Chapter 314
Chapter 314
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 314
Chapter Title: War of the Puppets (11)
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Amar Kagan's keshik, Jenbatbal, looked down at the face of the man who had been dragged in with a bored expression. Who knew how many this made? They were the ones who popped out of the night, set fire to allied supply wagons, and fled.
Most attempts ended in failure, but every now and then, ones like this guy risked their lives, burrowing deep into the camp to start fires. Those types never managed a proper escape and were quickly hauled back in.
“……!!”
“Take out his gag.”
As far as he knew, the Great Wilderness was beastkin territory. He'd heard that after the two great northern nations tore each other apart to mutual destruction, the beastkin—who had been the longstanding masters of the land—took control.
Yet every captive they brought in was a smooth-skinned human. Eastern humans.
“—!!”
“Hey, what’s this bastard saying?”
“Empire forever. That’s all he keeps repeating, General.”
“Ha, damn it all.”
He'd never seen one utter anything different even once. Was this something to admire as spirited resolve, or just get annoyed by?
Jenbatbal rubbed his furrowed brow and sighed. Almost none of these pests succeeded. But they kept charging in every night to burn things and die, so he couldn't slack on vigilance—and that slowed their advance.
On top of that, the troops he led were just one branch heading north. If this was happening at every northern route, it went from annoying to a nightmare.
“Shall we torture him?”
“No, let him be. No one's cracked under torture so far.”
“Then……?”
“Tell this city rat my words.”
He spurred his horse forward with a cluck, approaching the man on his knees. The horse's hoof stabbed into the ground right before the man's eyes. Jenbatbal's shadow stretched long over him.
“Do you hope this land lasts forever? Even when you won't see tomorrow's dawn?”
“—!”
“This guy's saying…….”
“No, never mind. I get the gist.”
He waved a hand, cutting off the interpreter. The words were predictable anyway. This wasn't the first imperial soldier they'd caught. He was probably boasting about his unbreakable will and the might of his empire. No need to hear it, no value in it.
“Your empire will last forever.”
“!!”
“We'll make it so. As a page in history. The history of the defeated. No people, city, or civilization lasts forever—but the history we'll leave will scar this land eternally. Congratulations. You're part of that era now.”
“—!!”
The man thrashed wildly against his bonds, shouting something. Familiar words. Probably curses. Jenbatbal chuckled. Fitting for loudmouthed vermin.
“What have you achieved against us? Fleeing for your lives or getting caught and dying like you. One or the other. I can't fathom why our ancestors never crossed your soft patch of dirt before. But now we have. Our Kagan wills your deaths, so die you shall.”
“—!!”
“This game's getting old. Tie him to the wagon wheel. He's plump enough; it'll make the cart roll smooth.”
Jenbatbal waved dismissively and turned his horse. Shouts echoed behind him, laced with the empire's peculiar accent.
Soon, those shouts turned to screams, then groans. Familiar. Boring.
“Annoying pests……. Set up camp!”
Night had fallen late. Normally, they had the stamina and situation to keep marching, but the recent nightly raids made night marches unappealing.
No matter. The keshik ahead was Kagan's great warrior, Chulun. No one imagined him losing to skirmishes like this, so a little delay was well within tolerance.
Even at a crawl, they could move three times faster than these slugs.
* * *
“……Your Highness.”
“Another star of the empire falls.”
Robert folded his spyglass with a sigh. He turned to the ranks of troops behind him. The enemy's supply lines were stretched thin heading north, so the force he personally led was modest.
Such scenes unfolded across the entire wasteland. One by one, the empire's patriots sacrificed themselves to harass the enemy advance.
Breakwaters. Suicide missions to wear down the foe and buy time for allies. As the one who devised them, Robert felt indebted to every soldier dying out here on the barren plain.
“Rest in peace.”
“He was an honorable knight to the end, Your Highness.”
“We all are. And we will be.”
Robert eyed his adjutant, who had followed him from Guerre. This operation demanded high loyalty and resolve—no half-hearted locals from other regions could handle it.
Even if Robert survived to the operation's end, he wouldn't reclaim his former influence. Guerre's forces would be halved, and the knightly class—painstaking to raise one by one—was now flying into enemy lines like moths to flame.
“……Prepare the next night raid.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Sons of Guerre, sons of the empire, stars of the empire. Let us shine together as shooting stars.”
“For the empire's glory.”
“Long live His Imperial Majesty.”
“It was an honor to serve you, Your Highness.”
Guerre's knights readied for departure once more. They couldn't charge with the full force at once. Even a raid meant courting death in open plains against them.
So they deployed small detachments focused solely on burning supplies. Everyone dying together was pointless, but one knight torching ten days' rations for an enemy unit was a fair trade.
In war, lives weighed less than numbers. At Robert's brief gesture, five cavalrymen veered wide in different directions toward the enemy camp—to obscure their position.
And once more, those five became noble ghosts under enemy hands that day.
* * *
Something's off. Black smoke rose thick enough to see from afar; the whole city must be engulfed. Chulun scowled at the city sprawled along the horizon.
“Did Jenbatbal beat us there?”
“No……I doubt it, General. The Kagan's reinforcements were promised just five days ago.”
“True. Even without fighting, no one crosses the Great Wilderness in five days.”
So why was the city burning?
“Civil unrest?”
“Maybe they panicked at our approach and turned on each other? Ha!”
“You. Scout it out.”
At Chulun's curt nod, an adjutant barked “Yes!” and spurred forward. It would've been suicide if their walls were intact, but even to the naked eye, they looked battered.
Not just the city. Faint black plumes rose from other villages along the horizon—anywhere villages might be. The Pale Horsemen cavalry had keen eyes, and on a clear summer day, black smoke stood out like signal fires.
Soon, the adjutant returned.
“General! The city's empty!”
“……Signs of battle?”
“None! They fled in a hurry—clean, no bodies, no blood, no broken gear!”
“Ah, damn it.”
Only then did Chulun grasp the enemy's moves. He growled.
“Cowards. They ran!”
“How far could they get abandoning their city, General? They took every civilian, so not far! Pursue?”
“Of course! Heman! Heman!”
“Yes, General!”
“How much food for the warriors?”
“Dried rations only, but enough for ten days!”
Ten days. Chulun clicked his tongue. He'd planned to loot the city's stores tonight, feast on their fine wine. After days of grueling marches that nearly exhausted the warriors, he'd promised a festival to quell their growing unrest.
“Tell the warriors: we'll hunt the fugitives, then feast. Each gets at least one bottle of wine, one cow, three women!”
“Yes, General!”
He tsked and nodded; the adjutant galloped off to relay to the whole camp. Despite the generous promise, grumbles rose among the warriors.
Nearly a fortnight since piercing the wasteland. They'd detoured to avoid fights, but even so, an astonishing pace.
His command: forty thousand cavalry, a massive host. No stragglers in that forced march, thanks only to Pale Horsemen riding prowess.
Yet they were human too—without food, drink, rest, they couldn't fight forever. Ten days' rations left meant preparing for the worst.
“I won't kill you clean, city rats.”
Chulun tsked once more and advanced. His forty thousand followed toward Vlang.
It was the third day since the Ho Clan Alliance and Duke Sepor's house issued evacuation orders to all cities and subjects near Vlang, launching scorched earth tactics.
* * *
“Your Majesty, urgent missive from Court Chamberlain Tremure.”
“Let him in.”
Rene Philippa sat on the throne, gazing down at the man approaching across the audience chamber rug.
It had been just over a fortnight since Robert left for Libye. When he first rushed down from Guerre to audience her, the ministers had scoffed at his wild claims.
All except Rene. She knew Robert wasn't one for empty words. He was reliable. His prediction of the Pale Horsemen invasion soon proved true.
Fortunate. They could prepare for war before Libye burned again. She eyed the courier, praying for good news.
“Endless glory to the Holy Revaunteer Empire. Long live the Emperor!”
“Enough. What's Tremure's message?”
“Your Majesty. With deepest respect……the Chamberlain has petitioned for the Imperial Levy.”
He carefully drew a sealed letter from his robes. An attendant took it and presented it to Rene. Sealed with House Tremure's mark.
“The Imperial Levy? Does that mean the count lost?”
“Ha! Do you know how many troops he had? The full Paltenoia host!”
“‘Nearly’ the full host,” the Comptroller interjected.
“That's as good as full! What's left here is barely enough for policing!”
“Enough! This is the Emperor's court!”
Ministers clamored loudly. Expected. Robert's words meant defeat. Rene read the letter slowly, then set it down.
“Is the count dead?”
“No, Your Majesty. He leads Guerre's main force into the wasteland to intercept the enemy.”
“And Paltenoia's expeditionary force returns in full?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. But whether there's time…….”
“Isn't Duke Sepor of Vlang there? Weak as he is, he'll hold a few days! Your Majesty! Divert the returning troops to Vlang. This is Tremure's blunder!”
“Indeed, Your Majesty!”
Rene pondered silently. Why had Robert judged so? She was sharp and grasped it quickly.
He deemed Vlang unable to withstand alone against their might. Robert marched into the wasteland to sever supplies; if the enemy pushed to Vlang, it'd lead straight to Paltenoia—so fortify the gap.
-Tap, tap.
Rene drummed her fingers on the throne arm, lost in thought. Was that all? No underestimating the foe, but could Vlang truly not hold days?
Word was their whole force was cavalry. Horses guzzled supplies. Cut the lines, and their power crumbled.
But if Vlang fell? They'd resupply and advance anew. Facing them in open battle? No victory. Paltenoia's force was small.
The civil war against the late emperor left Paltenoia mostly Libye troops. Imperial guards had perished at Ravirata. Short on men. So short……
“Issue the Imperial Levy.”
“Your Majesty!!”
“Tremure marched risking the headsman's axe—and penned this with his blood and life. We must honor it. Which minister here would leave a letter with their dying breath?”
“……Your Majesty, but consider coldly! The Levy……!”
“Yes. I know. It wounds imperial authority.”
The Imperial Levy wasn't a free call-up of standing mercenaries. Vassals had veto and self-defense rights. The emperor was their representative, not absolute monarch.
Thus, summoning and drawing their forces required imperial concessions. Most demands would weaken court politics.
But she trusted Robert. Severing supply lines? No easy feat. If vanguard reversed now, his forces would be crushed between it and main supply trains.
A man like Robert wagering his life meant cause. Trust beyond intel: between heroes who toppled the old emperor and built anew. Not the man, his ability.
“Marquis Grimoir is nearby—fortunate. Order assembly at West Palz. Same terms to Duke Poitiers and Duke Arnan. Blancpierre to Vlang. Jangson near Vlang: assess there, then strike enemy rear heading to Paltenoia.”
“……As you command, Your Majesty.”
“And to Duke Bares.”
Rene slapped the armrest. She narrowed her eyes, scanning the bowed ministers.
“Request aid from the Eastern Kingdom Alliance. House Bares regained lands through Dane's King Vicente's mercy. Go to him personally, plead again.”
“Y-Your Majesty! That's……!”
“This letter says vanguard alone is forty thousand horse! Scrape every imperial cavalry—how many?”
“……”
“Shall I answer? Comptroller! Total Paltenoia expeditionary strength!”
“Your humble Comptroller Bimoor reports: three thousand cavalry, six thousand infantry, three thousand heavy infantry, three hundred knights.”
“Indeed. Hear that? Barely over twelve thousand total. Cavalry laughable; one infantryman per three enemy horse falls short! Now, full levy from vassals?”
“……”
“Last civil war, cavalry scraped to sixteen thousand! Conscripts push infantry past a hundred thousand. But opening levies, mustering peasants? A month? Half-year?”
Rene eyed the silent, bowed ministers and tsked. Unlike absolute monarchies, the empire's forces weren't under one command. Vassal standing armies varied wildly by whim.
The empire's strength: endless resources fueling vast conscripts. Infantry made it continent's strongest—even peasant levies outgeared and trained rivals.
But in this speed of war, weaknesses showed. Standing forces begged via “negotiation,” actions highly autonomous.
The Fifty Years' War was protracted—empire's specialty. Yet foes pierced the wasteland in a fortnight—the one the empire invaded for fifty years—and headed for cities. Where now? Even that unknown.
Beyond politics. Rene wouldn't ignore Fernandez's warnings on “Pale Horsemen threat.” She stood abruptly to the Cavalry Marshal.
“Bring my helm and mount!”
“Y-Your Majesty!”
“If you lot won't fight, must I—who will defend the empire—go myself?”
“Your Majesty, please reconsider!”
“Depart now! Even now, Tremure risks his life! Hurry!”
“Yes, Your Majesty! As you command!”
Ministers fled; envoys scattered empire-wide. Only then did Rene sit, sighing. Half-year post-civil war, war again. Might go down as most warlike ruler in history.
“Lord Cerned. Better if you'd skipped expedition, married me.”
Then one reasonable noble in court. Rene chuckled wryly, vowing: when that bastard returns, she'd tie him down for the wedding.