In this world, each force—whether it belonged to a noble or not—fought against cavalry in its own idiosyncratic way. There were those that equipped their musketeers with their own anticavalry stakes, those that relied on allied archer fire while their musketeers reloaded, those that preferred dense spear formations, and even those that met an enemy cavalry charge with one of their own, just to list a few examples.
In any case, those were the kinds of tactics my lords’ armies employed during their fighting retreat, deftly fending off the Raul army’s shock tactics as they slowly backed toward the hill. It was a classic case of “easier said than done,” but they were performing as well as our plan could have hoped for.
As for the other side of the battlefield, where the Atúr cavalry made the tip of our left flank, I had no idea—the geography made it difficult to see anything that was going on. There were only two thousand of the Atúr against five thousand of the enemy’s regular soldiers, but all I could really do was have faith that they’d handle themselves.
What was more clear, though, was that the mercenaries we’d stationed in the valley between Byner and Ginaugh Hill were under more pressure than we’d anticipated. Given the narrow environs and projectile support from both sides, they should have been fighting at an advantage, but the Imperium force they were up against—knocking on the door of three thousand in terms of size—was forcing them back at a considerable pace.
It was the same Imperium unit that had been baited by our distraction unit during our night raid on the cannons. Apparently, the Atúr cavalry had practically toyed with them. It seemed that might have come back to bite us, because the Imperium unit was pressing our mercenaries with all the ferocity of men who’d been forced to suffer the bitter taste of humiliation.
“That’s sellswords for you,” Deputy General Bourgault-Ducoudray said with a hint of cynicism. “Supple as a young branch.”
Had he forgotten that he’d deployed them there? No, I supposed that was the exact reason he was bad-mouthing them.
The mercenaries of this era could best be described as a mixed bag. In general, though, they were accustomed to weapons and combat, so there wasn’t much to complain about when it came to their pure offensive potential. However, they had a reputation for being riddled with command issues, or quick to shy away from a hard fight. In that sense, our mercenaries were typical examples of the stereotype.
“Still, we never expected the enemy to charge straight in without regard for potential traps,” I mused aloud. “Did they acquire intelligence that there are none, somehow?”
If the enemy broke through the mercenaries, they’d reach the low ground between all three hills. Ordinarily, one would assume that would make them vulnerable to our forces surrounding them. In truth, it was actually our weak point, where he hadn’t been able to allocate additional defenses.
“Or perhaps one of their commanders instinctively senses that it could be the key that leads to their victory,” Balthazar suggested, looking ready to sortie out at any moment. “The last man I served had such a sixth sense.”
The imperial guard, for the record, did not have a standardized set of equipment they adhered to. Perhaps it was because the current iteration was a gathering of relatively skilled individuals, but each was equipped with the arms and armor of their choice. For Balthazar, this apparently meant a lance. He’d used a sword during the night raid—presumably for the maneuverability—so it seemed his preference was to switch things up according to the circumstances.
“So what shall we do?” I asked Deputy General Bourgault-Ducoudray. The implied question was obvious: Shall we send reinforcements?
We did have soldiers in reserve, that was true. Five hundred freshly “recruited” militiamen, to be exact. Their morale was low, though—being trapped in our encampment and having a weapon forced into your hands would do that. The same was true for pretty much all of the militia on our side, save the ones raining death down on the enemy at the front of the defenses. Either way, I doubted sending them to reinforce the mercenaries would change much of anything.
And unfortunately for the seemingly motivated Balthazar, I wouldn’t be sending the imperial guard either. Although there were only a hundred of them, they were valuable cavalry assets. It’d be a waste to deploy them for this, and above all, they didn’t have ranged weapons—sending them to reinforce troops outside of the encampment didn’t make much sense.
However, it seemed that Deputy General Bourgault-Ducoudray didn’t intend to send reinforcements at all. “No,” he said. “It’s almost time.” Evidently, he’d decided the mercenaries would be able to hold.
Before long, the enemy’s magical offensive finally ceased, and our cannons went silent. The area had become mana-burnt.
From a distance, we watched as the Raul battle mages retreated to a safe distance, followed by the militia who’d committed so many reckless charges against us. A raucous cheer went up from our own militia within the encampment as they saw the enemy withdraw.
It seemed that Deputy General Bourgault-Ducoudray thought the mercenaries would be able to manage on their own, because he gave the order to proceed to the final stage of our strategy. “Get a message to Sir Barbetorte,” he relayed to a messenger. “Inform him to relocate the battle mages to the hill’s south, as planned.”
Perhaps the deputy general even thought that it would be fine if the enemy broke through the mercenaries, so long as we could seize victory before they circled around to join the attack on our right flank.
Personally, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe he saw the mercenaries as an acceptable loss, but even if they were only on the back foot because of issues of their own making, I had the feeling that leaving an allied force to die would hurt the morale of our troops in the encampments.
However, having passed Deputy General Bourgault-Ducoudray the baton of command, it would be a major faux pas for me to publicly contradict him. What to do, what to do...
“Timona,” I said, after some thought. “Lead our five hundred reserve troops from the emperor’s host to the north side of Byner Hill. Take Vera-Sylvie and the spare mana-sealing wards with you.”
Since the area was mana-burnt, Vera-Sylvie’s role was complete; after all, unlike me, she couldn’t emit her internal mana. But the makeshift batteries would allow her to make a significant impact. The issue was, I didn’t want to send her out alone. The deputy general needed to maintain overall command, the imperial guard needed to protect the command center, and judging from my exchange with him before the night raid, the Count Palatine seemed reluctant to leave my vicinity. By process of elimination, then, the only person I could turn to was Timona.
“Is this...necessary?” grumbled a discontented Bourgault-Ducoudray.
“Our attendant, being constantly at our side, has never had the chance to experience the mantle of a commander,” I explained. “Yet, it’s due time that we begin considering his promotion, so we’d like to give him a share of the glory. Do forgive us this little bit of opportunism.”
Timona seemed to pick up my thoughts from the look I shot him, because he backed me up. “I am deeply grateful for Your Majesty’s favor,” he said.
Naturally, that was a complete lie. He was still the same weirdo who preferred tasting my food for poisons to accolades and laurels.
Deputy General Bourgault-Ducoudray looked unconvinced but eventually relented regardless. It had been a while since I’d played the self-indulgent emperor card. And honestly, if you took just this part out of context, I would be the very picture of a foolish sovereign who stuck his nose where it wasn’t needed.
I made some distance from the deputy general so that he couldn’t hear and gave Timona his real orders. See, I’d come up with an idea for how to bolster the parts of the battlefield where we were at a disadvantage.
I offered Timona an apology in my thoughts as I saw him off. For the record, he didn’t look the least bit happy to have been put in command of his own unit.
I’d kind of figured that would be the case, though.