n༺ 𓆩 Chapter 17 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
「Vanargand Ironblood Fortress」
In these tis, the only news from that fortress usually amounted to idle gossip—
So-and-so was demoted there, apparently—
So it was rare for a report to actually co up from the place.
Naturally, the 10th Corps’s staff officers were ready to dismiss it outright.
As always, they assud it was yet another useless plea for supply improvents, dressed up as warnings about grave dangers.
“Senior, what do we do with this one?”
“That? Just toss it between so papers. Or better yet, throw it straight in the bin, do that favor.”
“Ah… yes, sir.”
For a mont, the junior officer wondered if that was really all right,
But rembering the soldier’s truth, if ordered, obey, he moved to drop the telegram into the wastebasket.
Or he would have.
Until a flutter of wind revealed a line of text that caught his eye—
「Ergency Request for Reinforcents」
“Hm?”
Sothing about the phrase was off.
Normally, reading such a line ant one of two things:
It’s fucked.
Or—
It’s about to be fucked.
Almost without thinking, he unfolded the paper and read it slowly; then, closing the wastebasket, he approached the senior officer he had just spoken to.
“…Sir.”
“What? I told you to throw it away.”
“No, it’s not that—”
“Relax. Everyone knows that place is abandoned—”
“It says Dual Number.”
“…What?”
“Two of them.”
And at that exact mont—
“S–Sir, urgent news! A report ca through directly to the commander of the 6th Logistics Brigade!”
Another low-ranking staffer, equally flustered, shouted across the room.
“They’ve… they’ve sighted Dual Numbers at Vánargand Fortress…!”
And naturally, only one phrase ca to the minds of all present.
“…We’re fucked.”
That was all.
.
.
.
The Military State’s ard forces numbered twenty-five Corps in total.
And each Corps fell under one of the Marshal Offices within the Ministry of Military Affairs,
And each Marshal Office was its own political faction.
The Marshal Office responsible for the northwest belonged to Marshal Ludwig Rosenthal, aligned with the pro-Sentinel faction.
“Say it again, Chief of Staff.”
“…Roughly thirty minutes ago, a report ca in from the 6th Logistics Support Brigade under our command. Colonel Ain Krieg, newly appointed commander of the 13th Special Independent Brigade, requested resupply and troop reinforcents, and during reconnaissance… sighted Dual Number, Number 98, Reaper of Ash …”
"Briefly. Just the conclusion."
“Yes, sir. At present, they are confird to be engaged with two Dual Number specins at Vánargand Fortress.”
At that, Marshal Rosenthal silently drew on his cigar.
But the way he ground the end between his teeth left no doubt that his mood was foul; the Chief of Staff, reading the atmosphere, retrieved the grand strategy his subordinates had hastily prepared under his orders.
"The 13th Special Independent Brigade's remaining forces consist solely of forr Acting Brigade Commander, current 1st Battalion Commander Major Arditi Günter's single battalion and so troops under the headquarters battalion."
He omitted the chronic supply problems and special officer issues that everyone already knew.
This was a eting being officially docunted, after all.
A seasoned Chief of Staff knew well the rule for surviving long in his position… refrain from making remarks that might cause trouble later.
“Therefore, our staff has assessed the fall of Vánargand Fortress as highly probable. The operational plan centers on deploying two divisions of the 10th Corps to the Siegfried Line area to block the enemy advance…”
There was no other viable option.
The Chief of Staff was certain this plan would be approved, and that within the hour, a large-scale defensive line would be in place along the Siegfried Line.
But then—
Marshal Rosenthal shook his head and murmured,
“That won’t do.”
“…Sir?”
“I said there must not be any fighting at the Siegfried Line, Chief of Staff.”
He added, with the irritation of a man forced to explain the obvious,
“If there’s a battle, the completion date will be delayed.”
“.................”
The Chief of Staff found himself unable to reply.
For a mont, the words ‘for just that reason—?’ rose to his lips, but then he realized—
‘What if the completion date is pushed back more than three years?’
Suppose, as he had proposed, they sent frontline troops to the Siegfried Line and managed, sohow, to hold the enemy there.
The region would inevitably take damage—
And in the north, there were stretches where the fra had only just been raised.
And now the real question…
When the Sentinel family arrived for the grand completion ceremony of the Siegfried Line, an ambitious project they intended to present as a crowning achievent for the 200th anniversary of the Military State’s founding—
Could they be told,‘Ah, a pair of Dual Numbers made a ss, so the construction was delayed. You’ll understand, won’t you?’
Would they really get the answer, 'Oh, is that so? Of course we should understand'?
Or would it be 'Then die'?
"It's a problem with an obvious answer if you think about it even a little, Chief of Staff."
Marshal Rosenthal’s voice was uncharacteristically weary.
“Find another way.”
The Rosenthal Marshal Office’s position existed for one reason only…
Because it clung to the Sentinel family.
And for the Chief of Staff, a man born to a minor noble house, it was no different.
If anything, Rosenthal might survive on account of his usefulness as a marshal,
But the author of a failed operation plan? That man would certainly die.
“…We’ll detach so units to reinforce Vánargand Fortress, conduct a delaying action, and then block the expected advance routes to stop them in the field.”
“See to it.”
“Yes, sir.”
༒︎
Captain nharn’s assumption was only half right.
True, the 10th Corps had no expectations whatsoever for the 13th Special Independent Brigade, and was fully prepared to discard them at any ti. Yet when the situation began to close in, the 10th Corps was the fastest to dispatch reinforcents toward Vánargand Fortress.
Ten Specialist Officers and two companies.
Of course, no one expected such a force to hold off Dual Numbers for long.
What headquarters wanted was nothing more than a delaying action.
Even if Vánargand Fortress had already fallen, those troops could scatter into the forest, harassing the enemy and buying precious ti.
In short, they were expendable.
“What kind of idiot army thinks it’s a good idea to throw four hundred n into a at grinder just to hold a concrete wall? Truly, our motherland is magnificent.”
So spoke Sergeant Vermin, one of the designated expendables, as their military truck rattled toward Vánargandr Fortress.
In the passenger seat, Captain Johan Gerner murmured under his breath,
“Glory to the great holand.”
Vermin, who had served alongside him for over five years, knew full well the sarcasm in his tone. He glanced over his shoulder at the eight other Specialist Officers cramd into the back.
“Not a single black shirt among them. I know they try to keep things discreet, but this is pushing it.”
“They’ve already checked the ‘noble officer’ box with .”
Captain Johan Gerner—
A middle-aged man with greying long hair and a deep sword scar down his face, bit down on his cigarette and added casually, “And they ticked the ‘military chaplain’ box with you. It makes the paperwork easy enough.”
Anyone with even a passing familiarity with the military would curse at the sight:
Aside from Johan Gerner, a Grade 3 Knight Officer, and Vermin, a Grade 4 Military Chaplain, the other eight knight-officers were all common-born, non–academy graduates, with an average rank of Grade 5.
“Do you think the nobles cleaning up after the Sentinel family care about that? If they don’t send an inspector to accuse us of ‘deploying more troops than necessary to Vánargand Fortress,’ we should count ourselves lucky.”
“…The scary thing is, I can actually believe that.”
Not that everyone here had been unfairly singled out.
Most of them were destined to be dumped in Vánargand sooner or later, whether quickly or slowly.
‘If anything, it’s the two companies following us that I pity.’
Those greenhorns, packed into their trucks with nothing but vague orders about so ‘delaying action,’ had no idea what they were walking into; the n in this truck, at least, knew the rough truth.
Two Dual Numbers.
And the fortress’s defenders amounted to little more than a single battalion.
Only six Specialist Officers, with barely four Knight Officers truly fit for combat.
“Looks like Krieg’s finished, too.”
“Seems that way.”
It was hard to think otherwise.
What could they do, after all?
This pathetic nation was the master they served.
“What about the escape route?”
“Secured.”
“If it cos to it, we get as many out alive as we can. My apologies to our friends in the Cerberus Brigade, but we’re not all dying here.”
The two n, speaking words that would disqualify them as soldiers but made perfect sense in reality, fixed their eyes on Vánargand Fortress as it finally ca into view.
‘We’re arriving about an hour after the first request for reinforcents. They’ve held out for quite a while.’
There were no signs of fighting or bodies along the road or in the forest, which ant the fortress had not yet been overrun.
But that was all.
If they were lucky, the monsters might have already withdrawn, but that was doubtful.
“There’s a guard post up ahead. Orders?”
At Sergeant Vermin’s question, Captain Johan Gerner stayed silent for a mont, weighing his options. Then, flicking the near-spent cigarette out the window, he said,
“Hold position.”
“Knew you’d say that.”
Screech—!!! Clack—!!!
The trailing trucks ground to a halt. Johan stepped out, his boots crunching against the worn, poorly maintained road; then, through the misted snow, he began walking toward the shadowy outline of the guard post.
Srrng—!!!
One hand stayed resting on the sword at his hip.
‘Soone’s there.'
It didn’t take long before he spotted a human silhouette, but he did not let down his guard. If anything, he heightened it, ready to engage the mont he confird a threat, and kept closing the distance until his vision cleared.
At last, he saw him clearly, a soldier in a black coat, hood pulled low.
‘A doppelgänger?’
No, there was no such wrongness about him.
And sure enough, before long, several soldiers ca rushing out from beside the hooded man, rifles leveled at Johan Gerner.
“Stop!”
Allies—
Soldiers of the 13th Special Independent Brigade, no less.
n he had assud were dead.
Once he confird it, Johan raised both hands high to show he had no hostile intent and shouted,
“Captain Johan Gerner, dispatched from the 10th Corps with reinforcents!”
Even at his declaration, the rifles did not lower.
They kept glancing at the hooded man beside them, awaiting his cue.
The sight was unexpectedly impressive.
'Military discipline is alive. That’s a surprise.’
It was a stark contrast to the rumors he had heard about the 13th Special Independent Brigade. Whether they knew the impression they made or not, the hooded man gave a small nod, and only then did the soldiers ease their weapons down.
Step—!!! Step—!!!
Johan Gerner finally closed the distance enough to read the man’s rank and naplate beneath the hood.
“Second Lieutenant Eugene… Hailt. Can you brief on the current situation?”
For a mont, Eugene Hailt raised his head.
His pale, gaunt cheeks, hidden by the hood, moved, and from his cracked lips ca a voice like grinding tal.
"......Caught them."
"What?"
"Two of them. All of them. Ain Krieg did."
Johan Gerner couldn't help but doubt his ears.
......Who caught what?
END σϝ CHAPTER
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