"What? It really is one hundred thousand elite troops?"

Inside the Kingdom’s command tent, Aurier glared furiously at Kaepel, who had come to deliver the report.

"You’re certain there’s no mistake?"

"Reporting to Your Highness, there is absolutely no mistake."

Kaepel kept his head lowered and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Earlier, he had confidently given His Highness Aurier a lengthy analysis, insisting that even the Empire could never possibly assemble an army of one hundred thousand in only three days... but in the end, the outcome no one had wanted to see was exactly what had happened. The Empire’s one hundred thousand iron-armored elite were advancing toward the front under the gaze of the entire continent, and so at this moment he truly felt both tense and embarrassed.

Even so, as a trusted confidant who had long enjoyed Aurier’s confidence, Kaepel still chose to abide by his own principles. He abandoned the conjecture that had seemed so reasonable and instead took the intelligence—which was obviously bizarre, yet impossible not to believe—as the standard for everything.

He was no treacherous flatterer. As an excellent knight, even knowing he would face thunderous wrath, he would still offer his analysis and advice to his liege without reservation, so that His Highness Aurier could make the most correct choice possible.

"Although even I can hardly believe it myself, the intelligence coming back from the Empire could not be more real. That Muen Campbell really is leading one hundred thousand elite troops toward the front... toward us!" The weight in Kaepel’s voice was so heavy that it even trembled.

"Bastard!"

Aurier smashed the armrest of his chair to splinters with one blow.

"You were the one who swore to me not long ago that the Empire could not possibly produce an army of one hundred thousand out of thin air in only three days. But not only have they done it, now you’re telling me it’s one hundred thousand elites?"

Rage surged through Aurier’s chest. His face twisted like a beast ready to devour prey as he stared fixedly at the bowed Kaepel. If looks could kill, Kaepel would have been sliced to pieces by now.

But in the end, Aurier still calmed down.

As Saint Peron V’s most outstanding son, and the one now closest to that position, Aurier was absolutely no fool. At the very least, when it came to controlling his emotions, he was far better than his younger brother Milne.

"Is it possible the intelligence is wrong?"

Aurier asked again. He valued intelligence, and naturally he also valued whether that intelligence was true.

"Absolutely impossible."

Kaepel shook his head and said decisively,

"The message came from our finest embedded asset, Black Falcon. As one of the elites of our underground intelligence network, he has escaped intact from several Imperial extermination campaigns. His experience could not be more seasoned. He would never pass along intelligence recklessly without basis. And we are not relying on his report alone. We used every intelligence operative currently available within the Empire, and what came back was all the same—"

Kaepel drew a deep breath and said, word by word,

"What Muen Campbell is leading is a genuine army of one hundred thousand elites!"

"..."

Silently listening to Kaepel’s report, the veins on Aurier’s forehead began bulging again, writhing like a nest of snakes.

One hundred thousand elites. Those words were like a blade driven viciously into his chest, leaving him nearly unable to breathe.

One hundred thousand...

What did Muen Campbell have, and what was he capable of, that he could gather an army of one hundred thousand in just three days? And not just that—elite troops! That wasn’t one hundred thousand beasts of burden you could just drag in whenever you wanted. In any war, one hundred thousand elites would unquestionably be a decisive force!

Whether through rational deduction or instinctive judgment, Aurier simply could not imagine any way such a thing could possibly be accomplished.

But... deduction was deduction, and thought was thought. Aurier understood that acting solely on so-called logic, or following what seemed the natural line of reasoning, was one of the greatest taboos on the battlefield.

Anything not yet seen with one’s own eyes, no matter how unbelievable, could still happen on a battlefield where nations grappled through raw national strength... even if the possibility was unimaginably, vanishingly small.

That was why intelligence was so important, and why he valued it so highly.

Anger was anger, but if they had lacked intelligence this time—if he had simply taken it for granted that "Muen Campbell cannot possibly gather one hundred thousand elite troops in three days" and ignored the matter—then how severe would the consequences have been?

The entire war could have collapsed because of it!

The more carefully he thought it through, the more terrifying it became.

"The sand table. Bring the sand table over."

Aurier leaned back into his chair again and waved a hand weakly. After such an intense emotional clash, his whole body felt as though he had just come through a great battle. He was inexplicably exhausted.

"Yes."

Kaepel did not dare delay. Directing the attendant guard knights, he quickly had the massive sand table assembled, showing the full movement of the battlefield.

Aurier stared at it.

Because mages could fly and survey the terrain, the model had been recreated with remarkable accuracy. It was practically a perfect scaled-down copy of the entire battlefield region.

First was the southern portion of the sand table, where a rugged and complex mountain range stretched across it. Only a few passes could be crossed, and the most important of them was the target they were currently attacking—Fort Notasia.

This was the Empire’s northern gate. Once it was breached and the Notasia mountain range crossed, the vast land beyond would be the Empire’s fertile northern plain, rich in supplies, with thousands of miles of good soil... and nothing defensible left to hold.

Even though the Empire held the advantage in national strength, even though Count Eller Campo on the flank, Marquis Frankant in the east, and Viscount Philip in the center were all leading large forces to reinforce this front, as long as Fort Notasia could be taken before they arrived—so long as this "gate" could be seized in advance—then the initiative for the entire war would remain in the Kingdom’s hands.

Advance, and their blades could threaten several great cities on the northern plain. Retreat, and they could hold Fort Notasia fast. On the level of grand strategy, the importance of this place could not have been more obvious.

"According to my original perfect plan, another ten days... no, seven. Give me seven days, and I definitely would have taken this place. But..."

Aurier’s hand clenched violently, crushing the other armrest.

Kaepel stepped forward and planted a small flag representing the Imperial army behind Fort Notasia. There was still some distance between it and the fortress, but it was much closer than Viscount Philip, who needed twelve full days to arrive.

On the small flag, Kaepel marked a single line:

Five days.

In only five days, before Aurier’s perfect plan could be brought fully to fruition, the one hundred thousand elite troops under Muen Campbell would arrive ahead of schedule. And if by then he still had not broken Fort Notasia, everything would begin sliding toward the worst possible outcome.

"So now there are two choices."

Aurier’s gaze left the little flag symbolizing the one hundred thousand troops under Muen Campbell, passed over Fort Notasia, and moved upward.

On the upper half of the sand table—that was, not far north of Fort Notasia—stood several blue flags representing the Kingdom’s armies.

First was the vanguard Aurier himself commanded, bearing the banners of the Holy Lily and the Sword, currently encamped before Fort Notasia.

A little farther back, the Kingdom’s forces were actually split into three more groups, each attacking one of the Empire’s other important passes.

Those three armies were mostly the private troops of the Kingdom’s various lords and great nobles, a chaotic mix of uneven soldiers of wildly varying quality. They were not directly under Aurier’s command, so they had been assigned harassment and diversion duties instead.

Of course, they had served some purpose. If not for them, Count Eller Campo of the Empire—the nearest reinforcements to this place—certainly would not have been the one requiring the longest time to arrive.

But no matter how one looked at it, the burden of the main offensive was for now resting squarely on Aurier, commander of the vanguard.

He had to make a decision.

"The first choice: push the original plan ahead of schedule and break Fort Notasia before Muen Campbell arrives."

Aurier’s eyes fell on the flag representing his own army. His plan was perfect, but it required a certain amount of preparation time. That was why, during this period, he had not rushed to launch a full assault, instead using various feints to confuse the enemy.

But even if the plan was perfect, without enough time to carry it out, it would become extremely risky.

If he followed the original plan and still failed to take Fort Notasia within five days... the consequences would be severe.

"The second choice: cancel the plan, have the other three armies converge here, and use superior numbers to launch a direct frontal assault on Fort Notasia."

Aurier’s gaze moved backward to the Kingdom’s other three major forces. No matter how bloated and disorderly those armies were, they were still a tremendous force. Joining with them, it was not impossible that he could take Fort Notasia by direct attack.

That was, of course, assuming those great lords and high nobles who had long since rotted into corruption and decadence would not drag him down...

"Two choices. A choice that decides fate."

Aurier closed his eyes and began to think.

If the first choice succeeded, then the «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» rewards would be immense. Whether prestige or military merit, both would become dazzling halos around him as a prince. He could even say that half his ass was already planted on that seat. His brothers and sisters would no longer be able to compete with him.

But if it failed, his end would be unspeakably miserable, because that plan offered absolutely no way out.

If the second choice succeeded, then a large portion of the credit would unquestionably be taken from him, and those great nobles each had their own favored candidates. It would amount to a disguised form of aiding his rivals... but in exchange, even if this choice failed, he would pay no price at all, because he could simply dump the blame on those useless dead pigs.

One was a gamble. One was safe. One promised enormous gains. The other meant carving flesh from his own body and handing it to others. How exactly was he supposed to choose...?

Aurier’s thoughts turned over again and again. First he thought of how his royal father was already old, and how he needed to build power as quickly as possible. The first option was unquestionably the better choice... but then he thought of how he had spent decades longing for that old thing to die, and yet the old thing had gone on living like some ancient turtle all this time. He might look old now, but perhaps he could still cling to life for quite a while longer.

And Aurier himself was still young. There was no need to take such a risk at a time like this. Better to play it safely, use this opportunity to make a few exchanges with those shrewd great nobles, and win their support. That would not necessarily be the wrong choice either...

Yes. He was a clever man. He could not let emotion cloud him. He could not let immediate gain blind him. The more it came to a moment like this, the more rational he had to be. His idiot younger brother Milne was the perfect cautionary example.

Aurier raised a hand. It stretched farther and farther, finally passing over Fort Notasia, passing over the flag that belonged to him, reaching toward the one behind it...

But he grabbed nothing.

"Kaepel!"

Aurier opened his eyes in annoyance. "Where is my piece? Did you take my piece? I know you don’t want that plan terminated, but for you to be this insolent—you’ve gone too far—"

Aurier’s furious words suddenly cut off.

Because he realized it was not Kaepel who had taken his piece. At this moment Kaepel was standing by the corner of the tent, bent over, as though he had sensed some terrifying threat. His whole body was trembling faintly.

At some point, the tent had darkened, and yet the candlelight still burned just as before.

Aurier lifted his eyes, and only then did he understand that the darkness in the tent did not come from the absence of light, but from a wide black robe.

That black robe stood not far from him, casting an enormous shadow over his body.

"Your Highness, why make such a weak choice?"

A pale, jade-like hand emerged from the long sleeve of the black robe, idly toying with the little flag Aurier had meant to take. The voice that followed was gentle and lovely, like flowing water, and it completely soothed the anxiety that had been gnawing at Aurier just moments before.

"You can be a little braver. Your royal father and I both think very highly of your plan."