Three separate forces, each numbering around five hundred.
The earl, whose fief had been raided by the forces of Aria, Miranda, and Baldoa, had been forced to act. Unable to retreat before fifteen hundred enemies, he had moved his main force. Ultimately, however, the soldiers who had gathered now numbered only four thousand.
Not everyone had arrived. Some units were still out returning from their pillaging raids. Others had been heavily depleted by the actions of Aria's group.
Each side occupied a low hill for their command post, facing each other as an open battle was about to commence. But after my three forces linked up—and with a final force numbering nearly eight thousand—I stood before the enemy, lost in thought.
"Nearly double our numbers. A frontal assault would still cost us a bit too much."
Since I'd borrowed these soldiers, I'd prefer not to lose too many. I could sense the enemy army, a force larger than I'd imagined, was similarly hesitant.
If I closed my eyes, the Fifth Generation's—Dimension—would project a three-dimensional map of the battlefield directly into my mind, while the Sixth Generation's—Search—highlighted friend and foe. Simultaneously using both the Fifth and Sixth Generation's Skills really felt like cheating.
Still, even such powerful Skills were useless if not employed effectively.
While climbing to the top of Porter's roof to plan my next move, the Seventh Generation offered some advice.
"Lyle, take a closer look at the enemy's deployment. Gather more detailed information. I know you're trying to conserve magical power, but you need to understand their formation."
It had been a while since I'd been scolded.
"...You're right. Then, switch to Real Spec."
The Sixth Generation's third-stage Skill—Real Spec—provided me with even finer details about the enemy. As the sheer volume of information exploded into my head, Monica took the flood and processed it, presenting it back to me in a form I could more easily comprehend.
"Basically, they've positioned the fief-lord's troops on both flanks of their main force. They've concentrated their cavalry in the center."
The Third Generation called out movements from within the Jewel.
"Oh my, are they grouping up for a charge? Morale, discipline, equipment... we have the advantage, but perhaps it's a strategy to go straight for Lyle's head."
The fact that the enemy possessed almost none of our information was a relief. If we wanted, we could even lure their center into an encirclement and crush them.
Then, the Fifth Generation spoke in a serious tone.
"Lyle, pull Baldoa's unit to the center. Concentrate the cavalry on both flanks. Place Aria and Mireia on the flanks. Keep Novem and Maxim by your side to intercept any who break through."
I decided to issue the orders as the Fifth Generation instructed.
"Novem."
"Yes."
Novem, who was nearby, came up to me. I relayed the Fifth Generation's instructions, and Novem headed off to the messengers.
Watching her go, the Third Generation spoke up in an amused tone.
"Come to think of it, this is your first war on this scale, isn't it, Lyle?"
I had fought before with Zayin and Rolfis, but the Successive Heads didn't seem satisfied with that.
I gripped the Jewel, and the Third Generation laughed.
"Then watch closely. When your opponent has comparable strength, they'll naturally have formidable fighters of their own. And decent mages, too. ...It's going to get flashy."
Listening to the Third Generation's words, I turned my gaze forward.
— When the Baron mounted his horse, his elite retainers and their soldiers formed a tight ring around him.
The head of the Baron's house—a man who belonged to a martial lineage, for better or worse—was surveying the army arrayed before him.
"So we were caught short on intelligence. I never expected South Baim to have that many soldiers..."
Beside the Baron rode a dependable knight in his service. He too sat astride a horse, a battle axe gripped in his hand.
"My Lord Baron, we're at a numerical disadvantage. A breakthrough at the center also seems unlikely given how the enemy is moving. Wouldn't it have been permissible to withdraw from this battle?"
The Baron let out a derisive snort and fitted the mask of his helmet into place. He wore full-body armor, and even his horse was clad in metal barding—he was the very image of a heavy cavalryman. A greatsword hung from one arm, and he swung it up to rest on his shoulder with ease, as if it weighed nothing. Whether from natural strength or daily training, it was impressive.
"If I did that, the family name would be tarnished. ...If that were all, it might have been fine, but many of my sworn vassals have already been crushed. If I flee now, the resentment will linger even after I return to my domain. Who would follow an overlord they can't rely on? At worst, whole border territories plagued by skirmishes could defect to a neighboring lord."
If only his own honor were at stake, the Baron might have withdrawn. But the fallout from that tarnished honor—the cost to his reputation, and the spread of rumors that he hadn't even avenged his fallen vassals—would make governing his domain going forward exceedingly difficult.
"...I need a record of combat. Engage them once, deal them some wounds, and then extract ourselves. That would be the ideal outcome."
The Baron's lofty ambitions drew a response from the knight, who fitted his own mask into place.
"You're saying too much. How much damage will we suffer—"
The Baron spoke in a low voice.
"If we flee, the damage will be even greater. We break through the center, then regroup and withdraw! It's critical that I make a move. Understand."
"And one more thing."
"Yes?"
"Even though they've been driven out, they're still House Walt. They'll want to fight, won't they?"
The knight nodded silently, and the Baron raised his voice. He lifted his greatsword, and the soldiers around him answered with a loud cry that slowly spread throughout every corner of the Baron's army.
"Charge!"
With cavalry at the forefront and soldiers following behind, the two armies clashed. The Baron looked upon the enemy forces from within his helmet.
"So you're called Laiel? Now then, how will you fight?"
The surrounding knights raised their left hands, and Magic Shields materialized in the air. They were thin but prepared to cover a wide area, designed to block magic and arrows. The army charged beneath the canopy of light. It was the fundamental tactic of Banseim's assault.
A knight was watching the enemy's movements. Using Skills to observe the enemy, he called out to the Baron in a loud voice.
"It seems the enemy plans to hold their ground! Both flanks are moving to encircle us! But they're making wide movements and can't keep up with our pace!"
The Baron laughed inside his helmet.
"Too slow! Before they can, we'll break through their weakened center! The brat from House Walt... seems like a disappointment!"
And so, as the two armies drew closer, enemy units awaited them in the front.
"What's that? Golems?"
Iron constructs stood with massive shields. The enemy showed themselves through the gaps, and upon seeing their weapons, the Baron—
"Do you think we'd fear such toys?! Shields to the front!"
The knights set their shields and deployed Magic Shields in front. The soldiers ran behind them, but gradually fell further and further behind.
Seeing the enemy soldiers taking aim with their guns, the Baron had assumed they could block such attacks and pressed forward without fear even after hearing gunshots. However—
"Wh-what's happening?!"
The knights at the front were blown backward. Blood sprayed, horses fell and thrashed about. Perhaps they were startled by the gunfire, but their movements were far too unnatural for that alone.
The Baron's beloved steed leaped to avoid a fallen horse ahead, but a knight behind him was tripped by his mount and tumbled from his saddle.
"Lord Baron!"
A young knight who had surged ahead of the Baron was shot through the chest as a gunshot rang out. His iron armor was pierced clean through, and he was sent flying backward.
"Damn it! If we close the distance, we have a chance! Charge without hesitation! We attack too!"
There was no turning back now. The knights capable of using magic began unleashing spells at the enemies before them. Fireballs, lightning, and blades of wind assailed the foe. But the enemy was protected by a heavy-looking Golem that slammed a massive greatshield into the ground and splayed it open, with gun-wielding soldiers hiding behind it.
The spells struck the Golem directly, causing explosions, but even if the Golem's surface took damage, it didn't reach the enemy soldiers sheltering behind it.
The Baron took in that sight.
"…So you'd change the art of war, brat of House Walt!"
It wasn't an entirely unprecedented tactic. It wasn't as if there were zero mages capable of using Golems, and such methods had been considered. But numerous issues, both financial and personnel-related, had prevented its realization.
Both sides fired magic at each other, and shielded themselves against it; explosions echoed without pause from all around. The Baron turned his gaze to the knight beside him.
"Victory is no longer ours. But I will not be taken prisoner!"
At the Baron's words, the knight nodded.
"I ride with you."
Their horses then leaped over the Golem before them, carrying their masters into the heart of the enemy formation.
Behind them, more and more knights on horseback followed suit, vaulting over the Golem. Among them, some failed to clear it, colliding violently with the Golem or their horses crashing into it.
Then, near a particularly grotesque Golem, the Baron spotted the man who was likely the enemy commander. Judging from his armor and the knights surrounding him, the Baron drew his greatsword.
"This battle is my loss. But it will not end like this!"
At the very least, take someone down with you — that was what the Baron thought, but then he spotted a lightly armored man carrying a spear standing beside the man in white and blue armor. And as sand swirled around that man, it coalesced into the shape of armor.
"No way... That's Maxim Danhelm!!"
He was a knight famous throughout Banseim. The Baron had heard rumors that he'd gone missing, but he never imagined he'd be here.
The knight who served as the Baron's right hand charged toward Maxim. He swung at Maxim, who was clad in armor of sand, but when his axe bit in, he dropped the weapon and drew his sword to avoid being dragged from his horse.
"Your opponent is me!"
"Very well."
While the two clashed, the Baron made his way toward Laiel. He slowly drew the saber-like weapon at his waist and gestured with his hand for those around him to fall back.
(The same weapon as the current head. But in close combat, do you think I'd lose to the likes of you?!)
Either way, he was surrounded and would be captured eventually. For the Baron, whether or not he could take Laiel's head would make a world of difference to how he was remembered after death.
Still, there was something unsettling about how calm his opponent remained under these circumstances.
He swung his greatsword at Laiel, but it was deflected by a thin, slender blade.
"You've got a fine weapon! But it won't save you!"
The Baron released his reins and prepared a spell in his left hand. He wasn't particularly gifted with magic, but in war, there were no absolutes. So he had honed a single spell as his hidden trump card. Perhaps because of that, the Skills he'd manifested weren't of the enhancement type — rather, a magic-specialized, rear-guard set.
He aimed his left hand at Laiel, and a massive fireball erupted in front of his left arm — only for the entire arm to be sent spinning through the air along with it. When the severed arm hit the ground, flames burst out and scattered in every direction. The enemy mages nearby rushed to extinguish the fire, and the Baron looked at where his left arm had been.
His left arm was gone.
"...The armor is a Mana Tool too. And you cut through it?"
Dumbfounded, the Baron watched Laiel floating in the air with sword at the ready and let out a bitter laugh.
"So House Walt really is a nest of monsters!"
The Baron took Laiel's blow and crashed to the ground. Even as he lay there, he could see his own body still perched atop the horse, and then his consciousness faded to black—
Maxim ran his spear through the knight who had charged alongside the Baron, finishing him off.
A spear thrust through his chest — through his heart. Blood spewed from inside his helmet as he clutched the spear and died.
"I've… heard the name before. A support-type, with a skill that lets him survey the surrounding area. They called him the Baron's right hand."
Maxim assessed the fallen knight with those words, and I looked around. The knights who had broken through had all been cut down by those of us waiting for them.
The enemy soldiers couldn't break through the shield-bearing Golems, and with their commander lost, they were retreating in disarray — but Aria and the others had already surrounded them, leaving no escape.
The Baron's headless body tumbled from his horse.
I looked down at my katana — it was caked with blood. Novem had come close, clearly worried about me, but I kept staring at the Baron.
"Why… was he smiling?"
I muttered, unable to understand why he would smile at the moment of death. Novem grabbed my arm.
"The Baron was a knight, for better or worse. A warrior to the core, I'd imagine. Lord Laiel, if you dwell on this too much, it will shake the morale of those around you."
"…Right. You're right."
I couldn't wrap my head around the man. From within the Jewel, the Third Generation spoke, as if letting out a sigh.
"You might not understand, Laiel, but there are people like that. People who feel like they'll die if they're not fighting. People who just love the battlefield. They really do exist."
If you didn't have to fight, couldn't you just… not fight? Was that really so unacceptable? I used my Skills to scan the battlefield. I could confirm that enemy stragglers were fleeing the area.
"This is enough. With this, Banseim won't be able to ignore us. Make sure you relay the scale of this accurately."
The Fifth Generation spoke up to me, still unable to grasp my state of mind.
"Personally, there are some among them you could respect. But for some reason… there are people who crave battle. It's not that they love plunder or destruction — it's different from that. They just want to fight. They enjoy the fight itself. As for House Walt, I think the First Generation leaned strongly that way."
I didn't want to believe the First Generation was like that. But I could picture him charging toward even the strongest enemies with a smile on his face.
Mireia spoke to me.
"Laiel, remember this. There are people out there whose thinking you will never understand. And conversely, there are people who will never understand ours. You mustn't deny that. It's simply a fact."
I shook my head, then looked forward. But the Seventh Generation—
"To outsiders, I suppose we do seem quite combative, though. Well, at least I won't be laughing right up until the moment I die."