Editing Tytania:Volume 4 Chapter 3 (section)

=== IV ===
“Are you saying we shall not attack, even though they are passing right before our eyes!?”

“The enemy has twenty thousand ships. We have only five hundred as well as twelve large-calibre guns in the fortress. If we engage, we will be annihilated in less than thirty minutes.”

The commander froze at his command seat. It took ten seconds before he finally managed to squeeze out a word:

“However, if we simply stand by and watch without lifting a finger, we shall face severe punishment from Uraniborg at a later date.”

“With all due respect, I doubt there will be a later date.”

“You wretch, watch your tongue!”

Countless points of light passed orderly before the arguing superior and subordinate. Such a sight could be seen anywhere within the military outposts that Tytania had established across the countless star sectors. The stationed soldiers were, of course, loyal to the pinnacle of Tytania, Uraniborg, yet they were not so fanatical as to challenge a massive army while knowing they were destined for total annihilation.

This was precisely the meaning behind the concentration of troop numbers.

Even if some nation or armed group attempted to attack Ariabert or Jouslain for the sake of glory, they would find it impossible to lay a finger on them in the face of such a massive force of twenty thousand vessels. In the first place, they were neither united nor coordinated, making any proper military operation impossible. Jouslain could easily imagine the commanders of those various armies gathering around a thousand ships, approaching only to watch in stunned silence as the endless line of vessels drifted past.

It was possible that they might even reach Uraniborg without engaging in a single battle along the way. Whenever such a possibility began to bud in Jouslain’s mind, he reprimanded himself, imagining the sting of a slap to his own cheeks and forehead.

However, he was not the only one considering that possibility.

“Ariabert, Jouslain, the advance speed of both dukes is far greater than anticipated. If we do not execute a full-scale interception manoeuvre somewhere, they will be upon Uraniborg before long.”

“However, if we do that, there is a possibility they might seize control of our rear. With Uraniborg ahead and our assembled fleet of some thirty thousand ships behind us… if we are pincered from both sides, it is the end. Would both dukes really take such a risk?”

That was the state of the officers of Uraniborg, speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones.

“This is more the type of deployment used by the late Duke Zarlisch, but there is a strategy to force a melee within the range of Uraniborg’s bombardment. Would we be able to fire our main guns into the midst of such a chaotic fray, with friend and foe all intermingled?”

“Even under normal circumstances we wouldn’t be able to fire…”

The voices grew even lower.

“If it were Duke Idris, he might just do it.”

“Indeed.”

Perhaps as a result of his outward efforts, Idris was often perceived as a man who would use any means necessary to achieve his goals. Consequently, individuals such as Emperor Harsha&nbsp;VI of Vardana had lost their peace of mind, fearing assassination.

Just as Jouslain’s thoughts began to lean towards a somewhat optimistic direction, there was another who was leaning towards the opposite. This was, of course, Duke Idris Tytania, who had been made acutely aware of the low morale amongst his allies.

In a fit of rage, Idris swept his hand across the command table. Documents danced through the air, the intercom was slammed against the floor, and even coffee cups and saucers went flying. Rising from his command seat, Idris had become a mere embodiment of fury.

“The lack of fighting spirit amongst you gentlemen makes it impossible to avoid my disappointment. I am not asking you to launch certain-defeat attacks with mere squads of a hundred ships. However, what are you thinking by continuously avoiding combat and allowing the enemy to approach?!”

The assembly responded to the young duke with silence. Idris, his eyes smouldering like molten lava, glared down at them.

“Inflict damage upon those rebels, even if only a little, even if only a fraction, to let them know exactly where the will of Uraniborg lies. Such is the spirit that those in the Tytania high command ought naturally to possess! For what purpose have you eaten the wages of Tytania until this day?”

There was no reply.

“Does no one have any objections? Then, I shall take it that there is no disagreement with my orders.”

The officers exchanged glances. Since their youth, they had been conditioned, both mentally and physically, to obey the Clanner and Dukes of Tytania. Yet, they were also professional soldiers, and at least at the tactical level, they possessed more knowledge and experience than Idris.

“If the forces stationed across these fifteen fortresses were to be gathered, how many ships would that be?”

From amongst the officers exchanging glances, one replied with a heavy breath:

“Approximately four thousand six hundred ships.”

“Approximately? Fine, that is enough. Gather those four thousand six hundred ships at a single location immediately. The location is here.”

Idris did not so much press a button as slam his finger down upon it. The Bianville System.

“We shall lie in wait for the rebels here and challenge them to battle.”

Idris’ calculation was to force Ariabert and Jouslain’s forces to bleed. He intended to launch repeated attacks with a fleet of four to five thousand ships, denying them rest and forcing them to waste manpower, food, and ammunition, thereby diminishing their total strength even by a small margin. Naturally, the forces at Uraniborg would also suffer considerable damage, but he was prepared for that.

On the other hand, the forty thousand ships under Idris’ control, both inside and outside Uraniborg, were to be kept intact and preserved. This was for the final battle. He would encircle Ariabert and Jouslain within the sector visible from Uraniborg and annihilate them literally. Idris’ blood boiled, driving away all reason.

“… What should we do of it?”

A voice struck his auditory organs, so jarring that Idris felt an impulse to snap back, and he jolted out of his reverie. Having missed the initial whisper, he seemed to have been addressed loudly this time. If he were to reply with a mere “What?”, his momentary lapse in focus would be discovered, so Idris endeavoured to feign as calm a tone as possible.

“What are your thoughts?”

“Well…”

“You may speak freely.”

“Well, even with a force of nearly five thousand vessels assembled, I believe we must look to Your Grace Idris’ explicit instructions as to whom shall be appointed to the role of supreme commander. After all, as the commanders of each fleet are of equal rank, I would wish for the selection to be made under Your Grace’s authority…”

Idris barely managed to suppress a click of his tongue. Was he truly expected to handpick even the commanders of minor forces numbering a mere hundred or a thousand ships? He wanted to tell them to just do it themselves, but it was Idris’ own ancestors who had instilled such excessive awe of the five Tytania families throughout the entire army.

“If there is no significant difference in ability, let’s go by seniority. Who is the eldest?”

“Commodore J.&nbsp;L.&nbsp;Fokine, but…”

''“I’ve never heard of him.”''

Of course, Idris did not voice those words; at most, he merely gave a haughty nod.

“Then Commodore Fokine shall suffice. Should the need arise for personnel reasons, I shall permit his promotion to Rear-admiral.”

“But… are you certain, your Grace?”

“About what?”

The generals exchanged glances once more before one of them answered with newfound boldness.

“Commodore Fokine was once recognised for his merits by Duke Ariabert who promoted him from captain…”

Idris had suppressed his outburst on several occasions just before it escaped him. It was true that he had heard irresponsible rumours claiming that the <span style="background-color:transparent;color:#000000;">combat-orientated</span> generals of the Tytania army were split into three factions: the Ariabert faction, the Zarlisch faction, and the neutral faction.

For a few moments, Idris remained silent, but then he was struck by a sudden revelation. He brought his hand to his lips with a sardonic smile.

“Very well then. Let us replace Commodore Fokine with another man. I have found a suitable candidate.”

“As Your Grace commands… and who might that person be?”

“Fan Hyulick.”

“……!”

A wave of astonishment surged, filling the vast room. Had the words Idris had spoken previously been nothing more than a flight of fancy? After gauging the reactions of those present, Idris continued.

“I have already granted that individual two thousand ships. Once they ''rendezvous'' with our allies, the fleet will number six thousand six hundred. Furthermore, if I grant them the authority to conscript forces from each star system along the way, it shall reach nearly ten thousand. It promises to be an interesting contest.”

“B-but…”

“Are you questioning why I would choose someone who was Tytania’s public enemy until only a few days ago? Your concerns are reasonable, but if you were going to raise this point now, why did you not say so at the very beginning?”

Mocked in such a manner, the generals could do nothing but stand there in silence.

“The rebels are likely aiming for a decisive battle by committing their entire force at once. If Fan Hyulick’s ten thousand ships were to intercept them, it would significantly disrupt their strategy. It matters not if we suffer losses. Uraniborg can meet the rebels with forty thousand ships entirely unscathed. Whether Fan Hyulick lives or dies is of no consequence, for he is, after all, no loyal subject of the old Tytania.”

As far as ideas went, it was indeed a mere whim. However, the fact that Idris had been able to formulate it into a strategy within such a short time and overwhelm the elder generals was a testament to his extraordinary genius.

“If there are no objections, arrange for this to be carried out immediately.”

The generals pressed their right fists to their left shoulders in a Tytania-style salute, then withdrew, looking utterly dejected.

“Useless lot,” muttered Idris under his breath as he sat back down in his command seat.

Though they were the “rebel army”—formerly the Bargash Expeditionary Force, now commanded by Ariabert and Jouslain—not a single vessel had defected or dropped out from the twenty thousand ships in the fleet. For Idris, this was a significant miscalculation.

The reason was that the trust and devotion the soldiers held for Ariabert and Jouslain far outweighed what they felt for him. It was not something he could assert and leave it at that.

The war was inherently lacking in legitimacy. From the perspective of the Tytania soldiers, it could be said that the three dukes were merely engaged in private warfare during the absence of the Clanner. However, this private war was the largest in the universe, and the outcome would determine the next hegemon. Since maintaining neutrality was nearly impossible, the final victory would depend on which side could garner more allies. The best way to increase one’s allies was to demonstrate victory in actual combat.

“I expect you to make yourself useful, Hyulick.”

Idris’ military career was the polar opposite of Fan Hyulick’s. He had never fought an enemy under disadvantageous circumstances. Ariabert was much the same, but Hyulick had been participating in actual combat since the age of twenty-five, accumulating experience through battles involving tens and then hundreds of ships, honing both the eye for seizing victory and the skill to achieve results efficiently. Why not put him to good use for Idris’ sake? After all, he had been feeding him in exchange for nothing this whole time.