Chapter 149 - Death and Honor Are Not the Same (13)
"Prepare for battle!"
The moment they heard the word "enemy," Ferdinand and Andersen immediately ordered everyone to get ready for combat.
"Tighten the formation! Pull the soldiers back!"
Ernest didn't just prepare for battle—he also took the current state of the 1st Battalion into account, ordering them to reduce the area of engagement.
Yesterday, when he assigned troops to guard duty, he had designated fallback positions in case something like this happened.
Following his instructions, officers and non-commissioned officers from the 2nd Company quickly pulled their soldiers back and repositioned them accordingly.
Fortunately, because the guard posts had been set up properly, they were able to spot the enemy in advance and gained precious time to tighten their ranks again.
"Locate the enemy!"
"Even if you see them, hold your fire!"
Even though there was a sense of despair, the once-quiet campsite of the 1st Battalion turned into a scene of utter chaos in seconds.
The soldiers, who had just begun learning how to handle Powder Guns, raced to their positions with ashen faces, while officers and non-commissioned officers rushed about, making frantic preparations for battle.
"The enemy is approaching from the north!"
"There are enemies to the southwest!"
"Check the east!"
"Do you see any enemies to the east?"
"Nothing in sight!"
"They're closing the encirclement! We have to break out to the east!"
"It's already too late! If we try to escape now, we'll just get chased down and killed! We have to form ranks and resist, force them to negotiate!"
The staff officers cried out, insisting they make a run for it, but Ernest disagreed, knowing escape was impossible.
If they were going to do it, they should've moved before the enemy made their move.
With the encirclement closing in and the soldiers staggering from dehydration, trying to dash for freedom now would only leave men collapsing and getting picked off, one after another.
"We've come this far, so our enemy must want to see this through to the end."
"Battalion Commander, sir."
At that moment, Bailey spoke up, his voice oddly relieved.
"Surrender is not an option. Retreat is not an option. Negotiation is not an option. We will die fighting bravely, like true soldiers of the Empire."
"This crazy bastard…!"
"Ernest!"
Just as Ernest, having finally given up all hope in Bailey Hoffman, lunged at him, Ferdinand stepped in and blocked his path.
Bailey was a robust man—rested and still fresh, thanks to hardly sharing in the company's hardship.
But Ferdinand knew that if Ernest was truly determined, he could kill a noble officer like Bailey in the blink of an eye.
Even Ferdinand, who could easily overpower Ernest in a fistfight, realized that if Ernest only had a small dagger in his hand, the only way to survive would be to run.
"It's too late! Do your duty, Ernest!"
Ferdinand gripped Ernest's shoulders firmly and spoke with unwavering resolve.
Ernest tried to glare at Bailey, hidden behind Ferdinand's broad shoulders, but as he met Ferdinand's eyes—so steady and full of conviction—he gritted his teeth.
In a fleeting instant, a rush of emotions flashed between them, and then Ernest's face had become like that of his father—like an old, withered tree.
"The 2nd Company will act separately. Lead them. Yourself."
Ernest's voice was flat and expressionless as he spoke, then he grabbed Ferdinand's wrist and pulled his hand away.
For a brief moment, they stood there, just staring at each other, a silent exchange passing between two men who had clashed for years but still trusted one another deeply.
"Understood. No matter what happens, I'll hold the line."
Until the ever-resourceful Ernest disrupted the enemy and turned the tide, Ferdinand would hold on, leading the defense with discipline and steadiness.
They'd done this a thousand times since their days as Officer Cadets, working in synchrony, and even now, they would do it again.
He couldn't trust anyone else to take command.
Ferdinand had to lead personally.
Bailey was out of the question, of course, and Andersen wasn't an option either.
It was not about skill, but trust.
Ernest knew exactly how Ferdinand would handle the troops, even without seeing.
"Bergman! 3rd Platoon stays at the campsite! You're under Ferdinand's command. Disregard any other orders!"
"Yes!"
Ernest had openly dismissed Battalion Commander Bailey's authority.
In the past, if Bailey had given a direct order, Simon would have followed it without question.
But now, Simon trusted Ernest so completely that he'd willingly follow him, no matter how reckless or dangerous the task.
So, he would ignore Bailey and only obey Ferdinand's command.
"1st and 2nd Platoons, you're coming with me!"
"Yes!"
Without even a specific tactical meeting, Ernest led the 1st and 2nd Platoons and started sprinting east from the campsite.
To call this an independent operation was generous.
This was pure audacity.
"Wait, hold on! If 2nd Company pulls out like that, how are we supposed to fight?"
Hans cried out in alarm as he watched the 2nd Company men dash away from the campsite.
The 2nd Company currently made up half of the 1st Battalion's remaining combat strength, and among them, the 1st and 2nd Platoons were the best of the best.
Now, those elite platoons from the 2nd Company had abruptly withdrawn from the battlefield without any prior discussion.
"Ernest will definitely throw a wrench in things and turn the tide."
Ferdinand spoke with unwavering conviction.
"And for now, no matter what anyone says, I need to take command."
Ferdinand said this as he put on his heavy helmet, gripped the rifle slung over his shoulder, and fixed the bayonet.
Ernest always made absolutely sure he knew what he was doing—and somehow, he always seemed to know precisely what the enemy was up to, too.
And as for how Ferdinand would command, Ernest probably understood it just as well as Ferdinand himself did.
In other words, as long as Ferdinand was leading the friendly forces, Ernest could see the entire battlefield as if from above.
The 1st and 2nd Platoons of the 2nd Company had pulled out, and the 3rd Platoon was now under Ferdinand's command.
The 3rd Company had suffered heavy casualties in the initial battle, so their numbers were few.
Although Ferdinand's 1st Company had taken heavier losses than the 2nd Company, they still had a decent number of men left. Now, about eighty percent of the troops remaining at the campsite were under Ferdinand's command, trust in Bailey's leadership was completely shattered, and Ferdinand was the only one capable of responding promptly to Ernest's surprising moves.
"Goddamn it. Fine, do as you please."
Hans swore under his breath, but willingly acknowledged Ferdinand's right to command.
Given how dire the situation was, he picked up his gun and joined the ranks as an ordinary soldier instead of acting as a staff officer. The other staff officers did the same.
Andersen just shrugged his shoulders once and didn't say a word.
"..."
Bailey stood with his hands folded behind his back, doing nothing. He truly believed that, in this situation, not only was victory impossible for the 1st Battalion, but survival itself was out of reach.
Everyone would die anyway.
That way, Bailey's blunder would be buried along with the bodies.
***
"What are you planning!"
As they slipped out through the eastern side of the campsite, Robert asked Ernest.
Ernest spun around to face Robert, looking at him as if he'd seen a ghost.
"You fool! Why did you come!"
"Damn it! You idiot! Then you should have told me not to come! You're the one who told me to come, aren't you!"
"You fool! Even if I don't say it, you should have the sense to stay put!" "Damn fool! I'm the 1st Platoon Leader—where do you expect me to hide!"
Robert, who wasn't talented at fighting to begin with, was already wheezing from a cold, and now they had to dash through the forest as a Detached Force, battling the enemy. Ernest was terrified that Robert might suddenly die.
But it was too late to send Robert back now.
Ernest ground his teeth and kept running, eyes fixed ahead.
"Huff! Huff! Huff!"
"Platoon Leader, get a hold of yourself."
"Sergeant Gustav!"
As the 2nd Platoon Leader, Billim suddenly found himself in a dire and unexpected situation, needing to turn the odds in an unfavorable battle in the forest as part of the Detached Force.
The tension and anxiety left him only half in control of himself.
This was hardly surprising—Billim had only seen real combat for the first time yesterday.
He had fought his first battle on the plains in front of Lanosel, his second rescuing the encircled 3rd Company after entering the forest, and his third that very evening during a night battle.
And now, on the second day of real combat, he was in his fourth battle, sprinting through the forest as part of the Detached Force.
Staying sane in these circumstances would be stranger.
"Why is it always just Bergman who's left!"
Billim shouted, half in tears out of sheer frustration.
He desperately wished he could have stayed back at the campsite like Simon.
"This is just how the 2nd Platoon is!"
Ralf replied with a dry laugh, even though his lips were cracked from dehydration.
"Why!"
"If you want to know, you should ask our former Platoon Leader, Captain Fox!"
"Arghhh!"
He felt so wronged he could scream, but he couldn't take it out on his superior, Ernest, and at this point, turning back was out of the question… On the verge of losing his mind, Billim let out a desperate yell yet kept running after Ernest.
They were already too far from the campsite. Billim didn't want to end up stranded alone out here.
"Quiet!"
"..."
In a situation where they had to break through the enemy's encirclement and fight as a Detached Force, making noise was out of the question. At Ernest's sharp command, everyone immediately shut their mouths and focused on running.
Symptoms of dehydration set in: dizzy spells, a pounding heart, and throats that felt like they were burning.
For those already down with a cold, it was sheer agony.
Sweat was already starting to form as they ran through the early summer forest.
If they couldn't rehydrate after the battle, they would all collapse before evening.
"This is a fight we can't win."
Ernest knew, better than anyone, that there was no chance of victory in this battle.
If it had been a nighttime engagement like yesterday evening—one where darkness could fuel the chaos—they might have been able to try something, but the enemy had attacked early in the morning, before the 1st Battalion was fully prepared.
In terms of timing, it couldn't have been more perfect.
"I can't understand why Count Lafayette wouldn't give up and kept attacking."
Still, he couldn't figure out the intent behind the attack, and his mind raced.
Bertrand's plan had already failed, and any further fighting would amount to nothing but meaningless losses.
Bertrand seemed to be a rational person.
And yet, to attack now meant he was convinced he could gain something from it.
But no matter how hard Ernest thought, he couldn't figure out what Bertrand hoped to gain from this battle.
"…Ah, right. Even the most rational person can act irrationally sometimes."
Soon, Ernest was able to guess why Bertrand had launched this attack.
Bertrand had already lost in the field of tactics, but he had practically seized victory on the level of strategy.
In fact, he had almost grasped it completely.
But then, last night's crushing and unexpected defeat shattered everything.
It wasn't just a defeat in battle—the entire strategy had collapsed, and with it, the revival of Belliang slipped out of reach.
It's more common than you'd think for someone who's lost their purpose to spiral into reckless, irrational behavior.
Even Ernest himself, when Jonas died in battle, simply clung to his friend's body, refusing to accept reality and desperately trying to wake his dead friend.
When Bailey realized his own mistake and decided everything was lost, he too gave up and started babbling nonsense.
If Bertrand, the king's nephew, was acting perfectly rational after his strategy had failed and his country was on the brink of ruin, that would be far stranger.
And Ernest had no idea how to persuade someone trapped in that irrational state.
That lack of ability was precisely why things between him and Bailey had gotten so messed up—it was inevitable.
"Damn it. Nothing is going the way it should."
Once again, Ernest came face-to-face with how utterly irrational the very act of war could be.
Now, there was only one thing left for him to do: to capture Bertrand—the man Bailey had been so blinded by rage to pursue.
Nothing ever goes as planned in life.
***
"They're quick."
Bertrand muttered as he listened to the report on the 1st Battalion's movements.
Even though the Belliang Army had swung around stealthily to set up an encirclement, they'd been discovered in an instant.
On top of that, the 1st Battalion moved with astonishing agility—he could sense almost no confusion among them.
"A field commander, huh…"
Bertrand, who had usually been too focused on orchestrating the grand strategies of war to pay much attention to small skirmishes, was now realizing just how critical a field commander could be.
"Your Excellency, I really think you should fall back."
Jade advised Bertrand once again, his voice full of concern. But Bertrand, eyes unwavering, slowly shook his head. As he moved, the clinking of his armor echoed around them.
"I'll see with my own eyes, listen with my own ears, and command with my own voice."
Bertrand rose from his chair and began walking forward, a bit awkward in armor he was wearing for the first time since the war had started. Still, he pressed on.
Squelch!
"Your Excellency!"
"Ah!"
Bertrand nearly slipped after stepping on moss covering a tree root, but Jade managed to catch him.
"…So, it wasn't just the dress shoes' fault after all."
Even though Bertrand had finally gotten rid of those damned dress shoes, he almost stumbled again.
Embarrassed, he mumbled for no reason while accepting Jade's support as he led the way himself.
Whoosh!
The red Royal Flag of Belliang fluttered powerfully behind him. The flag bearer was completely focused, doing his best to keep the flag from getting caught and torn on any tree branches.
Bertrand's decision to take the lead was partly to deal with the unpredictable variable that was Ernest Krieger, but the main reason was the desperate need to rally the Belliang Army's shattered morale.
They'd sacrificed over a hundred men faking a retreat out on the plain.
Finally, after luring the enemy into their trap, that damned bastard tore through their encirclement like the forest was his own backyard—even though it was his first time there—and forced a draw, which, in truth, was a victory for the Imperial Army, ending the battle.
Then that damn bastard took control of the battlefield during last night's engagement, as if he were possessed, snatching victory from us once again.
The Belliang Army under Bertrand's command had suffered three consecutive defeats.
Twice, it was that damned Ernest—damn Krieger—who stole victory from battles they should have won.
The soldiers' morale had hit rock bottom.
Now, just hearing Krieger's name was enough to make them tremble with fear.
This, even though the Belliang Army still held a decisive advantage overall.
If Bertrand hadn't shown himself on the field with the flag, the soldiers wouldn't have even tried to fight.
If Ernest charged at them, there was a real chance the troops would just scatter and flee.
"The encirclement is complete."
By the time Bertrand approached the battlefield, the encirclement around the 1st Battalion was finally finished. Now the 1st Battalion had absolutely no escape.
Bertrand fully embraced the advice of Estelle, Star of Summer.
Estelle had warned from the beginning—they must never give Ernest any opening for unpredictable maneuvers.
Bertrand and the other Belliang commanders had been skeptical at first, but now they weren't.
So they chose the most brute-force and foolproof option: use overwhelming numbers to surround the enemy and then crush them with overwhelming force.
Apart from that, any details or finer tactics would be adjusted on the spot according to the situation on the battlefield.
"Shields."
When Jade spoke in a low voice, the waiting Royal Guard Soldiers surrounded Bertrand with their large, heavy rectangular shields The shield, designed to stop bullets, was made by covering extremely dense wood with leather and then reinforcing it with an extra layer of iron, making it very heavy.
Because of this, the Royal Guard Soldiers who carried those shields wore no armor, and were only equipped with a single pistol and a short one-handed sword.
As Bertrand walked, the shield wall formed by the Royal Guards moved smoothly along with him.
Even though the ground in the forest was a mess, they protected Bertrand flawlessly from every angle as they advanced. Behind them, the Royal Flag followed, majestic and proud.
"So he's coming out himself."
Now, even the 1st Battalion could see Bertrand and the Royal Flag. Ferdinand saw this and realized instinctively that the Belliang Army wouldn't retreat as easily as they had the previous evening.
Bertrand himself was moving onto the battlefield, staking everything on this fight.
No matter what, they would keep battling until one side was completely finished—and it was all too clear that the 1st Battalion would reach that end before Belliang did.
"Sir Estelle, can you see him?" Bertrand asked.
There was a brief silence after Bertrand's question.
"…Is this not the place?" he wondered aloud.
Looking flustered, Bertrand raised his head and searched among the trees.
"I don't see him."
Thankfully, they were in the right spot. Estelle, who had been watching the 1st Battalion from up in a tree, poked her face out from between the branches and spoke.
"Is he hiding?" Bertrand asked "It looks like there are fewer soldiers than before. They must have suffered quite a bit, but I doubt the damage is actually that severe."
"My God. Are you saying they've already slipped away?"
"That's probably the case."
"This is enough to drive me insane!"
Thanks to Estelle, Bertrand realized before the battle that Ernest had already led part of his troops out of the encirclement.
What kind of life had that lunatic lived to end up like this at just seventeen or eighteen?
"…Should I even have come here at all?"
After hearing that chilling news, Bertrand started to regret stepping out in person.
It was the same spine-tingling unease you feel when you trap a cockroach under a bowl, only to lift it up and find nothing there—it makes every hair on your body stand on end.
"Yes, probably."
"But I can't just pull back now, can I?"
"No..."
Jade answered Bertrand's question in a troubled tone. Everyone had just witnessed the Supreme Commander—King's nephew, Count of Lafayette, Bertrand himself—step forward to lead in person, a clear effort to rally their shattered morale.
And now, if he said, "Ah, sorry. I came because I thought Krieger was still trapped in the encirclement, but I'm scared so I'm heading back"— If I just said, 'Good work,' and pulled back now, the morale of the Belliang Army would sink right through the floor, and the troops would fall apart before the battle even began.
On the other hand, staying here meant there was no telling when or where Ernest might pop out and target Bertrand.
Realistically, the only way for the 1st Battalion to survive was to capture Bertrand.
Obviously, Ernest would focus his attack on Bertrand.
"It can't be helped. Deploy troops around me and strengthen our defenses."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"Shall we postpone the attack?"
"Yes, postpone it. If we act rashly, we'll only add confusion to the situation, won't we?"
Bertrand avoided having the defensive deployment and the battle happen at the same time. He believed that even the slightest confusion could give Ernest the perfect opportunity.
"…Even in this situation, I'm so afraid of a single young officer that I can't move."
The more Bertrand thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed, and he sighed.
This was supposed to be a battle he couldn't possibly lose, yet he'd been defeated twice already.
Even now, despite surrounding an enemy force with thousands of soldiers, he couldn't attack recklessly—not when the enemy barely had a hundred able fighters left.
"I was wrong. What's the point of devising a strategy to turn the world upside down all by myself? There's no use if there's no one who can make it a reality."
Bertrand realized that, in the end, he was nothing more than a planner.
Without a capable commander to carry out his strategies and achieve his goals, all those brilliant plans were nothing but empty theorizing.
He had been inexperienced as well.
You could even say he'd been arrogant.
To think that perfect planning alone would guarantee victory—reality just didn't work out so conveniently.
Especially when it came to war; nothing ever went according to plan. No matter how hard you tried to control every variable, something always slithered out from somewhere, like a cockroach.
Just like that damned Ernest—Damn Krieger himself.
"The deployment is complete."
"Good, thank you. Now there's no reason to hesitate."
Bertrand let out a deep sigh, then, eyes flashing with vivid green, shouted in a thunderous voice,
"We will make the enemy who invaded our land pay in blood!"
His frail body was weaker than a seven-year-old child, but that commanding voice—now that was worthy of a Grand General.
"Attack!"
"Attack! Attack!"
Bertrand's booming voice rang through the forest, and the Belliang Army, picking up the shards of their shattered morale, began to obey his orders and attack the 1st Battalion.
"Shit!"
"Hold position! Hold position!"
"Do not fire, just hold your positions!"
The Imperial Army's basic tactics revolved around their fast reload speed—firing their powder guns in rapid succession, overwhelming the enemy with sheer firepower.
But now, the soldiers of the 1st Battalion, even with the enemy charging toward them, were paralyzed with fear and anxiety at the thought that they were not allowed to shoot.
But the Belliang Army, still reeling from a string of mysterious defeats, was also seized with terror and uncertainty—if you counted up the truly courageous soldiers on this battlefield, you'd be lucky to get even a hundred.
"Hold your positions!"
Ferdinand kept repeating the order to wait.
Powder guns took a long time to reload, so you had to conserve fire until the very moment you could inflict the most damage possible.
Pow! Pow-pow! Pow!
"Ugh!"
"Damn it!"
Outnumbering them by far, the Belliang soldiers fired without hesitation the moment they spotted anyone from the 1st Battalion.
As one man reloaded behind a tree, another would fire and charge forward; there was no reason to save bullets. More than anything, if they didn't force themselves forward this way, the Belliang troops simply wouldn't be able to advance at all.
"Hold your positions!"
"How long are we supposed to just stand here?"
"Hold your positions!"
The soldiers of the 1st Battalion crouched down, unable to move, while the enemy drew closer with every passing moment.
Even so, Ferdinand continued to order them to wait until the very end.
They were completely surrounded, the enemy was charging, and their own firepower was weak due to being equipped with powder guns.
Still, the situation wasn't entirely bleak.
For one thing, the enemy was also using powder guns instead of Balt Guns.
Since the 1st Battalion had powder guns, the more numerous Belliang Army could overwhelm them in terms of firepower.
That's why the Balt Battery—especially the Star of Summer—was being focused on shutting down any unpredictable factors. Most likely, having used up too much of the captured Balt Battery ammunition from the 1st Battalion yesterday, they were now being thrifty with what was left.
Next, the terrain was favorable.
This was the spot Ernest had chosen for the battlefield and as a campsite.
While it was hard to launch an attack from here and meant there would be no escape if they were surrounded, it also made defense much easier.
An ordinary person wouldn't notice—the place just looked like a forest, full of trees.
"The enemy has reached us!"
"Fire!"
At last, the enemy came within range. Ferdinand gave the order to fire, and the soldiers of the 1st Battalion, who had been in hiding, poked out their heads and muzzles and opened fire in unison.
Ratatatat!
Where the cover ended and another piece began—those empty, exposed spaces—bullets rained down on the Belliang soldiers, felling them in droves.
This was the very same spot where, just the evening before, the 1st Battalion had repelled the Belliang Army's charge.
"Once you've fired, fall back!"
The soldiers who fired quickly retreated, while those who had fixed bayonets and were waiting in the rear stepped forward, taking cover and preparing for close quarters combat.
These men would risk their lives to buy time for the others to reload their powder guns.
"What about me? What should I do?"
Bruno, the only available Baltracher in the 1st Battalion who hadn't yet received any orders since the battle began, turned to Ferdinand and asked.
"Stand by."
Ferdinand, his voice low, ordered him to wait as he watched Bertrand and the red Royal Flag hidden behind a shield in the southwest direction.
"Keep your eyes only on that spot. Ernest will give you the signal. All you have to do is seize the opportunity the moment it comes, without missing it."
"…Understood."
The Star of Summer still hadn't revealed herself.
She was probably guarding Bertrand.
Even if Bruno fought alone, he could never stop the Star of Summer on his own.
In the end, she would kill Ernest and protect Bertrand.
But there was nothing they could do.
All they could do was hold out as long as possible and wait for Ernest to grasp his chance.
"Die! Die, you bastards!"
"Uaaaah!"
Meanwhile, the close quarters combat had begun. The 1st Battalion soldiers defended from superior terrain, but they were all completely exhausted, suffering from dehydration and colds, so they could hardly put up any resistance.
"Just hold on a bit longer!"
"Damn it! Hurry up already!"
"Fire as soon as you finish reloading!"
Bang!
The 1st Battalion soldiers who had retreated to reload managed to finish and open fire on the enemy.
"Switch with me!"
"Die!"
"Aaagh!"
Even with gunfire, you were lucky if you managed to kill a single enemy. On top of that, many of the soldiers, inexperienced with powder guns, couldn't keep steady until the powder finished burning, causing the bullet to go flying into the air.
Often, after all that effort reloading, their shots amounted to nothing.
"Can't we take aim at Count Lafayette?"
"There's no opening. He only peeks out now and then, but hitting him is next to impossible."
"Hmmm..."
Some staff officers, who had prior experience using powder guns as a kind of sport, stayed calm as they loaded, fired, and took down one enemy per shot, hitting their mark every time.
But even so, it was impossible to hold back the waves of attackers crashing in.
Right now, if they wanted to turn things around, their only shot was to target Bertrand.
But he was hiding far away, behind the shield wall of the Royal Guard, only occasionally peeking out to survey the battle situation—there was no way to take aim at him.
The reason Bertrand was being so extremely cautious about snipers was none other than that damn Ernest Krieger.
Because of his marksmanship, which was so exceptional it was almost unfair, The Star of Summer—who had firsthand experience with bloodshed had issued several repeated warnings.
"If you stick your head out for more than two seconds, you'll be dead."
"..."
Estelle explained Ernest's shooting skill to Bertrand in meticulous detail.
Two seconds—the time it took for Ernest to aim, pull the trigger, and fire the gun.
There was a split-second more for the bullet to actually reach the target, but instead of trying to calculate that margin and risk getting your skull pierced, it was better to stick to the strictest, tightest window possible.
Honestly, even two seconds was too long.
If you kept poking your head out in the same spot, Ernest would have already taken aim and fired, drilling a hole right through your head before you could even blink.
"Don't fire! Hold your positions! Hold!"
In the midst of pitched battle, Ferdinand ordered a halt to all shooting. The staff officers, realizing what the next command would be, naturally withdrew to secure new positions.
"Help us!"
"Just hang on a little longer! We've been told to hold our position!"
But the soldiers, completely absorbed in directly fighting the enemy, didn't understand the command and could do nothing but hold out.
"Hold! Hold!"
"Prepare to charge!"
As Ferdinand halted the shooting and ordered everyone to stand by, Bertrand, who understood not only the words but also Ferdinand's intentions, began preparing for an even fiercer charge.
Having unwillingly memorized a few Belliang words through the course of battle, Ferdinand understood him perfectly.
His intentions had been completely exposed to the enemy—but there was nothing he could do about it.
"Fire!"
"Charge!"
Tat-tat-tat-tat!
The soldiers of the 1st Battalion, armed with powder guns, unleashed a volley on the enemy, causing the Belliang troops to collapse in waves.
But the Belliang soldiers pressed their attack even harder, not giving their enemies even a moment to breathe.
"Fall back and switch out!"
"Swap out! Hurry!"
"Damn it! Damn it!"
The soldiers in the front, who had been forced to fight the enemy at close quarters with nothing but a useless gun that wouldn't even fire, hurriedly retreated and exchanged their weapons with the soldiers who had been shooting with powder guns.
"Don't rush forward—hold your positions as you are! Form a new line!"
Thanks to the excellent terrain Ernest had chosen, Ferdinand wanted to maintain the formation as much as possible.
But there had already been many casualties.
If he insisted on keeping the line as it was, gaping holes would soon open up, so he had to pull the formation in tighter.
Despite everything, the 1st Battalion was holding out much better than expected.
Partly it was because Belliang Army's morale was low, and partly because the 1st Battalion was well trained.
The hell they'd endured in Bertagne Forest had been every bit as fierce as the battle they were now fighting.
The fighting had been so intense that there had been no time to even train the soldiers.
Whenever new recruits joined, they'd die in the next battle, so there was no reason to bother with training.
Those who survived such a brutal battlefield were true warriors, survivors of hell itself.
Even Bailey's drills couldn't compare to real combat.
In truth, it was the soldiers who had survived the battle in Bertagne Forest who were somehow managing to hold the line and keep order, despite being overwhelmingly outnumbered.
Ping! Thud!
"Argh!"
A staff officer, who had just pulled back to take up a firing position, was struck down by enemy fire.
"Get up. At least die standing before you fall."
Hans, speaking firmly, pulled the fallen staff officer up. The lieutenant, only twenty-three years old, groaned from the bullet lodged in his abdomen—the shot having pierced his armor—but used his gun as a crutch and struggled to his feet.
"Can you still shoot?"
"...Yes..."
"Good. Keep fighting."
"Huff... huff..."
He kept firing at the enemy, but the bullet lodged in his abdomen sent shockwaves through his insides, causing him to bleed endlessly; the pain grew so severe he could no longer stand upright and eventually sank to his knees.
"Gasp! Gasp! Gasp!"
Kneeling and gasping for air, he finished reloading and tried to raise his gun to his shoulder, only to collapse forward.
"You fought well. Let's meet again in hell," Hans said, picking up the fully loaded gun from the fallen staff officer and opening fire at the enemy.
His Majesty the Emperor of the Mihahil Empire had thoroughly destroyed, ridiculed, and denied the concepts of God and the afterlife, but a soldier who wagered his life on the battlefield could not completely reject the existence of God.
After all, even an abstract entity like God was something to hold on to.
Of course, for those who had sent countless others to their deaths on the battlefield, hell was likely the only place left for them to go.
From a cold, dispassionate perspective, that young officer's death was simply the loss of another capable asset.
But as a noble and an officer who had faced the terror of death and fought bravely to the end, his dignified final moments rekindled the fading fighting spirit in the hearts of the 1st Battalion soldiers, who already sensed defeat closing in.
The battle showed no sign of stopping.
The 1st Battalion fought incredibly well.
Even as someone in the thick of the fighting, I could hardly believe how well we held out.
But the battalion had already reached its limits, and at a certain point, it began to crumble rapidly under the enemy's fierce assault.
"1st Company Commander!"
"I told you to hold position."
"But at this rate, we'll all die before we even get a chance to do anything!"
Bruno shouted at Ferdinand as he watched their comrades falling one after another in the ongoing battle.
Ferdinand surveyed the battlefield with his cold gaze, then glanced briefly at Bruno.
"Even if you force yourself now, nothing will change. You don't have the power to turn this situation around."
"..."
"Changing the situation is Ernest's job. All you need to do is make sure Ernest doesn't miss his chance."
Bruno couldn't say a word in response to Ferdinand. Even Ernest didn't seem like he could do anything in this situation. Yet to see such unwavering faith—he could hardly believe it. Was this deep trust or just foolishness?
At the same time, Bruno understood why Ernest had handed over all command authority of the 1st Battalion to Ferdinand. If it wasn't someone like Ferdinand, who trusted Ernest this much, who else could possibly believe in Ernest enough to face this crisis head-on?
Just as Ferdinand trusted Ernest, Ernest trusted Ferdinand too.
Even if Ernest and Robert didn't share the kind of deep friendship that binds people together for life, there was still a trust between them so strong that they would willingly risk their lives for each other.
And, as always, Ernest never betrayed that trust.
Ratatatat! Bang! Waaahhh!
Just as the last line of the 1st Battalion was about to break, simultaneous gunfire and shouts erupted from beyond the southwest, where Bertrand was positioned.