Chapter 198

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 198
Chapter Title: Unbroken (1)
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“Oh?”

Leo III looked back at Duchess Rubina.

She smiled meaningfully and reminded the king of Cesare de Carlo's new title.

“The Pisano territory is right next to Gaeta, is it not?”

“Indeed.”

Leo III nodded.

“The late Duke of Pisano had the authority to raise a private army.”

“He certainly did.”

The king had relentlessly tormented the old Duke of Pisano with all sorts of taxes and creative decrees precisely because he feared the duke would raise a threateningly large private army.

“Now, the old Duke of Pisano is gone, and the army he raised is in the hands of someone trustworthy, isn't it?”

“...!”

The king had never once considered Cesare a usable military asset.

Unlike Alfonso, Cesare had no particular talent with the sword and detested sweating under the sun.

He was good at all manner of debauchery, which, at the very least, made him a skilled hunter.

Above all, he was a bastard.

An illegitimate son whose lack of competence was a virtue; a court jester who was delightful and brilliant in one's presence but harmless once sent home.

His firstborn child had performed that role flawlessly.

But this was no time to be picky. Rubina was right.

The private army the old Duke of Pisano had secretly raised was now Cesare's.

“Your Majesty. Send Cesare north. It is time for him to see ‘his own territory’.”

Rubina urged Leo III with conviction.

'Duke Cesare' had been granted the territory but hadn't even inspected it, too busy watching his father's mood.

He couldn't decide if it was safe to stop playing the part of a capital city loafer.

But compared to her cautious son, his mother was a far bolder gambler.

She believed this was the perfect opportunity for her son to surpass Prince Alfonso and take the lead.

To do so, he needed to achieve military distinction while the prince was isolated.

“Count Cesare… no, the Duke of Pisano, it is time for him to pull his own weight.”

As if by prior arrangement, Count Contarini chimed in to support Duchess Rubina.

“A man of the royal family must practice noblesse oblige when the nation faces a crisis.”

A man of the royal family. Yes, he's a man of the royal family now.

Hadn't the issue of his status, which had kept Cesare tucked away in the back rooms, been resolved? The king nodded with pleasure.

“Excellent. Let's send the Duke of Pisano to his territory to raise an army.”

An army commanded by a trustworthy blood relative, funded by the Pisano territory's money.

This was killing two birds with one stone, and then some—the kind of arrangement Leo III most favored.

* * *

“What? You want me to go up to the Pisano territory tomorrow?”

“Yes! Isn't it wonderful?”

Duchess Rubina, her smile filled with anticipation, urged on the son who so resembled her.

“This is an opportunity your mother worked hard to create. Don't you dare ruin it.”

“Mother. Can't you consult with your son before you cause trouble?”

“I've served you a military achievement on a silver platter, and you're still complaining?”

“It's only an achievement if I win!”

Cesare snapped at his mother, who was full of greed but lacked a grasp of reality.

“Mother, am I some horse at a racetrack? Are you the owner who just provides the feed while the horse and jockey are left to win the race on their own?”

“Cesare! How can you say such things!”

To be fair, Duchess Rubina had provided Cesare with much more than just feed, and with great sincerity.

But her son's anger did not subside.

“You're sending your son there without even knowing how many private soldiers the Pisano territory has? You're sending me to block the Gallican heavy cavalry!”

“You can do it! You're my son, why couldn't you!”

“Hah! You make it sound so easy!”

In frustration, he ruffled his red hair.

“Have you ever heard that the old Duke of Pisano's private soldiers were exceptional? Do you even know exactly how many there are?”

“I checked everything before sending you! According to the roster of private soldiers for each territory that Count Contarini secured, there are 6,000 infantrymen!”

“That roster is over ten years old! Do you think those soldiers are still there?”

The rosters of private soldiers for each territory hadn't been updated since the high nobility became reluctant to cooperate with the central government.

No one wanted to reveal their exact circumstances to the king.

“The Gallican army has over 16,000 of their finest elite troops! Are you trying to get your son killed?”

“You won't die, surely?”

“Mother!”

Rubina, unfazed by her son's irritation, gazed at him with sparkling eyes.

“I'll coax and persuade His Majesty to make you the commander-in-chief of the Etruscan army!”

Cesare poured out his resentment toward his mother, unable to tell if she was too naive to grasp the situation or simply blinded by greed.

“Commander-in-chief? What commander-in-chief! Stop counting your chickens before they hatch and jumping at shadows!”

“Don't you trust your mother's abilities?”

“No, and what's the point of being commander-in-chief? It'll be a great help to your ambition if my first entry on my record is 'Defeated in the Battle of So-and-So'!”

This is Mother's ambition. Not mine.

At her son's words, which drew a clear line between them, Duchess Rubina finally erupted in anger.

“Why are you so pessimistic? Do you think I'd want you to fail? I have my reasons for doing this!”

“Reasons? What reasons?”

Cesare had never seen a proper thought emerge from his mother's head.

Rubina thought herself quite clever, but she had only gotten this far thanks to an animal-like instinct for pleasing Leo III; she was far from being a good strategist or wise.

If she were wise, she wouldn't have handled the arsenic incident the way she did.

Sure enough, she said triumphantly.

“They don't kill high-ranking nobles they capture; they exchange them for ransom, don't they? If you just become commander-in-chief…”

“Are you really my mother?”

King Philip IV of the Kingdom of Gallico was a madman who had even imprisoned Prince Alfonso, the official heir to the throne.

A chill ran down Cesare's spine as he imagined what that king would do if he were captured.

“Anyway! His Majesty's order has already been given. You leave tomorrow morning.”

But it was Rubina, not Cesare, who held the keys to this relationship.

Cesare sighed, looking up at the sky. It was an order from Leo III; he couldn't disobey.

He could only pray that the state of the Pisano territory was better than he expected.

* * *

There was another man suffering because of an order he could not defy.

“Sir Dino, isn't that armor uncomfortable?”

Prince Alfonso asked Sir Bernardino.

They were walking in boots, wearing only parts of their standard-issue heavy cavalry armor.

“Your Highness is carrying the same weight.”

Alfonso, too, was walking on foot while wearing cavalry armor. He looked like neither an infantryman nor a cavalryman.

He gave a perfectly innocent smile and a not-so-innocent reply.

“That's because you're the oldest one here.”

“Your Highness!”

“I'm just respecting my elders.”

Beside them, Sir Manfredi grumbled.

“I can't believe they'd put us on a mission like this. Isn't this just grunt work?”

Prince Alfonso placated Sir Manfredi.

“At least we won't die. Let's look on the bright side.”

They had been tasked with blocking one of the enemy's escape routes behind the battlefield.

It was a mission in name only. They just had to sit on a low, rocky hill about thirty minutes away from the main battle, guard a small path, and then amble back when a messenger from the main force arrived after the fighting was over.

Alfonso, too, had thought when he first received the mission, 'They gave us this job because they don't want to share the glory with us.'

“I understand they'd be reluctant to throw the heir to the Etruscan throne into a dangerous battlefield, but I thought they'd at least have us guard the commander-in-chief's tent. This is just shabby treatment!”

“That's because Sternheim has his own Royal Guard.”

As they took their positions on the rocky hill, Sir Bernardino tried to soothe the still-grumbling Sir Manfredi.

“But isn't it easier for us? We can just take it easy and then slowly retreat.”

He shielded his forehead with his hand.

“Ah, the sun is so bright. Don't we have a tent or something?”

Sir Bernardino made a little joke, comparing it to a picnic.

The sun was indeed bright. He gazed at the distant horizon, in the direction of the battlefield.

Perhaps because of the hot sun, he thought he saw a black dot, so he closed his eyes and opened them again.

“Goodness, are my eyes getting old already?”

“?”

“I see something dark on the horizon.”

As Sir Bernardino blinked, Prince Alfonso looked in the direction he was pointing.

As he squinted heavily against the sunlight, something dark came into his view.

Alfonso wasn't the only one who saw it. Beside the prince, Sir Manfredi's tense voice burst out.

“Enemy sighted! Approximately 1,800 piedi ahead!”

As Alfonso watched the enemy with narrowed eyes, the report continued.

“Troop type is infantry! Presumed to be light infantry! Approximately… fifty, no, eighty men! Heading straight for us!”

Alfonso's judgment was swift. He whispered to Sir Elko, who was positioned beside him.

“Sir Elko, go south immediately and request reinforcements.”

The main battle was to the north, but their encampment was to the south.

“Request fifty men.”

The encampment should be able to dispatch that many quickly.

“Your Highness.”

Sir Elko bowed his head and quickly rose from his position. He didn't spout any nonsense like, 'How can I leave you, Your Highness…'

He wouldn't be much help in a fight anyway, and if he stayed here, they would all die.

Sir Elko swiftly descended the rocky hill and disappeared down the southern path.

That left exactly eleven of them, in an awkward state of being neither cavalry nor infantry.

“Everyone! To your positions! Hold the high ground and do not break formation!”

If only they had archers, they might have stood a chance. Since the enemy was light infantry, they wouldn't even need crossbowmen; longbows would have been enough.

Was escape the answer? No. They would be caught if they tried to run, weighed down by their armor.

Holding out here, with the advantage of the terrain, offered the best odds. But at 1 to 8, did they really have a chance of winning?

Prince Alfonso's mouth went dry.

He issued commands like a machine and performed his role as he had been taught, but the reality of the situation didn't feel real.

- “Uwaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

The enemy's vanguard charged up the rocky hill. The pagan soldiers were equipped with palm-sized shields and large scimitars.

But, as befitting light infantry, their first attack was a volley of stones.

- *Thwack! Th-th-thwack!*

A hail of pebbles began to fly toward the Etruscan knights.

Fortunately, the knights were wearing full heavy plate armor, except for their legs.

Alfonso's shout rallied his men.

“Hold your positions! Do not advance! Endure until the stones stop, then kill them as they approach!”

He was trembling uncontrollably, but his voice came out impossibly calm.

The stones were a nuisance, and it felt like being beaten all over, but no one was injured enough to be taken out of the fight.

Alfonso watched the front carefully, then swung his sword at the first pagan to approach him.

- *Swish!*

The prince's sword severed the pagan's wrist.

- “Aaaaaaaaargh!”

The pagan screamed in an unintelligible language and collapsed. Hot blood splattered across the white rocks. That was the signal.

- *Clang!*

- *Thud!*

- *Crash!*

The prince's knights, holding their positions on the rocky hill, engaged the enemy all at once.

For now, there was only one path up the hill. They had to block it and hold out for as long as possible.

'Please!'

Let this end with no one dead. Let the reinforcements arrive before someone dies.