Chapter 192
Chapter 192
The Iron Emperor — Chapter 192
Baron Aliman, held accountable for the day's battle, was beheaded on the spot. Normally it would not have come to execution, but the presence of military observers from the Three Great Empires forced overall commander Marquis Mandonel to pin every failure on Baron Aliman and bury him as the scapegoat.
Casualties from this first engagement reached over 2,900 dead alone, with another 4,500 wounded, ranging from severe to minor. Considering that the force originally committed to the first battle numbered fifteen thousand, the loss of over seven thousand fighting effectives was a devastating result—one that would gravely disrupt the conduct of the war from this point forward.
As for the siege engines, the soldiers had abandoned every single one in their flight; only the dozen or so held by the main camp remained. But the greater loss was not the siege engines. Of the thirty-some magical combatants attached to the advance force, only seven returned alive. And of the hundred and ten knights, led by a baronet, who had held command, a mere twenty-some survived—an absurd outcome.
Absurd enough that it could not simply be dismissed as unavoidable combat loss. In the pattern of warfare up to now, even enemies did not single out opposing commanders to kill. That had been the continent's unspoken covenant.
Why else would there exist Continental Law, drafted for the benefit of nobles?
That such a result occurred regardless meant Gauri, their opponent in this war, was a foe to whom Continental Law did not apply. Truth be told, if Gauri had ever abided by Continental Law, this war between Roselin and Gauri could not have happened in the first place. But the logic of a dominant nation's power simply insisted that they were justice and Gauri was evil.
While the Roselin camp choked on bitter defeat after the first battle's disaster, Gauri was already bustling with preparations for the war that would surely continue.
Roughly a thousand reserve troops who had not participated in the first day's fighting advanced before the fortress, recovered the bodies of fallen comrades from beneath the wall, and gathered up the Roselin soldiers' weapons and the abandoned catapults. And abundant though their stores were, just in case, the Gauri troops meticulously collected every single log-arrow and stone they had sent flying. No matter how much matériel one gathered, it was never enough; no matter how thorough the preparations, they were always insufficient.
"The dead number two hundred eighty-six—light, by any measure—but the wounded approach five hundred. We will know more with time, but half the wounded may require prolonged recovery, or may be unable to continue prosecuting the war."
Though his body was clotted with dried blood, Geom Mudal, reporting to Hailon, wore a bright expression without a care. But the face of Hailon—the hero of this battle who was receiving that report—did not look nearly so bright.
"You have done well."
Hailon praised Mudal's efforts, yet his face refused to lighten. In the room where the two of them stood alone, only a silence that bore no trace of a great victory hung in the air.
"......Is it because of the dead soldiers?"
"......."
At Mudal's cautious question, Hailon merely kept his expression rigid. Silence means assent.
"I never knew the position of commander would be like this."
Perhaps because only Hailon and Mudal were present in the room, Hailon let slip a fragile voice. For Hailon, who had lived a soldier's life and worse, every single one of the dead soldiers simply weighed on his heart.
"It is different from when you were a common soldier."
From Mudal came not consolation but only a composed tone. The moments spent laughing and celebrating with comrades during his soldiering days rose to mind—comrades who had later become corpses in the war. To Hailon, who knew that grief intimately, sorrow for the dead arrived before any joy in victory.
"His Majesty the Yeolje must have waged war holding all of this in his heart."
At Hailon's stiffened voice, Mudal slowly added words.
"He did. And do not grieve yet. Grieving can be done after the war is over. That is what it means to be a commander."
"My apologies."
At Mudal's reproach, Hailon gave a bitter smile and nodded. He had a duty to defend this place, and the war was not yet over.
"Then I should go out."
Hailon's face, now resolved, no longer held any gloom. One might call it a maturing sight.
"If you look after the exhausted soldiers, it will give them strength. In the old days, when we fought alongside His Majesty the Yeolje, that was our greatest comfort. Are we not comrades-in-arms, after all?"
"Thank you for your help."
Smiling, Hailon was the first to exit the barracks. Watching his back, Mudal found himself smiling without realizing it. He sensed a humane strength different from the commanders born of Gauri. Perhaps that was what had carried him to this position. Mudal felt he now understood, if only a little, why Go Jin-cheon had entrusted great responsibility to Hailon—a man who stood in contrast to the Gauri commanders known as War Demons.
The most human of commanders might be ill-suited for war, but perhaps having one such person was itself a necessity on a battlefield where humanity was steadily extinguished.
Chapter 59 — The Demon of the Forest
Bodies damp with the moisture of dawn.
Eulji Buru and the Gauri soldiers, having entrusted themselves to the undergrowth in wait, did not so much as twitch despite the insects crawling over their bodies and the clammy irritation. If anything, some of them were cupping their hands gently around the shrilling grass bugs. To savor the sound, perhaps?
Others were carefully cradling small mountain birds in their palms. The fragile birds, unable to escape a human grip, warbled mournfully without pause. Though the obvious purpose of concealment was to hide, these men were artificially holding a piece of nature captive and listening to the sounds it produced as though to music.
'They're coming.'
From a spot hidden by brush, a single arm rose slowly.
Whether the others saw the signal or not was impossible to say. Only that identical hands rose slowly above the brush in several places and then lowered again. Was that enough?
The hand that had risen first slowly vanished back into the brush. And before long, countless wagons creaked and rumbled their approach.
* * *
Clatter. Clatter.
The wagon wheels clattered noisily. Though old rags had been wrapped around the wooden wheels, likely to muffle the sound, they could not hide the racket of the wagons themselves shuddering along.
"That stretch ahead looks like an ambush risk."
"Shall I send soldiers to check?"
In waging war, supply plays an outsized role. Food and weapons above all were absolute necessities. No matter how many provisions the main army brought with it, a limit always existed. Supply was therefore one of the factors that determined victory or defeat, and it inevitably carried considerable risk—especially when one had pushed deep into enemy territory like this. Viscount Alfonso, commanding the supply convoy, shook his head at his adjutant, Baronet Halmeon, who had cautiously posed the offer.
"If there were an ambush, the advance screen we sent ahead could hardly fail to notice. These aren't ordinary scouts—they are exceptional rangers. They would never simply pass over an ambush. Moreover, the fact that the insect-sounds and birdcalls still ring means the place holds no ambush."
"Indeed!"
At Viscount Alfonso's explanation, Baronet Halmeon burst out in admiration. He nodded along, surveying their surroundings.
"It seems I am gaining much experience in this war."
"Pay attention to what I do. That will serve you greatly even when you return to the homeland."
"Understood!"
Baronet Halmeon answered with a broad smile at Viscount Alfonso's words. Then, as though striving not to forget, he scanned the area—and abruptly cocked his head as if something troubled him. At the sight, Viscount Alfonso asked with a hearty laugh.
"Ho-ho, what seems strange?"
"Nothing, my lord Viscount. It is only that the birdcalls and insect-sounds feel a touch... off? But setting that aside, the fact that they keep on shrilling even as a supply column passes by—it leaves an odd feeling."
No sooner had his words ended than Viscount Alfonso's face stiffened.
A supply column of this size passing through should normally cause insects and birds to cease their calls for a time. Instead they were shrilling even more loudly?
"Hold the column a mome—"
Flutter-rrrrustle!
Just as the viscount raised his hand with a foreboding thought, the sound of birds bursting into flight reached his ears. And at the same moment, the insect shrilling died away all at once.
"M-My lord Viscount, I did not quite catch that......"
The young Baronet Halmeon put a cautious question to Viscount Alfonso. But the viscount let out a faint chuckle, waved his hand, and replied.
"No. Merely a moment of nerves, it seems."
With an embarrassed laugh, Viscount Alfonso lowered his waving hand and took the reins again. And that became the signal.
FWEEEE!
"Hrk!"
The moment the pipe-whistle rang through the forest, the sound of air escaping came from the knight riding at the head of the column. His body then toppled and crashed headfirst to the ground. The heavy thud of an armored knight striking the earth echoed, and the supply column plunged into chaos.
FWEET-FWEET!
FWEET!
FWEEEE!
"The enemy!"
Shrill pipe-whistles rang out from every direction, and the bodies of knights and escort soldiers collapsed one after another. Whenever a whistle sounded, without fail, a soldier tumbled to the ground, and the terror doubled. The pipe-whistles resounding from all sides were more than enough to rob the attacked of the presence of mind to gauge the enemy's position.
"Form a circular defense around the supply wagons!"
When Viscount Alfonso himself issued orders to the panicking soldiers, his subordinate knights barely managed to drive the men into forming a battle line. But they had yet to even glimpse the enemy's shape, and the pipe-whistles ringing from every direction made it impossible to estimate their numbers—a factor that only amplified the unease in the commanders' hearts.
"Gahk!"
"Baronet Halmeon!"
A pipe-whistle buried itself in the back-plate of Baronet Halmeon as he urged the soldiers on, and Viscount Alfonso's stricken cry followed. The one-sided attack continued, and no one could even think of pushing into the forest. In the circular formation they had barely managed to form, soldiers fell one by one to the incoming arrows.
"Sir Becker!"
"Yes, Viscount Alfonso!"
Judging that only mounting losses would result from this situation, Viscount Alfonso summoned a knight of his retinue and ordered him to lead soldiers into the forest. Sir Becker, receiving Viscount Alfonso's command, launched himself into the wood with his attendant knights and rangers.
"Into the forest!"
Whether his voice had somehow carried above the clamor of the pipe-whistles or not, the attendant knights and rangers sprinted desperately toward the trees. But this time a sound unlike the pipe-whistles boomed forth.
WHOOSH-WHOOSH-WHOOSH!
The sound of a great windmill turning—or perhaps the noise a swung log might make?
"Hut!"
The sound was rushing straight toward Sir Becker at the head of the charge, and at the sight of what appeared before his eyes, he swallowed a gasp. Without even time to think, Sir Becker reacted as his training had drilled into him, raising his shield to block the object hurtling at him in furious rotation.
Crrr-ack!
The sound of the shield shattering and the object lodging solidly rang out.
"Aaagh! Sir Becker!"
The whirling missile was a great axe bearing a blade the size of a man's torso. No one would imagine such a weapon could be thrown, and how many could actually throw it?
"Impossible!"
Yet the great axe that had flown in defiance of common sense not only shattered Sir Becker's shield but split his sturdy plate mail and the heart-guard beneath it.
Sir Becker's corpse—cleaved grotesquely from head to waist by the great axe—transmitted the force of the throw still further as it was hurled backward, spinning through the air two more revolutions as though the axe and the body were one before it crashed away.
Crrr-ack!
Sir Becker's flung corpse slammed into the side of a wagon, scattering entrails and sliding to the ground. At the sheer savagery, an attendant knight, overcome with fury, screamed a bloodshot cry and charged toward the forest.
"You demon bastards!!"
The attendant knight threw himself forward fiercely, and the other attendant knights and rangers behind him made to follow—when pipe-whistles, as though aimed at one man alone, flew in.
Thud-thud-thud-thwack!
"Grrrk."
The howl of rage, sworn to avenge his superior, could not carry him more than a few steps before dozens of arrows embedded themselves throughout his body. The lead attendant knight crumbled helplessly, his dying groan mingled with blood. At the sight, the feet of the others who had meant to charge into the forest froze solid. And the moment they stopped, the arrows, as though losing all interest in those who did not advance, flew instead toward the knights further back and the archers resisting them.
'Step forward and you die!'
In an instant, the thought bloomed in all their heads alike.