[Jarlpa]
“Welcome, Your Excellency. We’re honored.”
At the gate of Fortress Centena a tall man stepped forward, his long reddish-brown hair brushing his eyes as he inclined his chin toward me. Targa Brescia—commander of the border knight order that garrisoned Centena—was a mountain of a man, well over two meters, all muscle and bone. With him standing there I could have sworn a giant walked the ramparts.
This order drew troops from the Marquis Fertio, the Count Ferdinatto, Count Ventury’s house, and even detachments from the royal and ducal houses. By design the commander should always be a knight chosen from the royal or ducal household; the two vice-commanders were selected from the senior nobles’ contingents.
Once Targa arrived, whatever influence the local noble captains previously held had been swallowed whole. That alone proved his worth—his raw strength and tactical sense.
In a voice as deep as his frame, he continued, “…Your Excellency, you bringing an army implies you’ve already grasped the situation.”
“Of course. From this fortress onward lies Fertio territory. We have several channels to gather news on Shelvia.” I answered plainly.
Targa nodded once, curtly—then turned his heel and led us beneath the gate without further ceremony.
“Right this way.”
One of the vice-commanders now stepped forward to guide us, and Stradale, who rode beside me, gave the briefest inclination before signaling the men. “Half the order will garrison Centena. The rest prepare a field camp.”
He required no more instruction and fell in behind. The interior was all naked stone—functional to the point of austerity. Centena was built for purpose, not comfort. It could hold about five thousand men: a mid-sized fortress for a border keep, compact and economical. Corridors were narrow; two men walking abreast would brush shoulders. Where the walls faced Shelvia there were yards and supply stores, but otherwise every inch had been pressed into service.
We moved through that narrow architecture until we were ushered into a large chamber. A single great table dominated the room; a map of Shelvia lay unfurled across it. The point Targa tapped was a fortified city not far from here—an anchor of Shelvia’s defenses.
He took the chair across from me and gestured for me to sit. I planted myself and stared at the map. “…So. What is the current situation?” I asked.
Targa pointed at the city and began. “There was much confusion, but finally things are moving. Knights are being reorganized there; we’ve traced most of the supply lines. And—there’s a certain special weapon in play.”
“Black spheres and cannons, then. So Yelenetta is active.” I said flatly.
“Exactly. We’ve even had reports of wagons flying Yelenetta standards. It seems both east and west of Shelvia have bent to Yelenetta's will.” Targa’s words landed heavy. I drew a long, slow breath.
So Yelenetta has the gall to scheme like this.
Heads turned toward me. “Are you referring to an alliance with Shelvia?” one vice-commander asked, brow furrowed. I clicked my tongue in annoyance.
“Fools! Do you think such an alliance would go unnoticed? Why would Yelenetta parade their banners openly if they wanted secrecy? Think!” I snapped. The questioning captain shrank back, shoulders trembling. Watching him made my teeth itch.
Targa’s voice grew grave. “…So they intend to split our forces. By assembling nearly everything into a single effort, Yelenetta hopes to disperse Scuderia’s strength.”
“That is their aim. A fool hearing of this would hurry to concentrate troops at Centena—and that is precisely what Yelenetta wants. Those who don’t see that are third-rate; those who see it only theoretically are second-rate.”
“—I will mark that on my mind.” Targa answered, and the other captains lowered their eyes. Then he fixed me with his enormous gaze and pushed the point further.
“Then, Your Excellency—you would place yourself here at Centena knowing Yelenetta's scheme? Do you think we cannot buy even months of time?”
A small smile tugged my mouth. This giant was entertaining: blunt, direct—and supremely confident because he could back it up. Commanders must possess such faith in their own strength; without it, they cannot act.
“Targa,” I said. “You show a lack of certain knowledge. You have not seen those black spheres or the cannons, have you? Guesswork without firsthand information is dangerous.”
Targa’s face did not shift; he nodded. “We base our judgments on what the capital sent, but that is not the same as direct knowledge. Tell us, since you have experienced these things—how much strength would Shelvia possess if they wield Yelenetta's weapons?”
He conceded the point quickly. Good—he was a commander worth sharpening. In time, sent into varied fields, he’d make a fascinating general.
“First,” I said, “you must understand: black spheres and cannons are not the same as the four-element magics. There is no incantation. They can be operated by anyone. Depending on how they are used, you might not notice them until the moment before they fire. Do you understand the danger of that? Should a Jerinetta assassin be among us now, they could kill everyone in this room in an instant.”
The change on the captains’ faces was immediate.
“…I see. We were too quick to equate them with simple fire magic. We must guard against them not only in defense but also when we attack.” one vice-commander murmured.
“Exactly. That is why we came to reinforce you. To break Yelenetta's plot we must avoid scattering Scuderia’s forces. If we prevent a wholesale division, the fact that Yelenetta has diverted some of its precious weapons to Shelvia will become a liability for them.”
“O—oh!” The vice-commanders breathed out in astonishment. We had to teach the troops about black spheres and cannons at once. Time would be the deciding factor.
[Cosworth Yelenetta]
Honestly, the situation was bleak from where I stood. We had lost what everyone assumed would be certain victories three times in a row. The toll in men and materiel was staggering. With the loss of the keystone—the Werner Fortress—we were forced to split our forces where we had once concentrated them.
On the other hand, Scuderia could now march from Werner straight for the royal capital. They could bring their full strength to bear, while we were being forced into dispersion. By the cold math of it, the contest favored them.
But that is if we fight as expected.
Even with limbs hacked away, if you can take the enemy’s head you win. Severe losses might follow, but if we could bite into even a portion of the Fertio lands, the tide could be turned. We might even strike for the capital ourselves, or attempt to retake Werner from Scuderia—if we surprised them at the right moment, the reversal could be decisive. Once momentum swings, it rarely snaps back.
The core question was how to force the other side to divide their strength.
Make a blow so dramatic that Scuderia doubts its own advance. Make our attack so resounding that their march falters.
I assembled everything I could: the bulk of available troops, reserves, siege engines. I left necessary garrisons where they had to be and scraped every surplus unit together. I took command personally. There was no chance of failure in my mind.
“Crush Scuderia—advance!”
I drew my sword, lifted it high as a sign, and the shout that answered felt like the mountain itself rising—the roar of men, the thunder of boots ready for war.
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