WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Abood

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◈ Friedrich's Battlefield

Chapter 103: The Battle of Novakia’s Border Defense (2)

“They seem to be attacking by the standard method first… Viscountess Varienfeld. I leave it to you.”

“As you command.”

Even as more than four thousand enemy soldiers closed in, Julius maintained his composure. At the crown prince’s words, Paulina at his side responded without changing her expression.

“Archers, prepare to fire!”

Paulina raised her voice, and the officers of the archer units repeated the order. In response, the five hundred archers lined up atop and behind the walls readied their bows for indirect fire.

“…Fire!”

When the vanguard of the enemy formation entered range, Paulina gave the order. It was passed along, and arrows were released in unison.

Because the fortress stood at higher elevation, the Novakian side held the advantage in an exchange of arrows. The Arelian archers at the very front had to advance while passing through a rain of arrows brimming with killing intent. Only after many soldiers had fallen did the Arelian archer units finally reach range and begin their own indirect fire.

“Do not falter! Keep firing!”

Protected by knights carrying shields, Paulina shouted. Beside her, likewise under the cover of bodyguards’ shields, Julius glared toward the enemy lines.

The fierce exchange of arrows continued, and casualties steadily mounted on both sides.

・・・・・・

“Our numbers are greater! Do not falter before such a light rain!”

Behind the archer units who continued to shoot toward the heights of Vantor Fortress, a middle-aged man in especially ornate armor raised his voice. 

He was Marquis Angelo Mozzetti, one of the Arelian commanders. He was the original commander of the Arelian army in the Myurei region, and until now he had overseen border defense and skirmishes with the Kingdom of Novakia.

With a total force of seven thousand, a general at the front is needed to issue detailed orders and move each unit flexibly in place of the commander and staff in the main camp. Having ceded the role of directing from headquarters to Childebert and Cecillia, Angelo was taking on this role now.

He had originally been the general of a small western country conquered soon after Childebert’s accession. He was not incompetent, but he was not a commander of special note. 

He maintained order in the Myurei region without issue, and though he was given several chances for small clashes with Novakia, each ended without either victory or heavy defeat.

He was placed below Cecillia who was young enough to be his daughter, because of that mediocrity. Angelo understood his own limits, so whatever his feelings, in conduct he did not resist her authority.

Believing that if he fought bravely here and fulfilled his role his evaluation and fame would rise, Angelo commanded hard at the front line under the rain of arrows.

“Infantry units, advance. Scale the walls and destroy the gate.”

After unleashing a sufficient volley of arrows to shake the enemy, Angelo gave his next order. More than three thousand infantry of the vanguard advanced, slipping between the archer units that stood in formation with intervals by company, pressing toward the walls.

The Kingdom of Novakia, of course, would not allow them to approach so easily. From atop and beyond the walls came not only arrows but stones as well. Ballistae mounted on the ramparts unleashed their bolts, and the advancing infantrymen were steadily cut down.

Once they drew near the walls, attacks came also from Fort Lecoa. Arrows, astonishingly accurate for long-range indirect fire, lashed across like a sideways rain upon the infantry. 

Even greater were the blows from catapults hurling stones as large as half a man’s body, and ballista bolts thick as pillars falling upon them.

A soldier pierced in the leg by an arrow collapsed. Another, struck in the face by a stone, fell with blood spraying. 

Two soldiers at once were skewered through the torso by a single ballista bolt and pinned to the ground. One man took a direct hit from a catapult stone, and the upper half of his body was torn away.

Blood and entrails. Screams and death cries. The battlefield was dyed red, filled with clamor, and through it the infantry pressed on, finally reaching the walls.

Multiple ladders were raised, and soldiers climbed boldly in the attempt to scale the battlements. As one bearer after another fell dead, others took their place, and at last the battering ram was brought forth, aimed squarely at the gate.

Even those attacks did not go as the attackers wished. Atop the walls were wide, chute-like structures designed to efficiently drop multiple stones at once. Using these, the Novakian soldiers defending the fortress sent dozens of stones crashing down.

The Arelian infantry climbing the ladders were blocked by the stones hurled from above, and many fell in succession. Those who managed to slip through the rain of stones were struck down the moment they reached the top, swiftly cut down by the Novakian defenders and sent tumbling back down.

The infantry assaulting the gate faced even fiercer resistance. More than ten men on either side gripped the handles of the battering ram and pushed the carriage forward toward the gate, only to have scalding oil poured upon them from above.

On the gatehouse there were installations where cauldrons filled with oil were heated and then tilted outward. Three large cauldrons were tipped, and streams of burning-hot oil cascaded down like small waterfalls.

The battering ram itself was roofed, so none of the men were drenched from head to toe, but those splashed by the scattering oil faltered at its heat, halting their advance. As a result, the strike of the ram failed. 

Those unlucky enough to have their arms or legs splashed with oil rolled on the ground, screaming in agony.

Oil splattered across the ground, hindering the movements of the infantry attacking the gate. Their footing slippery, they could not move as they wished, and it took time before they could ready the battering ram for another strike.

The assaults from both the walls and the gate lost momentum, with casualties mounting instead. Yet, watching the stalemated battle from the rear headquarters, neither Childebert nor Cecillia showed any sign of impatience on their faces.

“Your Majesty. I believe the time has come.”

“Indeed. Give the signal.”

With the supreme commander Childebert’s permission, Cecillia gave the order to the knights waiting at one side of the headquarters. At her command, the knights raised and waved the large flags that had been prepared in advance.

・・・・・・

The jaegers of the Velec Mercenary Band were watching from a distant position.

“Captain, that was the signal.”

“…All units, prepare to charge.”

Hearing the report from Acht, whose eyes were the sharpest in the company, the commander, Ivar, gave the order. The soldiers checked the gear fixed to their bodies once more, readying themselves for the command to attack.

Their position was behind Fort Lecoa, atop the sheer cliff that rose like a wall.

During the winter, when the enemy’s patrol network grew thin, the Velek Mercenary Band had scouted the mountains around Fort Lecoa and learned the lay of the land. From this they identified a hidden path that would allow them to circle secretly around to the rear of the fort.

For Ivar and his men, hardened by life in the harsh terrain of northern Ludna, traveling through the border mountains between the Kingdom of Arelia and the Kingdom of Novakia was not so difficult. Though the route could hardly be called a road, it was nonetheless a passable way through.

Three days before the battle began, two hundred jaegers led personally by Ivar slipped into the mountains through a point where neither army kept watch. By yesterday, they had concealed themselves in the forested slopes behind Fort Lecoa, waiting.

Then, just before the battle, they advanced close to the cliffs guarding the rear of the fort. The Kingdom of Novakia had posted a fair number of sentries there, but eliminating them proved easy. 

Advancing under cover of the forest trees and striking down the lookouts with sudden ambushes was a trivial matter for the jaegers. Thus, having drawn close to the very rear of the fort, Ivar and his men waited for the signal from the main camp. 

The main army’s vanguard had already launched their assault, drawing the attention of the troops at Fort Lecoa toward Vantor Fortress. Time passed, and now the moment had come.

Ivar stood at the head of the jaegers, gazing down from the cliff into the interior of Fort Lecoa and the slope that led toward it.

Even for warriors of the northern continent, descending such a cliff could hardly be called easy. In truth, it was less a descent than a tumble down, and there would surely be many wounded, perhaps even dead, from that alone.

It was a strike made with the expectation of losses. Yet there was no other choice. With the future of the Velek tribe resting upon this endeavor, he had no option but to give the order.

“Charge.”

With that short command, he himself was the first to step off the cliff.

Following after Ivar, two hundred jaegers began their descent toward Fort Lecoa.

Footnotes: 

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