Chapter 144 - Death and Honor Are Not the Same (8)
The 1st Battalion, for now, gathered up the remaining supplies and distributed them as best they could.
At the very least, this was to avoid the situation where, with no more bullets or the Balt Batteries exhausted, they would have to resort to a bayonet charge.
Most importantly, after giving the wounded men's supplies to the soldiers still fit to fight, there was actually a bit more to go around than expected.
"What do you think?"
While the supplies were being redistributed, Andersen sidled up to Ernest and asked quietly.
"I'm just seeing the same thing Captain Kissinger sees."
"You mean it looks totally screwed?"
"Yes."
"Is there anything you see besides that?"
Ernest, faced with Andersen's continued questions, slowly turned his head and met his gaze directly.
Andersen's beard twitched slightly—he was probably giving a wry smile.
"I've been a company commander for quite a while, but I've never faced a hopeless mess like this before."
"This is my first time as well."
"Still, you're better than stubborn bastards like me, aren't you?"
"I'm not so sure."
"Captain Krieger."
Andersen lowered his voice, almost to a whisper.
"We're all wrong."
His sweat-drenched hair glistened solemnly in the evening sunlight streaming through the leaves.
"There are only two people here who are truly right. One is Count Lafayette, who created this situation, and the other is you."
"You're too kind."
"No."
Andersen grabbed Ernest's shoulder with his large, rough hand, squeezing so firmly it almost seemed like he might crush the breastplate.
"Everyone's blind—they can't even see what's right in front of them. In times like this, the words of whoever can see ahead and point the way become the truth."
Bailey wasn't the only one to blame.
All of the 1st Battalion's officers, Andersen included, judged they needed to pursue Bertrand and charged after him. Even Ferdinand had been leaning toward chasing them, and at first, Ernest too had wavered, unable to say with certainty that it was a trap.
Bertrand had performed his feigned retreat brilliantly.
With the lure of the Royal Flag, it had been almost impossible for any soldier to hold themselves back from the charge.
Remembering that it was Bertrand who had commanded the troops that retreated beyond the Bertagne Forest plains against the 5th Division in the past, it was clear, as Levin had decided back then, that not attacking had been the right call.
This time too, Levin had made up his mind never to enter the forest.
He'd warned Bailey, the 1st Battalion Commander, to stand firm at the forest's edge.
Yet Bailey let himself be lured in by Bertrand and charged into the woods, and when Ernest finally realized it was a trap, he no longer had the strength to stop Bailey.
So, with Levin—who alone had understood Bertrand's danger—now absent, the only one left for the 1st Battalion to rely on, someone who understood Bertrand's tactics and could run through the forest as if it were his own home, was Ernest.
At least for this moment, Ernest was the savior and guide for the 1st Battalion.
The lives of everyone in the 1st Battalion—its three infantry companies, the staff officers, and even Battalion Commander Bailey—were now in Ernest's hands.
"The Battalion Commander is here."
"Maybe he'll just drop dead from rage."
"It's easy for you to say."
"I wish he'd do us the favor and die right now, if possible."
"Wouldn't that be nice."
"Isn't there some way out of this?"
"Why are you asking me? I've only been an officer for three months."
"Come on, you've got youth on your side—surely you can think of something clever."
"If I could, I would've done it already."
"That's true. All right then. I can't do anything about the Battalion Commander giving orders, but for now, I fully support the 2nd Company Commander's opinion."
At Andersen's words, Ernest frowned slightly.
"You've got a mean streak, Captain Kissinger."
Ernest's clear tone of displeasure actually made Andersen flinch.
The reason Andersen had declared his support for Ernest, rather than Ferdinand, was because Ernest was now at irreparable odds with Bailey.
Their conflict had grown so intense that it felt like the only way anything would ever be resolved was for one of them to die.
Ferdinand, on the other hand, supported Ernest's views but ultimately gave priority, as a soldier, to Bailey's orders as his superior officer.
In a situation like this, Ferdinand was of little help.
So Andersen voiced his support for Ernest to empower him, all the while hoping that Ernest, drunk on that support or swept along by it, would end up clashing with Bailey even more and cause some sort of incident.
That was why Andersen said he would back him.
Ernest saw right through it immediately.
Ernest had always been clumsy when it came to human relationships and political maneuvering.
Still, he'd learned a thing or two about power dynamics as a cadet, and his completely broken relationship with Bailey had forced him to reflect deeply on human nature.
Schemes as shallow as this no longer worked on Ernest.
"Heh, I have no idea what you're talking about. Anyway, that's what I'll do. See you."
With a sly chuckle, Andersen smoothly excused himself.
Ernest quietly watched him leave, then looked around at the soldiers, their arms crossed, weighed down by despair.
"Sigh..."
Ernest raised his left hand to cover his eyes and let out a long sigh.
The preparations for battle were nearly done.
Now, they would really have to fight against the Belliang Army led by Bertrand.
Ernest almost wanted to give up.
He felt that if he could just negotiate well with Bertrand now, they might be able to surrender and receive the best treatment possible.
"We're ready."
"…All right."
Ernest answered at length, his hand still covering his eyes, responding wearily to Robert, the 1st Platoon Leader, Deputy Company Commander, and manager of all company supplies.
Robert watched Ernest struggle, looking troubled himself before placing a reassuring hand on Ernest's shoulder and giving it a firm pat.
They exchanged a long, silent look before letting out a small sigh together.
Ernest quickly hid his exhaustion and went to Bailey to report that the 2nd Company had finished preparations.
"..."
Bailey only listened to Ernest's report.
He neither met his eyes nor explained how, in a forest they'd never set foot in before, they were supposed to lead their troops, track down Bertrand, attack him, capture him, and steal back the Royal Flag.
Of course, that was to be expected.
If anyone could actually pull that off in this situation, they'd have to be a God of War, not a man.
Bailey was searching for a reason not to retreat and for the slightest hope of victory, but unable to find any, he remained silent, refusing to accept the reality.
Reports had long since come in from the 3rd Company, which was nearly wiped out, and from the 1st Company as well.
Now, with the 2nd Company's report complete, it was time to act.
But Bailey's continued silence was driving everyone mad.
The sun was disappearing quickly in the dense forest.
Darkness would soon fall, and no one knew how long they'd have to wait like this.
"Battalion Commander Sir, all companies are ready."
Finally, Hans, sensing everyone's anxiety, stepped forward and spoke to Bailey.
In effect, he was urging him to make a decision already.
"…We'll push further south, strike directly at Count Lafayette, who should be stationed at the enemy's rear, and seize the flag."
"..."
Everyone was left stunned and speechless by Bailey's words after that long silence.
While the 1st Battalion hesitated here, the enemy had almost certainly completed the encirclement.
And yet, in a forest they didn't even know, with sunset fast approaching, Bailey wanted them to bypass the enemy lines, penetrate deep into hostile territory, attack the commander—who would be defended with everything the enemy had—and steal back the flag?
It was over.
Ernest shut his eyes.
Bailey hadn't come up with any better solution than retreat, nor could he admit his own limitations.
In despair, he simply uttered whatever came to mind.
He'd given up even trying to think.
The truth was, Bailey was far from an incompetent commander.
He had turned the 1st Battalion from an untrained rabble into well-drilled elite soldiers in a short time, with a solid grounding in military science and plenty of experience.
But even if Levin himself—or, for that matter, the Marshal of the Imperial Army—were here, they wouldn't find a way out of a situation like this.
How do you find an answer when one doesn't exist?
"We need specific orders, sir."
Ferdinand, seeing Ernest unable to speak and knowing Andersen's company had been decimated and was now too weak, spoke up in his place. In effect, he was delicately and indirectly telling Bailey, "You idiot bastard. Does that even sound possible?"
If, at this point, Bailey could lay out a plan for those specifics—something with even a sliver of a chance—Ernest felt he might honestly have to reconsider everything, kneel, and bow his head in true contrition for failing to recognize Bailey's greatness.
"…I'll leave those details to the company commanders in the field."
Bailey's lips trembled as he spoke, and with that, he dumped everything on the company commanders.
It was the very definition of "Well, what did you expect…"
Ferdinand looked at Hans.
Hans, his face drained of all energy, just shook his head.
Convincing Bailey was impossible, and help from the staff officers was out of reach as well.
A staff officer's job is to assist the commander in operating and managing the unit—not to perform miracles that make the setting sun rise again or somehow see through hundreds of meters of dense forest to divine the enemy's positions.
In this situation, there was truly nothing the staff could do. It's not as if the personnel officer could magically create new soldiers to replenish their numbers.
As for the section chief, about the only thing he could say in this mess was, "Don't die, uh, do your best." Nothing could be planned or even desperately attempted unless something—anything—started working properly.
"If we head into battle, what about you, Battalion Commander, and the other staff officers and wounded? What happens to them?"
Ferdinand carefully worded his question, pouring all his effort into making Bailey realize for himself just how impossible this was instead of simply scolding him with, "Listen here, you idiot bastard. It's not going to work. Do you understand that?"
If less than two hundred riflemen all went off to fight, who would protect the battalion commander, the staff, and the wounded left behind?
If you had even a scrap of sense, you wouldn't suggest splitting the force here.
Even in these already dire conditions, splitting our forces would be nothing short of stripping naked and dancing for the enemy, begging them to crush us one by one.
"We all move together."
"…Even the wounded?"
"Yes, we've come this far—they should be able to move."
"..."
Ferdinand also fell silent.
No one else had anything left to say.
And as Ferdinand, still numb from this unprecedented disaster, glanced sharply over at Ernest, he gave a small shake of his head.
Ernest, who'd been idly fiddling with his rifle and glaring at Bailey with dark, stormy eyes, squeezed his eyelids shut, his fury making his eyelashes tremble.
"Ernest."
Ferdinand called his name in a low, measured tone—but even he couldn't fully conceal the anger and bewilderment in his voice.
"Can you find a way?"
Ferdinand had never imagined, not even once in his life, that he'd ever have to ask such a question.
If someone could break through the enemy encirclement, capture Bertrand, and retrieve the Royal Flag from here, would that really be a human—wouldn't that be a god?
And of course, Ernest, who was only human and not a god, shook his head.
"…Still, I suppose I'm better than most…"
That was all Ernest could offer Ferdinand in reply. Ferdinand squeezed his eyes shut as well.
Behind his closed eyelids, his bloodshot eyes darted about restlessly.
"I'm working on a plan."
Ferdinand broke the silence with a weary voice. But even calling it a plan seemed generous—there was so little they could actually do.
"Responsibility for countering the Star of Summer falls entirely to the 2nd Company. At the same time, I'm sorry, but I also have to ask you to secure our flanks and protect the wounded."
In the end, Ferdinand wasn't just holding a strategy meeting—he was, for all intents and purposes, taking command of the 1st Battalion.
"3rd Company Commander, you'll move with me."
"All right. There isn't much left the 3rd Company can do anyway."
"We can't deal with Star of Summer."
Cutting off Ferdinand and Andersen, Ernest spoke up in a voice heavy with exhaustion.
"It takes at least three Baltracher just to barely hold her back. There are only four Baltracher left in the 1st Battalion now."
You might think four would be enough, but it absolutely wasn't.
In such complicated terrain, forming a tight formation was almost impossible—and if they did manage it, it would just make them easy targets for the enemy's concentrated fire.
To block the enemy's advance while minimizing casualties, they would need to spread out and establish a line of defense. That left them no choice but to disperse their forces.
But if they spread their troops while keeping the Baltracher together, they'd just be offering themselves up as prey for the Star of Summer.
If they gathered all the Baltracher in one spot, the enemy would attack a different location.
If they split them three and one, the place with only one would be under attack.
If we split them into two pairs, neither side would be able to defend properly and would simply get hit wherever the enemy struck.
Honestly, there was just no solution to this situation.
No one could argue with Ernest's assessment of the Star of Summer.
Ernest had already faced her in battle three times—one of those times, he'd nearly killed her.
No one here knew the Star of Summer better than Ernest did.
"…I'll send one Baltracher."
After a moment's thought, Ernest spoke up.
"No, no. I mean… damn it."
Ernest needed a moment to sort through the flurry of thoughts that suddenly rushed in.
By now, he already had tactics in mind to deal with both Bertrand's Army and the Star of Summer.
But instead of laying out a strategy step by step from the ground up, the complete plan had just appeared in his mind as if a finished building had dropped out of the sky, all at once—leaving him unsure where to even begin explaining it.
With his eyes closed, Ernest took a moment to gather his thoughts.
Then he drew his dagger and began scratching a rough map onto a tree trunk.
"..."
Everyone simply stared, dazed, at what Ernest was doing. In no time at all, Ernest had sketched out Lanosel, the forests of the Bertebras Mountains, the First Battle Site, the Entry Point, the place where they'd encountered Bertrand's Forces, the locations where fighting had broken out, and where they were currently situated.
"Given the enemy's rate of movement, the encirclement would look about like this by now."
Ernest continued, sketching the enemy's encirclement onto the trunk. The encirclement was shaped like a crescent moon, thickest toward the north, with the west forming its main axis.
"They've probably only stationed a handful of nimble soldiers in the southeast, just enough to keep watch on our movements rather than actually fight us. And since the north is our escape route, they'll have concentrated most of their forces there, with relatively fewer troops to the south."
"If we attack to the south, could that be a possible way out? Or perhaps break through the encirclement in the southeast?"
Andersen decided not to comment on how unnervingly detailed Ernest's map was and focused solely on the tactics.
"Count Lafayette blocked the north… yes, simply because that's our only escape route. Right now, we don't even have water. Even if they just block our way out, if they leave us alone, we'll all die of thirst anyway."
"..."
"Moving south would be the worst choice. Even if we win a battle, we'll end up collapsing from hunger and thirst before we ever reach Count Lafayette."
"Then what about breaking through to the north?"
Andersen glanced at Bailey as he spoke—what he really meant was retreating.
Fortunately, Bailey, having given up on thinking and still unwilling to acknowledge Ernest, just glared fiercely at some spot in the woods.
"The north is where they would have stationed the most troops. If I were Count Lafayette, I'd want to avoid fighting anywhere but here."
"Why is that?"
"Because any battle fought anywhere else is meaningless. All they have to do is block us in the north and prevent our retreat—they can win without even fighting. That's why they'll concentrate their troops in the north."
Ernest understood perfectly how Bertrand, from his perspective, would deal with the 1st Battalion.
In Bertrand's tactics now, there was no longer room for uncertain elements like the human heart.
That was because he needed to overcome an unfavorable situation.
At this point, Bertrand had an overwhelming advantage. As long as he commanded his forces based purely on reason, he could maximize gains with minimal losses.
That was why Ernest could read Bertrand's tactics perfectly, almost as if he were inside Bertrand's mind.
In other words, Ernest was absolutely certain that, in this situation, Bertrand would not make a single mistake and would choose the most ideal tactics.
After all, this was the man who had orchestrated the entire situation. There was no way he'd make an error here.
"Moving east wouldn't do us any good, either. While we're sitting here, the enemy in the north is probably spreading their forces wide, closing in around us. Their encirclement might be thin, but any engagement would only work against us. Night will fall soon. With just a few small skirmishes, the enemy can keep us pinned down."
"Hmmm..."
The northern escape route was tightly blocked by the enemy, heading south meant dying of thirst, and going east would only get them trapped in the end.
Bailey, for all his faults, had at least succeeded at one thing.
That was making the 1st Battalion lose without even fighting, simply by sitting around and doing nothing.
In other words, from the Belliang Army's perspective, he had accomplished something remarkable.
Now, even retreat would not be easy.
Ernest didn't mention that if they ran blindly southeast and then turned north, they could escape this place.
He could have pulled off that reckless plan successfully enough.
But if he did, not only would the wounded be left behind, even able-bodied men wouldn't be able to keep up.
At best, maybe only about ten percent would make it out of the forest.
In reality, you could call it a failure.
Above all, Georg, bedridden from his wounds, would fall behind as soon as the plan began.
And he would likely die.
"Realistically, we only have two options left."
Ernest spoke in a calm voice.
"One is to surrender."
"..."
At Ernest's words, everyone turned to look at Bailey. Having tried so hard to ignore Ernest, Bailey's eyes widened again at the word "surrender," and it looked like he might draw his pistol.
Ernest continued composedly, without so much as a glance at Bailey.
"The other is to attack the western encirclement, where their resistance should be weaker."
"That's where Count Lafayette is."
At Ernest's words, Ferdinand pointed to Bertrand, marked on the west side of their hand-drawn map on the tree.
"He's an exceptional strategist, and a brilliant tactician as well. He'll surely respond."
"That's right. The Star of Summer will be there."
Thud!
Ernest drove a dagger into the western side of the map, right in front of Bertrand.
"If the Star of Summer moves alone, she can cross to anywhere in this forest in the blink of an eye. That's why, despite the smaller number of troops, she'll be positioned on the west with Bertrand."
"Alright, now I understand the situation."
Ferdinand realized that this long explanation was actually the background for a plan Ernest had devised, and he nodded.
"What are our chances?"
"None."
When Ferdinand asked about their odds, Ernest declared flatly that there were none.
Everyone felt as if the ground were collapsing beneath their feet—a wave of despair.
"Our goal isn't victory,"
Ernest said resolutely.
"We just need to make the Belliang Army fall back for now. That's enough. If we can surprise them and push them back, that alone will do."
"Supplies."
"That's right."
Ferdinand immediately understood what Ernest meant.
As Ernest agreed, the two exchanged a look of unwavering trust.
"Count Lafayette won't want this stalemate to drag on either. He needs to take care of us and destroy the 13th Regiment before reinforcements arrive at Lanosel."
"If we're optimistic, the reinforcements will reach Lanosel in three days. More realistically, four. If another battle breaks out elsewhere, it could take even longer. But now that we've spread word about Count Lafayette and the Royal Flag, the odds of it taking longer than that are low."
Hearing this from the Section Chief of Intelligence, Ferdinand allowed himself the faintest smile.
He truly hadn't imagined he could smile in a situation like this.
"At most, four days… or rather, since the Belliang Army will need time for cleanup and rest after the fighting, maybe just three, even if it's drawn out."
"If we're lucky, just two."
"That's not bad—better than before."
With a booming voice reminiscent of his grandfather, Ferdinand let his laughter shine through his words.
"Our goal is to seize the enemy's supplies, and…"
Ernest glanced over at Georg, who was still groaning from his wounds, and declared firmly,
"To survive."
Ferdinand no longer tried to hide his expression.
"Even if we can't achieve victory, we won't accept defeat. That way, in the end, we win."
With unwavering conviction, he smiled openly.
"Yes, you've been that way from the very beginning. Truly, you're right, Ernest."
Ferdinand felt a wave of nostalgia for a distant past.
He recalled their first year at the Military Academy, during their first Mock Battle—how Ernest, despite being able to easily win as part of the Imperial Army, chose instead to abandon the fight.
The shock of that moment returned to him as vividly as ever, making it impossible to hide his laughter.
From then on, Ernest had already reached this place alone.
He had been right.
Clap, clap, clap.
"Wonderful. Good. Everything is good."
Andersen, clearly delighted, clapped his hands with a broad smile. With Ferdinand's laughter and Andersen's applause, even the soldiers of the 1st Battalion, after all their despair, felt a spark of hope lift their heads.
"But there's still one problem left to solve. I'm embarrassed to nitpick like this as your senior, but—what are we going to do about the Star of Summer?"
At this moment, there was only one person in the entire 1st Battalion who could answer Andersen's question—Ernest Krieger, the man who had fought Star of Summer up close, even willing to risk his life.
"I'm going to deceive her."
Ernest replied firmly.
"How will you do that? Aren't you quite closely connected with the Star of Summer? Even Count Lafayette seemed especially wary of you."
"Because I know they're wary, I can use that to steer their actions. When suspicious people finally let their guard down, they end up even more defenseless."
"Hmmm…"
Andersen stroked his thick beard—having no hair on his head—and then grinned widely.
"You truly are like a fox. In my whole life, I've never met anyone so cunning."
"..."
"That's a compliment."
They'd thought they'd reached the very bottom of the lightless Abyss, but suddenly, a ray of light appeared and a rope dropped down from above.
It might not look the sturdiest, but if handled carefully, it was strong enough to climb back up.
The three company commanders put their heads together and began formulating a concrete plan, while the staff officers joined in and offered them advice.
Finally, those staff officers—once thought useless—were now fulfilling their role!
"..."
And watching all of this from a short distance away stood Bailey, his face as pale as a corpse.
***
"Oh dear, this isn't the scenario I was hoping for."
Bertrand said this upon receiving a report that the Imperial Army was approaching from the west—his direction.
Yet despite his words, a smile played on his lips.
Even in battle, Bertrand wore flamboyant crimson garments adorned with gold and jewels, and he ran his fingers through hair as golden as gilded thread.
Using the thumb of his right hand, he pressed firmly underneath the end of his right eyebrow, pushing it up.
His gentle-looking green eyes twisted sharply, contradicting the soft smile on his lips.
The enemy had played their best hand.
They'd moved far too late, but given how much time had been lost, there was no better option left.
Bertrand knew this better than anyone—he was the one who had engineered this very situation.
"So it wasn't Lieutenant Colonel Bailey Hoffman."
Bertrand realized this maneuver hadn't come from Bailey's mind.
Bailey was no longer capable of rational thought, and it was Bertrand who had driven him to that state.
More precisely, he had simply read Bailey's state of mind and given him a slight nudge.
"Krieger… Or, perhaps not. I can't be certain. It might have come from the mind of someone else."
As he pressed his eyebrow once more with his thumb, Bertrand began to recall the Imperial Army's command structure.
If Bailey, the Battalion Commander, was incapable of exercising normal command, then the most senior staff officer under him would have authority.
If he, too, lets go of command, only then will authority finally pass to Company Commander Ernest— Provided the other company commanders agree.
'The company commanders would probably go along with it. After all, they're the ones fighting on the front lines. So, did Krieger take command?'
Bertrand glanced up at the sky, now gradually burning red, deep in thought.
'Company commander... company commander... At most, he's twenty, with two medals... Right, the company commander. That was it. They said he'd been under someone else's command before. It was a smaller unit, wasn't it? A company, not a battalion. Yes, back then he must have been a platoon leader.'
Bertrand grinned widely.
"Seventeen, maybe eighteen. A brand-new officer swept up in the Emperor's games... Hahaha..."
The Alliance Army paid close attention to the Imperial Army.
They knew that a new officer would typically serve for about a year as a platoon leader, then get promoted to lieutenant and move up to staff officer.
In other words, the fact that Ernest was a platoon leader at that time meant he was just a freshly commissioned greenhorn.
Because of this one greenhorn, the operation Bertrand had meticulously planned in the Bertagne Forest to stop the enemy—and even his hidden cards he'd played to turn the tide—had all been blocked three times in a row.
Just moments before, his plan to lure the Imperial Army into a trap and finish them off had been thwarted as well.
"Mmm… I really can't stand this tingling feeling."
Bertrand let out a laugh, his shoulders trembling.
Ernest might be just a greenhorn not yet twenty, but at least within the realm of small-scale tactics, he'd already surpassed Bertrand.
He was like a… small tornado.
Small, yes, but impossible to face head-on.
If you tried to fight him on equal terms in that domain, you were bound to lose.
Bertrand knew exactly what to call someone like that.
The world called them geniuses.
"Proceed as planned."
"Yes, sir!"
Even so, Bertrand chose to stick to his plan.
After all, they stood on different ground.
Bertrand was aiming for victory from a broader, strategic perspective.
Even if we take heavier losses than expected, as long as we can wear down the Imperial Army and eventually force their surrender, that will be enough.
The situation is the opposite of what it was in the Bertagne Forest.
The Imperial Army, even if they win a small battle, can't withstand the resulting losses and will eventually collapse, whereas the Belliang Army can keep committing new resources even if they lose minor engagements.
In war, scale is strength, and in the face of overwhelming power, clever tactics become meaningless.
What's more, Bertrand was pushing the efficiency of that power to its very limit by meticulously planning every detail.
He was now using the same method the Empire once used to overcome the Bertagne Forest, turning it on the 1st Battalion of the 13th Regiment.
'But still… if they don't give up, this could get complicated.'
Even as Bertrand watched his troops moving exactly according to plan, he felt uneasy inside.
In the long run, this battle was guaranteed to end in his victory over the Imperial Army's 1st Battalion, 13th Regiment.
However, if it took more time than he'd budgeted for, Belliang could ultimately lose to the Empire.
And in truth, there was an even bigger problem.
'In this one battle, I must force their surrender, no matter what.'
No matter what, by any means necessary, this battle had to end here and now.
He couldn't even allow this engagement to drag on.
Really, if anything went wrong, just this one battle could bring Bertrand's entire plan crashing down before there was any chance to think about the long term.
Now everything hinged on one thing.
Would Ernest Krieger be able to overcome this crisis and still have resources left for the battles to come?
'This fight is now out of my hands. The only thing left is to look forward to victory with anticipation'
Bertrand, in high spirits, smiled and turned to walk away.
Splat!
"Your Excellency!"
"Ah!"
Bertrand had managed to step on precisely the part of a tree root covered in moss, nearly sending himself tumbling to the ground.
If Sir Jade, who had been watching every movement with unwavering focus ever since Bertrand started walking, hadn't caught him in time, Bertrand—despite his sturdy build but total lack of talent for physical activity—would have broken a limb just from the fall.
His reflexes were so terrible that his own startled shriek came even later than Jade's shout as he caught him.
"Your Excellency, please, I'm begging you—just let me carry you on my back."
"How could a grown man such as myself suffer such an embarrassment?"
"I'm only afraid for your safety…"
"Come on, let's get moving."
Bertrand pretended not to hear the worries of his escort knight, Sir Jade, and hurried on.
Yet within just ten steps, he managed to trip nearly three more times, and—even with all his limbs intact—had to lean on Jade for support as he walked.
"Your Excellency, I know I shouldn't say this, but I beg you—at least take off those damnable shoes."
"I'm not even going to fight; what does it matter?"
"I'm worried you'll be injured even if you don't fight."
"But you're right by my side, aren't you? Isn't that enough?"
"That sort of thing doesn't move me anymore."
"Oh! Have you changed so much, after once being brought to tears of gratitude by just a word from me? Transience is like a flower blooming in autumn!"
"Yes, and when the flower falls, fruit will form."
"And in the following spring, new buds will grow."
"But what if the tree falls before then? So please, at least take off your shoes…"
"We don't have time for this. We need to escape quickly."
Considering Bertrand's dignity, Jade hoisted him at his side, half-carrying and half-supporting him in such a way that it was difficult to tell if he was being helped or not, and hurried away.
Now, Bertrand's presence here would do no good.
It was best for him to escape as far from the battlefield as possible and hide.
Likewise, the Royal Flag, which symbolized the Kingdom of Belliang itself, was now being carried by a noble-born knight who had carelessly rolled it up and slung it over his shoulder as he moved.
Bertrand is a rational man who places no value on the flag beyond what it actually is.
He simply takes advantage of the value others assign to it.