Chapter 3 - An Inescapable Conclusion
“I’m so full…”
Falanya let her face relax, melting into happiness, taste buds satisfied, and grimacing in pain from her stretched stomach. The carriage gently swayed as it slowly made its way forward.
“You ate too much,” replied her guard, Nanaki, dryly.
“But it would have been rude if I didn’t indulge myself when they gave me such a fine welcome.” Falanya pouted.
Until just a short while ago, she had been enjoying the hospitality of Princess Lowellmina in the Imperial Palace in the capital. In addition to a lavish meal at the banquet, there had been musical and cultural performances. It was a display of Imperial excellence. Falanya had been ready to stand her ground in the Empire, but this almost threw her off her center.
“The Empire is incredible. I mean, look at all these people in this city.” Falanya looked out the carriage window to see people going about their day. The princess had previously visited Mealtars, a city in the middle of the continent, but it couldn’t compare to the energy here.
Trade united Mealtars, but the Imperial Capital of Grantsrale didn’t seem united under a single principle, other than complete madness.
But it has as much charm as Mealtars, strangely enough.
Something in the chaos spoke to her. Falanya could feel the city pulsing with energy.
Or maybe…it makes me realize Natra is in the boonies.
Mealtars and Grantsrale were two of the most prosperous cities on the continent. They made those of her beloved home seem, well, a bit shabby.
N-no! That’s not true! The economy has been good since Wein became regent, and we’ve expanded our territory! Even our population has been on the rise!
Natra had seen great progress in the past several years. But it still didn’t compare to the activity here. Falanya thought about this before asking the servant across from her a question.
“Hey, Nanaki, what do you think of this city?”
“It seems hard to guard.”
She should have known he would give her an unemotional response.
“Come on. Anything else?”
“Seems like it has a lot of hiding spots.”
“……” Falanya leaned forward and pinched Nanaki’s cheek in protest.
“What was that for?”
“Nothing.” Falanya gave no indication of stopping.
Nanaki guessed he must have touched a nerve. He knew she’d grow bored if he just let her get it out of her system, but he glanced out the window and spoke to her instead.
“…You should sit down.”
“No. I’m punishing you for not saying what your master wants to hear.”
“Save that for later… We’re almost there.”
No sooner had Nanaki said this than the carriage jolted. He caught Falanya as she lost her balance. “Myah!”
“Told you so.”
“…Hmph.” In his arms, Falanya averted her gaze. “Fine. I’ll forgive you this time.”
“Should I jump for joy?”
“No need. Let us be off.” Falanya righted herself before following Nanaki out of the carriage.
This area was known as the Noble Quarter. All around them were mansions. Virtually no citizens roamed its streets.
And now, Falanya’s delegation stood before one of those many estates.
“—We’ve been expecting you, Princess Falanya,” someone called out.
Several people stood there waiting. At the forefront of these presumed servants was a man with a dignified air.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Silas. Princess Lowellmina has granted me the honor of entertaining you, Princess Falanya.”
Lowellmina had arranged for Falanya to stay at this manor during her time in the Imperial Capital. This man called Silas had to be an aristocrat, and his estate his own. The delegation had originally booked rooms in the state guest house, but Lowellmina sent them here.
“Thank you for your warm welcome, Sir Silas.” Falanya bowed.
Silas smiled. “Such words are wasted on me. As a Flahm, I can think of no greater honor than greeting both Prince Wein and Princess Falanya at my residence.”
Wein had stayed with him while he attended school in the Empire undercover. They had a solid relationship only because Wein had protected Silas’s people. Lowellmina guessed it would be better for Falanya to stay here, seeing how she loved and respected her brother.
Falanya was thrilled about spending her trip in the very same mansion as Wein.
“During my stay, will you tell me all about my brother’s time here, Sir Silas?” Falanya asked, burning with curiosity.
Silas nodded. “But of course, Princess Falanya. Let us go inside. Such conversation may be too long to conduct while standing.”
Falanya became bashful. “My apologies. I’m getting a little ahead of myself.”
“Think nothing of it. It seems Your Highnesses get along well with each other. It brings me great happiness as a Flahm. Please, right this way.”
At Silas’s prompting, Falanya entered the building. Locked in her heart was a curiosity about her brother’s past and prayers for his well-being.
“Let’s go over the basics,” Wein said, spreading a map across the table. “First, Demetrio’s goal is to become Emperor, and his siblings want to stop him. Some conditions must be met for one to sit on the throne.”
“First, they must be related to the Emperor by blood,” Ninym said. “Second, they must undergo a ritual baptism that ensures their ascension is accepted by the ancestral spirits. Last, the Emperor-to-be must announce a coronation ceremony that will be held before the public.”
Wein nodded. “The baptism takes place in the largest lake on the continent—Veijyu Lake, right by the city of Nalthia. After the upcoming Emperor is cleansed there, he and his followers head for the Imperial Capital of Grantsrale to the southeast.”
“When the previous Emperor was about to ascend to the throne, the masses allegedly assembled by the road, pushing their way to catch a glimpse of him as he traveled between the two cities.”
The journey from the old capital of Nalthia to the new one at Grantsrale took several days on horseback. This slow trip was meant to parade the new Emperor and show him to the masses.
“In that case, Demetrio has to make his way to Nalthia,” Wein continued. “Which is why he mobilized his faction and left his territory.”
Demetrio’s territory was contained mostly to the west of Nalthia. In between the two cities was Bellida, where they were currently stationed. To the east was Nalthia.
“But isn’t Nalthia occupied by Prince Bardloche?” Ninym placed a pawn over the territory.
After Demetrio announced that he intended to be Emperor, Bardloche acted quickly, rallying his forces to take Nalthia for himself.
Their march had been something out of this world. Bardloche’s territory was adjacent to Demetrio’s domain in the north. Everyone had assumed Bardloche wouldn’t be able to organize his soldiers and reach Bellida before Demetrio. But instead of waiting for his troops to assemble, Bardloche had given orders to press forward to their target city, collecting his scattered soldiers en route.
That was how Bardloche reached Nalthia before the eldest prince, who took the normal approach of assembling his army before departure. Bardloche’s method made sense only because his faction consisted of military personnel.
“Demetrio might consider skipping the baptism and speed-run it to the coronation ceremony in the capital. Except stationed there is Prince Manfred’s army.”
Wein took a pawn and placed it over Grantsrale. To the north of Demetrio’s territory was Bardloche’s domain. And Manfred’s area was in the south. Though Manfred lagged behind his other brothers, he’d managed to mobilize his troops, too.
“At the moment, Demetrio and Bardloche have more soldiers,” Wein said. “But it’s only a matter of time before Manfred has an army big enough to rival them.”
“If Prince Demetrio had dispatched some of his soldiers to the capital, they might have made it before the youngest prince arrived at Grantsrale.”
But Demetrio had chosen to lead his troops to Nalthia first. After all, the baptism was critical to protect his legacy. Bardloche, however, had taken it first, and Manfred had mobilized his own army while Demetrio frantically weighed his options.
“Okay, but Demetrio’s faction is made of conservative aristocrats,” Wein argued. “If they slight Imperial customs, that’s as good as knocking aside the tradition of the eldest son taking the throne. They won’t go back on tradition when it’s part of the reason he can take the throne.”
Factions were such a bother. Sometimes they called for the leader to change his mind and bend to the faction’s will, just so he could stay in command. Like Demetrio, Bardloche and Manfred must have had hard times wrangling in their respective factions.
“I wonder what Prince Demetrio intends on doing next,” Ninym commented.
Good question, Wein thought as he looked up.
“Well, I guess he’s got no choice but to battle it out with Bardloche.”
“We should challenge Bardloche’s army now!” shouted a young man participating in the meeting.
The room was packed with all kinds of people, young and old, all supporters of Demetrio’s faction. Their leader sat at the head of the table.
“The longer we wait, the stronger Bardloche’s defenses will become. He’ll make a horrible enemy! Not to mention, Manfred is bolstering his troops. If we’re careless, both armies might come for us!”
It was safe to say his assessment was on point. At all angles, it was obvious that Demetrio had made enemies of the two princes and that they were at a significant disadvantage, two against one. It made sense to take on one of the princes while the other was still preparing for battle.
“We just don’t have enough manpower,” an elderly man said cautiously. “Bardloche’s army is strong. Until we’re prepared and know we can win, I know it won’t be pretty.”
“You think we have time?! We’ve already placed our wager! We can’t wait until we’re certain of our victory! That’ll never come! We won’t win if we don’t even try!”
“You need to reel it back. We still have allies who aren’t here yet. It’s not the right time to mobilize.”
The other participants seemed to agree. These conservative members of Demetrio’s faction were the cautious type.
“…Well? What do you think, Your Highness?!” The young man directed his attention to Demetrio, who had been sitting there in silence.
As all the aristocrats’ eyes gathered on him, the prince spoke out. “…How many soldiers do we have at the moment?”
“About twelve thousand, Your Highness,” someone nearby politely replied.
“And those of my foolish brothers?”
“Our spies have reported Bardloche has just under ten thousand. It seems Manfred has around five thousand.”
“Hmph…”
Based on numbers alone, his troops were the biggest, but even Demetrio knew that wouldn’t secure his victory. Bardloche’s army was strong enough to overcome this quantitative difference.
“And if we include our allies that we’re expecting?”
“A little under twenty thousand. Of course, it will take time for them to arrive.”
So almost double the size of Bardloche’s army. It seemed ideal, but the issue of time made Demetrio groan.
“…Might I say something?” Someone at the far end of the table timidly raised a hand. “Perhaps we should ask Prince Wein’s opinion…?”
The meeting room stirred. Everyone in the Empire knew about Wein’s ingenuity, and all the participants thought he might give them something to work with.
Wein, however, was absent. There was one reason for this…
“—There’s no need. He is accompanying us and no more,” Demetrio dismissed. “I allowed him to sit in one time to figure out his intentions, but we don’t know what he’ll do if we give him a chance to butt into our plans.”
“His Highness is right. We have new aristocrats interested in our cause with Wein as our ally. We’ve already reaped enough benefits from his reputation, even without relying on him.”
“And this is a problem for the Empire. Now is not the time to invite other nations to step in.”
All seemed unanimously wary of Wein. He was poison—a highly lethal one that even killed its administrator. They couldn’t use him. They couldn’t let Wein steal the show. They would keep him on hand, and no more. The aristocrats were convinced this was their best option.
“I have no objection to leaving Prince Wein alone,” said the young man who had started the conversation. “But we must come to some sort of conclusion. Like, when should we make our move?”
The participants groaned. More soldiers mobilizing meant more time to organize them. How would they make it on time?
There was no right answer. Only future historians could know. They didn’t need a correct answer, but the confidence to decide and stick to a plan.
“—Fifteen thousand,” Demetrio announced, making the judgment call. “As soon as we have fifteen thousand, we’ll fight against Bardloche. If anyone has any objections, say so now.”
A telling silence filled the room.
Demetrio nodded. “Then our plan is set. Prepare for battle.”
““Yes!”” The vassals jumped into action.
Demetrio spoke quietly to no one in particular. “Mother…I promise to grant your wish…”
“—So, Wein, who do you think will win?”
“Hmm? Bardloche,” Wein replied casually. “Even if Demetrio has double the soldiers, Bardloche is one hell of an enemy. Plus, he has the option to go on the defensive, waiting it out until Manfred strikes Demetrio from behind.”
“Do you think the two have a secret arrangement?”
“Probably. Even if they don’t have anything, Manfred has every reason to attack Demetrio from behind. I assume Demetrio has no hope of winning, as hard as he might try.”
Wein had just ripped into the faction that he’d temporarily joined. Ninym thought he was finished, but it turned out he had more to say.
“But, you know, a victory or defeat won’t necessarily end in a way that’s favorable.”
“…What do you mean?”
Wein gestured at the four pieces on the map in front of them. “We have four actors on our stage: Prince Demetrio, who announced he’d become Emperor; Prince Bardloche, defending the city hosting the ritual; Prince Manfred, amassing his army outside the city; Imperial Princess Lowellmina, scheming in the capital. —Who’s making the mistake here, Ninym?”
Ninym thought about this question for a moment.
“Wouldn’t it be Demetrio? He only made his announcement after being driven into a corner, and he has the other two princes on his heels…”
“Nope,” Wein declared. “It’s Prince Bardloche who’s making the gravest errors.”
“Prince Bardloche…?” Ninym blinked at him.
Wein sat back in his chair, which creaked. “So the race has begun. What would happen if someone who doesn’t want to win stands in front of the goal? You’ll get it soon enough. I guess all we can do until the battle begins is watch the proceedings.”
Wein broke into a smile and, with one finger, flicked away a pawn not on the map.
Nalthia was absolutely crucial to the Empire. It was blessed with the largest lake on the continent, so it had flourished for centuries. It was also why the city was always targeted by its neighbors, handing it a history of repeated conflict.
But one man put a stop to that over one hundred years prior. He gathered people and weapons to liberate Nalthia from the nations controlling the region at the time. He didn’t stop there. He invaded and toppled the foreign enemies who tried to take Nalthia from him.
Once he had the entire region under his control, he declared the birth of the Earthworld Empire, reigning as its first Emperor and facing over one hundred battles during his life.
After his death, he was placed in a mausoleum in the suburbs of Nalthia, giving birth to the tradition of all succeeding Emperors being laid to rest in Nalthia. As Imperial territory expanded, they moved the capital to Grantsrale for more convenience. Nalthia still flourished, even up until the present day. It was both its first and its final territory.
“—I never thought we’d be here for this reason,” muttered Glen Markham to himself, walking along the pathway on the wall surrounding Nalthia.
He was Wein’s old schoolmate at the military academy. A member of Prince Bardloche’s army. He had helped secure Nalthia to prevent Prince Demetrio’s rise to Emperor.
“A mausoleum for generations of Emperors… I’ve always wanted to see it, but…”
If they could see the state of the Empire now, would they lament or be angry? Glen imagined they would not be happy.
The person he was looking for came into view.
“You were here, sir?”
An elderly man was staring beyond the castle parapet. He wore the same uniform as Glen and a dignified looked that belied his age.
Lorencio—an Imperial earl, Bardloche’s former sword instructor, and currently close associate and leader of his former pupil’s faction.
“Oh, Glen.” Lorencio glanced over at him and pointed a wrinkly hand into the distance. “Do you know where this road leads?”
“Hm? Yes. It leads to the Imperial Capital, Grantsrale,” Glen obediently answered the seemingly random question.
The road connecting the capital to Nalthia usually saw heavy foot traffic, but it was virtually empty at the moment. Everyone knew that, soon enough, this would be a battlefield hosting Demetrio and Bardloche’s armies.
“…I was stationed here as a guard when the late Emperor rose to power,” Lorencio said, reminiscing quietly. “Both sides of this road were packed. I could feel their energy. Food stalls were jammed, and it was difficult to find any lodging. I remember the candy I bought while on break. You know, it didn’t taste very good, but it was like nothing I’d ever had before.”
He went on. “At the end of the ceremonial baptism, His Majesty passed through those castle gates with his retinue, and the cheers were so loud, I thought we were experiencing an earthquake. As their cries washed over His Majesty, he seemed to glow…”
“I heard similar stories from my father. People wept, overcome with emotion, and cries for His Majesty could be heard even after sunset.”
“Yes… That’s why I’m so pained by our pathetic situation. Who thought his death would bring such tragedy?”
Glen could see the despair in Lorencio’s eyes, thinking about their past glory and their bleak present. This downgrade must have pained him, like arid wind whistling through his heart.
It lasted only a moment. Lorencio gave a self-deprecating smile.
“…I’ve bored you long enough. Forgive me, Glen. These are just the ramblings of an old man.”
“Not at all.”
“Oh, you don’t have to pretend. Anyway, did you have some business with me?”
“Yes. His Highness will be hosting a meeting to discuss the eldest prince’s army.”
“Understood. Let us be going.”
Lorencio set off without hesitation, and Glen trailed behind him.
With Bardloche at the forefront, the faction leaders had already gathered in the room that Lorencio and Glen entered.
“I apologize for being late.” Lorencio bowed.
Bardloche pardoned him. “Just sit down. I hate to rush things, but we need to start this meeting.”
“Yes. —Glen, stay here and listen.”
Glen nodded and went to stand beside the seated Lorencio. There were other young people in attendance, who weren’t leaders, but eager hopefuls who might be supporting Bardloche in his future administration.
“How’s the situation with Demetrio?”
One of the subordinates answered Bardloche. “According to our hidden operatives, he is focusing his energy on arranging his troops in Bellida. He has yet to make a move. His forces currently stand at twelve thousand. We estimate he will have around twenty thousand at most.”
“That’s a mighty big army. I thought his faction was losing people.”
“It seems he accomplished this by threatening hostages and winning them over with money. He intends for this next battle to be a final one between the two of you.”
“I guess even a cornered mouse will bare its fangs.”
An army of twenty thousand was going to be hard to deal with, even if Bardloche’s soldiers were top-notch.
“But maintaining an army of twenty thousand is no average feat. After all, Manfred presents a danger to him, too.”
“Which means Demetrio might move before hitting full capacity… Keep an eye him so we don’t miss a single thing.” Bardloche grimaced. “And…what’s going on with Prince Wein?”
For Bardloche, Wein was the biggest wild card. For better or worse, the middle prince had been around Demetrio long enough to have a good idea of what he’d do. He couldn’t get a read on Wein, however, much less begin to imagine why he would join Demetrio.
“Prince Wein has not done anything conspicuous at the moment. It seems even Demetrio’s faction is unsure of what to do with him.”
“Hmm… Okay. Keep an eye on him, too.”
“Yes, Your Highness!” The male subordinate bowed.
“Have we decided on a battlefront?”
“Yes. Please look at this map.” A different man stepped in. “We’ve done a sweep of the surrounding area. For our respective troops, this plain outside of Nalthia might be a good fit.”
“So a battle on flat land.”
“Yes. Nalthia would make a suboptimal fortress. And if we turn its sacred land into a battlefield, the citizens of the Empire will not be happy with us.”
Other subordinates nodded in agreement.
“Even our presence in this city has been a point of contention. That strange prime minister is also outraged, I’ve heard.”
“If we’re not careful, we might look like a rogue army fighting against the Empire. Prince Manfred might devise such a scheme.”
“Prince Demetrio doesn’t want to see Nalthia engulfed in a sea of flames either, seeing that he wants to rush through the ceremonial baptism here. I believe he will agree upon the decided location.”
Bardloche spoke up. “Is there any chance the citizens of Nalthia will interfere?”
“It’s unlikely. They might be unhappy, but they don’t support Prince Demetrio. They seem angry about the fact that we’ve stopped the ritual from proceeding, which is the same thing as snubbing our noses at their landmark feature.”
It was like how Bardloche’s faction of soldiers was proud of their military power and achievements. The people of Nalthia were proud of being born and raised on sacred ground.
Just then, one of the leaders chimed in with a smile.
“In that case, they won’t have any grounds to complain if Prince Bardloche undergoes the ceremony.”
“ ”
In that instant, the air in the meeting room felt off.
“That…is one possibility, but…”
A meek response. All the other leaders looked uncomfortable.
Bardloche broke the tension. “We’re stationed here to uphold our moral duty to stop Demetrio and his attempts to become Emperor by force, leaving no room for discussion. Manfred is cooperating with us for that very reason. Let’s not do anything reckless here.”
Everyone else gulped in unison.
“Yes… Forgive me,” apologized the leader, but the air remained heavy.
Bardloche sighed. “We’ll stop here for today. You are dismissed.”
They started to stream out of the room, including Glen, who had been silently watching over the proceedings. Just as he was about to leave, however, he heard Bardloche murmur.
“Any more than this, and we’ll be in trouble… I must hurry…”
What could that mean? Glen thought about it for a while, but it went unanswered in his mind.
Shortly after, Demetrio’s army showed up on the outskirts of Nalthia. He had demanded that Bardloche’s army withdraw from the city, but the middle prince refused.
This marked the beginning of the battle between Demetrio’s fifteen thousand soldiers and Bardloche’s nine thousand fighters.
From the beginning of the struggle for succession until now, the three Imperial princes had done their best to avoid armed conflict. The reason for this was, of course, because they were brothers. They couldn’t just kill each other. Well, that wasn’t exactly right. They were more concerned about civil war breaking out and having to deal with intervention from the Western nations.
It was sensible, even when viewed in the most unfavorable of lights. They’d engaged in smaller skirmishes edging on the verge of conflict, of course. They’d mobilized armies to restrict one another’s movements. The younger two princes had competed in Mealtars, but the three brothers had never fought head-on.
This was the day that would change. Prince Demetrio’s and Prince Bardloche’s armies were about to fight in a battle that could change everything.
“Move forward! Keep going! Eyes ahead! The enemy is just there!”
“Hold out! Knock ’em back! We can stop their advance if we just get through this!”
The battle took place on a plain, a distance away from Nalthia, just as planned. It lasted several days. A combined total of well over twenty thousand soldiers risked their lives, crossing swords and literally dyeing the ground red with their blood.
Fast-forward to the present…
On the battlefield were typical sights and sounds: pained screams, angry shouts, clashing swords, footsteps, piles of corpses. It was in Bardloche’s favor.
“Your Highness, Glen’s unit has broken through the enemy’s central defenses!”
“Send one of our reserves to follow him up from behind. Make sure the enemy doesn’t fill the hole that we just ripped through with their soldiers. Use it as an opening for our men to rush in.” Bardloche barked out his instructions from his stronghold in the rear. “How is the melee on our right flank going?”
“We’ve reorganized our battle formation and are pushing back the front line!”
“Send our remaining reserves to our right flank. Tell the left flank to focus on defense. We’ll crush the enemy from the right before they decide to retreat.”
“Understood!”
After he’d issued orders for a while longer, Bardloche looked at the man next to him. “Have we won, Lorencio?”
“I would warn against letting down your guard… But we’re practically guaranteed victory, as Your Highness has said.”
It wasn’t wishful thinking. Demetrio’s forces were larger at the start of the battle, but they were losing people at the hands of Bardloche’s soldiers, who had undergone considerable training. At dawn on this day, they were matched one-to-one.
And now, Bardloche was overwhelming Demetrio on every front. The roles were undoubtedly reversing. There was no reason why he couldn’t win this battle when he had the advantage in both soldiers and skill.
“I suppose my one concern is that man.”
Flashing in Bardloche’s mind was the image of the foreign prince in Demetrio’s army: a man named Wein, the last person on the continent that anyone would disrespect.
“According to our reports, he has been far removed from the war council. He won’t be able to speak up, even about his best strategies, so his efforts are all for naught. In fact, Demetrio’s forces have done nothing beyond our expectations.”
“Hmph…”
“If anything, Prince Wein might come here with a small army to launch a surprise attack on our stronghold. But the fortifications around Your Highness are impregnable. Even if they attacked with several thousand men, we could hold out until reinforcements arrived.”
Even the most fiendish tactician wouldn’t be able to turn this battle around. This was Lorencio’s conclusion. Bardloche was certain who would win and who would lose.
—But if that was true, why did he feel indescribably anxious?
“…We’re dealing with Demetrio here. I won’t feel this way once I haul him in front of me,” Bardloche murmured, the haze in his heart clearing.
His troops would bring Demetrio to him—dead or alive. Then this would be settled.
At that exact moment…
“Hmm—?” He swore he heard the sound of a gong from the other side of the battlefield, followed by a round of cheers. His eyes widened.
A messenger came rushing toward him. “I have news! Demetrio’s army has begun to retreat!”
“What?” Bardloche exited his tent and took a sweeping view of the battlefield. Just as the messenger reported, Demetrio’s forces were indeed attempting to fall back.
“Your Highness, this is our chance to pursue them,” Lorencio suggested.
Bardloche contemplated it for a few seconds and nodded. “Tell every commander: We’ll attack from behind and break their spirit to keep fighting. But don’t chase them too relentlessly. They’re still Imperial citizens.”
“Understood!” The messenger scrambled once again toward the battlefield.
Bardloche watched him out of the corner of his eye before glaring at Demetrio’s retreating army.
“…So he ran before I could destroy his right flank.”
“Is something bothering you?”
“The Demetrio I know refuses to admit mistakes or defeat. I thought he’d never retreat, even as the noose tightened around his own neck, but…”
“The eldest prince might be that way, but he must have some brilliant advisers. Either they gave him a stern warning or dragged him off the battlefield themselves.”
Bardloche said nothing. They were the victors. His troops might manage to capture Demetrio. Even if the prince slipped away from their grasp, he wouldn’t have many soldiers after sustaining such a blow.
Demetrio had asked for a decisive battle, and he’d lost. Any sort of comeback was beyond all reality.
As Bardloche thought this, he felt something tugging at his heart. He felt like he could see a shadowy, unknown figure flickering in the corner of his eye.
“The units pursuing the prince shall return around nightfall. As soon as they come back, we’ll make a formal declaration of our victory and tally our fruits of war.”
“…Right.” Bardloche nodded, trying to blow out the dark smoke filling in his chest.
In the end, his troops were unable to capture Demetrio.
Far from it, in fact. The core members of Demetrio’s faction had all fled to safety. Based on their choice of escape route and obstacles left for Bardloche’s men at critical junctures, it was as if Demetrio’s army had planned on retreating since the very beginning.
Then—
It was a tragic scene.
In some unknown corner of the forest, the injured and defeated survivors of Demetrio’s army were assembled.
The sun had set. Darkness settled over them. Men made fires as small as possible to prevent their pursuers from detecting them, clustering around to steal what little warmth they provided. The smell of sweat and blood was thick. There was no sign that the stifled moans and tearful cries would stop anytime soon.
Demetrio’s army had lost—destined to go down in history in the worst way. One could only guess how many soldiers had escaped Bardloche’s army in pursuit. Only exhaustion and despair colored their faces.
“So,” Wein started dramatically, taking this situation into account. “Do you feel like lending me an ear now, Prince Demetrio?”
Wein and Demetrio faced each other inside the only prepared tent.
“…I admit your plan allowed us a narrow retreat,” Demetrio said, looking at Wein with an annoyed glare.
Back when Bardloche’s forces had cornered them, Wein had whispered to Demetrio:
“You can still escape if you go now.”
Although hesitant, Demetrio chose to follow his advice. Using the escape route prepared by Wein, they were able to shake off their pursuers and flee to safety.
But that wasn’t the reason why Demetrio had run away.
“So…can we actually win?”
Wein had whispered one more thing in his ear—that this wouldn’t just save his life. He claimed Demetrio had a chance at victory by retreating here.
“Of course.” Wein flashed a grin, illuminated by the flickering flames outside the tent, which made his shadow look devilish.
“Everything is already set. If a commander’s job is to win, a politician’s job is to turn losses into gains. Why don’t we teach Prince Bardloche this lesson until he tells us he’s had enough?”
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