Both the Kingdom and the Empire, while having somewhat different military structures, primarily relied on a volunteer system.
In some regions, military service was imposed as a blood tax, but in either case, soldiers would undergo several months of training before being assigned to the reserves. Thereafter, they would receive about a month of training per year, often in winter after the wheat harvest.
If war broke out, they would be deployed to the battlefield as soldiers. During training, they received a small stipend, and since they wouldn’t have to worry about their next meal, many soldiers came from impoverished backgrounds.
In the Chrishtand army, for instance, those ranked Corporal or higher were part of the standing army, and there also existed “Senior Soldiers”—individuals who, despite being ordinary soldiers in rank, were professional soldiers. Conversely, in the Empire, even Corporals were part of the reserves. Such distinctions were largely due to differences in financial circumstances.
Taking the Chrishtand army as an example, the majority of the funds to maintain it were provided by the state.
In addition, Bohgan used the revenue from his own mines and farmlands to employ non-commissioned officers, including Corporals, as professional soldiers.
Bohgan, who had continuously achieved distinction in the previous great war, lived a frugal life with only the bare necessities—a single servant and one mansion—yet he invested a significant amount of his personal wealth into these military endeavors.
He was a noble-minded military man, a remarkably upright aristocrat, who believed that he had been entrusted with a prosperous domain to fulfill the corresponding duties, and thus did not hesitate to spend money on the army to carry out that role.
Those under him, following Bohgan’s example, also spent much of their personal fortunes on their own soldiers, thereby maintaining a formidable army in Chrishtand.
The Chrishtand army, in this way, placed particular emphasis on military affairs. However, those in positions to lead armies in the Kingdom more or less employed similar methods, so it wouldn’t be wrong to call this the standard for the Royal Army.
Prioritizing the army’s proficiency and quality.
That was the strength of the Royal Army.
In contrast, the Imperial Army, due to its vast territory, relied heavily on local lords for its military strength, and even with the same number of soldiers, their quality was inconsistent.
Because a system existed where lords themselves could wage war independently if they obtained permission, there were drastic differences in military strength and quality between the border territories and the inner territories (lands near the Emperor’s direct domain were called this).
However, there was the power of the Papal Office, which held immense capital and authority. If they declared a “Holy War,” a system was in place where lords would unite under the name of God, gather a large army in a short period, and launch an invasion.
In this instance, the Papal Office orchestrated the seizure of the fertile southeastern region, held by a Kingdom in turmoil due to a succession crisis. By ordering a “Holy War” upon the western lords, a grand army of one hundred thousand was raised.
Much of the funding was provided by the Papal Office to the western lords, and they, in turn, would greedily devour the profits from the occupied territories.
For the lords, a “Holy War” that promised ample funding and territorial expansion was a most welcome prospect. Only at times like these would they cooperate with neighboring lords, with whom they usually had poor relations, to address the matter.
This was because a disparity in troop numbers directly translated to military superiority or inferiority.
It was the most fundamental common sense of warfare, learned first and foremost. As long as how to slice the pie after the war was firmly established, an invasion with a large, coordinated army was a highly desirable affair.
Compared to the Royal Army, which generally maintained a constant level of proficiency and stability, and ensured stable logistics, the Empire, while inconsistent, could raise massive armies and covered much of its logistics through plunder.
It was difficult to say which was better in this era, but at least up to this point, the difference in military systems had clearly manifested, with the Kingdom having its entire eastern region occupied before the Empire’s massive army.
The Imperial Army was on a victorious campaign—and Kurt, participating as a common soldier in the Northern Expeditionary Force led by the famed General Sarxhenka, was born to a poor farming family.
Born as the third son of a tenant farmer family, he had grown disgusted with the sight of his parents being continually exploited and the suffocating atmosphere of his village society, and had volunteered as a soldier.
He could be described as a dime-a-dozen, common soldier.
One doesn’t become a soldier because one wants to, but because one has no other choice.
At least, that was the case for soldiers of the Elsren Holy Empire. It provided work as soldiers for the poor born from the disparity between rich and poor, thereby also serving to prevent the deterioration of public order.
“Holy War”—the justification of plunder in God’s name—served conveniently as a way to vent the frustrations of malcontents.
Due to its vast territory, where maintaining public order was difficult, the Empire had a structural flaw: it needed to periodically wage such wars to let off steam.
Massacres were not to be committed against towns that had reached a certain population size.
Such rules existed in writing in the Holy Spirit Covenant, but they were not based on humanitarian grounds.
Towns contained skilled craftsmen, intellectuals, and merchants.
This rule was to avoid killing such human resources through plunder. For example, killing wealthy individuals like merchants would lead to significant backlash and hinder post-war governance.
Merchants would unite to protect their assets, so treating even foreign merchants in such a way could affect one’s own country’s commerce.
Therefore, an agreement was once made under the Holy Spirit Covenant to refrain from such acts in towns, but naturally, this was ignored for small villages that did not fall under this provision.
Villages in occupied territories, as a consequence and by tacit understanding, were used as outlets for such frustrations, and this was common knowledge in the world of soldiers.
Young Kurt, too, was one who had unknowingly stepped into such a hellish environment.
During his harsh training, what his seniors often spoke of was, naturally, plunder in war.
“This training is tough and painful, but once war starts, you can do whatever you want,” they’d say.
“You can rape the village beauties who would normally spurn you, and plunder all the valuables you want.”
“There was nothing good about being born, but at those times, you could revel in the joys of this world,” they’d say.
Although Kurt would nod and feign agreement at such talk, he was a relatively good-natured man.
He couldn’t agree with the opinions of such seniors.
What Kurt admired wasn’t the sordid reality—it was the heroes of fairy tales.
Even in this current war, he did not participate in looting or acts of violation; rather, he was doing his utmost just to suppress his disgust.
The sight of defenseless, good-natured villagers being brutally murdered and toyed with seemed inhuman, and their screams wouldn’t leave his ears.
Humans treated like toys or worse; what unfolded there were violations so unspeakable they were difficult to even mention.
The gruesome scenes were seared into his eyes, and for several days, he couldn’t sleep properly.
The one who encouraged Kurt in such a state was a middle-aged corporal named Orzan.
Brave and daring, he was also skilled with a sword.
He was rough around the edges and cheerful, but a bit vulgar, always talking about his exploits in brothels.
Kurt had naturally assumed Orzan participated in such plunder, so it was surprising that Orzan was, in reality, a man of integrity who showed disgust towards acts of violation. Kurt, who had felt uncomfortable around him until then, revised his opinion.
“…My village was also burned down long ago. I was born in the Kingdom, you see. We sheltered Imperial soldiers, and when that was discovered, our village was burned,” Orzan recounted.
Capturing enemy soldiers as prisoners was one thing, but harboring them was an act of treason against the Kingdom.
It was only natural for the village to be burned as an example, and at that time, violations against the villagers were also tacitly approved as part of the warning.
However, the centurion who came to burn the village appeared openly in the square and gave the villagers time to escape.
“Our casualties were limited to a few ruffians being killed.”
Orzan said that for that centurion, burning the village must have been a painful decision.
And thanks to that, he had survived, fled to the Empire, and was now standing here as a soldier.
“Back then, I resented it… but as time passed, I started feeling grateful for what happened. If I ever become a centurion, I want to be like him. Cool, right? …Though, well, I’m stuck as a perennial corporal, eh.”
Orzan, speaking with sparkling eyes, seemed just like a boy, and Kurt genuinely respected him for it.
Killing and being killed in war is a matter of course.
But that doesn’t mean inhuman acts are permissible.
Orzan, who spoke thus, was the very image of a fairy-tale hero in Kurt’s mind.
At night, under the moonlight, Orzan would join him for sword practice, and Kurt would also listen to his vulgar, silly stories.
In doing so, Kurt came to know that the men close to Orzan were, contrary to his assumptions, admirable soldiers with strong self-discipline.
From now on, I’ll advance with them.
And someday, I’ll rise through the ranks and correct this corruption in the army.
Such a goal was born within Kurt.
The men laughed and accepted young Kurt’s aspiration, patting him on the shoulder, saying that’s what it means to be a man.
For Kurt, the circle of such comrades had become his warmest sanctuary.
And today—
“Hey, hey, don’t be so tense. It’s alright, arrows won’t hit us here.”
“I-I know, Corporal…”
Crouching by the river, Kurt and the others hid in the shadow of its bank.
A hellish river crossing.
The river was dyed crimson, and corpses floated everywhere within it.
The Imperial Army had succeeded in releasing the river dam three days prior.
Today, with the river’s flow having subsided, it was decided they would launch an all-out attack.
The Salzhenkan army had won a landslide victory in the conflict over the damming operation point, succeeding in its capture.
The enemy had completely collapsed and fled—at least, that was what the messenger from Vice-General Daklarsha, who commanded in the mountains, reported to Areha.
In the mountains, near the lake, the Empire held numerical superiority.
Vice-General Daklarsha was a reasonably competent commander.
Victory had been almost inevitable, yet the greater-than-imagined battle results made suspicion stir within Areha.
Areha, who knew of Baughan-Chrishtand’s brilliant retreat tactics, couldn’t imagine that Chrishtand would so readily abandon a key strategic point.
Upon hearing that report, Areha inwardly wished for time to re-evaluate the situation and wanted to take a cautious approach.
In that regard, he was certainly competent, but those around him were not.
They rejoiced, believing Chrishtand was faltering in an unwanted war, and heaped praise upon Daklarsha and Areha.
Areha, who had defeated the veteran General Carmeda in this current invasion.
Because they knew of his brilliant skill, they had become blind sheep.
The notion that Baughan-Chrishtand was being forced into an unwanted war by orders from the Kingdom’s central command aligned with Areha’s initial thoughts, and it had gained considerable momentum.
There was even a part of him that considered that, just as they said, this might indeed be the opportune time to attack.
Above all, the soldiers had grown accustomed to victory, and their morale was high, having heard of the great triumph in the mountains.
Swept up by the surrounding fervor, Areha had decided to launch a large-scale attack.
And in that attack, Kurt and his comrades were assigned to the left flank, part of the unit tasked with capturing the enemy fort.
That structure, said to have been built under the personal command of Crishet-Chrishtand, daughter of the enemy’s famed general Chrishtand, was a truly crude-looking fort.
It appeared utterly shoddy, as if it would blow away with a mere push.
Last night, everyone had boasted that destroying a fort of that level would be child’s play.
Some even voiced vulgar fantasies of stripping naked the two daughters of Chrishtand, who were reputed to be beautiful.
However, seen amidst the rain of arrows, that fort, to Kurt, felt like a great fortress reaching to the very heavens.
He desperately tried to control his trembling body and steadied his breathing.
“Are you scared?”
“N-No, I’m not scared…!”
“Gahaha, don’t say that. My own balls have crawled up into my stomach! Right, you?”
Orzan said to the man beside him.
The corporal next to him also laughed and nodded, joining in the banter with things like, “I pissed myself a little while ago.”
“That’s disgusting, you bastard. …Well, anyway, the only ones not scared in this situation are those whose heads aren’t screwed on right. We’re all in the same boat, so take it easy.”
“…Yes.”
“Hey, what’s the status of the first wave?”
“A failure, seems like. They didn’t make it… I heard voices saying ropes had been strung up.”
“Damn it, setting up such worthless traps!”
Just then, the centurion’s command rang out.
His body trembled, and he endured, clenching his hands on his sword and greatshield.
“—All units, commence the charge!!”
At the resounding, powerful voice, everyone stood up and emerged from the river.
A strange sensation of floating. Fear and exhilaration.
His feet felt unsteady, as if treading on air.
“Let’s go, Orzan! Don’t you die on me!”
“Yeah, you too— Hey!”
An arrow unluckily pierced the leg of the corporal who had been laughing with Orzan just moments before.
Even though they were protecting their heads with greatshields, there were, of course, gaps.
And then, countless arrows struck the fallen corporal’s body; the corporal died, writhing in agony.
“…Kurt! Don’t just stand there spacing out! You lot, let’s go too!”
“Y-Yes…!”
Looking around, soldiers were tripping over something and falling, then dying under the rain of arrows.
Commands frequently flew out: “There are traps at your feet, be careful!”
However, trying to watch one’s footing amidst the rain of arrows pouring down from above seemed impossible.
“Tch!”
Orzan swung his sword, severing a rope made of vines at his feet.
“Kurt, as long as you keep your shield up, the rest is luck. Whether you’re looking or not, when it’s your time to die, you die. The ground in front of you—no, you just shut up and watch my feet. That’s all you need to do.”
“I-I understand…!”
A short distance away, he saw the centurion die, struck by a concentrated volley of arrows.
He had a grim face and had risen from the ranks of common soldiers.
Not even Orzan was a match for him in swordsmanship.
A centurion who could effortlessly handle two ordinary soldiers at once.
However, his death was all too quick.
“Don’t look, forward, only forward… Only look forward…”
After seeing that, Kurt muttered, believing only Orzan’s words.
He could see his comrades falling at the edge of his vision.
He tried not to pay attention.
He just followed Orzan’s feet.
“Guh…!”
An arrow grazed Orzan’s leg. Orzan let out a cry of pain but kept moving his feet forward.
Arrows flew one after another.
Again, one struck Orzan’s leg. No, listening to the whistle of arrows passing by and the thud of them striking shields, he could tell a tremendous number of arrows were heading their way.
What was happening above?
Still, Orzan ran.
Kurt followed.
He could hear Orzan’s agonized voice.
Kurt followed.
Orzan collapsed.
Kurt stopped.
“O-Orzan-san…!”
“Go… don’t worry… ’bout me…!”
—His shield, bristling with arrows like a porcupine.
Three arrows were embedded in his right arm. In his shoulder too, and here and there—an arrowhead protruded from the side of Orzan, who lay face down.
He looked around.
Almost everyone was dead.
He realized that at some point, he and Orzan had been running at the very front.
He couldn’t see any of his squad mates either.
A warm sensation spread through his groin.
He had wet himself. When he looked behind him, intending to flee, the river felt far, far away.
Instead, the fort was right in front of him.
“A-Ah, Aaaaaaaaaaaah!!”
Countless bows were aimed at him. He raised his shield and just ran.
Was it fear that propelled him, or courage?
Past Orzan’s corpse, and further still.
Arrows struck the ground right beside him.
If his luck was bad, he’d die; no need to look.
The palisade was right before his eyes. If he could just get over this, the arrows wouldn’t reach him.
“Eh?”
Before he knew it, Kurt had collapsed onto the ground. Knotted grass had snagged his foot.
He thrashed about, writhing, trying to stand up.
And then he fell again and looked in front of him.
As expected, countless bows were aimed at him.
An arrow pierced his right leg, then his left arm, his stomach.
He lost sight in his right eye as another struck his chest.
Writhing in agony, he squirmed.
Without even fully understanding what had happened, without ever drawing the sword he had learned to wield.
And so, Kurt’s young dreams and life were extinguished.