The cheers shaking the Grand Drill Grounds echoed even into the stone corridor some distance away.
Marquis Perkin halted with the clamor at his back, casting his eyes down toward the bow he had hidden along the wall. He did not know which way the finals would tip. Would Razgrim emerge victorious, or would Eldran defend their title as the reigning champions? But to him, the outcome itself was no longer of any real consequence.
Once the tournament concluded, an awards ceremony would follow.
As monarch, Queen Alecia would undoubtedly step before the crowd to honor the victors. That would be his moment. With all eyes fixed on the champions and Her Majesty ascending the high dais, it would be the one and only chance he had to draw his bow.
He understood full well what it meant to turn a blade against the crown. Even so, ever since the Royal Selection had concluded, the nobles who once backed the First Prince had gradually begun bending the knee to Alecia. If things continued this way, no one would be left to rally behind Regnard even should he seek the throne once more. And if Duke Razgrim were to claim victory in this tournament as well, the influence of Vain—the man who had carried Alecia to victory in the Royal Selection—would only swell further.
There was no time left to hesitate.
"...It has to be now."
Just as he reached out toward the bow—
"Marquis Perkin. What might you be doing in a place like this?"
The voice behind him made Perkin's shoulders jerk. Whirling around, he found Regnard standing across the corridor. He wore his usual mild expression, looking for all the world as though he had merely run into an acquaintance by chance, but his gaze immediately dropped to Perkin's hands.
"P-Prince Regnard... Why are you here...?"
"Let us set that title aside for the moment. More importantly, what do you intend to do with that bow?"
Perkin could not answer. Trying to talk his way out of this would never work against this man. For a long moment, he kept his head bowed, before finally steeling his resolve and speaking.
"...It is all for Your Highness's sake. If Queen Alecia solidifies her reign as monarch at this rate, the path for Your Highness to reclaim the throne will be barred forever. To say nothing of what will happen if Duke Razgrim conquers this tournament—no one will ever dare oppose Her Majesty again. That is why, when Her Majesty steps before the crowd at the ceremony—"
"And so, you intended to murder Alecia?"
The question was posed quietly. Precisely because of that calm delivery, Perkin found himself entirely at a loss for words.
Regnard did not shout, nor did he reach for the blade at his hip. He merely fixed his gaze on the man before him for a long moment, then let out a faint sigh.
"I have known since the Royal Selection that you were working on my behalf. You lobbied the various houses and stood by me until the very end. I know you have always been a man of deep conviction and honor. That is precisely why I fail to understand."
"Your Highness..."
"I believed Alecia was unready to rule. I thought myself more suited to the crown, so I fought in earnest and was defeated... That is all there is to it. Having lost, I accept that reality. Should she fail as a monarch, that will be my time to stand once more."
Regnard narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.
"However—I have never once desired to take a throne left empty by my sister's death."
Perkin bit his lip. Still unable to let it go, he clung desperately to another name.
"Yet Vain Razgrim is there! As long as that man remains at Her Majesty's side, it will be all but impossible for Your Highness to make a resurgence. If only he were removed, there would still be—"
"Vain, you say...? I despise that man, you know. Despise him deeply."
Perkin looked up, caught off guard by the unexpected answer.
"I cannot stand him hovering around my sister, and it infuriates me that he dared turn Alecia down after she proposed to him before a massive crowd. I loathe the thought of my sister being taken from me, yet I despise a man who rejects her after she seeks him out even more... I am well aware I make for an exasperating older brother. I acknowledge the man's exceptional competence... but whether I like him or not is another matter entirely."
Regnard tilted his head slightly.
"Even so, how does any of that connect to butchering my sister?"
Perkin's mouth snapped shut.
"I contested the crown against Alecia, but she remains my sister. Do not conflate the two."
"However... at this rate, Your Highness will—even now, I firmly believe Your Highness is the one who should have become king!"
As though his pent-up emotions were bursting free, Perkin's voice rose in intensity.
"I have believed that ever since the Royal Selection! Visiting the noble houses, standing by Your Highness to the bitter end—it was all because I believed there was no one else fit to shoulder this kingdom! And yet, to write everything off just because of a single defeat... I cannot simply cast it aside so easily!"
As he spoke, Perkin reached for the bow once more.
In that instant, the warmth vanished from Regnard's face.
"Do not touch that bow."
The low, chilling tone froze Perkin's reaching hand in midair.
"...Your Highness?"
"I understand that you wished to see me crowned... But I have never once asked to reclaim the throne by having my sister murdered."
"However—"
"That is where you err, Marquis Perkin."
Regnard closed the distance by a single step.
"You are acting not upon what I desire, but upon your own selfish wish to see me as king... To claim that is done for my sake is a blatant lie, is it not?"
Perkin was left speechless.
"I have no intention of diminishing the support you gave me during the Royal Selection... I remain genuinely grateful for everything you did back then. That is precisely why you must not throw it all away over something so disgraceful in the end."
A resounding roar of cheers drifted over from the distance.
Perkin remained motionless, staring down at the weapon. Eventually, a strained, rasping voice slipped from his throat.
"...Even so, I still believe Your Highness should have been the one to wear the crown."
"You are free to believe whatever you like. After all, I do not believe I was inferior to Alecia either."
Regnard gave a light shrug, then leveled an unyielding stare straight at Perkin.
"However, do not lay a finger on Alecia... nor on Estelle. I will never forgive anyone who harms my sisters—no matter who they may be."
The moment he finished speaking, Regnard's gaze drifted toward the Grand Drill Grounds. Perhaps picturing the silver-haired noble on the field, his expression instantly soured with bitter resentment.
"...Truly, no matter who they may be."
"Your Highness?"
"No, pay that no mind."
Perkin had little trouble guessing whom he was thinking of. Regnard cleared his throat softly, smoothly slipping back into his customary gentle demeanor.
"Marquis Perkin. Put the bow down. You have yet to loose an arrow, nor have you caused Alecia any harm. If you stand down here, I will not have to punish you."
"...Not punish me?"
"Indeed. All I witnessed was you preparing a bow in this corridor. If this ends without incident, I have no desire to turn it into a public affair."
Regnard's voice dropped an octave, turning deadly serious.
"However, anything beyond this is entirely different. If you truly level an arrow at the monarch, not even you will be spared. Next time, it will not end with me simply stepping in to stop you."
Perkin's fingertips trembled.
Regnard did not press him. Precisely because this was a loyal man who had stood by him throughout the Royal Selection, he did not want things to conclude on such a tragic note. Leaving those feelings plain to see, he spoke one final time.
"If possible, I truly wish to avoid that outcome. If you still regard me as your master—bring an end to this right here."
A heavy silence descended upon the corridor.
Perkin stared at the bow, his fingers flexing and tightening repeatedly before finally going slack. After a moment, he lifted the bow, but without nocking a single arrow, he carefully set it down upon the stone floor.
"...I understand, Your Highness."
Watching this, Regnard's features finally softened.
"Good. That is for the best."
Turning his head toward the distant cheers, he offered his usual mild smile as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
"Now then, shall we go watch the rest of the finals together?"
"...Me as well?"
"Of course. We have come all this way. It would be quite a waste not to see it through to the end, wouldn't you say?"
With that, Regnard strode off ahead.
Perkin cast a single glance back at the bow resting on the stone floor, then hurried to follow in his footsteps.
◇
"Raisa-dono... Could you pick out around forty soldiers for me?"
Down on the Grand Drill Grounds, Raisa raised an eyebrow at Lydia's request.
Thanks to Vain's shouts, the troops had regained their fighting spirit, but that alone did not magically weaken the Eldran army. The center and right strongholds had been seized, and Carnes's unit was already bearing down on their sole remaining base on the left. Clashing head-on in a battle of attrition would only see them whittled down by an enemy superior in individual martial prowess.
"Forty? You want me gathering our best fighters?"
"No... pick those with light injuries who can still sprint! Prioritize foot speed over swordplay! We are done slamming directly into my father's army."
Raisa scrutinized Lydia's face for a brief second, then broke into a wolfish grin.
"With a look like that, I reckon it's worth hearing out. Where are we running them?"
"To the right! However—we won't be fighting at the right."
Before long, around forty soldiers were assembled, Gash among them. A slender figure in a deep-set helmet—Serena—had naturally slipped into the ranks as well. Raisa cast her a brief, questioning glance, but there was no time to pry into the matter now.
Lydia pointed straight toward the right base.
"My father's army acts decisively... If we sprint toward the right, Percival will undoubtedly divert the necessary forces to match us. Trying to trick those commanders into making a tactical blunder is nearly impossible... That is why—after forcing them to make the objectively correct decision, only our force will break off and strike elsewhere first!"
"So rather than running to capture the base, we're running just to make their troops scramble, eh?...Haha! You've picked up quite the nasty way to wage war!"
"I shall take that as a high compliment! Raisa-dono, if you please!"
The forty soldiers bolted toward the right in unison.
The Eldran command reacted in a heartbeat.
"Roughly forty heading for the right!"
Upon receiving the report, Percival cast a sweeping gaze across the battlefield, barking out orders without an ounce of hesitation.
"Julius, take twenty men to reinforce the right! Do not deploy the entire reserve. Carnes, crush the left as planned!"
The Eldran soldiers immediately began mobilizing toward the right flank.
At that exact moment, Lydia's voice rang out across the grounds.
"Now!!"
Raisa swept her arm forward mid-stride.
"Pivot! Head for the center, on me!!"
The forty soldiers charging toward the right banked hard in unison, altering their course in an instant.
"The center?!"
Percival caught on immediately.
"Julius, fall back! Dolgan, incoming from your rear!"
His assessment was instantaneous, and his orders were textbook.
Yet the one thing he could not bypass was physics—men already in a full sprint toward the right could not magically reverse momentum on the spot. The precious seconds it took for the command to register, for the soldiers to wheel about, and for them to build up speed once more were impossible to erase.
"...I see! So that's your game, Milady!"
Watching the dark blue vanguard thunder toward the center, Percival showed no sign of frustration, offering only an admiring smirk.
"You have certainly shown me what you've learned."
At the center, Dolgan caught wind of the ambush and quickly wheeled half his men to face the rear. Even so, Raisa's detachment reached the line a fraction of a second faster.
"Don't you dare stop! If our momentum dies here, it's all over!"
Just as Raisa moved to spearhead the charge, a slender silhouette darted past her flank.
It was Serena, disguised in common infantry armor.
"...For the master's sake."
Serena crashed directly into the Eldran defenders at the center, slipping inside the guard of the foremost soldier before his blade could even begin its downward arc. Striking his wrist to disarm him, she slammed his off-balance body into the man beside him, nimbly ducked beneath a spear thrust from the flank, and seized the weapon's shaft. With a violent yank, she dragged the spearman off balance; sweeping his legs out from under him, she sent his falling frame crashing directly into the adjacent shield.
The enemy line buckled.
"Close the breach!"
Another soldier moved to plug the opening immediately, but Serena kicked the fallen shield, sending it sliding across the dirt to trip him up. Before he could recover, she drove forward into another man's chest, shoving him back with the full weight of her body.
One, two... The total tally of foes she brought down was modest. Yet through that unbroken wall of shields, she carved a narrow corridor just wide enough for a single person to breach.
Raisa's eyes flashed.
"Ha! So that's the play!"
Serena cast a single glance over her shoulder.
"...Now."
"Lady Lydia! Right there!"
"Yes! Everyone, pour through the breach that soldier made!! Charge!!"
Raisa plunged into the gap first, with Lydia right on her heels. The forty soldiers behind them surged through in a roaring wave, utilizing their collective mass to pry open the narrow fissure. The Razgrim infantry already engaged at the front pushed forward in lockstep, creating a massive local numerical superiority in that single pocket of the center.
"Puuuush!! Drive inside before they can close ranks!!"
Man for man, the Eldran troops were superior combatants. Yet in this brief window, the numbers were decisively against them, and the reinforcements dispatched to the right had yet to make it back. Dolgan roared furiously, trying to re-form his battle line, but Serena relentlessly harassed every unit attempting to regroup, Raisa carved the breach wider with sweeping strikes, and Lydia funneled their troops continuously into the fray.
And then—
"We've taken the center!!"
Just as the triumphant cheer erupted, another messenger came tearing across the dirt.
"The left base has fallen! Carnes's unit has taken it!!"
Eldran held the left and right; Razgrim held the center.
—They were still on the losing side.
Raisa immediately cast her gaze across the soldiers holding the center.
"First we dig in here. Next, we—"
"Please wait!...There is one more tactic I wish to attempt."
Lydia looked at the battered soldiers gathered in the center. Every last one of them was exhausted. Yet when a man in the front rank stumbled, someone behind braced him; when an arm holding a shield sagged from fatigue, the comrade beside him shifted forward to cover the gap.
Watching them lean on one another, a distinct formation crystallized in her mind.
It was not a strategy passed down by her father, nor was it a drill taught by Raisa-dono. It was a method born entirely from coming here and fighting alongside these specific soldiers—a tactic occurring to her for the very first time.
"This is... an idea I have only just conceived myself."
Lydia summoned a runner, immediately projecting her voice with unyielding authority.
"Shield bearers to the vanguard! Do not spread wide—pack in until your shoulders are touching! Your shield is not meant solely for your own protection! Overlap them so that they cover half the body of the soldier next to you!"
The front rank shifted laterally, the rim of each shield locking over the edge of the next. Spearmen stepped up directly behind them, thrusting their points forward through the interlocking gaps.
Yet Lydia's commands did not stop there.
"Four more ranks directly behind them! Leave no space between! The second rank will brace the front line, while the third rank and beyond prepare for rotation! When the front rank tires, do not force yourselves to hold—fall back smoothly and rotate out with the man behind you without creating an opening!"
"Five ranks deep, huh..."
Watching the dense formation lock into place, Raisa let out an intrigued chuckle.
"You plan on having four men in the back support a single man up front?"
"It is more than that. It reinforces the flanks and the rear as well. If taking the blow individually means defeat, we shall absorb it collectively! When advancing, do not break formation—match your stride as one!"
At her command, the wall of interlocking shields stepped forward in unison. A seamless barrier of timber and iron pressed ahead, anchored by four tightly packed ranks directly behind. When the vanguard took a blow, the soldiers behind reinforced them with their entire weight; when a fighter grew exhausted and fell back, the man behind seamlessly stepped into his place.
Dolgan's countercharging detachment slammed into them.
With a deafening crash of wood and steel, the shield wall shuddered violently, but held firm. With the second rank bracing the backs of the front line and the rear ranks digging their heels into the dirt, the Razgrim infantry—who had been consistently overpowered until now—held the full, crushing weight of the Eldran army head-on for the very first time.
"Ghh?! What in the world is this weight?!"
Dolgan's eyes went wide.
Yet Percival was not one to idle on the sidelines either.
"If they are clustering together, do not slam into them head-on! Fan out to the flanks!"
"As expected, he caught on immediately...!"
Even so, Lydia did not lose her composure. Turning to face the soldiers holding the center, she drew a deep breath.
"I leave this position in your hands! You must hold out no matter what! In the meantime, we are taking the next base!!"
A flicker of surprise rippled across the soldiers' faces, but they quickly renewed their grip on their shields. Just moments ago, they had weathered a direct, full-force assault from the reigning champions. That single reality instilled in them a fierce confidence they had lacked all day.
"Leave it to us! We won't surrender this ground to anyone!"
"Rotate the moment the front gets heavy! Just like we practiced—do not break the wall!!"
"Ooooooh!!"
As the Eldran soldiers began fanning out to the flanks, the defenders in the center smoothly wheeled their formation to match. It was a tactic conceived mere moments ago, and their movements still lacked refined polish. Yet not a single soldier attempted to play the solitary hero; placing absolute trust in the comrades to their sides and rear, each man held his designated post.
Once more, the Eldran forces crashed against them.
This time, the Razgrim soldiers shouted coordination among themselves.
"Right flank incoming! Tighten up!"
"Front rank can still hold! You've got the next shift!"
The dark blue wall shuddered beneath the ferocious impacts. Yet the corridor leading to the center banner remained utterly impenetrable.
Taking in the sight, Raisa hoisted her broadsword onto her shoulder and laughed heartily.
"Haha! These lads are a hell of a lot tougher than I gave them credit for! Lady Lydia, we can safely leave the rest to them, yeah?"
"Yes! I have full faith they will hold this ground! As for us—let us claim the next one!"
The two turned their eyes toward their target: the right base, currently defended by the remainder of the Eldran army. All that remained was to tear it from their grasp.
"Anyone who can still run, on us! Take just one more base, and victory is ours!!"
"Ooooooooh!!"
Raisa and Lydia surged forward, the remaining strike force hot on their heels. And holding the center behind them stood an unyielding, colossal bulwark of interlocking shields.
—At this moment, the tactical formation Lydia had conceived on the drill grounds did not even possess a name.
Yet in eras to come—this revolutionary doctrine of interlocking shields, multi-ranked depth, and continuous frontline rotation to fight as a singular, living wall would be celebrated throughout history as the Razgrim-style phalanx formation.
This clash of three hundred soldiers on this field would mark the very first battle of a military doctrine that would leave its name etched permanently into the annals of warfare.