Episode 73
The reason the Holy Knight was so determined to send his son to the battlefield was simple: glory.
He wanted his son to achieve the kind of military success that would echo throughout the empire, much like the “Black Prince” of the Saxon Duchy, whose fame was already legendary. The goal was to elevate the reputation of their count’s family to imperial renown.
Despite everything, Philip was the only son of the Holy Knight and the heir to the count’s family. Thus, it was necessary for him to become a pillar, at least in name, to support the family alongside his father until he matured into a worthy successor.
That was the plan, anyway.
“Isn’t there a saying that even a dog under a good father is still just a dog?”
“Seems like even the great Holy Knight couldn’t raise a decent son!”
“Ha, looks like the illustrious Brandenburg family is done for.”
“And look at the Saxon heir! Life’s just not fair, is it?”
No matter how much he tried to hide his son’s incompetence, the truth couldn’t be concealed. The nobles whispered about his son, a wastrel with no talent for the sword, more interested in women than warfare.
Without wielding the Holy Sword, the Brandenburg family’s status would inevitably plummet. The disastrous defeat at the Black and White Tournament only cemented the nobles’ gossip, making the fall of the Brandenburg family seem like a foregone conclusion. They mocked him behind his back, endlessly praising the Saxon heir, that damned “Black Prince.”
Thus, he had to prove them wrong. His son needed to achieve a victory so significant that no one would dare insult the heir of the count’s family again. The Holy Knight himself was not immune to the shadow of the “Black Prince,” steeped in his own inferiority complex.
The Loire River. It marked the boundary between the self-proclaimed “New Britannia Kingdom” in the north and the “Imperial Territory” in the south.
For the independence army to reclaim the kingdom’s capital, they had to cross the bridges over the Loire into imperial lands.
Thus, the imperial army split their main force of 40,000, stationing nearly 20,000 troops under the command of the count’s wastrel, Philip, at the key fortress of “Bellefort” to guard the bridge.
“You don’t need to do anything.”
Once again, the warning was drilled into his ears. Just sit there and twiddle your thumbs.
“Don’t try to do anything.”
Even if the Saintess’s power was formidable, it was impossible to capture a fortress guarded by such a large force. But without breaching this fortress, reclaiming the kingdom’s capital was impossible.
No matter how talentless Philip was, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about trusting Philip; it was about trusting Bellefort.
There was a reason it was called an impregnable fortress.
Afterward, the tale of the “count’s heir who bravely defended the fortress against the rebels” would be spun and spread by his father, the Holy Knight.
The entire empire would buzz with stories of Philip’s heroics!
It was a desperate attempt by his father to uphold the dignity of himself, the family, and his wastrel son.
Meanwhile, Dale’s situation was rather pitiful.
He was given command of a mere thousand troops, including his 500-strong Black Armor Company and an additional 500 imperial soldiers, and was stationed far from the main front.
It was essentially a demotion.
The Holy Knight of Brandenburg had maneuvered to prevent the “Black Prince” from making any significant impact. It was a petty and underhanded tactic.
“What, that fool is going to defend Bellefort?”
“Yes, that’s what I’ve heard.”
News soon arrived that the Holy Knight had appointed his son Philip as the commander of the key fortress, Bellefort.
“Well, isn’t that something.”
Dale couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity.
It wasn’t hard to discern the Holy Knight’s intentions. He planned to exaggerate Philip’s bravery in defending the fortress against the rebels, thereby boosting the family’s prestige.
All while the “Black Prince” was stuck in a corner, twiddling his thumbs.
“Everyone’s just looking out for themselves.”
In truth, no one gathered here doubted the empire’s victory. Even if the Saintess Aurelia had achieved miraculous victories, a battle didn’t equate to winning the war. The empire was not a nation to be underestimated.
Thus, the minds of the imperial army were filled with thoughts of how much of the victory pie they could claim.
“This is a mess, a real mess.”
In some ways, the political intrigue was fiercer than the war against the independence army.
“Sir Yones.”
“Yes, my lord!”
“Care to make a bet with me?”
Dale’s casual tone made Sir Yones tilt his head in curiosity.
“A bet, my lord?”
“How many days until Bellefort falls?”
Sir Yones gasped in surprise at Dale’s words.
“But, my lord, there are 20,000 imperial troops stationed there.”
And they included mages capable of countering enemy magic.
“Do you know why geniuses are called geniuses?”
“Well, I’m not sure.”
“They have a talent bestowed by the heavens, a vision of the unknown that ordinary people can’t comprehend.”
Was he about to boast about himself?
“In that regard, Prince Philip is truly a genius.”
No, he wasn’t.
“Then shouldn’t we be even less worried?”
“No, he’s a genius at losing.”
”…”
Sir Yones was left speechless.
“How can ordinary people like us understand the mind of a genius?”
Dale continued as if it were someone else’s problem.
“The power of a genius is to make the impossible possible…”
Honestly, from Dale’s perspective, capturing Bellefort seemed nearly impossible.
But a genius makes the impossible possible. At least in that regard, Dale didn’t doubt Philip’s “genius.”
“The Holy Knight can’t possibly understand Prince Philip’s genius.”
So Dale continued.
“So, how many days do you bet until the fortress falls?”
“I’ll bet a week.”
“I’ll bet three days.”
Three days later, at Bellefort Fortress.
“The rebels are retreating!”
Having repelled the Britannia independence army’s assault, Philip was filled with overwhelming emotion.
They had successfully defended the fortress. It was a victory.
“It was I, Philip of Brandenburg, who won!”
Not the Saxon heir, but Philip himself!
He imagined the tales of heroism that would spread throughout the empire, just as the “Black Prince” had once done. ──The count’s heir who bravely defended the fortress against the rebels!
A great victory that would be sung by the people of the empire. The first page of his epic hero’s tale.
‘No, this isn’t enough.’
But it wasn’t enough to adorn the first page of a saga that would echo throughout the empire.
‘I can’t let my epic begin with just this minor victory.’
He thought again of the young Saxon heir, the empire’s greatest genius, and the countless victories he had achieved.
Thus, Philip’s victory had to be more splendid, more magnificent, more grand.
A heroic victory that wouldn’t pale in comparison to the “Black Prince’s” fame. A victory so great it wouldn’t be overshadowed by the empire’s greatest genius.
“Don’t let them escape!”
So Philip raised his voice.
“Prepare to march! Lower the drawbridge and pursue them!”
“But, Prince Philip!”
“Silence! How dare you defy the heir of the count’s family!”
A knight of the Order of St. Magdalene tried to stop him, but as Dale had said, they were not equipped to handle “Philip’s genius.”
“Anyone who disobeys my orders will be executed on the spot!”
Philip shouted.
“Prepare to march! We will wipe out the fleeing rebels!”
To finally escape the nightmare of the “Black Prince’s shadow” and claim a shining victory.
“Follow me!”
Philip of Brandenburg.
“My era begins now!”
His epic hero’s tale was just beginning.
A week later, Bellefort Fortress fell, and Philip was captured.
The natural barrier that divided the Britannia Kingdom and the Imperial Territory, the impregnable fortress, was easily breached by the independence army without significant losses.
The entire imperial garrison was slaughtered, and the fortress commander, Philip, was captured by the Britannia independence army, reduced to a pawn for ransom.
In the end, the plan to exhaust the Britannia independence army through a prolonged siege at Bellefort, while the main force under the Holy Knight maneuvered to flank them, was…
The plan to crush the Britannian independence forces had crumbled into nothing.
After the fall of Fort Bell.
The Britannian independence forces began their unstoppable advance across the Loire River.
Their target was the imperial stronghold and former capital of the old Britannian kingdom, Reims, where the imperial military leaders had gathered once more.
All except for one—the disgraced scion of a noble family, now a prisoner of the enemy.
“Well, it seems the saying ‘like father, like son’ doesn’t apply here,” Dale sneered coldly, having returned from an unexpected demotion.
“Not only did he fail to annihilate the five hundred knights of St. Magdalena…”
He continued to mock the holy knight, showing no hesitation in becoming part of a fractured organization.
“He led nearly 20,000 imperial soldiers to their deaths.”
“……”
“They say losing is an art, but this is beyond ordinary talent.”
The holy knight bit his lip so hard it bled.
“I wonder what the ‘people of the Empire’ will say about Prince Philip’s historic defeat.”
A historic defeat, indeed. An indelible stain on the noble family’s honor, destined to be remembered with horror for generations.
Blood trickled down the holy knight’s lips, as if he were desperately restraining the urge to draw his sacred sword.
The fate of those who couldn’t escape Dale’s shadow was nothing short of pitiful.
“Out of genuine curiosity, how exactly did the fortress fall?”
“Shortly after the first skirmish began…”
Lady Scarlet picked up where Dale left off.
“Prince Philip sent the main force to pursue the retreating enemy after failing to capture the fortress.”
“What? He sent the main force outside the fortress?”
“Yes, that’s what happened.”
“Then they must have been ambushed and slaughtered.”
“Ah, as expected of you, Prince Dale.”
Lady Scarlet smiled nonchalantly, as if the crushing defeat were someone else’s problem. She, too, had her own agenda in this battle.
“After that, the Britannian forces disguised themselves in imperial armor and, using the captured Prince Philip as a front, entered the fortress without bloodshed.”
As if they had returned triumphantly after annihilating the fleeing enemy.
“So they just let them in?”
“Apparently so.”
“……”
“I heard they shouted their victory with such pride and confidence.”
All to save his own skin. The veins on the holy knight’s forehead bulged once more.
Thus, the fortress fell, and Philip became a prisoner. The supposedly impregnable Fort Bell was taken with virtually no bloodshed.
One could almost admire the Britannian forces’ cunning, but to fall for such an obvious ploy was inexcusable.
“I’m at a loss for words.”
Barely weeks after the imperial forces landed on the Britannian island, half of the 40,000-strong army was annihilated, and the critical fortress and crossing point on the Loire River were lost to the enemy.
Philip’s actions had indeed turned the tide of the war, marking him as an extraordinary force.
And so.
“We’re doomed,” Dale muttered, as if it were someone else’s problem.