Chapter: 360
The nomadic raids are nothing short of a disaster for our troops. With overwhelming mobility, they’re perched high on their horses while we’re stuck looking up. Their range outmatches any standard archer’s by a mile. Unless you’re another cavalryman—actually, even if you are, facing these nomads is like tackling a demon.
The Empire, unable to completely restore its cavalry forces, has been forced to mobilize special units like knights and mages against the nomads. Sadly, you can’t just throw your special forces into every battle. Even superhumans have limited numbers and stamina, so conserving their energy for critical moments is a must.
It’s a sound tactical decision. But on the flip side, it means relying entirely on regular soldiers, without special units, for battles that aren’t quite as important. The despair faced by the troops in those situations is unimaginable.
Once again, a battle broke out today. Among the corpses strewn about, one particularly gruesome sight stood out: a head missing from its body. It looked like that poor soul had even been trampled underfoot, limbs mangled beyond recognition.
“Wilhelm.”
As I surveyed the battlefield after the nomads retreated, I heard Georg’s voice and turned around.
“You fought directly again this time, didn’t you?”
I nodded in acknowledgment; there’s no point in hiding it. It’s not like I have anything to hide or a reason to.
“Is it strange for a commander to fight alongside the troops?”
“An average commander could do that, but it’s problematic when it’s the enemy commander.”
While that’s a reasonable statement, it’s not something Georg should be saying. After all, he was once marching in the front lines with the title of enemy commander himself. Now, he acts all normal, which is just laughable.
“Zenobia told me to just go ahead and die in the North if I keep fighting at the front. What can I do? Without a title, I just gotta follow along quietly.”
As if noticing my gaze, Georg cleared his throat and mumbled a half-hearted excuse.
Zenobia definitely had urged Georg to stay away from the front lines. Their compromise was that he could be there, but wouldn’t directly engage in combat like before. That’s what happens when you pass down both titles and authority to your kid.
“If you handed down the burden to your child, you ought to accept being pulled along, too.”
Georg couldn’t muster a counter-argument to that; he awkwardly lapsed into silence.
His successful retirement was the Emperor’s will, but in the end, he did pass the title and duties to his daughter. You’ve got to take responsibility for your actions.
“Either way, as the head of the family, you should take care of yourself. Your wife is worried sick since both spouses are on the frontlines; how heartbreaking would it be for her to hear you’ve been injured?”
I didn’t appreciate the subtle change of subject, though I couldn’t argue that it wasn’t wrong. I mean, I still had an arrow stuck in my shoulder.
“To a warrior, injuries are part of the daily grind.”
“Hah, if you can say that in front of your wife, I’ll give you some credit.”
As I plucked out the arrow from my shoulder, blood gushed forth. It was strange, almost as if my arm had lost all feeling. But a wound like this? With some magic or divine healing, I’d be better in no time. I could reattach a severed arm; this nerve issue is nothing!
Right, it’s nothing! When I think of the soldiers who must have fought savagely only to die against the nomads, this injury seems trivial in comparison. In the grand scheme of things, it’s a light price to pay.
‘If only we had some decent fortifications.’
A sigh slipped out. The Empire is steadily advancing and expanding its front lines.
But, of course, the nomads won’t have any castles or fortresses; so when our troops secure another area, what defenses do we have? Just some makeshift barriers of stakes, stones, and dirt bags. No wonder our soldiers are dropping like flies against nomadic raids.
To prevent that inevitability, I put myself on the front lines. Even as the enemy commander, another noble could take over the strategic command. So why not let one of those nobility command operations while I fight on the front to save as many soldiers as I can?
If there are nobles who can save soldiers through leadership, there are those who can do it through strength, too.
“The front lines never really get easier, do they?”
Georg murmured as he turned his gaze toward the fallen soldiers.
“When you’re at the command post, you just hear everything in quick bits—‘Nomads are invading, no issues at the front, enemy pressure is increasing, counterattack successful’— and that wraps up the situation. It sounds like an easy war just from hearing the highlight reel.”
Georg was right; war was far rougher than how it sounded. He stepped closer to a soldier whose eyes were still open and gently closed them.
“That’s why it feels crazy. Hearing of dozens or hundreds dying from the distance seems trivial in comparison. If they managed to repel the enemy with such losses, it’s called a victory.”
I could definitely understand his emotional remarks. Even if soldiers fall in battle, from the perspective of those running the overall war, it’s just petty skirmishes with minor losses. Thus, the calm mindset of those in command is utterly disconnected from the fierce trench warfare.
When I first sensed that disconnect, I thought I was losing my mind. Actually, I still feel that way. I’ve just learned to put up with it.
“But that doesn’t mean you can come to the front like this. What will your daughter think when she finds out?”
“Is it strange for a warrior to be on the front line?”
Seeing Georg reflect my own words back at me made me chuckle.
So, I didn’t push the matter further. Expecting that reckless guy to sit still at the command post is like telling a beast not to eat meat.
Honestly, since he’s breaching the agreement with Zenobia by being on the front lines, I can let it slide.
“Oh right, I actually came to share some news, but it seems we’re just chatting away.”
Just as Georg was about to turn away, he suddenly remembered something.
“A report just came in that the Berandi tribe has shown up on the Sarei front. A supervisor is coming to negotiate with them.”
“…Really?”
Hearing that the Director, Karl, was heading to the front for negotiations made me nod slowly.
At least he’s coming for diplomacy and not warfare, but I hope he stays away from anywhere dangerous.
“I understand that you worry about your son as a father, but you’re being overly cautious. Honestly, even if we both rushed the kid, we wouldn’t be able to win.”
“Who said I was worried?”
“That would be you.”
At his nonchalant answer, I silently turned away.
When I get back to the council, I’ll definitely let Zenobia know how many times this guy has been creeping around the front lines.
*
Reports came in that the Berandi tribe has made their first appearance at the Sarei front.
‘Of all places, Sarei.’
That name rings a bell. The tribe led by Talha used to occupy that area.
Last war, it was land held tightly by the Paljunma tribe, and it stayed untouchable for a long time. Now, it’s the territory of the Imperial Army. What a nostalgic feeling.
“The Sarei front was where nomadic offensives were the fiercest, but with continuous battles, their momentum has waned. Supposedly, there are even tribes waiting to watch from a distance, so it’s likely to be safe enough for the supervisor’s visit.”
Nodding at the Vice Captain’s words, I weighed the risks. While negotiating in a potential war zone may be precarious, if the offensives have slowed, it might just be manageable. Especially with tribes now sitting back, contemplating their next moves rather than clashing against the Empire.
“If the Berandi tribe were to surrender, then other neutral tribes will likely follow suit. The supervisor’s role is critical.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I’ll keep that in mind.”
I bowed my head, and then the Vice Captain gave my shoulder a reassuring pat.
“However, many tribes have already shown intent to surrender to the Empire, so there’s no need to push too hard. Focus on returning safely.”
“Yes, I will.”
It seems the Vice Captain is more concerned this time than with the negotiations with the Kaitan tribe. I can understand that; if we’re negotiating and the nearby tribes suddenly decide to charge in, it could be a huge mess.
Of course, since the tribes at the front are potential surrenderers or neutral parties, that shouldn’t be a concern.
Once again under the protection of the Mukgwangdae, I headed toward the Berandi tribe’s encampment. With the Patriarch at the Sarei front, I contemplated if I should drop in for a visit, but that wouldn’t be possible during such official business. A greeting could wait until after negotiations.
However, I think saying “I’ve returned,” rather than “I’m going into enemy territory,” sounds a whole lot better. At least it wouldn’t weigh on the Patriarch’s mind.
‘Negotiating, huh.’
That’s on my mind, too. I’m still unsure how to navigate negotiations with the Berandi tribe.
Honestly, that previous discussion with the Kaitan tribe was hardly negotiation-worthy. Those guys were practically ready to surrender; the moment I mentioned a count title, they jumped right into a puppet role, spilling whatever info they had. Calling that a negotiation would sleep on my conscience!
In contrast, the Berandi tribe hasn’t shown an ounce of willingness to surrender and dropped no hints on what they want. They’re just a priestly tribe trampled by faith, remaining neutral at best. It’s quite paradoxical since they bear the priestly title but fail to act like one.
‘…Officially, they’re still priests, I guess.’
I wondered if viewing the Berandi as a center for belief is a busted assumption and began gathering info through various channels.
Luckily, it’s true that the Berandi chieftain inherited the priestly title three years ago. It seems to be well-known as other tribes also know about it.
‘But they’re not properly fulfilling their roles.’
Of course, they’re likely still acting like priests in appearance. Hence why other tribes call their chief the priest.
But, according to the Eternal Blue Sky, the Berandi chieftain hasn’t been executing his responsibilities properly. That’s a word from the god worshiped by them, so I’m sure of this.
‘Name without substance…’
I coincidentally glanced at the sword sheathed at my waist.
I absentmindedly traced the part I had been cut by the Kagan.
Hmmmm.
‘Is anyone there?’
– Huh? Did you call me?
Hearing a quick response from the Eternal Blue Sky not long after I beckoned, I felt relieved. At least I have time to discuss things before the negotiations.
‘I’d like to ask something.’
It’s not only beneficial for me; it’ll be a good thing for you, too, so don’t hold back!
*
Reports have come in of a group waving white flags approaching from the distance. It’s probably an envoy from the Empire.
‘What a headache.’
I felt an urge to seriously pull back my forces. We’re not ready for any contact with the Empire just yet. Meeting the envoy in our current state would hardly result in the best terms. But rejecting the envoy’s visit feels just as terrible.
Caught in this dilemma, the envoy from the Empire finally reached our camp.
“Receiving the blessing of the Eternal Blue Sky, and carrying divine tokens, the priest is to welcome the guest!”
Amidst all those absurd proclamations.
‘What?’
What on earth does that even mean?
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