"Victory against the Duke of Milano, but defeat at the hands of the Grand Duke of Florence."
That was the strategy Laura put forth.
We treated the Duke of Milano and the Grand Duke of Florence in completely opposite ways.
The two great nobles were embroiled in internal strife. But they wouldn't be foolish enough to split apart entirely while an enemy army sat right before them. It would never do to bank on the enemy's incompetence from the start. We needed to craft careful schemes to drive the wedge between them deeper.
First, the Duke of Milano.
The old noble had been gingerly dispatching small detachments beyond the city walls. His intention was likely to keep us in check while the Grand Duke of Florence marched northward.
We ground those detachments into dust.
Every time a detachment of one hundred twenty-five or three hundred sallied forth, we crushed them without mercy. We slaughtered the enemy's detachments like rats.
After this unfortunate pattern repeated about five times, the Duke of Milano had had enough. He bolted the city gates and refused to stir an inch. He must have feared that the cavalry who had somehow survived the Battle of Ticinus would all die at this rate.
A poor showing, Your Grace.
Losing cavalry early on must have stung. You should never have attached cavalry to the Count of Pavia as reinforcements. You would have been better off handing over five thousand militia.
Of course, the militia would have been annihilated. No matter. They were expendable pieces to be sacrificed from the start.
Five thousand militia wiped out? No consequence. In exchange, the elite troops would have remained intact, fully capable of defending the city.
The situation would have been far better than it actually was. Five thousand cavalry mixed with knights, deployed as raiding parties — they wouldn't have been trampled like insects the way they were now. Employing guerrilla tactics of striking and withdrawing, they could have harassed us to no end...
And that's not all.
The Duke of Milano would have been seen as having surrendered even his militia to rescue a neighboring city. Criticism of the Duke would have been comparatively muted. If anything, blame would have fallen on the Count of Pavia, who had rashly sortied and sent his citizens to their deaths.
Militarily and politically alike, the position would have been more favorable. Things would have been considerably easier... In the end, our Imperial forces would have found themselves in a far more difficult situation.
But the Duke sent elite cavalry instead of militia. There was no way to call it anything but a blunder.
He could never have imagined that five thousand cavalry would be routed in a single ambush. In other words, he had failed to account for just how brilliant a general Laura was.
Did you think defeating Bretagne was mere luck? After all, she's nothing more than a twenty-one-year-old girl. Did you look down on her that much... How foolish. While it is rare in history for someone in their teens to achieve remarkable military feats, such people do exist. Laura de Farnese would undoubtedly raise a warning stele in the annals of history bearing the name "exception."
From now on, the continent would be divided between those who recognized this and those who did not. The Duke of Milan — unfortunately, you belong to the latter category. The name Ludovico Sforza would be passed down through the ages as a cautionary example.
The Duke now had no means to keep us in check. In terms of mobility, he couldn't even compete. The one controlling the Novara-Milan-Pavia region was not the kingdom's forces — it was our Imperial army.
In this era, holding absolute superiority in mobility meant having the advantage in information warfare.
We spread scout units in every direction like a spider spinning its web. The scouts gathered intelligence without the slightest interference. Thanks to this, we obtained precise information on when, where, and in what direction the Grand Duke of Florence's army was moving.
The Grand Duke of Florence was advancing northward with unstoppable momentum.
It wasn't simply a matter of speed. The Grand Duke had secured ports as supply bases before making his move. He conscripted militia and deployed them as naval forces, making them escort supply convoys. Combat operations were entrusted to mercenaries, while the logistics side was assigned entirely to militia who were familiar with the sea.
Laura admired the swift and clean execution.
"He moves quickly but without rushing, and his operational logic is sound. I heard the Grand Duke of Florence belongs to a cadet branch of the House of Medici. Now I understand the reason he rose to become the head of the house after defeating formidable rivals..."
There was no excess to him. If one were to describe the Grand Duke of Florence in a single phrase, that would be it.
Moreover, the Grand Duke hadn't focused only on supplies and troop movement. Just as we had deployed scouts, he had also sent out forward units in force before long. The two sides' scouting forces soon began an intense battle of wits.
"This has become troublesome. His temperament suggests someone stubborn yet cautious. I was hoping that a twenty-six-year-old grand duke might be a bit more impatient, but we've ended up with the complete opposite."
"Well now. Sardinia certainly has no shortage of capable nobles."
I shot Laura a glance. Since Laura was also from Sardinia, I tossed out the joke in good fun.
Understanding my meaning, Laura gave a bitter smile.
"Well, that's what happens when you've fought a civil war for nearly thirty years. Only the most capable could survive..."
Indeed. Even when the Black Death swept across the continent, the Sardinian region had remarkably few casualties — despite the fact that the plague had first broken out in Sardinia itself. The competence of the ruling class was proven in precisely that respect.
In other words, it also meant the House of Farnese had been less capable than those very nobles. They failed to recognize their own daughter's talent and, after losing in the civil war, fell into complete ruin. A brief silence settled over the room. Laura stared down at the map with an expressionless face. Was she thinking about her parents...
I pretended not to notice the mood and spoke in a cheerful tone.
"So, what shall we do? This is a battle of wits. There's no need to waste our cavalry forces unnecessarily. Personally, I would recommend recalling our scout units at this point."
"That's precisely why it won't work, My Lord."
Laura had already forgotten her poker face and was giggling. I scrunched up my face on purpose because I was happy about it. Of course, it was an act. But when both parties know it's an act and proceed anyway, it's no longer just an act.
"I'd say I offered a perfectly reasonable suggestion."
"Oh-ho, don't be sore. What if I accidentally start thinking that My Lord might actually be cute?"
"I am cute."
With that, I walked up to Laura and nibbled on her earlobe. She let out a "Kyaaah!" in a voice that sounded rather delighted for someone who was supposedly disgusted. People could be delighted while being disgusted, after all.
"This is a crowd! Honestly, always getting horny at the drop of a hat!"
"If you'd just admit I'm the most adorable man in the world, I think my mating season would be over."
"What, some absurd nonsense about a Vampire smearing garlic in their eyes… Kyaaah!? Fine, fine, My Lord! You're the most fresh and adorable man in the world! Just please don't drool on me!"
"And also the most handsome man in the world."
"Does My Lord not have a single shred of conscience left……!?"
The two of us squealed and shrieked together for quite a while.
After a pleasant stretch of time, the war council resumed. Right — we were holding a war council. Out of every hour, about thirty minutes always felt more or less like what had just happened, but a war council it was nonetheless.
I sat cross-legged in my chair and spoke imperiously.
"Well then, Laura. I shall bestow upon you the honor of getting an explanation from the most handsome man in the world. Go on — put that feeble little brain of yours to work and explain it thoroughly."
"…An overwhelming urge to just let us lose the war like this is surging up inside me, but I'll hold back since I'm more mature than My Lord."
"Haha. You're too kind."
"That wasn't a compliment, you idiot My Lord!"
Laura looked like she was about to pop a vein on her forehead.
"Good grief. Either way, we absolutely cannot recall our cavalry forces."
"What is the reason?"
"It would give the impression that we're trying to preserve our cavalry. They'd interpret it as us trying to conserve as many troops as possible for the decisive battle. Then the Grand Duke of Florence would push to cooperate with the Duke of Milan even at great cost."
So we shouldn't look like we're conserving troops. Is that what she meant?
But it was a problem. We were actually hoping for a decisive battle, a massive engagement.
Not that we needed any reminding — they already held a numerical advantage over us. Every single soldier was precious to us. Since we'd already scouted the enemy's forces and the terrain, squandering our strength on reconnaissance skirmishes would only make things harder down the line.
"You mustn't fall under that misconception, my Lord."
Laura cut in as though she could see straight through my head.
"Even if we lost five hundred, even a thousand of our cavalry — if it meant completely severing the Grand Duke of Florence from the Duke of Milan, it would be as good as free. Conversely, if the two of them join forces, five hundred cavalry won't be worth a damn."
"…You're right. Five hundred isn't really a problem."
I nodded in agreement.
"Then what do you suggest?"
"Keep sending out reconnaissance units. More than we are now."
Laura offered the answer as though it were the simplest thing in the world.
"But their purpose isn't reconnaissance. Their goal is to persistently harass the Grand Duke of Florence as he marches. Or rather — their goal is to make it look like they're persistently harassing him."
"Hmm."
I rested my chin on my hand.
"To disrupt his march, we'd need cavalry forces of at least a thousand."
"Did I not say? There's no need to actually disrupt his march. Merely making a show of it is enough."
Laura grinned.
"Send out reconnaissance units in groups of a hundred, continuously."
So that's how they'd easily defeat the enemy's advance guard... Ah. I see. So that's what you mean.
I realized mid-sentence. I understood what Laura was thinking.
Still, I pointed out, worry creeping in.
"I understand the basic premise — give the Grand Duke of Florence a victory to inflate his ego. But will the Grand Duke really grow overconfident over something as minor as routing a scouting detachment? As you yourself said, the Grand Duke is cautious and dogged."
"It's fine."
Laura declared with absolute confidence.
"I have a plan."
When someone speaks with that kind of certainty, there's no need to try to stop them.
Laura's battle plan was set into motion exactly as she'd laid it out.
While the Duke of Milan barricaded himself ever more defensively in his own city, the Grand Duke of Florence racked up victory after victory.
"Our reconnaissance squad was routed at Parma!"
"The company watching Cremona has retreated!"
"Your Grace, the Kingdom's army has seized Piacenza!"
The scouting forces, spread out in every direction to exploit their superior mobility, fell back one after another.
June 25th, Year 1512 of the Continental Calendar.
The Grand Duke of Florence had finally arrived on their doorstep.
By rough count, they numbered over thirty thousand. I'd thought they were wasting quite a bit of time mustering their forces, but they'd come marching in with a massive army after all.
The thirty-thousand-strong royal army had set up camp on a hill — a hill called Piacenza, a place name that left me with nothing more than the wistful observation that humans really do slap names on every last bit of terrain in this world. Hardly worth committing the precious storage capacity of my skull to remember.
Anyway. Piacenza. And the location here is exquisite.
To the west, they can threaten Pavia, which has become our stronghold. To the north, they can coordinate with Milan. They're pinning us down while linking up with their own allies.
If we attack Milan, we'd expose our backs to the Grand Duke of Florence, and if we attack Piacenza, we'd expose our backs to the Duke of Milan. I suppose you could call it two men eyeing a single woman, each waiting for the other to slip up. The Sardinians really were degenerate. I found myself involuntarily admiring them.
The problem was that one of the two men was a shriveled old cock with nothing left to give. The Duke of Milan, that fossil, was under the delusion that if he just waited long enough, the woman would come crawling to him on her own.
When a wealthy old miser starts indulging in his own fantasies, there's no end to it. A pathetic sight. Time is not on your side, Your Grace. I was genuinely looking forward to the day he'd finally realize that truth.
At this point, Laura issued a new order.
"Reduce Pavia to ashes!"
The city of Pavia, which had until now remained remarkably intact, was subjected to indiscriminate destruction.
Citizens wept and wailed, prostrating themselves and begging for mercy. This was the city their parents, their grandparents, had built with their own hands. But Laura, with an iron will, held firm to her command.
Some citizens, declaring they could not go on living like this, attempted to flee.
Under the ironclad watch, they risked their lives to escape. In total, around two hundred citizens were killed. However, roughly ten managed to make their getaway. The escapees fled eastward, toward Piacenza.
This was no coincidence.
The west gate, south gate, and north gate had all been thoroughly sealed off in advance. Only the east gate had been deliberately left with a skeleton crew of guards. That only those among the prisoners who attempted to flee eastward succeeded was something that had been meticulously planned.
"Shall I send the cavalry to pursue them? Do you have any further orders, Grand Commander?"
Laura smiled.
Her command, consisting of exactly three words, was truly a phrase destined to echo through the annals of history.
"Casually, lazily, and roughly."