Chapter 275
Chapter 275
Iron Emperor — Chapter 275
They absolutely had to buy time until Gauri's defensive troops reached their designated positions. It was because those troops were available that they could afford to be flexible with their forces now.
"By the way, has the enemy supreme commander been identified?"
Because they were encamped on the plain, they still had not been able to identify the enemy supreme commander.
"Fortunately, according to a report that just arrived, the rangers at Mount Trupal have identified him. The man leading the army as supreme commander is none other than Marquis Saint Public."
"You mean that fanatic?"
The moment he heard the name, Duke Baikal furrowed his brow.
Saint Public.
Also called Divine Saint Public, he was one of the Ten of the Continent and likewise a Sword Master. Though now the count would swell to eleven with the addition of Duke Ken of the Kingdom of Marlon.
And there was a reason Duke Baikal called him a fanatic.
The name that rolled off the tongues of storytellers was not Divine Saint Public, but Public the Cruel. The reason he was called that stemmed from his blind faith. A Holy Knight of the Holy Empire's order that served the Lord God, he spent his peacetime traveling to proselytize.
If, during one of his proselytizing journeys, he came across a village that worshipped folk faiths rather than the Lord God, he killed every last one of them—adult and child alike. Because he slaughtered without leaving even a single dog alive, the title Public the Cruel far more commonly preceded his name than Divine Saint Public.
"We absolutely must stop him."
Due to antipathy toward the Holy Empire, believers in the Lord God were rare in southern Roselin, making it prime prey for extermination. If there was a stroke of luck, it was that the northern region toward which he was now advancing contained many believers in the Lord God, thanks to the efforts of the old North Roselin royal house.
"Prepare to advance. We will engage the enemy at the exit of the Teimer Gorge."
"No ambush?"
At Marquis Bels's confirming question, Duke Baikal pressed his lips tight and shook his head. At that, Bels clicked his tongue and nodded in agreement.
The Teimer Gorge was suitable for an ambush, but with no escape route afterward, the risk of annihilation was high. In any situation other than one like this—where every soldier was precious and they absolutely had to buy time—it was a tactic best avoided.
"Then I will make the preparations."
Marquis Bels hurried out of the tent. A moment later the camp began to grow noisy with the shouts of soldiers.
"There is no ambush."
"There won't be. Even if they tried to ambush us here, only a small force could manage it, and with the terrain offering a narrow retreat path, they wouldn't set an ambush unless they intended to all die. You've worked hard. May the Lord God's blessing follow you."
"Glory to the Lord God!"
Wearing a gentle smile and bestowing a blessing on the knight, he was the very image of a saint. Yet the man bestowing that blessing was Saint Public—that is, Public the Cruel. Standing about 170 mir tall, he was on the larger side compared to ordinary soldiers, but his slender build made him appear smaller than his actual height.
With clean silver hair that reflected the sunlight and jewel-like blue eyes, he was closer to sacred than suited for the word cruel. The light wrinkles settling on his face even imparted a sense of comfort to those who looked upon him—truly, people are unknowable.
Around the time they were exiting the gorge, a knight galloped up from the vanguard.
"Marquis Public!"
"Speak."
In contrast to the knight's urgent behavior, he displayed an unhurried demeanor.
"The Roselin army has formed up on the hills beside the gorge exit. The Eastern Army's banner is raised, so it is unmistakably a force led by Duke Helios Baikal."
"They've taken a fine position."
Public nodded calmly, and as if he had anticipated at least this much, summoned his adjutants and began altering the formation.
"We are at a terrain disadvantage, so the moment battle begins, Count Baker and Viscount Mello are to each lead their cavalry divisions and envelop the flanks. Also, the Magic Corps is to concentrate solely on defense in this battle. Given the terrain, employing fire-type magic would be somewhat problematic."
"Understood."
"Now then."
When Marquis Public finished speaking and nodded to the adjutant beside him, the adjutant shouted in a booming voice.
"Forward!"
Bwoooooo!
The blare of the horn signaling the first battle spread wide through the gorge.
As the horn blast riding the wind bored into his ears, Duke Baikal raised his left hand.
"All troops, stand ready!"
A soldier with several flags strapped to his back raised the red flag that signaled combat preparations high and swept it through the air. The men who had been sitting at rest rose from their places, their faces tense as they gripped their weapons.
Part of them might have wished to rest a little longer, but if they stood up too late their legs wouldn't loosen properly, and they could make mistakes when they plunged into battle. It was necessary to stand in advance and loosen up adequately.
Perhaps because the Eastern Army had fought many battles and never forgotten that fact, the soldiers stood in place and waited for the approaching enemy, slapping their legs or rolling their shoulders.
"They're coming!"
From the direction of the gorge, some ten riders burst forth to signal the enemy's appearance. They had come into visual range. After the riders returned to the main force, the soldiers of the Holy Empire began to enter their sight.
The first thing to catch their eyes was the dense ranks of tower shields. The blue crosses painted on the tower shields—large enough to cover the whole body—gleamed softly, as if symbolizing the Holy Empire. The center of the formation parted, and a silver-haired middle-aged man rode out at an unhurried pace.
"So it truly is Saint Public."
Duke Baikal muttered in a calm voice, then slowly urged his horse forward and shouted toward his adjutant.
"Wait here. I'll go greet him. Hyah!"
Clatter-clatter! Clatter-clatter!
Unlike Public, who rode out with leisured ease, Duke Baikal spurred his horse powerfully and descended the hill.
The distance that had seemed far shrank in an instant, and he reined his horse to a stop with barely twenty mir left between himself and Public. The five guards who had followed behind Duke Baikal halted their mounts.
"Whoa, whoa."
Public also soothed his horse and came to a stop.
"Are you Duke Helios Baikal, renowned far and wide as the War God of the East?"
Public initiated the greeting.
"That I am! And would you be Divine Saint Public, he who styles himself the Sword of the Lord God?"
To the courteous greeting, Baikal replied with equal courtesy.
"It is a truly sorrowful thing that on a spring day like this, when new sprouts spread life amid the Lord God's blessing, we face one another meaning to take each other's lives."
As Public spread both arms to the sides and spoke with a regretful expression, the corner of Duke Baikal's mouth crept upward.
"Do not fret. Soon they will grow splendidly, nourished by blood rich in divine power."
"Oh dear, why must you speak such harsh words. I shall ask you one final time. Have you no thought of surrendering into the embrace of the Lord God? If it were you, I would petition His Imperial Majesty and raise you to a position of importance."
Even after hearing the sarcasm, Public maintained his humility to the end, and at that, the corner of Baikal's mouth rose even higher.
"Oh dear, why must you speak such foolish words. I shall ask you one final time. Have you no thought of escaping from the embrace of the Lord God? If it were you, I would petition His Majesty and raise you to a position of importance."
When Baikal mimicked his words and mocked him, Public's composed face began to twitch. Then came the words that drove the wedge into his shifting composure.
"Aren't you good at something? Butcher of men. I will personally ensure you get to sever the head of Emperor Millior."
"Why you—!"
As though Baikal's stratagem of provocation had finally proved too much to bear, the corners of Public's formerly benevolent eyes shot toward the sky, and his leisured lips quivered.
At last his fury detonated.
"Slaughter the heathens!"
The moment the fierce shout burst forth, a war cry erupted from one hundred fifty thousand voices, and a wave of shields began to advance. And Public spurred his horse back toward his main position.
"A surprisingly cold-blooded fellow."
Turning his horse and returning to his own lines, Baikal glanced back with regretful eyes. He had thought—leaning on the rumors of Public the Cruel—that if he provoked the man into a rage he might just charge at him.
He had indeed grown angry just as expected, but far from charging in, he had coldly wheeled his horse and simply returned to his main force.
"Archers, ready!"
As he entered the main formation and shouted, the archers stepped forward between the shieldbearers.
Thud! Step! Thud! Step!
Watching the soldiers of the Holy Empire advance in a steady rhythm, the archers drew their bowstrings. Even as they advanced, not many gaps were visible between the tower shields.
"If there are no gaps, one simply creates them."
Duke Baikal murmured as he watched the approaching curtain of tower shields, and when he raised his arm, a yellow flag rose behind it. Then the archers and shieldbearers all stepped one pace forward and moved to the left in unison.
It created the appearance that the archers were covered, but through the gaps the shieldbearers had vacated, barrels began to hurtle fiercely down the hill toward the Holy Empire troops.
Just as they were about to crash into the barrier of tower shields, Marquis Bels's command followed.
"Light them!"
Fwoosh!
Somehow, the bows of the archers who had been hidden behind the shieldbearers were already nocked with fire arrows—arrows wrapped in oil-soaked cloth.
Crash! Boom!
"Augh!"
"Don't fall back!"
Even though the soldiers had driven their tower shields into the earth to anchor them, cracks began to spiderweb everywhere as the barrels hurtled down and slammed into them. Occasionally a barrel that bounced high off a rock would sail right over the tower shields and land behind them.
Crack!
"Wh-what is this!"
"Oil! It's oil!"
The barrels that struck the tower shields shattered feebly and spewed the contents inside. Of course some barrels broke before even reaching the bottom or remained intact even after impact, but by then enough oil to carry out a fire attack had already spread across the ground.
"To think they grew careless because the hill is low—that was their mistake."
A sigh escaped the lips of Marquis Public as he watched his soldiers milling about in confusion. The Holy Empire troops at the front who realized it was oil soaking their bodies stared up at the low hill where the Roselin army stood, despair in their eyes.
"All volley—loose!"
Fwoosh—!
Trails of red flame tore through the empty air and soared toward the Holy Empire soldiers whose ranks had been thrown into disarray. Thousands of fiery streaks that had shot into the sunlit sky slowly rained down onto the heads of the Holy Empire troops who were screaming and trying to pull back.
"Waaaaah!"
The roar of the Roselin soldiers, who sensed success, echoed toward the gorge. But Duke Baikal alone wiped the smile that had surfaced on his face and let out a frustrated voice.
"Damn it. The operation is a failure."