Elang Vital (2)
Anyway, although it strayed a bit from my intentions, everyone quickly got hooked on Elang Vital and adapted to it. I told Karl that I got it, so he should go shave already, and only then did he finally shave. Good thing— I'd dodged the fate of our Berg turning beet red alongside Karl. As they adapted so swiftly to Elang Vital, which sat somewhere between a board game and a wargame, they started racking their brains to study tactics and strategies for field battles. Fine by me—that was exactly why I'd made it in the first place.
But instead, there were two side-effect-like issues.
"Haven't the orcs been unusually quiet lately? Normally, around this time, three thousand of the bastards would come charging in."
"Agreed. Word is they're using their heads more than expected lately. Are the monsters plotting schemes now? Or maybe they're just biding their time, watching us."
"It'd better if they come soon. This time, I'll show them the essence of the tactics I've honed with Elang Vital."
Knight and commander types started grinding their teeth like that.
"But we've only ever dueled in open-field battles, you and I. If we just do things the usual way, we can hold them off with minimal losses, but does Elang Vital even apply in defensive scenarios...?"
"Shut it! As the sages say, losing Elang Vital means death...!"
It was a sight that drew an involuntary sigh.
Do they think this is some miniature wargame or what?
Seeing that, I sometimes wanted to butt in with a word as I passed by. But I held back, not wanting to kill the mood. With everyone so enthusiastically studying tactics, clearing my throat would just make me the tactless superior.
Instead, we usually played Elang Vital assuming offensive scenarios, right?
Gotcha. Let's see if they still say that after I scale up the training with large-scale maneuvers later.
Like the scientific training in the mighty K-Army of my past life, I planned realistic drills—using opposing forces to play the orcs, no less. It'd cost money, but they'd only apply what they'd learned from Elang Vital after experiencing some massive exercises. A mid-term check like that would let the commanders verify just how useful Elang Vital was in real combat.
That was the first byproduct... though calling it a side effect felt off.
The other was a bizarre trend spawned from Elang Vital.
"Hm..."
"Is something wrong, Your Grace?"
"No, nothing."
I glanced at Roena, then quickly looked away. A leather chisel holster hung at her waist, and in her hands were a small marble block and a chisel. Not just Roena, either. Pretty much anyone playing Elang Vital carried a chisel these days. And when they couldn't play, a fad started of whittling their own miniatures.
Scrape, scrape.
It started with the ones I'd whittled and handed out, but when supplies ran short, they marked some wooden blocks crudely. That killed immersion and sparked a desire for personalized minis, so...
Snap.
Roena's eyes met mine as she broke the marble block she'd been carving.
"...Ahem."
"......"
"It seems my skills fall short of Your Grace's."
Roena said it like an excuse. What had my adjutant even been trying to carve? An unrecognizable half-head—horse? Orc? I averted my gaze to spare her further embarrassment, her face was already flushing.
"...I hear others without the knack are commissioning Elang Vital minis from sculptors."
"Ahem, yes, I've been considering that too."
As Roena awkwardly looked away with a sheepish face, I let out a small sigh.
"Geltner reports they'll mine the first silver from the vein in a few days. They've cleared the entrance and nearly finished the supports."
"Excellent news, Your Grace. With silver output ramping up, nothing more to wish for."
"Once we smelt the first batch from the silver mine, I'll carve you a few minis then. Consider it a gift for my ever-dutiful adjutant."
"...Really, Your Grace?"
I nodded. Given her disastrously poor handiwork, commissioning a sculptor seemed better than letting her hack away herself. Mine were decent enough—I'd whip them up quick.
"Thank you, Your Grace."
Roena beamed with a bright smile. I didn't know if she was good at Elang Vital, but holding silver minis I'd carved myself would earn her some envy, at least. The least I could do for my hardworking Roena.
"...Heh heh."
"Lady Roena?"
"Yes?"
"Just now... no, must've misheard."
What was that? Sounded like a satisfied smack of the lips. Roena stood there with her usual faint smile, as always.
...Were you that pleased?
* * *
The Elang Vital craze swept the North. But only among the Berg Grand Duchy's army—and specifically the knights and commanders leading it.
Yet the winds of change blowing through the North weren't limited to that. Mine development progressed smoothly under Geltner, whose eyes had turned ducat-shaped. Road surveying, briefly deprioritized, got a manpower boost. Steel production soared with the crucible process and coke, laying industrial foundations even if a full revolution was out of reach.
Such favorable winds buffeted the North.
"Your Grace."
"What is it?"
"I wish to demand something of Your Grace."
Billaine came to see me. Unlike his usual blank, inscrutable expression, he looked deadly serious this time, resolute and grave. I straightened up instinctively, awaiting his words—but what came out was utterly unexpected.
"Current Elang Vital is wrong. I think it is very wrong."
"...What?"
"Wrong."
Billaine shook his head emphatically.
"Why are there only humans and monsters? Beastkin is missing."
"...?"
"Beastkin are strong. See me. Few in numbers. But superior. We are warriors."
"...It's designed for field battles against orcs and monsters, so of course beastkin aren't included. You're the only beastkin in the ducal army."
"I think add beastkin is good."
Billaine stubbornly demanded a beastkin faction. Does he think this is some Warhammer miniature game? Folks were studying tactics to win, exploiting rules loopholes—actually it's not so different, really.
Anyway.
"First off, let's be clear: I don't know much about beastkin. Not enough to add as a faction—so I'm basically ignorant."
"Fine. I'm here. I advise Your Grace. I am a great warrior. I fight best."
Billaine nodded, as if convincing himself. Don't nod like you've settled it solo.
Of course, given Elang Vital's evolution so far, patches were needed anyway. Karl had pointed some out already.
'Your Grace, ranged projectile weapons seem overpowered. Since we've based it on wall defense, their power might be overestimated.'
'Valid point. Anything else?'
'From handling monsters mainly, even in open field battles without walls or melee-focused formations, mid-to-large monsters like trolls or ogres feel underpowered. Hitting an ogre's head with an artifact in melee chaos isn't easy.'
'That too... makes sense.'
Karl, now the god of Elang Vital, and other knights/commanders echoed similar gripes. My role was filtering them, but common critiques deserved note.
Not to be outdone, Billaine chimed in.
"Need to add beastkin. Base on Silver Mane. Call me if a consult is needed, Your Grace. Do your best."
Having said his piece, Billaine demanded his beastkin faction curtly and wandered off.
"...I think I'll have a headache incoming."
Adding beastkin would make it undeniably a fantasy Warhammer clone. Why fight beastkin as foes or allies? It's hard to sell as a board game now.
Distribute it to the capital instead of the North? Team up with Geltner then? DLC is also a sin. I knew from bitter past-life experience.
As I pondered many things, another envoy arrived from the capital. An imperial special envoy, again.
Why another envoy?
If it was "festival's on, come shine," I'd be in trouble. The emperor I'd met wasn't that oblivious.
I granted them an audience, and a middle-aged man entered the reception room promptly.
Not a court count this time. Ludwin was past sixty—unsuited for rough travel.
As I mused, the man bowed with proper etiquette.
"Greetings, Your Grace. I am Étienne of Luar, Grand Master of the Silver Dawn Knights. An honor to meet you."
"Pleased to meet you, Count Luar."
I didn't know every imperial noble, but Count Luar teetered on the edge of my mental roster. Reformist, leader of the imperial honor guard Silver Dawn Knights. He'd clearly aimed for protocol.
We're in the same faction, emperor's envoy— I asked politely after his business.
"His Majesty dispatched you as an envoy."
"Yes."
"May I hear why?"
"You investigated beyond the Great Wall, yes?"
"Indeed."
"Reports to the capital say orcs there form villages and use tools—intelligence beyond convention. Is that accurate, or more?"
"Precisely as you know."
Count Luar replied with feigned concern.
"His Majesty expressed grave worry over orc activity beyond the Wall. He sent me to gauge monster trends from you directly."
"His Majesty is worried?"
"Yes. He personally tasked me to learn the truth and seek imperial aid opportunities."
Ah, makes sense. In this one-eyed world, I couldn't be the only sane one. Relief washed over me—the emperor shared my concerns.
No sudden orc warboss yelling "Lok'tar ogar!" at least. Old man's sharp.
"As reported, orcs build villages and wield tools intelligently—unlike raiders in the past. We've confirmed via scouts; Berg is devising countermeasures."
"I see. On the way here, I saw something curious, Your Grace."
"What?"
"Folks moving tiny statues like armies on a map. Orc ones, maybe? Is that part of your countermeasures?"
"Ah, Elang Vital."
"That's what it's called?"
"Elang Vital exactly. Mock battles on maps of lands beyond the Wall, mainly versus monsters."
"Ho."
Count Luar looked intrigued. Initially skeptical—like childish play—but as I explained rules, he slapped his knee in admiration.
"Indeed, per your rules, it simulates real battlefields. Commanders gain experience bloodlessly—brilliant choice."
"It can't fully replace reality. But if it spares the soldiers' blood, why not?"
"This? You made it yourself? Now I'm curious. May I try?"
"No trouble."
I agreed readily. He is an imperial proxy, after all—if he returned praising Berg's ingenuity, urging aid, perfect.
Fetching my map, miniatures, measuring tape, and dice, I warned:
"By the way, I've never lost at Elang Vital. I'll go easy, but treat it as practice."
"Haha, is that so?"
Count Luar smirked oddly.
"Even honorary, I'm a Grand Master. Mastered Victory's Six Secrets, Three Stratagems of War—all classics. Some skill in tactics."
What is he, reeking of scam-books? Never heard of them. His confidence puzzled me. Nobles here were martial intelects; maybe better than the average joe?
"Teach me a lesson, Your Grace."
"...Sure."
Not certain, but I'd given him a handicap. We played.
Thirty minutes later.
"...I... lost."
Count Luar hung his head.
"...Even so, charging without supply lines?"
"......"
My grade for Count Luar: F. Instant fail, retake. If he'd commanded in Berg, instant boot. Got your level. You're at or below Master Six-and-Three Fraudster Hahumoo.