Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7 Chapter7 (section)

=== Part 1 ===

It’s was roughly an hour before Nabarl was to give the order to fire.

To the northwest of Apta lay the Belgana Summits, which, along with the River Yunos, formed the border. Incidentally, ‘Summits’ was the name used on the western side, while in Mephius, they were called the ‘Belgana Mountains’. Because a part of the mountain summits looked completely flat when seen from Helio, people in the west referred to that section as the ‘Belgana Summit’ and often cited it when making a comparison to something flat, until it gradually became to be the name used for the mountains as a whole.

The noise of rattling armour was clanging within those Belgana mountains. The surroundings were dark but the soldiers, their guns and swords at the ready, had had the way thoroughly identified by the platoon sent beforehand. They chatted together as they went down the mountain.

Originally, there had been a fortress that Helio had built to keep an eye on the east, but said fortress had been burned down during the battles surrounding that same Helio. Since, on top of that, all of Tauran had then been plunged into war, the Belganas had truly become completely deserted.

''It’s just as His Majesty said''.

The armour-clad warrior in the front repeatedly nodded in admiration. He was Darren, vice-commander of the Blue Zenith Division and a former mercenary captain.

''So his exalted gaze penetrates as far as the west?''

It was said that spies frequently stole in and collected information, besides the absence of any signs of life in the Belganas, what confirmed that even more was the fact that they had provided a scrupulous survey of the terrain. It was as if, without stirring from Mephius, the Emperor was able to see through every move the west makes.

“A terrifying personage.”

“What’s that, vice-commander?”

“Nothing. I was just saying that if we’re not careful, we might get our asses bitten by mountain wolves.”

Darren had not gotten used to being called ‘vice-commander’ and felt happy every time he heard it. His heart felt light in a way that was separate from the elation he felt before a battle.

Anyway, just as the Emperor had said, there were very few soldiers in Taúlia. Even if they simply applied brute force, there was no doubt that it would fall within two or three days. But regardless of that, their commander-in-chief, Nabarl, had planned for a more certain and complete victory.

He had devised a strategy that would allow them to seize Taúlia extremely quickly by attacking from the front, and accomplish that without borrowing help from Rogue and Odyne, the two generals who had opposed the Emperor. Even without having been threatened by Odyne, Nabarl had felt from the start that – ''speed will be crucial to this battle''.

Nabarl had started by entrusting Darren with five hundred soldiers and had them leave from Apta. To prevent the enemy from suspecting this manoeuvre, Nabarl himself had then led four hundred across the Yunos and had deliberately let them be sighted. During that time, Darren’s troops had headed north and, using an air carrier that had been concealed in the forest beforehand, they had crossed the river at low altitude in a position from where the Taúlians could not see them.

After the carrier had finished ferrying all of the soldiers across the river, it had returned to Apta. The Blue Zenith Division had from the start been provided with little in the way of ships. Therefore, they had not been aiming to make direct use of it during the attack and had instead let it be seen making its way back to Apta, all for the purpose of flaunting the Mephian side’s movements.

Concealed within the Belganas, Darren’s unit would start descending from the mountains at a time that they had pre-arranged with the General.

While Nabarl’s main force was drawing the attention of the enemy forces, Darren’s detached unit would launch a direct assault on Taúlia.

When the enemy forces saw the flames rising from the city, they would have no choice but to pull back. Nabarl’s troops would then press forward and whittle them away to join with Darren’s unit in the direct attack on Taúlia – such was the plan.

''It’s a stratagem that further widens the difference in manpower between the enemy and us'' – Darren was in high spirits.

There was no possibility of defeat.

When Darren descended the path, a platoon, which had been sent on ahead and was already at the foot of the mountain, could be found making its preparations. There were also men sitting on the roots of the sparsely growing trees, busy assembling dismantled cannons. While he walked around among them, clapping the soldiers on the shoulder, his heart was beating with excitement.

''The first to reach Taúlia will be me, Darren''.

He had served Nabarl Metti’s family for a long while and had stood on the battlefield innumerable times during the ten-year war with Garbera, but he had not earned any distinguished military accomplishments. Darren was currently thirty-nine. Now that this amazing opportunity had come around, he did not plan on letting it slip by, even if he had to seize it with his teeth.

“Tomorrow, we’ll be drinking in Taúlia. And I’m not the kind of officer to nag and criticise... I’m sure you get what I’m saying.”

He deliberately gave a vulgar smile to fan their morale. He would let them plunder Taúlia and its women before the Mephian main force arrived behind them.

The preparations were set and he led the five hundred soldiers as they started their march along the downward-sloping path.

''Kill''.

''Plunder''.

''Rape''.

A silent fervour was blowing among the soldiers and, at the centre, a brilliant future was dazzlingly unfolding within Darren’s mind.

Then right before him, something blinked white and red.

As though to prove that it had not been his imagination, the rattle of continuous gunfire sounded in Darren’s ears.
 


The enemy’s formation was, as expected, thrown into turmoil. It looked like they were anxious to hurry back towards Taúlia, from which the flames were rising.

“Advance!”

When Nabarl fired off the order, dragoons riding Tengo dragons rushed out in the lead. Cavalrymen and pikemen followed behind. They galloped along the ridge. Nabarl himself kicked his horse’s flank, intent on flying further and further forward.

The group in the lead steadily drew up behind the disorganised enemy line. In no time at all, they were in a position to be able to tear into them.

At that moment, gunshots rang out.

Taúlian riflemen lying hidden on either side of the path had opened fire. It was an ambush which had no doubt been prepared beforehand. If the Mephian forces had approached as one group it would have been an effective move but, at that moment, their forces were divided in two. Nabarl’s main force and the detached unit led by César.

No more than a few dozen soldiers were shot. Nabarl raised his hand and the cannon, which he had ordered installed earlier on higher ground, spewed fire. The cannonballs flew above the heads of the Mephian soldiers, then exploded with a roar.

The gunshots stopped.

Before the smoke from the impact had even cleared, Nabarl gave the signal to advance again. The horses pressed forward, César’s unit from the front while Nabarl’s troops descended the slope along a different route, a little further to the south.

At that, the Mephian riflemen who were following behind plugged the gap between the two units by dropping on one knee and lining up in rows. This time, it was their guns which fired simultaneously.
Unable to counterattack and no longer able to retreat, the Taúlian riflemen lying in ambush on either side of the road were in utter chaos when they were run through by the spears of César’s unit.

Nabarl’s strategy had triumphed.

He had speculated that if Taúlia judged that things had developed into a full-war, they would try to draw the enemy to their own position. Since the Taúlian side very obviously had the geographic advantage, they would no doubt pretend to pull back and lay riflemen in ambush along their path of retreat. And of course, those soldiers would serve as cover in a situation in which they really did have to pull back – such as when flames were rising from Taúlia.

Therefore, when pretending to advance, Nabarl had temporarily split his unit in two. When the enemy opened fire, revealing the positions of the ambushing troops, he would give the order to the cannon at the rear to commence bombardment.

The scheme had worked perfectly.

Nabarl had never commanded a large army, but he had taken part in many campaigns. In terms of experience, he far exceeded Zaat Quark, the general who had originally commanded the ‘Blue Archery Division’ as one of the twelve generals.

There was no longer any doubt that victory would be theirs. Sitting on horseback, Nabarl’s face relaxed. He, who had only just been made part of the twelve generals, would accomplish the feat of seizing Taúlia, and without borrowing any help from Rogue or Odyne.

He arrived at the bottom of the slope and onto the level path, joining up with César’s unit just a little behind and to the left of them. Nabarl could see the fleeing enemy soldiers, their backs lit up by a hazy line of fire. The dragoons who were galloping in the lead of César’s troops already had their spears raised.

“Don’t be in such a hurry to achieve your feats,” Nabarl called out with a smile, raising his hand which was encased in a gauntlet. “As long as we enter the gates of Taúlia, everyone from the Metti group will be Mephian heroes and…”

His shout was drowned out in a strong wind.

He wondered whether something had come flying from the front when whatever-it-was suddenly made an abrupt turn just before slamming into the dragon-mounted warriors, moving so quickly that it almost left an afterimage.

Nabarl saw an airship.

Startled because of it, the dragon-mounted warriors bucked and fell. The dragons and horses following behind were also struck by that gust of wind and, for a moment, their advance faltered. Nabarl’s unit, which was galloping at their flank, seemed about to overtake them.

“Act sharp!”

Several riders fired but the airship was already above the Taúlian soldiers and was rapidly getting away. Even in the dark, they could make out that the passenger had long, shimmering hair.

''It can’t be''.

Nabarl thought for an instant, but –

''No, impossible. A little girl trampling into a man’s battlefield?''

A sinister emotion filled his chest. When he caught that princess in Taúlia, he would bind her hands, press a slave brand into her flesh, and send her back to Garbera. No matter what kind of blow she tried to throw at him, Nabarl’s victory would remain unshaken.

César’s unit had faltered for a moment, but they once more got into formation and lined their horses up next to those with Nabarl.

The backs of the enemy soldiers were once again close at hand.

''This time'' –

Nabarl was about to grasp his spear in his hand.

When the wind blew again.

A strong wind from the north. Or no, rather than a wind, it was better to call it a pressure. Nabarl sensed bloodlust and hostility so fierce they were almost stabbing him in the face and which quickly transformed into an armed group brandishing lights in the dark.

“What!”

Their blades drawn, the group of riders immediately attacked by charging at César’s flank.

The wind swallowed their allies’ panic and surprise and the surroundings were immediately filled with ferocious roars and the solemn echo of steel.

“T-This is…” Nabarl unconsciously groaned on horseback.

''A two-stage ambush?'' He wondered for a second. However, the numerically weak Taúlia usually lined its soldiers up along the border to keep an eye on Mephius, so it should have felt the need to flaunt its full numbers at a time like this. Moreover, with the city being attacked, they should have been rushing back to it rather than carrying out an ambush.

It was unthinkable that the enemy, who should have been stunned by the attack from behind on what was effectively their headquarters, should be displaying such well-coordinated actions. Yet the ones currently in the height of chaos and confusion were Nabarl’s forces.

The wind blew furiously and scattered the spearhead of César’s unit as though it had been made of sand.

“Bastards!”

Nabarl came to a prompt decision. As soon as he caught sight of César, also on horseback, he yelled –

“Stop them here. Hold fast to the end. We’ll chase the enemy.”

The currently-fleeing Taúlian troops probably intended to turn back and catch them in a pincer movement. In which case, Nabarl’s forces would be annihilated. They intended to crush every one of them.
His face pale, César nodded.

Sparks went flying at his side. Among the ambushing troops, one slimly-built and conspicuously fast soldier was cleaving through César’s unit. The fires that had spread out in the wake of the bombardment cast an iron glow on the enemy soldier’s face.

He was wearing a mask.

César spurred his own horse forward to intercept the enemy forces.

“Hold, hold! Cover General Nabarl’s assault! And as for you – die!”

With a backwards glance at his vice-captain who was brandishing his spear overhead, Nabarl urged his own men on. “Go, go!” He once more propelled his horse forward.