In the southeastern part of the imperial capital lay the vast plain known as Staunieder.

  This plain, which stretched across the northwestern part of the Rheinfeld domain, had been formed by sediment carried down by the flooding of the Vru-awe River.

  The soil here was thick with clay, and because the land formed a gentle, bowl-like depression, rainwater pooled and refused to drain.

  The ground was soft, making it useless for farming or grazing, so it had been left abandoned.

  The Rheinfeld domain had also had its army disbanded by Fidelius.

  Otto had now gathered his forces on the northern side of this plain.

  The southern side was marshland and the west was bounded by the Vru-awe River, so any attempt to cut supply lines from the south would require a major detour.

  Even the soldiers whose identification tags had been confiscated by Fidelius had been brought here.

  Without those tags, they could not eat.

  He had also summoned troops from his former domain, issued a call to the western lords, and assembled an army of fifty thousand.

  As strategic weapons, he had prepared five ballistae capable of launching pots of oil or spears.

  From here to Bromberg was a straight-line distance of two days’ march to the northeast.

  The Vru-awe River flowing from the north could serve as an excellent supply route from the imperial capital region.

  The composition—sixteen thousand heavy cavalry, twenty-four thousand heavy infantry, and ten thousand light infantry—gave him a numerical advantage over Fidelius’s eastern army of forty-two thousand.

  As for the terrain, from here to Bromberg there was nothing but gentle plains dotted with occasional woods; it was difficult to employ any clever tricks.

  Once the lords had gathered, Otto turned his army eastward and began the march.

  News of this reached Bromberg immediately.

  Fidelius moved quickly, establishing his headquarters on a low hill south of Bromberg.

  Fidelius’s eastern army consisted of six thousand cavalry, twenty-four thousand light infantry, and twelve thousand heavy infantry.

  The heavy infantry were troops that had answered the call of Rigbert, lord of Bromberg.

  The heavy infantry of Tragia wore chainmail, iron helmets with cheek guards, gauntlets, and greaves.

  They carried spears roughly ten feet long and curved rectangular shields four feet tall and two feet wide.

  In total, their equipment weighed about ten kan (roughly 37 kg).

  They were difficult to use in summer and required constant rotation of the battle line, making them a unit with obvious drawbacks.

  Fidelius’s younger brother Gilbert had brought six catapults called Boot-Ezel, “the Angry Donkey.”

  They hurled pots of linseed oil.

  Priysel was an oil-producing region, and Fidelius had collected a large quantity of oil there and taken it with him.

  The advantage of the Boot-Ezel was that the torsion springs could be adjusted to control the range—anywhere from two to four chō (roughly 220–440 meters) at will.

  And so, in the early days of the ninth month of the 135th year of the Erisian calendar (221st year of the imperial calendar), the civil war in Tragia began in earnest.

  The two armies faced each other across roughly half a ri (about 2 km) north to south near the border between Rheinfeld and Bromberg.

  To the west of the hill where the eastern army’s headquarters stood was a small wood.

  The Erisian forces were positioned behind it, perfectly concealed by the trees and the hill.

  The first day dawned with light rain.

  Western commander Otto had expected the eastern army’s main force of archers to be at a disadvantage.

  But the eastern troops were already holding their bows.

  They had adopted Rondian techniques and coated both bow and string with lacquer.

  In this region, rain was frequent at this time of year.

  Wooden bows absorbed water and became hard to draw; strings stretched and lost power, halving both range and strength.

  Yet Rondian bows lost almost none of their power even in the rain.

  The archers of eastern Tragia were puzzled and asked the reason.

  Sara explained the Rondian method of bow construction and told them the bows and strings were coated with lacquer, but they did not know how to harden it.

  When Sara taught them the hardening process, they were astonished to learn it took several weeks to prepare.

  However, the Erisian technicians already had the finished lacquer.

  They had purchased it with gold when they visited the Rondian village for inspection.

  They applied it to every bow.

  Not only the bows but also the spare hemp strings received a coat.

  Since it was summer, the lacquer hardened sufficiently in a shaded room.

  All they had to do was hang damp cloths in the room and leave the lacquered items inside for several days.

  In fact, lacquer trees grew wild in the southern part of Giesen.

  People had avoided them because touching them caused a rash, but the woodworkers were amazed by this unexpected benefit.

  Thanks to this, they could now draw their bows even in the rain.

  “This should give us an advantage,” Fidelius said, surveying the battlefield from the headquarters atop the hill.

  “The enemy crossbows have absorbed water,” Lorenz, lord of Giesen, said, stroking his beard. “They’ll be useless.”

  “Looks like they aren’t bringing out their ballistae today either,” Manfred, lord of Meitzen, added.

  Both armies had covered their siege weapons with oil-soaked canvas to protect them from the rain, since wet torsion springs drastically reduced range.

  “Better not risk using them and having them destroyed,” Fidelius said.

  Both sides therefore refrained from using their siege weapons that day.

  The western army was divided into three lines: heavy infantry in front, light infantry behind them, and cavalry in the rear.

  The eastern army’s main force, however, was light infantry, with heavy infantry evenly distributed among the three lines and placed a thousand at a time in the front rank as a wall.

  Cavalry waited behind them.

  The western army moved first.

  Despite the light rain, the ground was quite muddy—a harsh environment for heavy infantry.

  It was nowhere near as bad as Staunieder, but the area had been cleared of woods to create pasture, so drainage was poor.

  The two armies closed the distance.

  Just as the western spears came within range, the eastern middle ranks began throwing.

  They hurled pots wrapped in hemp nets soaked in oil and set alight.

  The pots shattered on the western heavy infantry’s raised shields, and the scattered oil ignited.

  The flames were weakened by the rain, but they were enough to throw the front line into chaos.

  The eastern troops charged into the confusion, smashing shield arms with hatchets and hand axes.

  Once inside the enemy formation, light infantry held an overwhelming advantage.

  A fallen heavy infantryman was almost impossible to save; it was difficult to stand up, and the mud robbed their legs of strength.

  The eastern infantry operated in squads of three to five.

  They used spears and bows to pin the enemy down, then, when shields were raised, struck from the blind spot with axes and hatchets.

  They never fought one-on-one.

  Spears, bows, hand axes, and hatchets complemented one another’s ranges, and squads of at least three confronted the enemy as a single front.

  Recruits or near-recruits were never left isolated; they were kept behind the squad and paired with archers.

  Even those archers maintained full power in the rain.

  At close range in muddy conditions, the bows were extremely effective.

  Anyone who tried to close the distance was wounded before they arrived; if they did manage to reach melee, they were at a disadvantage and soon fell.

  Once down, they became perfect prey for hatchets and axes.

  A mere wound was never the end of it.

  Moreover, the three-man squads coordinated with neighboring squads, making them even harder to handle.

  The tactics closely resembled those of the Rondian infantry.

  “Heavy infantry are unsuited to summer campaigns, but they don’t seem to realize it,” Fidelius said, almost pityingly.

  “They lack experience. Their training only happens after the sun has begun to set. If they don’t even practice properly, there’s no way they can fight for real—especially in this rain. Tomorrow and the day after will be hell for them,” Lorenz said, feeling genuine sympathy for the western soldiers.

  Otto had made a fatal mistake.

  Sending heavy infantry forward in rainy weather had been a blunder.

  In his headquarters he ground his teeth.

  Otto sent out his light infantry.

  Edmund watched their backs with cold eyes.

  The battle had begun with fifty thousand against forty-two thousand, so numerically the west still held the advantage, yet the front line was struggling.

  Sending light infantry was a good idea in itself, but they were blocked by the heavy infantry and could do nothing.

  The eastern army was using its heavy infantry with great skill.

  They focused solely on acting as a wall, placing archers behind it, or deliberately breaking the western heavy infantry’s defensive line to let light infantry pour through, coordinating beautifully.

  For example, if they intentionally split the center of the wall to create a path, it became a natural choke point.

  Any enemy infantry who rashly entered would be annihilated.

  At the exit, eastern troops waited with spears and bows at the ready.

  Moreover, the attackers would be caught between two walls of heavy infantry.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “That looks bad. What now? Use the cavalry?” Edmund asked, pointing as if it were someone else’s problem.

  Otto was speechless.

  The eastern army steadily wore down the western forces with skillful coordination.

  In the end, Otto could come up with no improvement.

  The first day ended with the eastern army still dominant under the rain.

  Fidelius praised everyone for their hard fighting.

  The soldiers congratulated one another, and morale was high.

  Otto, on the other hand, had to think about countermeasures against the weather.

  The rain and mud were draining the heavy infantry’s stamina at an alarming rate.

  Once the front line collapsed, there was no time to recover.

  Normally heavy infantry rotated their lines to manage fatigue.

  But they had no spare equipment to convert heavy infantry into light infantry, and even if they did, they had no tactics for it.

  He considered using cavalry.

  He would strike the enemy’s flanks and break their formation.

  The rain stopped after midnight.

  The next morning was thinly overcast.

  The temperature had risen slightly, but for the heavy infantry this marked the beginning of hell.

  Day Two

  The moment fighting began, both sides activated their siege weapons.

  The range was roughly three chō (about 300 m).

  Light infantry dodged the incoming shots, but the heavy infantry took them head-on.

  They rolled on the ground, covered in mud, trying to extinguish the flames.

  Both armies hurled pots of oil, but the eastern side quickly adjusted the range and began targeting the western ballistae.

  One western ballista took a direct hit and burst into flames.

  Just as on the first day, the eastern army threw pots wrapped in burning nets.

  With the rain gone, the effect was far stronger.

  They threw more than twice as many as the previous day.

  And they pushed forward even harder than yesterday.

  Although the rain had stopped, the ground was still muddy.

  The rising temperature made the air hot and humid, draining stamina uselessly.

  Soldiers began suffering heat exhaustion and could no longer fight.

  The heavy infantry’s ordeal was far from over.

  In fact, it was only getting worse.

  The Tragian army did not fight in summer, and the western army had hardly engaged in land battles since being absorbed into the Tragian Empire.

  They had avoided war and relied on marriage politics instead.

  Their training level was completely different from that of the eastern soldiers, who hunted every day.

  Otto ordered the cavalry forward.

  He split eight thousand riders in half and sent them charging at both enemy wings.

  The eastern army stopped the charge in the same way one hunts wild boar: they planted the butt-spikes of their spears in the ground and drove the points into the horses’ chests.

  When the lead horses suddenly stopped, those behind crashed into them, and the wave spread backward.

  The momentum was killed.

  The riders became perfect targets for the archers.

  Seizing the moment, the eastern archers shot the mounted men like fish in a barrel.

  Furthermore, the eastern army’s six thousand cavalry charged the left-wing attackers.

  Then, from the headquarters, fire arrows and whistling arrows were launched northward, and a shrill Piiiing! echoed across the battlefield.

  A massive thunder of hooves rose, and from behind the wood west of the headquarters, eight thousand Erisian cavalry charged as one.

  The Erisian horsemen circled the wood.

  Half of them slammed into the side and rear of the right-wing heavy cavalry whose momentum had already been broken.

  The remaining four thousand crashed into the waiting infantry formation, trampling soldiers and throwing the lines into chaos before charging straight into the rear of the heavy infantry.

  “An ambush?! Whose army is that?!” Otto shouted.

  The cavalry that had appeared from the west carried Erisian vexilla.

  Among them were banners with blue cloth and silver embroidery and borders—proof that royalty had joined the battle.

  “It’s the Erisian army!”

  “Why are the Erisians here?!”

  Edmund smiled, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

  He had suspected Erisian involvement from the movement of salt and wheat, and now he was certain.

  He had predicted they might even intervene, but he had not told Otto.

  When Otto tried to commit his remaining eight thousand cavalry, a sudden black cavalry unit appeared and showered the advancing horsemen with arrows.

  Roughly fifty riders were firing bows from horseback.

  In their first two volleys alone, more than seventy riders were shot from their saddles.

  Among them was the commander of a thousand-man cavalry unit.

  The next two volleys felled another seventy or more.

  “What the hell are those horsemen…?”

  Otto was seeing mounted archery for the first time.

  Edmund frowned, lowering the arm he had been resting on his cheek and leaning forward to watch.

  The vexillum carried by the unit bore nine circles.

  It was the same crest as the sword sheath at his waist.

  Whoever they were, Edmund could not help but take interest.

  He watched their movements with wide eyes.

  The cavalry unit whose commander had been killed lost all cohesion.

  A thousand riders broke formation and began chasing the black horsemen.

  The black riders retreated the way they had come, still shooting arrows while turning.

  Enraged, the westerners pursued at full speed.

  Then the long-haired rider at the head of the black unit fired an arrow into the sky.

  A sharp Piiiing! rang out across the battlefield.

  Part of the cavalry that had charged into the central infantry suddenly wheeled around and struck the flank of the pursuing black cavalry.

  The vexillum was blue with a silver national crest—the unit led by royalty.

  Caught from behind and distracted, the westerners were riddled with arrows and their numbers dropped rapidly.

  When they tried to turn and fight, the black riders slipped away; when they pursued, arrows came flying again and tore them apart.

  If they split their forces to hunt down individuals, arrows struck the cavalry chasing the lancers, and the lancers wheeled to strike the rear of the archer-hunters.

  The black archers then circled to the flank of those chasing the lancers, constantly loosing arrows.

  It looked like two snakes biting each other’s tails, yet the western side was being shredded.

  In moments their numbers fell below half, and they began to retreat.

  Bolts from the western light infantry’s crossbows flew, but the wet strings had lost power, and even the second shot was slow, allowing the black riders to escape out of range with ease.

  Into the chaotic melee behind the central heavy infantry charged the blue-vexillum lancer cavalry, while the archers wheeled and picked off western riders.

  To stationary troops in a chaotic melee, archers were simply shooting at fish in a barrel.

  They targeted only commanders, aiming to shatter the chain of command.

  “That unit is terrifying…” Fidelius murmured in admiration from headquarters. “They halved a thousand cavalry in moments and still haven’t stopped…”

  “Otto must be clutching his head right about now… They’re a huge help to us,” Gilbert said, almost pitying the man.

  They were simply too strong.

  Edmund could not tear his eyes from the indigo-and-white crest.

  Irritated by the hundred-plus riders clinging to their flank, several hundred western cavalry wheeled to charge the black archers.

  The black riders spun while shooting, dropping the charging horsemen one after another.

  They never stopped their horses’ momentum; they galloped in circles, loosing arrows the instant they had an angle.

  Then another cavalry unit charged in from the flank.

  At the head flew a blue vexillum with a silver national crest.

  Royalty was present.

  Judging that the enemy would not shoot with allies behind them, the western cavalry continued straight after the black archers.

  The black archers made a wide right turn, trying to link up with their flanking allies.

  When the westerners tried to strike the right side of the archers, they were met with a concentrated volley.

  These archers can shoot from either side…?

  The enemy commander felt a cold sweat run down his back.

  Their rate of fire was terrifying; before contact could be made, more than a hundred of his men had vanished.

  They could not get close at all.

  The hundreds who had started the charge were already reduced to roughly the same number as the enemy.

  “Stop using bows! Fight like men, face to face!” a man who appeared to be the commander roared, charging forward.

  The long-haired woman at the head of the black archers—clearly female—seemed not to understand his words.

  She simply drew and loosed an arrow that pierced the man’s throat.

  He fell from his horse.

  The black archers withdrew from the battlefield for a moment.

  They had probably gone to resupply arrows.

  Edmund broke into a cold sweat at the sheer number of men they had killed.

  “Otto, how do you plan to deal with that unit?”

  But Otto seemed not to hear him.

  In just a few minutes, more than a thousand soldiers had been torn apart by fewer than fifty riders, and with the help of roughly a hundred allied horsemen, two western cavalry units had been halved.

  The central heavy infantry had also suffered near-catastrophic losses.

  Day two ended in overwhelming defeat for the western army.

  They had lost two thousand cavalry and more than five thousand dead in the center alone.

  On top of that, exhaustion was so severe that many men’s legs were cramping.

  Yet Otto refused to retreat.

  He declared he would not withdraw.

  His domain and assets had been taken; the only way to regain them was to win.

  Edmund felt not contempt but pity.

  “If we’re fighting again tomorrow, you should lead the cavalry yourself,” he said, peering into Otto’s face.

  Otto’s expression was twisted with frustration.

  Having lost his domain and now suffering this disgrace, it was only natural.

  “You’ll never beat those mounted archers unless you command from the front. They’re only two hundred at most. The only way is to overwhelm them with numbers, right?”

  Otto nodded.

  Edmund smiled inwardly.

  If this man died, the only remaining nuisance would be Dibias Marenos, lord of Merilya in the west.

  Fortunately, the southwestern part of Merilya bordered Assyl territory, and he was pinned down there even now.

  Merilya, at the westernmost edge of the Tragian Empire, possessed the largest territory of any lord.

  It was also the only domain that shared a border with Assyl’s enclave and was constantly engaged in land warfare.

  The man was skilled at business but terrible at war.

  He spent the money he earned on pointless battles, so Edmund laughed until his stomach hurt.

  Merilya was a warm coastal region, so they never made the mistake of using heavy infantry like Otto.

  But they had no tactical or strategic ingenuity and lost often.

  The two men were very much alike.

  Both had strong desires for money and status and would devote gold, effort, and cunning to obtain them, but they had little interest in war itself.

  They never analyzed their defeats and had no desire to improve.

  Prolonged muddy wars were more profitable because goods flowed freely.

  Yet with strategic materials being skimmed as their final source of income, such poor fighting would surely yield thin profits.

  Edmund needed the black-clad cavalry legion to rampage again tomorrow.

  He had gone to the trouble of goading Otto into this.

  He hoped they would not only end Otto’s political life but take his actual life as well.

  Alone in his tent, he enjoyed a cup of white wine.

  The pleasant acidity and refreshing aroma washed through his nose.

  Priysel – The Same Day

  In a corner of the town of Priysel, a tenant stormed into the landlord’s office in a rage.

  There was a terrible smell, he complained.

  The tenant ran a restaurant and had come to report that the stench was coming from the kitchen.

  The landlord went to check.

  The moment he stepped inside, he knew something was wrong.

  It was the smell of decay.

  Maybe an animal had died.

  The tenant was furious, saying the smell was driving customers away and demanding compensation.

  While searching for the source, the shopkeeper pointed to the back.

  The kitchen.

  The stench hit him like a wall the moment he entered. He nearly vomited.

  A large black stain had spread across the ceiling. That had to be the cause, but it was far too big for a small animal.

  “This one’s dead for sure…” the landlord muttered.

  He went around to the back, covered his nose with a cloth, and climbed the stairs. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

  This had to be it. The stench was already leaking down the stairs.

  The tenant was a soldier.

  His name was Ankart Michel, a former subordinate of the old lord.

  This month’s rent was still unpaid. The landlord felt a chill—losing the rent and dealing with this mess would be a disaster.

  The tenant was threatening to sue for damages; the repair costs and ruined reputation would mean a huge loss.

  The landlord took out his master key and opened the door.

  The stench was so overpowering that the cloth was useless.

  He vomited on the spot.

  Steeling himself, he stepped inside.

  Strange insects he had never seen before crawled across the floor in places.

  Flies swarmed in unnatural numbers. It had clearly been several days.

  He had seen something like this once before—a man stabbed to death in a lovers’ quarrel.

  The scene was almost identical, but the timing could not have been worse.

  It was the height of summer; decay spread quickly and the smell traveled far.

  He carefully avoided the insects on the floor, but when he touched the wall for balance, more bugs swarmed onto his hand. He frantically brushed them off and vomited again.

  “Why do I have to deal with this twice…?” he grumbled.

  Muttering to himself, he peered into the inner room.

  There it was.

  A human-shaped mass covered in a thick carpet of insects. He could not bear to look directly at it.

  He rushed out and reported it to the town guards.

  When he explained that the victim was a soldier, the guards took pity on him and sent a team.

  Undertakers wrapped the body completely in cloth for protection, brought a large barrel and heaps of hemp sheets, and carried it away.

  According to their report, the identity was still uncertain, but the corpse had been lying on its right side, and the right abdomen had been eaten away by insects.

  Because the right side was easier for insects to reach, they suspected a wound there had been the cause of death.

  With so much of the body consumed, however, little more could be determined, and identifying the person would be difficult.

  Whether it was really Ankart Michel or not remained unknown.

  That same evening, the guards returned.

  “Thank you for your cooperation earlier.”

  “Oh, it was nothing. I’m the one who should thank you.”

  “After we cremated the body, this came out.”

  The guard held up a bronze plate.

  “It belongs to the tenant here—Ankart Michel, Fifth-Thousand Commander. No mistake.”

  The plate was engraved with letters and still bore traces of soot.

  “We need to investigate further, so would you accompany us back to the room?”

  “…I have to go back in there…?”

  “I know it’s painful, but there’s a strong possibility of murder. We have to check. It’s regulations, I’m afraid.”

  With the possibility of suspicion falling on him if he refused, the landlord reluctantly went along.

  The room still reeked.

  It was the stench of the fluids and intestinal contents that had leaked from the corpse and rotted.

  The smell had soaked into the floorboards.

  The guards searched through the stench—desk drawers, wardrobes, every pocket—but found nothing.

  Not even the key to the room that the man should have carried.

  “The key was with him, right? How did you open the door?”

  “I’m the landlord, so I keep a spare key… You’re not suspecting me, are you?”

  “No, no, of course not. The killer probably took the key and locked the door behind him. There’s no other suspicious evidence, and the only sign of a struggle is the bed in the bedroom—it’s been shifted. There are marks on the sheets that look like blood was wiped away. It’s definitely murder.”

  The guard pointed at the sheets.

  The bed frame had been pushed far out of place.

  One of the floorboards beneath where the bed leg had stood was loose.

  A glimpse of something white could be seen underneath.

  “Well, I have to write my report, so I’ll take my leave here. Thank you again for your help.”

  With that, the guard left the room.

  The landlord could not stop staring at the white thing under the floor.

  The board beneath where the body had lain was loose. Something was still hidden there.

  He could not possibly ignore it.

  But the thought of reaching in with his bare hand terrified him.

  What if some of the countless insects that had covered the corpse were still down there?

  The landlord looked for something long.

  This house was going to be demolished anyway.

  He might as well break the floorboard.

  With that thought, he picked up a chair.

  Moving carefully to avoid the stained, stinking boards, he approached and struck the loose one with the chair leg.

  It came off far more easily than expected.

  No insects.

  The white object was a sheet of paper.

  A letter, probably.

  Maybe something important enough that someone had been willing to kill for it.

  If it was worth money, it might cover the repair costs and compensation.

  The landlord reached out.

  The moment he pinched and lifted it, a centipede tumbled out of the open end of the folded paper.

  He dropped it in shock and fell backward onto his backside.

  He clutched his chest, breathing hard.

  After a moment he picked up the fallen letter again and cautiously opened it.

  Inside was a single white sheet.

  Father’s elimination is ready.

  You handle the son.

  Kill him without fail.

  Destroy all evidence.

  That was all.

  The sender was marked “DBM” and the recipient “SO.”

  He had no idea what it meant.

  So it wasn’t worth money after all.

  He was about to throw it away, but instead slipped it into his pocket and left the room.

  He decided to head home for the day.

  When he arrived, the mere thought of what he had seen killed his appetite. He decided to drink and go straight to bed.

  He scooped white wine from a small cask with a ladle, poured it into a cup, and took a sip.

  The pleasant acidity and fresh aroma washed away the horrible stench still clinging to his nose and throat.

  Then it hit him.

  Schuper Otto—the former lord’s name. SO.

  Then who was DBM?

  The first name that came to mind was Dibias Marenos, lord of Merilya.

  There weren’t many powerful figures whose initials were three letters.

  Father and son to be killed…?

  No way…

  The landlord still did not fully understand just how enormous the thing he had picked up really was.

  Thank you so much for reading! ??

  If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a rating or a review!

  Your feedback is greatly appreciated and really encourages both the original author and the translator to keep bringing more chapters.

  You can also read the original Japanese version here:

  See you in the next chapter!