The battlefield dominated by magic started off surprisingly understated for its appearance.
Both sides were exchanging flashy magical attacks, but House Walt's camp was steadily closing the distance while fending them off.
With violent explosions and smoke so thick it looked like it was creating an overcast sky. Neither side expected this magical exchange to decide the outcome.
But they figured if it could settle things, or at least cause the enemy to falter, that would be a bonus. The Skill my father Maisel possessed was Anti-Skill — it prevented others from using Skills. But it was also a double-edged sword.
It even stopped allies from using their Skills. However, the flip side of that was —
"Pretty understated start for something so flashy."
That was Monica — who would likely see limited action this time — speaking from the watchtower. I watched House Walt closing the distance on the battlefield.
"I'd be troubled if they attacked us with flashy force right away, but still. Once our Skills are sealed, this is pretty much what you'd expect, right? Well, I'm sure that's the impression they're trying to give us too — that we can't use our Skills."
Monica then relayed the enemy's formation to me.
"…Report. The enemy has cavalry in the vanguard. Infantry are positioned on both flanks, and archers as well."
Hearing this, I spoke to a nearby messenger.
"You heard that. Move the cavalry to the flanks."
"Yes, sir!"
Watching the messenger run off, I murmured to myself.
"…Well then, I suppose I'll count on Clara to do her best."
—In the rear, Clara had received her orders and was using Porters to move soldiers around.
By entrusting large-scale Porters to talented magic users, she was able to move forces all at once.
However, there weren't that many large-scale Porters to go around. Even when rearranging units to match the enemy's formation, they could only respond to a certain extent.
Still, being able to move large numbers of soldiers in one go was one of Lyle's camp's key advantages. While House Walt's camp used outdated Porters, Lyle's side had the developer himself — along with Damian, South Baim, and other skilled craftsmen all present.
Receiving orders from the messenger, Clara climbed aboard one of the large-scale Porters to operate it.
"Commencing cavalry unit movement. We'll move them swiftly. Please have them in position before the enemy arrives."
As several large-scale Porters began to move, their cargo bays opened. Knights leading their horses filed in one after another.
"Load lances and equipment into the other Porters."
Clara wasn't great at giving orders, but she had no choice but to issue them. After all, nobody could operate a Porter better than she could. Throughout her years as an adventurer, Clara had specialized in Porter operation.
When she thought about how she could be of use, the answer was crystal clear.
(I really need to thank Lianne. It's only because my request was approved that I'm able to handle this job properly... When I think about it, Adele really is hopeless.)
As she thought about Adele, who never got along well with horses, Clara confirmed that the surrounding preparations were complete and set off.
——The right flank.
While the enemy was positioning for a charge, Lyle's camp—which had adopted a strategy of focusing on defense—had taken up a formation that spread wide to envelop them.
Normally, Lyle's camp would have had the numerical advantage and could have fought favorably with this formation... or so it should have been. However, Aria, stationed on the right flank, muttered inside her helmet as she watched the enemy draw closer.
"No Skills... this is rough."
Aria sat atop her horse with a lance shouldered, leading the cavalry unit. Surrounding them were barricades, set up to prevent easy breakthroughs.
Similarly leading a unit was Gracia, with Galleria's soldiers under her command. These two formed the core of the right flank.
Gracia, clad in black armor, removed the faceguard of her helmet and spoke to Aria.
"Sorry, but I can't go all out with magic. My back-line Skills seem to be suppressed too."
Gracia possessed Skills specialized in magic—back-line Skills. She could manipulate fire freely, making her a formidable force. As an ally, she was invaluable, but even her Skills had been sealed.
"Still, being able to fight normally is more than welcome. More importantly, are you sure about handing command of the right flank to me? Given the hierarchy—"
"—You were the one best suited for the position. That's all there is to it. As long as my soldiers don't get ground to dust, I'm fine serving under your command. Besides, you know the troop numbers and this army's ways better than I do."
Watching the composed Gracia, Aria thought.
"I'm grateful for that."
She said as much, at least.
(Why can't she just stay composed normally? She gets all flustered in front of Laiel and does something weird... Sigh, whatever, let it go for now.)
Aria wished she would display this same composure even outside the battlefield.
—The left flank.
Miranda, who had been given several thousand troops, was attacking the enemy's flank on the orders of Maxim, who commanded the main left-wing force.
House Walt's army had been reinforced by contingents from other houses, but that didn't mean every unit was elite. To exploit the enemy's weak points, she had led her unit on a flanking maneuver—but.
"They're putting up more of a fight than I expected."
From horseback, dagger in hand, Miranda deflected an enemy knight's charging lance with the blade in her left hand, sending it off course. In the same fluid motion, she drove the dagger in her right hand into the gap in the knight's armor—right at the neck.
The knight tumbled from his horse, thrashing, while the mount galloped off on its own.
Glancing around, she saw her allies stymied by the enemy's resistance. The surprise attack had also failed, and Miranda wanted to regroup her stalled units and pull back—but the enemy wouldn't allow it.
That was when a large-bodied knight dismounted and began swinging a halberd wildly.
"You rebel scum! Curse the misfortune that brought you before the great Casrade!"
He laughed raucously as he whirled the halberd. The allies nearby had already been cut down by those sweeping strikes. His imposing frame clearly wasn't just for show.
"The enemy's raid captain, perhaps? I'm not fond of this type."
Miranda urged her horse forward while pulling a crossbow from a pouch attached to her saddle, the weapon still unfamiliar in her grip, and squeezed the trigger.
She had aimed for the head, but Casrade raised his left hand toward the incoming bolt and deployed a Magic Shield. The bolt pierced through the shield, but its momentum was sapped and it ricocheted off his armor.
"This class of enemy just mills around everywhere, doesn't he?"
Assessing an opponent who wasn't relying on brute force alone, Miranda tucked the crossbow away and picked up an unfamiliar short spear.
Casrade roared.
"That armor stands out. And those slender features — you're a woman! Curse the misfortune that brought you to this battlefield!"
Casrade had his halberd drawn wide, poised to split Miranda and her horse in two with a single downward slash. But inside her helmet, Miranda was laughing.
"You're the type who enjoys cursing misfortune, aren't you? Well, the one doing the cursing looks like it'll be you."
Sure enough, Casrade's halberd was kicked aside by May, who appeared from the flank. From Miranda's perspective, May had burst in from the side out of nowhere and sent the halberd flying for real.
Casrade lost his grip on the halberd, his posture crumbling.
Seizing the opening, Miranda activated the mechanism on her short spear — a trick weapon — and the spearhead shot forward, burying itself deep in Casrade's abdomen.
As May touched down on the ground nearby, Marina was already sending enemy soldiers flying with her fists.
"That was close, wasn't it?"
Miranda responded to May's words by raising a short sword in her right hand.
"It was. So I'll need your help going forward too."
But May, who didn't seem to be in peak condition either, shook her head.
"Give me a break. Everything's buzzing around me and I can't put any real force behind anything. More importantly, the enemy's in disarray — why not pull back?"
All around them, the enemy soldiers were thrown into confusion because Casrade had been killed. Miranda had noticed their wavering too.
"Retreat! Fall in behind me!"
When Miranda gave the order to withdraw, the allied forces pulled away from the enemy. However, in her heart, Miranda thought:
I'd have liked to whittle them down a bit more, but pushing any further is impossible.
As they pulled back, she remained keenly aware that opponents other than House Walt couldn't be taken lightly either —.
The flanks had engaged first because, unlike House Walt's army, our forces had the center positioned behind the flanks.
From the watchtower, Monica's voice rang out over the battlefield as she shouted at the top of her lungs.
"The flanks have begun combat. The enemy is being held back effectively."
From this distance, he couldn't make out the details, but it seemed like things were going well enough. Still—
"The central vanguard has also made contact with the enemy. The flashy magical exchanges have stopped, but... we're being pushed back."
The central army had clashed with the enemy's elite and was being driven back.
Laiel watched his allies.
"I knew this would happen, but it's a one-sided defense. I just hope morale doesn't collapse before anything else."
Before the first barricade he'd set up was easily destroyed and breached, he'd already ordered a retreat and told his forces to hold their positions. From a vantage point, he'd signaled that this was the main camp, and now he watched his allies being pushed back.
"It's about time."
Just then, the line of communication with Monica was restored.
Monica shouted at him at the top of her lungs.
"They're coming!"
Immediately after, a bell rang out from the enemy position, echoing across the battlefield. What his father Maisel excelled at wasn't just sealing Skills.
"Even knowing it's coming, there's no way to block it. Right now, all I can do is have them endure."
Bitter as it felt, he could only focus on ordering them to hold the line. There was nothing else he could do.
A section of the enemy force suddenly surged in breakthrough power and smashed through yet another barricade. They immediately engaged Laiel's forces in combat. That breakthrough power was clearly the result of some kind of Skill.
What Laiel recalled was his conversation with the Seventh Generation.
"Father's most powerful tactic? You're saying it's not just about sealing Skills?"
"That's right."
The conversation with the Seventh Generation had taken place in the memory room inside the Jewel—in the inner courtyard of House Walt's estate.
There, Maisel was standing with his wife, Claire, the two of them smiling as they talked.
Claire, Laiel's mother, was rubbing her grown belly.
'Maisel's specialty is the tactic of charging into an enemy the moment their Skills are sealed and they've fallen into disarray. But being able to render Skills unusable means—'
Understanding the Seventh Generation's words, Laiel picked up where he left off.
"Conversely, if we could make them usable again and send that signal only to our allies—would that work? The enemy would be able to use Skills too, though."
The Seventh Generation and Laiel's gazes drifted toward the two who were beaming with joy. Amid that, their mismatched conversation continued.
'Well, as far as the enemy is concerned, they believe their Skills have been sealed. Even if they can use them again, it's only temporarily—and even if they recover from the confusion, they'll be thrown right back into disarray. The first encounter tends to go overwhelmingly in our favor.'
In other words, Maisel's forces could exploit the enemy's opening and use Skills. The enemy could use them too, but the moment they realized it, their Skills would be shut down again—so there was no problem. Even if they knew beforehand, panic was inevitable.
The Seventh Generation watched Maisel—young, with a sharp edge to him—looking so pleased, and a trace of sadness crossed his expression.
Laiel noticed his profile and lowered his gaze.
'Maisel may have been right not to choose guns. In an environment where Skills can be toggled on and off like that, commands would become even more complex. If you converted guns into Mana Tools and deployed them, there's a chance they could interfere with Maisel's Skills and misfire. We might have ended up destroying expensive guns left and right.'
The Seventh Generation smiled bitterly, though it seemed less like advice and more like he was talking to himself. Laiel raised his head.
"Once the enemy uses their Skills, is it possible to force our side to use theirs at that same moment?"
'I wouldn't say it's impossible, but it would cause confusion. If that's the case, you'd be better off organizing units that simply don't use Skills at all. You could inform a portion of them, but... if they coordinated their actions around that, Maisel would naturally develop countermeasures.'
Laiel let out a sigh.
"It's troublesome."
'But it's not all trouble. After all, even if they use Skills to gain breakthrough power, only a select few among the entire force are granted that ability. Right after using Skills, it was common for that breakthrough power to backfire and leave them isolated. Maisel was very concerned about that.'
Listening to the Seventh Generation's advice, Laiel found himself wondering whether, over the span of more than ten years, Maisel had managed to address those very issues—
On the battlefield, there were units that ran wild upon temporarily regaining the use of their Skills.
Seeing their allies on the defensive growing demoralized, some broke formation and acted on their own initiative. Most of them were young knights, no doubt driven by a thirst for glory.
Then, when some units gained breakthrough power from their Skills, the rest either waited for them to catch up or began to retreat.
"...So countermeasures were in place, but they weren't airtight. Father must have his hands full with those headstrong young knights too."
Everything going smoothly on a battlefield was impossible. That applied not only to us, but to the enemy as well. And once again, the line between Monica and me was severed.
Monica shouted from the watchtower.
"You keep cutting the bond between me and that Chicken! Damn you!!"
Same old Monica, but I cracked a slight smile as I looked at my allies.
"...Even among the elite, once they're isolated, the rest is easy enough."
When their Skills became unusable, some among our unit ended up cut off from the rest. We surrounded them and hammered them down.
I had instructed the commanders to do exactly that, and my father Maisel's signature opening move was perfectly neutralized.
And, at the same time—
"Thanks for lifting the restriction on Skill usage, I suppose? Monica!"
Monica, who had leapt down from the watchtower, quickly came to report. Reports had been pouring in one after another from the Valkyries deployed across the battlefield, all timed for this exact moment. In other words, all the information had converged at my fingertips at once.
"The right wing is holding fine. However, the left wing appears to be struggling. There's a powerful unit over there. Based on the intelligence, it might be a unit from House Foxes?"
I looked at Monica.
"Have you contacted Novem?"
"Already done."
I turned my gaze toward the left flank. From my vantage point, I couldn't make out the fine details, but if Novem had headed that way, that was good enough. No—in truth, it probably wasn't good enough.
And with that, Monica finished her report and headed back to the watchtower.
I shifted my eyes toward the enemy's main camp.
"A defensive battle inherited from the Fifth Generation— Allow me to demonstrate it, Father. ...Messenger, deploy the reserve units immediately. The location is—"
I relayed my orders to the messenger and sent reinforcements to where they were needed, in exactly the amounts they required.