Mexican Standoff (2)
Mexican Standoff (2)
"This is no time to be fighting those lowborn wretches."
Alber, who commanded the Barsian army, frowned.
He had followed the elite path as the heir to a ducal house. He had received the finest education and built his military achievements in carefully arranged battles.
He had talent as well, so he had always produced results that proved his worth, and to drive the final nail home, he had joined the Britannian civil war.
But of all things, he had gotten entangled with the Gord bastards. When you set your sights on good land in the seemingly easy south, running into competitors with the same idea was inevitable.
"Let us attack at once!"
"We must sweep those wretches away first if we wish to secure the south without trouble."
The bellicose nobles urged battle, and Alber found it difficult to refuse. He was the supreme commander, but the nobles each exercised their own command authority individually.
"It is too dangerous to start with a battle on foreign soil."
"So you propose we just stand by and watch the Gord bastards seize the finest lands?"
"I am saying we should try negotiating first."
"I can already see them lording over the negotiating table like they own it. They will try to throw us nothing but worthless scraps of land."
Some of the cautious faction were immediately silenced. After all, they could picture exactly how the Gord nobles would behave.
"Lord Alber. Please make your decision."
Unlike his father, who was the Duke of Barsia, Alber held the status of heir.
"Surely you are not trying to avoid battle out of fear of fighting?"
'...These wretches?'
The lords who had come leading large forces began subtly pressing their challenge.
"The fact that Viscount Winchester was defeated means there is an army that repelled them. It is dangerous to exhaust our strength in advance when we have not even identified their true nature."
Whereas Eugene's battle had taken place further inland, Alber's army had only just landed.
The residents, terrified by Barsia's notoriety, had all fled, making intelligence gathering even more difficult.
-It is said the army was attacked by an ogre and fell into disarray.
-I heard that a viscount suffered severe wounds from a Kruger family assassin and withdrew his forces?
The information they managed to collect after much difficulty was so thoroughly mixed with false rumors that it could not be trusted at all.
"They must have lost to the Cornwall wretches. Surely they rushed to attack because they had numbers on their side, only to be ambushed?"
"That is a thing those with ample battlefield experience all go through at least once. I trust Lord Alber shall not be swayed by mere hearsay."
The nobles had mostly inclined toward attacking. If he backed down here, he would be subjected to slander along the lines of, 'Is he afraid of fighting?'
"Lord Alber. If the Gord bastards seize a strongpoint and dig into a defensive posture, it will become troublesome. It may be better to strike before they can procure timber."
The infantry-centric Gord army's ability to fight well against Barsia, which possessed mighty cavalry, was owed in part to their skill at constructing field fortifications.
They had always created favorable conditions by setting up obstacles and driving large wooden stakes into the ground to restrict cavalry charge lanes.
However, since this was foreign soil, everything would be unfamiliar to them. With both sides equally disadvantaged, it would become a contest of raw weight class, and naturally, the side with the powerful cavalry held the advantage.
"Very well. I shall add the achievement of routing these wretches to the securing of Britannian territory and present it all to my father."
Having made his resolve, Alber stepped forward before the nobles and shouted.
"Raise the banners! Let us settle the score with the barbarians of Gord!"
Between the pale lips of the cheering knights, sharp fangs reflected the light.
Meanwhile, unlike the cautious Alber, the Gord commander Duke Wolfson welcomed battle with enthusiasm.
"That knight who was sucking the blood of that poor maiden just now—see that he is brought before me. While I remain in Britannia, I shall use his skull in place of a drinking cup."
"Your Grace. I ask you to reconsider this battle. We landed later than they did. The terrain is unsuitable, and we are blind to information about the south."
The duke's eldest son and adjutant, Victor, wished to resolve the situation through negotiation if at all possible.
"Your Grace, the hell with that. Just call me Father. Both you and I crossed the sea as warriors, each of us."
"...In any event, their commander Alber is a man of reason. If we propose dividing the south of Britannia between us, there will be no need to shed blood."
But his son's plea only made the duke's eyebrows rise higher and higher.
"Tch. Go into this battle prepared to earn a few scars of glory for yourself."
"Father!"
"You need to get a little torn up on the battlefield to bleed out that merchant's blood."
The Gord nobles took as their identity the fact that they had inherited the blood of both Viking and native merchant ancestors.
-Commerce is daily life, but battle comes only once in a while.
Thus they held the belief that if they did not fight regularly, the merchant's blood would thicken within them, and in the end, they would grow weak.
-He who does not prove himself in battle shall drift ever farther from Valhalla!
This belief had been further hardened by the propaganda of the clergy. It was the compensation for the donations offered by the king and great nobles who did not wish for the kingdom's military strength to wane.
By Gord's standards, a man like Duke Wolfson was not particularly unusual. If anything, the conciliatory type like Victor was the rare one.
Thus the two armies clashed on the battlefield.
* * *
Having settled into a spot with a good vantage point, Eugene seated Homi in front of him.
"You can see well now, can't you?"
Nod.
Homi savored the embrace of her lord, whose body filled her back entirely. She caressed the firm arms wrapped around her belly.
When Eugene pressed a piece of dried fruit against Homi's lips, her happy expression grew even more complete.
'Come to think of it, I've never once seen Homi look embarrassed. Nor frightened, for that matter.'
Embarrassment and fear might perhaps be emotions that spring from the same root. Both, after all, are felt when one discovers oneself reflected in the eyes of others.
Even as their relationship deepened, Varda had always been bashful like a country maiden, but Homi met all emotional exchange with joy.
Eugene savored Homi's warmth and rubbed his cheek against her hair, which smelled lovely.
"So there is no duel after all, then?"
The Barsian knights excelled in mounted combat, while the Gord knights excelled at fighting on foot. If the rules were set to favor one side, the other would be at a severe disadvantage.
Perhaps for that reason, the ceremonial duel customarily held before large-scale battles was skipped, and they entered straight into pitched battle.
"Scorpions! To firing positions!"
The mercenary crossbowmen hired by Barsia advanced to the front. Their flag, painted with a scorpion's stinger, fluttered in the wind.
"Anti-bolt defense!"
Gord likewise brought their large round shields densely to the fore. The first-rank warriors knelt and set their shields against the ground, while the second-rank warriors fixed theirs at chest height.
"Loose!"
Against that solid wall, the bolts had no effect whatsoever.
"Barsian cowards."
"Go on, shoot as much as you like."
The crossbowmen kept up their fire, but not a single Gord warrior fell.
Unlike many nations that treated shields as expendable items, Gord valued them on the same level as their primary weapon.
To the point that the most popular item in a maiden's dowry was a shield. Naturally, the solidity of their shield wall was the highest on the continent.
In the countless wars they had fought over the years, it had been rare for Barsia to gain much advantage through ranged weapons.
"Lord Alber. No matter how much we shoot, it will be of little use. We must conserve bolts for what comes after."
"What are you hesitating for? Give the order to charge at once! We shall trample those wretches with ease!"
Alber withdrew the crossbowmen.
'If I leave them be any longer, they might charge on their own.'
He wished to decline earning the disgrace of being unable to properly control the troops under his command, with a further charge of cowardice added on top.
"Knights, make ready!"
As the sound of trumpets rang out, the Barsian cavalry, drawn up in formation, prepared to sortie.
At the smell of pig's blood scattered from buckets by the servants, the warhorses' eyes grew cold and calm.
Scores of banners hung from lance shafts and streamed in the wind, which carried a faint tang of salt.
The riders urged their horses slowly onward, husbanding the warhorses' strength. Within the dark helmets, crimson eyes gleamed. It was the iconic sight beheld by those who faced Barsia.
"They are coming!"
"Spears and shields! Spears and shields!"
In the Gord lines, those bearing axes and shields stood in the front rank, while those armed with long spears stood in the second.
As the distance between the two armies narrowed, the Barsian knights increased their speed.
"Now!"
"Smash their heads in!"
The shield-bearers of Gord's first rank hurled their throwing axes all at once.
THUD!
Pak!
The horses bled between the gaps in their barding, but the speed of their charge did not falter. The Barsian warhorses, catching the scent of blood, knew no fear and obeyed their masters.
"Increase speed! Charge!"
As the knights at the head shouted, the drumming of hooves pounding the earth resounded like the drums of the battlefield.
Ordinarily, horses would take fright at the sight of sharply protruding spearpoints and ignore their riders' commands, but the Barsian warhorses that had entered a state of blood calm possessed no such weakness.
"Damn it all!"
"Like some wretched corpse-horse!"
The Gord knights spat curses. These damned warhorses that defied all common sense about horses were halfway into the realm of sorcery.
"Uwaaaaah!"
The Barsian cavalry had entered the galloping phase. Their charge was a tsunami of steel bolted together by flesh.
"Kuaaak!"
Gord warriors impaled on lances died. As the cavalry surged through the gaps that appeared throughout the line, cracks spread in an instant.
The sound that was made when a human being was crushed by hundreds of kilograms of mass under acceleration was not particularly noble.
"Buup!"
"Gurk!"
Groans that sounded like a pig's retching compressed into a short burst rang out one after another.
THUD!
Even a Barsian knight who had been charging fiercely was properly skewered through by a long-spearman's weapon.
"Hahaha! How does that taste?"
CRUNCH!
Just as the spearman raised a cheer, his foot was trampled by a warhorse passing beside him. He fell to his knees, clutching his shattered foot, and in the next instant, a blade flew in and took his head from his shoulders.
The battlefield was sordid. Once the initial shock of the impact faded, the fighting became a grinding scrum, feeling each other's breath right before one's eyes.
Snort!
"Damn it all!"
"Get that breath off me, you sons of bitches."
The warriors of Gord found it immensely unpleasant when the hot breath blasting from the warhorses stabbed at the napes of their necks.
But the Barsian warhorses had their faces and chests protected by thick barding. Their weakness was the flank.
"Knock them off their horses!"
"Stab the flanks!"
The Barsian knights, who knew that weakness better than anyone, also fought desperately to keep their formation.
"Enough! We wheel about here!"
At Alber's command, having confirmed that the cavalry's charge had exhausted its momentum, the trumpet call rang out.
The Barsian knights who had been locked in a brawl launched a simultaneous all-out attack and widened the distance in a single moment.
Neigh!
Some used the horses' forelegs to kick away the defenders. It was truly superb horsemanship.
CRACK!
Though the shields were sturdy, even they could not remain intact before a warhorse's kick. A shield already battered ragged from the fighting shattered, and a Gord warrior went flying.
In that opening, the cavalry succeeded in turning about, and any attempts to strike their rear were checked by the knights of the rear line, who stabbed out with their lances.
Knights were notoriously bad at obeying orders, but in Barsia they were trained to obey this trumpet call as if it were the voice of a god.
Even the hot-blooded knights acknowledged that continuing to fight once the charge's momentum was spent was a foolish act. A temporary withdrawal to set up the next charge was something they could accept.
Snort!
A warhorse struck by an axe, its belly split open and entrails spilling, still headed toward the friendly lines. But in the end, its strength gave out and it collapsed before it could arrive.
"I am sorry."
The dhampir knight stroked the forehead of the horse that was struggling to breathe, then cut its throat with a single stroke.
As several charges were repeated and even the infantry who had been standing by became entangled in the fighting, Gord gradually began to be pushed back.
'So when all other conditions are equal, does the side with cavalry have the advantage after all?'
Gord's territory was crisscrossed by large and small rivers and riddled with marshland, imposing many constraints on cavalry operations.
But the land of Britannia where they now fought, though undulating, was a clean, open grassland.
On top of that, the individual skill of the Barsian knights who had joined the expedition was overall outstanding.
Even as they were being pushed back, however, the Gord warriors succeeded in killing roughly half of the Barsian warhorses.
"Damned Gord bastards! Utterly loathsome, the lot of you!"
"You're the ones to talk. If you're men, stop whining and come at us! At last we can have a fair fight!"
Both sides gave it all they had, so victory did not come easily. As the day began to darken, a lull settled in, and the armies withdrew.
"Inspect the condition of the warhorses!"
The horse handlers of Barsia applied medicine to the wounded warhorses' injuries and repaired their barding.
"Light the fires brightly!"
Gord, too, treated the injured and kindled fires everywhere. Vampires and dhampirs, with their dark vision, specialized in night combat. Feigning rest after a day battle to aim for a night ambush was their patent.
* * *
"Did we arrive too early?"
Cassandra looked upon the blood-drenched battlefield with regret.
True to a people who were hunters and plunderers by nature, such windfall profit was a blessing of blessings she dearly loved.
The dark elves, like the blood-drinking kindred, possessed sight that pierced the darkness, allowing them to scan the battlefield without issue.
"No. You came at just the right time."
If he had wished for complete mutual destruction, Eugene would not have been comfortably munching peanuts in the first place.
"This battle was also a ceremony to secure the loyalty of the southern nobles."
"It would have been troublesome if both sides had been left with only husks, then."
"You catch on quick, as usual."
"They said you were all weary from fighting all day, yes?"
"Correct. They're in a perfect state for harvesting."
Eugene patted Cassandra's shoulder as she wore a cold smile, then returned to his battle-ready troops.
"Both of you have worked hard. Thanks to you, the enemy never noticed us."
Marbas and Varda waved their hands, faces weary.
They had each summoned wind spirits and wildgrass magic to minimize the army's noise and movement.
"Is everyone prepared to drive out the invaders?"
The southern nobles and knights, clad in their armor, offered their military salute, their faces stern.
"The target is Barsia."
"Do we just leave the Gord bastards alone?"
A noble whose domain had been ravaged and bore a grudge spoke up. The desire to sweep both sides away seemed written plainly across his face.
"Like it or not, Gord is our immediate neighbor. They may be insufferable, but we must maintain amicable relations in the long term—in trade, in passage."
"But, Your Excellency."
"Enough. My policy is already set."
Eugene had no intention of granting every noble's wish. It was impossible from the start, anyway.
"If you have grievances, direct them toward the Barsian army. They're not the sort of neighbors you'll have to face every day."
A few discontented nobles bit their lips, but the majority nodded, smiles tinged with bloodlust spreading across their faces.
'Their cavalry is too troublesome. I should use this chance to cut down their numbers for good.'
The Gord infantry was said to be strong, but in the end, they were men on foot. They posed little threat to Eugene, who commanded the continent's finest archery force.
The Barsian cavalry, however, was a formidable opponent even for Eugene. He knew full well the terror of warhorses that had overcome pain and fear.
"The preemptive strike will be launched by myself and my direct troops. The vassals, including Baron Foster, will light their torches and charge once the order is given."
"Understood."
Eugene gazed out over the dark-shrouded battlefield and drew a deep breath.
"Good. Let's get to work."
* * *
"Anyone who dozes off will be dealt with by extreme punishment! Sentries, keep your wits sharp and stand guard!"
"Those bastards can see through even the dark. They can raid without a single torch, so never let your guard down."
The Gord knights issued threats to the sentries standing outer perimeter watch.
"Bear it bravely."
Jiii-.
A battle-monk cauterized Victor's wound with a red-hot rod.
"..."
"The lad's got guts."
Duke Wolfson watched proudly as his son, a cloth clenched between his teeth, did not let out a single groan.
"We fight again as soon as the day breaks."
"Father..."
"Do not try to stop me. Tomorrow, I will pluck out every single one of their teeth, utterly and completely!"
"Father... that is not it. The Barsian encampment is burning."
"What?"
Duke Wolfson followed his son and burst out of the barracks, his face turning blank.
"Aaaagh!"
"Raid! It's a raid!"
Flame arrows slicing through the night sky were bombarding the enemy's encampment.
Warhorses whose blood calm effect had ended screamed and rampaged, arrows lodged in their flesh.
"Pih-ik-!"
The warhorses that had been bolting without masters vanished one by one, as if bewitched by the whistles that sliced through the darkness.
"Dolf! Where are you going?"
The masters of the warhorses called out desperately, but none returned.
"Form ranks! Calmly don your armor... Urk!"
"The western hill is... Guah!"
Those who tried somehow to rally the troops amidst the utter chaos were immediately sniped.
"Ignore the rank-and-file. Widen the chaos further."
The designated marksmen commanded by Cassandra toppled key figures with precision even in the darkness.
"Infantry! Charge!"
At Eugene's command, 1,500 men of the southern noble coalition charged as one, and the Barsian army began to be shattered.
"Where in the hell is the attack coming from?!"
A significant number of the unit members were composed of human slaves, servants, and mercenaries. They could not keep calm in the darkness like their masters.
"You base wretches!"
A vampire knight swung his sword, red eyes gleaming in the dark, but only derision answered him.
"Whoops, my lord. Where'd you sell your armor off to?"
"Strutting about in just your drawers, it's not dashing in the least."
The Britannian soldiers did not bother matching blades, instead picking up rubble from the ground and hurling it wildly.
"Kak! W-wait! Guah!"
His forehead shattered and shins torn, the vampire knight staggered pathetically before collapsing under a storm of thrusting spears.
The cavalry led by Haind and Rex wheeled around and cut off the retreat.
On all sides, the Barsian army fell. It was not a fight of weapon against weapon met in honor. It was closer to an execution ceremony.
"Grrk."
"Urk!"
Fleeing with several arrows embedded in their bodies only to be pierced by a spear, or having a blade drawn across their throat from behind when too exhausted to resist.
Those who seemed able to fight were at once sniped, and wherever they clustered to resist, Eugene descended upon them and butchered them.
The Barsian army felt the ultimate terror from the assault raging in the darkness, and that torrent of emotion sent a shudder through the Hell Spirit.
[Gaze upon it!]
Fwooosh!
The massive axe blade of Blackout began to blaze fiercely.
"What?"
Eugene discovered spirits drawn to the axe blade's surface, clamoring.
Fire spirits that had gathered from the conflagration set by the flame arrows. Wrath spirits drawn by the battlefield's violence and fear.
Tiny elemental spirits of the natural world were being fused into flame under the oppression of the Hell Spirit.
"A monster!"
"Those cursed Britannian dogs! They had a heretic champion with them!"
A knight astride Might in the darkness, wielding a colossal burning axe. It was indeed the image of a monster from a nightmare.
Clad even in the viper-patterned Hydra leather armor, he appeared to be anything but an apostle of a benevolent god.
The Barsian army lost its will to fight and scattered to the winds.
"Retreat! Retreat!"
"This way! Lord Alber!"
The command cadre, reduced to a bare remnant, attempted escape but failed. Hunted down as if driven by an ambush force lying in wait, they were caught entangled in capture-nets and taken prisoner.
By the time the battle of fire and screams ended, the dawn was already breaking.
* * *
Rage-fueled Britannian soldiers carried out finishing blows here and there wherever their eyes fell. Ranks that could fetch a ransom had already been sorted out.
"Kill that bastard as well."
A spear plunged into the chest of a human mercenary who had been wriggling. The dhampir crawling beside him recoiled in terror, flipping over and raising both hands.
"Sp-spare me!"
"Got a family to pay your ransom?"
"...I do."
"This bastard's tone sounds like he's lying, doesn't it?"
"I really do have one!"
"Fine. I'll trust you. Ah! Open up."
At the Britannian soldier's threat, the dhampir hesitantly opened his mouth.
"Wup!"
Then the warhammer the soldier held touched a canine tooth. The chilling sensation made the dhampir shudder.
"If you're lying, steel yourself. I'll pluck out every last one of your teeth, one by one."
The truth was, he was indeed lying. But staying alive right now was what mattered, so the dhampir nodded.
It was not only Eugene's army that had gone without a wink of sleep after the battle. The Gord army across the way, who had been spectating, was the same.
-Who the hell are those bastards?
-Battle stations!
Warriors who had sprung up from their sleep all around hurriedly threw on their armor.
They, too, were invaders in this land. There was no guarantee that the army butchering Barsia over there would not turn on them next.
But Eugene's army showed so little reaction it left the intensely wary Gord nobles feeling self-conscious.
"Looks like those fellows have no interest in us whatsoever?"
"Tch."
After about an hour had passed, they at last all lowered their shields and comfortably spectated the battle. A few went off to relieve themselves, and someone else chewed on rations.
It was not until Eugene's messenger approached that they returned to battle formation.
"His Excellency Meyer invites your commander."
"Meyer? The All-Conquering Knight?"
Duke Wolfson exclaimed in surprise.
He knew Eugene's name. His exploits at Count Andar's tournament and the Shield Mountains subjugation were known.
"That is correct. Will you accept the invitation? You may bring as many escorts as you wish."
"I should like to see the face of the warrior who beat Volks to death."
Duke Wolfson brushed off his vassals' dissuasion and immediately mounted his horse. It was an impetuousness that made one wonder if the word danger even existed in his mind.
* * *
"Withdraw?"
Eugene nodded at the stern-faced Wolfson.
"If you turn back from here, I will overlook everything that has happened so far."
"Do you have any idea how much money went into this expedition? What do you expect us to do if we go back empty-handed after coming all this way?"
"If you refuse, come and fight."
Eugene shrugged his shoulders.
"I merely wish not to live in enmity with a neighbor. It is not that I wish to avoid fighting because your army is threatening."
Duke Wolfson felt a sense of déjà vu from Eugene's unperturbed words.
His calm air was similar to that of his son, yet his rough manner that did not shrink from a fight was like himself. As if watching a merchant who dealt with the attitude of a warrior.
"Ha!"
Duke Wolfson was a hot-blooded warrior, but no fool. He knew full well that fighting the army before his eyes now was an act of suicide.
"May I ask just one single favor?"
"What is it?"
"It's a simple thing. That Barsian knight bastard tied up over there."
Duke Wolfson pointed at a male vampire slumped in one spot. It was the one who had provoked them during the day's battle by biting the neck of a Gord woman.
"Sell me that son of a bitch."
"As long as you give a good price."
An opportunity to skip the process of sending an envoy to his family and get his hands on gold coin at once. Eugene had no reason to refuse.
"Ah, no!"
On the other hand, the Barsian knight screamed at the sight of Duke Wolfson staring at him with a ferocious grin.
"A grand victory, a grand victory! With this, no one will dare oppose your rise as the hegemon of the south. And the ransoms are rather hefty besides... Huh?"
Rex, who had been all smiles over the overwhelming victory, was puzzled by the look on Eugene's face, which was obviously that of a man in deep concern.
"Is something the matter?"
"I was just thinking, we'll have to start preparing for the Inquisition sooner or later."
"What does that... Aha!"
The captured Barsian nobles were stealing glances at Eugene as if they beheld a devil. A side effect of him rampaging like a madman with a flaming axe.
"The Barsian bastards, I can understand, but why are even the Britannian soldiers looking at me with those eyes?"
For Eugene, who had been trying desperately to reduce friendly casualties, it only felt unfair.
Whether it was mount, weapon, or armor, pursuing only performance had, before he knew it, turned his appearance into something ghastly.
"Take it in a positive light. People hesitate more when betraying someone they fear than someone they respect. You possess both, Sir Knight, so your authority as the hegemon of the south will be set upon solid rock."
"Aren't you speaking too easily because it's not your problem?"
"Come on. You're on good terms with the Apostolic Council. What could possibly go wrong?"
"...If it comes to it, I'll use some Talents and figure something out."
Eugene sighed, thinking of his emergency insurance.
End
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