Chapter 248
Chapter 248
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 248
Chapter Title: The Emperor's Eye (7)
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No matter how rigorously trained, ordinary people—“ordinary” being the key word—have clear limits to their stamina. Unless they were Demonica, no human could fight for half a day straight and then attempt a night battle without rest.
In that regard, Fernandez was an exceedingly understanding commander. He readily accepted the exhaustion of his cavalry.
And rightly so. A standard “cavalry charge” on open plains was grueling enough to shatter stamina even for a single run, but the beastman cavalry had executed three such charges on “mountainous terrain,” against an “overwhelming imbalance in numbers,” with a “pursuit force” breathing down their necks.
That didn’t mean, however, that they had to forgo the advantages of a night raid.
“Er… so… you’re saying we stay down at the base of the mountain?”
“You heard correctly.”
“Just leave those bastards stranded midway up the mountain? By tomorrow, at least their vanguard will have finished setting up camp on the plains. You’re… not telling us to fight fifteen thousand troops on open ground, are you?”
“Well, if we’re just looking at the end result, it’s something like that.”
“Damn it. I’m not keen on a suicide charge. I’ve got the right to refuse that.”
Fernandez chuckled at the cavalry commander’s grumbling.
He shook his head and replied.
“I promise you this. You’ll never face more than double your numbers.”
With that, Fernandez ordered the beastman warriors to descend the mountain. He divided the three hundred cavalry into six detachments of fifty each, sending them down in different directions.
“You might know a thing or two about cavalry tactics, Duke Pernin. But cavalry can’t perform tactical maneuvers if they’re scattered.”
“First off, never call me Pernin again. There’s only one person who gets to do that, and it’s not you.”
Fernandez gazed intently at the cavalry commander’s sweat-drenched face.
“And second. Your cavalry won’t need to perform any tactical maneuvers at all. Just stick to the areas I specified, stand firm, and carve up the enemy troops coming down one by one.”
“…What if more than double the enemy shows up?”
“Then retreat wherever you want, and I’ll understand. Oh, and if that happens, try to swing by the great chieftain’s main camp at least once. I’ll make sure you get a hefty severance and retirement bonus.”
“You’re starting to grow on me.”
The cavalry commander grinned mischievously like a rascal. Fernandez nodded with a shameless expression. Fierce beasts needed to be handled roughly, and beastmen especially—they were the type drawn to the label of “bad guy.”
-Well, at least I never had to bow down on the “bad guy” part.
‘In my past life, were the things I did ever dismissible with a cute adjective like “bad”?’
-So, what? Rough?
‘Damn it.’
Feizashi and Fernandez snickered together.
* * *
Considering what had happened during the day, it was only natural: Duke Sephor constructed a textbook-perfect encampment. It took some time, but it provided near-perfect defense against night raids.
Any bold field commander daring enough to raid fifteen thousand with a mere handful of cavalry wouldn’t miss this chance. A deep mountain night was fatally suited for ambushes.
“The troops’ tension is over the top.”
“The soldiers think this is a pursuit battle amid defeat.”
“We haven’t lost a single time!”
Duke Sephor snarled at his knights. As a provincial king and great lord, he was a capable commander who had his vassals fully under control. He wasn’t the sort whose authority would crumble without a real defeat.
In truth, neither he nor his forces had lost once. Things had just gone strangely—that was all. The one issue was that it only felt that way from headquarters’ perspective.
Headquarters’ morale directly influenced the troops’, but the reverse wasn’t always true. Soldiers often interpreted events differently from command’s intent. They believed they had been defeated and were being pursued.
This wasn’t a matter of persuasion. No matter how loudly adjutants preached about objective victories and enemy schemes, ordering exhausted troops—who had marched long distances without visible gains—to march back the same way was no different from defeat.
“At least if they’d raided us, it’d feel less unfair.”
Sephor gripped his wine glass and sighed. The mountain silence seemed to crush the camp. Whose idea was this? Whose scheme?
-Fire! Fiiiire!!!
-Water!! Douse it with water!!!
Shouts erupted from all directions. The knights in the command tent and Duke Sephor leaped up simultaneously, yanking open the tent flaps.
And before their eyes.
The entire mountain was ablaze.
* * *
Flames raced across the slopes. Early summer, right after rain. This wasn’t a natural wildfire. Even dousing with oil and gunpowder, igniting a blaze this massive in one go under these conditions was nearly impossible.
“Magic!! Where are the mages?! Extinguish it! Now!!”
Duke Sephor bellowed as he dashed through the chaotic camp. He spotted his court mages far off, preparing spells. They had already begun firefighting efforts before his order.
“Tell me! What the hell is happening?!”
“F-Fire broke out, Your Grace!”
“I’ve got eyes too, mage! This is the first time your salary feels like such a waste.”
The old mage shrank under Sephor’s fury, terrified. Young or not, the duke was a born leader. His glare burned as if ready to devour the mage’s throat.
“Explain!”
“It’s magical flame. But there was no mana flow. Normally, a spell this size would trigger widespread mana detection beforehand. The night watch mage, and even now… no mana flow…”
“Speak in terms I can understand!”
“…In other words, no mage cast it. It’s an artifact or reagent!”
The mage’s face flushed crimson as he spat it out. Sephor clutched his forehead, paused, then roared as if to devour him.
“Not why—how! Damn it. Pelferin! Aren’t you ashamed of your court mage title? I don’t care about reasons right now. Tell me how to fix this mess, when it’ll be fixed—that’s why I pay your salary, grant you lands, fund your experiments, and throw women at you!”
“For artifacts, suppression is trickier. But relics this powerful are always documented. No flame artifact capable of this exists in the eastern Empire at least…”
“Next explanation!”
“F-For non-artifacts, two reagents can produce this effect!!”
Sephor froze mid-shout demanding solutions. Every strategy, every scheme had a certain “rhythm.” A specific “habit” of the planners and decision-makers.
Like a chess record. The consistency in move direction and purpose. Sephor was a great noble who had served in Erbe’s high command throughout the Fifty Years’ War.
‘Not the kind of scheme that stubborn Carbellier would pull.’
‘Beastmen? No, they lack the foundation for such delicate ploys to provoke the Empire. Their strategy focuses on plains rotations. This isn’t steppe nomad tactics…’
‘Someone. Someone incited Carbellier and the beastmen.’
Realization dawned; Sephor’s eyes gleamed. Someone trying to fracture the Empire? Why? For what?
Every scheme had purpose. No elaborate plot unfolded just “because they could.”
“Who. Where?”
“The Holy Pantheon’s ‘Liquid Flame,’ Asias High Council’s ‘Flowing Fire,’ and the Apotazar dynasty’s ‘Flame Cannon.’ These three produce similar effects, Your Grace!”
“Church, Asias, ghost lords.”
Sephor halted, clutching his head. Too broad. And those groups had no reason, motive, or goal to destroy the Empire. He’d assumed one of the margraves…
“Your Grace! W-We can’t extinguish it!”
“What nonsense is that?”
“The f-flames won’t go out. No… the spells aren’t activating!!”
“What?”
“Someone… some grand mage is nearby.”
A pale-faced mage who’d been preparing spells rushed up, prostrating.
“A grand mage, you say?”
“We can’t pinpoint where, but yes, Your Grace. Every time we try a spell, mana wedges fly in and pin it down.”
“…One person’s doing?”
“Not legion-scale magic warfare. We’ve actually secured this entire area as our mages’ domain. No enemy interference in the action itself.”
“Then how are spells failing?”
Sephor was a master of military science. Imperial doctrine prized analysis and grasp of magical forces above cavalry or infantry formations.
A graduate of the Imperial Officers’ Military Academy, he knew legion-scale magic warfare well: seizing a battlefield’s mana flows.
Grasp the mana streams crossing the sky, and you could unleash massive military spells across the field. Magic warfare was a contest for those flows.
Invisible to common eyes, dubbed the “Battle of Silence.” One mistake, one loss rippled across the entire battlefield in metaphysical dimensions.
So the mage’s words didn’t fit. Full control of local mana should prevent enemy spells entirely.
“It’s an individual! Not large-scale combat magic—we can’t block personal spells. But we’re attempting fixed-position large-scale spells… so they’re back-calculating and severing our flows.”
“Skip the jargon. Summarize.”
“Yes, Your Grace. The enemy is one person. A battle mage more skilled than all of us combined, severing flows with minimal mana, precise hits… We can’t locate them.”
The mage bit his lip in misery. Sephor could only laugh hollowly now. He chuckled incredulously and said.
“So that’s your conclusion? We don’t know who, don’t know where, can’t use magic, and fifteen thousand of us are huddled in a mountainside inferno, isolated?”
“…Yes, Your Grace.”
“Damn it, haha. Hahaha! Damn it! I want to fire you all and pay that mage your entire salaries. Why not? One mage outmatching all of Vulang’s battle mages?”
“It’s just technique. In full-scale magic war, it’s always about total output…”
“Damn it, shut up with that crap! What I need is a way to save my soldiers and a longsword to shove down your throats!”
Sephor whirled his horse. He bellowed at the command officers encircling him.
“Forget these incompetents! We break through ourselves!”
“Your Grace! The troops will scatter! We can’t control retreat paths through flames at night!”
“My soldiers are all Vulang’s folk! Damn it. Think they’ll settle down if they get lost in the Empire? Listen up!”
Sephor spurred forward, charging. Even panicked soldiers halted momentarily, staring at his momentum. Bathing in their gazes, Sephor roared.
“Sons of Vulang! Just survive! Descend alive, regroup alive. Your fathers, wives, children await you in Vulang! For survival, to protect your families groaning under beastman raids! Regroup in Vulang with sword and spear!”
Blood vessels bulging, eyes blazing, he scanned the chaos. Faces twisted in panic, fear, fatigue, pain—all visible.
“This isn’t defeat. Not desertion! Survival! Yours? Mine? No!! Your families’ survival!! Sons of Vulang. Just survive!!”
He drew his sword, pointing at the command knights.
“You, I—lord of Vulang, head of the great House Sephor, Antoine de Sephor—command: Clear the path, save your men! Charge!!”
“Yes, Your Grace!!”
The knights roared with resolve. Soon, the camp gates opened; soldiers surged out en masse. Into the flames. Beneath the boundary of blindingly bright earth and pitch-black sky.
Blazing mountain paths. Treacherous terrain without a single road. Piercing all, downward only.