The massive flame tornado looked as if it might incinerate the Subjugation Army's entire position.
The members of the Mobile Unit directly under Rei, witnessing the phenomenon for the first time, felt a surge of pride that such power belonged to their captain. At the same time, however, an undercurrent of unease welled up within them—a quiet fear of whether any human should truly possess such devastating might.
Despite their inner turmoil, the soldiers were snapped back to reality by the sight of Subjugation Army soldiers desperately scrambling through the protective fence entrances to escape the firestorm ravaging the camp.
Recalling their duty, they drew black-dyed arrows—crafted specifically to vanish in the dark—and notched them to their bows. Then, they loosed them at the fleeing soldiers.
Under normal circumstances, the color would have made the arrows nearly invisible. However, the firestorm raging within the Subjugation Army's position was far too bright. The flames had already spread beyond the vortex to the tents and carriages, casting a light that, while not quite as bright as midday, made it impossible to call the scene night.
Despite the visibility, the members of the Mobile Unit remained scattered at each entrance as previously instructed, systematically picking off anyone who attempted to escape.
In a normal situation, trying to intercept every individual from a force that originally numbered over six thousand—including the supply unit, though many had already perished in the fire—would have been an impossible task. But this Mobile Unit was composed of hand-picked elites. Their archery was beyond first-rate; they loosed arrow after arrow, claiming the lives of soldiers who had just crossed the perimeter and felt a fleeting sense of relief.
In terms of pure skill with the bow, every single person present surpassed Rei. Their efficiency was staggering.
Then again, Rei himself rarely, if ever, used a bow. For him, if a ranged attack was necessary, it was far faster to simply throw a spear.
As they maintained their barrage from a distance, the death throes of dozens, then hundreds, echoed across the field.
The one-sided slaughter continued for roughly thirty minutes.
The number of people emerging from the entrances had begun to dwindle, and the soldiers of the Mobile Unit were starting to think the night raid was nearing its end.
Suddenly, a section of the protective fence was violently blown apart.
The fence, which had been staked firmly into the ground, was uprooted in a single, thunderous impact. It was sent spinning through the air before crashing back down several meters away.
"W-What was that!?" a Mobile Unit soldier stationed near the breach shouted reflexively.
"Stay calm!" Paelnix's command cut through the confusion. "We anticipated such an occurrence. You were informed beforehand that it was possible for several men to destroy the protective fence if they worked together! Priority remains preventing the enemy's escape! Keep a close watch on that breach! Fortunately, the number of enemies at the other entrances is falling. Send a messenger to request reinforcements!"
One of the soldiers desperately loosed an arrow before shouting back, "We're already short-handed! If we send a messenger now, our perimeter will collapse!"
It was a cold fact. The Mobile Unit was elite, but they only numbered thirty men—thirty-one including Paelnix, their substantial commander. The sheer disparity in numbers was an unavoidable reality.
"I don't care," Paelnix replied. "If we stay as we are, we'll lose everyone who breaks out through that gap. I'll hold the line until reinforcements arrive. You—go."
Paelnix's gaze fell upon the soldier who had just protested. He hadn't chosen the man for any particular reason, other than the fact that the soldier clearly understood the current disadvantage. Paelnix gambled that the man would push himself to the limit to deliver the message and overturn that very disadvantage.
"B-But!"
"Just go! Every second you hesitate makes our situation worse!"
On the other side of the destroyed protective fence, the enemy seemed to realize that such a conspicuous move would make them immediate targets. They remained cautious, hesitating to rush out recklessly. Yet, while the flow had slowed, soldiers were still trickling out from the main entrances.
"Go!"
At Paelnix's shout, the soldier steeled his resolve and sprinted off into the darkness.
"Now then... the rest depends on whether reinforcements arrive before we are overrun."
"Where is Captain Rei?" asked another soldier loosed an arrow toward an entrance. "Given the scale of that magic, perhaps he's exhausted all his strength?"
Paelnix shook his head as he loosed a suppressive shot toward the breach. "Captain Rei is busy moving throughout the position. At this rate, the supply unit's provisions will be incinerated. He's the only one capable of recovering them before the fire consumes everything."
"...Since they broke that fence, we have to assume a high-ranking officer or a powerful force is about to emerge. Can't we call him over here?"
Paelnix shook his head again at the soldier's anxious tone. "No. Unfortunately, we have no means of contacting the captain—"
Just as he spoke, several soldiers suddenly leapt out from the destroyed protective fence.
"They're coming!" Paelnix roared, releasing a shot. The arrow pierced the forehead of the first soldier to emerge, killing him instantly. But more soldiers were already pouring through the gap, their numbers beginning to exceed the limits of Paelnix's suppressive fire.
"I see... so it's come to this after all," Sobul muttered. His voice was lost to most in the cacophony of angry shouts and the roar of the firestorm, but Blatta and the captain of the cavalry unit directly under Schuls heard him.
What Sobul had done was simple. He had merely shouted that an escape route had been opened from this spot.
Normally, men would have been suspicious of such a convenient opening, but these were not normal circumstances. Behind them, a flame tornado that brought certain, agonizing death was prowling through the camp at its own whims. The fact that they were still alive was pure luck—they simply hadn't been in its path yet. No one knew how long that luck would hold.
Even if they tried to reach the main entrances, they were choked with soldiers, knights, and nobles; in the desperation to survive, allies were even turning their blades on each other.
Amidst that madness, the news that a breach had been opened in the protective fence acted as a beacon.
The one responsible for the breach was, of course, Blatta. The sheer power he displayed by destroying a fence that usually required several men to install was proof of his status as one of the First Prince Faction's greatest warriors.
"So... what's next?" Blatta asked Sobul irritably.
To Blatta, most of the men in the Subjugation Army were members of the First Prince Faction—essentially his own kin. Despite his crude personality, Blatta was surprisingly protective of his subordinates, and it pained him to see his comrades pouring through the breach. More accurately, he didn't want to hear the screams that followed the moment they stepped outside.
He only followed Sobul's lead because he simply couldn't think of a better alternative. Had they more time, perhaps it would have been different, but Blatta knew he wasn't clever enough to devise a plan on the spot. He had found no other way to save them.
Sobul turned his gaze away from the fleeing soldiers and toward a different section of the protective fence.
"The enemy surrounding this camp is concentrated on the breach Blatta created. Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—judging by the frequency of the screams, the number of enemy soldiers in this vicinity doesn't seem very high. But once they realize a mass breakout is happening there, they'll naturally send reinforcements. That will draw the Rebel Army's focus away from other areas."
Blatta and the cavalry captain listened in silence. Even as they spoke, soldiers were incessantly leaping through the first breach, only for screams to follow immediately after. Yet the rush continued; the men chose the path with even a fraction of a chance for survival.
"In other words, those men are a diversion. And since we have a diversion, we must utilize it to the fullest."
By now, Blatta understood exactly what Sobul was suggesting. He was forced to understand.
"You're using them as decoys?"
"Precisely. We will escape from a spot further away... ideally on the side facing the Imperial Capital. Once we destroy the fence there, we won't alert the others; we'll simply break through all at once. If the Rebel Army's reaction is delayed by even a moment of confusion, it will be the perfect opportunity for us."
Blatta stared at him, his voice low. "Is there really... no other way?"
"None. Of all the possibilities, this is the most certain method to inform His Highness Cabajid that Crimson has joined the Rebel Army."
"...Fine. If you say it's the only way, Sobul, then I'll believe you."
The captain of the cavalry unit, who had joined the campaign on Schuls's orders, was the only one truly shocked by Blatta's decision. As a subordinate of Schuls, he had gathered extensive intelligence on Cabajid's men—his master's greatest rivals. He had understood Blatta to be a man who valued his comrades above all else.
However, the cavalry captain kept his astonishment off his face. Eventually, these men would be his enemies in the future. It was only natural to gather as much information as possible while revealing as little of himself as he could.
With their divergent thoughts, Blatta's group moved through the camp on spare horses borrowed from the cavalry unit, always wary of the firestorm's path.
Almost no one was left alive within the camp. They had either been incinerated by the wandering flame tornado, killed by their own allies in the crush for the exits, or shot down the moment they stepped outside. Of course, some survivors surely remained—hiding under the corpses of the fallen or simply relying on miraculous luck.
Blatta's group pushed through the camp, where the presence of the living was nearly non-existent.
"Here," Blatta said, pulling his horse to a halt at the spot closest to the Imperial Capital.
The protective fence before them was stained with blood—a grim omen of the night's horrors that filled the men with unease. But there was no time to hesitate. Blatta glanced back at his group.
Sobul sat atop his horse beside him, followed by roughly twenty of Schuls's cavalrymen. With a total of fewer than thirty people, they had to escape this hell.
Considering that firestorm, I suppose we're lucky this many are even left, Blatta thought.
Truly, today was the worst day of his life. He steeled himself and spoke.
"Listen up. I'm going to break the fence. When I do, everyone charge through at once. They'll likely give chase immediately, but no matter who falls, do not look back. Just focus on reaching the Imperial Capital. Tell His Highness Cabajid and His Highness Schuls that the Subjugation Army has been wiped out... and that Crimson is with the Rebel Army."
As long as even one of them survived, the information had to reach those two.
Exchanging a look that served as a tacit agreement, Blatta swung his longsword with immense force. It was a strike that seemed effortless, but the blow reached the protective fence even from horseback and shattered it instantly.
"Go!"
At Blatta's roar, the group surged through the breach. They cleared the perimeter, but no attack came from the immediate surroundings.
We can make it.
Just as that thought united the group, the sound of a sharp hiss sliced through the air. In the next moment, a muffled cry of pain echoed from behind Blatta, followed by the sound of someone hitting the ground.
He knew exactly what had happened. Under any other circumstances, Blatta would have kept riding toward the Imperial Capital without a word, refusing to look back at whoever had fallen. That was the agreement.
But he couldn't.
The rider who had fallen wasn't one of Schuls's cavalrymen. It was Sobul. His partner.
Blatta reflexively jerked his head around. His eyes met Sobul's for a fleeting second as the man rolled on the ground. In that gaze, Sobul's iron will was clear: Ignore me. Fulfill the mission.
"Dammit!" Blatta spat, screaming his frustration into the night. He didn't stop, pushing his horse even harder along the road toward the Imperial Capital, knowing full well that he was abandoning Sobul to his death.
"Crimson!"
He roared the name of the opponent who had orchestrated this catastrophe, his voice echoing into the burning night.