Chapter 163
Chapter 163
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 163
Chapter Title: Strategy, Tactics, Ruses, Mind Games (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
*
The Karandal encampment, situated in the heart of the vast pastures stretching around Hazat Palan, served as a watchtower guarding the eastern borderlands centered on Hazat Palan.
Hazat Palan was a domain blessed with relatively safe seas and expansive grazing lands. Its abundant resources meant its warriors were both numerous and skilled. The fighters stationed at the Karandal encampment were sturdy men—neither too brash with youth nor worn down by age.
Aeren sat at the far end of the hastily prepared feasting hall in the encampment, gazing down at the warriors awaiting her command. The true strength of the domain lay with them. And their future rested in her hands. It was an overwhelming burden for a young woman, yet her eyes still burned with ferocity.
"Southern stranger. Let me commend you once more. Without your aid, we wouldn't have survived."
"I see it as a mutually beneficial exchange."
Fernandez wiped his hands, which had been tearing into meat, and looked up at Aeren. Eyes gleaming blue like the ice of the frozen wastes, hair shimmering like faded gold and flowing like a lion's mane. Even now, it matched perfectly the great angel he remembered.
-Too coincidental.
'Indeed. Angels seem to gather precisely where we go, as if lying in wait.'
Their encounter in the great wilderness, and now here in the north. It wasn't something he had anticipated or tracked down. They had simply met the angels as if guided by the flow of fate, and he had saved them.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world. But how many people lived in this northern expanse? How many tribes were there, and what were the odds that an angel would be in any one of them?
-Is it mere speculation to think the gods are intervening?
'Not yet. And this situation has its own logic.'
Meeting Pieranel, the great angel of wisdom and truth in the wilderness, had been the result of chasing Gaimeirn's prophecy. The encounter itself was chance, but he had predicted in advance that at least one great angel would be in the great wilderness.
And now this. Among the few northern clans resisting Sadarkelia, it was logical that a survivor would be a great angel. A human born with a great angel's temperament would never ally with demons.
Fernandez frowned. Was someone meddling? Did fate truly exist? Or were these all natural meetings? There weren't enough factors to judge.
"My mind was elsewhere, so I forgot to ask. You said you could help us."
Aeren swallowed some honey mead and posed the question. Her cold gaze looked down on Fernandez. Her cool demeanor was innate, but she still couldn't calm her racing heart.
The demons shredded by that man's hands. Each one had devoured the flesh of dozens of humans to be summoned into this world—monsters born from horror. She had heard from prisoners who escaped Hazat Kazal's altar how they were made.
Scenes of blood and flesh being offered to "stamp out" demons from beyond the world. Merely witnessing it drove ordinary folk to madness, stripping them of sanity—a place where such losses were commonplace.
'Erik...'
Aeren let out a soft sigh and pressed her forehead. She couldn't show weakness, but she herself was at her limit. The clans supporting her were dwindling, and her own tribe struggled just to rebuild their lost capital.
But if word spread that their offensive had failed, that arrogant young yarl of Kazaldar would march his full forces straight here. Few tribes in the north could stand alone against Kazaldar.
The situation was dire, hanging by a thread. Should they gather all border forces for a decisive battle? Or submit to Erik and lay down their arms?
And what did this young warrior from the south want? If he sought something from her tribe, no matter how vital, she would have to yield it.
"What sort of help can you offer? Unless Lord Botan sends warriors from Einherjar himself, we can't hold back Erik with our own strength."
Her words stirred murmurs among the warriors. Some of the hot-blooded ones gritted their teeth and shouted. Amid the growing menace, Fernandez spoke calmly.
"I'd like to hear the details more precisely."
"We lost our capital. We haven't been defeated in the war yet, but we had no way to counter their sudden raid."
The northern clans' capital wasn't an outpost. Their most seasoned warriors were all stationed near the borders, only called to the center in summer—the season of raids—or when war broke out.
Otherwise, the capital served as a hub for logistics and administration. In peacetime, its residents were mostly civilians, young trainees, or men too old for battle.
Thus, a winter raid was devastatingly effective. Normally, it would be decried as dishonorable at the great tribal council, but now the council itself was in Erik's grasp.
"Even with complacency, how could a port city have no sentries?"
"True. But fog rolled in, and the raid began right after. We had no chance to react. Demons emerged from the fog, and by the time we were herding the panicked civilians, the enemy was upon us."
Escaping with civilians in such chaos was nearly miraculous. Fernandez held Aeren's leadership in high regard for protecting her people with so few fighters.
'As expected, it wasn't natural fog.'
-Residual mana without a trace of such large-scale magic? That's...
'Exactly. Only divine power.'
-A northern god of weather phenomena...
He knew little of the northern pantheon's myths, but if a god of this continent was aiding them, it was a profoundly hopeless scenario. Fernandez swirled his cup thoughtfully.
'Fog and raid. And diversion.'
The information intertwined. A virtual chessboard formed in Fernandez's mind. A familiar thought experiment. In the darkness, a rough hand moved the pieces. First move: fog. Likely divine power.
Second: demons. Their mere presence terrified civilians, created chaos, and maximized impact in an unprepared ambush. A joker card of sorts.
'The capital.'
That toppled the capital. Killing the yarl in this situation left no one to rally the scattered tribal warriors. With no heirs, the young yarl's death would turn even perilous times into a bloodbath for the throne, given northern ways.
Self-destruction. Without external interference, this ploy alone would have doomed Hazat Palan.
'But Aeren. This great angel survived...'
Now his pieces moved. Eastward, evading the enemy's grasp. Toward the nearest of his forces' camps. The enemy's pieces followed her. And simultaneously, pieces in the darkness advanced one square each.
'The enemy likely had a second plan.'
-Sadarkelia is cunning, after all.
Fools who bet everything on one move never became great demons. With a great demon behind them, a second plan was certain. Probably diversion.
Whether the capital fell or not, the blow to Hazat Palan was irreparable. So when border warriors turned toward the capital, the enemy's forces would cross the empty border.
No way to stop it. Even a fortified defense would be grueling against two prongs. Their capital was a sea city. Its fall opened sea routes, giving the enemy paths by both sea and land.
'But that's not enough.'
-Right. There's a third move.
Pushing back the encroaching pieces, Fernandez's hand moved. Check. The one move to reverse utter despair.
Fernandez opened his eyes. The surroundings had fallen silent. Aeren's despair was infecting the warriors.
"How long to gather all forces?"
"Two days. Dispatch riders to the borders and assemble at the capital—it'll take that long. But Hazat Palan has no defensive lines. It's not even a city anymore, just ruins."
Aeren smiled bitterly. Ruins on open pasture, without a single wall or palisade. With enemy armies ahead and warships behind, how many hours could they hold? The capital was a deathtrap. Even a last stand would see enemies ford from both sides.
"For all-out war, farther west near the Daal mines would be better. There's walls there, and escape routes to other tribes if needed."
"Are those tribes fully allied with you for certain?"
"...Some. Probably still."
"Then that option's dismissed. We assemble at the capital."
Aeren's brow furrowed at Fernandez's firm declaration.
"You mean to fight to the death? Is that truly what you want? If so, go back south. We'll fight our war. I don't even know what you came here seeking."
"Erik's head. That's all I want."
"What did he do in the south? Erik only became yarl this fall, so last summer's raids wouldn't have reached your lands with his name attached."
"Not this summer past. To prepare for the one coming."
As Aeren tilted her head, Fernandez took a sip of mead and met her eyes.
"My reasons don't matter. Our goals align, that's all."
"Goals? More like delusions. How do you plan to deal with Erik? Sure, in the immediate war, your prowess will help the front lines. But how can a few individuals shift the tide?"
"We won't deploy to the front lines. Aeren."
Inquisitors weren't battlefield generals meant to dominate fields. Their role was hunting demons, heretics, and witches. Even attached to a group, they didn't launch mass extermination or start wars.
Inquisitors struck enemy hearts. Infiltration and tracking were basics; they bared their blades only upon reaching the core to slit the enemy's throat.
"The essence of war lies in sealing strategies, and the best way to seal the enemy's is to strike their flanks first."
"So?"
"So, and. The most effective blade for striking the enemy's flank."
In Fernandez's mind, a chess piece advanced one square. The white hand from the darkness hesitated. The enemy's flank—how's that, great demon? Got you.
"Is the sword in the enemy's own hand."
Raid on the capital, encirclement across the theater. A double ruse, masterful diversion. Thus, their counter must mirror it. Raid and diversion.
"Gather the warriors. Last stand at the capital. I'll send you, me, and your finest elites to Hazat Kazal. Down the waterways, just as the enemy did to you."
Aeren's eyes widened at his words. But she soon scowled.
"You want us all dead? Block the enemy's capital with just us?"
"Their main force is camped nearby now, and their capital isn't much different from yours."
"Different. They came raiding on fog..."
"Who said no one can summon fog?"
Fernandez chuckled. Mimicking divine authority was impossible, but tactical magic was his specialty, and magical combat his forte.
Strike the enemy's throat with their own methods. That was the strategy he enjoyed most in his past life.
-And always effective.
Feizashi cackled.