Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: The Rout of Bekavia
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The Bekavia army, having lost its central pillar, began to crumble rapidly.
"Master, please take out that officer over there rallying the troops. Eo, you lead the cavalry and keep slicing into the waist of the retreating enemy. That way, they'll lose their line of retreat and end up isolated."
"Got it."
"Yes, sir!"
The two dashed off, leading their troops.
Ymir, expecting she might get some orders too, obediently tucked her tail and waited standby. But there were no particular instructions for her.
I hoisted the command banner high and shouted.
"The enemy's supreme commander is dead! Drive the foes before us!"
The enemy was scattering in complete disarray, fleeing in rout.
That was because they had no command structure left to pull things together.
Normally, Sophia Veron back at the main camp would have handled the cleanup, but even she had no time for that, thanks to Anton pushing right up to their doorstep.
I sent word to Anton to pull back at his discretion, then began coldly mopping up the remnants led by Max Ilrain.
By this point, the number of enemy soldiers killed or captured had reached twenty thousand, meaning Bekavia had suffered irrecoverable losses.
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The reason this war is called the Three Lions War goes back to the founding histories of Albad, Crossing, and Bekavia.
These three nations all shared roots in the Malorn ducal house of the fallen Pensilon Empire.
The brothers of the Malorn family had each carved out their own territories and founded kingdoms amid the empire's collapse.
At that time, they adopted the lion emblem—the symbol of the Malorn ducal house—as their national flags, side by side. That's why their wars came to be known as the Lion Wars.
Among these three kingdoms—more precisely, among the brothers who had gone independent—the relations were far from amicable.
Crossing, in particular, which outright rejected the noble system and established a republic, was treated as a public enemy.
Whenever Crossing waged war, Albad and Bekavia would always ally against it, and Crossing's ambitions were repeatedly thwarted by this coalition force.
But this time, things were unfolding differently.
"Report! Engagement has broken out at Carrington! Carl Max Ilrain has led his entire force in a charge! Our troops have moved to counter!"
When this news reached Juras's army headquarters tent.
The other officers, excluding Juras, wore expressions like they had seen this coming.
'As expected, Max Ilrain didn't miss the chance and struck.'
'Appointing a mere mercenary as Carrington's commander was a clear blunder by the supreme commander.'
'We might have to retreat early this time.'
'Hope our side's losses are minimal.'
Juras, on the other hand, was thrilled like a child at the interesting turn of events.
And half a day later.
"Urgent report—!!"
The soldier, pale-faced with shock, began his report.
The news sent the headquarters tent into an uproar.
"General Wade has brilliantly crushed the enemy! He has taken the head of enemy commander Carl Max Ilrain and killed or captured thirty thousand of their troops!"
Roars of cheers erupted.
"N-No way! He took down that Max Ilrain!?"
"What about our losses!? How bad were they!"
Wade's army—Al's army—had inflicted thirty thousand casualties on the enemy while suffering fifteen thousand of their own, including wounded.
A nearly two-to-one victory ratio.
An unbelievable triumph.
"Heh, I knew he'd deliver at least that much."
Juras curled the corners of his mouth smugly.
The officers stole fearful glances at him.
The eccentric decision to hand six legions' command to a mercenary just because he'd beaten him at chess.
It had played out exactly as he'd boasted.
"Supreme Commander. What are your plans now?"
Fifth General Kisler, who had been attending Juras, asked.
"With losses like that, the Carrington front is as good as over. The enemy will surely move reinforcements from other fronts to Carrington. Don't we need to pin their feet down on that front?"
"Hmm. True enough, but..."
Juras paused, as if waiting for something.
And one hour later.
"Commander! Message from General Wade!"
The message contained Als's request regarding future movements.
"Ha, haha! Hahaha! Indeed, that's your plan, is it? Excellent!"
Having grasped the true intent of the request, Juras was delighted at Als's skill exceeding his expectations.
Meanwhile, in the northwest camp of the Albad-Bekavia allied forces, facing off against Juras.
The mood in their headquarters tent, upon receiving the same report, was murderous.
"That brat...!!"
Gillias, who had suffered at Als's hands before, ground his teeth.
The Bekavia camp figures were ashen-faced, at a loss.
The headquarters tent buzzed uncontrollably. Then—
Thwack!
The old man seated at the head struck his cane, and silence fell like magic.
"Calm yourselves. Chaos won't solve anything."
The old man fixed his sunken eyes on Gillias.
"Gillias, is this the mercenary with the gray helmet you spoke of?"
"Yes, Master. It's definitely that brat."
"When I heard you'd been routed by some mercenary riffraff, I thought it was just coincidence at play, but it seems he has real skill after all."
"If we meet again, I have the confidence to take his head. Master, dispatch me to Carrington!"
"I'd like to, if I could, but that sly fox won't just sit idly by."
No sooner had he spoken than—clang clang clang clang! The bells signaling the enemy's advance began tolling.
That sly fox. Juras Pamilion was marching with his eighty thousand troops.
"No helping it."
Thwack! The old man struck his cane, making his decision.
He urgently dispatched ten thousand Bekavia allied troops from the army to Carrington.
This left him to face Juras with seventy thousand—ten thousand fewer—but even against that Juras, he was confident he could hold.
He was that kind of man.
Strategist Kaien.
The founding merit of Albad Kingdom and former grand general of the Pensilon Empire—a living legend called the master of all strategists.
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Amid the intensifying war.
I was compiling reports from other fronts, preparing my next move.
"That Juras bastard. Even with just fragmentary info, he moves like he can read everything."
I'd sent that message knowing he would, but it felt strange that he'd grasped it all so perfectly. Like we were looking at the same scene.
"Als, what's next? In two days, the enemy's reinforcements will reach this area."
"Probably."
"Shouldn't we take them out before then?"
The Bekavia army, now down to thirty-five thousand, had pulled back far to the rear and dug in.
Finally coming to their senses, they had secured the best terrain possible and solidified their defenses.
Their plan was to hold out somehow until their ten thousand reinforcements arrived.
"Master, ever heard this? 'Tactics atop strategy, strategy crumbles to cunning stratagems, and those stratagems are foiled by divine tactics.'"
"First time hearing it."
"Simply put, it's like rock-paper-scissors."
"What's this rock-paper-scissors?"
"Guess I have to explain from there."
Tactics, strategy, stratagems.
These three form a rock-paper-scissors dynamic.
Tactics—soldiercraft, in other words—is hard-pressed to overcome strategy.
The current situation is a perfect example.
What the Bekavia army is doing now is strategy.
Hold the best terrain no matter what. Endure anything.
A strategic choice.
"Against that kind of opponent, we only have one option right now."
Leverage our numerical superiority with tactical maneuvers to smash their defenses.
"Well, I could win that way, but it'd cost us massive casualties. Since we'd be losing at rock-paper-scissors."
"Hmm... Fair point."
"So this time, I've decided to use a stratagem to topple their strategy."
"What stratagem?"
"Haha, a simple one. Just watch."
About two days until the enemy reinforcements arrived.
The next morning, I issued one order to the troops.
"Today, we're holding a feast! No alcohol, but eat your fill of meat and food!"
Right after our first victory, I'd procured livestock from a nearby city and decided to butcher it on the spot for the soldiers.
The troops, expecting we'd chase and fight immediately, were overjoyed at this windfall and dove into the feast.
Then I approached the soldiers butchering the hundreds of livestock and gave another instruction.
"Don't throw out the entrails—load them onto the prepared carts, please?"
"Pardon? The entrails? What for..."
"Oh, they have all sorts of uses. For example, clean 'em well, grill or boil 'em—they're pretty tasty?"
"W-Well, if there's no other food, maybe."
"Anyway, gather them up nicely."
"Understood."
The soldiers enjoying the feast.
With preparations essentially done, I grew a bit bored and decided to probe the enemy for fun.
I sent over Carl Max Ilrain's corpse along with a letter.
In the Bekavia camp, arrayed in defensive formation.
Sophia Veron stared wide-eyed at the cart approaching from the enemy lines.
The cart had been delivered by prisoners we'd captured earlier.
"Th-That’s...!"
Fourth General Macully Kuhn, Max Ilrain's disciple, rushed to the cart.
"General!!"
Atop the straw in the cart lay Max Ilrain's corpse, laid out properly.
Even the severed head had been sewn back on by an undertaker.
'What the hell is this supposed to mean?'
Sophia couldn't help but suspect the intent.
Returning the corpse not desecrated, but properly handled?
While she puzzled over this incomprehensible act, she read the letter sent to her—and began trembling with rage.
The letter from Als to Sophia.
[Sophia Veron. I send my praises for your earth-shattering military strategy.]
The letter, starting that way, was packed with earnest advice wrapped in lofty words.
Failing to leverage terrain advantages despite being on defense, and charging out first.
Pushing her main force, Max Ilrain, too far forward.
Losing control despite being chief of staff, and so on. It was filled densely with serious counsel.
The letter's content was profoundly earnest and sound, but how Sophia would take it was obvious.
To her, the letter boiled down to one phrase.
[Total garbage lol]
Crude mockery.
She could barely contain her fury.
"I'll make you regret that choice...!"
She decided to turn their careless delivery of the corpse to her advantage. Sophia immediately prepared a grand funeral for Max Ilrain.
To boost the soldiers' and officers' morale through it.
Max Ilrain's corpse ascending the pyre for cremation.
The Bekavia soldiers watched, steeling their resolve for desperate last stands.