Even the Grand Duke of Milan wouldn't have wanted to become Commander-in-Chief at a time like this.
He had taken it on against his will. That was the atmosphere. With the Grand Duke of Florence dead and Consul Elizabeth having stepped down, the only family left that every city in Sardinia would willingly submit to was the Sforza family of Milan.
A family with capability but low prestige. A family with prestige but low capability. Either one was likely to cause problems. Naturally.
The position of Commander-in-Chief was one where you ordered men to throw themselves into the battlefield. The battlefield was always filled with death. Say you were a soldier or a general. If you were to die a meaningless death all because of an incompetent commander, could you truly accept that death? Could you find it acceptable? Of course not.
Prestige was the same. Your own life coming to an end because the Commander-in-Chief hailed from a family with less history and lesser renown than your own — this issue mattered far more than meritocracy or nepotism. Your life was at stake. No one wants to die, and if death is inevitable, everyone wants to meet it in a form they can accept…
And so it had to be the Sforza family. And so it had to be the Grand Duke of Milan.
For any individual, maintaining their reputation for fifty years — no, even twenty — was never easy. One could make mistakes, could willingly fall to temptation, could be ensnared by an enemy's schemes and fall into ruin. The Sforza family had endured all of that for over three hundred years.
Honor.
Only an exceedingly small number of families could engrave those two words onto their family banner, and the Sforza family of Milan was among that handful, together with the Medici family of Florence. The aristocrats were willing to submit to their majesty. When they ordered you to die on the battlefield, you could seriously *consider* it.
The two guardian spirits protecting the Kingdom of Sardinia — the Eagle and the Leviathan. The Eagle had fallen in the waters off La Spezia. Now it was the Leviathan's turn to uncoil and roar…
Even though the Grand Duke of Milan had not wanted a swift, decisive battle.
Nor was he the sort of man who would turn away from his duty for something as trivial as "personal reasons."
— A general mobilization order is hereby issued across the entire kingdom!
— All city councils are to immediately transfer command of their citizen militias to me.
— People of Sardinia! Assemble!
The emergency decree resounded throughout the kingdom.
The Grand Duke of Milan judged that gathering mercenaries in short order was now nearly impossible. He instead conscripted the citizen militias garrisoned in each city. Though the militia's morale was lower than that of the mercenaries, and their skill fell short as well, quantity could make up for quality.
As if the heated debates over Consul Elizabeth's advance or retreat had never happened, the Kingdom of Sardinia rapidly reorganized around the Grand Duke of Milan.
The citizen militias joined more enthusiastically than expected. That was because the Imperial army had begun committing ruthless pillaging. The notion that "if we stay still, we'll only be victims" spread widely. The Grand Duke of Milan must have been pulling strings behind the scenes. Absurd rumors ran rampant — that the Empire enjoyed eating the innards of newborns, and other such fabrications.
But it worked.
Pillage had made the war party's voices deafeningly loud. Aristocrats and citizens alike, regardless of rank, all wanted the war over with as soon as possible. To this, the Grand Duke of Milan added a simple yet effective stratagem.
The forces mustered under total mobilization numbered a full forty thousand.
Add to that ten thousand elite soldiers drawn from multinational mercenaries, and the Grand Duke of Milan had assembled an army of fifty thousand at a speed that bordered on the extraordinary.
This was no motley rabble hastily inflated for the sake of numbers. It was a properly organized force, with formations assigned by commander and region with meticulous care. Across the entire Kingdom of Sardinia, landed lords and nobles marched out with their troops. Their resolve was absolute — they would settle this once and for all.
And what had our Imperial army been doing all this while — .
"Your Grace. How shall we deal with San Marino?"
"What's there to think about? Burn it to the ground."
We had been pillaging with great enthusiasm.
Ah, in all honesty, we had pillaged with dogged, relentless persistence.
Hunting aside, pillage teaches cooperation between units. For this campaign, the Bretagne royal army had newly joined our Imperial forces. Before any major battle commenced, we had to coordinate with the Bretagnan troops in advance.
It wasn't only the Bretagnans. Laura, upon hearing that the enemy was mustering militia at a terrifying pace, muttered, "I suppose I'd better take out a bit of insurance."
She immediately raised citizen-soldiers across the Piacenza–Parma–La Spezia region. Among them were a significant number of people who had previously defected to our side out of fear of pillage and murder. In this manner, she rounded up over three thousand nine hundred militia.
"If the Empire loses, the Kingdom will not leave you traitors in peace," "See the fate of the Marquis of Lodi. That is what becomes of a traitor," "You can either wait quietly and die, or fight and survive — choose." It fell to me to provide the militia with their motivation.
I was, after all, a specialist in commanding militia. During the Lily War in Frank, was it not the peasant soldiers under my command who formed the only unit that was never routed? My rallying and leadership quickly forged the militia into fighting shape.
Our forces rampaged through the Kingdom of Sardinia, burning everything in their path.
The Grand Duke of Milan responded wisely. He issued strict orders never to engage us in direct combat, no matter how grievously we pillaged.
He merely dispatched mage battalions to every city we targeted. He had grasped the critical fact that we possessed no siege equipment whatsoever, and that without overwhelming magical superiority, laying siege to a city was extraordinarily difficult. Thanks to the Grand Duke of Milan's swift and agile responses, our forces could devastate the countryside around each city but never manage to take the city itself.
Three weeks passed.
At last, the Grand Duke of Milan made his move.
The Duke used the navy to successfully assemble a force of fifty thousand. If you've ever witnessed an army of over fifty thousand mustering on a plain, you'd understand. It was enough to make even the biggest coward in the world feel like a Hero who could take on a hundred men.
The royal army marched with renewed courage. Laura grinned at this.
"A battle is exactly what we want. I'll show you hell."
At Laura's command, thirty thousand of our troops advanced in unison.
Laura, who had won overwhelming victory after overwhelming victory, was worshipped as a goddess by the Helvetica mercenaries. Queen Henrietta and the Bretagne royal army obediently followed her orders as well. They were warriors by nature, and warriors respected above all else the opponent who had defeated them.
Continent Calendar, October 10th.
The two armies faced each other on the Sage-Maledictus Plain.
The Padus River flowed through the plain. I had no intention of stressing my brain by memorizing every last geographical name, so I simply dubbed it the "Big River" in my own head. "Big River" was an excellent name in many respects. For one, it was easy to remember.
Besides, the Ticino River and the Trebia River—where our forces had fought—were both tributaries of this "Big River." The Ticino was where Count Pavia had died in a night raid, and the Trebia was where the Grand Duke of Florence had wiped out his own army.
I could guarantee this.
For thousands of years to come, this river would never be known as something so bland as the Padus. It would be remembered as the Cursed River, the Blood-Soaked River, the River of Despair and Lamentation. That was the kind of name it would earn. The fall of the Kingdom of Sardinia would be tied to these waters. Even now, with the enemy nearly doubling our numbers, I was certain of it.
As the two armies stood in opposition, Laura convened the final council.
"......"
"......"
Inside the command tent, the Helvetica mercenary captains and the Bretagne-side commanders had all gathered. A peculiar silence hung in the air. With Queen Henrietta of all people seated among them, everyone was somewhat deferential.
Strangely, Laura had not yet arrived. She was making Henrietta wait. Even if it was customary for the supreme commander to enter last, a "How dare she make Her Majesty the Queen..." atmosphere circulated among the Bretagne side. Though in truth, Henrietta herself didn't seem to care in the slightest.
"The Duchess de Farnese has arrived!"
The guard announced in a booming voice. Everyone in the tent rose to their feet.
Laura walked in with her usual composed stride. Several of the commanders' expressions grew peculiar. A twenty-duchess of twenty-two. Not yet old enough to shed the air of a prodigy. Yet she had earned military fame across the entire continent. What must that feel like to commanders in their forties and fifties...
"All of you, take your seats. The allied forces will form up as follows."
The moment Laura finished her salute, she moved straight to business. The mercenary captains settled into their chairs as if they were used to this. The commanders of Bretagne were a little taken aback as well, but they sat down without protest. It was all thanks to Queen Henrietta, who remained consistently composed as their leader.
"The standard approach would be to deploy infantry in a single line."
Laura moved the clay markers on the map across the table.
A moment later, the clay pieces representing the allied infantry were arranged in an even formation. It was not a straight line. They curved outward in a crescent shape. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say a triangular wedge — a ▷ shape.
"For this battle alone, we will be adopting a somewhat irregular formation."
"......"
The commanders exchanged troubled looks. Their faces seemed to ask whether they were trying to grasp the supreme commander's intentions.
Queen Henrietta parted her lips.
"Is the objective to stall for time?"
"That is correct. The enemy infantry outnumbers ours by more than two to one. In a short, decisive engagement, the advantage lies with the enemy."
"A bit too much of a gamble, isn't it......"
Henrietta slowly stroked her chin. She appeared to be visualizing the battle in her mind.
"If we deploy the formation this way, the first line at the very front will have to absorb the entirety of the enemy's assault, if only for a time. If the first line collapses, the center will be breached in an instant. You would need to station elite troops there."
"No."
Laura shook her head.
"The first line will be held by the militia."
"Huh? Conscripts?"
Queen Henrietta narrowed her brow.
"They would be routed in the blink of an eye. You must have some sort of plan?"
"It's simple. The enemy's main force is composed of militiamen as well. When they're pitted against fellow Sardinians, they'll inevitably hesitate, even if only slightly. They'll attack, but they won't be eager to press the offensive."
"……Indeed. So it's kin against kin, then."
The Queen nodded.
"But the enemy has not only Sardinian militiamen — they also have foreign-born mercenaries. If those mercenaries take the front line, your plan falls apart."
"The Duke of Milan won't put his mercenary corps at the forefront."
"……How can you be so certain?"
At that moment, the corner of Laura's lips curled upward ever so slightly.
There it was. Whenever Laura hit upon a truly dreadful idea on the battlefield, that smile always surfaced. It seemed to be a habit she'd picked up from watching me, and I felt a twinge of personal responsibility. No matter how I thought about it, I really had raised Laura all wrong.
"Because, Your Majesty, the Duke of Milan is a 'clever' man."
"……?"
Henrietta and the other commanders looked bewildered.
"Any wise man learns from past defeats. The Duke of Milan will have thoroughly analyzed why the Kingdom's forces suffered defeat after defeat. That much is already evident from his choice of this very place — the Sage Maledictus Plains — as the battlefield."
Laura traced a circle on the map with her finger, sweeping her hand across it.
"Look. There are no foothills, no ridges, not even a decent-sized forest anywhere near here. It's an open plain on all sides with nothing to hide behind. The enemy lost to our Imperial forces in ambushes at both Ticinus and Trebia."
"……."
"The Duke of Milan must have reasoned thus: the Empire's specialty — no, Duke Farnese's specialty — is ambush warfare. Then this time, I shall leave not even a sliver of opportunity for an ambush……."
"Hmm."
Henrietta nodded. She was agreeing with the deduction that the Duke of Milan had deliberately chosen the Sage Maledictus Plains as his battlefield.
"Sealing off the opponent's strengths. That's certainly a fundamental principle of military strategy, but……."
Laura smiled deeply once more.
"The point is that it all comes down to the basics. The Duke of Milan walked right into a death trap of his own volition."
============================ Author's Afterword ============================
I'll upload a map to the settings section.
[Replies]
NineBreaker// Yes, the more wars that break out, the better it is for Dantalion. After Dantalion appeared in this world, every national war on the continent was instigated by Dantalion. (...)
Cleaner63// You send so many. There are times when I check them late. (...)
asdMage// Yep, a giant cake to grace Elizabeth and Dantalion's ball.
ProleMaroon// Elizabeth is not a character meant to be tormented...!
FishMan// Well, wouldn't it be about as much as Dantalion's neck? ^o^
TheDaybreak// Thank you.
MorningBird// If beating the enemy is too hard, just split them up and share — that's the very simple conclusion.
TBlackWingT// Kyahaha.
Meisisai// No, you're just barely scraping by as safe.
Have a nice day^^