May 30th, Year 1513 of the Continental Calendar.
This day marked exactly the first anniversary of the Chrysanthemum War. On May 30th of last year, Laura had led the Helvetica mercenaries to invade the Kingdom of Sardinia. The Helvetica mercenaries had since become legend. The date's numbers merely happened to align, yet plenty of soldiers sought some grand meaning in it.
"The Goddess of War protects our Acting Commander."
"Summer is a blessed season for us. Defeat is impossible."
Superstition, in other words.
But superstitions of this kind could profoundly affect the troops' morale—that much was undeniable.
I seized the opportunity and ordered the artisans to embroider words onto the banner. Glory to the Goddess Athena. To the mercenaries, Laura de Farnese had already come to be regarded as something close to the goddess's reincarnation. The motto was short and effective.
"Goddess Athena! Bless us!"
"Oh, behold the goddess's radiant form. How divine!"
…No, perhaps it had worked a bit too well.
Whenever Laura rode past on her black warhorse, the surrounding soldiers would fall to their knees one after another, weeping with awe or raising prayers as though truly beholding the goddess. It was quite a spectacle. Laura acknowledged the soldiers' cheers with a composed nod.
"Lady Athena, look this way!"
"Just grant me your favor once, I beg you!"
The adulation bordered on fanaticism.
The problem was that every last one of these fanatics was a battle-hardened mercenary who had rolled through enough hellholes to last a lifetime. When men and women ugly enough to send the average street thug fleeing in terror screamed "Lady Goddess!" at the top of their lungs, the scene was nothing short of surreal.
Laura, too, had reached her breaking point over this. While she kept her composure in public, the moment they were alone inside the tent, she did not hold back her fury.
"What goddess?! I'm a human, not a deity! I let it slide, figuring the hype would die down on its own, but now they're getting louder every day!"
"It's a miracle cure for boosting troop morale, isn't it?"
"Aren't you embarrassed?!"
Laura's face flushed red as she snapped back.
Adorable. In all my years, I had come to realize that Laura was at her most adorable when she blushed over something trivial.
"Think of it this way: in the eyes of our soldiers, our Laura really is as beautiful as a goddess. She fights wars brilliantly, takes care of her troops, and on top of all that she's gorgeous. If that isn't a goddess, what is?"
"……."
From that day onward, Laura never complained about the goddess worship again. On the contrary, whenever a cheer erupted, she would graciously tip her head in acknowledgment. Laura, who carried herself with boundless pride in her own looks, was endearing too.
Judging by the atmosphere, it was obvious: our army's morale was at its peak.
To reach the Habsburg Republic's capital from our current position, the army had to overcome one obstacle: the Alps. Just as we had broken through the mountain range during the Chrysanthemum War, this time too we would have to charge through.
The high passes that never easily permitted the passage of a large army. The most rugged mountain range on the continent, long regarded as a sacred mountain where gods once dwelled…
Laura summoned her commanders and uttered a single question.
"How many days will it take?"
"A week, Your Grace."
It was the moment the Alps were reduced to terrain no different from flatland.
This was precisely why Laura and I had handpicked only the Helvetica mercenaries from the Demon Lord's army. For the Helvetica people, the Alps were home. No one could match them when it came to traversing highland terrain.
Moreover, this time we were not even attempting the steepest section. Compared to the route we had forced open during the Chrysanthemum War, the path was practically gentle. Of course, even this would have been unthinkable for an ordinary army.
"One week is too long. Wrap it up in six days."
"This'll be quite the lively outing!"
The commanders roared with bravado.
At the end of the day, they were the kind who would sooner die than concede an inch of pride.
Here I added one more stratagem to the mix. As is widely known, Helvetica was a confederation formed by a coalition of multiple tribes, and among them, the dwarven tribes and the elven tribes absolutely despised each other. They shared the same home yet regarded one another as mortal enemies. Perhaps "rivalry" was the word for it.
"We'll split the elven units from the dwarven units and march them separately."
I decided to exploit that rivalry.
We merely explained that, while dividing the units, we had separated them along racial lines—playing innocent. Left to their own devices, they would inevitably compete with each other anyway.
At the start of the march through the mountain range, everyone behaved. They maintained a steady forced march, resting when rest was called for and picking up the pace when needed, conducting themselves like proper professionals. The problem arose whenever the elven units happened to pass the dwarven units.
"Hmph."
A tiny snort.
As if to say, "We can overtake slowpokes like you anytime—we've just been politely matching your pace." The elves edged past the dwarves with the faintest smirk. No words were exchanged, but a scoff had always been the most naked of gestures.
"Those little brats…!"
"They just sneered at us, didn't they?"
There was no way the dwarves failed to notice.
Half a day into the march, the pride battle between the two races had begun. For one stretch, the dwarven units pulled slightly ahead. Naturally, as the dwarves swept past the elven units, they twisted their faces into grotesque grimaces and—
"Huh."
—flung their mockery right back.
The elves stared blankly at the dwarves for a long moment. Then, slowly, their expressions began to rot. In other words, they had completely lost it.
"Those dirt-caked, hole-dwelling, bearded runts!"
"You want a piece of us? Is that what you're saying?!"
And so a dizzying tug-of-war of overtaking and being overtaken erupted into a full-blown contest.
There was no rest to speak of. Commanders harried their adjutants, senior soldiers berated the junior ranks. The lower-ranking troops, rather than directing their suffering upward, projected it onto their rivals—the elven units. A beautifully vertical hierarchy, right there in its purest form.
The Helvetica mercenaries had originally been organized into squads by neighborhood. Both seniors and juniors hailed from the same hometown. When the big brother from your village told you to get moving, you followed orders—period. Besides, putting one over on that insufferable rival race was of paramount importance!
"Pale-faced, lanky freaks!"
"Short-legs who can do nothing but wallow in the mud!"
"Hypocrites!"
"Perverts!"
Back and forth it went.
From a third party's perspective, it was unspeakably childish. But like all petty feuds, to the participants it was deadly serious. Had Laura and I been normal commanders, we would have been obligated to put a stop to this meaningless competition.
But neither Laura nor I was exactly within the range of normalcy.
"Lady Saint. I humbly request your aid."
The blessings of Jacqueline Longwy possessed the power to restore vigor to soldiers. Quite some time ago, I had once suffered a defeat in battle because Saint Longwy had bestowed her blessing upon the forces of Bretagne. This time, it was my turn to use it.
With an expression of utter misery on her face, Saint Longwy bestowed her blessings upon the soldiers.
"……Strength shall be proven by me alone. Let all living things flourish once more."
Once more on the second day.
"Today, we willingly embrace the single freedom granted to us—the freedom to face death up close. For that is the only immortality available to any mortal……."
And again on the third day.
Soldiers who had been on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion suddenly found renewed courage and pressed onward with fresh resolve. As if Laura being mistaken for the reincarnation of the Goddess Athena were not enough, the coincidence of having the actual Athena-named saint, Longwy, bestowing her blessings on top of that elevated the soldiers' superstition into collective zealotry.
"The goddess has commanded us to crush those wretched elves!"
"Forward, friends! My kinsmen from back home! To crush the noses of those dwarven brats is the mission bestowed upon us!"
The faith had detonated in a slightly peculiar direction.
Not that I knew anything about it. When had I ever said Laura was the real goddess? They were deluding themselves, and I saw no reason to go out of my way to correct their delusion.
However, for some reason, Saint Jacqueline Longwy appeared to have sustained severe psychological damage.
"The goddess granted her divine power to little old me, and this is how it's used…! On something as petty as a pride contest, not even a sacred battlefield…! Oh, Goddess Athena! Please do not forgive your wretched, witless servant! I'm sorry! I'm truly sorry…!"
Every time the saint bestowed her blessings upon the soldiers, she collapsed face-first to the ground and wept uncontrollably.
I couldn't quite understand. Were all religious people like this? Seeing her on her knees in despair, her pristine white vestments soaking up mud, stirred a small pang of sympathy. I approached the saint and patted her shoulder.
"There, there, Saint Longwy. I don't know why you're so upset, but look over there."
I pointed a finger toward the formations. The saint followed my fingertip and turned her head. There stood the dwarves, fresh from receiving their blessing, championing the Goddess Athena—though their eyes blazed with undiluted hatred for the elves.
"Today we finally crush those lanky freaks!"
"Goddess Athena, thank you! On the honor of the Bear Claw Tribe, let us grind them into dust!"
I offered the saint a gentle smile.
"See? Faith in the Goddess Athena is skyrocketing. As a saint, is this not a deeply rewarding mission?"
"……."
"They will surely remain devoted followers of the Goddess Athena for the rest of their lives. Longwy, you have fulfilled the duty given to the goddess's apostle more splendidly than anyone else. The goddess must be looking upon you with great satisfaction. You have every right to be proud."
At that, Saint Longwy completely broke down and wailed.
"Ever since I got entangled with you, my life has never once gone right! Goddess! Oh, Goddess!"
"Wh-what's the matter? Tell me. I'll try my best to fix it!"
"I hate everything about you!"
Saint Longwy started hurling rocks at me.
Her aim was so terrible that not a single one hit, but I had to flee regardless. For the record, I had been riding a wyvern borrowed from Gamigin throughout the army's march, so once I soared high into the sky, Saint Longwy had no way of catching me.
"Get back here! You bastard! You've ruined my life like this and you're running?! Take responsibility! I said take responsibility!"
Saint Longwy continued to pelt me with rocks for no reason whatsoever.
No matter how you looked at it, she looked nothing like a saint. She was a berserker. A hysterical old maid who had let her youth slip away and now threw daily tantrums. How sad, really… humans, when pushed far enough mentally, could fall that low.
Regardless of Saint Longwy's frenzy, our army pressed forward like a tempest.
On the fourth day after entering the Alps.
We had broken through the mountain range at a breathtaking pace. Despite the forced march, the soldiers showed virtually no sign of distress. The combination of Laura's leadership, my stratagems, and Saint Longwy's support had made this historic forced march a reality.
Before us, in the distance, stood the city of Salzburg. A key stronghold guarding the southern frontier of the Habsburg Republic. In other words, once it fell, the republic's capital would be within arm's reach.
Laura slowly lowered her baton.
"Wipe Salzburg off the map."
And the war began.