Chapter 228
"A frontal assault would be little different from suicide."
One of the coalition commanders pointed at the map spread across the table.
"The moment our troops enter the slope, they'll be met with a rain of boulders and arrows from the fortress walls. And it's not as though there's another viable route around it."
"It's not as though there isn't one."
Standing with his arms folded, Daren studied the intricate terrain marked on the map before speaking.
"What about approaching the rear of the fortress by moving north, as His Highness the Crown Prince attempted? As long as we're careful of ambushes, isn't that our most realistic option? If we can establish a position behind the fortress, we'll have the geographical advantage as well."
"Assuming we can get there safely."
Sitting grim-faced at the far end of the table, Kailias pointed to a narrow pass on the map and added sharply,
"To reach the rebel stronghold, you have to pass through a mountain trail barely wide enough for two wagons abreast. On top of that, the Jotungar Mountains are often covered in dense fog even in broad daylight. If you're unlucky, you can end up trapped in mist so thick you can't see a single step ahead."
Staring directly at Varkas, he stressed every word.
"That's exactly why we walked straight into their ambush."
Without replying, Varkas silently studied the detailed map of Jotungar.
The fortress occupied by the rebels was backed by sheer cliffs to the east, making any approach impossible. The southern side consisted of relatively gentle slopes, but the access road was too narrow for deploying a large army.
As Daren had said, attacking from the rear was the most practical solution.
The problem was that the enemy undoubtedly knew that as well.
Recalling his cousin's reckless advance, Varkas rubbed his temple.
Had Gareth considered the possibility of an ambush on the detour and maneuvered his forces with just a little more caution, none of this would have happened.
'He became so convinced he was catching the enemy off guard that he hastily concluded an ambush was unlikely.'
His fingertips tapped lightly against the table as an irritated sigh escaped him.
Gareth's recklessness was hardly anything new, and under ordinary circumstances he would have dismissed it.
But the fact that everything had unfolded so perfectly in the enemy's favor was difficult to attribute to coincidence alone.
The timing of the bait that provoked Gareth, who was already enraged over the broken engagement, and the precision of the ambush both suggested the existence of someone cooperating from within.
His suspicions immediately settled upon the person who stood to gain the most from this entire situation.
If that woman was truly behind all of this...
Varkas covered his forehead with one hand.
If his suspicions were correct, then that woman could only be called insane.
If it became known that she had collaborated with traitors, brought about the Empire's division, and lured the Crown Prince into a trap, not even the Empress would escape the gallows.
Nor would the punishment end there.
Her entire family... even her children...
"Your Grace, what do you think?"
The chain of thoughts running through his mind came to an abrupt halt.
Turning his head, Varkas looked at the man who had spoken.
Sir Theoric Hart, one of the leading figures of the Roem Knights, was watching him thoughtfully.
"Rather than launching a reckless assault immediately, wouldn't it be wiser to block the routes leading to the fortress and wait them out? As for His Highness the Crown Prince..."
After pausing to choose his words carefully, Sir Theoric continued,
"I believe it would be wise to leave room for negotiations. Otherwise, Your Grace may end up bearing responsibility for whatever happens to His Highness."
"I appreciate your concern, but I have no intention of changing my decision."
Varkas rose decisively and picked up the metal stylus.
Marking several locations on the map suitable for establishing strongholds, he issued his orders without hesitation.
"We'll split the army into two. The main force will establish a position here, on the southern side. The remainder will circle north and approach from the rear. They'll camp at the foothills leading to the approach road for now and move immediately along the route once they receive the signal."
"I've already said several times that the detour leaves us vulnerable to ambush—!"
"That's enough unnecessary advice."
Varkas cut Kailias off coldly.
"I don't believe the opinions of a defeated army that handed His Highness the Crown Prince over to the enemy deserve much consideration."
The calmly delivered insult instantly hardened not only Kailias's expression but the faces of every Roem Knight gathered inside the command tent.
Ignoring the freezing atmosphere, Varkas continued evenly,
"Send reconnaissance units ahead to thoroughly survey the area around the fortress. Select suitable men."
"We'll assign our independent detachment as scouts."
Daren, who had remained silent until now, casually raised a hand.
Varkas nodded.
"The general outline of our plan has been decided. This meeting is adjourned."
With that unilateral declaration, the commanders, exchanging uneasy glances, gradually rose from their seats.
Varkas watched the lingering knights disperse before leaving the tent himself.
Just then, Daren's voice came from behind him.
"Your Grace."
Turning around, he saw the worried expression on his adjutant's face.
Gesturing toward the edge of the encampment, Daren spoke quietly.
"May I have a word with you?"
Without objection, Varkas followed in the direction he indicated.
Crossing the camp crowded with military tents, they reached the edge of the basin, where pitch-black darkness enveloped them.
Daren walked in silence for a while before finally speaking once they reached the defensive barricade.
"...Do you truly intend to leave His Highness the Crown Prince to his fate?"
Varkas gave no answer, merely looking up at the darkened sky.
Daren continued anxiously.
"There is no denying that His Highness is impulsive and inexperienced. But isn't the Second Prince equally dangerous?"
His voice grew even heavier.
"Behind the Second Prince stands Senevier Taren. The current Empress will prove even more dangerous than His Highness the Crown Prince."
After a brief pause, Daren carefully added while studying Varkas's face,
"And besides... didn't Your Grace swear to the late Empress Bernadette that you would protect His Highness the Crown Prince? If it becomes known that you've broken a vow made upon your soul, it will leave an indelible stain upon your honor."
"Is that everything you wished to say?"
Taking a water flask from his belt and wetting his lips, Varkas asked in a dry voice.
Growing more frustrated, Daren pressed on.
"There are still many who condemn Your Grace for unilaterally breaking your engagement with the First Imperial Princess. If you abandon His Highness the Crown Prince as well, everyone will believe the Grand Ducal House has sided with the Empress."
Listening to the lengthy speech in silence, Varkas finally let out a dry chuckle.
"So you're afraid people will accuse the Grand Duke of Siorcan of abandoning both honor and loyalty after losing his senses over the Empress's daughter."
Daren neither admitted nor denied it, merely pressing his lips tightly together.
Closing the flask, Varkas pushed himself away from the fence he had been leaning against.
"Don't worry. I have no intention of bringing disgrace upon my house."
"What exactly do you mean by that...?"
Ignoring the question, Varkas turned toward the area where his tent had been erected.
"We should return. If we're to move at dawn tomorrow, we should conserve whatever strength we can."
He squeezed Daren's shoulder firmly once before letting go and strode away through the darkness that blanketed the camp.
* * *
The following day, Varkas led the army northward and halted the march beneath the foothills around midday.
As planned the previous evening, he divided the forces in two.
The main army deployed before the fortress, while the remaining troops circled around the mountain ridge surrounding it and advanced toward the rear.
Soon, nearly fourteen thousand soldiers began moving with flawless discipline.
While they established their positions and assembled siege engines, Varkas led roughly thirty men up the steep mountainside.
The terrain was far too rugged and precipitous to station a large army, but it was ideal for a small force to move without attracting the enemy's attention.
Nimbly climbing slopes that were little different from sheer cliffs, he signaled directions to the soldiers following behind him.
After some time...
By the time the sun began to sink westward, they had reached a position overlooking the enemy fortress.
Climbing atop a massive boulder, Varkas carefully observed the fortress's internal layout.
"Couldn't reconnaissance like this have been left to the scouts? Why does Your Grace have to come all the way here personally?"
Completely out of breath after chasing after him, Edrick Rubon grumbled in bewilderment.
Rather than answering, Varkas pointed farther up the steep mountain path.
"We'll go a little higher."
With that, he began climbing the cliffs once more.
At last, upon reaching a suitable vantage point, he ordered the exhausted soldiers to rest.
Taking a sheet of parchment from inside his clothing, he began sketching a detailed map of the fortress's interior.
The enemy stronghold was exceptionally well fortified.
The number of troops stationed there greatly exceeded his expectations, and the defensive works had been constructed with remarkable thoroughness.
'This won't be easy.'
Clicking his tongue softly, he brushed back his sweat-soaked hair.
Then he sensed an unusual gaze and turned his head.
Edrick, who had collapsed onto the ground to catch his breath, was quietly watching him.
Realizing that the knight's eyes were fixed on his waist, Varkas frowned.
"What are you staring at?"
"Oh... nothing."
Edrick scratched his cheek awkwardly.
"You were so cold right up until the day you left that I was worried... but I guess you ended up giving it to her after all."
His eyes narrowing at the incomprehensible remark, Varkas glanced down at his belt.
Fastened there was a water pouch embroidered in the traditional style of the East—the one his squire had prepared for him.