Our forces shattered the enemy's spirit without an ounce of mercy.
Where the warhorses' hooves had trod, nothing remained but blood-soaked earth and screams.
"AAAARGH!"
"D-Don't fall back! If we retreat here, it's all over!"
The Sardinian army, despite being caught in a perfect ambush, fought back valiantly. But the hellish carnage was only just beginning. When the first wave of comrades completed their glorious charge, the soldiers of the second, third, and fourth waves surged forward with furious momentum.
— BLAAAAAART.
Horns blared from every direction.
The follow-up cavalry smashed into the very spot the first wave had just passed through.
It was unclear exactly when the enemy had begun to flee.
Perhaps they had held out through the second wave's charge. But by the time the third wave bore down on them, the enemy could no longer even rally together to resist. By the time the fourth wave hit, they were running for their lives with their tails between their legs. The outcome had already been decided.
"Don't run, you cowards!"
Then a thunderous voice rang out from the enemy lines.
"If we flee from here, who will protect our families and neighbors?! Defend Pavia! Protect the citizens! And prove that your pride is not that of cowards who abandon their comrades and run!"
Was it a middle-aged man? He bellowed with pure fury.
Only commanders used amplification magic on the battlefield. The magical artifacts were enormously expensive—so much so that no one other than a commander would dare dream of purchasing one. Besides, if everyone started screaming at the top of their lungs, the chain of command would collapse entirely.
In other words, the owner of that voice was the Count of Pavia himself. Or perhaps his adjutant.
"How brave."
"But foolish."
Laura scoffed at my praise.
"He allowed a night raid to succeed. In a situation like this, even if Lady Barbatos herself came, there'd be nothing she could do. Not only can a mere foot soldier's bravery not cope with this—but to openly reveal where the commander is stationed."
Laura gestured to me with her eyes. I nodded and issued another command.
"5th column, charge toward the enemy commander!"
The 5th column's cavalry, who had been standing by until now, surged forward on horseback. Excluding the light cavalry, they were practically the last fighting force we had left. Laura had stationed elite regiments in both the 1st and 5th columns. She had orchestrated this very scenario.
The Count of Pavia must have heard our orders as well.
"Stand and fight! Better to die with honor than live as cowards!"
He roared like a savage beast.
"Goddess Artemis will remember this night! Blood for the Goddess!"
"Blood for the Goddess!"
There were still a fair number of enemy soldiers near the Count of Pavia. They were likely knights from Pavia or Milan's order. Fewer than forty knights let out their war cries. The Count bellowed his orders, and the knights answered.
"Glory to our countrymen! Death to our enemies!"
"RAAARGH!"
"Long live His Majesty the King!"
The knights charged toward us in unison, shouting their cries for the king.
It was a truly magnificent charge. However, they were overwhelmingly outnumbered. Our 5th column consisted of a thousand-strong regiment. These were not lightly armed light cavalry. They were the most elite heavy cavalry—veterans who had rolled across the battlefield for decades.
A thousand heavy cavalry crashed into thirty knights.
"Long live His Majesty the King!"
"For the plains of Sardinia!"
Indeed, the knights were formidable. Despite the extreme disadvantage in charge distance compared to our forces, they slaughtered a hundred, then two hundred men in the blink of an eye. The idiom "one against a hundred" was no idle boast when it came to knights.
But that was as far as they got.
While they killed a hundred, we killed ten. While they killed another two hundred, we killed ten again. Before long, only about a dozen knights remained around the Count. The battalion's very standards had fallen to the ground.
"Magnificent. Beautiful…!"
I expressed my deep satisfaction.
I have one acquired condition: knight-phobia.
Ever since Henrietta schooled me on the Plains of Saint-Denis, I experience tremendous orgasm every time knights die gruesomely. I'm not lying. Honestly, it feels far better than the pleasure of finishing inside a woman.
I wish every last knight in the world would just die. No, I truly mean that.
"Hahaha. Worth every penny spent on hiring them. Kill more! Smash those pointlessly expensive-looking helmets to pieces! Let's crush the gauntlet and use them as dog food!"
"…Is that the only sentiment you can muster from witnessing that charge?"
Laura was horrified. She stared at me the way one would stare at garbage.
"Oh, of course it was a noble and valiant charge. So what! That's precisely what makes it all the more fitting to desecrate! When you see a blank white page, basic decency demands you cover it in pitch-black ink. Warriors of Helvetia, cut them down! Prove that knights are nothing but a flashy exterior!"
"Why on earth did this maiden come to love such a man…."
Laura sighed heavily, again and again.
While the two of us — the supreme commanders — performed our little comedy, the knight order was annihilated. The knights who resisted desperately until the very end had their warhorses toppled by javelins. And for those who still fought back, a gift of arrow rain was sent their way.
"Your Grace, we have captured the enemy commander alive! A great victory!"
Company commanders gathered one by one. Every single one of them had flushed red faces.
Numerical advantage aside, we had slaughtered five thousand cavalry, including a knight order. Meanwhile, our own casualties were minimal. A great victory — a perfect victory, in every sense of the word.
"I congratulate you on the victory, Your Grace the Duke!"
"Your Grace's strategy and valor rival those of the goddess Athena!"
Laura nodded her chin with dignity.
"You have fought well indeed. Which soldier captured the enemy commander?"
"It is Sergeant Gigella, belonging to my company."
"Sergeant Gigella, step forward."
A dwarf walked out. He had a sturdy build, but given that he was standing before the supreme commander, his movements were cautious. Otherwise, he might have been intimidated by the company commanders surrounding him.
"Sergeant Gigella!"
"Present, Your Grace!"
"You have shown us the valor of a Helvetian warrior. Following the name of the river flowing through this land, tonight shall be called the Battle of Ticinus. And the protagonist of the Battle of Ticinus is you, Sergeant Gigella! Your name will be passed down through history for all eternity!"
The dwarf sergeant could not hide the emotion welling up on his face.
"This office grants you five thousand lire as a modest reward."
"I—I—I am most humbled!"
The sergeant spoke as though his eyes might pop out from his head. No coherent answer came to mind, so the words tumbled out in a daze of sheer disbelief. Gasps erupted from those around him.
Five thousand gold!
For an ordinary mercenary, that was an amount it would take ten years of rolling in the mud to earn.
And a mercenary spent half his pay on food, then half of that half on maintaining weapons and armor. Short of thirty years of living with absolutely no luxuries and putting his life on the line every day, one might earn five thousand gold—or might not.
But what good was saving money to a mercenary who could die in tomorrow's battle? They typically poured every last coin into fine beer and bedding a half-decent whore. Five thousand gold was something he would never touch in his entire lifetime.
The duke's absurd generosity left not only the sergeant himself but also the company commanders completely at a loss for words.
"The officer in charge of Sergeant Gigella's company—is that you?"
"Y-yes, Your Grace. I am Captain Parmine."
As expected, the dwarf company commander replied timidly. He was the one who had introduced the sergeant moments ago.
"Hm. Captain Parmine shall also receive five thousand gold."
"......"
The captain hiccupped. The company commanders were silently aghast; she could feel it. Laura looked around and raised her voice.
"Listen! Here stands Captain Parmine, who could have stolen his subordinate's deeds and claimed them as his own report, yet chose not to. Captain Parmine has embodied with his own actions what it means to have the honor of a warrior, what it means to be a worthy superior. Bravo!"
Laura gave the stone-frozen Captain Parmine a pat on the shoulder.
"Out there, they brand you specters who chase money. They call you demons and butchers who kill for gold…."
"……."
"Truly, we kill people. Ah, we kill willingly. But we, too, have our pride. We do not steal our subordinates' deeds. We do not sell out our comrades. We do not flee before battle… That is our pride. And because of that, you are Helveticans!"
The soldiers raised their arms and cheered.
Helvetica was a nation founded by a mixed-blood race. It had always been met with contempt and disdain from the people of other countries. They had survived by being recognized as necessary mercenaries, but how could they ever forget the scorn they had endured all their lives?
Laura was shattering that head-on.
"Therefore, tonight's victory is not mine! It is certainly not the Empire's! It is yours — the victory of Helvetica! Tonight, the Goddesses have commanded us! The continent will remember Helvetica! The continent will fear Helvetica for all eternity!"
A roar erupted. "Long live Her Grace the Duchess!" "Long live Helvetica!" the soldiers cried without end.
However, I was marveling in a different sense entirely.
It was clean.
She had struck precisely at the victim mentality the Helveticans carried and the pride they held in their profession as mercenaries. At some point, Laura had begun saying "we." She had woven herself into the ranks of the mercenaries.
Human psychology is largely composed of a sense of victimhood, pride, and community identity. These are the most critical elements in constructing a person's identity. Laura had touched the very core of it.
A speech is the art of manipulating and inciting human psychology. In that regard, Laura more than passed with flying colors. Whoever she had learned from, the craft was impeccable. She must have had the most brilliant and dashing master in the world… .
While the soldiers were in a frenzy, Laura strode forward.
Before her stood the Count of Pavia, bound with rope. Arrows were embedded in his forearms and thighs — clear signs of fierce resistance.
"A common harlot, daring to resort to such petty tricks…!"
The Count of Pavia's face burned with fury. He was a middle-aged man. Every wrinkle on his face carried the imprint of a rigid upbringing.
Perhaps he was trying to show that while his body had been taken prisoner, his spirit remained unbroken. The Count of Pavia stood tall and let out a defiant shout.
"A true harlot who seduced the Emperor through the bedsheets! And to think that a whore who spread her legs for demonkind despite being born human is capable of anything! You filthy traitor, may heaven's wrath fall upon you, you wretched woman who stained human hands with human blood! Your father too, in his grave—"
But the Count could not continue.
Laura drew the sword from her waist and severed his neck in a single stroke. The blade grazed cleanly beneath his chin. The Count clutched his throat with both hands and toppled backward. He gurgled, making the wet, animal sounds of blood boiling in his airway.
Laura looked down at the Count, the corners of her lips curling upward.
"It is because I am human that I can hate humans."
The company commander, who had been standing nearby, produced an axe. He brought it down upon the Count's neck. After two, three strikes, the head was finally separated from the body. Laura seized the Count's hair and held the severed head high.
"Turn Sardinia into a sea of flames!"
The soldiers answered that night with their greatest roar.
June 5th, 1512, by continental reckoning.
In the first battle of the Second Chrysanthemum War — the Battle of Ticinus — six thousand cavalry led by Laura de Farnese routed five thousand cavalry of the Kingdom of Sardinia and claimed the head of their commanding officer, the Count of Pavia.
The war opened with a complete victory for the Imperial forces.