WeTried Translations

Translator: Nemui

Editor: Nemui

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◈ Friedrich's Battlefield

Chapter 138: Winter Interlude (3)

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By late winter, the Arelian army had begun gathering behind Arnsberg fortress.

Edelstein's forces also assembled around the defensive positions in the western royal demesne. Noble armies arrived. Mercenaries arrived. Conscripts came in groups from towns and villages.

The camp swelled day by day.

More than twenty thousand soldiers were expected, and soldiers were not the only people an army required. Supply workers, merchants, craftsmen, blacksmiths, armorers, wagon drivers, horse handlers, and laborers followed. Temporary stables were built for more than a thousand horses. Workshops rose beside rows of tents.

Peddlers came. Gamblers came. Prostitutes came. Men selling alcohol came.

Commanders did not approve of disorder, but they tolerated a certain amount of alcohol. An army that large could not be kept tense without relief until the battle began.

The camp became a temporary city built for a war that would be remembered in history.

Training continued within that city.

Conscripts were divided by region into platoons of about thirty men. Each platoon was led by a volunteer with military experience. The men trained to stand together, hold spears together, and move with people from the same town or neighboring villages.

Bruno of Volga trained under a platoon commander named Werner.

Werner was a former kingdom knight past sixty years old. He was strict, but not cruel. He corrected posture, shouted when men lost formation, and explained the reason for each movement until even farmers began to understand why the line mattered.

"Bruno," Werner said after one drill, "you have good sense for a commoner with no military service."

Bruno laughed awkwardly.

"I used to be a delinquent. I was always fighting."

He did not add that he had often lost to an orphan girl.

"Why did you volunteer?"

"For my town, my family, and my pregnant wife."

"Good."

"What about you, Commander? Sense of duty?"

Werner looked away for a moment.

"For my daughter."

Bruno fell silent.

"She became a knight after me. When the dispute with Arelia turned into war, she died in the first battle. She left behind a family and a childhood fiance."

His voice did not tremble.

"I do not know if this is revenge. Not exactly. It is personal closure. If I did not fight at the end of the war where my daughter died at the beginning, I would not be able to face her. She admired me, you see."

Werner gave Bruno a stern look.

"That is self-satisfaction, so keep it secret."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Back to training."

Elsewhere, a mixed northern unit arrived at the camp.

It included roughly five hundred men from the Albrecht Regiment, only about half of its strength because troops still had to guard the Beiral Plains and the border with Novakia. Around three hundred northern noble troops accompanied them. With them were two companies from the former Bachstein duchy forces, now reorganized as the Bachstein Regional Defense Battalion.

Franziska, a platoon leader and former knight of the duchy, looked over the camp with tightened lips.

"We truly obtained a chance to recover our honor."

The Bachstein duchy had rebelled. Its knights could have been executed. Instead, they had been spared, stripped of knighthood, and placed as squad and platoon leaders in the new battalion.

Since then, Franziska and the others had trained desperately. They had supported the Albrecht Regiment from the rear, obeyed every order, and tried to prove loyalty to the royal house and gratitude for King Sigismund's mercy.

Someday, they hoped to regain knighthood.

They had not expected the chance to come this soon.

Roman, another former duchy knight, spoke beside her.

"I hope they put us somewhere we can earn merit. Not in rear support again."

"I doubt you need to worry."

"Why?"

"We are the newest unit in the kingdom. Our noncommissioned officers are former traitors. We are probably the least costly unit to lose."

Roman grimaced.

"That means heavy fighting."

"It means a chance and a trial of loyalty."

Franziska touched the sword at her waist.

It was the sword she had carried when she was still a knight. Her father, Egmont, cousin to Duke Ernst, had taught her everything. He had died as a rebel after dueling Matthias.

His skill lived in her.

If she won merit in this battle, perhaps she could restore at least a part of her father's honor as a warrior. She would prove that she was now a loyal soldier of the queen, and that her father's teaching and sword had not been wasted.

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