War of Rage (4)

Captured mercenaries were generally stripped of their equipment and money before being driven away, but this was not always strictly observed.

When they had caused significant harm to their own side or had been a hindrance in the war, merciless punishment was dealt out. Whether they were used as arrow fodder or executed in droves.

This was not because the lords were sadistic. It was because this was the only way to quell the grievances of their own troops.

"How many days were we delayed because of these bastards?"

"They are the ones who rejected an offer that was more than they deserved. You must punish them severely and teach them to fear Your Excellency."

Not only the tribal warriors, who displayed the characteristic ruthlessness of nomads, but also the vassals counseled him with one voice.

From what they had learned while living together, Eugene was, incongruously for the military force he possessed, lenient. But now was a time when cruelty was needed.

"If you do not make an example here, the ones we meet later will think of resisting first. Since they have nothing to lose by it."

"I thank you for the sound advice."

Mercenary Commander Dolf and his subordinates were swiftly executed. Their corpses were cast into the marshland, as was the custom of Sludge Hold, and as Eugene had promised.

Some of the Hammer Brotherhood warriors remained at the fortress and began repairs. Because it was such a critical strongpoint, it was a place that had to be continuously occupied throughout this war.

Passing through the rear gate and entering the eastern region, a vast plain unfolded. The horizon was visible no matter where one looked. Wheat fields that had once rippled with gold were now burned pitch-black.

"Is this the work of the Eastern Army?"

"It likely is. No matter how mad Kruger is, there would be no reason for him to ruin land from which he had driven the enemy."

Baron Lester dismounted and rummaged through the destroyed farmland with his hands. From the grains that had turned like charcoal, a mingled scent of burning and nuttiness rose up.

It had been burned because it seemed it would be seized by the Central Army before it could be harvested. Burning food and supplies that could not be taken during a retreat was the most basic of basics.

The same scenery was likely unfolding wherever King Kruger was advancing.

"He must be tearing himself apart inside."

At Eugene's words, the vassals laughed. Given the circumstances of the Sludge Hold garrison, it was certain that King Kruger's army was also being pinched for food.

In contrast, Varda covered her nose and frowned. It was not because the smell of burning was irritating, but because this spectacle of inefficient ruin was heartbreaking.

"To throw away the fruits of a year's labor like this. It is only the common folk who die."

"In this respect, Sicily seems to be better off."

The island of Sicily had also been swept up in war, but its staple food there was the potato. Since crops buried in the earth could not be burned, scorched-earth tactics could not be used either.

For the peasants, who were content so long as their bellies were full and their backs were warm no matter how the rulers changed, this was a fortunate thing.

"Your Excellency. The enemy will likely still be unaware that we have entered the east."

Sludge Hold was impregnable. When prepared, it had never fallen to a direct frontal assault.

Since it had been taken so quickly—and wiped out in one fell swoop by a night raid at that—the chances that word had spread were extremely low.

"They are probably scattered, correct?"

"They will be. Since the food situation is quite poor."

Splitting up and moving units was far more advantageous for supply than moving in a single mass.

In particular, the eastern lords were in a situation where they were holed up in their own domains after a single crushing defeat. They could do nothing but take the hits as they came.

For the victorious Central Army, it was a golden opportunity to scatter, plunder the fiefs, and secure provisions.

In short, they were exposing their backs, completely defenseless, to Eugene's army.

"Your Excellency. It would be best to aim for Fitzborough first. It is one of the trade routes between the south and east. If we secure and fortify this place, we can receive supplies directly from the south."

"The best part is that it solves the horse feed problem."

It was also a road connected to the Wandering Castle, which had been stationed there to prevent the Central Army from plundering and striking from the rear. They would be able to receive the magic grass from the castle's stables via the shortest route.

An elite mobile force, selected primarily from the cavalry, advanced.

"An enemy courier!"

Eugene's army spotted a light cavalryman urgently racing eastward.

"Wh-what?!"

The courier, startled by the sudden encounter with the mounted troops, tried to flee in haste, but Britannia's native warhorses were not of good quality. Escape was impossible before the warhorses and horsemanship bred by the nomadic elves.

Ping!

"Kwaaak!"

The courier was soon caught, struck by an arrow, and fell from his horse.

A dark elf warrior who had searched the dead courier's clothes and found a letter approached Eugene and handed it over.

"Hurry. Our allies are still holding out."

The courier's letter contained a request to send a transport unit to move food to the main force, as the fortress would soon fall.

If they struck the enemy's rear while the fortress still stood, a hellish encirclement could be formed.

* * *

Just like Dolf, who had led the Loyal Dog Mercenaries, the commander of the force attacking Fitzborough was also a mercenary-turned-noble.

-Loyal warrior. Rise. From now on, you are Sir Kent. Go forth, as a new noble of Britannia, and claim the rights you are due!

Kent had been knighted directly by King Kruger and made a noble after the great victory in the pitched battle. Now he had come to Fitzborough to gain a fief.

"Push them just a little more! Once that place falls, I will become a lord, and all of you will each claim a share and live in grand style!"

"You'll keep that promise for sure?!"

The veteran subordinates, their morale soaring, cheered fervently.

The aspiration of every mercenary was to earn a bundle while still able-bodied, retire, and then live out a comfortable life.

A place like Fitzborough had many profitable assets and rights tied to it: mills, gristmills, roads, hunting forests, and markets. Being appointed to manage one of them was a tremendous windfall for a mercenary.

"Of course I'll keep it! And that's not all, is it? Pick any village lass you want. It's about time you all started families, after all."

"Uwaaaaah!"

Carried away by the thrill of becoming a lord, Kent showered them with generous promises.

Of course, he had no intention of keeping all of them. Once he became a lord, he could simply make excuses and not honor them, and that would be that.

Within a domain, a lord wielded literally absolute power. There would be no mercenary left to question him about breaking promises.

"Put your backs into it! I'll give two gold coins to the first man through the fortress!"

Fitzborough was a strongpoint that had been in the process of being renovated from a wooden palisade fortress into a stone castle. If they had only had two more years, it would have been completed somehow, but now, its vulnerable sections under construction were exposed.

Servants, slaves, and even boys were mobilized and defending desperately. But they were being beaten down like dogs before the mercenaries, who outnumbered them by more than five to one.

"The enemy! The enemy is approaching from the rear!"

At that moment, a scout delivered news that completely spoiled the mood.

"What? From where? There shouldn't be any place they could come from!"

Kent could never have imagined that Sludge Hold had already fallen.

But soon, as Eugene's vanguard appeared, his eyes widened as if they would tear apart.

They were not outmatched in numbers, but the problem was that the enemy was entirely cavalry. And each one carried a sizable bow.

In all of Britannia, there was only one army that led horse archers of that scale.

"The Black Hand Mercenaries!"

"It's Count Meyer's army!"

The veterans cried out in terror.

"Reinforcements have come!"

The garrison, hearing that sound, recovered their fighting spirit, which had been on the verge of collapse.

"Captain. It seems you'll have to give up."

"Damnation. Of all times, it had to be a moment like this."

If only they had come a little later, they could have taken the fortress and then held out from within.

But seeing the garrison fiercely resisting after the arrival of reinforcements, it already seemed too late. The mercenaries were being pushed back, and some even showed the disgrace of stumbling over.

"We'll throw them a group to chase."

"Understood."

Kent designated a group for his adjutant to throw as a sacrifice to the pursuit. It was a unit that included many recruits and mixed in veteran soldiers who were always full of complaints and grumbling.

'We must not fight, absolutely.'

Having been active on the continent before joining the civil war, Kent knew Eugene well. Facing him alone was tantamount to suicide.

Of course, contrary to the self-preserving Kent, there were also many knights in the Central Army's main body who were itching to fight Eugene.

-Your Majesty. I hear the young master from Roman prefers to fight at the front. I shall teach him a lesson myself.

-Please, allow me to challenge him to a duel before the battle. It seems the knave is skilled with a flail; I shall sever its chains with my battle axe and disgrace him!

The problem was that far too much of their information was outdated or simply inaccurate.

It was an era of slow news. Even between adjacent fiefs, the transmission of information was fraught with difficulty.

Eugene traveled well over a thousand kilometers at a time aboard the Wandering Castle. For all the achievements he had accumulated, surprisingly much about him remained ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠little known.

"Damn it all. What in the hell did those Loyal Dog bastards do to get that fortress breached?"

Kent swore in the direction of Sludge Hold, as if feeling wronged. He could not understand how they could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have failed to defend that mighty fortress.

Even when they had passed through, it was just before the plague had begun in earnest, so his resentment grew all the more.

* * *

Kent's mercenaries, composed mainly of infantry, could not properly respond to the sudden ambush.

"Drive them toward the fortress!"

"Do it just like we did at Lasta Monastery!"

Using overwhelming mobility to block their rear line of retreat was a matter of moments. Kent's unit, caught between the fortress and the horse archers, began to be beaten down miserably.

"Spears and shields! Spears and shields!"

"Press your shoulders together tight! If you just keep your wits about you, you can survive!"

The veterans encouraged their men and solidified a defensive formation, but the tribal warriors snorted derisively.

"Their shields seem too small. Show them where the gap is."

At Eugene's shout, the tribal warriors loosed their arrows as one.

"Ack!"

"Aagh!"

The arrows pierced precisely through the insteps and ankles that the greaves could not cover. The screaming mercenaries collapsed, and the shield wall rippled like a wave.

Steel boots were something only mounted knights wore. The mercenaries were poorly funded, and many of them went about in what amounted to sandals.

"What are you doing?! Get up and hold the line!"

At Kent's shout, the wounded were forcibly pulled to their feet from all sides. It was because the enemy was already loosing more arrows.

But the mercenary flailing in pain and the mercenary trying to haul him up became entangled and tumbled down in a heap.

Thk!

Thk!

Into those exposed bodies, the arrows lodged without mercy.

"Follow me! Let us lay their flanks bare."

The shock cavalry led by Eugene struck, aiming for the side.

After Blackout's massive axe blade tore into them four or five times, every shield turned toward Eugene, arrows be damned.

"Aaagh!"

As the mercenaries collapsed in droves, arrows embedded in their exposed flanks, Kent's force crumbled completely.

"My thanks for the rescue, Your Excellency!"

The lord of Fitzborough, whose despair had turned to rapture in an instant, knelt before Eugene.

It was excessive courtesy toward one who, though the suzerain of the south, had not even sworn a vassal contract. But the rescue had been that moving.

The lords of places captured by the mercenary captain King Kruger had dispatched were without exception strung up by the neck. For a single domain could not suffer two masters.

It was tyranny that ignored the rights of nobles, but if he had been one to care about such things, matters would never have come to this pass.

"Sludge Hold has fallen, and the vicinity is secure. There are many battles ahead, so I would like you to provide us with provisions."

"..."

The lord of Fitzborough's expression hardened for a fleeting moment, but he soon nodded.

If he offered nothing in this situation, Eugene's army might resort to 'requisitioning.' Not knowing how the war would turn, he could hardly afford to earn the displeasure of an ascendant victor.

'Perhaps I may have to switch allegiance to Count Meyer.'

It was an impious thought toward Count Harvester, but nothing was absolute. Changing one's liege was entirely possible, given only a pretext.

"We found the mercenaries' supply wagons."

"Ah... cod?"

The tribal warriors were thoroughly sick of the heaped piles of dried cod. They loved land meat and hated the fishy reek of seafood.

"Still, isn't its efficiency as field rations outstanding? Without this, the Central army could never have confidently crossed into the east."

"That is true."

The soil of the central region was merely average, but it lay along the broadest sea. In particular, it possessed the golden fishing grounds called the 'Fish Bank,' where the water was half fish.

The vast quantities of herring and cod harvested there were hailed as the wheat of the sea. From the distant past to the present, they had been the wellspring that became the Vikings' muscle and stamina.

"Your Excellency. Our provisions have actually increased since we set out."

Haind, who took great interest in logistics, grinned with satisfaction. Homi's tail, too, twitched busily — she liked fish.

"In the art of war, it is said that seizing one bag of the enemy's provisions is equal to gaining twenty bags of one's own."

This was why, as his career as a commander grew, Eugene increasingly favored cavalry.

It was an era that depended heavily on foraging and local supply, limited as it was by transport and preservation technology.

Even when large quantities of provisions were sent up from the rear, the amount consumed along the way by the transport column, the packhorses, and the soldiers escorting them was beyond imagination.

The importance of cavalry — who struck before the enemy could even torch food and matériel — required no explanation.

"We've ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only hit one place so far. You don't want to fall behind, do you?"

"My body has only just loosened up! Let us find new prey at once!"

A resounding battle cry answered Eugene's question.

Eugene's force was not alone in hunting down the scattered, plundering enemy. A separate cavalry unit led by Rex, as well as the troops of his vassals, were also charging in, seeking plunder and ransom.

The raiding parties, attacking in the belief that they still had ample breathing room, were crushed from every direction.

* * *

"Those useless mercenary bastards. We left them behind to gather food, and all they send us is bad news."

"You are disappointed because you expected something from mere sellswords."

"Is it true that Count Meyer is even commanding monsters as an army? The mercenaries who barely escaped back testified to it. They say Sir Veron, who bravely confronted the Count, had his head chewed off and died."

"Come now, speak some sense... Monsters? That is going too far."

"I'm telling you, it's true! It wasn't just one or two people who witnessed the battle!"

The mood among the central nobles was deeply subdued. When they had won a great victory at King's Field through bribery, they had felt as though the unification of Britannia lay before their eyes.

Yet now, they who had always been the pursuers were being pursued in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠turn. And by the southern army, of all foes — infamous for its weakness.

"The eastern lords, having heard that reinforcements have arrived, are refusing to surrender. They will resist doggedly to the last man. And our supply lines from the central region are being raided one after another."

When the most influential noble summed up the situation, all eyes turned to him.

"We may have to conclude a peace accord before the situation worsens further."

"..."

"..."

Everyone had been thinking the same thing. But who was going to suggest it to the king?

"Urgent report! Plamang City has surrendered, and the southern army has entered!"

"Th-this cannot go on. Let us all petition His Majesty together."

Now the pursuit had closed to a mere two days' march. If they were to retreat without fighting, this was the final opportunity. Yet no one held much expectation.

"Do you all still not know the King? Had he been one to accept such a request, the war would never have broken out in the first place."

Just as one vassal had said bitterly, King Kruger rejected the request for a ceasefire.

It was not solely because of his tyrannical nature. It was also that if he backed down here, he would find himself in a situation worse than if he had never started the war at all.

He could not even begin to guess how many concessions he would have to make to bring Count Meyer to the negotiating table.

And King Kruger was a man who did not accept the concept of cutting one's losses. He would sooner stake the entire pot and gamble than accept a compromise that meant taking a moderate loss.

It was also true that he had swept from victory to victory because, until now, that had always succeeded. But this time, there were many who did not wish to raise the stakes any higher.

Unlike the mercenary captains entranced by the chance to become lords, the nobles still had much to lose.

"You pack of cowards! I shall face Count Meyer myself."

"Lord Kray. Restrain yourself. The King's army is not yet fully assembled."

"That is precisely why I mean to step forward. Will it not take time to rally those plunder-mad bastards? Father, if he musters all the Vikings, is fully capable of fighting the southern army to a stand."

The central nobles were often slandered as "filthy bastards who mixed their blood with sea raiders." Though they pretended otherwise, they privately carried an inferiority complex about it.

That was why sons with talent as warriors were sent to study in Roman and receive knightly training.

Kray, King Kruger's second son, was one such case. Thanks to that, he had a knightly character that contrasted with his cruel father and was popular among the vassals.

"I have heard that Count Meyer is a knight who never refuses a duel brought to him."

"That is because he wins every time he fights."

His close retainers reproached him indirectly, but it did not get through to him at all. Kray instead nodded, his competitive spirit stirred and his mood brightening.

"Is a man like that not precisely the one from whom victory would win the greatest honor? I shall fight fair and square and aid Father's great enterprise!"

Kray knew full well how cruel his father was and that he was the very man who had brought such terrible war to Britannia. But he respected him as a warrior.

* * *

Kray had shown up with his force without warning and proposed that honorable knights fight one another. His sheer boldness made the blood of Eugene's own camp run hot.

"Your Excellency! I beg you, grant me this chance!"

"Those wretches have ceaselessly insulted the south! Today we shall surely wipe away the disgrace!"

The southern knights accompanying the campaign vied to volunteer for the contest. It was a golden opportunity to catch the eye of the south's new ruler.

Those who had been driven back in defeat after falling into an ambush while pursuing the pillaging Central army were especially fervent.

'We must redeem this disgrace now!'

Eugene had dismissed it with a thought like 'Well, failures happen in the course of a military campaign.' But to those involved, it was a deep humiliation.

"My lord. Can we not simply sweep them away? He is said to be Kruger's own son. He'd be useful as a hostage."

The tribal warriors under Rex, indifferent to such notions, practically itched to reply with a volley of arrows, ready and eager.

"Given King Kruger's disposition, I doubt he'd be much swayed by a hostage."

In the first place, he was not even the heir. The firstborn had no talent for war but skill at administration, so he had remained in the rear. He was tasked with organizing the supply units and dispatching new levies from the central region.

If Eugene were to trample with his whole army a man who had come forth so boldly to challenge him to a duel, it would also deal a blow to his own renown.

"Before the full-scale battle, it should serve well enough as a bout to stir the spirits."

Now that he had become the suzerain of the south, he did need to give his subordinate knights chances to distinguish themselves. Until now, he and his direct troops had been taking too much of the glory.

"...."

The desperate light in the knights' eyes was so fierce that even Eugene flinched. He felt as though he had walked into a refugee camp after a week of famine, carrying a basket of bread.

"Knight of Roman! You are famed for your flail — let us see this skill! Here stands Conrad, the foremost master of the flail in all Britannia! I will show you the genuine article, which your crude cudgeling can never match!"

Just then, a provocation from another central knight sounded across to Eugene's line.

"..."

Crack.

Crack.

Even Homi, who had been standing a step back as if she had little interest, twitched her eyebrows and loosened her hands.

End

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