."
"Goals?"
"Yes. A couple."
"The more, the better. Though it'll be tough."
Marquis Roland's goals were simple—but high difficulty.
"First: establish a buffer zone so we don't border House de Bosch directly."
"That'll be tricky. And second?"
"Revenge!"
He wanted to flatten House de Bosch and the imperials. Fair enough. So did I.