WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Abood

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◈ Friedrich's Battlefield

Chapter 114: A Victorious Battle (3)

“So, they retreat. As expected of the King of Novakia. He has not the cowardice to flail in vain, but the courage to abandon the fight.”

Rebecca spoke as she watched the enemy army begin its withdrawal. Her tone was calm, showing respect for the enemy commander’s decision.

“Your Excellency, shall we pursue?”

“Of course. Our aim is nothing less than complete victory. Inflicting only this level of losses is not enough… Send the elite archers to the flanks and have them fire directly into the backs of the fleeing enemy cavalry. “

“Move our own cavalry to cut off the rest of their retreat and coordinate with the infantry in pursuit, strike them from both sides. I will allow no orderly withdrawal. Break them into rout, and destroy them piecemeal to magnify their losses.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The adjutant saluted, and Rebecca’s merciless orders were carried from headquarters to every unit by the messengers.

Then the relentless pursuit began. On both ends of Edelstein’s rearguard archer line, dozens of elites had been stationed. They immediately fanned out left and right, firing precise, direct volleys into the backs of the retreating enemy horsemen.

Few knights of Novakia, who prized swift, agile fighting, wore full suits of plate. The arrows loosed by Edelstein’s trained archers struck with precision at every unguarded point—their unprotected necks, arms, and legs, the weak spots of mail against piercing weapons, and even into the bodies of their horses.

One after another, knights were put out of action. Some toppled from their saddles, others went down together with their mounts. Out of the three hundred fifty cavalry who had survived on both wings, fewer than three hundred remained by the time they escaped beyond bow range.

The retreat of the archers and infantry fared even worse.

The Edelstein knights who had trampled Novakia’s infantry now burst straight through the enemy rear, blocking the archers’ way of escape. Exhausted, too spent to run, the soldiers stood helpless before the raging cavalry. They were cut down, stabbed, shoved aside, trampled under hoof, crying out in terror and scattering in despair.

And from behind, Edelstein’s infantry closed in. The fleeing enemy, drained of all will to fight, could no longer even be called soldiers. They were nothing but large targets, prey too slow to flee.

Meeting almost no resistance, the infantry swung their weapons to cut down as many retreating Novakians as they could.

The Novakian cavalry who had slipped beyond arrow range found themselves unable to properly aid their fleeing comrades.

Though they had been rationed somewhat better food than the common soldiers, the knights too were hungry and worn down. Their horses, deprived of sufficient fodder, were far from full strength.

They had only one full-blooded charge in them, and that had already been spent.

Now, as the battle dragged on and their strength ebbed away, with retreat orders sapping what little will remained, any thought of a coordinated fighting withdrawal was impossible.

Orders failed to spread, and each knight could do little more than break from the field alone, struggling just to escape the pursuit.

As a result, the retreat of the Novakian host grew more chaotic the further they fled. Not only did units fail to coordinate, even squads and smaller groups lost cohesion.

Knights and soldiers alike scattered in all directions, only to be cut down one by one.

Across the plain, corpses and pools of blood dotted the ground in a grim red pattern, while the screams of the fleeing, the death-cries of the fallen, and the shouts of their pursuers echoed together.

The only exception was the group led by King Oscar Novakia, the supreme commander, and Crown Prince Julius Novakia, who still managed to keep some order as they retreated.

The two were surrounded by their royal guard, and units that had fallen back with relatively light losses merged into them, letting several hundred men withdraw together.

The enemy pursuit was harassed by rearguard archers, while sudden charges by small groups of knights were driven off as best as the royal guard could manage.

Even so, that group could not complete a clean retreat. They could not fend off the relentless pursuit, and like the teeth of a comb breaking away, men were chipped off from the edges.

The rearguard was caught, and with everyone exhausted, the already slow retreat grew slower still.

When Oscar looked back, beyond the soldiers hounding them he saw a larger pursuing force. They had likely re-formed their ranks before advancing, and now they were pressing forward in an organized wave.

If that force struck, they would not hold. Yet at this pace the majority would never escape.

This barren fighting withdrawal would bleed their strength dry, and when only soldiers too worn out to fight remained, the pursuers would catch them, and every last one of them would be hunted down, himself and his heir included.

“…So be it.”

In a voice calm and quiet, far too gentle for the carnage of the battlefield, Oscar turned to his side, where Julius stood.

“Julius. Take a handful of the guards and break from this field at once. If you flee together with the royal knights who were given priority rations of food and fodder, you will have a chance to escape.”

Hearing his father’s command, Julius froze for a moment, then his face stiffened.

“Your Majesty… what do you intend to do?”

“I will remain here with the rest of the regular troops. While you make your retreat, I will buy time, so that as many of the militia men as possible can also flee. …Why do you look so shocked? You are sharp enough that you should have realized this without my spelling it out.”

Oscar gave a faint, wry smile. Julius on the other hand was flushed with anger, likely a mix of shame and frustration.

“But Your Majesty! To sacrifice you, my father, and our soldiers while I alone survive—!”

“Silence. I am not asking for your opinion. I am giving you an order, as your king.”

There was no time. No luxury for an extended quarrel. Thinking this, Oscar kept his tone calm, but chose words as cold as steel.

“In circumstances such as these, there is no saving you or the people without great sacrifice. If I command my soldiers to die, then I, their king, cannot exempt myself from death. …And politically as well, this is where my life must be spent.”

With those words Oscar broke off, letting out a sigh.

“We failed to meet the demands of the King of Arelia, but if I, as king, fight to the death, it can at least be said that our kingdom resisted with all its might. The King of Arelia is barbaric, but he does show mercy to those who serve under him to the very end.“

“By dying here, I can appeal for him to grant as much mercy as possible, and thereafter, you will shoulder everything that comes after. That is the best course. In your heart, you know it to be true.”

“…Am I once again to be the one who flees alone?”

Julius’s expression twisted with anguish. In the war against the Kingdom of Arelia as well, he had survived at the cost of the lives of Viscountess Paulina Varienfeld and others.

“It must torment you. But no matter how deep your shame, I will not permit you to defy this royal command. I will not allow you to die here with me.“

“The lives you must safeguard are not those of your aging father, nor those of the soldiers who have resolved to die for the kingdom.

They are the lives of your mother and sister, who remain in the castle as hostages, the bloodline we have protected, the people of Novakia, and Novakia’s future itself. “

“Whether the Kingdom of Arelia claims dominion over the western continent, or the Kingdom of Edelstein wins a decisive victory, a future will come to Novakia in either case. To bring about the best possible future for this land, your battle is to endure the shame of survival and return alive to the castle.”

For a moment, the clamor of the battlefield seemed distant, and silence stretched between father and son.

The crown prince, long recognized by his father and all around him for his keen mind, accepted the reality in that brief time, and at least outwardly, nodded with composure.

“…Understood. May God grant His blessing to the warriors in their final stand.”

“This is farewell in this life. All the rest I entrust to you, my son.”

Oscar gripped Julius by the shoulder, locking eyes with him, then struck his back to send him off. A few of the younger royal knights followed after the prince as he left the battlefield.

There was no time to linger and watch his son depart. Turning his horse, Oscar faced the pursuing enemy and raised his voice.

“I, as the proud sovereign of Novakia, am resolved to fall upon this battlefield! Let the people flee! Let any who value their lives flee as well! Only those warriors who will devote their lives to the future of Novakia, remain with me!”

At the king’s proclamation, the conscripts who were once mere commoners abandoned the fight altogether, scattering like spiders into the distance. Even among the soldiers of the royal army and the noble contingents, some hesitated, then turned their backs on their liege and fled.

This too was only natural. To order men to fight to the death meant little if they lacked the resolve to face it. Oscar did not condemn those who chose their own lives over a glorious end. Around him gathered only those who had steeled themselves for death.

“We will stand with you, Your Majesty!”

“We remain warriors of Novakia to the very end!”

Voices rang out from knights and soldiers alike. To them, Oscar gave a smile and spoke.

“Well done to remain. You are my pride. Form the ranks, prepare for the charge.”

Knights in the front, soldiers behind them. As he had them form a simple battle line, Oscar gazed at the enemy and let out a sigh too faint for any to hear.

“......”

Once, he had been a young and valiant sovereign, known across the western continent. With sword in hand, he had skirmished endlessly on the eastern border against the Rigald Empire, and on the western border against the Kingdom of Myurei, fighting in more than a few great battles.

And now, his end would be in such a futile last stand.

The land of Novakia was destined to lose its independence; even its social order now stood on uncertain ground. And he himself was about to die, in hopes of begging mercy from the invader.

Even so, there was no helping it. Few men could ever choose the manner of their end. With the valor of his youth still in his heart, he would depart for God’s presence with a death that was miserable yet carried dignity.

Fortunately, a thread of hope for the future had been secured. The least he could do now was consider himself fortunate to die loudly upon the battlefield.

“Glory to the kingdom…no, to the land of Novakia!”

At the center of the formation’s front line, flanked by the knights, Oscar raised his sword high and spurred his horse forward.

Even if the nation itself was lost, they would rest in the soil of Novakia, just as their ancestors had before them.

・・・・・・

“…Order those in pursuit to scatter and cut down the fleeing enemy. Do not let them chase too far. And do not allow them to attack the enemy unit trying to form ranks.”

Leading the main body of the pursuing force, made up of regulars from the Albrecht Regiment and the troops of Marquis Eisenhut, Rebecca gave her command.

She had already gathered the remaining regulars and understood what King Oscar Novakia intended. If they meant to remain as the rearguard, not to flee but to turn and face the enemy, then nothing could be more to her advantage.

If the king’s head was taken, and the regulars willing to die with him were crushed, then Novakia would have no hope of recovery for the foreseeable future.

As for the panicked militia and the soldiers who had chosen to save their own lives, there was no need to waste effort hunting them down.

Because Rebecca restrained her men from interfering, Oscar and the regulars with him were able to finish forming their simple battle line.

Their number was barely two hundred. Yet against a pursuing force more than triple their size, they did not falter, and began their charge.

The battle cry of men mustering their last strength drew closer.

“Soldiers. Before us stand our former allies, the great king and warriors of Novakia in their final hour. Meet them with all your strength, and answer them with a worthy defense!”

That was the respect they were due. With that thought, Rebecca gave her command. The infantry raised their shields to form a wall, while behind them the archers prepared a volley. On both wings, the knights stood ready for the order to strike.

As soon as the enemy entered range, a rain of arrows flew. Exhausted men and horses, their strength nearly spent, fell one after another under the storm of shafts.

The distance closed, and the infantry under Rebecca’s command easily absorbed the impact of the enemy charge. At once, her cavalry swept around both flanks, forming a half-encirclement.

These were the remnants of an army already broken, soldiers weakened by hunger and illness. They could not hold for long. Swallowed by the ranks of Edelstein, their numbers dwindled in an instant, until they vanished altogether.

Footnotes:

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