Chapter 290
Chapter 290
The Iron Emperor — Chapter 290
Despite his solemn expression, his voice carried a hint of lightness, almost a jest. At this, the soldiers burst into laughter, and what little unease remained among them dissolved.
"Then today, before we fight, we feast!"
"Yeahhh!"
"Hoorah!"
The soldiers' cheers spilled over the fortress walls, reaching the ears of the approaching Holy Empire army.
* * *
Hearing the distant cheers from Palaka Fortress, Public Marquis spoke calmly.
"The morale of these heathens seems formidable."
"It matters little. Before long, they'll be begging for their lives."
Count Turbes, who had gained favor during the last council, stood at Public Marquis's side, brimming with confidence. Far from disliking it, Public Marquis let out a hearty chuckle and issued his orders.
"Ha ha ha, let us make camp here as well."
"Yes, my lord."
As Count Turbes and the staff officers relayed Public Marquis's commands to the knights, the massive force of one hundred fifty thousand began to move like a single living organism.
Moving swiftly, they constructed their camp using wagons that had hauled palisades in preparation for a counter-raid, and gradually the broad plain transformed into a fortress in its own right.
They were elite troops, without question.
* * *
In the midst of the frantic barrack construction, one soldier straightened up, nostrils flaring.
"Sniff, sniff—this is..."
A rich, savory aroma of food had come drifting on the wind.
It had been so long since he'd properly smelled real food that his mouth flooded with saliva in an instant.
"Damn, that smells incredible."
"You think they're handing out food before the battle?"
The soldiers murmured among themselves, each indulging in fantasies sparked by the fragrant scent.
But it didn't take long for them to realize that the smell was coming not from their own camp, but from the Roselin army's Palaka Fortress.
"Hell, I'd rather just storm the place right now."
For men who hadn't laid eyes on a proper meal in days, the rich aroma of food was tantamount to torture.
One by one, they stopped working and rose to their feet, noses twitching. They couldn't eat it, but they seemed determined to at least inhale their fill of the smell.
"What are you doing! Move any slower and there'll be no supper tonight!"
"Ack!"
At the threat that even the barely edible slop they called a meal might be taken away, the soldiers who had been absorbed in sniffing the air hurriedly pretended to work. But their minds were already filled with imaginings of food.
The Holy Empire's command was not unaware of the soldiers' unrest.
"To resort to such childish provocation."
One of the nobles furrowed his brow, staring toward the source of the food smell.
The nobles themselves, having continued to eat well-prepared meals, felt no agitation, but observing the soldiers' current behavior, they sensed it was not a favorable development.
"Hmm, then couldn't we turn this situation to our advantage?"
"Precisely."
When Public Marquis made the oblique remark, Count Turbes smiled and answered at once.
"Ha ha ha, Count Turbes, having you here makes things considerably easier."
"I will spread the word among the soldiers during mealtime."
"That would be best."
Count Turbes saluted the nodding Public Marquis and hurried out of the barracks.
Their idea was simple.
While distributing food to the soldiers, they needed only to say: once we take that fortress, we'll feast on the enemy's own provisions. That alone would turn discontent into fighting spirit.
* * *
Kee-ee-ee!
Deathspells—birds said to feed on corpses—had caught the scent of the battlefield and circled overhead in flocks. Below them, the soldiers of the Holy Empire stood in orderly ranks, their spears and swords gleaming. Behind them, siege catapults and other engines had been positioned.
"I never imagined they would pile stone walls in front of the gates like that to conceal them. The battering rams we hauled all this way have been rendered nearly useless."
"Indeed. And the fortress structure itself has been altered somehow."
After the war ended, all the fortresses along the route to the capital had been crudely repaired, modeled after Gauri-style fortification techniques.
There had been some unease because the terrain was unsuitable for digging a moat, but the barbican—built after the fashion of Gauri gate structures—had compensated for that deficiency to some degree.
For the Holy Empire army, however, which was accustomed to the tactic of filling in moats, crossing them, and smashing gates with rams, the fact that no gate was visible from the outside was creating a genuinely troublesome situation.
But it was merely troublesome. With a disparity in troop strength this great, there was no real cause for worry. What cause for concern could there be when one commanded a massive army of one hundred fifty thousand?
"Offer them terms of surrender."
At Public Marquis's low command, a single rider began galloping up the hill, as if he had been waiting for just this moment.
As the rider sped off, one of the attendants reversed an hourglass. Reaching the front of the gate, the rider raised a piece of charcoal and began writing something on one side.
Estimating by eye and making a direct mounted approach were two very different things. A staff officer, having read what the attendant had noted, ran toward the cavalry to relay something; the scene was one of bustling activity.
Before the fortress, a knight unfurled a scroll and began reciting the summons to surrender. When he had finished reading it through, a single scroll and a bundle were flung down at him from inside the fortress. Dismounting to retrieve them, the knight opened the scroll, read it, then remounted and rode back at a gallop.
Arriving at the camp, the knight raised the scroll and bundle he had received from the fortress and presented them with both hands to Public Marquis.
"Hmm."
Count Turbes accepted them on Public Marquis's behalf and read through the scroll.
"What does it say?"
"W-Well, that is..."
At Public Marquis's question, Count Turbes's face flushed red and he could not continue.
Growing somewhat impatient, Public Marquis snatched up the scroll and read it himself.
[If you surrender now, we might at least feed you one full meal. If that doesn't suit you, then eat the food we've sent and get lost.
— Geomheul, Commander of the Great Gauri Forces]
"......."
One thing Public Marquis had been noticing lately was that ever since the nation called Gauri had thrust itself into the continent's wars, propriety had gone utterly missing.
"The food would be a waste. You eat it."
With a wry scoff, Public Marquis slowly raised one hand.
Gulp.
The sound of someone's throat working echoed.
Flutter!
As Public Marquis's arm fell toward the earth, his cloak billowed with a soft rustle.
That single motion was the signal that began the Battle of Palaka Fortress.
"Shields up!"
Bwoo-oo-oo-oo~!
The deep bellow of horn-shell trumpets rang out, and the soldiers hoisted their great tower shields in unison.
"Slow advance!"
With another shouted order, a banner rose. Almost simultaneously, a banner of the same color went up elsewhere, and the horn trumpets sounded twice in short bursts. Then came the first step.
THUD-THUD-THUD!
The feet of the lead soldiers struck the ground so nearly in unison that the very earth seemed to tremble. One foot strode forward in a great step, and the trailing foot was drawn up behind it.
The imperial army did not hurry. Bodies hidden behind shields, they began to advance, slowly, ever so slowly. The long-striding steps of the Holy Empire soldiers fell into an uncanny cadence.
* * *
THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!
"Mmm."
Geomheul, who had written the scroll, and Count Trenis, commander of Palaka Fortress, both groaned involuntarily.
Looking down from above, the advance of the Holy Empire army created the illusion of an oncoming wave. Their unhurried advance pressed in with an overwhelming sense of pressure.
"The quality of their training is unmistakably different."
"They are called the strongest on the continent, after all."
At Geomheul's admiration, Count Trenis replied in a bitter voice.
Though they were the enemy, the movements of the Holy Empire soldiers visible to Geomheul's eyes commanded genuine admiration. But that was all. This was no time simply to admire.
"Count, prepare to respond."
"Aye."
At Geomheul's words, Count Trenis gritted his teeth and raised the banner at his side. At once, horn trumpets resounded from within the fortress as well. One long note followed by two short ones.
"Draw!"
Men's powerful voices rang out, and the catapult ropes were hauled back in unison.
Ka-thud-thud-thuk!
With an eerie twisting groan, the catapult baskets were pulled down toward the ground. A soldier quickly stepped forward and locked them in place.
Into the empty baskets of the tautly drawn catapults, stones the size of men's heads, prepared in advance, began to be loaded.
"Archers forward!"
"Forward!"
The soldiers moved as they had been trained. They were on edge, but no longer showed signs of trembling, and to see that, one would think them no less impressive than the soldiers of the Holy Empire.
"I'll say it once more—all we have to do is hold! Do not overreach! Don't even try too hard to kill many of them. Live long, and just keep the enemy from setting foot inside this fortress! That is all!"
It was not a cry demanding they pledge loyalty and lay down their lives, but a practical one.
Count Trenis's shout was, oddly enough, kindling the soldiers' will to fight. Wasn't a practical injunction better than an order to kill the enemy at all costs?
A practical injunction stirs motivation.
Whether in war or otherwise...
Count Trenis stood atop the watchtower in full view of the enemy, holding the banner of the Roselin royal house in one hand. His chest swelled slightly, then he roared.
"Catapults—loose!"
"Loose!"
At Count Trenis's command, a soldier repeated the order and brought down the hammer he held with all his strength.
CLANG!
THWUMP! THWUMP!
The instant the hammer struck the catch holding the catapult, a tremendous sound thrummed through the air as the stones soared into the sky. The boulders loosed from ten catapults blanketed the heavens.
As the catapults of Palaka Fortress fired, simultaneous shouts erupted from the ranks of the advancing Holy Empire infantry.
"Fly!"
As if they had been waiting in readiness, wizards shot upward from among the shieldbearers. Maintaining fixed intervals, they fixed their gaze upon the falling boulders and began to chant at full voice.
"Oum Sala Umtaa!"
"Oum Sala Umtaa!"
The moment the nearly simultaneous incantations ended, enormous barriers materialized above the soldiers' heads. And at that same instant, the boulders began their descent.
CRASH-CRASH-CRASH!
Like thunderclaps in a clear sky, the boulders blocked by the shields rang out with deafening noise as they ricocheted in every direction.