Chapter 112 - 9-13
Pusiteto found Laicanel Thora's immense luck to be a nuisance.
The enemy came from the forest.
To lead and drag soldiers through a forest where one cannot see ahead—this requires capability. Pusiteto knew this because he had experienced it himself in the "Dark Forest."
It was not that he hadn't considered the possibility that the enemy might force their way through the forest, just as his own side had. Pusiteto had placed sentries in the woods. The enemy had approached by slipping past the eyes of those sentries. This was a matter of a general's capability.
However, there are things that capability cannot resolve.
Specifically, the fact that they appeared behind him right in the middle of the heat of battle. Who could possibly accept such an absurd story?
And yet, in reality, the son of General Sedias Thora had appeared.
Pusiteto's command post was attacked from the rear. Overwhelmed by the momentum of the enemy soldiers, Pusiteto had been captured. Bound with his hands behind his back, Pusiteto sat on the grass, sulking.
A beautiful young man with hair as bright as desert sand looked down at Pusiteto from horseback.
He must have led the horses through the forest. Since there is little undergrowth in the forest, he would have had to carry fodder. The number of horses was likely not large.
"You are a person of rank, aren't you?" the beautiful young man said. He spoke in the Enagamo language.
Pusiteto thought he would pretend not to understand the words.
"Are you not Pusiteto Kinte?"
However, it seemed the enemy had done a fair amount of research. He decided to stop playing dumb.
"And you, I take it, are Sedias Thora's brat," Pusiteto said in his naturally quiet voice. "I hear you're a veteran when it comes to women. You certainly look like a fine young man."
"I'd prefer it if you didn't spread strange rumors. I am no womanizer."
"I wonder. They say the Western Army is, from the start, under the thumb of a woman. Your love for women must be the real deal."
"I'll ask you not to lump the Commander-in-Chief in with just any woman."
During this conversation, Pusiteto's escort soldiers and the enemy soldiers who had launched the surprise attack from the forest were fighting in the vicinity.
The enemy soldiers first emerged from the forest as cavalry of about twenty riders. Following them, grimy men surged out of the forest without end. People were seeping out of the woods. They were light infantry. They ran forward with war cries.
Pusiteto's escorts were likely overwhelmed. The difference in numbers was too great. They began to flee. The Kosa cavalry were the first to turn their horses around.
The cavalry likely galloped toward their allies surrounding the Hill of Orasha to seek reinforcements. The enemy soldiers stationed at the rear of Orasha had not yet surrendered.
Following the Kosa cavalry who went to call for help, the Southern infantry also began to run.
It was then that Pusiteto felt a jolt of surprise. The backs of the fleeing Southern infantry sank into the grass one after another—four, five of them—as if vanishing into thin air. They were being shot with arrows.
Pusiteto instinctively looked behind him.
—So this is the Western Army's archery.
It was exactly as he had heard from Kijimute. The enemy archers were in an unexpected, distant position. Indeed, those arrows flew well. Since the initial velocity immediately after release was high, they likely possessed great power.
However, most of the arrows had merely managed to fly forward. It was clumsy shooting.
—They neglected the training of their soldiers.
Archers, above all, take time to develop. Training must be planned over several years. The quickest way is to acquire hunters who have been familiar with the bow since childhood as soldiers. The people of the Dark Forest fall into this category. They are marksmen who never miss, but they are few in number.
Regardless, the Western Army must have rushed the training of their archers. Among those amateurs, a small number of skilled shooters were mixed in. Those skilled shooters were the ones hitting their marks. They were likely hunter-soldiers.
—Not much of a force.
That was Pusiteto's first impression.
The battle of the Western Laicanel Army began.
Far from being rushed, the infantry had been taught two things. One: flee from enemy cavalry. Two: flee into the midst of enemy infantry. Mix in with the enemy. In other words, if it becomes a melee with the enemy, the possibility of being attacked by the high-lethality Kosa cavalry would be significantly reduced. It seemed that when friend and foe are intermingled, it is difficult to shoot arrows.
They were told to flee into the midst of the enemy infantry, but what was there? Enemy soldiers.
Moreover, they were the peerlessly fierce Southern soldiers. They were battle-hardened veterans. That was a space where combat ability spoke louder than "feelings for one's homeland" alone.
Laicanel's infantry had discussed the general's reckless orders in advance on a squad basis.
In Basil's squad, to which Shatona belonged, they adopted a small-scale formation where two vanguards stood in front and one rear guard protected the back. Two people hid in the middle as the main body.
The basic policy was not to face the enemy head-on. They would sneak behind the enemy and finish them with spears.
The vanguards were Shatona the shoemaker and the dandy Rolan the confectioner. The main body consisted of Jado the miner and Captain Basil the hunter, and the rear guard was Aubrey, the quiet and patient farmer.
Following General Laicanel's spirited exhortation, the light infantry began to run. Their goal was the hill with a cleft like a backside. They were surrounded by a vast number of enemy soldiers. Those stationed at the rear seemed to be allied Siddim soldiers. The enemy infantry were looking up at the hill. They didn't spare a single glance in this direction. However, a black band—likely enemy Kosa cavalry—that had been outside the infantry's encirclement moved all at once. They headed toward them to welcome their arrival. The horses' hooves scraped and kicked up grass and soil high, making it look like smoke. Those enemy cavalry maneuvered like a flock of birds, first splitting into two.
They had circled around to the flank of those aiming for the backside-like hill.
What could compare to the ferocity of the enemy cavalry? It was like a flash flood. Each rider was like a battering ram. They had a momentum that seemed ready to scatter the Siddim light infantry.
Ultimately, horses possess power.
They are beasts. In the speed and majesty of their charge, there is a pressure that humans cannot compete with. In the face of a horse, a person is nothing more than an unstable animal standing on two legs. Like a stick. The enemy horses calmly mowed down these stick-like things. The momentum of the Western Army's infantry was shaved away. The group that had been a single mass collapsed. They stopped as if they had lost sight of their destination.
Even so, the Western infantry began to move again. They did not do so through reason. Nor was it fighting spirit. It was terror. A terror that left them no choice but to flee. Where would they flee? Into the midst of the enemy infantry.
With the second and third fierce charges of the enemy cavalry, the group of Northerners was torn to shreds. Even so, the only way forward was into the enemy. They aimed for the hill in a frenzy.
The enemy infantry attacking the hill also noticed the situation behind them.
The Southern infantry readjusted their helmets. Holding throwing spears, they ran toward the Northerners who were approaching with tragic expressions. They stopped right before the pale-faced youths and threw their spears, putting their full body weight into the thick shafts.
These were terrifying spears for the Northerners. If received head-on, they would pierce through chainmail and penetrate the human body. They possessed an intensity that could, if things went poorly, skewer a comrade standing behind.
A Southerner also approached Basil's squad. Fortunately, it was only one.
"Avoid the throwing spears!"
Shatona, the vanguard, shouted, and the squad, which had been in a line, scattered. They avoided the spears. Everyone was desperate. Baring their teeth and letting out cries of anger, they leveled their spears and pressed toward the Southern infantry. The skilled enemy infantry did not overextend; they showed their backs slightly and retreated, then turned back toward Basil's squad after creating distance.
Basil's squad ignored the Southerner. Ignoring him, they ran further toward the midst of the enemy. The will to go deeper was shared by the squad without needing to speak. That was how terrifying the enemy cavalry were. The men on horseback killed people with their fingertips. The two fingers that drew the bow. In that lightness, there was an elegance like plucking an instrument.
Even the weapons they released were thin, graceful, supple, and had a pleasing feel. The released arrows looked like thin needles. They hit the Western Army's infantry. Northerners fell one after another. The enemy cavalry seemed not to miss their mark.
Many comrades became blood-soaked. All of them fell, spraying blood in unison. They fell without a word. Groans were leaked at the moment of death. The enemy pierced their throats.
It wasn't just the bow and arrow; there were horses. Horses were monsters with hooves. Those white eyes, those large teeth, the neighing, the bones protruding from thin legs. They were beautiful, tall monsters with volume. The excited face of a horse evoked madness. The terror of being pressed by that madness, the terror of being chased by horsepower.
Northerners were generally followers of the Roma religion.
They received the blessing of the Tenshu.
There was a feeling that being killed by a beast—and a horse, a servant of man, at that—was simply not a joke. Were humans not special beings created by the Tenshu?
But on the other hand.
The Western Army's infantry were also calm. Terror had, conversely, awakened a sense of composure. Their concentration was higher than ever before. It was a composure born of fear. If one lost oneself to terror, one would die. To avoid that, they mobilized all their reason to suppress the fear.
That composure extended to Basil's squad as well. At this time, despite the dread, Shatona felt a sense of omnipotence. He was seized by the conviction that he could do anything and that he could not possibly die. By the time he reached the foot of the cleft-like hill, even Shatona, who was unskilled in martial arts, had stabbed one enemy to death with a spear. His senses were numb, so he felt nothing. Yet another sense was sharpened, and as soon as he stabbed a fierce enemy to death, his eyes sought the next prey.
Basil's squad aimed for the enemy's rear as much as possible. However, they couldn't afford to be so picky. The enemy came from the flanks and the rear. In such times, they huddled together like a circle and fought individually.
Eventually, the youths of the squad noticed that their spears were piercing the enemy remarkably well.
The reason was that their spears were considerably longer than the enemy's spears.
These spears were light but difficult to handle. They exhibited rigidity when thrusting. However, they were soft when struck from above. If the enemy drew a barbarian blade and slashed, the tips would be cut off like ears of wheat.
They discarded the ruined spears on the spot. They had spare spears. Aubrey was the one managing them, carrying them on his back. That Aubrey spoke.
"Everyone, we're out of spears."
The sense of omnipotence Shatona had felt vanished here.
Everyone did nothing but pant for breath.
"Rest easy," Captain Basil said. "Let's circle around to the other side of the hill. Probably—no, almost certainly—our allies are there."
Now that it was mentioned, it was true.
Such a tiny hill could not be defended unless there was support from allies.
Basil's squad moved in the direction of the north. Looking closely, there were many other Western Army squads also heading north. Avoiding or fighting the enemy as they headed north, it soon came into view. It was a scene that could only be called a battlefield—the site of a fierce struggle between the Siddim King's Army and the Kosa infantry. The members of Basil's squad each thought that it was impressive they were holding their own against such formidable Southern infantry.
There was only one thing Basil's squad could do.
Charge the enemy soldiers who were fighting with their backs turned to them.
The squad began to run in silence.
If they broke through here, they could finally merge with their allies arrayed in Brazm.
A voice cried out, "Waaaaah!"
The voice descended from above. Looking up, soldiers who had been on top of the hill were running down the slope, about to plunge into the midst of the enemy.
The cavalry who had torn the Laicanel Army's infantry to shreds left the aftermath to the Southern infantry. The Kosa cavalry should have ensured the safety of their general, Pusiteto. There were no allies at Pusiteto's command post; instead, enemy heavy infantry had formed a circle.
Other cavalry rushed to the cluster of tents that served as their quarters. That place seemed safe. Camp followers—prostitutes—were hugging each other and trembling. —The Kosa army had also brought prostitutes this far from the south. If there were no camp prostitutes, the soldiers would rape the innocent women of the land. This would leave deep resentment and hinder pacification efforts in the occupied territories.
Prostitutes aside, Pusiteto was nowhere to be found.
A few riders went to report to the deputy, Maharishi, while the rest faced the circle of heavy infantry.
What were the enemy heavy infantry protecting by forming a circular array?
Archers. The cavalry didn't know, but these were the prized assets of Siddim.
Kosa cavalry cannot exert their power unless they maneuver in a certain degree of density.
The archers inside the circle fired arrows at the Kosa cavalry moving in groups. They weren't very skilled, so they didn't hit. However,
—It's difficult to operate.
That was the actual feeling of the Kosa cavalry. Enemy arrows rained down at a distance where the Kosa short bows could not reach. It was simply difficult to approach.
Like archers, Kosa cavalry also take time to develop.
Kosa cavalry are the strongest warriors in the world. However, their development requires about as much time as it takes for an infant to grow into a young man. For the Kosa people, riding and horse archery are their livelihood, and Kosa people become warriors upon reaching adulthood even without special training. But that means it takes fifteen or sixteen years for a single cavalryman to grow.
They are a precious troop type that cannot be developed without an investment of time. They are irreplaceable.
They could not approach carelessly. They were not soldiers to be charged head-on into heavy infantry.
Even if they approached, Pusiteto might not be inside the circle. The enemy heavy infantry and archers were moving, albeit slightly, toward the Hill of Orasha. They were approaching the battlefield. If the enemy army had captured General Pusiteto, would they bring him into the middle of the combat?
If he wasn't there, where had he vanished to?
The Kosa cavalry were flustered.
They had lost sight of their general.
Maharishi gasped upon receiving the report.
Clad in well-proportioned, glistening black muscles, Maharishi led the cavalry. They were primarily Tawaru cavalry. They had been attacking the towering hill named the Mons Pubis of Dila. Although the ascent of the hill had been interrupted, the encirclement was maintained. They had been skillfully drawing out the enemy's reserves and maneuvering freely to strive toward breaking down the enemy infantry.
Then came the report from the Kosa cavalry.
—Pusiteto-sama has been!
His thoughts could proceed no further. The inside of his head froze.
Not just his thoughts. Maharishi's entire body stiffened.
A mist hung around them. A cold rain began to fall, starting to chill Maharishi's robust body.
General Glen Hilboro of the Siddim King's Army was barely keeping up with the movements of the battlefield.
This was his first experience with such a fast-paced battlefield.
He felt as if everything had been exhausted. In a mere instant, he had deployed all his troops.
It wasn't just fast. It was an instant.
The Alish Dynasty of Siddim had lasted a thousand years.
—And it ends in this one instant.
He didn't want it to end. But it was ending.
Hilboro possessed an innate delicacy. When he thought that Siddim ended here, an indescribable emotion welled up. Brazm would pass into the enemy's hands. If Hilboro retreated to Saranti, Brazm would fall to the enemy.
—No, it doesn't end.
He just had to reorganize his posture at Saranti and push back.
Hilboro had forgotten that he had once thought the same thing and fled from the Twin Forts to the fields of Brazm. With his currently confused mind, it was difficult even to organize his thoughts.
"Here... we must retreat."
With bloodshot eyes, Hilboro looked around at his staff officers.
The staff officers each nodded. They were the elites of the King's Army established by Sedias Thora. There was no way they could be wrong. If that were the case, the natural questions—why Sedias Thora had died in battle, why the King's Army had been stalled in such a place—were not in Hilboro's mind at this time.
Before he knew it, rain began to fall. The rain gradually grew heavier. The dark sky made a moody sound.
It was truly a downpour.
Joff's unit, which had been defending the highland position, carried out an escape, using the support of the Laicanel Western Army as an opportunity. They abandoned the hill and rushed down. They charged into the Southern infantry encircling the foot of the hill, and it became a fierce battle.
What overwhelmed that battlefield was the rain.
It was a torrential rain. The ground beneath the soldiers' feet became white with haze. The entire surrounding area was instantly covered in a gray veil. The way the blowing wind created light and dark streaks in the rain was like a veil fluttering in the wind, and the people there had their cheeks brushed by that veil.
For the soldiers of Siddim, this rain was familiar. At this time in early autumn, the season of long rains arrives. With every rain, the temperature drops.
The soldiers stopped fighting. Their shoulders moved with hot breaths, and they fell silent, feeling the rain. Everyone looked once more at the face of someone in front of them whose name they did not know. They wondered if the opponent they had been trying to kill had a face like this.
The rain increased further in intensity. It had seemed like a lukewarm rain, but it suddenly became cold. Body heat rose as steam. The heat that had been around soaked into the mud. It was as if a possessing spirit had left the people's faces.
Lightning illuminated the battlefield, and thunder roared.
That was the signal. Everyone came to their senses. The tips of the spears they had held were pointed upward, and barbarian blades were returned to their sheaths. There were even scenes of people reaching out a hand to help fallen enemy soldiers stand. The Siddim soldiers began to walk away toward the north, and the Kosa soldiers toward the south.
The group of Laicanel Army heavy infantry and archers at the southern edge of Brazm trudged north, enveloped in water-mist. They passed the Kosa cavalry heading south, but neither side made eye contact.
As a result, the Siddim army was significantly penetrated. The "backside of Orasha," as the enemy called it, was seized. However, the "Mons Pubis of Dila," as the enemy called it, was defended. More than two-thirds of the fields of Brazm were likely placed under Kosa's influence.
However, the Siddim side held the enemy general captive.
Laicanel Thora, who had achieved this feat, had been hiding somewhere, but he merged with Hilboro's camp, bringing the captured Pusiteto with him.
Glen Hilboro and Laicanel Thora were acquaintances. To Laicanel, Hilboro was a teacher. He had received private instruction in military science. Though he was an intellectual, a cynic, and a strict teacher, his explanations were lucid. The current Laicanel could tell he had received a good education.
Laicanel looked forward to meeting Hilboro.
He wouldn't praise him for capturing the enemy general Pusiteto. Rather, he would likely persistently point out the recklessness of the operation. Thinking of that made him feel nostalgic.
Visiting Hilboro's tent, Laicanel knelt on one knee and reported.
The rain was drumming noisily on the tent.
"To think it would be you."
The smile Hilboro showed Laicanel was weak.
Without reacting to the fact that Pusiteto had been taken prisoner, Hilboro spoke in a low voice.
"The enemy army is coming from the North-Round Road. It seems to be part of the encircling army. The King's Army cannot hold them back."
"I see," Laicanel decided on the spot. "Let us intercept them with the Western Army."
"That is not the point. They cannot be held. They are coming. We have no choice but to retreat."
Glen Hilboro's voice was dark.
An attendant who looked to be in his forties came and prepared wine.
Laicanel sat at the table and gulped down wine that was too high-grade for drinking on a battlefield.
"I disagree, Hilboro," Laicanel said, temporarily stepping away from the Siddim army's hierarchy and speaking based on the high status of the Thora house. "If we retreat, Brazm will be taken."
"That will likely happen."
"If Brazm is taken, the enemy can pincer the east with the Twin Forts. Or they can pincer the west with the Malfa encircling army. The initiative will pass to the enemy—that is what you would lecture."
"A young master who hasn't even grown the hair on his backside says such penetrating things," Hilboro sneered. "I will tell you this much: do not mistake your luck for ability. You reported 'capturing the enemy general' with your nose in the air, but that does not mean respect will gather for you. You will only be seen as having been lucky."
"I am not boasting about the capture of the enemy general—"
"Furthermore," there was a theatrical contempt in Hilboro's voice. "The plan to push through the forest was also not good. It seems it worked this time because you used up your luck, but there will be no next time. In a march through the forest, first, you cannot reach the desired location as intended. It is difficult to determine the time you should arrive. If you are ambushed by the enemy, there is even a possibility of total annihilation. Even if you can fight, it's possible to get lost and starve to death."
"Is that the final correct answer?" Laicanel laughed. "If so, I have surpassed you."
"Oh my," a redness crept into Hilboro's cheeks. "I cannot let this pass."
"First, regarding the location, Brazm was decided. We have many hunters who use the forest as their hunting ground. If we synthesize their opinions, there is no mistake in direction. Regarding the timing, we didn't need to think about it much. It was a situation where the earlier, the better the value, because we could surprise the enemy. We made it just in time. The result of that is the prisoner, the enemy general."
"Is this a joke, young master? It's not very funny. No one will laugh."
"This isn't on paper, you know? I actually made it succeed. If this cannot be called a success, please give it a new name. I will accept any evaluation from you, Sensei."
"If you have such confidence, you can name it yourself without worrying about my evaluation. That very manner is already a manifestation of your lack of confidence. If your father—"
Starting to speak, Hilboro caught his breath.
Not much time had passed since the father had died in battle. Many things had happened in that interval. Perhaps Hilboro had his own thoughts, as he stopped his tongue which had finally become smooth.
As for Laicanel, he didn't want to hear Hilboro's eulogy. He would be troubled if Hilboro didn't cheer up.
"Commander-in-Chief," Laicanel straightened his back. "The Siddim army has captured the enemy general and has been reinforced by the Western Army. Should we not hold our ground here and intercept them?"
"There is no prospect of winning."
"The fighting spirit of the King's Army was tremendous. I saw the enemy's base, and it was empty. Those fellows came with their entire army."
"Our base was empty too. It is impossible to face both the enemy from the North Road and the enemy in Brazm."
"Then at least, I ask that you order the Western Army to be the rear guard."
"Stop it. Would you be able to return alive—"
"Excuse me," a voice was heard from outside the tent.
The person who entered was an infantryman. He was carrying a flag. "General, it's done."
The infantryman spoke in rustic language.
"Good work. Just lean it against something over there," Laicanel responded.
The infantryman tried to lean the flag against a tent pole as told. However, it was a large flag, and because of its weight, it wouldn't stay stable, and the infantryman was struggling.
"Huh, it's not working..."
Unable to just watch him mutter, Laicanel stood up from his seat.
"You're clumsy. Here."
Laicanel also tried to change the angle to set the flag. The flag seemed to be wet, and it slid down and fell.
"Let's support the base with a stone or something."
"Understood."
When the infantryman left the tent, Hilboro stood up and approached.
"The military flag?"
"Yes. I folded it, put it in a box, and carried it carefully. There was no time to hoist it. I thought I'd attach it to a pole and raise it since we're here."
Hilboro silently pinched the edge of the flag and lifted it. Looking at the design, he laughed shortly.
"...The Daughter of Siddim."
"Yes. The princess's lady-in-waiting devised it."
General Hilboro of the Siddim army fell silent. For a long time, he stared at the girl in the flag.
Suddenly turning his eyes toward Laicanel, Hilboro spoke in a sharp voice.
"We retreat to Saranti. The rear guard will be handled by the elites of the King's Army. With this flag, we will lead Saranti and the Eastern Army, gather the volunteers of the east, and this time we will truly seize the base of the Twin Forts. In the first place, we should not have fled from the Twin Forts. The King's Army must correct its mistake."
To Laicanel, Hilboro's opinion seemed far too abrupt.
However, he had no choice but to nod.
There was a color of determination in the eyes of the Siddim army general.
Thinking that this retreat must have a different meaning than the ones until now, Laicanel decided to accept it.
The next day was also rainy.
There was something that neither Hilboro nor Laicanel had even imagined.
The Great King of Kosa, Geraha Wolf, had come very close. He had been in the rain at a short distance of one day's ride. Scattered around were corpses. The North Road of Brazm had become a road of death. Battles in narrow passes tend to have such tragic results. That is, provided both sides are filled with fighting spirit.
—Damn it.
The Siddim people have changed slightly, Geraha thought.
They had transformed into something eerie. The victory cry of the enemy army, "Lucy! Lucy! Lucy Alish!", still remained in his ears.
Geraha did not move from the spot, listening to the reconnaissance report while getting wet. A Siddim spy, trained by the Southerner Hazab, had relayed information and conveyed the state of Brazm.
"Retreat?"
It seemed the enemy intended to retreat. They intended to flee to the east while keeping Pusiteto as a prisoner.
"I will not permit that. Drive the Siddim people of the east up to the Dwarf Mountains," Geraha ordered coldly. "Do it thoroughly. Send a messenger to Kirikiri to tell him as well."
Geraha had given the enemy opportunities to surrender many times. He had given them time for that purpose.
This was the choice the enemy made. Geraha was prepared to respond.