Chapter 142

Reinforcements Arrive

Whoooosh.

A boulder launched by a trebuchet tore through the sky and slammed into the eastern corner of the wall.

Stone fragments scattered, and dust billowed upward.

Dozens of laborers threw themselves at the monstrous structure of wood and iron, hauling on thick chains.

The counterweight bound to the rope slowly rose along the pulley.

"Fire!"

A soldier brought an axe down on the release rope.

Rumble!

Fwoooosh.

Another projectile flew.

This time, it was a barrel of burning oil.

The eastern section of the inner wall soon caught fire.

While the trebuchets continuously hurled boulders, flaming tar bundles, and oil barrels, the artillery crews were just as busy.

Black cannon barrels mounted on two-wheeled carriages rattled into position.

Dozens of mules, along with soldiers slipping and stumbling across the frozen plain, used ropes and levers to turn the cannons into alignment.

Five cannons were arranged on the flattened ground.

"Lower the support legs!"

The aiming frames and tripods settled into place.

The artillerymen packed earth beneath the cannons with shovels to absorb the recoil.

Iron stakes secured the foundations against movement. After checking the level and calculating the wind, they loaded cannonballs, alchemically refined mana powder, and bundles of dry straw into the barrels.

"Fire!"

The Akanlaufer mage mercenaries each took position beside a cannon and poured mana into it.

The mana powder, notorious for its extreme instability, immediately began vibrating as the crystals resonated with one another.

The moment magical interference crossed the critical threshold—

the mana condensed within the powder exploded.

BOOM!

The barrels roared with violent vibrations.

Burning fragments of straw burst from the muzzles, and the cannonballs streaking toward the walls glowed a blazing red.

Winterband's walls were thick and sturdy.

But even they could not prevent the foundation from being chipped away and shattered piece by piece.

The Dimezitrium mixed into the mortar could weaken magical attacks, but it did nothing to increase resistance against physical impacts.

Rumble!

BOOM!

CRASH!

Three trebuchets and five cannons launched their projectiles in staggered succession.

Human screams carried farther than one might think.

Though the distance exceeded five hundred paces, the shouts and cries coming from Winterband could still be heard all the way in Botmer's camp.

Using those screams, the cannon fire, and the sounds of the trebuchets as their music, a banquet was being held at the center of the Botmer encampment.

Beneath a luxurious tent crafted from fine leather sat Baron Botmer, Baron Bidelstein, Baron Lübeck, and Baron Ripe around an oak table.

Upon the table were roasted venison, honey-soaked figs, wine, and other delicacies, while musicians played the lute and harp.

"Heh heh. It doesn't seem we'll even have to get involved. The bastards who were standing on the walls aren't showing their faces anymore."

Bidelstein said as he drank wine.

The drink flowed down through his patchy beard and soaked into his protruding belly.

"Haha. If they all die like this, such a large army will have been wasted. Isn't that right, Sir Ripe?"

"Ah... yes."

Ever since witnessing Count Goethe's visit to the camp, Baron Ripe's complexion had been poor.

Most of his hair had fallen out, leaving only the sides, making him resemble a monk who had undergone a tonsure ceremony.

His territory's primary industries had been mining and metalworking, but after the closure of the black market destroyed his main source of income, he had chosen to side with Baron Botmer.

"You haven't touched your food at all. Is something troubling you?"

Bidelstein asked in a greasy voice.

Mark, Ripe, and Hauzen.

The vassals of Goethe who had chosen Botmer.

Among them, Baron Ripe had always possessed the weakest resolve.

"N-No. It's just... this is my first war on such a scale."

"What war? We've got a ten-to-one advantage. It's easier than getting into a fistfight with a child."

Baron Lübeck chimed in.

"Wouldn't you agree, Baron?"

"Something like that."

Baron Botmer slowly swirled his wineglass.

While everyone else drank ordinary wine, he alone drank berry wine.

His gaze remained fixed on the scene outside the tent.

The burning walls of Winterband in the distance.

The engineers tirelessly loading and firing the trebuchets.

Everything was proceeding according to plan.

When the white smoke rising from inside the city finally began to fade, another netted bundle was loaded into a trebuchet pouch.

Inside the net were dozens of small ceramic jars, rattling against one another.

"Be careful! Don't break them!"

An officer shouted at the top of his lungs.

Crash!

A soldier unloading another net bundle from a wagon made a mistake.

One of the ceramic jars shattered, splashing the transparent liquid inside across his face.

In an instant, the soldier's eyes became bloodshot.

Then he screamed.

"Aaaah! D-Die! Dieee!"

He ripped a sword from a fellow soldier's waist and began swinging wildly.

"Shit! What are you—Gahk!"

By the time three or four soldiers had been killed or wounded by the crazed man who had completely lost his reason—

a knight clad in black armor cut off his head.

"Be careful. If it touches you, you'll lose your mind."

"Y-Yes, sir."

The first casualties on Botmer's side did not come from battle.

They came from their own mistake.

"The effect is certainly impressive. Just imagining what's happening inside that city is horrifying."

Despite saying so, Baron Bidelstein's lips curled into a smile.

"Where in the world did you obtain something like that?"

"The Empire has expanded its territory far and wide, and wherever it expands, countless large and small wars follow for all sorts of reasons. War has a tendency to invent interesting things."

Baron Botmer answered Bidelstein's question.

"The sort of things designed to kill people."

The jars inside the nets.

They contained a substance that induced madness.

More precisely, they were products of alchemy designed to trigger hallucinations and overwhelming fear.

A drug once used by Marquis Dietrich of Bern City to control orphans.

Once addicted, everything around the victim begins to appear as the thing they fear most—

or hate the most.

"Then what if the Count ends up dying in all this? Wouldn't it be over before the First Prince even arrives?"

Baron Lübeck scratched the scar running across the corner of his mouth.

Perhaps because of that scar, his sneer appeared even more pronounced.

"Well now. We'll only know that when the time comes, won't we, Baron Ripe?"

Baron Botmer's gaze shifted toward Baron Ripe.

"Y-Yes, Baron."

"In two days, your soldiers will lead the advance."

"...Pardon?"

"Do not worry. The men I've personally trained will open the way, and the mercenaries will advance alongside them. Before this war ends in such a dull fashion, shouldn't you make an impression on the parliamentary faction?"

His pale, ice-colored eyes settled upon Baron Ripe.

"What are you hesitating for, Baron Ripe? The Baron is showing you consideration."

Bidelstein said while tearing into a venison leg with his bare hands.

"He is absolutely right. Baron Bidelstein and I mainly command cavalry and archers. The Baron's own troops must remain prepared for Goethe's reinforcements. In contrast, your forces consist mostly of infantry, do they not?"

Baron Lübeck looked directly at Baron Ripe.

"As Baron Bidelstein said, this is consideration. If you fail to earn any merit here, then after betraying Goethe, you will belong nowhere."

"Baron Ripe."

"...Yes."

"I trust you will obey your commander's orders."

"I shall."

At Baron Botmer's words, Baron Ripe reluctantly nodded.

"More importantly, we still haven't heard anything about the First Prince's mobilization. Are there truly no royalist reinforcements or other supporting forces?"

"Come to think of it, didn't Count Goethe form a marriage alliance with the northern barbarians? I heard they are the largest barbarian tribe in the North."

"There is no need to worry about that. If the barbarians wish to bring any meaningful number of troops here, they must pass through Marquis Oton's territory. I've already settled the matter with him."

"As expected of you, Baron."

"Enough of this. Let us raise our glasses."

Bidelstein lurched to his feet.

"And what exactly are we drinking to?"

Lübeck asked.

"What else? To His Majesty's health, of course."

Bidelstein laughed.

"And after that, to Baron Botmer's health."

"To his health."

"To his health."

Baron Botmer let out a quiet chuckle.

Then he added:

"To the downfall of Goethe."

"To the downfall of Goethe!"

Baron Ripe raised his glass without saying a word.

The fingertips holding it trembled slightly.

***

East of Vinfelt.

Beyond the Black Forest, a coastline battered by dense sea fog and drifting ice came into view.

Baldarin, the port city of Marquis Oton's domain.

Snow swept so heavily that it obscured the horizon.

Though called a port, half its docks were trapped in sea ice, and the ships could do little more than float upon the partially frozen waters with their anchors dropped.

On days like this, neither fishing, trade, nor merchant traffic could operate freely.

The townspeople themselves rarely ventured outside.

Though chunks of sea ice floated across the waters, the blizzards and ocean winds frequently drove waves over the seawalls and into residential districts.

At times, massive slabs of ice crashed into houses like enormous fangs.

The commercial district was silent as if frozen in time, while farther inland, black smoke continually rose from chimneys as residents struggled to keep warm.

Marquis Oton stood atop a watchtower overlooking the sea, surveying the city below.

Gerald von Oton.

He wore the thick fur of a magical beast, and beneath it was layered armor bearing the crest of a white whale and three waves.

The white whale symbolized sovereignty over the sea.

The three waves represented restraint, observation, and decisive action.

With dark eyes, he watched a long procession advancing through the blizzard.

Whoooooosh—

Warriors.

Even amidst the brutal cold and howling winds, they continued forward.

Marching in groups through the streets of the city, their numbers clearly exceeded several hundred.

Every one of them was a giant wrapped head to toe in thick, weathered animal hides.

Each carried or wore iron axes and chain hammers, while necklaces and belts adorned with beast fangs and claws hung from their bodies.

Their breath spread like smoke through the frozen air before vanishing.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

For a moment, Marquis Oton felt as though the earth itself were trembling.

"You gave us passage more easily than I expected."

A woman with ash-gray hair tied tightly behind her head looked at him.

She was dressed much like the massive warriors marching through the snowstorm.

"How could I possibly block your path, my lady?"

"Thanks to that, we'll pass through without shedding blood. You have my gratitude."

"Gratitude? Hardly. If I resisted, my head would probably end up beneath an axe."

"Surely you don't think we'd chop off your head, Marquis."

Adele smiled with a youthful innocence.

It was hard to believe she was the mother of two children.

Yet when it came to Granak, the Marquis knew them better than most.

Oton's territory bordered the Fang Mountains, home of the Granak tribe, and the two sides had clashed countless times through the generations.

Thanks to careful diplomacy, matters had never escalated into all-out war as they had with Goethe, but numerous conflicts and disputes had still occurred.

Among Oton's ancestors, not one had ever defeated Granak by force.

None had even attempted it.

A single Granak warrior could cut down ten Oton soldiers without difficulty.

"Even so, Baron Botmer won't sit quietly and accept this."

"What can be done? It was an unreasonable request from the beginning."

"I heard he gave you some rather valuable gifts. What if we lose?"

"If it looks like you're going to lose, I'll have no choice but to strike at your rear. I need to survive as well."

"You haven't changed."

"Neither has your beauty."

"And your sweet talk remains the same."

"I remain sincere."

"What a shame. If you were just a little more handsome than Helmut, Marquis, I might actually have been tempted."

Adele smiled.

"Even for Granak warriors, passing through the Black Forest won't be easy."

"The Black Forest? That's hardly a concern. I traveled all the way into a Demonic Realm just to cure my son."

"I wish you good fortune in battle."

"And the same to you."

The Marquis watched Adele descend the watchtower stairs before turning his gaze back toward the storm-shrouded sea.

The horizon was barely visible through the blizzard.

***

"Brother, when exactly are we leaving? It's already been two days since Carlson marched out. At this rate, Winterband will be finished before we even arrive."

"Just wait a little longer."

Isaac stood atop the watchtower, looking toward the Black Forest.

"You'll see them soon."

"See who?"

Besimer grumbled.

"My mother."

Having said that, Isaac leapt from the watchtower.

"Have you lost your mind?!"

Besimer shouted down from above.

Isaac was already riding his Hellwolf toward the Black Forest.

A childlike smile spread across his face.