Chapter 350: Chapter 347: Ending in the First Battle

To this end, a dedicated core handled the relevant calculations—it continuously pinged the receiver to determine their relative position. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

The Sky Knights’ gear also included a custom Kingdom map. They could use the coordinates from a second wrist device to pinpoint their current location.

Finally, each person was issued a [Feather Fall Skill] Scroll to use if their mobility device was destroyed. Rorschach had considered cheaper parachutes, but he quickly realized these aerial scouts wouldn’t reach the altitude or speed required for a proper deployment.

’Whatever. The more consumables they need, the more I make. Why should I save money for a client who’s loaded?’ Rorschach reflected deeply, tearfully procuring Scrolls from the Guild to resell at a markup.

Although it was a matter of brute force making a brick fly, one thing was certain: the lighter the pilot, the longer the mobility device would last and the more agile it would be.

Therefore, this special unit had the highest proportion of female soldiers in the Empire Army. They were all daughters of Hunters, and one even had suspiciously shaped ears, hinting at some Elf in her ancestry.

The instructor discussed the mobility devices’ performance with Rorschach, looking to identify and resolve any issues during training. He also reported on the pilots: "One of the trainees, Tanya, is performing the best. She’s the most dedicated and makes the fewest mistakes. However, she’s too short to carry a full load of ammunition and supplies."

"This is a reconnaissance unit that emphasizes agility and maneuverability. Don’t be constrained by old training doctrines. Encourage her, and let her make the most of her natural talent." Rorschach held no military rank, so he couldn’t say much more. He was just a technical specialist. After confirming there were no issues with the equipment, he left the secret training ground.

Bart was with him, having used some excuse to sneak away from the barracks. He waved Rorschach over to his horse. "It’s much more interesting over here. We don’t do anything in camp—just endless meetings and tactical briefings. But the Valois Army can’t possibly make it this far."

"You don’t have to go support the neighboring states?"

"Nope, just holding our position. The entire Southern Empire Army is on standby, guarding the defensive line, while the Northern Empire Army heads south..." They rode through a pathless forest toward the city. Bart added smugly, "So I pulled some strings. I’m free to do as I please today and on future rest days, all under the guise of ’visiting family’ or ’attending to professional duties.’"

"Honestly, the Town Mage is more than enough. Why are we even getting involved?"

As the days passed, the Valois Army’s intentions became clearer. Their marching pace was abysmal. Aside from pillaging villages, they made no attempt to assault any fortresses or major cities. The Empire grew increasingly confident that the invaders would never make it out of the Sallo Region.

But to the Lords of those States, the Valois Army was terrifying. They feared that if the Kingdom’s soldiers set foot in their lands, it would stir up their subjects. They worried their people would emulate the Valois masses, storming their manors and City Halls and putting the land deeds and privileges the Nobility had established centuries ago to the torch.

They weren’t so much afraid of the Valois Army as they were of the ideas coming from Valois—and of the very subjects they had long oppressed.

Even the Lords who treated their subjects well couldn’t be sure that some wealthy merchant wouldn’t get ideas, inciting the rabble to revolt so he could replace the old Lord and become the new one.

Thus, the fiercely-guarded independence of the Southern States vanished. One by one, they placed their armies under the Empire’s central command—all except for the relatively stable and powerful Bayern Kingdom.

But the Empire, having consolidated the Southern Army, seemed to be asleep at the switch, offering no support to the trembling Sallo Duchy. Despite the public outcry, the messages from the Imperial Palace and the Prime Minister’s Mansion were always the same: that military preparations were underway, that Valois must immediately withdraw its army, and that the personal freedom and all rights of Charles XVI as Monarch of the Holy Kingdom must be guaranteed.

And so the Second Legion from Valois advanced, tense but without having fired a single shot.

"General, we are about to enter Fortenburg, yet we have not encountered any resistance." The legion’s commander was Dillon, and his adjutant was deeply worried about this so-far bloodless war.

As they neared the city, they could see that the Sallo Duchy had committed all its forces to the city’s defenses. A majestic Town Mage, clad in a Magic Robe, stood proudly atop the battlements.

The army had now lost the support of the Church; not even a single Divine Benefactor marched with them. Under the command of a weak-willed general, the cannons had become useless baggage, as he dared not give the order to fire upon the city.

The villages they passed were all empty, their inhabitants having fled long ago. The grain had either been sent to the city for safekeeping or hidden by the villagers. The soldiers had gone from the high morale they felt crossing the border to their current state: cold, hungry, and deeply suspicious of the Empire’s strategy.

But regardless, they were on enemy soil. Dillon now ordered the construction of fortifications to establish a temporary position. The fifteen-thousand-man vanguard could advance no further. He had to wait for the rest of his legion to arrive, and for two other legions to move to the front and cover his supply lines.

"Send cavalry to scout the banks of the Duma River. The Empire’s Southern Army will likely try to ambush us when we attempt a crossing." Dillon made some prudent, if uninspired, preparations while he waited for the rest of the legion to reach the front.

And so, the Valois Army ground to a complete halt.

The winter morning was exceptionally cold, and a thick fog had descended upon the open fields. A series of rapid hoofbeats shattered the silence. A scout reported: "A small enemy force is approaching!"

But what the forward sentries saw was the banner of the Holy Kingdom! The aggressive enemy held high the blue banner with a golden flower—the symbol of the Royal Family—and launched a column charge against their position.

"It’s the remnants of the exiled Nobility! Have they come here to die?" the commander wondered, perplexed. He had his soldiers set up the shotguns. A cavalry charge from the flank could have easily broken the enemy’s ragtag assault, but they were short on both horses and shock cavalry. They would have to fight from their prepared positions.

Just as Dillon had predicted, the enemy charge posed little threat. A few scattered gunshots rang out in front of their position as his men calmly repelled the assault from behind cover.

In the thick fog, he couldn’t judge the enemy’s numbers, but the Exiles were known to be weak. It was likely just the small force the scout had reported.

General Dillon even felt a flicker of pride. ’The exiled remnants must have been trying to use the winter fog for a sneak attack. They never expected I’d be so cautious as to build fortifications instead of advancing recklessly.’

CRACK! CRACK-CRACK!

Another series of gunshots rang out, and the remnants of the exiled Nobility charged again. Dillon felt a sense of unease. ’What noble’s private army is this disciplined? Able to organize repeated charges?’ he thought. ’With troops like these, why would their Lord have fled in the first place?’

With no other choice, the shotguns opened fire on their own countrymen. The column that had struggled to reach their lines was cut down like wheat, but more men quickly took their place. As the enemy got closer, the soldiers in the trenches saw that their compatriots—the ones carrying the royal banner and charging with such frenzy—had tears streaming down their faces.

Some of them abandoned the charge and tried to flee, but another volley of gunfire rang out, and bullets from behind cut down those who tried to retreat.

The Valois soldiers froze. They hadn’t been the ones to fire.

The sun rose a little higher, and the dense fog began to burn away. Suddenly, a Fireball struck one of the shotguns in their position, the blast hurling the artillery crew through the air. Once the last of the exiled Nobility’s forces had been spent, the vanguard of the Valois Second Legion finally met their true enemy: the Northern Empire Army!

They mercilessly executed the exiled noble army that had been forced to the front, then launched their own murderous assault on the Valois position.

Staring at the endless enemy forces on the horizon and then at his own flimsy fortifications, Dillon gave the most foolish, most fatal order of his life: "Retreat! Re—treat—!"