Blood-Red Dawn
It was a blood-red dawn.
The first battle had ended, and at last the sun rose beyond the gorge.
A crimson-soaked mist crawled slowly across the basin, the still-warm reek of blood mingling with the cold air until it hung thick around the tents.
Even though the fighting was over, the tension had not fully left the soldiers’ faces.
Thud. Thud.
They moved with hurried steps to finish the work left incomplete from the night before. Their bodies were heavy with the fatigue of the previous night’s battle, yet there was no room to dwell on such things.
“Emergency officers’ meeting. You are ordered to the commander’s office.”
At Velkain’s summons the messengers began delivering the orders. The officers who received them hurried toward the temporary commander’s tent where Velkain waited.
“He is waiting inside. Please enter.”
Claw, standing outside the tent, greeted each arriving officer one by one. At last, when First Prince Sedrian and his escort Svein arrived, everyone was present.
“If all are here, we shall begin the meeting.”
Claw conducted the proceedings. He pointed to the map hanging on the wall.
“After advancing one more day from here, we intend to establish a temporary camp in the basin shown here. Thereafter we will assess the enemy’s movements and act according to the situation.”
No sooner had Claw finished than one of the officers studying the map spoke up.
“But it seems rather much for this entire force to garrison there. Packed tightly like that, if the enemy attacks we could take heavy losses before we even respond, could we not?”
It was Lieutenant Colonel Luokal, recently promoted to regiment commander. At his words the other officers examined the map carefully and nodded as if half in agreement.
Then the 2nd Regiment Commander Brant, standing beside him, stroked his chin and spoke quietly.
“That said, pushing farther forward carries many risks as well. At present the only ground fully reconnoitered is this… basin. We have no information whatsoever about what lies beyond.”
Every gaze fixed on Brant. He continued.
“To drive forward without any prediction of how the enemy has laid their ambushes or how their main force has formed its defensive lines would be reckless.”
His eyes stopped on the blank stretch of the map—the most dangerous place of all for them, unreconnaitered and utterly unknown.
“Hmm…”
Of course a way could be made if they chose. As always they could advance while a vanguard checked the terrain ahead. Yet the main force was simply too large, and Brant believed a moment to catch their breath was needed now.
At his words Luokal stared at the map in silence.
“…I agree. Moreover the enemy will have grasped our strength by now as well.”
Luokal withdrew without further protest. This was a war in which a full fifty thousand troops were on the move. The earlier advance that had felt almost forced had been a deliberate operation—to anticipate the enemy’s ambush and shatter it. But the phase had changed. The first battle was over; now a clash of main forces was expected, with the other side fully aware of their strength. To move wrongly without information could bring irreversible damage.
Still…
“Of course, establishing a base in the basin will work against us in many ways. For that reason… it would be best to split the forces, move into the high ground, and ascertain the enemy’s situation.”
Sedrian nodded at Brant’s words.
“Colonel Brant’s opinion looks sound. Although we won the first battle… because of it our strength, including the Silent Spear unit, has been revealed. They will prepare accordingly.”
The officers present nodded. Yet they could not fight while keeping that card hidden. Without the vanguard’s operation they would have suffered far heavier losses in the first engagement; the balance would have collapsed completely before the true battle even began.
Velkain, who had listened in silence until now, spoke in a low voice.
“We will proceed as planned, without change. …It cannot yet be said that our entire strength has been exposed.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Are you saying there are additional forces?”
The officers asked with puzzled faces. Was there something they did not know?
Instead of answering, Velkain looked to Sedrian. The prince nodded. Then Velkain said,
“In war one cannot ignore numbers… yet what renders those numbers meaningless is the military power possessed by the armed ones.”
Every officer who had stood on a real battlefield understood the meaning. Even in diplomacy with the southern kingdoms, who held how many star-level warriors decided the high ground. An armed one of 5-Star or higher who could freely wield aura was a national asset in himself—that was why they received such extraordinary treatment.
Still the officers could not hide their confusion. Why state something everyone already knew? Was someone of 5-Star skill or greater coming to this harsh Northern Front?
Velkain looked at them and said,
“General Lukael Hargeil is coming here at the head of three thousand troops.”
“…!”
The tent erupted in murmurs.
“G-General Lukael Hargeil, you say?”
“The general who returned to the capital after the northeastern front two years ago?”
After being summoned to the center and entangled in political strife, his name had vanished from the Northern Front. And now that man was returning north? The meaning was clear: a political movement far beyond simple reinforcement.
Brant carefully opened his mouth.
“…Then has General Lukael been firmly sorted as one of ours?”
With the struggle for the throne now fully in the open, even fellow Imperial soldiers could not simply be called “completely the same side.” The Second Prince’s forces, rather, had to be treated as enemies. Yet Lukael was coming north. Was this not the very feeling of gaining a thousand troops and ten thousand horses?
Sedrian shook his head.
“That is not the case.”
“…What?”
“Then why is General Lukael coming here…?”
The air inside the tent grew heavy with uncertainty. The realm of 6-Star. A man who had earned the title of general through recognized merit. The three thousand he led were an independent force that answered only to his command. And he had not fully taken the First Prince’s side—so why come to the Northern Front?
Sedrian spoke again.
“He said he wishes to stand on the same battlefield as Major Arteon.”
That short remark. With it a faint smile brushed Velkain’s lips—he understood exactly what those words meant.
Velkain looked over the officers.
“The battle at dawn is a very small matter compared to what lies ahead. We must prepare for far greater situations, so none of you are to let your guard down even a fraction.”
“Understood.”
“Yes, Commander.”
When the meeting ended and the officers filed out, Velkain turned to Claw, who alone remained.
“Where is Major Arteon now?”
By now the sun had fully risen and light settled over the once-dark mountains. Yet around the Imperial camp the bloody stench left by battle and the reek of scorched earth mixed into a heavy, turbid air. In the cold of the north the mingled smell of soil and blood refused to fade.
Srrrng.
The blade of Iglis slid across the whetstone with a sharp metallic ring. Arteon felt the fine vibration in his arm and sharpened the spearhead with steady breath. From the night-long fighting, dried blood still clung to the tip and fine nicks remained along the edge.
He pushed the blade across the stone once more with firm pressure, then narrowed one eye and lifted it into the light. A cold, clear streak of dawn light stretched long across the steel.
“Hmm.”
He gave a small nod of satisfaction. Footsteps approached from behind.
“Are you finished?”
“Seems done… no. It is done. More importantly—the men?”
He still found it awkward to speak casually to Isaac. In the heat of battle the words had come naturally enough from urgency.
Isaac noticed and smirked as he nodded.
“Equipment inspection for the entire unit is complete; they are on standby for movement. Emergency treatment for the wounded is finished as well. After a simple meal we will likely move straight to the basin ahead.”
“The basin, is it.”
Arteon looked toward the distant ridge, faintly visible. Terrain already mapped by the scouts: a basin flanked by gentle hills with a broad hollow at its center. Looking only at the ground, it was not a bad place to camp. Yet for the same reason it was ideal for Kar Tribe ambushes and surprise attacks.
With the unit alone they could reach it in two hours.
But for this many troops the march will take at least seven hours.
Fifty thousand men. Add supply wagons, the wounded, and engineer gear, and the column would crawl even slower.
Arteon nodded.
“When we move, we continue as vanguard. Tell the men in advance.”
“Understood. And… something else seems to have come up in the officers’ meeting.”
Arteon’s gaze returned to Isaac.
“Something else?”
“Yes. The exact content is confidential—known only to regiment-commander level and above—but it appears related to additional forces.”
“Additional forces.”
Arteon slowly turned and looked beyond the camp. Through the thinning mist dozens of campfires still breathed red embers. Around them the silhouettes of soldiers crouched over meals or quietly drinking water flickered like ghosts.
He spoke firmly.
“A few thousand more will not suddenly tip this battlefield in our favor.”
Unless an armed one capable of 5-Star aura or higher arrived. In this terrain large numbers could just as easily become a burden. Even if they moved to the basin they would almost certainly split the force, comb the surrounding high ground, and fight a parallel guerrilla war.
“If talk of reinforcement lets the men’s tension ease, that would be trouble as well.”
There were always a few fools who, the moment things looked better, relaxed and dropped their guard.
Finished speaking, Arteon fell silent and stared toward the Kar Tribe positions. They had won the first battle, yes.
But they are not the sort to sit still.
This fight had clearly exposed their strength. Having been struck once, the enemy would prepare thoroughly. Yet what truly kept Arteon tense was the Kar commander who had taken the field.
Definitely… a strong one.
Memories of Belikezel flickered—desperate fighting, and defeat. He had survived by luck and the war had been won, yet Arteon had never overcome the Kar supreme commander. A monster of a man. The commander here would be no different. Or worse: drawing on the lessons of Belikezel, someone truly absurd might have appeared.
Perhaps…
Was it possible that a warrior bearing seven feather tattoos—someone he had never once faced—now commanded the enemy?
Arteon’s eyes narrowed. Among the Kar the number of feather tattoos rested first on pure martial power, with other factors added. Strength alone did not guarantee more feathers, yet without strength as the foundation one could not receive them at all. Seven feathers meant a being already beyond ordinary human measure.
“You seem quite tense.”
“A little.”
Arteon answered Isaac calmly. This war still held far more that must be prepared for. And…
“Now we prepare for their counterattack.”
From a past life of more than ten years fighting the Kar, Arteon knew exactly how fierce the rebound from this victory would be. He pressed his lips tight. His gaze on the enemy camp grew heavier still.
Beside him Isaac simply watched in silence. They had shared many battlefields, yet this expression was rare. It seemed to say the coming fight could be that dangerous.
Whoooooosh—
In the cold northern air the entire camp held its breath, as if sensing the next storm.
And then—
“Commander! The Commander’s order: move the vanguard!”
The movement order had come. Arteon looked at Isaac.
“Let’s go.”
“Yes!”
Before long the prepared thousand of the Silent Spear began climbing swiftly into the high ground behind Arteon.