by Ryota Hori
“General Belares! The O’ltormean invasion force has begun to retreat!”
The moment the runner sent from the front burst into the tent and shouted the words, the tumult that governed the place so far had gone momentarily quiet. But as soon as the meaning of those words settled in, the residents of the tent began talking once again.
“What? Are you sure?!”
Everyone present was well aware the fate of their country depended on this battle. And Xarooda was well aware of the difference O’ltormea held over them in terms of national power. In their eyes, they were at an overwhelming disadvantage. And yet, the enemy chose to retreat? Did an unexpected golden chance just fall into their lap?
The general’s aides were all clamoring, believing that if they didn’t gamble on this opportunity they wouldn’t have another chance to win.
“The O’ltormean soldiers are retreating! If that’s true, this is our chance! We must pursue and strike them down!”
“General Belares, please, give us the order to strike! This is proof the gods are still on our side!”
The aides were enthusiastic at this development. Even as he nodded at his men’s words, Arios Belares, the supreme commander of Xarooda’s forces, stroked his long, white beard in contemplation. Despite the voices urging him to give the word, he alone remained still and pensive.
“Pops... What are you going to do?” One voice, slightly different in tone than the other aides’, asked him.
Someone who did not so much want to have their opinion stated as they wanted to hear the general’s own stance. It was a man in his early twenties who was the splitting image of General Belares in his younger days. And the moment that man spoke, the noise in the tent once again died down for a moment.
That silence was not for a positive reason, however. The aides fell quiet and eyed the young man with bitter, stabbing glares. Scorn, mocking and all manner of negative emotions were being directed at the young man.
Any person of ordinary sensibilities would shrink away from those gazes, but this young man was bold — and not necessarily in a good way. Even with them glaring at him, he didn’t so much as flinch. No, he was giving off even more scorn than the people around him.
“What do you think I should do, Joshua?” The general looked upon his third son, who was reclining at the lowest seat at the table.
“Hmph! I shouldn’t have to explain this,” Joshua replied, carrying a cigarette roll he had pinched between his fingers to his lips. “Pops, if you truly intend to chase them down... You should go all in to wipe them out, and claim Shardina’s head. Don’t you think?”
“““Huh?!””” The aides all exclaimed in a stupefied manner.
Joshua’s words came across as utterly unexpected. But contrary to the surprise on the aides’ faces, General Belares’s lips cracked in a satisfied smile as he nodded. Meanwhile, Joshua lit a small fire over his fingertips and lit the cigarette. He composedly indulged in a long puff, despite the fact that smoking was forbidden during war councils. The fact he was so calm only made the extremity of his suggestion all the more jarring.
“Hmph... And what would you do, were you in my shoes? Retreat?” General Belares asked in a testing manner.
“I’d pull back if I want to make sure we survive...” Joshua shrugged casually at his father’s question. “If we fall back into our borders, we can turn this into a protracted war. That way, we guarantee the country doesn’t fall immediately.”
Joshua then trailed off and looked around with a sharp gaze. The lethargic attitude one could sense from his gestures was gone now. In its stead was a passionate fighting spirit and bloodlust.
“But if we really want to defend Xarooda... I’d say we should press forward. We need to win this battle.”
The sound of someone swallowing nervously filled the tent. The general’s aides, experienced as they were from countless battles, were overwhelmed by this young man.
“Sir Joshua... If I may, can you explain what you mean?” The oldest aide timidly asked.
Up until now, Joshua Belares was only a nuisance in their war councils. He showed no honor to his elders, and anyone who lived in the capital had heard of his drinking habits and handling of dirty money. Night after night he would frequent the slums’ bars, creating some new epic story of gambling or a brawl. Many times things were brought to bloodshed over someone arguing Joshua stole his woman or vice versa.
He could very well be considered a latent criminal. Which begged the question, what was such an uncouth hooligan doing in a war council? He was only there due to the will of his father, Arios Belares.
The aides were all aware that General Belares had ordered his son Joshua to join them on this campaign. But they believed that this was simply his way as a father to force some weight onto his uncouth son and straighten him out. To that end, they never paid any mind to his opinion during the council. They simply thought of him as a waste of space, after all.
And it wasn’t as if Joshua did much to foster any trust. Not only did he not consider other people’s opinions, he would fall asleep or smoke in the middle of meetings. Seeing him speak his mind for the first time in these meetings caught the aides by surprise.
“Don’t you see? It’s a trap... They’re intentionally luring our army in for a pincer maneuver. Oldest trick in the book, but that’s only because it’s a trick that works. All right, lemme ask you this,” Joshua said, eyeing the aides with contempt. “The enemy commander we’re facing here is Shardina Eisenheit. Right hand woman of the big bad lion emperor, Lionel Eisenheit. The first princess and celebrated general. And you’re seriously just going to chase her army down?”
“That’s foolish... What basis could you possibly have to...?”
“You’re overthinking this!”
“General, he’s an amateur who’s not used to the ups and down of the battlefield. Ignore his nonsense. Are you going to ignore such a golden chance?”
The aides turned to look at General Belares. Some of them did begin suspecting the possibility of an O’ltormean trap because of Joshua’s words, but admitting that was difficult. They weren’t keen on believing a person they’d constantly mocked until now. They insisted on pressing the attack — not for the sake of defeating O’ltormea, but in the name of their personal dignity.
“Quiet, all of you... Joshua.” General Belares quieted down his aides. “You spoke of two choices earlier. What was that about? Why would you suggest we press forward if you assume there’s a trap in place?”
If there really was a trap, there was no choice to make here — their only option was to retreat and regroup at their headquarters. And yet, Joshua gave conflicting advice, and even gave the disturbing implication that it was necessary for defending Xarooda. One couldn’t help but be drawn in by those words.
“Pops... You don’t really need me to say it, do you? You know it as well as I do.” Joshua shook his head in what felt like an exasperated gesture.
“I’ll say it again. Explain to everyone what you meant.” General Belares directed an intense gaze to his son.
“Fine...” Joshua sighed. “See, it’s simple. From a strategic standpoint, we’ve already lost this battle to O’ltormea.”
Joshua’s words made the silence in the tent feel that much heavier. No one could believe what he’d just said.
“How dare you! Do you have any idea what you just said?!” One of the aides broke the silence by angrily raising his voice.
He got to his feet, knocking back the chair he was seating on, and cast aside all the fake respect he’d held so far toward the general’s son. The frontlines were already stained with blood. Their men had put their lives on the line to protect their homeland from the invading army. Saying they had already lost the battle was an insult to the soldiers that risked their lives for this victory. It was perhaps natural that the aide’s hand jumped to his sheathed sword.
“Wait, what are you doing?! We’re in the middle of a meeting!”
Seein
g the man’s hand clutch the grip of his sword, the other aides quickly grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back. Of course, they all understood his anger, but they couldn’t stand by and watch him cut down an ally in the middle of a war council.
Especially since this was, despite how insolent he may be, the general’s son. They all kept their mouths shut, knowing that should they speak, the only thing to leave their lips would be insults toward Joshua.
The only one to not budge a muscle at Joshua’s proclamation was General Belares. He simply gave a small, satisfied nod.
“Hmm... Your words are lacking in etiquette, but you’re not wrong.” He whispered.
Even so, his words echoed all too clearly in the silent tent. As if he’d just proclaimed someone’s death...
The color drained from all the aides’ faces. None of them expected to hear the supreme commander of this operation admit that they were defeated.
“S-Sir...” One of the aides muttered, shivering with shock.
War in this world was focused on melee engagements of physical combat, and the soldiers’ morale was a crucial factor that decided victory from defeat. Having trust toward one’s commander was essential for maintaining that morale. Soldiers could only throw themselves into battle and stake their lives because the commander believed victory was achievable. And put conversely, few people would gamble their lives on a general that couldn’t win.
On top of that, General Belares was the highest ranking military official in Xarooda. Victory or defeat very much hinged on his perspective. An army could lose any number of soldiers, but so long as its commander believed victory was achievable, it would not be truly defeated. One might lose a battle, but so long as the will to fight remained, the war would not end.
And put another way, no matter how many troops a commander had left, a battle was lost from the get go so long as they lacked the will to fight. A military commander was required to have an unyielding force of will. One’s talent in strategy or lack thereof could be augmented with a choice of skilled subordinates. But the true mettle of a commander was in their ability to keep the will to fight lit in the hearts of their men.
In that regard, General Belares was a commander like no other. The Empire of O’ltormea was the sovereign of the western continent’s center, and the Kingdom of Helnesgoula was its match, ruling over the north.
And the man that held both of these great countries’ ambitions in check for many years was Arios Belares. A seasoned general that led Myest and Rhoadseria to coalition, forming an alliance in the east that staved off the great powers’ aspirations time and again. He was seen as equal to Rhoadseria’s Ivory Goddess of War, Helena Steiner.
He was very much the guardian deity of his country.
Hearing that man admit that they were defeated left the aides gripped by despair. Any idea of blaming Joshua for his arrogant words had left them altogether.
“S-Sir... Don’t you think saying that is too much?!” One of the aides exclaimed, his face red with emotion. “We have knights out on the frontlines even now, risking their lives for victory... You cannot admit defeat here!”
Such an outburst would normally be utterly unacceptable, but no one blamed him for it. The other aides all felt the same way. General Belares simply silenced him by raising his right hand, and turned an intense gaze at everyone else.
“When did I admit we lost the war?” He asked in a calm voice.
His tone was full of the pride and dignity of a warrior who had won countless battles, and was utterly devoid of fear and doubt. His will was unshakable.
“Huh? But sir, just now, you...”
“I’ve said nothing about us losing this war... And neither did Joshua.”
None of the aides could immediately fathom what the general was saying. They definitely heard him affirm that they had lost. They did not imagine that.
“I merely said that we lost this battle in terms of strategy... Albeit, losing on that level does make the battle tilt greatly in the enemy’s favor. The conclusion of this battle could very well be set in stone already.” The general sighed, a self-deprecating smile spilling upon his lips. “O’ltormea has employed many tactics in this battle, and has successfully restricted our options... Do you understand how they’ve done so?”
No one spoke up to answer his question. They all awaited his answer. Perhaps one couldn’t fault them for not knowing the answer. A knight’s role was to lay down his life in the field of battle, and they weren’t expected to think of strategy on a national level. Understanding this, General Belares continued his explanation.
“What was the reason we chose to take to the battlefield to begin with?”
“Well... Because O’ltormea’s forces were smaller than expected, and we presumed the royal knights would be enough to match them.”
“Precisely. Now then, has O’ltormea ever fought our country alone?”
Everyone shook their heads. In the past, O’ltormea had only fought Xarooda when it was in coalition with its neighbors. In every war they had with the empire, they were always supported by reinforcements from other countries. Xarooda may have excelled in defense thanks to its terrain, but the gap in national power was too great.
“In that case, why didn’t we call out to the others for reinforcements now?”
At those words, the aides came up with a possibility. Coupled with their general’s words, they came to a single conclusion.
“““Aaah!”””
“It can’t be... Rhoadseria’s civil war...” One of the aides turned a questioning look at General Belares.
“Exactly. Of course, we can’t make that assertion for sure. And still, this invasion feels like it is tilted far too much in O’ltormea’s favor. They’d likely planned this for years... All to make sure no reinforcements could be dispatched to our country.”
The size of their land, their population, their economics. O’ltormea stood head and shoulders above Xarooda in every way. But Xarooda had retained its independence so far thanks to its alliance with the other countries of the east.
The fact they could rely on reinforcements from Rhoadseria and Myest in their time of need had allowed Xarooda to survive for as long as it did. Of course, their assistance wasn’t out of good will. They only assisted Xarooda because they knew the moment it fell, the flames of war would quickly spill over to their territories, and they would be next in line to be invaded.
“The recoil of the civil war prevents Rhoadseria from dispatching aid to another country. Even if they are inclined to help, they physically cannot afford to do so. And with the chaos in Rhoadseria, Myest’s troops cannot cross through their territories to reach us, either. And with that said, crossing the sea to reach us is dangerous as well. Trying to reach us from the south would take too long, and if they were to take the northern sea route they would have to cross the Wortenia Peninsula... I do not know who thought of this strategy, but by paralyzing Rhoadseria with the civil war, it rendered both of our allies incapable of acting... It is impressive.”
Everyone here realized their neighboring countries could not send them reinforcements. But if it were truly all because of O’ltormea’s plotting... The aides could only swallow nervously at what General Belares was suggesting. It made it perfectly clear just how dangerous the position they were in truly was.
“So the truth Sir Joshua was referring to earlier is...?” One of the aides asked with a thin, fearful voice.
He’d realized that perhaps Joshua wasn’t simply riding on his father’s coat-tails. Perhaps the words of this young man they’d scorned so much were true.
“Do you truly believe an enemy that had planned everything so meticulously would simply retreat? They’re hiding their forces from us, that much is certain... All in the name of choking the life out of us.”
No one objected to his words. The prospect of a golden chance presenting itself to them with O’ltormea’s forces being on the retreat blinded them. But once they’d regained their composure
, they weren’t so foolish as to not realize the trap being set before them.
“Then we no longer stand a chance... Are you saying this whole battle is pointless...?” One of the aides said, his voice heavy with profound despair.
They could only fight because they thought this could win. They could only lay down their lives because they believed doing so would safeguard those they held dear. They’d believed the general would guide them to victory, and so the truth he and Joshua had thrust before them hurt them deeply. The aide that muttered those words was likely heartbroken.
But General Belares shook his head.
“Perish the thought. I’ve merely been speaking of things in terms of who had the advantage. But while this situation borders on being hopeless, we still have a chance at victory.”
“Truly?!”
“What do you mean?!”
People overcome with despair can be acutely susceptible to the sweet allure of hope. They had come to realize just how bleak the situation was, and were suddenly offered a chance to survive. No one could fault them for lunging toward it. But the path to that hope was one of bitter death.
“We must claim the head of the enemy army’s supreme commander, Shardina Eisenheit...” General Belares uttered a sentence that froze the very air within the tent.
His suggestion was one that was exceedingly unlikely to succeed. An operation that bordered on suicide. Indeed, if Xarooda were to claim Shardina’s head, they would be capable of winning. They had suffered a bitter strategic defeat, and needed the great strategic victory of slaying the enemy commander to offset it.
Theoretically speaking, General Belares’s words were correct.
“But sir... Isn’t that too reckless...?” One of the older aides worked up the courage and asked him.
Ambushing troops were usually positioned either in the flanks or the back of the enemy formation. And once an ambush begins, chaos ensues and the chain of command crumbles. Things were different if one expected the ambush, though; if they were to press the pursuit and break through the encirclement, they may be able to reach the rear of the enemy’s formation and slay Shardina.
