67 — 7 (7)

Louis narrowed his eyes. On one side, an information window hovered—military intel. The most important thing was the map. The map showed clusters of dots. This fed Louis data in real time. Merely by using the tool, he enjoyed the effect of always having at least a mid-level strategist at his side. In war, the role of staff officers was immense. Unfortunately, Louis had no brilliant talent he could trust with staff duties. Hansen was the closest fit, but even he fell short of Louis’s standards, so Louis left him to vacant-city administration and supply. In any case, with the military info window, Louis judged better than most advisors would. The dots on the display looked like swarming ants. Yet each one represented a living person. It wasn’t exactly a standoff—Louis’s army was slowly applying pressure.

Yes. Louis was on the move to devour Pierre. Like worker bees, scouts kept ferrying him reports. The window did not reveal every inch of a sector. It did not show each scout’s personal view; only aggregated, organized units shared vision to Louis’s window. When the vague portions of the enemy layout had been sketched in, Louis let out a faint laugh.

‘All according to plan.’

Haon—whom he had dispatched not long ago to act as a reverse agent—had promptly betrayed Louis the moment he arrived. Louis could tell just by the disposition. But he had already accounted for Haon’s betrayal. If Pierre had been a bit sharper, he might have reversed the reversal and stung Louis back, but Louis did not rate his second brother that highly.

Pierre was overly conservative in handling armies, whatever his domestic governance. Of the three, only Fred had real combat seasoning from several large battles with the barbarians. For both Louis and Pierre, moving forces on this scale was a first.

The recent downpour had spent the sky; now there was nothing left to fall. The weather turned brutally clear. The once-mired ground had firmed. Louis rose from where he sat. Every nearby soldier swallowed. The bloodletting to come was a wager paid with lives. For the soldiers, trusting Louis was all they could do.

Boromir currently commanded the heavy cavalry. Kaiser—originally slotted there—was left out for a reason. Kaiser could not stop once he saw blood. The heavy cavalry’s job now was not to charge with soul and steel, but to wriggle like bait on a hook—to play the fish. Kalbang would have been ideal for such work, but he lacked horsemanship; of the cards Louis held, Boromir was best suited.

‘Let’s begin.’

Louis sent the heavy cavalry out. On the right-side high ground, where he’d dug in hard, Boromir received the signal. The two sides were not facing each other with every contour laid bare. Only Louis had a rough picture gleaned from a handful of scouts and the info window. Pierre, judging that an attack would come “sometime,” had spread his troops wide over positions that had to be held. He had reason to stretch the line: if this front buckled, the iron mine would be threatened at once.

The heavy cavalry, in full equipment, slid forward with Boromir at their point. From the slope they would build speed and smack the supply—more precisely, they would feint.

Thud-thud-thud.

Hoofbeats split the dry air and filled the plain. As the charge began, Boromir worried—would it go as planned? The vanguard of the cavalry made contact.

Pierre’s head throbbed at the sudden report. Why had they arrived so quickly? Louis’s pace of advance was bizarre. The Louis he knew had never run his army so headlong.

‘Met Fred and now he’s taking after him?’

Muttering nonsense, Pierre began to move his ready reserves at once. Louis had come in faster than expected, but the thrust had been anticipated—thanks to Haon, the limping man waiting at Pierre’s side.

Haon had spilled everything—heavy cavalry included. Pierre was stunned that Louis fielded heavy horse. Even Duke Remitri had failed at that, and Pierre knew Fred had floundered for years trying to build the arm. Still, there was a counter. Heavy cavalry were strong, but pikemen in heavy armor could overmatch them. He had already placed his pikemen with care; if he reacted quickly, he could snare the heavy horse.

Boromir skewered the skull of the frontmost infantryman. The lance tip not only snuffed the soldier like a toy—it flicked him forward. In an instant, the heavy cavalry’s shock turned the surroundings into a sea of blood. A few men yanked swords from their belts, but none avoided becoming bowling pins. Nearby troops went pale at the reaper-like press of the heavy horse. Some gave up resisting and dropped to their knees in prayer. Whump! One man praying was flattened under a warhorse and turned to jerky. At that sight, no one else prayed. Without a word or backward glance, they fled. It looked like wolves crashing into a flock of sheep. No need to be so tense, Boromir thought—he was waiting for Louis’s signal. The simple communicator Jerome had produced relayed orders instantly, so all Boromir needed was strict obedience.

From a distance, Pierre watched, increasingly anxious. Move, move—faster. Despite his preparations, the heavy cavalry ravaged deep, fast. The screams of gore reached even here. He pushed the pikes forward and triggered the set piece: an ambush to fold the heavy cavalry up and devour them.

Louis watched the same scene.

“Not yet.”

He murmured, easing his archers forward. Timing mattered. Even with the window, he could not help but feel nerves. Cold sweat slid down. If the advancing archers were spotted, the plan would fail.

‘It’s all in the timing.’

Then several dots marking heavy horse winked out. Pierre’s prepositioned archers and heavy pike infantry revealed themselves.

‘Now.’

An alert buzzed madly at Boromir’s waist—the pull-out signal. The instant it came, Boromir shouted:

“Retreat!”

Arrows poured from the sky like rain. Heavily armored troops appeared from both flanks.

‘Time to smash through the thorns!’

This was when the strongest among them had to lead. Thup-thup—the alerts still chirped as arrows drummed on armor in rough harmony. Boromir urged his mount on. A normal heavy cavalry would have bled men here, but Louis’s riders—thanks to stirrups—showed unbelievable agility. The Commander of a Thousand who realized this was no ordinary cavalry cursed—but at that moment Boromir’s lance punched into his face.

Crunch!!

The skull split with a crack; the commander sailed into the air. His gripped pike grazed Boromir’s helm; it rattled badly, but Boromir clamped down in the stirrups. Hyah!

“The captain’s down!!!!”

The body hanging in the air drew every eye. Morale cratered; several pikemen, seized by primal fear, opened lanes left and right—starting the unraveling.

“Close the gap, damn you!!”

Too late. A small seam became a gaping breach.

Thud-thud-thud-thud.

Boromir’s heavy cavalry shattered the pikeline’s front and completed a clean U-turn.

Watching the heavy horse slip out like water from a brook, Pierre groaned. They were too solid—far beyond his expectations for raw penetrating power.

‘What sorcery have you worked, Louis!’

Even so, Pierre’s design remained sound. With the ambush heavy cavalry locking a square ahead and pursuit biting from behind, the vaunted enemy horse could be erased from the field.

“Damn it! Pursue them, now!!!”

Pierre—who almost never swore—shouted, feeling the crisis bite.

Louis, seeing his heavy horse break through on the display, nodded.

‘Well done, Boromir.’

He’d worried, not using Kaiser—but Boromir’s escape exceeded expectations. Now for the next beat… he had to push all archers at full speed.

Kalbang, handling the archers, received the signal. The archers, who had been creeping to avoid notice, broke into a run. No more need for subtlety; the roar of their movement was immense.

With the escape route open, Boromir glanced back. Pikemen swarmed after them like wasps.

“We’ve stirred them right! Everyone—faster!!”

Click-click—the pikes wove into a thorn-hedge, a square to meet the horse head-on. The commanding officer, aware of the spy, was certain of victory. His lips curled; this was a golden chance for glory, a springboard to promotion. Then a droning hum from behind struck him as odd.

‘That should be coming from the front.’

As if to mock his shake of the head, a soldier shouted:

“A large enemy force is coming up behind us!!”

“W-what?”

He looked back.

“Y-you’ve got to be kidding…”

The archers were already in position. His face went past pale to chalk white. At the same time, a heavy rumble of hooves. He dropped to his knees. He needed to give an order—but panic swallowed him.

Fweee.

A single arrow arced and dinged off a helmeted head—the tip snapped and fell. That was only the start. A storm broke; arrows lashed down in madness.

“Gyaaaah!!!”

Pandemonium. The officer who should command was frozen. Some looked to flee, but with enemies front and back, only the flanks remained. As masses bled out sideways, the heavy cavalry charged up the slope.

Grinning with satisfaction, Boromir shouted:

“Lance charge!!”

A few might escape, but only a few. In the center, with the square broken, the heavy cavalry hit home. Boom!

The leading riders smashed the shabby square and sent flesh flying. Louis immediately ordered the archers to reload and the regular infantry to charge.

Of course, Louis was among the men charging.