The highway stretched from the Imperial Capital to Count Obrisin's Territory. Along that road, soldiers marched in a steady stream.
They didn't quite fill the horizon as far as the eye could see, but the size of the force was still immense.
"Wow... look at that. Is that what I think it is?"
As a woman working in a field slightly off the highway murmured this, the man who appeared to be her husband nodded.
"Yeah, probably a subjugation army. I don't know where the fighting will be, but I just hope our village doesn't get caught in the crossfire."
"Heading that way... isn't that toward Count Obrisin's Territory?"
"Count Obrisin, huh? I've heard rumors the man loves war, so I suppose it makes sense."
"Wait, if it's toward the count's territory, that's not far from here at all. Is our village going to be okay?"
"It'll be fine. They might call themselves a rebel army, but they're no match for the Imperial Army in the end. Just look at those numbers."
"...But based on the soldiers' equipment, it doesn't look like it belongs to the National Army, does it?"
"Hmm? Ah, I see what you mean. Then it's probably a unit led by some noble."
"Is that really going to be all right? I don't want any trouble coming to our village."
"Worrying won't change anything. We've got no say in the matter, so we can only pray the subjugation army wins."
Similar conversations were taking place in other fields near the highway.
While the commoners felt anxiety and dissatisfaction regarding the civil strife, they believed that as long as the Imperial Army was on the move, the situation would eventually be suppressed. Having lived in the Bestia Empire and knowing its immense power, they were only slightly rattled.
Or rather, that usual unwavering confidence had been shaken by the bitter taste of defeat in the Spring War. Furthermore, among those who noticed the force consisted of noble units rather than the National Army, unease spread even further.
"Egh, how infuriating!"
A man who felt the prickling anxiety in the gazes directed at them by the farmers muttered inside his carriage.
"Baron Derota, what is the matter? This path leads to our glory, so you should remain composed for now."
Prompted by the man sitting opposite him, the man called Baron Derota spoke, his voice thick with suppressed rage.
"But Viscount Adeno! Look at those peasants' eyes! They are clearly looking down on us!"
At those words, the third man in the carriage muttered thoughtfully.
"Well, it is a fact that we are the ones leading these units instead of the National Army, so I suppose it cannot be helped."
"Count Schola!"
"In the end, we haven't even decided who holds overall command, have we? It is only natural for them to think this is problematic for a military operation."
The man called Count Schola—Surnin—was visibly emaciated. He did not look like the type to ever step onto a battlefield. In fact, because he understood this himself, he frequently voiced doubts regarding this subjugation army.
To begin with, everyone participating in this campaign, starting with Surnin, belonged to the Second Prince Faction. Surnin also understood the common thread shared by everyone here.
Those among the Second Prince Faction deemed low-capacity or incompetent, he thought. In other words, the purpose of this subjugation army is nothing more than to serve as disposable pawns to gauge the strength of the rebel army led by Prince Mercurio.
He stole a glance out the carriage window. There, he saw the figures of ten cavalrymen.
They were no ordinary soldiers. They were the Second Prince's direct subordinates—the elites. Why were such elite warriors accompanying this subjugation army, even if only in small numbers?
If there were enough of them to constitute a full unit, they could have been considered a military asset. However, with only ten of them present, their role was clear. It was easy for Surnin to imagine why they were there.
To witness exactly how we are defeated by Prince Mercurio. To see as many of the opponent's cards as possible.
Even as he thought this, Surnin could not tell his companions. Or rather, he remained silent because he knew they wouldn't listen.
In terms of gathering incompetent fools to use as bait, those participating in this subjugation army certainly fit the bill. They overestimated their own abilities and underestimated the enemy. They didn't think for a moment that they could be wrong. Convinced of their absolute victory, they were already discussing how to divide the territories of the rebels after the war.
For Surnin, it was actually a surprise they even had the capacity to notice the farmers' stares.
Though I suppose I was also lumped in with these incompetents.
The thought triggered a reflex, and he broke into a coughing fit.
This was the very reason Surnin had been judged incompetent. He was sickly, and the faction had decided he was unfit to survive the coming era as the head of a noble house. Arrangements had already been made so that if anything happened to him during the campaign, his younger brother would be installed as the next Count Schola.
In that case, the least I can do is fight in a way that doesn't stain the name of Schola. I need to draw out as much of the rebel army's strength as I can while keeping our own losses to a minimum... though I wonder if even that is possible.
He steeled his resolve, but his confidence wavered at the end. It was only natural. This subjugation army was a jumbled mess, and as he had just noted, there was no unity of command.
He had pointed this out to the other nobles before leaving the Imperial Capital, but no one would listen because none of them wanted to submit to another's authority. Recalling that frustration made the frail Surnin feel as if he might collapse on the spot.
"Count Schola? Is something wrong?"
Viscount Adeno called out with a somewhat oily smile.
"No, it's nothing. I was simply considering how we should proceed with the battle against the rebel army."
Surnin hurriedly shook his head. If he admitted his physical condition was poor, the viscount would likely try to seize control of his unit. Normally, a viscount was one rank below a count, and such a thing should have been impossible. However, under the pretext of maintaining order during a military operation, such an outrageous power grab might actually work.
Surnin's physical weakness was well-known, and it was a given that others in this army were waiting for an opportunity to exploit it. If a man like Adeno took command, the result was obvious. Surnin's men would be used as shields to preserve the viscount's own forces. Understanding this, Surnin could not afford to show a hint of vulnerability.
"Is that so? It would be a disaster if anything happened to you, Count Schola. If you find the burden too great, I wouldn't mind taking command of your troops..."
Though Adeno's words sounded worried, he didn't even bother to hide the greed in his eyes. It was precisely because he was such a man that he had been made a disposable pawn.
The reason they were already undermining each other was likely because they had been told their numbers were superior to the enemy's. Since they believed the victory was already decided, they wanted to hog as much of the glory as possible.
The outcome is certainly decided, just not in the way they think, Surnin thought with an inward sigh. Saving my own unit won't be easy. If I withdraw too early, the other nobles will scream about treason or desertion. And I can't afford to draw the attention of Schuls's Disciplinary Unit.
Just imagining the difficulties ahead made his stomach ache, but he forced himself to stay conscious.
"Is that Baron Gyuruks's carriage?" Baron Derota muttered spitefully, looking out the window. "Hmph. That incompetent who let his intelligence unit die for nothing—how can he show his face in this war without a shred of shame? He has no pride as a noble of the Bestia Empire."
Surnin agreed completely. Baron Gyuruks had used Prince Schuls's name to send a prized intelligence unit into Count Obrisin's Territory, only to have them wiped out. Surnin understood that their current mission was directly related to that failure. Because the intelligence unit was gone, these nobles were being sent to draw out information in their stead. And in the process, the "useless" nobles who might get in the way later would be culled.
How truly troublesome...
Surnin sighed again, but there was no stopping the wheels of fate now. He would just have to find a way to survive. With that grim determination, he turned his gaze toward the sky, which was annoyingly clear for autumn.
"We shall camp here for the night!"
The order rang out, and the soldiers of the subjugation army immediately began their preparations.
Normally, a noble might have complained about the location, but everyone was too tired to argue. The nobles had been riding in carriages, while the soldiers had walked all day. It was obvious who was more exhausted, but to most of the nobles in this force, the lives of commoners were worth no more than stones on the road.
Because they were led by such men, the soldiers' morale was abysmal. Had they not been told the rebel army's numbers were smaller than theirs, desertions would have started hours ago.
Furthermore, being the kind of nobles they were...
"Don't toy with me! You expect me to eat this foul-tasting swill? This garbage shouldn't even be called food!"
"Where is the wine? I need wine to recover from the day's journey. Bring it at once!"
"You expect me to sleep in such a crude bed? Prepare a proper one immediately! And bring women, too!"
"You slow-witted fool! Move faster! Your unit's preparations are lagging behind the others! Are you trying to humiliate me?"
Angry shouts like these rose from various spots across the camp. The soldiers were doing their best, but to the nobles, every reaction felt sluggish. It was natural after a full day of marching, but the nobles took it as a personal slight from the commoners they despised.
Irritated by a soldier's slow response, one noble finally reached for the longsword at his waist. He didn't draw the blade, judging that killing the man would be a waste of resources, but he swung the sheathed weapon down with all his might.
"Work harder, you dog!"
"Guh!"
The scabbard slammed into the soldier's shoulder. Because he wore leather armor, the blow was painful but not fatal. Satisfied by the man's grunt of pain, the noble walked away with a contented smile. It had been less about the work and more about simple venting.
The soldier, long accustomed to such tyranny, gave a small shrug at the sympathetic looks from his comrades before returning to his task. For the men in this subjugation army, this was an everyday occurrence.
One of the few exceptions was Count Schola, but he was only one commander. Weak and disrespected by his peers, there was nothing he could do to change the army's culture.
The cavalrymen dispatched by Prince Schuls watched the nobles' behavior with exasperated eyes. They were overworking the soldiers who would be fighting in just a few days, all while lounging in luxurious tents with fine wine and gourmet food.
Normally, it should have taken only two days to reach Count Obrisin's Territory, but at this sluggish marching speed, it would take double that time—or more.
The cavalrymen knew exactly what kind of disaster awaited such a force. They judged that they would simply fulfill their roles as observers... a judgment they would regret as hopelessly naive only a few days later.