Chapter 96: The Road to the Center
After Airien's words ended, the eting hall was enveloped in a silence so heavy that even drawing breath felt difficult. Outside the tent, the evening wind swept past, and dust rolled off the sentries' armor.
Into that gap, Royce's voice filled the space.
"We Mountain Rabbits—"
He opened his mouth slowly, yet resolutely.
"Do not stand beneath anyone."
His tone was never heated. He neither condemned any individual nor flaunted pride. Only sincerity erged from within that calm—like a man who had already reached his conclusion, proclaiming it to the world.
And those words carved themselves deeper into the eting hall than anyone had expected.
It was a gentle suggestion: their pressure was aningless, so they should acknowledge the Rabbits' territory here and now.
The first to respond was the elven commander.
Serylion Belrnar quietly closed his eyes. He neither nodded nor shook his head. The fact that he opened them again before long suggested it was a form of agreent.
"I share the sentint."
Gardia's representative nodded with a small smile at the corner of his lips. A trace of admiration mixed into the gaze that had been chasing practical gains. The Latia envoy, on the other hand, turned his eyes slightly to the side—an expression closer to resignation than displeasure. As long as a particular faction could be kept in check, it didn't much matter how things turned out.
Finally, Kalahim.
Varah moved his lips several tis but ultimately could not bring out any words. Nothing would change unless the Viale side personally denied it.
And so, he had no choice but to nod.
In that heavy, sluggish motion, the reluctance was unmistakable.
It may not have been a complete victory for the Mountain Rabbits—but at minimum, it was a nod acknowledging their standing. From that very mont, the balance within the eting hall shifted quietly.
The conversation that followed no longer carried any edge. Airien and Royce's words, along with Calix's silence, had paradoxically sent a sufficient ssage.
This gathering had never been for formal deliberation. No treaty was being concluded, and no approval from a royal house or great chieftain was required. It was simply an unofficial confirmation of the reality before them.
‘Who to acknowledge, and how far to permit.’
That alone was the question.
The conclusion flowed naturally.
"Very well. Then, let us take it as settled that everyone has agreed to a joint march."
Varah, the Kalahim commander, summarized the discussion.
"……Kalahim will hold the unified command authority, while the Mountain Rabbits shall take the vanguard. We respect each unit's independence."
At that, the Latia envoy shrugged.
"That seems reasonable enough. Latia has no particular objection."
Gardia's representative also silently concurred—and at that mont, Serylion Belrnar let out a long sigh and rose from his seat. He had recognized there was no reason to remain seated any longer.
"Then let us wrap things up here."
And so the eting ended.
There were no applause, no cries, no cheers. Only low footsteps filled the basin. Calix kept his mouth shut until the very end, watching the others file out of the eting hall.
The mont Captain Royce had stepped forward, he had deliberately sealed his lips.
‘If I had stepped in as well, it would have co across as coercion rather than negotiation.’
The Mountain Rabbits' position needed to remain not as victors, but as those receiving fair treatnt. That was the best standing the Rabbits could hold before heading into battle.
In the end, they had secured it.
Having struck a satisfying deal on the outside, it was now ti to look inward.
* * *
The predawn air was cold and dry. The hem of his cloak billowed in the wind blowing from the north, and beneath a dust-laden sky, the sound of countless hoofbeats stretched on endlessly. The sun had yet to rise, yet the column of troops already stretched far into the distance.
Mountain Rabbits, Viale, Kalahim.
The three groups advanced in order. Yet marching side by side and marching together were entirely different things.
Ten rows ahead of the party, Calix sat atop his horse and looked back. The road leading northwest through Astria. Around them spread a vast expanse of ochre terrain, rock formations jutting here and there, and sparse low vegetation. Through it all, three banners cut across.
It appeared orderly at a glance—but the deeper one looked, the more a glaring imbalance revealed itself.
The Mountain Rabbits' camp was especially so.
1,350 n.
After Airien's statent, the elves and dwarves had even officially raised the ‘Mountain Rabbit Banner’. Yet beneath that banner, there was nothing that could properly be called a formation.
So rode Rockboars, so drove horses, and others went on foot. Their manner of speech, their respective equipnt, even the ingredients they ate—all were different.
Above all—
‘They're gathered around each tribe's heir, and nothing more.’
Not only was there no formal organization, but the internal hierarchy was divided across entirely different systems. In other words, it looked like an army with ranks from the outside—but in reality, it was closer to a coalition of rabble.
"Cook Comrade, I told you."
Gregor read his expression and tossed out the words.
"1,300 of them are fresh recruits."
Calix could not laugh. Everything was contained in that one short sentence.
Freshly arrived, green Rabbits.
Within that figure of 1,300, there existed only the bundled mass of individuals and tribes who had yet to take root. The reason he couldn't help but turn grave was that he knew this wasn't simply a problem of division.
Thud!
"Fight's breaking out!"
And as if to make things worse, friction between the other factions was also surfacing. With Kalahim and Viale's disparate cultures thrown together, sounds of clashing escaped camp with each passing day.
"I'm telling you, we should move once the sun goes down!"
"Impossible. This is the ti to focus on recovering our strength."
Desert warriors were active at night; mountain-dwelling races moved in the day. Small differences like this spilled over into everything—ration distribution, tent and encampnt placent arrangents.
An atmosphere ripe for fists to fly had been building throughout, and even now a small commotion was underway.
Tap.
Just as he could bear it no longer and moved to step in himself, Royce's hand stopped him.
"I understand how you feel—but when people are riled up, you shouldn't wade in recklessly. All the more so for soone with a position."
"……Is it all right to leave it be like this?"
"Leave it for now. In the end, bleeding is necessary to build any organization above a certain level of cohesion. There are things that only change once you've experienced the battlefield. Calix—you know that well yourself, don't you?"
One after another, Vice-captain Marik added his words.
"I think the sa. Suppressing conflict is pointless. It'll burst sooner or later. Rather than that, right now, understanding the characteristics of our own forces cos first."
Calix gave a small nod. He accepted the other's experience and counsel, and acknowledged his own hastiness.
They were all right.
There is still so much I have yet to learn.
It was then.
"And, Calix."
"Yes, Captain."
"From here on, you don't need to report to
one by one. It is ti for you to step officially to the front as well."
A ripple stirred in his chest.
Lunos, the loyal warhorse, sensed his master's unsettlent. The hoofbeats faltered—but at the hand that stroked his neck, he moved his feet again.
At that, Royce added more words, as though to forestall any misunderstanding.
"I don't an I'm handing over the captain's seat. I an to share the burden."
Calix looked at the other in silence. The Mountain Rabbits' captain was trying to go beyond rely expressing trust.
"External pressure I will shoulder as before. Internal affairs will be Marik's domain. In exchange, you will take responsibility for the battlefield based on independent judgnt. In terms of martial strength as well, and in strategic assessnt—you surpass anyone else. That has already been confird many tis over. This is a fact verified countless tis."
"But—"
"Going forward, the situation will grow ever more urgent. We can't have you checking my expression every single ti before moving. This is a decision made entirely for the Mountain Rabbits. So accept it."
Again, his words were right.
Give the most capable person the domain they do best. Judged by reason, there was nothing to fault. Only the weight that settled on his shoulders seed different from before. The lives of his comrades rested entirely in his own hands.
Because of that, it was only after a little ti had passed that Calix lowered his head.
"Understood."
At that, Royce imdiately changed the subject.
"Good. Then—how far have you assessed things so far? Have you identified all of our troop types?"
As though nothing had happened at all, he raised the preparations for war. As a man who had crossed countless battlefields in the past, he was trying to pass along at least a portion of that experience.
* * *
From that day onward, Calix conceived and tested battle formations every single day. The march continued, yet throughout it he fashioned a moving training ground.
Simulating small-scale combat scenarios, swift movent drills under assud crisis conditions, classifying the conditions for pursuit and defense, and more. The heirs of each tribe voiced complaints about the grueling training—yet each ti, he stepped forward personally to persuade them, and occasionally to suppress them.
Of course, it was not work done alone.
Royce and Marik were always at his side, and Gregor followed behind with what seed to be a delighted expression.
"Don't position the Rockboars at the front! Those beasts bury their snouts in the ground and can't go forward or back! Targeting the flanks or the rear is the textbook approach!"
Beyond that, veteran Mountain Rabbits also chid in one by one. They recited what they had seen and endured on the battlefield, sharing what had given them grief.
"Gregor, sotis the flank is even less stable. If they get this worked up even without an enemy present, do you think they'll follow commands in an actual battle? If they can't change direction, it might be better to have them crash straight into the front."
The counsel belonged to everyone; receiving it was Calix's task. He listened quietly, then ran analysis after analysis in his mind.
The battlefield is the crossroads of theory and instinct.
Thanks to that, the knowledge accumulated in his youth at House Ashapel's manor also ca alive alongside it. 'Ramungste's Military Treatise', 'On Martial Strategy and asure', 'Between the Sacred Ground and the Battlefield', and more. The things he had secretly stolen away to learn while dreaming of becoming a knight finally shone for the first ti.
"For Rockboar cavalry, a scattered advance followed by convergence at a specific point for a charge seems best. Since retreat isn't easy, we need to choose the right place and ti where victory is assured. Or as you said—to use them to smash through the enemy's formation head-on. However, we'll need to read the situation carefully."
At that, Vice-captain Marik nodded. His ability to not only learn but apply what he'd learned was remarkable.
Calix was growing faster than anyone among the seasoned warriors. In a sense, it was a rather familiar sight.
And by the ti they crossed the northern border of Astria, a clear set of standards had taken shape. After repeated trial, error, reflection, and insight, he had found his footing.
"The dwarf infantry follow orders surprisingly well."
"Of course, they do! Friendship, axes, and mines! Are those not the three defining principles of a dwarf! A world apart from those free-spirited elves!"
At Basim's assessnt, Calix allowed himself a small smile. Everyone had their shortcomings, so he needed to focus on strengths rather than weaknesses.
The dwarf infantry were unexpectedly responsive to commands. They recognized those stronger than themselves and wanted clear direction. Tell them to fall back from the line, and they fell back; tell them to reform the formation, and they reford.
The elves were different.
They always believed they knew the right answer. That wasn't to say they were arrogant. It was simply their way—asking 'why should this order be followed'. They didn't try to seize the initiative, but they sought to understand the context of a command.
And so each had their own use.
‘Elite troops are not sothing to be molded however one wishes. The important thing is to start from what cannot be controlled—and in the end, make everyone face the sa direction.’
He understood.
He had co to know, at least a little, what 'command' truly ant. It was not a thing that ended with the giving of an order. It was placing each mber, one by one, into the flow of battle.
At that mont, a single tremor drifted in from beyond the eastern horizon. Borne on the wind, a faint vibration spread from beneath the earth.
Calix slowly raised his head.
Beyond the river that could not yet be seen, thousands were moving. The battlefield was closer than he had imagined—and at that, for the first ti—
He had finished preparing to stand at the center.
And this ti, he would not hide behind anyone's shadow.
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