Waves of Steel (3)
The cute little prank we'd played on the orcs beyond the Great Wall had been a resounding success. It'd been ages since I'd cut loose in battle, and damn if it didn't melt away some of the stress piled up from running the territory. I'd dumped all the annoying command duties on Wolfgang and just gone wild myself.
Anyway, we'd achieved every objective after the fight.
"Long live the Grand Duke, Your Highness!"
"Goddess, protect Berg!"
Even now, the soldiers atop the Great Wall—who'd watched the whole thing—were erupting in cheers. Crossing themselves in prayer or shouting huzzahs. What a racket.
Not that I blamed them. In an era where public executions counted as prime entertainment for lack of anything else, where else were you gonna see a Sword Master dancing like a madman with his blade? This had been pure showmanship: We're strong. This strong. And judging by the sky-high morale, mission accomplished.
Oh, and as a bonus, I'd caught sight of Helena up on the wall, chewing out her escort knights about something.
"I couldn't see properly from this far! I couldn't make out all the fine details of His Highness the Grand Duke!"
"But, milady, even so, it's a bit much for us to—"
"Who said not to look? I asked how His Highness was fighting, and you ignored me, just going 'Whoa, awesome, killer, damn' among yourselves without answering!"
"Ahem."
Helena, bundled up thick against the cold, jabbing a finger at them while they awkwardly averted their eyes and pretended otherwise. Yeah, best leave that mess alone.
I pulled my gaze away and scanned the surroundings instead. The knights, still buzzing from the fight, had doffed their helmets one by one, cooling their sweat in the chill wind with broad grins. Total curbstomp—no surprises there. A few unlucky souls had taken tumbles from their horses, but even they were limping back up, so no fatalities.
"Dealing with rabble like this, you might get banged up, but die? No chance."
Whoosh. I flicked the green orc blood from my sword and cracked a satisfied smile of my own.
"We're heading back."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
The knights bellowed their response in perfect unison. That ought to etch it deep into the minds of the wall-watchers: even out beyond the safety of the Great Wall, we're still dominant. No need to fear charging out to fight. That was the battle's biggest win.
The moment we returned, leaving the battlefield carnage behind, I ordered the staff officers to analyze the after-action report and hunt for improvements. This had been an elite op using only Berg's finest—the Iron Fang Knights. But could regular infantry pull off the same results? Modern special forces like Green Berets were one thing; line troops were another. No guarantees. Hence the orders.
"You're on a roll, sir."
Karl, already drafting the NCO system blueprint, cracked wise.
"If you want peace, prepare for war, right? For lasting peace, we hustle now."
"Was there a saying like that?"
Whoops. No Vegetius here.
"Anyway, your efforts will save soldiers' blood down the line. I know it's a grind, but push a bit harder."
"Haha, we know the drill. That wasn't griping—just don't take it to heart, Your Highness."
Karl grinned cheekily, scooped up an armful of papers, and vanished. I soothed the other swamped staffers, then pondered in the hall. What next?
That's when Aisha showed up.
"Your Highness."
"Aisha?"
"I couldn't see much, but Sylph told me. It was an intense fight."
Her face etched with worry, she hurried over and seized my hand tight.
"No injuries? Even a scratch—say the word, and I'll have Undine heal it right—"
"Thanks for the concern, but not a single scratch. Nothing to worry about."
Getting hurt slicing orcs? I'd lose my Sword Master stripes on the spot.
Aisha's eyes went wide as she inspected me meticulously, head to toe. Satisfied, she beamed.
"Good. You're safe and sound."
"...Yeah."
"I could heal you, but unhurt is best. I hope you stay unscathed from here on out."
She finally released my hand, adding,
"But if you do get hurt, tell me right away? I'll heal you."
"...Got it."
Pure kindness. Those sparkling eyes made me awkward, so I grunted my usual gruff reply.
And right then, a scorching glare stabbed from the hallway corner. I looked up—something ducked out of sight. Face hidden, but not that penguin getup. Only one person in the North bundled like that.
Penguin princess.
"Helena?"
"...!"
Frantic footsteps pattered away. As Aisha tilted her head, Roena materialized behind me.
"Your Highness. The architects from the capital have questions."
"Ah, Lady Roena. For me?"
"They request a meeting over blueprint details."
"Right. On my way."
I nodded, then turned to Aisha.
"I won't get hurt, but if I do, you'll be the first to know. No need to fret."
"Y-yes..."
Her cheeks flushed pink as she nodded shyly.
* * *
After the orc skirmish on the tundra, an invisible fervor gripped Berg. Hard not to, watching the knights unleash flashing aura and crush orcs flat right before your eyes. From the participants to the lowliest wall sentry, pride swelled.
Who am I? Proud soldier of Berg Grand Duchy. Shoulders back, chests puffed—like the position made the man.
But as nominal commander who'd fought firsthand, a nitpick: if only we had more troops.
I knew, I'd said it a million times—5,000 standing army was insane. Toss in 200 knights? Lunacy. But more bodies meant tactical flexibility. Facing orcs numbering thousands to hundreds of thousands minimum, matching headcount was impossible. Still, couldn't help craving Cannae-level parity: At least this many? We got a shot.
Sis had asked once.
'Hey, medieval civil war—how many troops? Don't want pitchforks if I go 20,000 knights.'
'On a promise?'
'Pizza tonight.'
'Per Roman law, imperial lords field 20-30k core. Rebels won't solo, so half that.'
'Huh? That few?'
'That's the number.'
Sis had gawked, dubious. But facts.
'Goguryeo held off a million.'
'Centralized rice bureaucracy vs. feudal wheat? Population capacity differs wildly.'
'Lame. Fantasy flicks or nah?'
'Films? Sauron'd beg mercy at 1.13 million. Pelennor? Under 10k total. Historical.'
'Boo...'
'Hao hao se se? Romance of Three Kingdoms sus?'
All Luo Guanzhong's fault, yapping millions. Tens of thousands was huge; we're spoiled by hyperbole. But more troops? Money. Everything boiled down to coin.
And political fallout.
Expand here, and the capital might twitch: This guy's marching on us? Gotta keep proving orc hunts, no funny business.
"Even setting politics aside, money's the crux..."
Money. How to make it? Boost northern coffers for more troops—or mercs if needed.
Helena popped into mind. Specifically, penguin-waddling in thick furs.
"Clothes...? Leather...? Beyond the Wall?"
Beyond was virgin wilds. Rangers reported conifers as a buffer against orcs—tacit claim: cross 'em fully, it's war. Inside, cold-adapted beasts aplenty, wall or no.
"Furs?"
Black gold. Once fueled a tenth of Russia's budget, top export.
Huh.
Russia meta? Nobles had deep pockets; luxury furs for high-end export? Jackpot.
My money-sense tingled hard. This'll print gold.