Marquis Raeven looked around at everyone and held up a piece of parchment so they could all see it.
“Several days ago, we received this declaration from the empire. It states the location for the battle.”
Specifying a location for battles was something opposing groups from the same race sometimes agreed to, since sites of battles had the potential to end up as cursed ground where undead would spawn. When both armies agreed, the contest for superiority would be held in a place neither country found problematic.
Of course, it was true not all wars went that way—on the contrary, those sorts of arrangements were rarer than not—but the kingdom and the empire had been agreeing on the site of their battles for several years.
It was the result of both countries seeing eye to eye on a common issue. Unless they coordinated, any new territory they fought at and won could have undead spawning nearby, which was a serious issue. Even if they somehow managed to defend against the undead, the land itself could be cursed, making the whole endeavor pointless.
Relieved sighs could be heard around the room upon Marquis Raeven’s announcement—they could now treat the coming war as an extension of the past wars, since the same procedures were being followed.
“So the battlefield is—”
“Oh, don’t make a fuss about it, Marquis Raeven. It’s the same place as every year, isn’t it? Where else could it even be?”
“Yes, Marquis Beauleurope. As you say, it’s the same place as previous years. The foggy, cursed land of the Katze Plain—the northwestern part.”
“…Since they chose the same place as usual, do you think their plan of attack will be the same as well?”
Some were probably thinking that these arrangements were proof that despite the declaration about the caster Ainz Ooal Gown’s country, the empire’s real motive behind that nonsense was to simply create a casus belli.
If that was all, Gazef might have agreed. But Marquis Raeven shook his head.
“Sorry, Marquis Blumrush. Things likely aren’t that simple. We’ve received reports that the empire has mobilized quite a large number of soldiers. I had my former orichalcum-ranked adventurer team investigate, and while they weren’t sure about the exact numbers of soldiers, they counted coats of arms for six corps.”
“Six?!”
The room was overcome with exclamations.
The imperial knights had a total of eight corps, and the most that had ever participated in previous wars was four. But this time they would be deploying one and a half times that amount.
“Are they…serious?” one noble asked with an anxious look on his face.
Six corps meant sixty thousand men. The kingdom had two hundred and fifty thousand, giving them the overwhelming numerical advantage. In terms of individual fighting power, however, the kingdom couldn’t hold a candle to the empire.
“I don’t know, but we should probably consider it something different from the simple single clashes of past years.”
Up until now, the war generally consisted of two hundred thousand against forty thousand. The empire would charge, and the kingdom would react. That was it. The empire’s goal was to slowly exhaust the kingdom in the long term, and forcing them to exhaust their provisions was one part of that.
If that was their aim this time as well, they wouldn’t have needed to mobilize sixty thousand. In other words, they had some other objective. It would be a mistake to treat this the same as their past fights. That was how Marquis Raeven saw it.
“It was a good idea to increase our numbers this time.”
Unfortunately, the increased manpower also created the headache of increased war expenses.
In past years, the empire had timed their attack to coincide with the harvest season, but this year it was winter, so there were additional costs involved, such as procuring firewood.
The king was supposed to cover those costs, so if the king’s faction hadn’t gained more influence recently, they wouldn’t have been able to gather enough contributions, and his power would have dropped significantly.
“But, Marquis Raeven, don’t you think they could just be mobilizing more soldiers than usual to maintain face in front of their ally, that caster who calls himself a king? The empire took the lead in declaring war on us. If they didn’t mobilize a large army and actually fight us, it wouldn’t be good for appearances.”
“I think there’s certainly a chance that is the case. Also, we haven’t received any word from Ainz Ooal Gown. It’s possible that this is entirely the empire’s initiative and Ainz Ooal Gown has gotten involved somehow. It could even be against his will.”
If that was the case, Gazef would be extremely happy, personally speaking. What a relief it would be to not have that great caster as an enemy. But that line of thinking was too optimistic.
Gazef had kept his mouth shut until this point, but now he spoke. “May I say something?”
“Go ahead.”
Having received the king’s permission, Gazef stated the worry on his mind.
“I don’t think that theory is very likely. Given the letter we received from the Slane Theocracy, I just can’t imagine this being a superficial political move.”
All the nobles looked annoyed.
The area around E-Rantel was of interest to three countries, so whenever the empire and the kingdom had their scuffle, the Theocracy would declare war as well. The notices they sent always claimed that the E-Rantel area formerly belonged to the Theocracy and that the kingdom was unjustly occupying it. Every year, the Theocracy demanded the kingdom return the land to its rightful owner and said it was a shame the empire and the kingdom were up in arms over a right that wasn’t even theirs to fight over.
Both countries wanted to tell the Theocracy to stay out of it, but since the Theocracy had never actually mobilized any forces, they interpreted those letters as nothing but talk.
But the latest one was quite different.
The Theocracy has no records on these matters, so it is difficult to determine, but if Ainz Ooal Gown truly once ruled those lands, then we recognize the validity of his claims. That was the content of the letter that had been delivered to the kingdom.
To the nobles, it was a preposterous, infuriating statement that deserved a curt response of, Don’t butt in and spout this irresponsible nonsense. But of course, some of them grasped the real meaning contained within the message. They understood well enough.
The Slane Theocracy’s statement implied their diplomatic position: We have no intention of antagonizing Ainz Ooal Gown.
That meant one of the three most powerful countries in the region was concerned about taking on a single caster.
Well, that made sense. Gazef continued his line of thought.
“A squad from the six scriptures was handily wiped out… I’m not saying Ainz Ooal Gown did it on his own, but the Slane Theocracy probably doesn’t want to make an enemy of someone who wields that much power. If this conflict really is entirely the empire’s ploy and Ainz Ooal Gown only happened to be involved, I don’t think the Theocracy would make such a statement.”
“Hmph. What can one caster do anyway? We number two hundred and fifty thousand.”
Count Litton cracked a derisive smile and laughed at Gazef’s caution.
Gazef kept himself from furrowing his brow. That caster was immensely powerful, and the role he could play was astoundingly major. But at the same time, he understood what Count Litton was saying.
If he didn’t know better, he would have thought the same thing.
For example, the empire had Fluder Paradyne, a great caster whose name was known far and wide. He was said to be able to use fifth- or perhaps even sixth-tier magic, but no one knew the details.
That was because Fluder had never participated in battle against the kingdom, so his magic had never wreaked havoc on their army.
Furthermore, though everyone knew sixth tier was awesome, it was simply reality that they didn’t grasp exactly what that meant.
That was true even for the captain of the Royal Select, who had been through a great many battles.
To someone who wasn’t a caster but a noble who knew of magic only academically, it must have been even harder to fathom. In fact, many kingdom nobles were of the opinion that Fluder wasn’t such a big deal. They thought the empire hyped him up for appearances. The tendency to think that way was especially prevalent among higher-ranking nobles who didn’t have much contact with adventurers or other occupations that used magic.
Count Litton must have been one of those. It was clear he considered casters a type of commonplace magician. Of course, the priests he ended up calling when he was sick or injured were somehow different.
“…I don’t think we should feel safe in mere numbers. If this caster used a flying spell and an area-of-effect attack, we would be in deep trouble. It would also be a problem to be hit with long-range attack spells. But I doubt the empire would waste a specialist like that. It is treating him strangely, though. I don’t think it would go to these lengths if he was a mere caster. We should be wary,” Margrave Urovana murmured solemnly.
His hair was already completely white, and his face was covered in wrinkles, but it still definitely held the particular dignity of a person with many years of experience. His age was part of the reason, but each word he said carried a weight that Count Litton’s had not, and even Litton himself had to nod in agreement, albeit reluctantly. But there was someone who had a rebuttal, and that was Marquis Beauleurope.
“Hmph. Who’s Ainz Ooal Gown anyway? Like Litton said, what can he do on his own? If he comes flying through the sky, shoot him down with arrows. If he attacks at range, we’ll do the same. What can one measly caster do?! Casters only change the course of an entire battle in stories!”
“…With all due respect, some of the bards’ heroic sagas are true…”
“Apparently, you haven’t heard, Captain, but flashy stories get people’s attention. When bards are busy exaggerating, sooner or later, the story becomes something that is far from the truth. And stories are apt to change in major ways when passed from teller to teller besides.”
“But if we prepared with a unit of casters who can cast Fireball—”
“Is it possible to round up a big group of people who can use Fireball, Captain?”
“I…doubt it.”
Fireball was a tier-three spell. Even the empire, with its magic academy, would probably have difficulty gathering a large number of casters who could use that.
“Then isn’t that your answer? Magic is just one weapon. No matter how powerful he is, this caster won’t be able to change the course of the battle on his own! You’re a good example yourself, Str—Captain Stronoff. No one can defeat you in a duel, but neither can you make short work of an army tens of thousands strong.”
What Marquis Beauleurope was saying was true. Gazef couldn’t find anything to argue against.
Moreover, Gazef had heard doubtful tales of ten thousand soldiers getting killed with a single spell only in stories. Even the old woman Ligritte Belzú Kaurau, one of the Thirteen Heroes, didn’t have that much power.
But Gazef was still worried.
Isn’t he just speaking from ignorance if he doesn’t actually know any amazing casters?
“…What about dragons?”
“Marquis Blumrush… The caster is a human, I presume? Why do you bring up dragons?”
“O-oh, I was just thinking, since one of them could take an entire human army…”
“There’s no point in bringing up dragons when we’re talking about humans. Your premise is wrong in the first place! What are you thinking? Being so frightened of a single caster”—Marquis Beauleurope glared in Gazef’s direction—“jumping at his shadow? Shouldn’t you be ashamed, as a noble of the kingdom?! Though…I do understand your worries, Captain… We should probably assume this Ainz Ooal Gown’s individual fighting power is equal to five thousand men.”
“F-five thousand?!” Count Litton’s eyes grew large. “Five thousand in one… Isn’t that a bit of an overestimation? Surely half that amount is fine.”
“I’m assuming that the captain is equal to a thousand men. If the captain is on guard against this enemy, five times that amount makes sense…because I trust the captain’s eye.”
“Thank you.”
I wonder if Ainz Ooal Gown’s combat ability is really equal to only five thousand, but assessing it as anything higher seems unlikely. It’s better to thank the man and keep him happy. With those thoughts, Gazef bowed to Beauleurope.
“Can I say something?” Prince Barbro, who had been silent up until now, spoke. “…There’s something that has been on my mind for a while. Couldn’t we send adventurers to war? They’re working in the kingdom, so it should be a simple matter of drafting them as royal subjects. Why are we still not allowed to pull them into battle? There isn’t any law against it.”
The great nobles exchanged looks. As overseers of their domains, they knew how valuable adventurers were. That’s why they didn’t think in the way Barbro did.
Gazef felt that the king was at fault for this remark. If he had given Barbro a domain and had him run it, this question would never have come up.
Marquis Raeven cleared his throat.
“Prince. First, aside from copper plates and whatnot, do you understand that adventurers are stronger than soldiers?”
“Yes, I know that. That’s why they would be able to do such wonderful things for us if we drafted them. The empire’s knights would probably be a piece of cake for them.”
“Without a doubt, I’m sure. But if we did that, then our enemy—the empire, this time—would draft adventurers to fight back. When that happens, we wouldn’t see adventurers clashing with adventurers but rather adventurers killing the weaker soldiers. If that happens, losses on both sides will increase. Many more of the weaker people will die. So we’ve decided that we won’t borrow the adventurers’ power; thus, we’re avoiding military escalation. It’s also forbidden in the Adventurers Guild rules.”
For the same reason, they couldn’t hire workers, either. Although in their cases, it was also a matter of them being more expensive than adventurers as well as untrustworthy.
“Ah. I don’t like it, but I understand. Then what if the city gets attacked? If they still didn’t help us, that would be unforgivable as people of our country, no?”
“I understand what you’re saying, Your Highness. But it’s hard to tell whether they consider themselves subjects of the kingdom or not. Many of them live as travelers. More than anything, if an adventurer dies in battle, that’s a loss for the country and a greater loss the greater the adventurer. Specifically, those losses would increase the possibility that monsters appear, and we don’t have the adventurers to deal with them. Hence, the separation between the military and adventurers.”
“…Earlier, Marquis Raeven was saying he enlisted retired adventurers as soldiers, didn’t he? Former orichalcum ranks or something. That’s fine?”
“Apparently, that’s not an issue. The Adventurers Guild has rules, but they don’t apply to people who have left the guild. That’s why he was able to hire them.”
“…I don’t know. I just don’t like this.”
Some of the nobles chuckled in agreement.
“But that goes through orichalcum rank. For adamantite, it might be different. Currently, in the kingdom, we have two adamantite-ranked teams, but…”
There was no one present who hadn’t heard of the Blue Roses, who had taken action during the demon disturbance.
“…before their era in the spotlight, there was another adamantite team. They retired, but they don’t appear to have been hired by anyone. Right, Captain?”
“That’s right. There were four members. One runs a training hall to train select students in swordsmanship. Two went off traveling together. The last one is an old woman who at one point belonged to the Blue Roses but later disappeared.”
Recalling each memo
rable character, Gazef counted them on his fingers.
He had been walking in the royal capital when his master, who had seen his fight in the royal tournament, dragged him to the training hall for a hell of forced study and sword technique drills.
It was because of that training that Gazef, who had been a simple mercenary, was able to better serve the king, but that said…
No, thinking back on it now, those are good memories.
“I see. I heard there’s an adventurer team in the city called Raven Black. I thought perhaps their caster, Beautiful Princess Nabe, could face Ainz Ooal Gown, but I suppose it won’t work out, then.”
The idea itself was a good one, but the Adventurers Guild was sure to oppose it.
Several nobles began to disparage the guild:
They’re nothing but commoners. Who do you think is hiring adventurers in the first place? If you’re a loyal subject of the kingdom, it’s only natural to cooperate. And so on.
To those at the top, anyone who didn’t bow to authority was unpleasant. But it was also true that without adventurers, fighting off monsters would be practically impossible.
If the Adventurers Guild moved away, the kingdom would slowly fall into ruin, unable to exterminate the larger monsters that appeared. That was surely what would happen, even with Gazef around.
Monsters had a wide range of special abilities that required a wide range of attacks, defenses, and healing to exterminate. That was why adventurers were indispensable. Of course, it would have been a different story if, like in the empire, they had casters and rangers incorporated into their army.
“No, that’s brilliant, Your Highness! Doesn’t sound bad at all!”
It was some baron who had shouted.
His status was definitely not high enough to be in the room, so his presence meant he had to be someone’s flunky.
“Beautiful Princess Nabe may have an insightful opinion as a caster. At the very least, perhaps we should send a messenger to talk with her!”
Voices of agreement sounded, albeit sparsely. Most of them were lower-ranking barons. Since they were all supporting Prince Barbro, they must have been lackeys of one of the nobles’ faction members.
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