Varda, Daughter of Autumn (5)
Varda, Daughter of Autumn (5)
"If you have no more men to fight, then send out your commander! With such a lack of courage, how can you protect your vassals from Count Kruger?!"
The two armies maintained their standoff, but Viscount Winchester took damage in real time.
A commander who had cut down enemy leaders one after another in duels and now stood before the very enemy lines, bellowing rebukes. While on the other side, a pathetic figure who stayed tightly hidden away.
This did not end with merely the soldiers' morale falling. Cracks spread through the respect that knights and vassals held for their liege as well.
'This should be enough.'
Eugene had no intention of pushing his luck further. On the surface, he projected the might of a warrior who could hold off a thousand before the enemy lines, but inwardly he remained tense. One hand could never match ten.
His eyes never ceased scanning the archers. Britannia possessed the finest archer forces of any nation, Samur excepted.
"What are you doing?! That invading commander is loitering right under your noses, and you intend to just watch?"
Viscount Winchester's close aide shouldered the yoke of dishonor and gave the order to attack.
The moment the archers raised their longbows, Might immediately widened the distance.
"Loose!"
The arrows sought Eugene as he withdrew. Since multiple skilled archers had loosed a volley, it was impossible to dodge them all cleanly.
Eugene raised the Blackout in his right hand like an umbrella to shield Might and himself, protecting his right hand with the shield in his left.
Tink!
Tink-tink-tink!
The arrowheads bounced off feebly, a sound like beans roasting echoing out. Even those that managed to strike Might were blocked by the Hydra horse armor and fell away with a clatter.
"Cowards who know nothing of honor! It was you who demanded a contest of lord against lord, and it was you as well who defiled it! As you wished, I shall show you the terror of a real army!"
Eugene mocked the Winchester nobles who stared at him with dazed faces, then withdrew.
"What are you listening to? Loose! Loose again, I said!"
The aide gave the order once more, but it was already too late. Might, who cleaved the earth like the wind, was already beyond effective range. As a pre-battle performance, it could not have been better.
"Castle Lord, that was quite a show, but our blood ran cold when the arrows came in. Please do not worry us like that."
"There wasn't a man more tense than me. I won't do it again."
Eugene nodded to the tribal knight who had gently rebuked him and returned to the lines.
He had thought it would work because no one had ever tried it before, and indeed it proved effective. But it was not a thing to be done twice.
* * *
As befitted a battle between House Meyer and a great noble of Britannia, it began with a confrontation between archer units.
"Archers forward!"
Viscount Winchester's orders were repeated and relayed by the knights as they sent out the archers from each formation.
Those who underwent mandatory training each year were different from conscripts dragged in by force. Even without separate orders, they swiftly adjusted their spacing among themselves and completed their ranks.
They drew six arrows from their quivers, planted them in the ground, and awaited the command.
"They are out of range, Your Excellency."
"I know. But we cannot very well strike first from our side, can we?"
Viscount Winchester was no fool. Even if his numbers were greater, the quality and morale of his troops could not compare. He had to let the enemy come in and then envelop them to have any chance of victory.
But there was a problem. The position where Eugene's army had halted had been calculated from the very beginning.
"Designated marksmen forward!"
When Eugene, mounted on Might, raised his hand, the specially selected dark elves dashed forward and formed their ranks.
Even at a glance, the difference in armament between the two sides was stark. Unlike the Winchester archers who wore only helmets with cloth garments and bare hands, every one of these wore armor and had also donned the tactical gloves devised by Eugene.
"Prepare to loose."
The designated marksmen nocked their arrows and aimed at the sky.
"What?"
"They're going to shoot from there?"
The Winchester nobles who saw this were thrown into confusion. All of them knew well what the commonly accepted range was.
What they did not know was the fact that Eugene's designated marksmen had been issued a new type of composite bow crafted from Hydra sinew and muscle.
Only forty such bows had been made, but that was enough. They were not meant to face the entire enemy army; it sufficed merely to wreck the archer unit that had stepped forward.
"Loose!"
Fwish-fwish-fwish!
As the great axe fell as if pronouncing a sentence of execution, arrows surged vigorously into the sky.
"Uh?"
"Fuck, they're going to reach, aren't they?"
The Winchester archers all sensed it instinctively just from the momentum of the rising arrows. They were within range.
But even as they stared in unease, not a single man broke ranks. Their training was simply too excellent for that.
"Agh!"
"Gah!"
Archers collapsed bleeding on all sides.
"That's not area fire! They're aiming!"
A bowman clutching his pierced arm shouted. He had raised his forearm to shield his chest in a bid to survive while holding his position, and this was the result.
"They're aiming at that distance?"
"Look at the fallen men, milord. Does that look like they loosed and left it to chance?"
An archer conscripted from a gamekeeper spoke boldly to a young noble. They had been close since childhood, so a discourtesy of this degree was overlooked.
"I don't see anyone struck specifically in a vital spot."
"No, I mean look at the number, not the location. There isn't a single man who was hit by two arrows or more."
"Ah!"
The enemy marksmen were targeting precisely one man each among the allies.
"Here they come again!"
A second rain of arrows rose from the enemy lines.
"You wretch! Desertion in battle is punished by summary execution!"
Archers who tried to flee to the rear halted at the knights' threats.
"Urgh!"
"Ngh!"
Amidst the chaos, the sound of flesh being gouged out spread as the archers bled.
"Loose from this side as well!"
Unable to simply stand and take it, the nobles ordered return fire, but the shots from this side fell short and stuck uselessly into the bare ground.
In that interval, a third volley flew in and again sent the deployed archers tumbling down in clusters.
By the time the fourth flight of arrows rose, the front line finally collapsed and men began to flee.
"Do not cut them down! Leave them be!"
At Viscount Winchester's shout, the knights lowered their swords. Trembling archers streamed past beside them.
"Cease fire!"
At Eugene's command, the dark elves who were nocking a fifth arrow halted. With the same uniform drill movement, they returned the arrows to their quivers.
Rex, drunk on overwhelming victory, held up the Hydra Bow toward Eugene.
"You were right, Sir Knight. With this, aimed shots are possible even at maximum range."
Attached to the lower portion of his powerful bow was a rod the length of a man's forearm.
-Sir Knight, what is this?
-It's a tool I made through much trial and error. Call it a stabilizer.
-A stabilizer? What manner of magic is it?
-It's an auxiliary device that absorbs vibration when loosing the bow to improve accuracy.
-Ah, we hit every mark even without such a thing.
-That would be so with an ordinary bow. But if it's a composite bow using Hydra components, you'll need this. It will be a formidable greatbow, after all.
-Hmm.
-I understand a bowman's pride, but humor me and give it a try.
And just as Eugene had said, its performance in real combat was tremendous.
"I always wonder, but where on earth do you learn such things?"
What Eugene taught his subordinates was not limited to military skills like orienteering, first aid, and unarmed combat.
It ranged widely from unique dishes, weight training, and massage to legends he would often recount during marches or while encamped.
"It would take long to tell. Just think of it as something I saw in a book."
Eugene would brush it off each time by saying he saw it in a book, but as it happened repeatedly, no one believed him anymore. For he possessed a body of knowledge far too vast to have learned from monastery books.
"Would it not be better to say you received an oracle from Goddess Vanas?"
"...That's not a bad excuse. I'll remember it and put it to good use."
Cassandra licked her lips as she gazed at the enemies scattered on the far side. The experience of unilaterally crushing the enemy in a formal contest between archer units was so pleasurable she could scarcely bear it.
A delight distinct from hunting monsters or beasts. Since it was a tonic served only on a field of scale not easily tasted, she savored the sensation again and again.
"Let the remaining archers join as well. The enemy archer unit is neutralized, so advance and pour arrows down as you please."
The large number of archers waiting in the rear also merged in and advanced into range. Soon hundreds of arrows split the sky.
"Do not move!"
"All of you, shields up and hold your positions!"
The knights on Winchester's side shouted earnestly, but the ranks were already crumbling. For those now exposed to the arrows were the less-trained conscripts and newly recruited mercenaries.
And those were men whose will to fight had already plummeted from watching the disastrous defeats in the duels and the destruction of their archer unit.
"Your Excellency. This cannot go on."
"I am aware."
Viscount Winchester made his decision.
"Commence the attack! Drive out the invaders!"
Rather than being whittled away by arrows like this, he wagered everything on trusting his numerical superiority and crashing headlong into them in earnest.
But close combat promised even less chance of victory than the ranged battle had. Before the dark elf archers who withdrew to the rear in perfect unison, dwarves stepped forward.
BANG! BANG!
Every time a hammer swung, the shields of Winchester's mercenaries crumpled and shattered. In the case of conscripts, some had even brought wooden lids meant for covering cauldrons.
CRUNCH!
Such flimsy shields were smashed to splinters in a single blow.
"Eek!"
"Get the hell out of here if you don't want to die!"
The conscripts scrambled backward before the dwarf warriors' fierce threats. The enemy's confusion swelled, and the awareness that they had to flee spread like a contagion.
"Return to the ranks! I'll kill you myself if you retreat!"
Since retreat before the enemy was grounds for summary execution, some were dealt with by the swords of unit captains and knights, yet those slipping away were far more numerous.
This was because the left wing, center, and right wing were all being overwhelmed simultaneously, leaving no time to manage everything.
The Hammer Brotherhood, who had gained a rare opportunity to shine, rampaged like madmen.
"My foot!"
"My leg!"
Mercenaries with their insteps crushed by hammers, mercenaries with shins broken alongside their flimsy greaves, lay scattered and writhing in every direction.
Low strike point attacks from the dwarves, whose short stature gave them a naturally low target point, were exceedingly difficult for infantry to deal with.
"Wahahaha! Today we'll teach you properly the importance of boots and greaves!"
Rampage, who had bellowed thus, hammered the chest of a mercenary who was paying attention to his lower body.
"Your Excellency. You must retreat now."
"Abandon all these men? The whole world will mock me."
At the end of his patience, Viscount Winchester committed his reserves. The knights of Britannia gathered at the center led their elite reserve force and sought to break through a single point.
"He's making his decisive move."
In response, Eugene took up his lance and stepped forward, and knights and heavy cavalry followed behind him.
"Ignore where the conscripts are massed. They're men who will break and flee even if left alone. Sweep away the mercenaries first."
With Eugene at the forefront, the knights and squires arrayed on either side leveled their lances forward in unison.
The enemy heavy infantry, impaled by the tremendous force of impact, toppled, and the area where the defense had been firm crumbled.
Eugene discarded his shattered lance and raised a massive axe high. Screams erupted from every direction at once.
SLASH!
With every strike, a rain of crimson poured down upon that sector.
It was only one man who was split apart by the axe blade, but the blood that gushed from the corpse sprayed onto several others standing beside and behind him.
"Captain! To hell with the village and our promise, let's bolt! We've got to live first!"
As this repeated several times, even enemies still at a distance lost their will to fight.
The thick stench of blood and the droplets spattered across their faces had felt like a death god's notice.
Blackout was a curious weapon which, though a melee armament, possessed not only a lethal radius but an effective radius as well.
* * *
"Retreat! Fall back!"
At the sight of the center army turned into a slaughterhouse, Viscount Winchester fled in haste, taking only his closest retainers with him.
His retreat route was limited because he was conscious of the castle behind him, which only compounded the damage.
Mounted archers raced their horses with savage glee, targeting the backs of the army scattering in all directions.
"Kill only the mercenaries!"
"Let the conscripts go!"
They selected their quarry according to the pre-briefed rules of engagement.
Even just by the look of their equipment and appearance, a man dragged here from tilling fields was immediately distinguishable from a born sword-hand.
"Ack!"
Mercenaries, pierced through back and thigh, went sprawling everywhere.
"Drop your weapons if you want to live!"
The conscripts, who had brought nothing but farm tools or butcher's knives in the first place, threw it all away without a shred of regret.
But the mercenaries, perhaps reluctant to abandon their costly swords, shields, and crossbows, could not let them go.
The mounted archers swept such men away without hesitation.
"I will surrender."
"Please, honorable treatment!"
Only then did the nobles and knights also cast aside their weapons and lay everything down.
"Sort the surrendered mercenaries and nobles, and release the conscripts."
Eugene removed his helmet. His first pitched battle in Britannia had been a resounding success.
"A splendid judgment. Viscount Winchester is finished now. He has no capacity to rally his shattered soldiers, so there will be no trouble later even if we release them."
Varda, who always maintained a neutral gaze, looked upon the young men fleeing in disarray.
It was a look that went beyond seeing pitiful weaklings—it was closer to the eyes of one beholding potential subjects. This was precisely why Eugene had taken care to limit the killing of conscripts.
Eugene handed Blackout over to the campaign dwarf craftsman.
'The southern army is definitely inferior in quality.'
There was not a single soul on this battlefield worthy of being caught in Hell Spirit's teeth. Only those who were cut down piled up, like small fish slipping through a net.
Eugene, still drenched in blood, approached a young dark elf squire who was catching his breath. The squire was a tall figure at 180 centimeters with a thick build, yet his youthful face made him appear terribly unbalanced.
"Greetings, Castle Lord."
"Your name was Pael, was it?"
"It is an honor that you remember me!"
The squire, his face alight with emotion, offered a mounted salute. The flutter of his long ears showed just how pleased he was.
Life in the Wandering Castle was like an endlessly ongoing family gathering. For high-grade manpower like a squire, Eugene naturally came to remember them.
"Today must have been your first time charging in a large-scale pitched battle. What are your impressions?"
"Your axe buzzing beside me was more frightening than the enemies in front of me."
"It's fortunate you still have the energy for jokes."
He was every bit the born battle race. There was no post-combat daze about him. His face showed even a sense of fulfillment at having stirred a massive battle alongside great warriors.
"If you're short of breath, loosen your armor. There are no enemies nearby."
Eugene spoke warmly to Pael, who was breathing through his mouth.
"I'm not short of breath. It's just, well, the smell of dung is so strong..."
"Ah."
Breathing through his nose, Eugene fully realized how accustomed he had become to the battlefield. And a small sense of kinship toward the young friend before him, as well.
"Gather the banners this way."
Under Haind's command, soldiers collected the banners that had fallen here and there. In the long run, they were spoils more valuable than gold, silver, and jewels.
Medics with red cross armbands affixed to their arms moved around the area where the high-value prisoners were gathered, administering treatment.
Sssizzle!
Red-hot iron seared wounds, sending up the smell of burning flesh. A Britannian knight who had been biting down on a cloth spat it out, his face a mask of strange bewilderment.
"It doesn't hurt..."
"We used a secret anesthetic."
A beautiful dark elf witch answered curtly.
On the other side, a witch holding scissors and surgical forceps examined a nobleman's flank.
"Bite down hard on something, whatever it is. This will hurt like hell even with the anesthetic."
"Hrrrrgh!"
After removing the dirt and sand ground into the torn wound, pouring disinfectant over it was essential to prevent infection.
The nobles who had surrendered were utterly terrified, owing to the bloodthirsty impression Eugene had shown in battle. Yet they looked dazed to find themselves given courteous treatment, never mind execution.
But to Eugene, it was a matter of course. Once he had won, the battlefield transformed into a venue for harvest and politics.
'Swallowing and ruling all of Britannia would be difficult.'
Britannia was an island, high in the north and low in the south. The north, which comprised a third of the land, was mountainous and inhabited by rugged native tribes, a land not worth coveting.
The midlands, a region where foreign peoples including Vikings flowed in actively, were likewise a military linchpin.
The south was the land of agriculture and merchants. Defensively disadvantaged and militarily weak, yet unmatched in productivity and external accessibility.
'What I must claim is the south.'
In that sense, the captured vassals of Viscount Winchester were men to be won over.
"Well done, all of you! We shall celebrate today's victory with drink and meat!"
At Eugene's declaration, his subordinates raised their weapons and roared in cheers.
In this era, nobles enjoyed banquets and flaunted luxury even on the battlefield. Eugene despised such lax discipline, but this time the situation was different.
Ruuuumble.
Because home was right in front of them. The great gate of the Wandering Castle opened wide, welcoming the return of its master.
Gulp.
The captured nobles looked around restlessly as they entered the castle. Though it had not been long since they had suffered an overwhelming defeat, the fear had vanished from their faces.
Part of it was Eugene's honorable treatment, but the force that largely pushed aside all other emotions was their surging curiosity.
"Guide them to the bathhouse. There are many wounded, so take care. Those with severe injuries, lay them on the massage beds and wash them separately."
"Leave it to us, Master."
The slaves from the Eastern Empire who had followed the Immortal obeyed the command of their new master. They guided the prisoners, who were covered in blood, sweat, and grime.
Ruuush.
"It's raining indoors."
"Isn't it warm water?"
"???"
The Britannian nobles were dumbstruck by facilities they had never seen in their lives.
"Ah hell, I don't know."
Amid the bewildered nobles, a few who adapted quickly had already covered their bodies in soap bubbles.
"..."
"Let's just do what we're told for now. There's nothing to gain by offending Viscount Meyer's mood."
Once someone broke the ice, those joining in swiftly multiplied. Naturally, there were some among them who were discontent.
"Viscount Meyer already?"
"Then you call him 'viscount' if you like."
A few nobles, refusing to wash, glared sharply back, but the consensus had already been settled.
"Please change into these."
"The Castle Lord has invited you to dine."
The nobles, now refreshed, changed into the clean garments handed to them by the Eastern slaves.
It was almost impossible to believe that only a few hours ago, they had been rolling on the battlefield feeling their lives were at risk.
* * *
Having swept up spoils and prisoners, the morale of Eugene's army pierced the heavens.
"Baron Foster. Take these banners and go gather the nobles of Cornwall."
"I will carry out the command with all my heart and strength."
Eugene handed over to Baron Foster dozens of banners of the southern nobles, captured in this victory.
"Will this be enough to give them confidence?"
"Of course. The very defeat of Viscount Winchester's army has placed them all deeply in your debt. Even if they do not join the campaign, they will not dare to refuse your summons."
The debt of gratitude was one thing, but if things went poorly, Eugene's army might head toward Cornwall.
'Punishing the ungrateful wretch who even refused his benefactor's invitation!'
The justification was solid, and if other nobles raised their voices in support, his fief would vanish in an instant.
Eugene waved a hand toward Baron Foster as he left the war room, then looked down at the map.
Every subordinate seated there with him was looking hungrily at Haven, located in southeastern Britannia.
"Will you strike immediately? The troops remaining in the city are a mere handful."
"No. There's somewhere we need to stop first."
At Haind's question, Eugene shook his head and pointed to a spot on the map.
It was the hilly land to the left of Haven, a holy place. Where, in ages long past, the half-elf family—born from the union of a Rui Amor royal and a high human noble—had set down its roots.
Now it was a withered ruin, beautiful only in its natural scenery. A promised place that had slumbered for ages, awaiting its true master.
"War is merely an extension of politics; the most important thing is the message. Victory is the admission ticket, and the prisoners are the audience who will fill the seats."
Eugene extended his hand toward one corner of the war room.
Squeeze.
A delicate and slender woman's hand clasped Eugene's firm hand.
Everyone's gazes gathered upon those two interlocked hands.
Friendship and affection.
Honor and legitimacy.
Private emotion and public value. In every aspect, two things peerlessly sublime were joined as one.
"Varda-nim. Let us go together."
"As you will."
Varda answered.
Thump-thump.
With her other hand, she held down her violently pounding heart.
-And so, the two became one, in a foreign land.
The beautiful story Grace used to tell her when she was young.
-Don't you ever get tired of hearing that?
-Not at all. Tell it again!
So old and sweet it felt closer to a fairy tale than history. The beautiful story she had begged for time and again.
She had never imagined that she herself would become its heroine.
Varda was no actress, yet she felt confident she could play her part well. And for good reason...
"What is the matter?"
"No, it is nothing."
Because she truly loved the male lead. It was a role that required nothing more than being faithful to her own feelings.
End
ⓒ Gusojae#1wecx