Episode 129 Father's Back - The Saga of Lioncourt

The Following Day We advanced our army towards the battlefield. Given the flat terrain, we could already see the enemy although they too seemed to be on the move. "Roro, Jean... Do you remember the first time we went to a battlefield?" As I gazed at the enemy forces, I spoke to my two childhood friends. "Huh? You mean our first battle?" Jean replied back. He's a general of one of our armies, but he often leaves his men to come visit me. It’s never been a problem, so I haven’t scolded him for it, but it does make me a bit worried. "No, no, the time we watched a battle. The one with Albert," I corrected. "Oh, right, that did happen," Roro chimed in agreement. "Ah, so that was technically our first battlefield. There were some fighting naked, right?" "Yeah, exactly." I was pleased they remembered and continued my story. "I want to try something from that time..." "Oh! I remember that," Roro responded. As we relived old stories, we moved our forces forward and set up our formation at a strategic position. The Lioncourt army, equipped with crossbows and ballistae, possessed strong firepower, so they spread out widely. Their flanks were supported by Albert's Benyro army on the left and Jean's Bashlo army on the right. Our cavalry was positioned together, a little way off. This arrangement—how should I put it—resembled an odd iron dumbbell? It was a strange formation, but it seemed better to consolidate them rather than mixing Benyro and Bashlo’s armies awkwardly. If you squint, it could vaguely seem like a variation of a crane wing formation, or so I believed. The enemy had deployed their troops in dense formations typical of a Jiuling (fish scale) or Zui (wedge)-shaped triangle formation. They seemed to be planning a breakthrough by positioning cavalry at the forefront. "I see, they're not an opponent to be underestimated," Poncello muttered upon analyzing the enemy's formation. Indeed, breaking through with a dense formation against a numerically superior enemy is a classic tactic. It's orthodox, but things become classical because they're effective. The enemy's commander wasn't foolish. "Alright, I'll leave the coordination of all troops to Poncello. As for the Lioncourt army, Andre will be in command." Both Poncello and Andre responded in unison, "Understood!" "As for Albert and Jean, they'll lead their respective armies..." When I glanced over, I noticed Albert's look of intense contemplation. It's a crucial opportunity for redemption for him... It's great that he's motivated, but he seems a bit too worked up. "Albert, take a good look at the enemy troops. Can you tell which ones are strong?" I suddenly asked Albert. Though he seemed bewildered by the sudden question and hesitated, this wasn't a question expecting an answer. It was meant as small talk to help him relax. "Weak enemies tend to cower, their chins raised... Their faces appear pale. Strong opponents, on the other hand, lean forward and keep their chins down, making their faces appear darker." Listening to my reasoning, Albert nodded profoundly in understanding. "Target the weak ones and break through their lines. It's an honor to face strong foes, but in battle, aim for the weak first... You understand?" Albert repeated my words, "Target the weak ones," appearing as though some of the weight had left his shoulders. ...This is for the best. It would be trouble if he charged at a strong foe and something happened... Albert is the heir of the Benyro viscount family and engaged to my daughter. We can't afford to lose him in this skirmish supporting the Earl of Dalmon. "I'll leave the cavalry to Simon and Domier. Make sure you don't miss Poncello's signal." Simon grinned, saying, "I'm confident with Domier by my side." Normally, Simon would have boasted with a chest-thumping "Leave it to me," but today he was respectful towards the elder Domier. I was a little surprised, but perhaps this was also an indication of my son's growth. "From here on, I'll leave it to your discretion at the scene. Move into positions." Indeed, it always comes down to this. In a world without communication devices, decisions must be made on the ground. I’ll trust in everyone's valiant efforts. Battles are unpredictable; victory or defeat hinges on the tides of the battlefield. "Was that story you mentioned earlier true?" After everyone left, Roro asked me with a curious expression. Having no immediate recollection, I asked, "Which story?" and Roro responded, "About reading the faces of the enemy soldiers, you know." "Oh, that... Well, if you ask if it's true, I can only say 'I don't know'..." Hearing my response, Roro made an overtly exasperated expression. "Wait, I’m not done talking yet. While it can't be proven, it's just my intuition... It's rare for anyone to look at me and not lose their will to fight. That’s how I gauge the enemy. Whether it’s right or wrong is another matter." "I see, I get it now. I’ve never heard of measuring an enemy’s strength by their face color, but it doesn’t seem entirely off." Roro seemed to have something in mind as he shifted his gaze thoughtfully upwards to the left. When people try to recall something, their gaze often moves to the upper left. "We can check it soon enough. The battle party will begin shortly." "Indeed, I've heard an interesting story. Heh... I’m looking forward to the battle's start." This childhood friend of mine openly expressed excitement for the forthcoming battle. Roro, though rational, was also a dedicated warrior who learned alongside me from the same master. In the face of war, the beast’s blood within him undoubtedly stirred. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to it." "Indeed, I am." We exchanged knowing smiles. I wondered if Jean was grinning too somewhere out there. The enemy army drew nearer. This marked the beginning of a fleeting dream-like time. ... Our armies squared off, now at a range where our voices could be heard by each other. From the other side, one knight, presumably the enemy commander, was raising his voice, glaring at us. The voice belonged to Knight Ogier. Verbal sparring is the job of the commander... it seemed Clement wasn’t participating. ...Huh, not even holding a sword in what could decide his own future... The Earl was right about him being a dimwit... I held Clement in nothing but contempt. In Lioncourt, even commoners like farmers join the fray. Those who don’t fight are not considered full-grown men. Hence, the fourth or fifth sons of families who cleared Baysun lands find joy in joining battles. Marching to the field as the head of a family is a matter of pride, and they would join with spears with broken tips and rods in hand. And yet, what’s this? A knight born to an earl’s household—a man—allowing only his subordinates to fight while refraining himself? This infuriated me immensely. A bit further ahead, Ogier was loudly denouncing the Earl of Dalmon and proclaiming his own righteousness, but none of it reached my ears. I grabbed my spear and spurred my horse forward. "I have no use for lackeys; shove off!! Where’s Clement?! Is he trembling in the castle, you coward without balls?!" My voice was loud. Trained for the battlefield, my bell-like shout seemed to travel perfectly to the enemy lines, prompting a stir among the cavalry assembled in front. "Listen closely! Clement is a coward who sends his men to die in battle while not fighting himself! Come at me, you minions of the coward! I’ll be happy to boot you back!" My crude words drew laughter from the Lioncourt troops. Our morale had risen. In verbal skirmishes, if you can outwit the enemy, their spirits will wane, while encouraging our side. Laughter rising before battle was clear evidence that we did not fear the enemy. Everyone was confident in our victory. "Go back and cry to your mama, you spineless dimwit!" Whether that insult was the trigger, it was hard to tell, but the enemy army started to move. I returned to my position, rallying my troops with a shout of, "Let's do this!" while encouraging them as I went around. The command of the troops was under Andre's direction, and all I could do was oversee the battle. Were you wondering why I didn't charge in as usual? Who in their right mind would rush out in front of their own side's crossbows and arrows? The cavalry of the enemy charged at us. "Fire! Let loose! Keep firing!" I could hear Maurice's voice rousing our soldiers. Though I couldn’t see him, I'm sure Roger was doing his utmost somewhere as well. Under the guidance of the captains, arrows shot forth continuously. One by one, the enemy cavalry fell, but some cleverly used their own men as shields to avoid the arrows, charging into Lioncourt's formation. It was an admirable charge, even from the enemy. Shouts and screams erupted instantly, accompanied by the sounds of clashes and metal clashing. It was an intense chaos. "Incredible, isn't it!" "Indeed! Quite the spectacle!" Unfortunately, the enemy's breakthrough occurred a bit away from Roro and me. We couldn't join the fray, but the uproar was so intense that even our voices were drowned out. And then came the roars of the beasts. After a brief pause, the enemy infantry seemed to have begun their assault. The melee between infantry commenced, with the clashing of swords adding to the uproar. It was truly a scene of hell. "I am Varian!! Is there anyone here aiming for my head!!" I, too, entered the melee, wielding my spear. Though mounted combat in such disorder was a disadvantage, there were enough gaps for me to maneuver my horse. I kept Noir—my horse—moving continuously, ensuring I wasn't surrounded. As long as the horse was moving, the infantry scattered in fear, naturally opening a path. "Out of the way!! It's Varian!! Clear the path!!" Roro covered my right flank diligently, compensating for my lack of sight on that side. From horseback, Roro swung his longsword, preventing any enemy from closing in. He deflected spears targeting me and swatted away flying hatchets. Rather than defeating enemies, his actions were focused on protecting me. While we were cutting down the enemy indiscriminately, it appeared that a skirmish had begun at a bit of a distance—it seemed that Jean's unit had joined the fight. Though I couldn't verify it, Albert's unit likely did the same. ... Is it time yet? It should be soon... I wielded my spear, glancing around anxiously, slightly more composed than usual because I was waiting for that moment. "Varian-sama!! They're coming!! From the left!!" It appeared from the opposite direction of my memories. The Lioncourt cavalry, the comrades-in-arms. "They've arrived!" I inadvertently voiced my reaction. Anvil strike tactics, a favorite of my father, Rudolph. Since witnessing it on my first battlefield experience, that image of my father had been etched deeply into my memory... An image now overlapped with my son Simon riding into battle. Previously, I lacked a powerful cavalry like my father's, so I'd never attempted it—but today was different. Though smaller in scale, the comrades-in-arms are now a standing army. They have achieved high proficiency as a cavalry unit. Under the command of Simon and Domier, they decimated the enemy ranks, tearing through the battlefield with dominance. The anvil became the steadfast support of the enemy, and the cavalry struck as a hammer. The anvil tactic was executed flawlessly. The enemy's formation was utterly destroyed, and the enemy troops disbanded in disarray... No, it wasn't a retreat—it was a rout. Even the small number of cavalry who broke through the Lioncourt forces escaped. It was a complete victory. "Pursue them!" "Don't let a single one escape!!" "Earn your headhunting shares!!" The captains shouted, marking the opening of the pursuit battle. From here on out, it was a bonus stage. The troops of Lioncourt were fearless and fierce. They chased after, killed, and stripped the bodies of the vanquished. For the farmers of these impoverished lands, conquest was a fleeting dream. Transformed into a pack of beasts, the soldiers of Lioncourt cried out in joy as they descended upon the enemy one after another. By this point, the enemy soldiers could only rely on their luck as they ran. I was dreaming. A dream where I ran shoulder to shoulder across the battlefield with my father and older brother, who had always loomed large in my life. A past dream now realized by my son. On the battlefield, everyone dreams. Whether a good dream or nightmare varies by individual. Today, it felt as if I had finally caught up to the broad back of my father.