Bardloche had steeled himself after being backed into a corner.
Lowellmina was preparing to meet him head-on.
Manfred hoped to use the other two to his advantage.
And Wein appeared to be interfering surreptitiously.
“The time has finally come.”
Keskinel sought a confident Emperor, a desire born from a history book he read as a child. It chronicled the life of the Empire’s first monarch, starting with the nation of Nalthia and its powerful neighbors.
A lackluster military, enemy commanders issuing challenges at every turn, circling schemes, and an Emperor who beat the odds to achieve great success. The account touched Keskinel’s heart, and he was eternally grateful to be a child of the Earthworld Empire. Leading Earthworld to further greatness was his patriotic duty. Such was the destiny of every citizen of the Empire.
Thus, Keskinel had remained neutral and purposefully pitted the Imperial children against one another. He paid no mind to the blood spilled. Civilian deaths and foreign threats were of no consequence. Everything was in service of his goal, and the Prime Minister removed any element that might inhibit the birth of a glorious Emperor.
Now at last, Keskinel’s efforts would bear fruit.
“Three snakes race toward the summit. A dragon stirs in the north. How will this play out?”
Bardloche was the first of the three siblings to take action, and his hodgepodge army marched from his domain. His forces totaled around ten thousand. Bardloche had anticipated at least double that, yet he’d reached only the halfway mark, severely limiting his resources. However, his soldiers possessed tremendous confidence. It was a desperate resolve the other two factions couldn’t match.
Bardloche’s forces marched for the Imperial Capital of Grantsrale, where Lowellmina had taken residence.
At least, that’s what one might have assumed.
“We’ll take the old capital of Nalthia.”
Nalthia sat north of Grantsrale, situated along the southern shore of Veijyu Lake. It was the land of the Empire’s origins and once served as its capital. Although that honor had since been transferred to Grantsrale, Nalthia still retained the Empire’s highest privilege. It was the final resting place of generations of Emperors and the site of the purification ceremony.
The four Imperial children had once chased one another in and around the city.
“Your Highness, Nalthia is important, but shouldn’t we prioritize defeating Princess Lowellmina?”
Bardloche shook his head at his commander’s question.
“No. We have fewer soldiers than expected, and Grantsrale is the seat of her territory. Even if we managed to seize the Imperial Capital, she might escape. Worse yet, Manfred is liable to slip into Nalthia, undergo the purification ceremony, and announce his own coronation while we’re occupied.”
To become the rightful Emperor, one first had to complete the purification ceremony in Nalthia and later hold a coronation in the capital of Grantsrale. Lowellmina had already performed the former, but her crowning was incomplete owing to a lack of citizen support and merit. Bardloche was in a similar position. Even if he underwent the purification ceremony and announced his ascension, the Empire’s populace wouldn’t accept him.
However, Manfred could conceivably push his way to the throne, proclaim himself the new Emperor, and reinforce Bardloche’s role as a traitor.
“I see. Yes, Your Highness is right…”
“Regrettably, we still don’t have enough soldiers to defend Nalthia.”
“We’ve captured the city before. We’ll just have to use that experience to do it again.”
“I doubt the other factions desire to spill blood there.”
Following this discussion, Bardloche’s forces decided to focus on Nalthia. However, a surprise awaited them at the old capital—Manfred’s vanguard.
“Tch, those idiots…!” Manfred, dressed for battle atop his warhorse, clicked his tongue in irritation.
“Well, I suppose it can’t be helped. Everyone seeks recognition, after all,” Strang replied from the horse beside the Third Prince’s. “Besides, we’re an undisciplined rabble, quite unlike Bardloche’s army.”
“I’m surprised to hear you admit that.”
“It’s the truth.”
Manfred sighed quietly while Strang offered inflammatory remarks without the slightest hint of shame.
Manfred’s soldiers had set out from their domain several days after Bardloche’s forces began their march. Their main target was, of course, the head of the traitorous Second Imperial Prince.
However, Manfred’s troops moved in a disorderly fashion, quite unlike Bardloche’s. This was to be expected since the army consisted of commanders from each province. Although they followed the gist of Manfred’s plan, the soldiers served under different banners. If Bardloche’s army was a single organism, Manfred’s was a school of little fish. Skirmishes broke out among Manfred’s commanders daily. The deterioration of his army became more obvious with time.
That’s why it was, in a way, inevitable. Some of the leaders, in their pursuit of glory, grew tired of the slow advance on Bardloche instead of charging. Eventually, they declared themselves a separate vanguard and hurried ahead to strike Bardloche’s forces from the rear.
“Fortunately, that reckless contingent is small. Whatever they attempt, it will make little difference,” Strang said.
“What do you think will happen to them?” Manfred asked.
“Doesn’t it go without saying?” he replied.
A messenger rode up to them on horseback.
“Your Highness, I have a report. The vanguard has been destroyed!”
Neither Manfred nor Strang was surprised by this, and they both sighed. Bardloche’s soldiers were renowned as the greatest in the Empire. His new recruits were yet inexperienced, but still ranked better than Manfred’s warriors. During previous battles against Bardloche, Manfred’s planning and preparation to generate a tactical advantage earned him only fifty-fifty odds against his brother. A stab in the back by a few small fries would hardly leave a scratch on Bardloche. That was not to suggest he and his soldiers were cocky, however. They knew this was their final stand. A single well-placed kick could knock them away and seal their fate.
“It was a needless sacrifice,” Manfred spat.
Strang shook his head. “That’s not true. Thanks to this minor loss, our lax army will pull itself together and take our opponents seriously.”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it… Wait.”
That can’t be.
Manfred cast a look at Strang, wondering if the man had purposefully allowed the vanguard to break away, knowing it would be crushed.
“Now the other units will fall into line when the time comes for our decisive conflict. For now, let’s continue to maintain a reasonable distance and tail the enemy as planned… Is something wrong, Your Highness?”
“…It’s nothing.”
There was surely more to this man than suggested at first glance.
Manfred gripped his reins tightly.
Manfred’s offensive vanguard never stood a chance. Bardloche’s rear units stopped, pivoted, and overwhelmed them all at once. In fact, the battle was so short-lived that the victors had to wonder if the vanguard was a trap by way of diversion.
“What was that supposed to accomplish?”
“Even if the vanguard was carrying out a reconnaissance-in-force, their form was all over the place.”
“Most of Manfred’s soldiers are from the provinces. Maybe he doesn’t have full control over them?”
After a brief discussion, Bardloche’s military concluded that an overzealous unit had gone rogue because Manfred lacked proper command of his troops. This was fantastic news for Bardloche. The enemy’s lack of experience was certainly welcome, and a victory, even if it was just against the vanguard, also did wonders for troop morale.
“Your Highness, we are approaching Nalthia!”
“Understood. Their defenses will try to drive us back, but pay that no mind. We’ll take the city in one go.”
“Yes, sir!”
Bardloche heard the energy in his men’s voices as their pace quickened. At this rate, they’d take Nalthia, defeat Lowellmina in the capital, and finish off Manfred soon after. Anticipation sparked among Bardloche’s soldiers…
…only to crumble apart moments later.
“Y-Your Highness! We have an issue!” called a frantic voice, and Bardloche urged his steed forward to investigate. He was met by the unthinkable.
“Wh-what’s that…?”
“This can’t be happening.”
No one could believe it—not even Bardloche. Yet no matter how many times he rubbed his eyes, the scene remained unchanged.
Try as he did to deny it, the Second Prince had no recourse but to accept the truth.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Why is Demetrio’s flag flying in Nalthia?!”
✦ ✦ ✦
The First Imperial Prince Demetrio had departed from the world stage with his personal legion after his political defeat. Yet now they awaited Bardloche’s army in Nalthia.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
Two figures stood atop Nalthia’s rampart.
“I bet my stupid little brothers are speechless right about now!”
A man guffawed loudly for all to hear. His name was Demetrio, Earthworld’s First Imperial Prince.
“I never thought we’d all get to square off this late in the game. How delightful!” Demetrio glanced at the man standing beside him on the stronghold wall. “And I’ve got you to thank for this, Prince Wein!”
Wein grinned at Demetrio’s praise.