The Campaign

That night, almost everyone in Nastrand Castle could not sleep.

The families of Knights and Guards spent the night in tears, facing the sudden campaign with an uncertain return. Many others, too, prayed with piles of fir and pine needles to scatter before the glorious dawn march.

And at a large mansion not far from the main castle, the home of Knight Commander Morten, the lights burned all night.

“Roze…”

Holding his tearful daughter in his arms, Morten stared at the ceiling with a stern expression.

He wanted to erase the horrific words he’d just heard from his mind. But he knew his daughter Roze was one of the most honest people in the world.

She was a daughter without pretense, always speaking truthfully by just standards. Though she lacked charm as a child, she possessed intelligence and honesty far beyond her peers.

“I’m sorry. Your father should have gone down the moment I saw your tears.”

“No, Father. I’m really alright. I’m just glad to be back home.”

“How could they, how could they!!!”

He wanted to shout to the heavens, asking why the Nastrand Grand Cathedral even existed in this duchy. But Morten bit his lip until it bled, barely swallowing his words. Roze shook her head with sad eyes.

“Not everyone is bad, Father. It’s just a few very bad people who followed the wrong path.”

“An individual breaking faith is not a big issue, just a personal failing. But harming others with it—that’s the real problem.”

“You’re right.”

“And weren’t they the ones in the highest positions? I can’t even imagine the evils they’ve committed all this time.”

“Father…”

Morten recalled his childhood, when, just after shedding his squire status, he had poured boiling silver into the eye sockets of blinded priestesses and molten lead into their torn bellies to prove his faith.

Fifty years since this religion came to Nordenheim, and for thirty years, a dangerous coexistence persisted until everything changed in a single day of judgment.

And nearly twenty years ago, not long after becoming the youngest Knight Commander in the duchy’s history, he recalled that night when he set out to capture the last priestess. The scar still on his forehead. The ‘warrior’ who resisted until the end, and the beautiful woman—strikingly resembling Lyset—who collapsed in sobs.

The majesty of the Lord he had defended and upheld, tainted by the dark greed of those who led it, left Morten dizzy with disillusionment.

“Promise me you’ll never return to being a holy sister, Roze.”

“Yes. I want to keep my faith alone and live quietly.”

“Good… I won’t ask you to abandon your faith. And don’t tell your mother about this. I made vague excuses about your return.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“They’ve been locked in the underground prison where you were held. After the campaign, their fate and punishment will be decided based on the Papal See’s response.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve come home safely. Your mother never left your room untouched for a single day. She always cleaned and replaced the flowers on your desk before they wilted.”

“Sob, sob…”

“I must go now for the dawn campaign. Rest well, Roze.”

“Father.”

“Hm?”

“Please come back safely. I’ll pray for you.”

“…Thank you.”

The dawn bell tolled.

The arena was already noisy with the clanging of armor and the neighing of warhorses. The shouts and whistles of troop leaders checking their units pierced the air.

Amid the blazing torches, Morten and Fynel, clad in armor, divided the troops into two and aligned them.

Soon, the rear gate to the inner castle opened, and Christoph appeared on a white horse, clad in splendid armor and a cape, followed by Unsette and Gestrun of the House Wigrid.

As the 2,200-strong force of Knights and Guards cheered fiercely, Christoph stood at the front, raising his hand and clenching his fist tightly.

At that moment, a window high in the castle opened cautiously.

Lyset poked her head out to look down at the arena below.

“Lord Christoph!”

Christoph was addressing the troops at the front.

Soon, priests moved among the troops, sprinkling salt and fir needles. Due to yesterday’s uproar, no priests would accompany the march, but prayers and blessings before the campaign were briefly conducted by Thomas.

As the campaign ceremony concluded, the arena’s main gate slowly opened.

With the duchy’s flag, family banners, knight banners, and guard banners raised, the vanguard began to march out in rows and columns.

At that moment, Christoph looked up and met Lyset’s gaze as she looked down at him.

“Lyset!!!”

At his loud cry, Morten, Fynel, and the soldiers and knights yet to march out turned in surprise, looking at Christoph and the small window his gaze was fixed on.

Her face flushed, Lyset, flustered, picked up an edelweiss flower from the vase by her window and dropped it below.

Christoph spurred his horse, caught the gently falling flower before it hit the ground, and tucked it into his helmet’s visor. Then, raising one arm with a clenched fist, he smiled at Lyset.

“Lord Christoph…”

After everyone had marched out, Christoph was the last to leave the arena. Their gazes remained locked until his figure vanished from Lyset’s sight.

“Glory to the Duchy of Nastrand!”

“Lord, aid the Duchy of Nastrand! Protect this army!”

“May you achieve great victories wherever you go! Long live the Duchy of Nastrand, long live Duke Christoph!!!”

As the army marched in step through the streets, those already awake came out, throwing fir and pine needles before them, praying for victory.

Some cheered and clapped, others knelt in prayer. Parents who had sent their sons to the Knights or Guards searched for their faces among the stern soldiers, tears in their eyes.

Upon reaching the outer castle’s main gate, soldiers of House Wigrid opened the massive gate. Amid their cheers and the clanging of swords and shields, Gunnar, the commander of the remaining guards in the castle, blew the horn of departure long and loud from the ramparts.

Buuung~~~~~ Buuung~~~~~!!!

In time with the horn, the grand cathedral’s bell began to ring.

As the radiant sun rose, the vanguard finally began to pass through the gate.

Morten, riding in the middle of the procession, turned his horse and approached Christoph at the rear.

“How do you feel?”

“Honestly, I’m nervous and excited. It feels great.”

“We’ll soon reach Windir Hill, the crossroads splitting toward the Grandelvald Duchy, Bjoern, and Fjorland Duchy. We’ve kept our true target hidden until now, so it seems we should reveal it at Windir Hill.”

“Good. Align the entire force at Windir Hill.”

Morten nodded in understanding and rode forward again.

Upon reaching Windir Hill, Fynel, informed by Morten, began aligning the troops from the front, gathering the entire force.

Christoph stepped forward before the halted troops.

“Valiant Knights and Guards of the Duchy of Nastrand! The time has come to reveal our goal! As you all know, the Cathedral’s treason and foul collusion with the Grandelvald Duchy shocked us greatly!”

Everyone watched Christoph in silence.

“But this was anticipated by the military leadership, thoroughly investigated, and crushed. Now I reveal that, because of this, we have completely reshaped our strategy and kept it strictly secret. We will halt the planned invasion of the Grandelvald Duchy and march from here toward the Fjorland Duchy!”

“…!!!”

Cries close to screams and gasps erupted here and there. Not only the soldiers but their families had firmly believed the target was Grandelvald. They couldn’t help but be rattled by the sudden change in objective.

Moreover, the Fjorland Duchy had the strongest military among the four duchies of Nordenheim. In the past, it had fought several skirmishes and one full-scale war with the Nastrand Duchy, which, outnumbered, lost and forfeited significant territory.

And when one spoke of the Fjorland Duchy, everyone trembled at the thought of their formidable force, the Fjorland Heavy Armored Knights. Selected from the largest of men, these knights wore armor half again as thick as others and wielded swords and spears twice as long—a truly invincible group. The might of those 400 heavy knights was beyond imagination.

Their lancer corps, equal in number, was equally renowned.

Composed of the duchy’s best riders, the lightly armored lancer corps was a terrifying force, capable of appearing anywhere, anytime in fierce battle to shatter the enemy’s rear.

“I understand your fear! I understand the confusion from this change in target! But trust the military leadership! In the region we’re advancing toward, there are only a few guards. Most of the Fjorland army is in the south, fighting the Norege tribe! Will such an opportunity come again?”

“Oooooh!!!”

Everyone’s eyes gleamed with astonishment.

“Trust in our swords, spears, axes, and bows. The exhausted foe has no strength to stop the Duchy of Nastrand’s army, blessed by divine favor. Never forget that the lands stolen from our ancestors, where our heroes sleep, lie plentiful in the Duchy of Fjorland!”

“Waaaaaa!!!”

“Let us seize the Fjorland Duchy’s stronghold in one swift strike, expanding the Nastrand Duchy’s territory and dominion! To forge the mightiest duchy in Nordenheim, your courage and resolve are needed now!”

“Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”

“Sing of the glory we will claim! All that grows in that land belongs to the Duchy of Nastrand, and to you!”

“Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”

No further explanation was needed. The hearts of all who had left the castle walls and begun the campaign were pounding with excitement.

Amid the thunderous cheers, Christoph drew his sword from his waist and pointed to the right path, toward Bjoern and the Duchy of Fjorland.