"Man, this is boring. Are those rebels still nowhere in sight?"
The subjugation army marched steadily down the highway. Combined, their numbers totaled approximately four thousand. Following behind them was a transport unit loaded with supplies and an escort unit of about two thousand men tasked with its protection.
The one muttering in a bored, restless voice was Blatta, the man appointed supreme commander of this subjugation army. He sat atop his warhorse, surveying the surroundings with a look of utter exasperation.
"Seriously, why am I the supreme commander? My nature is better suited for the front lines. Ordinarily, it should be you in charge, shouldn't it? Unlike me, you actually know how to judge things calmly."
Blatta directed his gaze toward the person riding beside him. This individual wore a simple cloak over a suit of leather armor, though it was not the standard gear worn by common adventurers or soldiers. It was more of a "partial armor" set, specifically designed to be lightweight because the wearer lacked physical stamina.
"It cannot be helped," the man, Sobul, replied. "As you can see, I am not suited for the vanguard. Furthermore, if a man like me were named supreme commander, the front-line fighters would undoubtedly grow resentful. They would chafe at the thought of a man without a shred of martial prowess directing their every move. Given my direct ties to His Highness Cabajid, they likely would not say it to my face, but their attitude would suffer. In the heat of battle against the rebel army, that single moment of friction could create a fatal opening."
Blatta clicked his tongue in displeasure. He understood the logic; he knew the temperament of the men all too well. Still, he found it irritating that his partner and trusted friend, Sobul, was looked down upon—even if he would never dream of actually using the word "friend" out loud.
He’s still as bad as ever at hiding his feelings, Sobul thought. A small smile played across his lips, belying his internal musings. Blatta was blunt and boorish, but over their many assignments together, Sobul had realized they were perfectly compatible. If anything, Sobul believed their polar-opposite personalities were the reason they could work together so long without killing each other.
"Come to think of it, Rhodos didn't show up in the end. He seemed desperate to join us," Sobul remarked, abruptly changing the subject.
Blatta nodded. "He wanted to come, but Pelfeel wouldn't allow it. She told him that with his current skills, he didn't have a prayer of winning against Crimson."
Blatta recalled the conversation. The moment Rhodos heard Crimson might be involved, he had demanded to set out immediately. However, Pelfeel, the woman in charge of his training, had forbidden it, judging him too immature for such a confrontation.
"Training, huh... It seems a certain someone around here hates that sort of thing," Sobul teased.
Feeling a bit called out, Blatta shifted his gaze to the surroundings to steer the conversation away from himself.
The sight of the subjugation army marching down the highway was unavoidably conspicuous. With a total scale approaching six thousand men including the supply unit, they were impossible to miss. Naturally, the farmers working in the fields along the road watched them pass with anxious, wary eyes.
They had recently seen the previous subjugation army flee—or more accurately, route in a pathetic display of cowardice. It was only natural that they looked upon this new force with a sense of dread. If the subjugation army continued to lose, the rebel army’s advance would not stop, and these lands would inevitably become a battlefield.
To the farmers, it mattered little whether the subjugation army or the rebel army won. Most simply wished for the fighting to happen elsewhere. In that sense, a victory for the government forces meant the front lines would stay away, so many offered their passive, silent support to the subjugation army.
...Though, given the results of the last battle, many were hesitant to put their faith in the imperial forces at all.
"Do you think they'll be alright? I just hope they don't lose again and bring the fighting here."
"I agree. That flight the other day was dreadful. If you consider that..."
"I hate this. I don't want our home to become a battlefield."
"Still, at least it's not spring planting or harvest time. Imagine if the fighting happened in the fields during the summer... We're lucky the reaping is over."
"I suppose... wait, if the civil strife drags on like this and carries over to next spring, we're in the same boat regardless."
"True, but if it ends by spring..."
"Why does this civil strife have to happen at all? If they want to fight, I wish they'd do it outside the country."
"That’s why they call it 'civil' strife, you fool."
In the harvested fields, farmers tilled the soil and spread leaf mold to prepare for next year’s planting, whispering among themselves. While the soldiers couldn't hear the specific words, the farmers' stares spoke volumes.
Recognizing the judgment in those eyes, the soldiers of the subjugation army felt a surge of irritation. They only restrained themselves from lashing out because they were Cabajid’s men. Their status within the First Prince Faction was a point of noble's pride, and they refused to tarnish it with petty brawls—especially since doing so would result in severe punishment.
Still, the atmosphere was thick with resentment. Blatta clicked his tongue again from atop his horse.
"Good grief. The previous battle was predicated on losing so His Highness Schuls could purge the dead weight. Since he achieved that goal, shouldn't it technically be considered a victory for him?"
Blatta spoke to Sobul, but his companion remained silent, his face clouded with thought.
"Hm? What's wrong?"
"...No. It's true that the previous battle's objective was halfway achieved."
"Halfway?"
"Yes. The goal of confirming the rebel army's forces was a success. However, regarding the 'purging' you mentioned, I would call it a failure, given that so many nobles were taken prisoner. Moreover, His Highness Schuls is tied up with ransom negotiations and can't move as he pleases. I'm certain he wanted the Second Prince Faction to have exclusive control over this subjugation army, but..."
Sobul glanced toward the cavalry unit positioned at the rear of the marching column. In a subjugation army composed almost entirely of the First Prince Faction, these were the men Schuls had forced in.
As the one responsible for the unit organization, Sobul had intended to fill the ranks entirely with the First Prince Faction. However, Amare—Schuls’s lieutenant—had approached him and stubbornly insisted on including a unit directly under Schuls’s command. Sobul had tried to refuse, seeing only trouble in mixing the two factions, but Amare had already cleared it with Cabajid before even speaking to him.
Soble didn't know what their lord had been thinking when he accepted the unit. When questioned, Cabajid had only offered a mysterious, cryptic smile. As a subordinate, Sobul could not disobey his lord's command, so a single unit of the Second Prince Faction now marched among them.
"At any rate, those ransom negotiations mean Schuls can no longer use the military strength of the nobles in his faction. Furthermore, the direct cavalry unit he sent as military inspectors was annihilated except for one man, and even he is barely clinging to life. I can hardly call that a victory. It’s a stretch even to call it a stalemate."
"Is it really that bad? But they succeeded in scouting the enemy's strength, right? Doesn't that mean they met the minimum objective?"
Blatta tilted his head, but Sobul shook his own in silence.
"No, I don't believe so. While the last battle revealed a portion of the rebel army's forces, that's all it was—a portion. Most importantly, we haven't confirmed the presence of Crimson."
"...That guy."
"Exactly. We've sent several scouts toward the rebel army ourselves, but none have reported finding him. On the contrary, several of our best men have vanished without a trace."
Blatta let out a heavy sigh, his posture slumping in the saddle. Scouts specialized in thief-like skills cost a fortune to train, making them some of the most expensive soldiers in the empire. They didn't get the glory of knights or cavalry; their work was done in the shadows. Finding good men who were willing to do it was hard, which meant pay had to stay high to maintain quality.
Blatta had come to understand the value of information since pairing with Sobul, which was why the news of missing scouts hit him so hard.
"And it’s our best men who aren't coming back. They likely caught a glimpse of something they weren't supposed to see in the rebel camp..."
"And you think it was Crimson?"
"Maybe not all of them, and I have no proof. But it's the only thing that makes sense."
"Is there a chance it was something else? A secret weapon? Theoreme was always a master of using magic items in combat. Isn't that more likely?"
"It’s possible. But truthfully, I'm more afraid of Crimson than any secret weapon. If I let my imagination run to the worst-case scenarios... well. For now, I’ve ordered the scouts to keep their distance and observe from afar without overextending themselves."
Soble turned his gaze to the sky, looking quite morose. The sun was bright, and the clouds looked like they had been swept by a broom. Feeling as though the vast sky was mocking his petty worries, Soble let out a resentful sigh.
"Good grief... I suppose my troubles are a small thing to the heavens."
The sky offered no answers. Blatta, unsure of how to comfort his friend, turned his attention to a nearby carriage. It wasn't a supply wagon, but a carriage carrying nobles of the First Prince Faction. Unlike the previous army, these were a select few high-ranking individuals trusted by Cabajid. Most were second or third sons, but they were men of high capability.
They had been promised the right to establish their own houses if they distinguished themselves in this campaign, so they were driven by intense motivation. The subordinates they brought with them were equally talented.
If we lose while leading men like this... I won't have the face to see His Highness Cabajid again.
Blatta looked from the carriage to the autumn sky, focusing his mind on the battle that would surely come in a few days.
Under the brilliant glow of the moonlight, the subjugation army had set up camp for the night. Hours ago, the men had been eating dinner and enjoying the wine permitted to bolster their spirits, turning the camp into a minor banquet. Now, the revelry had subsided, replaced by the soothing chirping of insects in the long autumn night.
The highway camp was quiet, the insect song providing a small comfort to the sentries on watch. Most of the army was asleep, and the soldiers who had drawn the short straw for guard duty after the feast were lamenting their luck, using the sounds of the night to stave off boredom.
However, focusing too much on the rhythmic chirping made it easy for sleepiness to creep in. After a full day of marching, a heavy meal, and wine, the lullaby of the insects made the urge to sleep an incredibly powerful foe. The knowledge that they were only a day from the imperial capital and within their own territory only served to lower their guard further.
While the sentries fought their lonely battle against drowsiness, Blatta and Sobul were inside a tent, poring over a map. It was a detailed topographical map of Count Obrisin’s territory, a precious item Sobul had borrowed from Cabajid himself. They treated it with extreme care; even during the strategy meeting with the other executives earlier, the map had been displayed without anyone being allowed to touch it.
"Given our current marching speed, we should engage the rebel army the day after tomorrow."
"...I heard it took five days last time?"
"The nobles were more concerned with their own comfort than the march. That slowed them down significantly."
Blatta nodded. The previous commanders had been arrogant, treating the march more like a luxury tour than a military operation.
It was in that moment that a cry shattered the quiet.
"Fire! There's a fire!"
The shout echoed through the camp, and Blatta suddenly realized that the walls of the tent were being dyed a brilliant, flickering red.