Battle of the Haksha Plains (6): The Trap

"Are you ready?" In the dead of night, when even the insects had fallen silent, Wickhart asked Skudelia.

"Yes. Everything is in order." Behind Skudelia stood 500 soldiers with their horses. Though all of them kept silent, Wickhart could clearly feel the heat radiating from their bodies.

Everyone here had shed tears of blood three years ago.

They had survived while their lord was slain—a disgrace they could not bear. They had intended to die alongside Naisol-sama, thinking they might as well accompany him on his final journey.

Through Skudelia's persuasion, they had decided to rally behind the young general whom Naisol-sama had favored. Even so, they still wanted to repay the bitterness they had felt back then with at least one blow. The soldiers who had kept that desire smoldering all this time had gathered here.

The sentries on duty at this hour were all supporters of the surprise attack. Once this group set out, the others were to follow afterward.

"If the surprise attack succeeds, withdraw immediately. Don't become fixated on taking Franklurt's head. Understood?"

Wickhart emphasized the point. Even so, he knew they were all hoping they might get lucky. Some of the soldiers might even have been trying to make this surprise attack their swan song.

But it was too late to stop them. All Wickhart could do was go with them and bring even one of these brave soldiers back alive.

Wickhart himself believed this was almost certainly Franklurt's trap. At first, his blood had been up, but once he had calmed down and considered it, the circumstances had been arranged too perfectly.

He remembered Ryuzel and... Roa, was it? The weak-looking man who seemed more suited to being a civil official.

Their intervention had helped Wickhart regain some composure. But some had not regained theirs, and Wickhart could not abandon them. That was all there was to it.

That was both the virtue and the weakness of Wickhart, a young general.

Franklurt could be said to have struck directly at that weakness.

He felt a little apologetic about causing trouble for those two from the Tenth Knight Order. Of course, having decided on the surprise attack, Wickhart intended to return with a victory to show for it.

However, even if the surprise attack succeeded, those two would probably be deemed by Rays-sama to have failed to persuade him.

But it couldn't be helped. The goddess of fate, Waldwort, had wished for Franklurt and them to cross paths. Wickhart closed his eyes, exhaled, and then opened them again.

"Then... we march." Wickhart quietly declared, and headed for the river.

The river, which had flowed clear by day, was beginning to grow murky. But the slight change was hidden by the curtain of night and did not reach Wickhart's eyes.

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"...So he finally made his move. But what terrible timing."

Franklurt gave a wry smile.

If they had attacked during the day, perhaps they might still have had some chance of survival. But at night, with us waiting to ambush them, they didn't have the slightest chance of winning.

What a terrifying person, all the same. Franklurt was thinking of Sakuri.

Sakuri had concluded that if the Sixth Knight Order were to move, it would probably be in the dead of night—when the young general could no longer restrain the veterans.

Furthermore, Sakuri had predicted that the weather would turn bad in the north that night. There was a high chance of heavy rain upstream. If the river grew violent, their escape route would vanish. Sakuri had instructed Franklurt to strike them then.

Franklurt had listened half-believing and half-doubting, but seeing it prove so exact was a little unsettling. The river had not yet grown violent, but perhaps even that prediction would come true.

Could a military strategist really control even the weather?

When Franklurt heard this from Sakuri, that was what he said.

"You don't control the weather; you 'read' it," Sakuri said with a low chuckle.

"Station troops along the river. Buy time until the river begins to run wild, then crush them in earnest. Until then, instruct every commander to remain on the defensive."

After giving the order to his subordinates, he swung his arm in a wide circle.

"Now, the hunt begins."

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"As I thought, it's a trap. But..."

He had expected as much, but...

When Wickhart and his men approached the enemy camp, they found the watchfires extinguished and an eerie silence hanging over it. Under normal circumstances, this was unthinkable.

Normally, sentries would light watchfires and stand guard. Their absence meant the enemy had already prepared to receive them.

Retreat...? He hesitated for an instant, but retreating now would be foolish. If they were attacked from behind at this point, they would be annihilated.

There was only one path left.

"Form a wedge and charge straight through. Once we break through the enemy camp, circle around. Return without looking back. Understood!"

This had to be the way to minimize casualties. Wickhart forced himself to believe that and ordered the charge.

At Wickhart's command, the soldiers began their charge, but something was wrong. With visibility this poor, it was difficult to judge, but there was no significant resistance. Nor did the enemy camp seem to be in confusion, so they had clearly prepared for this. And yet... it felt as if they were being allowed to advance.

"Wickhart-sama! Look!" Even before Skudelia could point it out, a single tent lit by a watchfire stood out ahead, practically announcing its presence.

"We're already in the enemy's poison! We might as well savor every last drop before returning in triumph!"

Wickhart and his men pressed toward the tent. Bursting through it without slowing, they found a single helmet inside.

"Naisol-sama!" Skudelia leaped from the saddle and ran to the helmet. There was no mistaking it: Naisol's helmet.

For an instant, the soldiers' resolve wavered, but Wickhart shouted at them!

"We're in the heart of the enemy camp! Don't let your guard down! We've achieved enough! Retreat!"

Just as they turned to withdraw, the ground shook and the horses began to buck and rear.

"What was that?"

An ominous premonition flashed through Wickhart's mind.

Something powerful enough to shake the ground... The river...

"This is bad! At full speed through the enemy camp! Hurry!"

By the time Wickhart shouted that, the river had already begun to burst its banks.