WeTried Translations x Flame Comics
Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
Chapter 150: Waiting for Winter (4)
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Soldiers poured through the wide-open gates like a flood.
Saint Matilene was a great city famed for its exceptionally well-maintained roads. Fitting for a city renowned for trade, the avenue beneath the castle was wide enough to accommodate even that enormous force with room to spare.
-Waaaaaah!!
The soldiers rushed forward, their eyes wild with excitement. Even an army with strict discipline could turn into a band of looters the instant a city wall fell.
In a city of this size, even if the citizens had evacuated as thoroughly as possible, an incredible amount of plunder would still be left behind.
Besides, apart from Count Grandmartel's main force, his army was composed entirely of private troops supplied by the various lords. Strictly speaking, looting was practically an economic activity meant to offset the immense cost of military supplies.
No matter how badly he wanted an intact throne, he could not ban looting outright. The moment he did, his barons would turn against him.
So the soldiers raced ahead, their eyes red at the prospect of nearly unrestricted plunder. Houses burned, citizens were dragged from their hiding places, and furniture was hurled from windows.
Chaos reigned.
“Where? Where is he?”
“Just, just a moment. There are too many people. I can't get a clear read...”
Eugene rode on with a frown.
The infantry did not stop them. Their first priority was looting, and their second was taking the inner city.
In truth, no one seemed to think commanders would personally charge out of the inner city on horseback. It was only common sense. Anyone riding through this place had to be a noble.
Military discipline had broken down completely. The soldiers could not possibly know every noble from every other estate.
“I saw him! There, that white horse! The armor! That's him, right?”
“It is!”
They spurred their horses onward, forcing their way upstream without provoking the soldiers. The troops merely stepped aside and grumbled as the horses passed. None of them dared think they were enemies.
It was a common occurrence on battlefields where no proper front line had formed. In this case, it was fortunate.
Eugene looked at the soldiers' vacant faces and quietly sighed.
So this reckless charge was actually going to work.
He could not decide whether to be grateful that the situation was even more of a mess than expected, or impressed by Oscar's cleverness in deliberately turning the city into such a mess.
Well, as long as it worked.
Eugene followed Oscar.
The group of knights Elphihara had spotted soon came into view.
“Etouan!!”
A rough roar burst from Oscar. It was fierce, as though once he had overcome his fear, nothing remained but rage.
“Look at what you have done with your own hands! A city that endured for a thousand years is burning!”
Oscar shouted and drew his sword.
The knights approaching from the far end of the avenue stopped and looked at them.
At their head stood a huge knight in gleaming white armor, blocking the road. Behind him stood a squire holding a commander's banner.
It was Etouan de Grandmartel's armor. Beneath the ornate helmet, his eyes seemed to gleam.
“Etouan de Grandmartel! Come! If you want this country, you will have to walk over the corpses of every patriot left within it!”
“Oscar! Wait!”
The warhorses thundered on. At full speed, they could not stop over such a short distance.
Eugene screamed beneath his helmet.
“That man is Count Grandmartel...!”
His words did not reach Oscar. The soldiers had been thrown into confusion by Oscar's appearance, and the noise of the city collapsing around them was too overwhelming.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears, not from fear, but rage.
Eugene gritted his teeth and raised his sword. The others followed, leveling their weapons.
‘His level is... 63!’
Considering the Hero Party's average level, even calling him overwhelming would be an understatement. If that man had been Etouan, he would still have been an opponent they needed to risk their lives against, but...
“I see.”
The knight's voice boomed. It pierced through the noise and reached their ears with perfect clarity.
“So it was a trap after all. I wondered why you were using such a cute little trick.”
-Click.
The knight's gauntlet lifted the weapon hanging from his saddle.
It was a massive halberd, the sort of weapon infantry troops might carry. Far too large to wield from horseback with upper-body strength alone.
-Kraaaang!!
Oscar barely ducked beneath the axe blade. His helmet scraped violently and tore away. Even then, the halberd had enough force left to smash through the wall at the end of the avenue.
“Oscar!!”
Elphihara screamed and formed a hand seal.
Mana stirred, and lightning gathered. With sharp cracks as it tore through the air's insulation, blue lightning shot toward the knight.
“An elf?”
The knight merely turned his head aside as the lightning bolt struck him squarely in the head. The helmet straps, scorched black by the lightning, fell away limply, and the visor rolled across the ground.
The face revealed beneath it did not belong to Etouan.
It belonged to a man far older, yet still strong. A man with the face of stone.
“Jean Gerard de Lamonde!?”
“You know him!?”
“Of course I do! The Red Baron Lamonde...! Why is he even here?!”
Isabelle cried out and soothed her horse.
At last, the cavalry charge stopped. The group stood stiffly before Baron Lamonde, clutching their weapons.
Soldiers who had heard the commotion gathered around them, gripping their spears tightly and aiming them their way.
The knights opposite them did not look inclined to move. They trusted the knight at their head.
They trusted the name of the Red Baron Lamonde.
Baron Lamonde removed his crackling helmet, tossed it onto the ground, and laughed.
“Isabelle. Have you been well?”
“Shut up, you traitor!!”
“Traitor? Hahaha. What a hurtful thing to say.”
Lamonde rolled his shoulders and rode forward.
Clop. Clop.
The closer his horse came, the heavier the pressure became.
Amid soldiers aiming crossbows and long spears, Lamonde waved them back and took the lead.
“Show some manners. Hasn't the defeated commander come in person to sign the surrender document?”
“Who are you calling...!”
“If not, did you truly put this pathetic thing into action and call it a plan? The Defender Duke's son, the Hero's son, and... well. Foreigners. Did a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears children huddling together and charging in at the risk of their lives really think they could win?”
Lamonde burst into hearty laughter as he looked at Oscar.
“Leaving the gates open means you intend to surrender, yet you locked down the inner city and chose to hold out. Then you even sent the count a neatly packaged collection of nobles' heads. Once you provoked him to come inside immediately, was it not obvious that you had something waiting for him?”
“I should have killed you long ago, Baron Lamonde.”
“You are nowhere near skilled enough.”
“My father should never have trusted you.”
“It was easy enough, winning the Grand Duke's trust.”
Oscar gripped his sword with a hand whose veins bulged as if they might burst.
An Initiate Knight of the Eastern Knights. The man who had gone out first when the dragon of the Vernini Mountains was first reported, then vanished.
That disappearance gave the Eastern Knights a reason to move their forces directly. Apart from the First Prince's command, they needed that much justification to bring the entire order with them.
“Was everything planned from the beginning? From the dragon's appearance to this very moment...? How? How many years have you spent preparing this...?”
“Longer than you have been alive, at least.”
Lamonde spun his halberd and rested it on his shoulder. He flexed his gauntleted hand as he spoke.
“No one is to interfere in this fight. The glory of taking the Defender Duke's head belongs to me.”
“Everyone. I'm sorry.”
Oscar spoke quietly, swallowing his rage.
This was certain death.
Even if they cut down Baron Lamonde, he could not see any way out. If Etouan had been standing there, they might have fought at the risk of their lives, taken him hostage, and retreated to the castle.
But Baron Lamonde's head was not worth that much. Even if they defeated him, Etouan was the kind of man who would order them killed along with the hostage without hesitation.
‘Mr. Ivan was right.’
The most important thing when planning an operation was intelligence.
A trap was the best effort of the person who prepared it.
If you had enough confidence, walk into the trap yourself. Once you recognized its existence and examined all the information and possibilities surrounding it, walk in even more boldly.
Ivan's lesson was the foundation of tactics.
Put another way, when setting a trap, you had to do everything you could. You had to carry it out with the resolve to collapse beyond recovery if it failed.
Oscar thought he had been prepared.
He had not been prepared enough.
At Oscar's words, Isabelle raised her sword.
“The Hero Party is in danger!!”
“...What?”
“Caught in the schemes of ambitious nobles and fallen knights, they have been driven into danger!”
Isabelle was smiling, but her eyes were not.
Like a blazing morning star, she glared at Lamonde with burning eyes.
“But a Hero is one who always walks ahead! It does not mean the strongest person, but the bravest! Oscar, son of Gilles Ver. If you are afraid, fall back!”
“Miss Isabelle...”
“But if you are not...”
Isabelle raised her sword and pointed it at Lamonde.
-Click.
-Shing.
-Crack...!
At once, everyone prepared for battle.
This operation had belonged to all of them from the start. Oscar did not have to bear the burden of failure alone, nor did any of them have a reason to die blaming themselves before they could even show what they were capable of.
That was what their actions said, even without an answer.
“The path to life lies not behind us, but ahead!”
Just as Ivan had taught them.
Survival, infiltration, assassination, and...
Forging a path forward.
Isabelle shouted and drove her horse ahead.
Though they had never practiced together, the entire group naturally formed a wedge-shaped shield formation around Isabelle and began to charge.
* * *
-Bwoooooo!!
“We're too late...! We're too late! Lord Yermof, what... what should we do?!”
Saint Matilene was burning.
Countless soldiers were already advancing through the city's wide-open gates.
Every kind of noise echoed through the city. Yet it was not the noise of battle.
It was the noise of destruction and plunder.
Ivan knew this kind of chaos well. It was a familiar battlefield environment.
“Not yet.”
Ivan's gaze settled on the center of the city.
Palais de Royale. The city's royal castle, a solid fortress beyond its deep moat.
Above it, Tilles's royal crest was still flying.
Alongside Etakrikh's banner.
Ivan's gaze returned to the gates and outer city. There was no sign of fighting anywhere. Not even a trace that the gates had been forced open.
They had been open from the beginning.
‘They intended to defend the inner city.’
If that was all, it was no more than a desperate struggle. With outside reinforcements uncertain, they could not endure such a difference in numbers solely through the defenses of the inner city. The gap in supply capacity alone was too great.
So their calculation had probably been...
‘They set a trap.’
Open the outer city and draw in the enemy. If they defended the inner city, they must have assumed the enemy commander would advance into the city to negotiate, mock them, or celebrate a triumph. It did not matter which.
But...
‘They were careless. It was too easy to predict.’
Ivan let out a sigh.
A good operation could not be built around expectations of the enemy's actions. It had to force the enemy to act.
If it had been him, he would have opened not only the outer city but the inner city as well.
With Eugene there, he would have eliminated all of the count's lackeys, put a royal double on the throne, and spirited the royal family away.
Then he would have opened the inner city and waited even for the man's triumphal ceremony. Patiently, lurking somewhere in that vast city.
And when the most suitable moment finally came, perhaps during the banquet after the victory parade, when vigilance was bound to weaken after the war was over...
He would assassinate Count Etouan.
Then he would leave traces of the count's close aides at the assassination site. He would stir internal conflict and make the ambitious nobles, now bereft of their leaders, begin another civil war.
That was when he would close the gates.
That would be enough. The castle's interior would become a hell where everyone killed everyone else.
After enough time passed, he could enter with the soldiers gathered in the king's name and retake Saint Matilene.
It was the sort of operation he would have carried out if time and circumstances had allowed it. If there had been only one count organizing the rebellion, he would not even have needed to think twice about the strategy.
‘It is not something anyone can teach.’
It had to be tempered through real combat.
Ivan dug his spurs into his horse and rode forward.
If they were still alive, perhaps they would grow further through today's experience.
“Where, where are you going?”
“Do you remember what I told you?”
“Pardon?”
“When I told you to lay down your lives somewhere better. Do you remember?”
“...Yes.”
Ivan did not look back as he rode down the hill toward Saint Matilene.
“This is that place. Give your lives to me, and I will return your homeland to you.”
“B-But how...? There are barely more than sixty of us!”
“Break through.”
Ivan raised his sword toward the front.
He could see cavalry spotting their advance and circling toward them.
There were no fewer than two hundred. Every single one was a knight.
Even if they broke through them, they would need to pierce another curtain of infantry. And after that? They would have to break through cavalry again and keep advancing.
This was not an annihilation operation.
This was a deep strike through a concentrated breakthrough. A charge aimed solely at assassinating the enemy leadership.
A decapitation operation, piercing the center of enemy territory while minimizing engagements with their forces and finally killing their leader.
“Victory does not lie behind us. It lies straight ahead. I will do everything I can. Will you die willingly?”
“Damn it, you really are insane!”
The barons grumbled once, then kissed their sword blades.
-Click. Click.
Every knight under the barons pressed their helmet visors down at once. Beneath them, blue eyes seemed to gleam.
“You'd better keep that promise!”
“I will.”
Sixty riders began racing down the hill.
They stared straight at the cavalry bearing down on them. There were already more than four times their number, and the forces behind them were a literal tidal wave, so numerous that calculating the difference would have been laughable.
They rode into it.
Their horses and bodies were exhausted from long battles and a long march. They were in no condition to keep standing, much less fight.
Yet even so.
If the enemy was a tidal wave, the comparison was fitting.
Everyone here had sworn to become a breakwater for the kingdom.
So sixty cavalry riders rode toward more than thirty thousand soldiers.
Toward Saint Matilene.
With dawn at their backs.
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Footnotes:
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