ACT 1
“What...?! Y-You’re sure of that?!”
Upon receiving the report from his messenger, the Ash Clan patriarch Douglas’ eyes went wide as saucers, and he raised his voice in a panic with no regard for his image.
He was someone who ruled over an entire clan, and naturally, that meant he was a man of strong nerves.
And yet, even he could not keep himself from shuddering at the number he’d just heard.
“Thirty thousand?! Where did that absurd number come from?! Where could they even possibly get that many soldiers from in the first place?!”
“Banners were spotted signifying the Cloud, Fang, Sword, Spear, and Helm Clans. The enemy force appears to be the combined armies of five clans, my lord!”
“Rrgh...” Douglas groaned and bit his lower lip. “I assumed the Sword Clan would be invading, but not the Spear Clan and the Helm Clan too...”
Even after scrounging up every available soldier in the nation, he only had about four thousand total. Hearing that he was up against an enemy almost eight times that, Douglas could feel the color draining from him.
The messenger continued. “My lord, the enemy is currently marching towards Dauwe Castle! It’s estimated they will reach it in around two more days.”
Dauwe Castle was a very heavily-walled fortress that had been built on the Ash Clan territory’s eastern end to guard against the threat from the powerful Cloud and Fang Clans.
Over the long years spanning successive generations, it had seen a steady accumulation of defensive reinforcements and improvements, and now it was one of the strongest fortresses in the whole Bifröst region.
Additionally, because Yuuto had predicted that several of their neighboring nations would stage a combined invasion attempt, they’d taken appropriate countermeasures in advance.
A full garrison of three thousand—almost eighty percent of the Ash Clan’s available fighters—were stationed in the fortress, along with a large volume of weapons, food, and supplies. Additionally, the fortress was being commanded by Hrymr, the Ash Clan’s most capable general. It was without a doubt the best lineup of defensive preparations they could have come up with.
However, their foes being this incredibly numerous was still something way outside of any of their predictions.
“Are we going to be able to hold out until reinforcements from Father arrive...?!”
Douglas gulped nervously.
The curtain was now rising on a new battle, one on a scale far beyond anything ever seen in the history of Yggdrasil.
“Fa... Father! There’s an urgent message from the Ash Clan. They are pleading for immediate reinforcements!”
When the Claw Clan patriarch Botvid’s child subordinate burst into his office with the news, Botvid’s first response was a bitter grin.
“Hmph, so it’s finally happening then. For now, calm yourself down. Go on, drink some water.” He gestured with his chin, directing the panicked man towards the pitcher of water on his desk.
He was completely composed.
He knew already from earlier discussions with Yuuto that several of the nearby clans were going to attempt to wage war on the Steel Clan in tandem. And from his own independent intelligence network, he’d gotten reports that the Sword, Fang, and Cloud Clans had gone through a reconciliation ceremony, swearing a new alliance with each other.
As such, this situation was one he knew full well was coming, and he had no reason to lose his cool head because of it now.
Due to his ability to present himself as unflappable and in control during situations just like these, he garnered the support and reverence of his subordinates.
It was an example of Botvid’s shrewdness, and that shrewdness is what he’d used to climb his way to power.
“Now then, how large are the enemy forces?”
Botvid broached the question after waiting a moment for his subordinate to catch his breath.
It was something he’d already had his spies investigate.
The enemy would probably be fielding around fifteen thousand men.
By comparison, the Ash Clan wouldn’t be able to pull together even five thousand.
With those numbers, it was going to be a tough battle ahead...
“Th-Thirty thousand.”
“What?! That’s absurd, what are you saying?! I haven’t heard anything about an army that size! You’re sure that figure’s not just a bluff in order to hit our morale?!”
Botvid completely forgot the mental calculations he’d been doing and leaned in to interrogate his subordinate.
Taken by surprise with a number twice what he’d been expecting, the man known far and wide as the Viper of Bifröst lost the very self-control he was known for.
“I can’t say I know for certain, my lord... However, the information is coming from the Ash Clan, and I do not think they would deliberately tell a lie that risks demoralizing us, their ally.”
“Hrmh...” Botvid furrowed his brow.
There was already a sworn arrangement in place with the Ash Clan patriarch Douglas to send reinforcements once the enemy invaded.
However, right now, the most the Claw Clan could send was around three thousand, and even by the most generous estimates, the Ash Clan still wasn’t going to have even five thousand soldiers mobilized.
“Against thirty thousand, it’s doubtful whether we’d even be able to hold out long enough for reinforcements from the main Steel Clan army to arrive,” Botvid muttered in frustration.
In his prior estimates with an enemy of fifteen thousand, the famously impregnable Dauwe Castle was something they could count on.
He’d figured that holing up in the fortress and waiting out a siege would buy enough time for them. But now...
“...It looks like, for the first time in a good while, I’m going to be stuck fighting an uphill battle.”
The Steel Clan Encirclement coalition’s large-scale invasion was getting underway on the west side of the Steel Clan’s territory as well.
The stage for that particular battle was Fort Kisaganeka, located on the northern end of Panther Clan territory.
“My lord, a large number of riders have appeared on the horizon! We’ve confirmed their banners—they’re forces belonging to the false patriarch!”
“So they’re here.” The man in command simply muttered those words in response to the report in a detached-sounding voice, without even raising an eyebrow.
At first glance, there was something unsettling, even sinister, about this man.
His face was deathly pale and his cheeks sunken, almost as if he were suffering from some sort of illness. Yet his eyes were like a hawk’s, gleaming with a keen light.
His name was Skáviðr.
Originally, he had been the assistant second-in-command of the Wolf Clan, but Yuuto had recognized him for both his loyalty and his great many achievements, and had awarded him the position of patriarch of the Panther Clan, which controlled a swath of territory in western Álfheimr.
“Heh, I see that even after being so thoroughly defeated by my liege, they still refuse to learn,” Skáviðr said, and flashed a venomous grin that sent chills through any who saw it.
The attackers were the remnants of the old Panther Clan, who had fled back north when the Steel Clan conquered and absorbed them. Naturally, they did not recognize Skáviðr or the Steel Clan’s subsidiary Panther Clan as legitimate.
They had selected their own new patriarch and proclaimed themselves to be the true Panther Clan. However, Skáviðr had officially received the right of succession from the Panther Clan’s previous patriarch, Hveðrungr. And, as the patriarch of his new Panther Clan, of course Skáviðr couldn’t afford to grant any validity to the old Panther Clan remnants.
In order to delegitimize them, he referred to them dismissively as “the false patriarch and his allies.”
Honestly, though, it seemed like the sort of transparent move that wouldn’t fool anyone, and it wasn’t his style, either. But this was how politics went.
“This is the perfect opportunity for us. If we wipe them out here and now, I can call myself the Panther Clan patriarch with no more opposition. What’s more, it will eliminate the threat to our north, and make rebuilding our territory a much smoother process.”
Skáviðr’s hand moved to the hilt of the sword at his waist, and the wooden chair squeaked as he slowly stood up.
Terms like “remnants” or “the false patriarch and his allies” created the image that the remaining old Panther Clan were no more than a small rebel group, but the truth of the matter was that they were still numerous enough to function as a full clan, and they controlled a wide stretch of territory in western Miðgarðr. They were still very much an enemy nation.
In the space of less than one year, the Panther Clan had gone from being just one of many nomadic clans in Miðgarðr to controlling the largest area of any clan in Yggdrasil. That was all due to the incredible skill of their elite armed cavalry. Their total numbers may have been reduced, but the riders that still remained were certainly a formidable threat as an enemy.
They could not be underestimated.
“Kill the traitor Lágastaf!”
“Give the honorless bastards the justice they deserve!”
“Strike them down on behalf of the gods! They turned against Her Majesty the þjóðann!”
Vicious, angry shouts and curses flew through the air from all directions.
This was a small castle fortress in the western outskirts of the Wheat Clan’s territory. Invading Hoof Clan soldiers had completely surrounded it.
“My, they are certainly full of energy.”
In the central hall of the fortress sat a captivatingly beautiful woman who chuckled to herself playfully as if she gave no regard whatsoever to the tense air enveloping the place.
She was the Wheat Clan patriarch, Lágastaf, the very woman whose blood the soldiers outside were calling for.
The Wheat Clan had formerly been a younger sibling subsidiary of the Hoof Clan. When the previous Hoof Clan patriarch, Yngvi, died in battle, though, they’d quickly switched to an alliance with Yuuto’s Wolf Clan, the ones who had killed him.
To the people of the Hoof Clan, this was a betrayal of the Wheat Clan’s Oath of the Chalice, an unforgivable offense of disloyalty.
Of course, the Hoof Clan soldiers weren’t out there screaming like that just because they were angry.
With the validation of a just motive on their side, they screamed to increase their own fighting morale and wear down their enemy’s will to fight back. This was, in fact, a standard tactic used during a siege offensive.
“Give us Lágastaf! Give her to us and we’ll spare the rest of your lives!”
“She’s a filthy harlot who opened her legs to her sworn brother’s enemy!”
“If she wants a man so bad, we’ll all be real glad to give her what she wants!”
“Hee heh heh, we’ll play with her ’til she breaks!”
The taunts and screams started getting more and more vulgar.
This was an era when, after the capture of cities and towns, it was normal for invading soldiers to pillage to their heart’s content.
In Yggdrasil, pillaging after victory in battle was customary, seen practically as a right. Such acts were considered a just reward for soldiers who risked their lives on the battlefield.
Lágastaf’s sensual beauty was well-known even in the Hoof Clan, and the soldiers outside were apparently excited to take her as part of their reward.
“Oh, my, I simply can’t listen to this any longer.”
Lágastaf placed a hand against her cheek and smiled, not seeming like she’d actually been damaged by any of the things she was hearing.
This was a woman who held the honorable position of patriarch, lord of a clan. Mild-mannered though she was, she was also clearly someone with extraordinary nerves.
And the sight of her incredible composure made her seem reliable and strong to the people around her.
“Your calm composure is as reassuring as ever, Mother. Even in a situation as dire as this, you are the same as always.”
“I fear we men were the ones allowing ourselves to panic. I am ashamed.”
“Yes, we must take after your example.”
Thoroughly impressed, the executive clan officers all nodded in agreement.
However, deep in her heart, Lágastaf could not dismiss the growing hopelessness she felt.
While she appeared to be quite young, perhaps in her mid-twenties at the oldest, she was actually over forty.
In Yggdrasil, the standards for health, nutrition, and medical knowledge were abysmal compared to the modern era. In other words, Lágastaf was already at an age where it wouldn’t be unusual for her to die.
Furthermore, as a woman she faced plenty of extra difficulties in uniting and controlling the men of the clan.
She wanted nothing more than to retire as patriarch and leave the position in the hands of a successor, but her problem was that finding a man that could meet the high standards she had set was nigh-impossible.
I know that a man with as dignified a spirit and presence as Lord Yuuto is unbelievably rare, and I wouldn’t be so unfair as to ask for the same. But... if only one of these men here had even just half of the greatness in them that he does...
Her sworn father Yuuto had started as patriarch of the Wolf Clan, and the Wolf Clan had once been a small clan just like hers. And yet, Yuuto’s Wolf Clan had been blessed by an assortment of powerful, clever, and talented leaders. Why was her Wheat Clan so lacking in good talent?
Lágastaf stole another glance at the faces of her officers, and while being careful not to let them notice, she let out a tiny disappointed sigh.
I feel bad for my late husband, but I wonder if I should just ask Father if he could grant me even just his seed for an heir.
She knew full well that this wasn’t the time, but as she sat there, she still found herself somewhat seriously mulling it over.
Gimlé.
It was a city built near the intersection of the Körmt and Élivágar Rivers.
This fertile river basin area was called Iðavöllr, a name meaning “the Shining Fields,” and it was one of the few grain-producing regions of such large scale in all of Yggdrasil. Gimlé had already long been prosperous thanks to being in this particular location, but since becoming the capital of the Steel Clan, a nation which was growing at a tremendous pace, the city had seen a surge in traffic and was flourishing as it never had before.
Long lines snaked out from the outer wall’s entrance gates, with merchants and travelers alike all waiting to enter the city, and the main thoroughfare was lined with stalls selling all kinds of wares, packed so tightly there was no space left between them.
Indeed, the streets of the Steel Clan capital were overflowing with energy and life—by contrast, the faces of the clan’s highest administrative officers currently gathered together in the heart of the city were all rather grim.
“Father had explained things to me beforehand, and so I thought I had prepared myself to confront this situation, but seeing it actually unfold like this is still a shock...”
Jörgen let out a distressed sigh as he stared at the contents of the three messages he held in his hands.
He was a man with an incredibly fierce-looking face, with scars on his cheek and across one eyebrow, and he had the sort of commanding, intimidating presence that would send the average street ruffian fleeing in fear.
He had the rank to match that appearance, as well: He was patriarch of the Wolf Clan, the clan widely considered to be the most distinguished branch family within the Steel Clan. Additionally, he was the Steel Clan’s assistant second-in-command, the clan administration’s third-highest ranking member.
Across from Jörgen, Linnea furrowed her brow. “Yes, and all of those areas are seeing a worse situation than we’d anticipated. Perhaps it’s proof of just how much our enemies view us as a threat, that they’re pouring all of their resources into the fight in order not to waste this opportunity.”
Linnea’s appearance gave off the impression that she was nothing but an adorable little girl, but she was in fact Jörgen’s superior, the Steel Clan’s second-in-command.
From Jörgen’s perspective, the girl was practically a child as far as her age went, but he did not allow himself to underestimate her in the slightest because of her appearance.
For one thing, he had no intention to doubt the judgment of Yuuto, who had specifically selected her for the position, and for another, he had seen for himself how she’d personally managed all of the administrative affairs of a large nation like the Steel Clan, and he fully acknowledged her incredible acumen.
“Have we taken steps to inform Father?” Jörgen asked.
“I’ve already had copies of those made and sent off by horseback,” Linnea replied. “We’ve also gotten basic provisionary post stations constructed along the route to Gashina. The reports should get there sometime between today and tomorrow.”
“That is some quick work.” Jörgen’s lips curled up into a grin.
Until just a few days ago, Fort Gashina and its surroundings were Lightning Clan territory, so they couldn’t send information there by carrier pigeon. The reason for that was because the carrier pigeon system leveraged the birds’ homing instincts to send them to their destinations, and the Steel Clan didn’t have any pigeons taken from a coop set up in Fort Gashina yet.
That meant that sending a messenger on horseback was the best remaining option, but horses were living creatures, too, and couldn’t handle being forced to run continuously over great distances.
The solution to this was to place post stations at fixed intervals along a route—in other words, to have replacement horses ready and waiting at each of those stations. That way, information could be sent along by horseback messenger quickly over long distances. This was known as the post station system.
Yuuto had come up with the idea of setting up this system throughout Steel Clan territory in preparation for emergencies much like the one occurring now, and presently most of the routes between the major Steel Clan cities were linked by post stations. However, it was quite a surprise to Jörgen to hear that posts had already been set up linking them to Gashina, an area they’d only captured a scant few days ago.
“Time is of the essence right now,” Linnea said. “The earlier we can get this information to Father, the more additional lives will likely be saved.”
“Indeed, it is just as you say.” Jörgen nodded deeply, with a humble, reverent expression. “Father is a war god reborn, after all. I have no doubt that even this unprecedented crisis is something he will be able to brush aside.”
Yuuto was already akin to a divine being in Jörgen’s eyes. He truly believed the young man had been sent by the goddess Angrboða to save his people.
“Yes,” said Linnea, “I’m certain of that as well... However, if we simply leave everything for Father to resolve, then what purpose was there in him bestowing these immensely honorable and high-ranking positions upon us in the first place?”
“Ha ha ha, that is true. It will take four more days at least for Father to travel back to Gimlé. We should do everything we can in that time.”
“Yes, and I’d much appreciate it if you could educate me appropriately.”
“Pardon?” Jörgen furrowed his brow suspiciously.
The remark seemed strange to him. Taking the previous discussion of the provisional relay posts as just one example, this girl’s competence was clear as day. What need would she have for him to teach her anything at this point?
“Jörgen, I’ve heard the stories of the many times you led troops on the battlefield in your younger days. Until Father returns to the capital, I’m commander-in-chief of the Steel Clan military in his stead, but to my shame, I must admit I’ve no confidence at all when it comes to battlefield strategy.”
For a second, Jörgen hadn’t understood what he’d just heard. Once he did, he couldn’t hold back a laugh. “...Pffhaha, that is quite the thing to say aloud!”
The relationship between a clan’s second-in-command and assistant second-in-command was not a simple one.
As the second- and third-ranked members of a nation’s administration, they were political rivals for the position of succeeding the patriarch, and fighting for power behind the scenes was a common story in many clans.
Of course, Jörgen wasn’t as ambitious as most in that regard—for one thing, due to his age, he was almost certainly going to be passing on long before Yuuto did—but he still held some desire for the position of second-in-command, for it also granted him the honor of being the “eldest child” of the sworn father he loved and respected.
Showing weakness to him could hardly be called a wise move on Linnea’s part.
But Linnea had been raised with an education in politics and leadership from her earliest years. There was no way she could be unaware of the messy dynamic that came with their positions.
In other words, he could assume that Linnea knew perfectly well how foolish it was to show him weakness, and still chose to do so in order to ask for his expertise.
More than likely—no, without a doubt—it was because she wanted to make the best decisions for the good of the Steel Clan, and she put that before anything else.
Hahah, I’m no match for her, Jörgen thought to himself. He’d just seen evidence of the difference in their character... and part of him found it refreshing.
Yuuto and Linnea were both still so young, only in their teens.
More than any jealousy, by far the strongest feeling in Jörgen’s heart was one of relief. He knew that he could entrust the future of the Steel Clan to them.
While Jörgen was reflecting on those emotions, Linnea continued. “...To begin with, I was thinking that I should immediately send the standby Horn Clan forces to the Panther Clan and Wheat Clan territories. Are there any issues with that choice of strategy??”
Jörgen couldn’t pick out any meaningful flaws with it, at least.
Actually, if he were forced to criticize it in some manner, he could say that it was perhaps too problem-free, too predictably safe, but that was Linnea’s strong point in a sense.
Yuuto was the sort to come up with incredible ideas that flew beyond common sense, and so someone like her was surely the best type of person to support him.
“I believe that would be a good plan. I am sure they are waiting to receive reinforcements as quickly as we can send them.”
“All right, in that case...”
“I have a bit of an issue with that.” Just as Linnea and Jörgen seemed to have reached a consensus, a third voice cut in from the direction of the nearby wall.
“Ngh...” Jörgen’s face twisted in an obvious display of loathing, and he turned to glare at the man leaning against the wall—a man wearing a black mask that concealed the upper half of his face, which gave him a suspicious-looking appearance.
“What is the issue, Uncle Hveðrungr?” Linnea asked, with no apparent ill will in her question.
Hveðrungr was the former patriarch of the old Panther Clan, a man who had taken control of the tribe of northern nomads and turned their clan into a powerful conquering nation under his rule. And, after being defeated by Yuuto in war, he was now part of the Steel Clan, Yuuto’s sworn younger brother and commander of the Independent Cavalry Regiment.
However, whenever Jörgen looked at Hveðrungr, he could not help but be reminded of a certain other man.
The man who had years ago once served as the second-in-command of the Wolf Clan, trusted and respected by everyone, only to lose himself in jealousy as Yuuto quickly climbed the ranks. The man who, in the end, slew his own sworn father, the former Wolf Clan patriarch Fárbauti, a crime that could never be forgiven.
“Is there something inadequate about my strategy as it is now?” Linnea asked.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say inadequate, exactly, just that perhaps you don’t need to split up your forces in the first place.”
Hveðrungr spoke in a pleasant, easygoing tone.
This was the man who had overseen a total massacre in the Hoof Clan capital Nóatún, and directed a scorched-earth strategy on his own captured territory when the Steel Clan invaded. He was infamous for his violence and cruelty, and his conquest had left the people of western Yggdrasil shaken. Not to mention, there was his suspicious appearance. That nonchalance of his was a bit off-putting in contrast. However, at the same time, it was very familiar to Jörgen.
He really does resemble Loptr...
It was hard to chalk it up to just a coincidental resemblance. There were too many similarities.
Still, Yuuto had sworn the Oath of the Sibling Chalice with this man. Jörgen couldn’t just come out and ask him if he was the kinslayer who’d fled the Wolf Clan.
He needed some more solid evidence first.
“The Panther Clan patriarch Skáviðr is among the Steel Clan’s greatest veteran commanders,” Hveðrungr continued. “In particular, he excels at defensive battle. Furthermore, he has armored wagons ready to use for the Wagon Wall tactic. Even if you sent him no reinforcements, I doubt the enemy will have any luck in breaking him.”
“Hm.”
“On the other hand, the Wheat Clan is smaller and weaker. I haven’t heard stories of any especially talented generals among their ranks, either. As I see it, if we don’t prioritize adequately backing them up, chances are high that they’ll be defeated and their territory will be seized from us. Also, looking at this from the Steel Clan’s greater strategic perspective, the Wheat Clan’s territory is part of our grain-producing breadbasket, while the Panther Clan’s territory has only just barely begun reconstruction and recovery from the last war. I would say it’s clear which of the two would deal us a harder blow if it were captured, wouldn’t you?”
“Hmm...” Linnea frowned.
By Jörgen’s assessment, Linnea was similar to Yuuto in that she was a kind person. Too kind, in fact, for someone in charge of ruling a clan.
Many people in Panther Clan territory had lost their homes and livelihoods in the last war, and she was surely loath to make a decision that would allow even more misery to pile on top of the suffering those people had already endured.
However, at times, one needed to sacrifice the needs of the few for the sake of many. That was part of the responsibility of one who ruled a clan as patriarch.
The region of northwestern Álfheimr currently being raided by the old Panther Clan remnants was a wide swath of land in terms of size, but it was far away from major rivers and didn’t hold much promise for food production.
When considering each option with regard only for the Steel Clan’s possible gains or losses, Hveðrungr’s assessment was correct, and their obvious priority should be to assist the Wheat Clan.
And, no matter how kind Linnea was, she was not the sort of leader who would allow personal sentiment to steer her wrong on a crucial decision.
“...All right. I’ll send all of the Horn Clan troops to assist the Wheat Clan. Are you all right with that as well, Jörgen?”
“Yes, I am. I would say that is our best course of action at present.”
Jörgen had no issues with the decision itself.
There was another point that bothered him, though.
“By the way, Uncle Hveðrungr. I was surprised you knew so much about Brother Ská’s skill in defensive warfare.”
Trying to mask his remark as nothing more than normal conversation, Jörgen tried to pull the thread.
This man had supposedly clashed with Skáviðr only twice, first at the Battle of Náströnd and then again during the Steel Clan’s most recent campaign to defeat the old Panther Clan.
How could he know that Skáviðr was a master of defensive warfare from just those two battles?
Hveðrungr responded with a cheery laugh. “Well, he was the general in charge of defending Myrkviðr, wasn’t he? When my forces tried to lure him out of the city, he never took the bait, yet he always seemed to do just what was needed to maintain the city’s defense. He was the worst sort of foe we could face.”
He didn’t look like he’d been fazed by the question.
Of course, if he really was Loptr, a mere question like that wouldn’t have been enough to make him slip up, either. He wasn’t an easy man to get the better of.
“In any case, this means that the Panther Clan and the Wheat Clan are covered for the time being, but the remaining problem is the Ash Clan.”
Hveðrungr had smoothly changed the subject.
Though, in truth, Jörgen had originally taken them off-track with his sudden question, and Hveðrungr was bringing them back on-topic, so his actions weren’t particularly unusual in this case.
Jörgen reluctantly nodded in acknowledgment and allowed the discussion to continue. The fact of the matter was that this wasn’t the time to be wasting his thoughts on anything else.
“True,” Linnea said. “I intend to have the nearby Claw Clan send troops to reinforce them, but even then, I can’t be sure they’ll be able to hold out until help from the main force arrives.”
The Steel Clan’s planning had accounted for the Sword Clan invading, but the additional participation of the Spear and Helm Clans had been unexpected.
The number of troops they had—thirty thousand—was outrageous, enough to make Jörgen’s head spin.
Previously, the old Panther Clan and the Lightning Clan had joined forces to attack the Wolf Clan, and at the time, their numbers had driven the Wolf Clan to the very brink, but even then, it had been less than twenty thousand.
And this time, in addition to the massive invasion from the east, there were the old Panther Clan remnants attacking from the north and the Hoof Clan attacking from the west, forcing the Steel Clan to split their forces in order to respond.
The Steel Clan had so much more economic and military strength than the Wolf Clan alone had during that time, but even then, just adding up the numbers, this was an even more desperate crisis.
“I’m planning to take the Independent Cavalry Regiment and go to their aid as well. The attack-and-retreat tactics of my cavalry are difficult to counter for someone who’s never faced them before. It should buy us some time.”
“...Right.” There was a slight delay in Jörgen’s response, born of distrust.
Jörgen had been running administrative affairs during the wars with the old Panther Clan, and so he hadn’t seen them in battle with his own eyes, but he’d heard plenty of stories about how horrible their cavalry were to face as an enemy.
They would make for the greatest sort of asset as allies, then.
A force of three thousand of those nomadic riders was better than he could hope to ask for in terms of reinforcements... and yet, he still couldn’t shake his suspicions that this man might in fact be Loptr.
“Erm... I understand that this will be rude of me, but could you consider granting me one request?”
“Hm?”
Jörgen steeled his resolve and made his move. “Would you be willing to show me the face under that mask? I apologize for asking, but we are allies in war, and I just can’t entrust my life to someone whose face I don’t even know.”
On the battlefield, the fear of death was one more enemy one had to fight continuously.
There was already the enormous pressure that came from their huge numerical disadvantage. If he had to deal with the fear of betrayal on top of that, his heart wouldn’t be able to take it.
Jörgen’s question carried the implication of life-or-death importance, but...
“Then you simply don’t need to entrust your life to me, yes?”
Hveðrungr curtly shot him down.
“Do you have some large wound you conceal? I am a veteran of many battles, you know. I’ve seen my share of ghastly wounds from both combat and torture. I can promise you at least that I won’t stare at you strangely. Could you please show me your face?”
“It’s not really a matter of what you promise...” Hveðrungr scratched the back of his head with one hand, as if a bit annoyed at the trouble of dealing with him.
His speech and body language were bereft of any sort of real sincerity, almost as though he saw others as lesser beings. That sort of flippant edge to all of his mannerisms was, again, a match for the man in Jörgen’s memories.
In fact, everything up until this point had only served to solidify Jörgen’s suspicions into firm belief.
“Even after pleading with you this much, you still can’t?”
“Hmm, let’s see. If you really want to see my face, then take it up with Big Brother. If he orders me to show you, I’ll consider it.”
The only person Hveðrungr could refer to as “Big Brother” was Yuuto.
In other words, he was saying that without a direct command from the reginarch, he wasn’t going to take off his mask for anyone.
It was at this moment that Jörgen had a sudden realization.
Yuuto had been willing to directly swear the Oath of the Sibling Chalice with this man. It was hard to imagine that Yuuto didn’t know who he really was.
“...Does Father know what your face looks like, then?”
“Oh, I should think he does.”
“Kh...!” Hveðrungr’s immediate answer was telling, and Jörgen responded with a wordless grunt.
Yuuto was complicit in this affair.
I thought I had finally gotten used to the reckless actions that Father often likes to take, but this particular one has to be among the most reckless of them all.
The implications of this situation made Jörgen’s head hurt. He lowered his face and massaged his fingers against his temples.
Matters of the Chalice were central to the clan society of Yggdrasil, and killing one’s sworn parent was among the greatest acts of sin. Yuuto had chosen to ignore that crime and, furthermore, granted the perpetrator an appointment to a key position of power. This was a huge departure from accepted norms.
Still, it is true that our current situation is not one in which being picky with our resources is an option. Right now, what the Steel Clan needs isn’t people with pure hearts and clean hands. It’s people with power and skill.
This man’s skill with the sword was on par with that of Sigrún and Skáviðr, the two greatest fighters in the Steel Clan. As for his abilities as a commander, he’d taken the Panther Clan from being no more than a minor clan among the steppes of Miðgarðr to being one of the strongest nations in Yggdrasil during his rule. His exceptional achievements as a leader were second only to Yuuto’s.
With the Steel Clan surrounded by enemies, he was exactly the sort of talent they were desperate to have on their side.
“Hrrgh...” Jörgen let out a long, groaning sigh and glowered at Hveðrungr. “If that is how it is, then I have nothing more to say on the matter,” he exclaimed bitterly.
The former Wolf Clan patriarch whom Loptr had murdered, Fárbauti, had been Jörgen’s first sworn father, and someone with whom he’d shared the joys and sorrows of almost twenty years.
He was someone Jörgen had looked up to with respect, adoration, and a great deal of gratitude.
And now, his killer was standing right here, and Jörgen had to let him go unpunished. Nothing could be more frustrating for him, even though he knew why he had to stay his hand.
“...Actually, there is one thing I should say to you. If you visit Iárnviðr, I would advise you not to stay too long. I cannot guarantee your safety there.”
“Heh. Understood.” With a smirk, Hveðrungr nodded.
That fearless, cocky response was enough to make Jörgen’s temple twitch in irritation. Jörgen clenched his fists tightly, unable to completely suppress his anger.
“I have troop preparations to see to, so I’ll be taking my leave.” With only those curt parting words, Jörgen quickly left the room, the unspoken indignation written on his face.
Linnea watched Jörgen leave, the anger seething out of him in his heavy footsteps and coarse body language. Once he was gone, she turned to Hveðrungr.
“Is there some sort of personal grudge between you and Jörgen?” she asked.
The Jörgen Linnea knew was a man whose fierce looks belied a kind and sincere personality, and an affinity for taking care of others.
She had only seen him openly express this sort of anger once before: when she’d brought up the subject of Botvid, the Claw Clan patriarch. However, he’d seemed even more furious than back then this time around.
Jörgen and Hveðrungr were about to go to war together, fighting against the Anti-Steel Clan Alliance’s invasion force of thirty thousand attacking from the east. She had just cause to be anxious about whether they would be all right.
“Heh heh, it seems like he’s mistaken me with someone else,” Hveðrungr said, playing dumb in such an obvious way that it was practically insulting.
His rather shameless obfuscation was particularly fitting for a man who hid his face behind an iron mask.
However, after he’d made such a direct denial, there was little Linnea could do to interrogate him further.
Linnea let out a small sigh. “Very well, then. Please do your best to get along with him, though. I would ask you not to forget what a critical time this is for us.”
She decided that it would be best to leave the matter alone for now. Without understanding exactly what was going on between them, sticking her nose into the middle of it might just aggravate them further, and she couldn’t stand to risk that.
“Maybe you should tell that to Jörgen,” Hveðrungr said, his lips curling into a sarcastic grin. “Now then, I’ll be going, too.” He turned and left the room.
Linnea waited until he was gone, then shook her head and said to herself, “I suppose I’ve no choice but to ask Father about it later. Honestly, that man...”
She had already told him time and time again that he needed to be open with her, his second-in-command, about everything important that was going on, whether it was political or personal. Yet here was one more secret just waiting to explode violently like one of those tetsuhau bombs.
Because of her position, Linnea would be the one responsible for shouldering the lion’s share of the work involved with managing the fallout that would occur as a result of things like this.
“I’ll need to make sure he gives me plenty of attention later to make up for it. It’s only fair,” she said, nodding to herself.
Back in the Horn Clan, her Leader of Sibling Subordinates, Rasmus, was the closest thing she’d had to a father figure after her biological father died... but Rasmus was already very old. He didn’t have many years left, and Linnea wanted to be able to give him the gift of seeing her children.
Even more than that, she wanted to have the children of the man she loved.
She would have held back and put those desires aside if Yuuto’s wife Mitsuki were still childless, but she was already pregnant, so there was no issue there.
“Though, I guess in these circumstances, I shouldn’t be thinking about such things.”
After a few moments with her thoughts, she proceeded to stand up, walk over to the window, and gaze outside.
Even just looking down at the city like this, one could sense its energy, its prosperity.
It was flourishing on a scale incomparable to how it had been only a mere two years ago.
And that was frightening.
Just like with the city of Gimlé, the Steel Clan had grown at a tremendous speed—and it had grown too large, too quickly.
When people from differing cultures with different basic values came together, they needed a certain measure of time before they could learn to live together in relative harmony.
Right now, the people of no less than seven different clans were chaotically mixing together as the Steel Clan, and the results could hardly be called unity.
Even a warm and friendly man such as Jörgen held on to his own enmity for the Claw Clan patriarch Botvid, and the commander of the Independent Cavalry Regiment, Hveðrungr.
Surely there were many more such problems hiding away just under the surface.
Linnea knew that worrying too much was a bad habit of hers, but she felt the uneasiness slowly building up inside her.
The Independent Cavalry Regiment had its main headquarters on a high, grassy plateau about an hour’s ride southeast of Gimlé.
Currently, Gimlé was still seeing a strong and steady influx of new residents, and with the increasing population, it just wasn’t possible to make suitable arrangements for the appropriate facilities to house three thousand cavalrymen and their horses.
Furthermore, the plateau was, logically, a more fitting choice for their headquarters when it came to procuring food, conducting drills, and training the horses.
Compared to the flatlands near the river closer to Gimlé, the plateau was much colder and the air much thinner, but to these men who’d grown up as nomads in the highland steppes of Miðgarðr, that was no problem.
Rather, the climate felt closer to that of their original homeland, and many of them felt more comfortable and at home here than they would living in a city.
“Welcome back, Father.”
As Hveðrungr rode into the base, he was greeted by a young man with clean, noble-looking features, a rarity among the wild, rugged faces of the northern nomads.
“Ah, Narfi, how are sortie preparations going?” Hveðrungr wasted no time, asking the question without even dismounting.
Narfi was an Einherjar carrying the rune Skinfaxi, the Shining Mane, and he had been Hveðrungr’s trusted general and confidant since the days when Hveðrungr had been patriarch of the Panther Clan.
Narfi had been captured during the Steel Clan’s campaign against the Panther Clan, and had spent a while in prison afterwards. However, just like had been the case with Hveðrungr, Narfi had been given a pardon and released as part of the commemoration of the reginarch Yuuto’s marriage.
After that, he’d been selected as vice-commander of the newly-formed Independent Cavalry Regiment, which is how he’d wound up here.
“We are fully prepared and ready to move out, sir. We can mobilize at a moment’s notice. But if I may ask, who are those people behind you?”
Narfi’s gaze shifted to the armed riders lined up behind Hveðrungr.
They were on horseback, but their clothes and demeanor were both clearly very different from those of the nomadic people who made up the Regiment.
“Ah, right. It would seem that some members of the Múspell Special Forces are so generous that they’re going through all the trouble of serving as my personal escort and guard.”
Hveðrungr gave an affected shrug of his shoulders.
Of course, there was no way they were just here on guard duty. They were there to monitor him.
They’d be closely observing anything he did, waiting for him to make any moves or give any orders that seemed suspicious.
It was a bit annoying having them around, but considering what he’d done in the past, he understood it was something they had to do.
If Yuuto were naïve enough to send him out without anyone surveilling him, Hveðrungr would have been disappointed instead.
“This is quite the thorny situation, though,” he said, letting slip a wry chuckle.
The incident with Jörgen earlier was telling. It was going to be a long and hard road trying to win any trust from the others in the clan.
Of course, it wasn’t as if he’d actually started caring what anyone else thought of him. However, he’d certainly wish for nothing more than to rid himself from the rather stifling position he was in thanks to that distrust.
“Well, I suppose this is a perfect opportunity. I’ll add some victories to my credit and improve my future status.” Hveðrungr then raised his voice, calling the attention of his men. “All right, then! Independent Cavalry Regiment, mount up and move out!”
“My lord, our men are ready and in formation! We can move out on your orders!”
“I see, good.”
The Sword Clan patriarch Fagrahvél gave a slight nod in response to the soldier’s report, then turned back to face the other figures around the table.
Across and to the right sat the Cloud Clan patriarch Gerhard and the Spear Clan assistant second-in-command Hermóðr, while across to the left were the Fang Clan patriarch Sígismund and the Helm Clan second-in-command Ollerus.
This was the field headquarters at the center of the Anti-Steel Clan Alliance army, set up north of Víðríðr Castle.
It was of very simple construction—four wooden posts hammered into the earth, holding up a tent made from sheep’s wool felt—but it was enough to block out the elements, and any soldier would say it was much better than nothing.
Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean a rank-and-file soldier would be able to be at ease in this space.
All of the people gathered here in council were leaders of incredible stature, after all. And what’s more, they weren’t really here in fellowship. Each of them was here for the sake of his own nation’s interests, and despite their alliance, they were making various moves behind the scenes, sussing each other out.
That delicate set of relationships was reflected in the atmosphere inside this tent. There was a heavy, almost painful tension, as if violence could erupt at any moment.
“The... ah...” The soldier fell silent and started to freeze up, apparently overwhelmed by the intense pressure coming from the people around the table.
Fagrahvél addressed him in a soft voice. “What of the enemy’s soldiers? How did they look to you?”
That appeared to snap the soldier out of it and make him remember his duty, and he duly resumed his report. “The enemy looks to be thoroughly prepared for a prolonged siege defense, my lord. By my assessment, their soldiers also seemed to have high morale.”
“Well, now,” said Fagrahvél, eyes narrowing slightly, with a tone of voice that was clearly rather impressed. “So they’re maintaining high morale despite surely knowing the situation they’re in.”
The spies that Fagrahvél had sent out ahead of time had come back with rough estimates that Dauwe Castle was housing just over three thousand soldiers; certainly nowhere near four thousand even by the highest of estimates.
The soldiers at Dauwe Castle were thus facing an attacking army of almost ten times their number. Maintaining morale in such a hopeless situation would be incredibly difficult, if not impossible.
Ordinarily, such stacked odds would crush one’s will to fight, and it wouldn’t be unusual for some soldiers to defy orders and pledge their surrender.
“It seems the rumors are true, and the fortress commander is quite the skilled general,” Fagrahvél said. “He’s worthy of his post at such a strategically important stronghold.”
Fagrahvél had done no more than speak frankly, remaining true to a personal policy of treating talented and capable people with due respect, ally and enemy alike.
“Yeah, skilled enough to be a pain in my ass. Damn that Hrymr!” Gerhard spat out the words with loathing.
“Yes, I’ve been forced to suffer shame a great many times because of him.” Sígismund chimed in to agree, deep lines forming in his knit brow.
These two were the patriarchs of the clans adjacent to the Ash Clan, and from the looks of it, they’d both gone to battle with this enemy general and had gotten nothing but bitter memories to show for it.
Fagrahvél had personal knowledge of their strengths as patriarchs, for the Sword Clan had been warring with them for many years. There was no doubt regarding their capabilities.
So, if the Ash Clan general could elicit these reactions from both of them, then he was certainly a formidable foe.
“Hm. Now that I think about it some more, I have had his name mentioned to me once before.”
Fagrahvél searched through a sea of memories, but couldn’t recall any particular details, just that the name Hrymr was familiar. So, he was just talented enough of a general for his name to have reached Fagrahvél’s ears, but nothing more.
Technically, the Sword Clan also shared part of their border with the Ash Clan, but that still wouldn’t have garnered much importance for Hrymr’s name. Fagrahvél was focused mainly on the affairs and politics of central Yggdrasil, and simply considered a small clan like the Ash Clan to be of little threat. After all, they were hardly likely to do something as foolish as attack a powerful nation like the Sword Clan and earn their wrath.
“What sort of man is Hrymr?” Fagrahvél asked bluntly, addressing the two patriarchs. “I’d like more concrete details of what he’s like as a general.”
Warfare, especially long-term siege warfare, was often akin to a psychological battle.
Each commander had particular strengths and weaknesses, or tactics they preferred or shunned, and knowing these things about the enemy could greatly change one’s best strategy.
These two men had actually fought against Hrymr, and so Fagrahvél had every reason to ask them for what they knew.
“Sure,” Gerhard responded. “I know I’m repeating myself, but he’s a real pain in the ass to fight. Other than that, I actually don’t really know much.” Gerhard slumped his shoulders.
“You don’t know?” Fagrahvél repeated.
“Yeah. Or, rather, I don’t really get him. If I had to put it into words, it’s like his style is that he doesn’t have a particular style. He’s skilled at both offensive and defensive fighting, so there’s nowhere to exploit. He might start by trying to attack your flanks and weak spots, only to switch to a forceful, head-on attack right after. Depending on the circumstances, he switches at will between fundamental, reliable tactics and novel but risky ones.”
“I see,” said Fagrahvél with a wry smile. “That certainly is a pain to fight against.”
People had a natural tendency to try and reproduce their past successes by relying on the same methods they’d used before. And so, they’d repeat their winning strategies on the battlefield.
No matter how formidable an enemy’s strategy might be, knowing exactly what was coming opened the door to devising any number of counter-strategies. However, it appeared that Fagrahvél’s opponent this time was an exception to that particular rule.
There was no way to know in advance what he might try, but it was at least certain that whichever strategy he decided to use would be executed with great proficiency.
He was going to be quite the difficult foe, indeed.
Fagrahvél rested both elbows on the table and looked thoughtful for a moment, face partially hidden behind clasped hands, then, at last, muttered in a low voice, “Be that as it may, we cannot afford to waste any time dawdling here.”
“Yes, that’s truuue. If we take too much tiiime, and we cannot capture their stronghold before their main army gets heeere, I think even we might find things a little haaard.”
From beside Fagrahvél came a flighty voice, speaking in an unusual, lilting manner that seemed to stretch out every few words. It was quite out of place when considering the tense atmosphere that was suffocating this military tent.
The voice belonged to a woman named Bára, one of the high officers of the Sword Clan and Fagrahvél’s close confidante and right hand. Her keen intellect and cunning were known to those both inside and outside of the administration, and some had taken to calling her “the Stiletto.”
“If the soldiers in the castle see reinforcements arriving, they’ll know the main army’s come to their rescue in time, and their huge boost in morale will make capturing the place even harder, right?”
“Oh, myyy, Erna, that was actually pretty intelligent for youuu.”
“What do you mean, ‘for me’?!”
On Fagrahvél’s opposite side, the other young woman—Erna—raised her voice in protest.
She was still young, and her youthful appearance combined with the way she reacted made her seem at first glance to be less than dependable for a clan officer, but the reality was that she was a skilled general and powerful fighter. Like Bára, Erna was one of the Maidens of the Waves, an elite unit of nine Einherjar that served directly under Fagrahvél as both a personal guard and special forces unit, and rumor had it that Erna’s skill with the sword placed her as perhaps the strongest among its members.
“Weeell, putting that aside, what are you going to do, my lord?” Bára asked Fagrahvél, completely ignoring Erna’s ire.
Erna looked like she had a lot more she wanted to say, but she was aware of where they were, and so she bit her lip and remained silent.
Of course, that was likely exactly how Bára planned for things to happen. Bára talked in a gentle and relaxed manner, but she actually had a fairly sadistic streak to her.
“Well, more than anything, we need to capture Dauwe Castle before the enemy’s reinforcements arrive,” Fagrahvél said.
“But we don’t have much time left to do thaaat.”
Bára had a good point.
Messages warning of their attack were surely already racing towards the Steel Clan capital Gimlé.
The distance between Dauwe to Gimlé was around two hundred leagues (approximately four hundred kilometers), and the average army march covered about ten leagues in one day.
The main body of the Steel Clan army was currently outside of their borders, in Lightning Clan territory. Considering that, it would take around thirty days, give or take, for their force to arrive in this area.
Dauwe Castle was renowned as an impregnable fortress, and even with an army thirty thousand strong, capturing it in under one month wasn’t going to be easy by any means.
“It might be early, but I’m going to use my trump card now.”
“...Judging by those eyyyes, I can’t persuade you otherwise, caaan I?”
“Indeed. I’ve made my decision.”
“Buuut, if you use that with thirty thousand soldiers, you could diiie, you knooow?”
There was concern in Bára’s voice. However, Fagrahvél simply chuckled and shrugged unconcernedly.
“Heh. I relinquished my life long ago when I dedicated it to the service of Her Majesty. And besides, my foe in this war is supposedly the reincarnation of a war god, isn’t he? In that case, I can not afford to hold back from using everything I have.”
“Father! The enemy is attacking! It looks like they’re going to try and take us through brute force!”
“Oh, really?”
The old man’s eyes opened. He’d been dozing off sitting in his chair.
His body was thin and scraggly, his hair was completely white, and his face and hands were covered with wrinkles.
“I can’t even catch a nap,” he grumbled to himself. He used a cane to help pull himself up to his feet.
Once he’d hit seventy, the muscles in his legs and back had started growing weaker, and now he needed his cane just to walk steadily.
He was sure that when people got their first look at him, their impression was probably something along the lines of “He’s shorter than I expected.” He’d been a short man to begin with, and now that his back was often hunched over, he looked even smaller still.
However, this feeble-looking old man was in fact the general who struck fear into the hearts of the Cloud and Fang Clan patriarchs, his fame such that all in the Bifröst region knew his name—Hrymr.
“I’m amazed you can even sleep at a time like this, Father. I can’t even keep my food down.”
“Hmm? How can you say something so pathetic? You’re the one that’s going to be taking my spot one day, and it’ll be your job to protect this stronghold. I fear for the future if you’re talking like that.”
“Forgive me, Father. But shameful as it is, after I saw that huge army of theirs...”
“Hoh hoh hoh!” The old man cackled. “It doesn’t matter if they have thirty thousand men or fifty thousand. They’re not taking Dauwe Castle.”
Starting when he was thirty, Hrymr had been protecting this place for forty years now, driving off those who threatened it countless times.
Dauwe Castle was situated between several natural barriers. Invasion from the south was stymied by rivers with powerful, violent currents, and to the north towered the steep Himinbjörg Mountains, their peaks so high they were widely known as the “Roof of Yggdrasil.”
Since the area to the west was Ash Clan territory, attacking from the east was the only avenue left for invaders—and that restriction meant a massive army could not leverage its size.
Meanwhile, the Ash Clan could concentrate all of their forces into defending their eastern side.
No matter how strong this enemy army might be, Hrymr saw no need to fear them.
“Send a message to the archers. Tell them to rain a hail of arrows upon our foes, every one of them! There’s no better opportunity than now to test the power of those ‘composite bows’ the Steel Clan supplied us with,” he added with a satisfied grin.
It was known well in advance that Dauwe Castle would become a battleground when the Anti-Steel Clan Alliance attacked, so they’d been able to make all the preparations they needed.
“Now then, I suppose I’ll go have a look for myself.” Leaning on his cane, Hrymr headed for the ramparts with slow, deliberate steps.
When one got to be his age, climbing stairs was a rather arduous task in itself.
Still, he managed to make his way all the way up, and as he stood on the ramparts and swept his gaze out over the advancing enemy soldiers, an impressed gasp escaped his lips.
“Well, look at that! They do shoot a whole lot farther!” He exclaimed, his voice giddy in a manner at odds for what was expected of a man his age.
As explained previously, he had spent forty years of his life protecting this stronghold. The distance that arrows would travel when shot out from atop these ramparts was something that had long since been permanently etched into his memory.
The arrows launched by these new model bows were easily flying far past that range.
“We’ve gotten our hands on something really good, here.” Hrymr stroked his beard, nodding to himself and smiling with satisfaction. “In case these are just on loan, we’d best pinch one of them, so we can break it down and learn how to make them ourselves.”
Doing that would permanently upgrade the weapons of the soldiers here, making Dauwe Castle even more impervious to attack.
As Hrymr mulled over those plans, the Dauwe Castle archers continued firing volleys of arrows into the mass of oncoming enemy infantry.
However, even as the soldiers were struck dead by arrows and fell, one after another after another, the ones who were still standing simply trampled over the fresh corpses of their allies and continued their charge unabated.
“What’s this? I’d assumed this charge was nothing more than a simple opening move to test the waters with us... Could it be they really are going to try to break in for real, right from the start?”
Dauwe was in a region surrounded by portions of the Roof of Yggdrasil, the three tallest mountain ranges in the realm. The geography here was harsh and complex, full of mountains and valleys. At present, if one wanted to enter the western Bifröst region from Ásgarðr or Miðgarðr, it could only be done by passing through the passage guarded by this stronghold.
In other words, there was no way for the enemy army to circle around and reach the western side of Dauwe Castle, and thus no way to surround them and cut them off. Dauwe could count on being free to receive supplies from allied territory.
The spot was hard to attack, easy to defend, and established long-term siege strategies weren’t effective here.
That was what made this an impregnable fortress. Indeed, if one asked why a small nation like the Ash Clan had to this day always escaped destruction by the hands of its powerful neighbors the Sword, Fang, and Cloud Clans, it was, of course, in part because of Hrymr’s leadership and tireless efforts, but by far the greater part of its continued survival was due to the incredible benefits afforded by its geographical location.
“Well, I’m sure that, from their perspective, they’re desperate to take control of this place before reinforcements from the Steel Clan arrive. So, they don’t have much time left to spare. Still, it shows they’ve really underestimated me.”
Hrymr’s eyes opened wide, and his face was suddenly different. His was the look of a fierce-hearted general, veteran of innumerable battles.
The light shining in his eyes didn’t show any signs of having dimmed with age. Indeed, it was the light of a canny intelligence of the kind that only accumulated over years of experience.
The good-natured old man from just a few moments ago was now nowhere to be seen.
“Lord Hrymr!” One of the archers shouted at the top of his voice. “They’ve brought out a battering ram!”
In Yggdrasil, the battering ram was a very widely-used siege weapon.
Of course, calling it a “siege weapon” was perhaps a bit much for something that was ultimately extremely primitive—in truth, it was nothing more than a large log cut from a tree trunk.
A team of people would carry the battering ram up to a fortification’s gate and break it open by slamming the ram into it with as much momentum as possible.
Naturally, in such a situation, the defending side would never sit back and allow such a thing to happen, and this meant the people carrying the battering ram would receive a barrage of attacks concentrated directly on them. It was no mean feat to try and carry such a heavy object while also withstanding such attacks.
“Don’t you let them get anywhere near us!” Hrymr shouted.
One by one, the enemy soldiers carrying the battering ram were pierced by arrows and collapsed.
“Don’t worry about how many arrows you’ve got left, just keep firing! Keep firing!” Hrymr’s voice boomed at a volume one would never expect to come out of an old man.
The goal for his side in this battle was not to completely defeat the opposing forces, nor was it to drive their army into withdrawing, either. Hrymr’s true goal was to retain control of Dauwe Castle until reinforcements from the Steel Clan main army arrived.
However, instead of holding back in order to ration his resources for the future, he intended to stage this counterattack using everything he had. Doing so would send a message to the enemy that for every assault they attempted, they would receive the same fierce response, and with the fear of that planted into their minds, they’d be less eager to launch such attacks going forward. At least, that was what he’d expected to happen... However...
“Nnghh...!” Deep creases formed in Hrymr’s furrowed brow, and he was unable to stifle a groan.
For every person supporting the battering ram who was struck down, another quickly stepped in to take his place. They were steadily making their way closer to the gate.
However, what Hrymr found so shocking about this scene wasn’t their continued advance.
“By the gods... Those soldiers...!”
Something was very clearly abnormal about them.
As anyone would know, wanting to avoid death was a basic part of human nature.
Even for soldiers on the battlefield, a person willing to charge forward into what he knew to be certain death was rare indeed.
In fact, the majority of field battles ended with fewer than ten percent dead on either side. Once the momentum of battle clearly favored one side enough to mark them as the eventual winner, fighters on the losing side would turn and run, wanting no part in what would inevitably result in them throwing their own lives away.
And yet, the soldiers Hrymr was looking down at now were completely different.
Even though they were being assailed by an endless rain of arrows, even though they were seeing their comrades fall dead around them one after another after another, they all pressed on towards the castle gate without even faltering for a second.
It was something that would ordinarily be considered impossible.
Normally, even if their commander ordered them to keep advancing, there would be soldiers who wouldn’t follow such a reckless order, and trying to force them would risk mutiny.
“Rrraaaghh!!!”
And yet, here these men were charging forward while raising their voices in booming war cries, overflowing with the will to fight, practically racing each other to be the one in front.
Hrymr gulped and felt a shudder race through him.
He was a veteran of over fifty years of combat, and this was the first time he’d ever seen such unsettling opponents.
Wham!
The distance had been closed. The battering ram sounded its first, heavy strike against the gate. The force of the impact traveled all the way up to where Hrymr was standing.
Naturally, the gate of this fortress wasn’t so weak as to break from only one or two hits from a battering ram.
However, thick as it was, the main gate was still made of wood. If it were repeatedly struck in the same spot more than twenty or thirty times, it was certain to crack, and then break apart.
“Fine, then! Get our spearmen assembled in front of the gate! Archers are to keep firing! Don’t let up! Have the soldiers from the supply squads keep bringing more arrows for the archers! Now go, and hurry!”
Hrymr barked out orders to his subordinates in quick succession.
Even when thrust into a situation that defied common sense, he was able to make swift and cool-headed decisions.
Perhaps one might say that was something very basic for a man in his position, but in truth, it was something that few could follow through on. It was one reason why he was recognized so widely as a skilled general.
After several dozen uninterrupted strikes from the battering ram, one of the many impacts was accompanied by a terrible sound, a sound which told the soldiers of the castle that the worst-case scenario had come to pass—the sound of the thick wood of the gate being split apart as a long crack ran through it.
Wham! Crack!
With the next hit, the wood around the crack splintered and broke away, leaving a hole.
After that, the rest happened fast. The next couple of strikes smashed the gate completely into rubble, and the Anti-Steel Clan troops began pouring through with incredible energy, as if empowered by the promise of vengeance in this moment for the attacks they’d endured until now...
...But, they were immediately met by spearmen who were ready and waiting, lined up to attack them from the front, as well as from both sides.
“Gwahh!”
“Gyaah!”
“Guagh...!”
One after another, soldiers from the Anti-Steel Clan Alliance army screamed their last.
Fundamentally, an army squad formation is designed to attack and defeat the enemies directly in front of it, and is particularly vulnerable to attacks directly from the sides.
And, the factor that determines momentum in an army battle, above all else, is the difference in numbers.
In this case, the attackers were entering the stronghold through the gate, a narrow bottleneck that only a limited number of them could pass through at once. Taking advantage of that, the defenders had arranged themselves in the wider space surrounding the entrance, creating a situation in which they were surrounding their enemy on three sides.
And so, in this specific location, the “numbers” imbalance between the defending Ash Clan and the attacking Anti-Steel Clan Alliance was completely reversed.
“Hmph, don’t get full of yourselves just because you managed to break down the... What?!”
It happened before Hrymr could even finish his boast.
The enemy soldiers who had just been stabbed by his spearmen didn’t go down. With both hands, they grabbed tightly onto the spears piercing through their bodies, holding them still.
The castle soldiers hurriedly tried to pull back their spears, but they wouldn’t budge an inch, and by extension, the spearmen couldn’t move, either.
And in that moment of delay, a second wave of invaders rushed into the castle and began cutting down the castle spearmen with their swords.
At first, Hrymr disbelieved his eyes. Then he doubted his sanity. Finally, he began to wonder if perhaps this might not be reality at all, but rather some sort of bad dream.
“Wh-What the hell are they?!”
It was like they were possessed by vengeful spirits of the dead—that was the only way he could possibly rationalize it. The enemies he was fighting just didn’t seem human to him anymore.
In no time at all, the invaders had secured control over the area around the entrance.
At this point, there was little recourse for the defenders, who were at an absolutely overwhelming numerical disadvantage.
And so, this day marked the end of the legend of Dauwe Castle as an impregnable fortress.
“Sieg þjóðann! Sieg þjóðann!”
Dauwe Castle was decorated everywhere with countless banners of the Anti-Steel Clan Alliance, and the walls resounded with their cries of victory.
The smell of blood was still thick in the air, evidence of the fierce fighting that had only ended a short time ago.
“To think they’d actually break their way in with a frontal assault...” The Cloud Clan patriarch Gerhard muttered to himself, frowning, as he surveyed the aftermath.
Gerhard had made a number of attempts on this place over the course of the last ten years, and each time he’d been repelled—he understood more than anyone how resistant to capture Dauwe Castle was.
The Cloud Clan was a nation of nomads that controlled a large swath of the eastern part of the Miðgarðr region.
They grew up learning to survive in Miðgarðr’s harsh natural environment, and their two main sources of livelihood were hunting game and plundering the lands of others. They were a clan of born-and-bred warriors, and it was said that even their women and children could wield swords and bows with great skill.
Their ruler Gerhard was also known both within the clan and without as a truly great leader. He had completely defeated two rival clans so far, growing his nation’s sphere of influence far beyond where it had been in the time of his predecessor.
And yet, even a hero like Gerhard leading an army of such elite Cloud Clan warriors had never been able to make any headway at all against Dauwe Castle.
Fagrahvél had taken it in only half a day.
Certainly, it had been done using an army that was among the largest in Yggdrasil’s history.
However, the stronghold was situated in a place where the geography nullified the advantages of a large army.
In fact, it forced their side into a situation where their attacking troops were outnumbered by the defenders.
And despite such an overwhelming disadvantage, Fagrahvél’s troops had been the ones to completely overwhelm the enemy instead.
“So this is the power of the so-called rune of kings... Gjallarhorn, the Call to War. I’ve heard that the first divine emperor Wotan also possessed it. With that sort of power, I can see how he was able to unite Yggdrasil under his rule.”
With that rune’s power, men who were little more than rank and file soldiers of scant value had been instantly transformed into powerful and courageous warriors, each and every one of them a valiant hero who fought with incredible vigor and tenacity.
Even though Gerhard had watched it all happen, it had been so incredible that he still couldn’t shake the doubt that perhaps he had simply dreamt it all up.
“Though, given what’s going on right now, it doesn’t seem like it’s a power that can be used too freely.”
Gerhard turned around to look back at the largest interior building in the center of the castle grounds.
Fagrahvél, the commander-in-chief of the Anti-Steel Clan Alliance army, was currently laid up in bed after having seen a terrible decline in physical health.
Einherjar or not, harnessing such a vast amount of power was still too far beyond the limits of what a single person should be capable of. Evidently, using that power came at a significant cost.
After all, if that weren’t the case, the Cloud and Fang Clans would have surely long since been conquered and absorbed by the Sword Clan.
“Hmph, the Steel Clan might be my enemy, but I feel sorry for them,” Gerhard muttered.
Fagrahvél had not hesitated to use the power of Gjallarhorn during this initial battle. It was also intended to be used during the decisive battle against Yuuto and the bulk of the Steel Clan Army.
The only possible issue with that was that it didn’t look like it could be used successively within a short period of time, but there was still plenty of time left before the Steel Clan’s forces arrived.
Fagrahvél would have factored in how long it would take to recover enough strength and made the decision to use it believing there was enough time to do so.
“I don’t care if they call him ‘Lion-Heart,’ or a war god, or any other nonsense. That boy’s winning streak is going to end right here.”
Gerhard’s words did not come from mere confidence. He was simply stating what he now believed to be certain.
It was true that, up to this point, the Steel Clan had grown in size and power at a rapid speed.
The Steel Clan army forces were likely a force to be reckoned with, too.
However, in the end, it was an army made up of people—of ordinary humans.
No matter how strong they might be, it was impossible to imagine that the Steel Clan would be able to stand up to troops that had been transformed into fearless, powerful killing machines.
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