—Bread led Central's elite forces along a dangerous mountain path that bypassed Redant Fortress, sending local guides and hired mercenaries ahead to scout the route.
The column of soldiers snaked along the narrow trail for what seemed like eternity, and marching such a vast army along a path rarely used was an incredibly precarious undertaking.
The mercenaries' guildmaster and the local guides crowded beneath Bread's tent—the man had set up camp to rest while searching for a spot where the troops could actually stop—demanding that they retreat and rejoin the main force.
"Going any further is impossible. A few hundred, maybe we could manage, but we're talking about an army exceeding ten thousand. I went ahead to scout it out, and there are plenty of dangerous spots. I don't believe this many people can get through."
The mercenaries' guildmaster—an organization that had essentially assembled a band of adventurers—stood before Bread, who scowled with undisguised contempt.
(Trash. You should be grateful I'm even letting you serve.)
Bread had once been bossed around by Lyle, and the fact that Lyle had ultimately reaped the glory for their efforts had left him harboring a deep sense of rivalry. That was also why he despised adventurers. Before meeting Lyle, he had always looked down on them.
But now, Lyle had become someone he genuinely hated. Even so, Bread still employed mercenaries and adventurers because he believed he had the capacity to accomplish what Lyle did—or even surpass it.
The local guide was a mountain hunter. He worked with a small group and had experience moving through the terrain with only a handful of people.
"Sir Knight, moving with this many people is impossible. We already have wounded, and there are too many narrow sections of the path. I can't guarantee we'll reach the fortress in time."
Bread sat on a chair inside his tent, listening to both of them speak, then replied:
"I'm fully aware of the risks. But isn't it precisely by overcoming them that we carve our names into history? If we break through and circle behind the fortress, we can drastically reduce the damage to Banseim."
On the surface, his reasoning sounded perfectly reasonable, but deep down, the memory of hunting the Griffon alongside Lyle resurfaced. He had believed he was capable of more. Yet Lyle had left him shelved as nothing more than a reserve force.
Originally, he was a man from a superior earl's household—a disgraced incompetent. And yet, it was Lyle who had shone on the battlefield, while Bread had been elevated by having Lyle's achievements handed to him.
—He refused to accept that reality. More than any order from Ceres, Bread harbored toward Lyle what could only be called a bitter, twisted resentment.
The mercenaries' guildmaster pressed on against Bread:
"It's impossible to go any further! If we turn back now, we can still make it in time—if we regroup with the main army, we'll arrive before the siege is over! If we're not careful, the fortress campaign will end before we've even crossed these mountains!"
At those words, Bread's eyebrows twitched. Trying not to let the other man see his irritation, he nodded several times.
"Very well. Then we'll divide the army into several groups. We'll send five thousand ahead as an advance force. That way, we'll arrive ahead of schedule."
The hunter guiding them still looked displeased. The mercenary captain felt the same way, but since Bread held the final authority, they were complying without objection.
Watching the two of them, Bread thought to himself.
(Incompetent fools. Why can't they understand the importance of my strategy? If this strategy succeeds, I'll gain the upper hand among those commanding an army of three hundred thousand. Then Ceres will be pleased, and I'll become a man who surpasses Rael.)
Bread, consumed by his rivalry with Rael—who had repelled a larger Monster army through an ingenious stratagem—couldn't see what was happening around him.
—Meanwhile.
The Redant Fortress direction saw over two hundred thousand troops marching along a narrow path. The terrain had never favored numerical superiority, and furthermore, the battle was taking place on ground that favored the enemy.
From the fortress, cannons belched fire, and magic and arrows rained down like a deluge on Banseim's army.
However, Broa, commanding the front lines, watched Redant Fortress's attacks with his chin resting in his hand.
"I find it hard to believe they repelled a Monster army with this level of defense. As expected, the presence or absence of a competent commander makes all the difference. If there had been a commander who understood the basics, they would have inflicted far more casualties, I'd say."
Laughing, Broa ducked behind an oversized shield he'd had prepared. His fully armed deputy looked at him with exasperation.
"General, stop laughing and let's break through already. We've already mapped out all the trap locations and decided on our advance route. All we have to do is clear the path for the forces behind us, and our role is done."
The unit under Broa's command had been assigned the role of advancing ahead to clear traps. Through mercenary groups sent from Baim, they had paid top coin for intelligence. And even now, they were sending personnel inside the fortress to gather internal information.
Broa removed his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. Feeling it improper to leave it off for long, he quickly put it back on.
"Well, since they're putting on such a grand scattered welcome like this, I was thinking we might as well aim to exhaust the enemy for the sake of the forces behind us. Still, cannons are genuinely troublesome, aren't they?"
Magic Shields could reduce the momentum of incoming projectiles, but since the iron cannonballs landed on a gently sloping path, they would keep rolling and take out soldiers along the way.
"Hmm, what if we dig holes at the impact points? That way, the cannonballs would gather there when they roll."
As Broa immediately came up with countermeasures, a magical projectile struck directly into the defensive barrier of lined-up large shields. Dust billowed up, and Broa inhaled it, breaking into a cough.
The deputy gave instructions to the subordinates around them, and they decided to begin work at nightfall.
"Now then, before the main force tells us to get to work, let's push forward with some quiet efficiency. We'll avoid the areas where traps are deployed and advance carefully. And along the cliff side, there are also preparations for rockslides, so we'd best not get close until the separate unit clears those traps."
Banseim's Broa unit inched forward, clearing traps one after another to prepare a path for the main forces following behind.
The deputy looked up toward the top of the fortress.
"...But it's really quite terrible. If they grouped together more, or fired without cease, I think we'd be in trouble."
Some of the arrows they loosed were even set ablaze by their own magic. They were attacking blindly—it didn't seem like they'd received any proper training. In fact, when Broa saw what the deputy was looking at—
"Oh my, they're arguing up on the fortress. Still, the fact that they can afford to fire magic and arrows so inefficiently—when you consider they have the numbers in manpower and expendable supplies to do so... Baim really is a threat."
The deputy looked at Broa and smiled slightly.
"Would you like to reconsider your assessment? You did say they were more frightening in peacetime, didn't you?"
Broa shook his head at those words.
"Sorry, but I don't intend to change my assessment. Look, it seems like the trap removal is finished. Let's advance."
He gave orders to his subordinates, and Broa once again advanced in his characteristically understated manner—
South Baim.
By the time Banseim's forces arrived at Ledant Fortress, I was compiling gathered intelligence together with Monica.
The place we'd made into our workroom had a sofa. Sitting on it, sipping tea, was Rauno, who had just returned from Ledant Fortress.
"Ah, I'd have preferred sake..."
Monica replied with a smile.
"I thought as much, so I snuck a little bit of alcohol into the tea. However, since we're working right now, please try to stay focused."
Rauno leaned back against the sofa, shrugged his shoulders, then set his cup down and leaned forward. His gaze turned serious.
"I've got a summary of the intel here, so just give it a read. But that Ledant Fortress I stopped at on the way—it fell faster than I imagined. Mercenaries have already infiltrated the interior. The one who did it was Broa Cadel. That general who tidied up the neighborhood, you know."
As I looked through Rauno's documents, I nodded several times.
"A former Central general who wasn't charmed by Ceres? I heard he volunteered for his current post?"
Monica also looked through the documents, sharing with me anything she found interesting from the contents.
They're gathering the forces not just from Central, but from other places as well. Interesting that they're pulling from places with no connection to Ceres."
Rauno nodded along.
"If we're going to recruit anyone, General Broa is the target. His reputation in Central isn't great, but looking at his track record, he's no idiot. Him fleeing Ceres and transferring east makes sense. That said, the elite Central units he was sent with are out of the question. Those squads are made up entirely of people charmed by Ceres. Recruiting them would be impossible."
There was also a selection process going on for other personnel thought to be charmed by Ceres. General Broa was the safe pick — he didn't appear to be acting on Ceres's behalf.
Even if he were pretending otherwise, there were too many inconsistencies. Monica, flipping through the documents, said:
"The key figures are all charmed. Out of the soldiers, the thirty thousand in the elite units are charmed, and as for the rest — the lords, generals, knight order captains... Chicken, there's an overwhelming shortage of commanders."
As numbers increase, the lack of people to manage them becomes the problem. Borrowing outsiders to fill those roles is problematic too. If you pull them away, problems arise at the place they left.
Inside the Jewel, the Fifth Generation listened to Monica's opinion and muttered:
"Even if you gather a bunch of numbers, they're useless unless you have people to lead the units and train them. There are plenty of people who can manage a small squad, but fewer who can handle the next level. And the level above that... people capable of commanding a thousand are even rarer."
With Baldoa joining, they'd gained at least some personnel who could handle command. But adding just one person wasn't going to cut it.
"Wouldn't it be best to recruit General Broa's entire unit as a package deal?"
Rauno agreed with that assessment.
"That's right. That would be the optimal approach. With that general, his subordinates are already in place — he could probably lead up to fifty thousand, couldn't he?"
Rauno was saying this casually, but in truth, Broa should have both the ability and the subordinate structure to move a force of that scale. After all, when he'd entered that chaotic neighboring country, he'd been commanding tens of thousands of soldiers.
I tried to recall the faces of my companions.
"Novem is magic-specialized. She could lead troops in battle, but I'd rather keep her in the rear if possible. Clara is definitely rear-line. Shannon is out of the question. Eva could handle a small group, but... could I have her lead fellow elves? May would be impossible..."
The number of people who could lead a force of any significant scale was quite limited.
"It'd have to be Aria and Miranda. Maxim said he'd only ever commanded a few hundred, but at this point, let's ask him to lead a few thousand."
Monica gave me some advice.
"If you attach the Valkyries as adjutants, they should be able to handle leading a decent-sized force. Well, those useless lot did get a bit more useful after their version-up upgrade. Though really, the only one who needs to be by Chicken's side is this Monica."
I ignored the latter half of Monica's jesting remark.
Then, Rauno had the last word with me.
"Also, I went and checked out the place you told me about. Sure, that's where you'd want to fight... but there are already forces pushing in, and the war's only just started. I think it's still too early to be thinking that far ahead."
I looked at Rauno.
"Probably. But it's already begun. The end point is when either Ceres or I die — that's when this chapter closes."
The battle with Ceres had already begun.
— Inside the Jewel.
The Fifth Generation, having yielded his chair to Mireia and now seated at the round table, turned his gaze toward Mireia.
"Hey, how long am I going to keep from passing my Skills to Laiel? I think I should just hand them over already, don't you?"
As the battle between Laiel and Banseim was getting underway, the Fifth Generation had been contemplating handing his Skills over to Laiel. However, Mireia had stopped him, saying there was something he hadn't been told before.
But —
"...Huh?"
Mireia was staring at the Fifth Generation's face, looking as though she'd been caught off guard. Then she averted her gaze, breaking into a cold sweat.
"Hey... hey!"
The Fifth Generation stepped down from the round table, approached Mireia, and gripped both her shoulders. Mireia's mouth was the only part of her that was smiling.
"N-No, Father... Didn't I already tell you that I've lifted the restriction?"
The Third and Seventh Generations watched this exchange between father and daughter. And they were directing sympathetic looks toward the Fifth Generation.
The Third Generation, for instance —
"I wonder about that. It feels like the timing is way off. If the Fifth Generation had passed on his Skills sooner, things would've gone a lot more smoothly."
There was no rule that farewells had to look cool. But clearly, until now, each of them had their own dramatic moment, and they'd all parted ways with Laiel in a clean, fitting manner.
The Seventh Generation too.
"How cruel. Auntie is being cruel. Well, she's always been cruel, though."
Whether Mireia understood or not, today she didn't resort to shooting the Seventh Generation. The Seventh Generation looked just a little forlorn over that.
However, the Fifth Generation pulled his hands away from Mireia's shoulders.
"You— you should've said something sooner. Sure, it feels like a little late, but I'd be able to fulfill my purpose. In that case, I'll have Laiel inherit the Skills when it's convenient for him."
The Fifth Generation tried to act like it didn't bother him, but it clearly did. Mireia, watching him, broke into a cold sweat.
"...I-I'll figure something out! This is Father's important farewell, so I, Mireia, will orchestrate something truly moving!"
Just then, the Third Generation muttered.
"That kind of thing tends to be counterproductive — it ends up feeling forced and artificial. Wouldn't it just be a bother to both Laiel and the Fifth Generation?"
The Fifth Generation, perhaps imagining how badly it could go wrong, pressed his left hand to his face.
"...Mireia, that's enough. This is just the right level for me. Please, just leave me alone."
At that, Mireia — ganged up on by the three men — shot to her feet.
"I can't stay quiet after being told all that! If that's how it is, then we'll throw a grand party!"
The Fifth Generation, panicking, grabbed Mireia's shoulders again.
"That's enough already! Please, just stop! It's going to get even worse!"
Inside the Jewel, an entirely separate problem was unfolding — one that had nothing to do with war.