Wortenia Senki (LN) - Volume 9 - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Second Obstacle

Faced with the vast plains spreading beneath the cliff he was standing on, Ryoma heaved a deep sigh. He was standing on high ground, overlooking the border between the Notis plains and the forest north of it. A short trek south would bring them to their destination, Fort Notis. 

“Well, one way or another, we got through the mountains...” 

In terms of time, it took them about three weeks to get here. Ever since they entered the mountains south of Memphis, they had to move slowly along the foothills, so as to not draw O’ltormea’s attention. 

Of the soldiers Grindiana gave him, several hundred didn’t survive the journey. Of course, when Ryoma came up with this plan, he kept in mind that these losses were well within the realm of possibility. After all, he based this strategy off the example of Hannibal Barca’s crossing of the Alps, where tens of thousands of soldiers died during the journey. 

That said, Ryoma’s journey wasn’t perfectly comparable to Hannibal’s. Hannibal crossed the snowy Alps in the dead of winter, while Ryoma had to break through a region swarming with monsters. But they were the same in the sense that they’d crossed uncharted territory along a trackless path to infiltrate enemy territory. 

Choosing not to discard Olivia’s group was the right choice. 

Ryoma thought back to the adventurers he’d just paid the rest of the reward to and parted ways with. After he and the twins pushed back the Eagle Lord’s attack, they made their way to the planned campsite for that day, and regrouped with Olivia and the others. 

Olivia looked at the three of them as if they were ghosts. Encountering something on the scale of an Eagle Lord was usually a death sentence, after all. The only one who could even injure such a creature would be archers armed with powerful bows, or thaumaturgists skilled with verbal thaumaturgy. 

But there was definite meaning in how Ryoma had willingly volunteered to be the decoy. Having the leader of this expedition not only act as the decoy, but also slay the monster in the process, caused any displeasure or complaints any of the soldiers had about him to disappear. 

Indeed, following that incident, the Helnesgoulan soldiers had completely divested themselves of any skepticism they’d initially had; and the same could be said of Olivia’s group. They clearly didn’t want to buy the ire of three people who were capable of defeating an Eagle Lord. 

Not like I did very much back there, though... 

The Eagle Lord was already barely breathing after it was struck by the Malfist sisters’ thaumaturgy. Ryoma’s only contribution was to drive Kikoku into the dying Eagle Lord’s heart. 

Even so, they did technically defeat it together. It was just a matter of how precise one wanted the truth to be. Still, the Malfist sisters, effectively the real top achievers here, actively directed all the praise and credit at Ryoma. Insisting on setting the record straight now felt like a wasted effort. 

I’ll just think of it as a windfall, I guess. 

The soldiers’ misunderstanding of what had happened only acted in Ryoma’s favor. As that thought crossed his mind, Sara whispered into his ear from behind. 

“Master Ryoma... Sakuya’s waiting for you at the tent.” 

Upon hearing that report, Ryoma’s eyes narrowed sharply. Depending on the information Sakuya was about to deliver, his plan might be in need of heavy revision. 

“All right. Tell her I’ll be right over.” 

Sara bowed and turned around, leaving hurriedly. Ryoma started going after her, but stopped after a few steps. 

“Now then... How will the dice fall?” he whispered to himself, turning a backwards glance to the plains sprawling beneath the cliff. 

As if locking gazes with some unseen enemy... 

“So? How did it go?” 

As soon as Ryoma entered the tent he spoke to Sakuya, who awaited him on one knee. Ryoma’s attitude couldn’t be called courteous, and the Helnesgoulan knights around them were quite taken aback by how callous he was being. 

No one intended to call Ryoma out on this, however. Not after he’d led them through three weeks of grueling travel. Simply put, they’d grown used to him. 

“Milord. As I suspected during my preliminary investigation, Fort Notis doesn’t have any particular weak points that we can exploit.” 

“Right... Is going on an offensive with the numbers we have impossible?” 

“Yes. They have three layers of walls and a moat... We’d need tens of thousands to successfully besiege them.” 

Ryoma already knew as much, but Fort Notis’s defenses were ironclad. 

This isn’t anything new, though... 

Fort Notis was the invasion army’s lifeline, after all. And the supplies accumulated within the fortress’s walls only contributed to its impregnability. 

Still, there was a limit to how long Helena and the others could hide within Fort Ushas. Helena was known as Rhoadseria’s Ivory Goddess of War, and with her was the Tempest — Ecclesia Marinelle, Myest’s renowned general. And they also had Joshua Belares, who was effectively on the same level as a general. 

Faced with three powerful generals, even an army led by Shardina Eisenheit herself wouldn’t topple the fortress easily. But combat could be fickle and subject to chance. The slightest carelessness could shake up the flow of battle. And it was probably best to assume that the enemy would want to finish this as quickly as possible. 

Still, there’s no point in asking for the impossible... We’ll have to move our schedule ahead. 

Ryoma asked Sakuya that question with the faint hope she might have discovered some kind of opening they could exploit. But if there wasn’t one, there was nothing to be done about that. 

Ryoma wasn’t thrilled about having to use the tactic he was about to employ, but given the situation, he couldn’t let his personal preferences be a factor in his decision-making. 

“Did they change the captain in charge of the fort’s defenses?” Ryoma asked. 

“No. It’s still Greg Moore,” Sakuya shook her head. 

Ryoma chuckled in his heart. 

Moore, the Water God’s Blade... I was a little worried when I heard Shardina was reorganizing her forces, but things are still going as planned. 

The personnel had not changed since their previous investigation. Having a different captain in charge of the fort’s security would have been a major problem for Ryoma, but thankfully, that wasn’t the case. 

“All right... Then we move as planned. You all remember the procedure, right?” Ryoma said. 

At that question, the atmosphere grew chilly in the tent. 

“Of course. We shall show you the might of Helnesgoula’s knights, Lord Mikoshiba,” one of the knights said, to which his colleagues raised their voices in a cheer. 

Ryoma nodded silently. 

With the village burning and smoldering before her eyes, Sara parted her lips morosely. 

“This is the third one already...” 

Ryoma averted his gaze from her. 

We don’t have a choice... 

They knew this was coming; they were prepared for this. But this was still disheartening work. They were indiscriminately burning down the villages around Fort Notis. Attacking the enemy’s villages and looting them for supplies was considered a viable tactic on the battlefield, but Ryoma would have preferred not to resort to this. 

We have to do this if we’re going to take down the fort. 

He wasn’t going to make excuses, but Ryoma didn’t do this out of a desire to torment O’ltormea’s subjects. He simply had no other recourse. In that regard, the razing of this village was just part of his strategy, and Sara knew this. She was rather pale, but was doing her job. 

Still, this village is probably doing better than the other ones... 

The villagers were gathering in the village square. So long as they didn’t try to fight back and cause pointless havoc, they wouldn’t need to die, and Ryoma told them they were allowed to take all their valuables and food with them. It was hard to say how much this helped them, though. Being left without a home in this world could be quite difficult. But still, he wanted to avoid needless murder and pillaging whenever possible. 

And he had another reason for doing this; he needed these villagers to survive at all costs. 

But Ryoma didn’t know to what extent the soldiers attacking the other villages followed his orders. Helnesgoula and Xarooda were bitter enemies of O’ltormea for many years, and the citizens of each country were full of dark loathing for the people of their rival countries. So the soldiers could have taken Ryoma’s absence as a chance to vent that hatred. 

It almost felt natural that they might do this. They were ordered to make it seem like the razing was the doing of bandits, so they mercilessly stole, burned and ravaged. And even within the context of a war, it was a gruesome sight. But at the same time, this was the result of these villagers choosing to live in a militant country that actively chose war. 

“Milord! Enemies from behind!” One of the Igasaki ninja, who was standing as a lookout, hurried over to Ryoma. 

Ryoma nodded at his report. 

Greg Moore... He’s moving in, just like I thought. 

Given Fort Notis’s importance, they couldn’t easily send out soldiers from the fort, even if their country’s citizens were under attack. As stalwart as the fort was, it couldn’t defend anything without soldiers to man its posts. But if one were to examine the situation from another angle, that evident truth illuminated another conclusion. 

He probably sent the same number of troops to the other villages, too... 

Thankfully, Greg Moore was a skilled commander. Even while he served as the commander responsible for the security of the fort, he understood the unrest hanging over O’ltormea’s territory. He was a remarkable officer, for all intents and purposes. 

And this was exactly why he was playing into Ryoma’s hands. 

“All right, we shouldn’t stay here any longer. Hurry up and retreat!” Ryoma ordered, his lips curling up into a smirk. 

He’d realized his prey was charging into the trap he prepared. 

A few days later, the time had come. 

Before Ryoma’s eyes was the large fortress, lit up by torches. This firm stonework structure wouldn’t fall to any half-hearted attack. The thousands of troops garrisoning this structure would scare off anyone reckless enough to approach it. 

Sitting in this fort’s warehouses were large stores of food and equipment gathered to facilitate O’ltormea’s invasion into Xarooda. This base was also connected with the urban areas in the rear. 

If Ryoma were to topple this fortress head-on, he would need tens of thousands of troops and some siege weapons. It would mean being prepared to take great losses, and even then, the siege would last months. 

And all of this was assuming the base didn’t receive any reinforcements. It was indeed an impregnable fortress. 

“So this is Fort Notis... Yeah, it’s just as impressive as I’ve heard,” Ryoma whispered as he sat upon his horse, lifting his helmet’s visor. 

The fort grew larger as they approached it. Ever since it was built several months ago, it had served as a defensive stronghold against Xarooda. Just as how Fort Ushas was the final line of defense against an invasion from O’ltormea, Fort Notis was O’ltormea’s lynchpin for securing the eastern front. 

“Yes. But now...” the attendant at Ryoma’s side replied with a voice reminiscent of a bell’s chime. 

Her face was obscured by her helmet’s visor, but the supple curvature of her chest and the silver, silk-like locks spilling from her helmet revealed it was Laura. 

“I guess...” Ryoma shrugged and nodded. “It took a lot of work to set the table for this moment. If I screw up here, I won’t be able to look Helena in the eye.” 

True, toppling Fort Notis would be difficult using conventional methods. But it wasn’t impossible, so long as one wasn’t picky about their methods. And to that end, Ryoma had sacrificed a great deal and spent a lot of time preparing for this. 

And now, at last, the moment had arrived. This was the one in a thousand chance he needed... 

“Sorry for the wait!” A knight galloped out of the fortress, approaching Ryoma while gasping for air. “It took some time to explain everything, but it looks like they’ll give us permission to enter the fort.” 

Raising his hand in thanks, Ryoma turned to face the long column of men behind him. 

That’s all our preparations complete... They’re all acting just the way I told them. Except... 

Ryoma looked calm on the surface, but his heart was gripped by anxiety and impatience. The fate of a country was resting on his wide shoulders. Most people would be paralyzed by the sheer fear and pressure of it all. 

But in the bottom of his wavering heart, unbeknownst to Ryoma, there burned a craving for battle. His emotions were contradictory. A person who feels no fear or anxiety is the same as a vehicle with no brakes. The true form of courage is in knowing to suppress those feelings of fear and anxiety and convert them into strength. 

That requires such a conflicted heart. To know fear, but to not allow oneself to be dominated by it. And perhaps this very contradiction is part of what makes one a hero. 

It’ll be fine... It’ll work... This is no different from before. 

Ryoma’s lips went dry with stress and excitement. His mind flashed back to a scene from years ago, back when he was still a child. From the days when he proudly and ardently fought to protect the place he belonged to. 

“Let’s go!” Ryoma called out. 

Everyone around him nodded. The column of soldiers began advancing down the long highway between the town of Aruo and Fort Notis. The clicking of hooves and the grinding of carriage wheels against the ground rumbled through the air. Silvery armor glinted as the light of the torches illuminating the dark night reflected against it. 

Like an army of messengers, risen from the underworld to herald the approach of death... 

The Notis Plains were close to the O’ltormea-Xarooda border, and now, the O’ltormean army was preparing to enter the final stages of its invasion. And these plains, the very site of where Arios Belares, the Guardian Deity of Xarooda, suffered an honorable defeat at the hands of Shardina Eisenheit, the first princess of the O’ltormea Empire, would prove the site of that final battle. 

Sitting in an office nestled deep within the stalwart walls of Fort Notis was the officer in charge of the fortress’s defense, as well as the leader of logistical support for the invasion army. Greg Moore. As he heaved a deep sigh, a puff of purple smoke billowed out of his mouth. 

“The next transport unit has finally arrived. With an escort unit of two thousand... Mm, if nothing else, we can rest easy for a time.” 

The taste of the cigar in his mouth, a high quality product brought in from the central continent, calmed his nerves. 

“Yes, apparently they brought in the supplies and gear from the capital.” 

Moore rested his cigar on an ashtray and received a document from his aide. The paper did indeed have the official seal of the O’ltormea Empire applied to it; it was an official document. 

“Right... The escort unit’s significantly smaller than I thought, though.” 

“Yes...” the aide said uncomfortably. “I think it’s fair to assume they were hit by a raid...” 

Moore felt a slight spasm in his temple at the sound of those words. 

“Joshua Belares...” he hissed bitterly. 

Moore had golden, shortly cut hair and stern facial features. A scent unique to a man who had survived long on the battlefield wafted up from his body. The scar running across his left cheek gave him a striking, menacing impression. His stomach was beginning to jut out, owing to his age, but no one doubted his capacity as a warrior. 

And as a warrior, he was well above simply first class, but he was given the position of ensuring the fort’s defenses and being in charge of logistical support for a reason. Moore’s thick fingers unconsciously rubbed against his right leg’s thigh. This was an injury he’d suffered while fighting Xarooda’s knights during the Battle of the Notis Plains. 

His leg had been stomped on by a horse’s hoof, horseshoe and all, meaning he would have needed to have it amputated. In truth, his leg shouldn’t have been attached to his body right now. By using copious amounts of very expensive nostrum and with the aid of thorough healing at the hands of a skilled verbal thaumaturgist, his leg had been able to sufficiently recover from the incident. 

But it wasn’t the same. An odd sense of discomfort constantly lingered over it, never once fading. It didn’t get in the way of his everyday life, but whenever he put on his armor and picked up his longsword, he found that he simply couldn’t bring himself to step on that leg properly. 

He had no trouble going up against weak soldiers who weren’t capable of martial thaumaturgy. Whether someone could use that power or not made all the difference in battle, after all. And when he fought young knights, who had only recently acquired the power of thaumaturgy, he could still win. Young, foolish soldiers who still hadn’t ascertained the limits and bounds of their power were full of overconfidence. To a veteran like Moore, they were no different than a weakling with no power at all. 

But if he was facing an experienced warrior who had mastered martial thaumaturgy, Moore’s condition put him at a disadvantage. All it took was that slight sense of discomfort, that echo of an injury that could never quite heal... that alone was enough to become a fatal handicap on the battlefield. 

And it was because he knew this that Moore accepted the responsibility of organizing Fort Notis’s security. 

If only my leg would move properly... I’d take to the frontlines myself and crush those Xaroodian dogs alongside Princess Shardina... 

He didn’t intend to speak ill of or look down upon the duty of guarding the rear. The soldiers on the frontlines can only fight because they had a supply chain that kept them fed. But Moore had fought on the battlefield for many years, and this situation left him impatient. His eyes turned to his broadsword. 

“That impudent pest... The outcome of this war is evident, and he still struggles... I suppose not knowing when to give up runs in that family. But to attempt to stop O’ltormea’s noble pursuits... I wish I could run my sword through his gut already.” 

This war had lingered too long by now. He’d heard the hostilities had run into a stalemate at the Ushas Basin. Princess Shardina sent him a rebuking letter just the other day. Hearing of it made Moore, who could not take part directly in the fighting, that much more embittered. 

“The supply caravan sent out a few days ago to Fort Noltia was hit by a raid, so Princess Shardina’s anger is understandable,” Moore’s aide said, trying to calm his superior. “But that does not change the fact that Fort Notis is the invasion army’s lifeline.” 

The man knew that Moore was exceptionally rational, but wasn’t easy to stop once his anger got the better of him. Not unlike a bull enraged by a red capote. This was one of Greg Moore’s few flaws, as he was otherwise knowledgeable in politics and economics, too. 

“I’m well aware of your anger, sir, but we should avoid acting carelessly and getting caught up in Joshua Belares’s raids.” 

“He’s already pulled back to the Ushas Basin. Do you think his army’s really going to come out again?” Moore asked. 

“That man is eccentric,” the aide nodded. “After the last raid a few days ago, his unit moved back to the Ushas region, but given the chance he could launch an all-or-nothing attack on us.” 

The aide advocated caution, knowing his superior could very well rush to the frontlines in spite of his injured leg should his temper get the better of him. Of course, the odds of Joshua attacking the supply lines again were low. 

With his troops now inside the Ushas Basin, going back to the border regions would be too taxing for Joshua’s unit, given their mobility. And with the day of Shardina’s planned all-out offensive fast approaching, Xarooda’s side, which was lacking in numbers, likely wanted as many as possible to assume defensive positions. 

Still, the chances of Joshua attempting to attack them weren’t zero. If they were to lower the supply units’ level of caution and be hit by another raid, the balance of the war could start tilting against them. 

“Yes, you’ve got a point... We should stay vigilant, at least until the Ushas Basin has been seized.” 

“Yes. Given a few more days, Her Highness should commence her offensive on Fort Ushas. If that fortress were to fall...” 

“We’ll be able to divide Xarooda right down the middle and strike down each part of the country individually,” Moore finished his aide’s words, his lips curling up into a smirk. 

The aide nodded wordlessly. They’d been informed from the frontlines that Shardina was preparing to launch a decisive assault on Fort Ushas. Joshua Belares knew this, and this was why he’d moved his men, who had been attacking the supply line in the mountainous region along the border, into the Ushas Basin. 

“Yes... And to do that, we just need to bring the supplies we were delivered now over to the frontlines. The 2,000 men we got this time should be enough to keep the supply line safe.” 

Joshua’s raiding force, which dominated the mountainous regions of Xarooda, was estimated to be about 10,000 men in size. That was the entirety of Joshua’s forces, though; only a few hundred to a couple of thousand men attacked each individual convoy. 

They were launching their surprise attacks along narrow mountain passes and roads. In order to maintain mobility, each unit couldn’t be any larger than that. Joshua himself was already in the Ushas Basin, but there could still be a few raiding parties hidden in the mountains. 

If they were to relegate 4,000 men to guarding the convoy this time, however, the possibility of any problems occurring was remote. 

“Yes, a force of 4,000 should stave off any ambushes that impudent whelp left behind. The only problem is we’ll have fewer soldiers left to garrison the fort...” Moore said, patting his stubbled chin pensively. 

Fort Notis had an initial garrison of 12,000 men, but Shardina reorganized their forces for the upcoming offensive, leaving only slightly over 5,000 soldiers in the fort. This was more than enough to fight off any bandit attacks, but was too small of a force to hold a defensive fortification, even if they were well within O’ltormean territory. This was cause for some anxiety. 

And worse yet, incidents of bandits attacking and burning down villages had been rampant as of late. To deal with them, Moore dispatched 2,000 of his men to maintain the peace, reducing the garrison to a mere 3,000. 

If they were to send an additional 2,000 to guard the convoy, Fort Notis’s garrison would grow even thinner than it already is. And as impregnable of a fort as it may be, this was a precarious position to be in. 

“Perhaps we can wait for the units we sent out to the surrounding villages?” the aide proposed. 

Moore shook his head, pulling out a directive from his desk drawer. 

“No. With how urgent things are on the frontlines, we need to act as quickly as possible.” 

Moore was aware of how dangerous a position he was placing them in, but he wasn’t going to oppose Shardina’s will when she was about to launch her all-out attack. Reading his commander’s resolve from his expression, the aide nodded. 

“Understood. I’ll make the preparations. Excuse me, then.” 

The aide bowed and left the room. Watching him close the door, Moore whispered silently. 

“Just a little longer... Once this war ends, everything will go back to normal...” 

The Empire of O’ltormea aspired to become sovereign of the western continent, but originally it was but a small country in the center of the continent. The Emperor, Lionel Eisenheit, skillfully led it alongside his talented retainers to forcefully conquer their neighbors, resulting in the present state of the Empire. 

As a result, the foundation of the Empire’s control was more fragile than that of other countries. One could say O’ltormea’s domination was in a highly unstable state at present. The biggest reason was that the national defense had grown thinner as a result of the invasion of Xarooda. Shardina expected the campaign to be a swift one and drew many soldiers from across the country to bolster her invasion. 

The small farm communities were especially influenced by this. They were considered to have little strategic importance, and most of their men were relegated to the war effort, leaving only the bare minimum necessary to maintain the public order. This was done because O’ltormea was surrounded by rival countries in all directions, meaning Shardina couldn’t draw any soldiers devoted to guarding the borders. 

The result of that was the public order within the country had significantly worsened. Villages and towns located far from the major highways were consistently being plagued by bandit raids. Moore wasn’t one for pampering the commoners, of course, nor did he have any lofty ideals about the duties of the ruling class. 

In this world, what mattered was the fate of the country, not the fate of the individual. Especially not when it came to the commoners; in the eye of the nobles, their lives were as expendable and worthless as trash. 

But a decline in public order wasn’t a problem a militant country could ignore. It was easy to say the commoners had no value, but no political policy could completely ignore their existence. The public order failing would mean O’ltormea would lose its dignity and awe, and make the commoners begin doubting the legitimacy of its rule. 

One could believe the commoners were no different from cattle, but having them rise up in revolt would be problematic. True, given how much stronger knights were compared to commoners, it could be quelled with military might. But that would do nothing to resolve their disgruntlement. 

Tax revenue and trade would take a hit, leading to an inevitable decrease in supplies. And with the invasion of Xarooda being underway, the decline within the country could cause Shardina’s campaign to wither away behind enemy lines. 

We can’t let the commoners’ discontent blow up now. At best, we have to keep them pressured on one hand and alive on the other... 

The fact he was both a warrior and had the capacity to realize this made Moore exceptionally capable, for all O’ltormea was concerned. The Empire had vast territory, and if all one wanted was a powerful warrior, there were many knights available that could match Greg Moore. And there were others who were as educated and intelligent as him. But few were as graced with both martial might and intellect as he was. 

I just wish I could have a person with a broader outlook as my aide... The thought crossed Moore’s mind. 

The aide from earlier was by no means incompetent, of course. He was an accomplished warrior and a dependable commander on the battlefield. But right now, what the Empire needed wasn’t people who were only good for fighting battles. 

Just the other day, the villages around Adelpho were hit by a band of what was estimated to be several hundred bandits. The damage of those raids was vast. To deal with that, the capital pressured Moore to dispatch soldiers to maintain the public order. This forced Moore to cut into the garrison’s numbers and reassign a good number of his men for this purpose. 

The roads had to be safe to ensure the safe passage of the transport convoys, so it wasn’t as if the matter was unrelated to him. Still, this wouldn’t normally fall under Moore’s jurisdiction. He still had to do it, however, since there was no one else capable of handling it. And this was precisely why Shardina, despite the explosive situation she’s in, entrusted him with Fort Notis. 

“Your Highness... You need only wait patiently for a while longer...” Moore whispered to Shardina in the distance, his eyes looking at the starry sky outside his window. 

This was the very vision of a soldier loyal to the O’ltormea Empire. However, this was exactly why Greg Moore failed to notice the presence of the Grim Reaper, creeping in behind him... 

“Hm...” That thin, subtle whisper seemed to echo exceptionally loudly through the large room. 

This was the central tower standing at the heart of Fort Notis. At its top floor was a bedroom, and lying atop the bed was one man, looking up into the air. A few whispers escaped his lips, though they were closer to sighs. 

Letting out another whisper, Moore tossed in his bed. He’d squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the pillow, but then once again turned around and lay on his back. The curtain of darkness coating the night sky was beginning to grow thinner. Within 30 minutes, the light of dawn would begin to shine on the horizon. 

He didn’t go to sleep any later than usual, meaning Moore spent hours lying in bed, unable to fall asleep. 

I can’t sleep... 

It felt as if something was writhing inside his body. A vexing, irritating, inexplicable something was rocking Moore’s heart. One of the most essential skills when it came to life on the battlefield was getting sleep whenever possible and being able to wake up quickly when the need called for it. 

Soldiers needed sleep, but they were on the battlefield, where the enemy could attack at any time. There’s never any guarantee one would get all the sleep time they require. To that end, a soldier needed to maintain the focused balance of resting whenever they could while being prepared to promptly react whenever the enemy might strike. 

But despite that, Moore simply couldn’t fall asleep that night. 

I suppose I’ll give up and get out of bed... 

Rising from the bed, he rang the bell sitting at his bedside to usher in an attendant. 

“Excuse me, sir...” the attendant said as he entered the room. “Can I help you?” 

Moore instructed the attendant to bring some cold water. 

Hmm... Good. He thought to himself as he poured himself some water from the pitcher and emptied the cup. 

The chilled water ran down his throat and quenched his thirst. Apparently his anxieties had been tormenting him more than he realized. After taking another breath, Moore lay down on the bed again. He had no intention of sleeping this time. 

I don’t understand... What’s happening? 

It felt as if Moore’s warrior intuition was trying to alert him to something. If he had to compare it to anything, it was similar to the same premonition he might feel before the enemy launched a surprise attack at night. An inexplicable creeping feeling, as if something was slithering up his spine. 

But Moore wasn’t on the battlefield. He was safely within O’ltormean territory. In a mighty fortress protected by tall stone walls and strong soldiers. True, there were fewer soldiers in the base than there should have been, but this couldn’t be compared to camping out on the frontlines. Even if this fortress in the middle of the Notis Plains were to be attacked, the ones doing it would likely be the soldiers of Xarooda. But that could only happen if Shardina’s expeditionary force were to be defeated. 

The expeditionary force losing would put the future of O’ltormea in danger. If things were that dire, someone would have reported it to me by now. 

But he hadn’t received any news of Shardina losing. 

“Am I imagining it...? No...” Moore tried to convince himself, but shook his head. 

Rising from the bed, he gripped his longsword, which was leaning against the wall. 

I’ve only survived this long by trusting my intuition. 

The thick steel blade had a complex pattern etched onto it. It was tempered by a high-class blacksmith and had a thaumaturgical sigil endowed upon it by a high-level thaumaturgist. This sword was very much Moore’s other half; it had survived countless battlefields alongside him. The blade’s intense sheen illuminated his face, and feeling its cold weight in his hand calmed his heart. 

Rationally speaking, this odd sense of dread must have been his imagination and nothing more. But his intuition was the answer he came up with by weighing the facts against his own well of experience. There was no surefire method of discerning which was correct, logic or his intuition. In the end, it boiled down to what he chose to believe in and what he chose to reject. 

And in truth, his warrior’s intuition wasn’t wrong. A pack of proverbial starved wolves was lying in wait behind Moore, biding their time for the right moment to sink their fangs into his jugular... 

The fort’s courtyard spread out before their eyes, full of wagons. These wagons were brought into the fort rather late into the night, but since they’d be sent out into Xarooda’s territory the next morning, they weren’t brought into the warehouses, leaving the mountain of supplies as is. 

This was the direct result of Ryoma’s plan, of course. He intentionally planned it so the supplies would reach Fort Notis in the middle of the night. 

Apparently, the fort didn’t have enough hands on deck. Which made sense; one couldn’t hope to maintain a base meant to house 10,000 with a fourth of its intended garrison. Corners had to be cut in one field or another. And this was what Ryoma was aiming for. 

Idiots... 

Their choice was an efficient one, to be sure. These supplies were to be sent out the following morning, so there was no point to spending the night carrying them into the warehouses. But skipping out on that bit of work would cost the entirety of Fort Notis a painful price. 

If they had carefully checked the cargo, they might have realized there was a major discrepancy between what had been brought in and the documents they were presented with. 

Ryoma regarded the sight before him with a smile. 

“Begin,” Ryoma said, swinging his arm forward. 

At his signal, the Helnesgoulan soldiers clad in O’ltormean armor charged through the fort. They all carried large amounts of oil. No matter how stalwart the stone fortress may be, it would burn if the fire were to begin from within. After all, it couldn’t have been made entirely out of stone. 

“Alrighty. Let’s just hope this goes the way I want it to...” Ryoma muttered. 

In the interstice between night and day, people tend to let down their guard, making it an ideal time for a surprise attack. The soldiers standing guard during the night watch, wary of a night raid, grow fatigued around this time, and their concentration begins to fail. 

As mighty as Fort Notis may be, all of its defensive qualities would mean nothing if it was ravaged from the inside. And by the time dawn fully rises, the fort will have descended to total chaos. 

“Fire! There’s a fire!” 

“Put it out! Water, someone go get water!” 

It started as a small disturbance, but before long the situation spiraled out of control. 

“An enemy attack! An attack from Xarooda!” 

“It’s not an attack, calm down. Gather your units and await orders.” 

“Do you want to burn to death, you idiot?! Forget orders, hurry up and get water!” 

The sight of the raging flames struck fear into the soldiers’ hearts, and the black smoke obscured their field of vision. Fires were a terrifying hazard in either world. Screams echoed from every direction. Conflicting information was flying back and forth, and no one could ascertain the truth. 

Everyone was saying whatever came to mind, and the Helnesgoulan soldiers and Igasaki ninja disguised as O’ltormean soldiers spread groundless rumors, scrambling the chain of command. 

“Now’s the time... Sara, Laura, each of you lead 500 men and set fire to the warehouses. The security should be lax now.” 

““Yes, Master.”” 

The fort’s barracks and watchtowers were the first to catch fire, leaving the O’ltormean soldiers in a panic as the fire advanced to the warehouses. This was all planned ahead of time. 

“Now listen, we have plenty of oil and fodder to trigger the fire. Don’t be shy and use as much as possible! We’re burning this fort to the ground!” 

““Understood!”” The twins nodded and ran off, preparing to lead their soldiers. 

The two of them were aware of the fort’s structure ahead of time, and betrayed no signs of confusion. 

“Right, it’s about time I move out, too...” Ryoma whispered as he watched the Malfist sisters leave and drew Kikoku from its sheath. “Let’s go. Cut down everyone you see! Take no prisoners! This is a massacre!” 

“““Ooooooooh!””” 

At Ryoma’s shout, the Helnesgoulan soldiers behind him raised their voices in a warcry. 

Just as Ryoma’s early morning attack began, the situation was moving in the central tower. 

“A fire?” 

Those two words felt like they rumbled from the bottom of the earth, hitting the aide who hurried into the room like a blow to the face. Surprised to find that Moore had already changed into his armor, the aide continued. 

“Yes!” He shouted since he didn’t have the time to catch his breath. “Fires have broken out around the fort, starting with the west and east towers.” 

“What?! What in the world happened...?!” Moore’s brows furrowed. “How did this happen? Weren’t the guards at their stations?” 

“We don’t know. It all happened so suddenly... All the units are trying to put out the fires, but... It doesn’t look like they can take control of the situation... For now, we’ve given them orders to prioritize taking out the fires to the best of their ability.” 

Extinguishing the fires was critical for resolving the situation, to be sure, but it was questionable if these orders were the correct choice given the situation. That doubt made Moore’s thoughts accelerate. And as his mind put the facts together, he came to a single conclusion. At that moment, the unease he felt through that night had become a conviction. Once he examined the situation calmly, there were many unnatural points. 

Damnit... They really were from Xarooda... In which case, are they after me? No, this is bad... If that’s what they’re after, the expedition to Xarooda would be run into the ground... At worst, even Princess Shardina will... 

Putting out the fire was a high priority, but it was clear that this whole affair was someone’s doing, and that meant it shouldn’t be treated as a common fire. And whoever did this had their eyes set elsewhere... 

“You idiots!” Moore barked at his aide. “Why did you leave your stations?!” 

Clicking his tongue angrily, Moore ran off without looking twice. 

We can still salvage this... We still have time... 

If he were to calm the chaos and reorganize the chain of command, Moore would be able to give efficient orders and turn the situation around. But that required him to directly assume command. To show himself to his men and inspire them. 

“But how do we...?!” Moore’s aide ran after him, his face desperate. 

Following both of them were a few dozen soldiers who were in charge of guarding the central tower. Moore raced down the stairs, the metallic sound of his armor echoing through the staircase. But just as Moore reached the first floor and made for the door to the courtyard, several figures blocked his path. 

“What are you doing?!” the aide barked at them. “How dare you stand in Captain Moore’s way?!” 

The class system in this world was steep, and Moore was a high-ranking knight entrusted with commanding a fortress. Normally, no one would have worked up the nerve to stand in the way of someone in such a lofty station. Given the situation, the aide didn’t intend to actually punish these soldiers, but they made for a good example when it came to reinstating order. 

“What unit are you from? State your names!” 

The wall of soldiers parted, and one man stepped forward. Sensing something was wrong from the man’s composed gait, the aide raised his voice and stepped forward. 

“Take off your helmet! Show me your face!” 

The aide carelessly approached the man with hurried steps, intending to tear the helmet off his head. But as he watched this unfold, Moore was overcome by an eerie sense of premonition. 

“Wait! Get away from them!” Moore shouted. 

“Huh?” The aide turned around. 

Moore’s shout echoed through the fortress, and the next moment, something cold stabbed through the aide’s stomach. 

“Ah... Ugh... Ngh?!” 

The thing that stabbed him left his body, churning up his insides in the process. The taste of blood filled the aide’s throat and thick fluid rose up from his stomach as he toppled backwards. 

“Wh-Why...?” 

The aide looked up at the bloodstained katana in the hands of the man who stabbed him, but his gaze soon lost its intensity. It was as if a layer of mist had settled over his field of vision. The light faded from his eyes, and so the aide expired. Not knowing, even at the very end, why he had to die. 

“So that’s what happened... You’re one of Xarooda’s lackeys, aren’t you?” Moore said, upon which all the soldiers behind him drew their weapons at once. 

The men were dumbfounded by what had happened, but Moore’s declaration yanked them back into reality. 

“Give me your name...” Moore asked, his voice chillingly cold. 

Sharp, lethal bloodlust emanated from Moore’s body. 

“Sure, why not?” the man said, and took off his helmet. 

The face beneath it was that of an agreeable young man. One couldn’t say it was unattractive, but it probably depended on individual taste. But this man did have an intense something that seemed to draw people in. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met, have we? I’m Ryoma Mikoshiba, the governor of the Wortenia Peninsula in the Kingdom of Rhoadseria. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

He regarded Moore with a bright, carefree, sunny grin, bowing his head as if he wasn’t facing an enemy. But that amicable, soft smile only struck Moore as terrifying. It was as if Ryoma was an inexplicable monster in human form.