The sun was sinking, and the sky ahead, once burning red with sunset, dimmed as if the fire had been snuffed out. Only faint streaks of crimson clung like scorch marks in the heavens.
The western mountains loomed in silhouette, their slopes below drowned in black. On an ordinary evening you wouldn’t see a thing until you reached the foothills.
But not tonight.
Flames flared in the distance, followed by explosions rolling across the mountains like thunder. Fire bloomed again and again, briefly outlining buildings at the base.
“…Looks like someone’s getting hammered,” I muttered.
“I would say they’re definitely under heavy attack,” answered Lou, who’d been serving as Ceat's acting knight-captain.
If I looked closely, I could see winged shapes—wyverns—slipping in and out of the gap between the peaks.
“Feels kind of dangerous to get closer, don’t you think?”
“You’re not mistaken. It is dangerous.”
So much for reassurance. My mood dropped like a stone.
“…You sound awfully relaxed for someone who realizes Marquis Fertio is likely inside that fortress being bombarded right now,” Panamera called from behind, her tone edged with exasperation.
I know, I know. I’d already seen fire blast skyward even from here, which meant my dear “Father” was in there, probably cursing while holding back the Shelvia–Yellenetta coalition. It wasn’t like he’d die that easily. If he weren’t present, Centena would already be rubble.
As long as the fight was still raging, it meant he was in there, merrily playing with fire as usual.
“…Still, getting pounded like that can’t be fun. He’s going to yell at me later, but maybe we should slip in and help.”
Honestly, father.
I turned from the fortress and faced my Ceat knights. Only a few dozen of us, standing next to Panamera’s five hundred. Pathetic compared to a great noble’s army, but my men were true elites. Best not to dwell on numbers—I just gave my orders.
“Alright! Here’s the plan. Super-Ultimate Rapid-Fire Crossbow Squad, get the ballistae mounted on the armored wagons and follow from the rear. Lady Arte’s puppets will take the lead and move ahead on my signal. Priority one is to get everyone inside Centena alive. After that, we’ll repair and reinforce the defenses. Questions?”
I tried explaining a bit more formally than usual, what with Panamera’s knights watching. My men looked content. Panamera, however, folded her arms and frowned.
“Hold it, boy. Lady Arte’s puppets—you mean that doll magic of hers? Forgive me, but in a battlefield this fierce, what use is a handful of constructs?”
Her tone was sharp—she’d seen too many campaigns to waste resources lightly. But she had no idea what Arte could do now. That ignorance gave me a tiny, smug thrill.
“Relax. Arte’s more capable than she looks.”
My grin only made Panamera’s eyes narrow.
“…That smile of yours is infuriating. Very well. If she fights from inside an armored wagon, I’ll allow it.”
A reluctant compromise, showing her protective streak. Honestly, if she worried so much about girls and children, she could try pampering me once in a while too.
No time for that thought.
“Now then—what of your own forces, Baron? I suggest breaking into smaller detachments; less chance of losses that way.”
“Hm. I doubt the enemy will notice such a small relief force when the fortress itself is collapsing. Very well—one cavalry detachment will ride for speed, the rest we’ll split in two and approach Centena from either side, quietly.”
“Perfect. Then let’s get moving.”
Orders set, the Ceat knights shifted their wagons and re-rigged the ballistae with practiced ease. In moments, we were marching.
“Alright, charge,” I called.
“…Boy, put some strength in your voice. You’ll never inspire troops like that,” Panamera muttered.
And so, with my “charge” and her scolding, we moved at last to join the defense of Centena.
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