From north to south, the Raul army’s formation consisted of five thousand regular soldiers, thirty thousand militia, and then another fifteen thousand soldiers. In addition, there were Imperium mercenaries visible behind the militia, to the tune of three thousand or so. As for the enemy’s battle mages, it seemed they’d been scattered among the militia rather than centralized into a single force.
In other words, the Raul army’s strength was concentrated in its left flank—exactly according to our plan. Though to be fair, from their point of view the only path to a quick victory was taking Byner Hill from the south and capturing me. To them, the fact that the hills were difficult to escape from within was a boon.
However, there was another major reason the enemy had chosen the formation they had: While they’d been forming up, the harassment efforts of Péter Pál’s Atúr cavalry at their northern flank had seemingly convinced them that we were trying to lure them into a trap. As a result, they’d purposefully concentrated their forces on the opposite side.
Honestly, the Atúr were such reliable allies that it almost felt scary.
With our two armies now barely outside of each other’s striking distance, the final tally was as follows: 24,300 for the emperor’s faction coalition, and an estimated 53,000 for the Raul army. Put plainly, we were fighting a force twice our size.
Combined, there were a total of over seventy thousand combatants on this battlefield—a rather abnormal scale for a civil war, by this world’s standards. In the context of the Empire, though, it didn’t seem all that strange. Particularly since forty thousand were merely conscripted militia.
Being frank, it was an incredible sight to behold. If only I’d been in the position of an admiring onlooker. Instead, it was almost enough to give me a stomachache.
We’d given our militia within the hills’ defenses crossbows and forbidden them from leaving, telling them that it was safer inside. Quite callous, as methods went, but it was true that their chances of survival were better that way. They likely understood this well, having built the earthen walls and dug the trenches with their own hands.
They were positioned along the internal trenches, with eight thousand at Byner Hill and two thousand at Ginaugh. The construction of the latter’s defenses had finished in time, thank goodness.
As for who would be commanding them, we’d entrusted that to the platoon commanders of the emperor’s host. It clearly went beyond their command capacity, since they still had their regular soldiers to direct, but it was the lesser of two evils, since we couldn’t afford to weaken my lords’ armies.
The result was the emperor’s host being spread evenly across the battlefield: five hundred at Ginaugh Hill, then the same number again spread across Byner Hill’s north, Byner Hill’s south, and right next to our troop headquarters. Most were equipped with sudum guns, while the rest were spearmen. But while we’d drilled the latter in the basics of how to handle their weapons, we hadn’t trained them in the finer points of spearmanship, because our intention from the very start had been to have them fight from within the defenses. So while they might not have been capable of holding against an enemy charge, they could at least charge the enemy as a coherent unit.
Incidentally, troop headquarters—where I and my coterie were positioned, in other words—was located at the southeastern section of Byner Hill: the highest point in all of Chelán Hill. In regard to our chain of command, on paper the commander in chief was me, Emperor Carmine. In practice, it was Deputy General Bourgault-Ducoudray, peer of the Twin Champions. The caveat was that the isolation of Byner Hill made it difficult to transmit orders to Ginaugh Hill and the right flank of my lords’ armies, so the only commands coming out of HQ would be in the form of simple smoke signals. To give you an idea of how simple, the entirety of our range was “fight as usual,” “charge,” and in the event we won, “pursue.” There was an argument that we should’ve established a signal for “retreat,” but we hadn’t really seen the point. A loss here would mean the end for all of us.
In light of that, it had been decided that command of each troop would lie with its on-site commander. That meant Péter Pál for the Atúr cavalry, who I’d given permission to act according to how they saw fit; Arnoul de Nunvalle for the three thousand five hundred men at Ginaugh Hill; and Deputy General Bourgault-Ducoudray for those here at Byner Hill.
Viscount Cédolin had command over the lords’ armies that made up our right flank, afforded to him by his position of Duke Warren’s legate. From north to south, those units were deployed in the order of Duke Warren’s army of three thousand, Marquess Mardrusa’s army of two thousand, Marquess Ramitead’s army of one thousand, then Count Ethaiq’s army of two thousand. While Marquess Mardrusa’s and Count Ethaiq’s forces hadn’t made any suspicious moves yet, they were still relative newcomers to our cause, which is why I’d placed Fabio’s troop between them.
Still, the problem with that was that the Ramitead army wasn’t all that formidable skill-wise, since their house had only recently been restored. They had veterans in the chain of command, certainly—surviving retainers of the old House Ramitead—but many of their boots on the ground were freshly conscripted. Overall, they weren’t all that different from the emperor’s host.
Despite my concerns, however, we could only do the best with what we had. We’d done everything we could to give ourselves the best odds; all that was left was to see which way the chips fell.
Okay. Honestly? I was incredibly worried. If we lost this battle, I’d be branded an incompetent emperor and put on the express train to the afterlife. Sure, I’d exhausted every option I’d had to ensure we had the best chance of victory, but the fact that the outcome would depend on my lords and our soldiers—people other than me—terrified me beyond words.
I looked down on the battlefield from our command center, feeling like my breath was caught in my throat. It was a shame not everyone could read the mood.
“What a glorious sight!” exclaimed a carefree voice. “Does it not get one’s heart a-thumping, Your Majesty?”
I bit back a reflexive, scathing retort. This idiot was Viscount Orlon, from Keighamer. Despite being entrusted with one of the major cities of the emperor’s direct holdings, he was an incompetent who’d bent over backward to toady up to the Chancellor, and ever since I’d established control over the imperial capital, had been doing the same to me.
Why was he on the front lines, you ask? Well, we had more soldiers here than in Keighamer. Plus, our forces in Keighamer belonged to Duke Warren and Marquess Mardrusa, meaning Viscount Orlon could do nothing about them, and Nadine—who, as a duke’s daughter, was above him in station—was playing host to the merchants and other nobility. Bored, the viscount had cooked up the perfunctory excuse that he needed to “hasten to the emperor’s side to assist him.”
I knew this because Nadine had included a thorough explanation—as well as a profuse apology—in her letter. Also, this was unrelated, but despite her usual haughty tone, her penmanship was exquisite, just as one would expect from a member of the upper reaches of the aristocracy.
Incidentally, it was apparently no issue that Viscount Orlon had left Keighamer, because his subordinates were the ones doing all the governing anyway. On the contrary, without his incompetent nosing about getting in the way, our supply line from the city was actually running more efficiently than before.
It might seem hard to believe, but despite his incompetence being one step short of actively colluding with the enemy, an investigation by our intelligence operatives had revealed that nothing of the sort was going on. I supposed that was why he’d been dumped in a throne-held territory, though, rather than having been headhunted by either the Chancellor or Minister of Ceremony. I’d come straight to Chelán Hill instead of making a stop at Keighamer for a reason, but it seemed the idiot was too oblivious to get the hint.
Honestly, if Viscount Orlon had hired even a handful of mercenaries as part of his excuse to come assist me, I could’ve dispensed some praise and forgotten about him. Instead, he’d only come with a single attendant, and in a mood that reminded me of someone excited for a sports match.
The most depressing part of it all, though, was that he wasn’t the only one. Our troop headquarters were packed with people like him: knights of the Empire who possessed no land, barons in name only who’d purchased their titles with coin, and so on. None of them had brought any significant amount of force with them, and all seemed excited to spectate the coming battle. In fact, according to the Count Palatine, most of them had tried to join the Raul army before being chased off. I had considered giving them the same treatment, but figured that letting them stay here where only myself, several others, and the imperial guard were present was better than having them loitering around elsewhere and affecting my forces’ morale.
“I wonder if we’ll be able to see Duke Raul’s battle mages soon?” speculated one.
“I’ve heard the fireballs they produce are quite impressive,” remarked another.
Unfortunately, that meant they were here, affecting my morale. I was regretting not kicking them out a little more with every passing moment.
Still, there was a reason the rubberneckers were so carefree. In ordinary circumstances, civil conflicts like these were never all that bloody, since the participants were countrymen. What usually ended up happening was that the involved parties would commit to an initial clash, then move onto reconciliation negotiations the moment it looked like anyone had gained the advantage. That was just how things worked in this world. Even with the Agincarl conflict, which I had described as a quagmire, things were only fierce between the would-be successors vying for headship—the rest of the nobility were exchanging the equivalent of rude glares.
Anyway, my point was that the rubberneckers were completely oblivious. They had no idea that I had set all this up to take the self-proclaimed Duke Raul’s head, nor that he had his back against the wall and would be coming at me with just as much intensity.
At last, the battle began. It would be my first step toward beating this putrefied Empire back into shape.