It was believed that a grand celebration would be underway in Fidelius’s tent, given the tremendous victory they had achieved.

  Yet, contrary to expectations, everyone wore grim expressions as they stared at a single letter placed on the table.

  Present were the second son and lord of Baumgarten, Gilbert; the lord of Giesen, Lorenz; the lord of Meissen, Manfred; the lord of Bromberg, Rigbert; the fourth son, Darius; and the eldest son, Fidelius.

  “So the captain who had been blockading the east was killed, and the letter was hidden in his room?”

  Lorenz spoke with an unusually solemn face.

  “Indeed. The man was one of Otto’s subordinates. If the recipient was marked ‘SO,’ then SO must refer to Schper Otto…”

  Fidelius folded his arms, his expression bitter.

  “This father-and-son business…”

  Rigbert could not hide his agitation.

  “We cannot say for certain, but DBM is most likely Di Bias Malenos, the lord of Melilla…”

  Gilbert let out a sigh.

  “The reason he was killed was probably this letter—or perhaps something even more direct. They wouldn’t have killed a man and returned empty-handed.”

  Manfred added.

  “I collected every identification tag from Otto’s soldiers in Pricel. The fact that this man still had his means he was already dead before I could take it—he never participated in the battle against our forces.”

  Fidelius offered his analysis.

  “Are you certain he had it?”

  Gilbert asked.

  “Yes… It seems the body had been left for quite some time and was in terrible condition. Identification was impossible, but the tag was found among the charred remains, so we assume it was his.”

  “Then he escaped the encirclement of the camp and headed for Pricel, where he was murdered?”

  When Manfred spoke, Fidelius nodded.

  “Our objectives from tomorrow onward will change slightly.”

  The moment Darius opened his mouth, all eyes turned to him.

  “He’s only half a mile away. We simply capture him and ask.”

  The proposal was refreshingly straightforward.

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  “Exactly. We’ll issue an order to the entire army: the enemy commander Schper Otto is to be captured alive. Under no circumstances is he to be killed.”

  Lorenz spoke with strong emphasis.

  They all nodded firmly.

  No one mentioned the words Father and Son written in the letter.

  Especially the word Father—its implications were too heavy to speak aloud.

  It suggested the possibility that the previous emperor had been assassinated.

  The existence of the letter remained hidden from the other lords. Only the order to capture Otto alive was issued.

  The other lords found it suspicious, yet they accepted the command without question.

  The messenger who delivered it had worn an unnaturally stiff expression. They had sensed that something serious had occurred.

  Fidelius made his way to the Rond camp.

  He had come to reward them for today’s achievements.

  The Rond camp was lively. Everyone wore cheerful faces as they drank around the fires.

  Among them was Sara.

  Her attire was different from usual.

  “Today was magnificent.”

  The sudden visit from the commander left everyone flustered; they bowed their heads.

  Fidelius smiled wryly and urged them to sit.

  “But do not let your guard down. From tomorrow, you will be targeted. On the other hand, that also makes you an excellent deterrent. The enemy will surely want to crush you.”

  “Yes. We are focusing our efforts on striking the enemy commanders to end the war quickly. Being targeted is something we have already accepted.”

  Sara looked straight at Fidelius as she spoke.

  She was wearing clothing made of fabric with a mysterious luster.

  It was not a tunic, but a garment worn by layering front and back pieces—likely something from the East.

  It clung closely to her body; the sleeves were tailored to the thickness of her arms, flaring out like bags at the cuffs.

  On the outer side of her upper arms hung scale-like armor pieces, suspended from the shoulders—the same kind used by the Rond people.

  The same scales covered her torso armor, yet the armor itself was extraordinarily thin.

  Both the clothing and the armor were made of indigo-dyed silk.

  The torso armor consisted of three layers of thick silk thread woven tightly together, with several thin cloths sandwiched between them and stitched in place to prevent shifting.

  Silk thread was among the strongest fibers; layered like this, it provided sufficient resistance to slashing.

  Above all, it was light and flexible, allowing the wearer full range of motion.

  After returning from the mausoleum, the village priestess had recognized Sara as the successor and presented her with the armor and garments once worn by the king who had died a hundred years ago.

  The long robe was not much different from ordinary clothes, but for riding, she wore the thick, scale-reinforced cylindrical hakama instead of the usual six-pleated riding hakama.

  The scales on the king’s armor were not the sorrel-leaf shape used by other Rond people, but serpent-scale shaped. The outer edges of the blackened, patinated copper scales had been restored to their original color and gilded.

  It was a design that would stand out anywhere.

  “Why are you so eager to end the war quickly? May I hear your reason?”

  Fidelius sensed something unusual in Sara’s tone and expression.

  “Because I don’t want to see another tragedy like that campsite.”

  “…I see. I’m sorry. But—”

  “It’s all right. We understand how you feel. This is simply what we have all decided we can do.”

  Fidelius felt she had changed greatly.

  The last time he had seen her, a trace of childishness still remained. Now, not even a fragment of it could be felt.

  “Then I have a request for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “I want to capture the enemy commander Schper Otto—alive. Will you help?”

  “Yes. What is the mission?”

  Fidelius began to speak slowly.

  The next morning, the indigo-dyed Rond vexillum flew at the very rear of the central column of the eastern army.

  Its pure-silk white border and tassels swayed in the wind.

  There was no longer any need to hide it.

  It was raised proudly.

  Behind it flew Clovis’s vexillum.

  The eastern army’s six thousand cavalry and Elysia’s seven thousand eight hundred and fifty cavalry under Aurius were split evenly and positioned behind both wings.

  The enemy infantry had been reduced to roughly the same number as the eastern army’s.

  The day dawned clear and bright.

  It would be another grueling day for the heavy cavalry, but the western army had also changed its formation.

  Light infantry were now sandwiched between heavy infantry.

  Behind the light infantry were units armed with crossbows.

  They were easy for anyone to use, but drawing the string required great strength, so their rate of fire was low.

  In the eastern army’s headquarters stood Aquinaes and Denaro.

  Denaro gazed down at the scene that was the fruit of his labors.

  His feelings were complicated.

  He had devoted himself to making the people of the same nation kill one another.

  He could not honestly rejoice at the success of his mission to incite civil war in Tragia.

  And he knew this conflict was still only the beginning.

  “Regretting it?”

  Aquinaes spoke to Denaro, who was staring at both armies with a troubled heart.

  “Not exactly… I simply want to witness the outcome of what I have done. Still… it does pain me a little.”

  “Half of it is their own will. Sooner or later, news of the salt embargo and the Fourth Prince’s confinement would have reached them. You merely hastened it. Imperial succession is always messy. I hope our own country never has to go through the same.”

  Aquinaes looked at Clovis.

  He felt proud seeing how much the boy had changed.

  The headquarters bustled with calm efficiency.

  Fidelius was speaking with his second brother, Gilbert.

  He clapped his brother on the shoulder, they nodded to each other, and Fidelius took up his spear and descended from headquarters to join the battle line.

  That day, the eastern army launched the first strike.

  Gilbert confirmed that his brother had joined the left-wing cavalry, then immediately ordered the ballistae to fire.

  The bolts were aimed at the center of the enemy’s horizontal formation on both wings, with their torsion springs adjusted.

  They fired volley after volley. From the very start, the western army’s forward vision was obscured.

  Thick black smoke rose.

  Flaxseed oil mixed with pine resin had been used.

  As a result, the light infantry’s crossbows became useless.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Taking advantage of the poor visibility, the eastern army sent cavalry—not infantry—charging into both enemy wings.

  Caught in confusion and blinded by smoke, the front ranks of the western infantry were devastated by the cavalry charge.

  Gilbert then ordered the central infantry to charge en masse.

  The cavalry that had struck both wings now pincered the central infantry.

  In an instant, the enemy center was half-destroyed.

  Only thirty minutes had passed since the battle began.

  Otto stood stunned by the ferocious assault.

  Today, Otto had positioned himself in the center rear with four thousand heavy cavalry.

  The remaining cavalry—five thousand each—were placed on both wings.

  Their role was to swallow and crush any eastern horse-archers that appeared.

  Yet the initial smoke-screened cavalry charge had been completely unexpected. They were caught off guard, and the central infantry was being carved away before their eyes.

  When the smoke on the wings began to thin, Gilbert ordered the wing infantry to charge.

  Otto had no choice but to commit his wing cavalry to the center.

  At that moment, Fidelius, commanding the front line, withdrew four thousand of the six thousand eastern cavalry that had been pincering the center.

  He left the central pincer to Elysia’s Aurius.

  Gilbert gave Sara the order to sortie.

  Sara’s one hundred and fifty cavalry circled around the enemy’s left wing, aiming to strike the rear of the heavy cavalry charging toward the center.

  Otto did not miss it.

  Anticipating the flanking maneuver, he had already prepared his four thousand heavy cavalry to sortie.

  Sara rode alongside Clovis, racing toward the rear of the enemy left wing.

  She loosed arrows into the left-wing cavalry entangled in the center melee.

  Clovis protected the rear of the horse-archers.

  As they continued their circling fire, the enemy cavalry waiting in the center suddenly charged straight at the archers.

  At that exact moment, Fidelius led the four thousand cavalry he had pulled back and slammed into the rear of Otto’s force from the right wing.

  It was a devastating charge.

  Everything had been preparation for this single blow.

  The moment he spotted Otto’s banner among the cavalry mass in the center rear, Fidelius had rewritten the entire day’s strategy.

  It had been Gilbert’s idea.

  Leaving command of headquarters to his brother, Fidelius had taken four thousand cavalry.

  The goal was to capture Otto.

  To draw the enemy commander out of his “bear-hole” defense, they had deliberately sent the heavy cavalry on both wings charging into the center.

  They had to settle the fight before the enemy’s ten thousand cavalry could reinforce Otto’s four thousand.

  It was a lightning operation that demanded a swift conclusion.

  Fidelius hammered Otto’s four thousand from behind without mercy.

  Realizing what was happening, Otto sent a messenger ordering part of the central cavalry to turn around.

  One of Fidelius’s men hurled a hand-axe, stopping the messenger.

  The axe spun through the air and buried itself in the man’s right shoulder blade; he fell from his horse.

  Otto tried to order a counterattack, but an immediate reversal was impossible.

  Already a quarter of his force had been cut down before they could even turn.

  Otto was now caught in a pincer.

  From the right, Fidelius; from the left, Sara’s arrows—his men fell one after another.

  Soon only a dozen riders remained around Otto. The rest were locked in combat with Fidelius’s troops.

  Fidelius surrounded Otto with a hundred men.

  “Surrender.”

  Fidelius pointed his spear at Otto.

  A short distance away, Sara watched the scene.

  Suddenly, in the corner of her vision, she noticed the enemy headquarters to the south.

  There were about twenty riders. At the center was a figure far more conspicuous than the rest—white leather adorned with gold leaf.

  A scarlet field bearing the crest of a winged horse and chariot, trimmed with gold thread and tassels.

  It was Emperor Edmund.

  “Let’s go!”

  Sara gave the order. The Rond horse-archers followed.

  Clovis chased after them.

  “What is it, Sara?!”

  Clovis shouted.

  Sara pointed at the riders ahead.

  Clovis understood at once.

  The twenty or so riders had begun galloping westward.

  Sara pursued.

  Far to the west, dust clouds rose—enemy reinforcements, no doubt.

  Sara hurried, but the emperor’s group was slow. Her unit managed to close in on the right rear of the imperial guard.

  At that moment, the emperor shouted something.

  “Who are you?!”

  He was pointing at Sara’s vexillum.

  Surrounded by his guards, he raised a sword still in its sheath for them to see.

  Once more he shouted.

  “Who are you?!”

  Sara saw the sword.

  The scabbard was the color of red agate. Below the guard, nine circles were arranged in a pattern, painted in gold maki-e.

  Sara’s eyes widened.

  She could not believe it.

  There was no mistaking it.

  It was the last of the lost blades of Loki—the Sword of Sera.

  The taiji crest and the smoky bamboo scabbard.

  A thousand years later, it was still intact.

  Sara drew her bow, loosed an arrow at the emperor—but it was blocked by a guard’s shield.

  The guard was holding the reins with one hand and pressing the shield with the other; his horse’s gait faltered for an instant.

  The arrow pierced the shield and went through his arm.

  In that tiny gap, Sara fired a second arrow. The guard took it with his body and fell from his horse.

  The gap was instantly closed. The emperor’s party quickened their pace.

  “Sara, we should withdraw! Reinforcements are close!”

  Sara noticed the dust cloud from the west drawing near.

  She gritted her teeth.

  The thing she must reclaim was right in front of her.

  But if they were swallowed by the enemy reinforcements, even recovery would become impossible.

  “…We’re pulling back!”

  Sara wheeled her horse and returned to the battlefield.

  What a coincidence.

  Had Loki guided her?

  To think the sword would drift all the way to this distant western edge—!

  When Sara returned to Fidelius, Otto had already surrendered.

  His soldiers had laid down their weapons. Otto was surrounded by Fidelius’s men and had already been sent to the eastern army headquarters by mistake.

  “What happened?”

  Fidelius asked Sara in a stern tone.

  “I spotted the emperor at their headquarters and gave chase when he fled. Enemy reinforcements are approaching from the west.”

  Sara pointed westward. Fidelius looked in that direction.

  Indeed, dust was rising; he could confirm the presence of troops.

  “So Edmund was here as well…”

  Fidelius understood Sara’s actions.

  “Return to headquarters. We have captured the enemy commander. This is our victory.”

  Sara nodded and followed Fidelius.

  Thus, the first battle of the Tragia Imperial Civil War ended in victory for the eastern army.

  Edmund did not take over Otto’s command. Instead, he continued to the Vluarwe River, joined the supply train, and returned to the imperial capital.

  Edmund had hoped for Otto’s death, but once his older brothers were taken prisoner, a fate worse than death clearly awaited them.

  They believed they could use him as a puppet if they raised him up.

  Gazing eastward from the ship, Edmund laughed bitterly at how thoroughly he had been underestimated.

  Fidelius had defeated Otto’s army and obtained the man himself.

  He was one of the key figures who could lead them to the truth of the imperial succession.

  Each of them had achieved their respective goals.

  Fidelius urged the western army soldiers to surrender.

  As before, he collected their identification tags and withdrew to Bromberg.

  Schper Otto was brought back as a prisoner, chained in the castle dungeon, and thrown into an iron-barred cell.

  In the dark corridor, bound by chains, a gag forced into his mouth to prevent suicide.

  Shackles on both wrists and ankles, connected by short chains so that he could do nothing but lie on his side.

  Seeing such strict restraints, Otto realized they must have learned something.

  What should he do…?

  That was the problem.

  Internal investigations are unpleasant.

  Suspecting your own people, investigating their backgrounds, and rooting out accomplices.

  Kratos had obtained information through the Intelligence Bureau’s Internal Affairs investigators.

  They had collaborators inside the kingdom’s administrative offices.

  Most members of this department had been transferred from other agencies.

  They possessed rich practical experience, excellent processing ability, and required absolute loyalty—only those who met all criteria were selected.

  Officially, the department was not public; their title was simply “attached to the Staff Office.”

  They had particularly close ties with the Legal Department, and many came on secondment from there.

  Their collaborators were numerous within the administrative organs.

  Almost all were commoner-born members of mutual-aid societies.

  Within those circles, the Internal Affairs Investigation Division and the Intelligence Bureau’s Counter-Espionage Unit were objects of admiration.

  Though never spoken of openly, their existence was known.

  Therefore, cooperation was given without hesitation.

  The iron rule was never to ask about the content of the investigation; when asked, they provided information of the highest accuracy.

  One piece of information obtained this way concerned smuggling.

  According to the Finance Ministry’s Tax Collection Department, it was common for terra-cotta containers used to transport grain to “break” during transit and lose their contents.

  This occurred frequently on certain routes, and suspicions of smuggling had existed for some time.

  When they investigated the people behind it, the name that surfaced was Crepius Julius, the Finance Minister.

  Each terra-cotta vessel contained ten kan (approximately 37 kg) of grain. Claiming breakage, the contents vanished.

  Although they later collected the broken pieces, between fifty and seventy percent of the grain was missing.

  It was believed the missing grain was transported to specific locations, stored, and then smuggled.

  However, the method of sale remained unknown.

  Unexpectedly, information came from Denaro.

  It had been a hectic time just before the war. Kratos had sent a messenger to Aquinaes with a request: if he knew the smuggling sales route, would he please share it?

  Denaro had explained everything in detail.

  West of Elbinas lay a small fishing village called Atki.

  If you lit a fire on the beach at night and waited, a man would approach and speak.

  If he said, “Nice waves today,” you were to reply, “The wind is good today as well.”

  He would then hand you a token. The next day at the same time, drop anchor off Atki, light a signal fire at the bow, and a ship would come.

  There, the cargo would be transferred at sea.

  The price was fixed; you only needed to specify the quantity.

  “Have you ever done it yourself?”

  Aquinaes had asked out of curiosity.

  “That is not a merchant’s business,” Denaro had answered.

  Kratos laughed.

  “What kind of people are involved?”

  “Long ago, the nobles of Lidonia would borrow money from moneylenders, buy large quantities cheaply, sell high, and repay the debt. When prices stagnated and profits dried up, they began smuggling.”

  “Lidonia nobles, eh? It’s possible the practice spread to Tragia nobles as well.”

  “More than possible. They have frequent contact with the lord of Pricel through oil trade. It would not be strange for the information to have reached them.”

  “I see…”

  “Are you cracking down on smuggling?”

  “Yes… that’s right.”

  Aquinaes’s expression was grim.

  Aquinaes wrote down Denaro’s explanation in a letter and sent it to Kratos.

  About a week later, another message arrived from Kratos—this time a troublesome request.

  Aquinaes came to Denaro looking extremely troubled and hesitated to speak.

  Unable to watch any longer, Denaro offered a lifeline.

  “Is something wrong?”

  In a flustered tone, Aquinaes began.

  “It’s about the ship we are currently holding for you… Would it be possible to borrow it for a short while?”

  Remembering the earlier conversation about cracking down on smuggling, Denaro immediately understood.

  “You want to use it as bait?”

  Aquinaes’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “My criminal record will be erased, right?”

  “Unfortunately, that’s impossible. So…”

  This time it was Denaro’s turn to widen his eyes.

  This was not borrowing—it was effectively confiscation.

  “Well, listen… Suppose the ship is used as a warehouse, and several such vessels exist. They would be seized as evidence. You would not receive a criminal record; the mark would be on the ship used for smuggling. Such vessels would be barred from entering Elysian ports and docks. Therefore, in the form of a sale of seized goods, we would provide you with a different ship.”

  “An old wreck?”

  “I cannot say specifically, but…”

  Sensing Denaro would not be satisfied, Aquinaes sighed and continued.

  “Every one of them is a new vessel built within the last ten years.”

  “Then it’s fine. Please use it.”

  “Thank you. I am in your debt.”

  “Still, during wartime, your liaison can come and go so easily. Is Tragia’s border security that lax?”

  “That’s what diplomatic privilege is for.”

  With that, Aquinaes showed him a bronze plaque.

  “With this, entry and exit are completely free at the moment.”

  He said so and returned to his own tent.

  The rain had stopped; tomorrow would likely be hot.

  Helios sat on a terrace chair, resting his cheek on his hand, gazing at the scenery outside.

  Small fore-and-aft rigged cargo ships came and went along the Elbe River that crossed the city.

  There was much foot traffic; the city was full of vitality.

  It was the same landscape as always, yet seeing Tragia from afar made him keenly aware of how precious it was.

  Right now, in that city, citizens were fighting one another and taking lives.

  And it was none other than himself who had set it in motion.

  Diplomacy between nations was always chaotic—tripping one another up, outmaneuvering, deceiving, warring, and occasionally joining hands when interests aligned, but only for a moment.

  Sometimes it even affected one’s own family.

  He could only curse his own poor judgment of people, but he had to tell Lucius.

  At that moment, there was a knock at the door.

  “Father, it is I.”

  It was Lucius’s voice.

  Helios told him to enter.

  “Prince Lucius has arrived. You wished to speak with me?”

  Helios offered him the terrace chair.

  “What a fine view. Since childhood, I have always loved watching the ships come and go through the city. The view from here is the best.”

  Helios felt a sudden joy at how similar his son’s tastes were to his own and smiled without thinking.

  “I hear you’ve been spending all your time in the Staff Office lately. What brought this on?”

  “Clovis got the better of me. He always used to beat me with the sword, so I suppose this is his revenge. I got crushed in the war game, so I’m studying.”

  Helios was impressed that his son did not hold a grudge over losing to his younger brother and was instead working to overcome it.

  “You, studying? Hahaha, I am surprised. Is it going well?”

  “The staff officers say I’m still too early, but I’ll get my revenge soon enough.”

  “I see. Lately the two of you are always doing something together. It reminds me of when you were little, and that makes me happy.”

  “Does it? Clovis started practicing the sword, so I thought I should spar with him. He’s becoming quite a fine swordsman.”

  “Are you interested in nothing but the sword?”

  “Right now, the war games with the staff officers are fun too, but I’m not good with complicated matters. It’s probably important to absorb knowledge broadly like you, Father, but I want to devote myself to one thing.”

  Helios listened in amazement and understood that this son of his lived with straightforward honesty.

  “I see. Well understood. The reason I called you is about your engagement.”

  “Yes? What about it?”

  “It must be broken off.”

  “I see.”

  Helios was startled by the utterly calm response.

  “Does it not bother you?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “It was purely a political connection from the start. I had no particular interest in the other party, so hearing it is broken off actually feels refreshing.”

  “…Well… if that’s how you feel, then fine. But I will tell you the reason.”

  Helios explained the smuggling investigation.

  “If my father-in-law is a criminal, breaking the engagement is reasonable.”

  “But that is only the surface story.”

  “There is more?”

  Helios nodded.

  “There is suspicion of collusion with Tragia. Therefore, we will arrest them on the smuggling charge, use that as the reason to break the engagement, then conduct a thorough investigation and charge them with treason. That way, we can somehow avoid the stain of the former fiancée being the daughter of a traitor…”

  Lucius’s eyes changed.

  “I see… I was foolish for not seeing it. I will be more careful in the future.”

  “But this will stick to you like a thorn.”

  Lucius nodded quietly.

  “And… I may no longer be able to pass the throne to you…”

  Lucius suddenly looked relieved.

  “Ah, so that was it. You looked so reluctant to speak that I wondered what it could be.”

  His attitude was so nonchalant that Helios was astonished.

  “You have no interest?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  Helios leaned forward and asked.

  Lucius folded his arms, thought for a moment, then answered slowly.

  “If I had to say… I want to defeat Kratos.”

  “The Sword Saint…”

  “Yes…”

  Suddenly Lucius’s expression darkened.

  “What is it?”

  “I realized I am still no match for Kratos…”

  “Why? You haven’t even fought him yet.”

  “The other day in the Rond village, I crossed swords with Sara… and lost.”

  “What? That girl can use a sword too?”

  “Not only that—she has slain a bear…”

  “A bear?”

  “Yes…”

  After that, Lucius spoke at length about his training with Sara and the time he had spent in the Rond village.

  Helios thought it was only natural he had misjudged people. Watching his son speak so happily, he realized he had not understood even his own child.

  “…And so, Father. Are you listening?”

  “…Oh, what is it?”

  His son’s earnest face drew close.

  “I want to seclude myself in the mountains. May I?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Why not?!”

  “Why? You are the First Prince! What if something happens?!”

  “I’ll be fine. Clovis is here. I’ll go to the mountains and…”

  Looking at his son, so true to his own heart, Helios felt both tenderness and envy—and strangely, a sense of salvation.

  Thank you so much for reading! ??

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