Chapter 207

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 207
Chapter Title: The Gallican Army's Southern Advance
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Faith guarantees nothing.

The faith of Duchess Rubina in her son's military prowess was no exception.

The newly appointed commander-in-chief, the young Duke of Pisano, led a total of seven thousand soldiers, including reinforcements from the king, into a pitched battle.

“Fire—!!”

It was a surprise attack under the cover of darkness.

Flaming arrows from longbows rained down like a torrential downpour between the tents and palisades pitched on the field, and the enemy scrambled in disarray to form their ranks.

Gallico's famed heavy cavalry was a unit specialized in offense; forced into a defensive position, they could not leverage their strengths.

But Duke Cesare's luck ended there.

“Your Grace! Our left flank has been annihilated.”

The Etruscan army's left flank, which had been ambitiously pushed forward, consisted of light cavalry conscripted from various regions.

They were sent to the vanguard, thinking their agility would allow for swift responses in the melee, but they were just as weak as they were nimble.

And the Gallican infantry were far more well-trained elite soldiers than the Etruscan army had anticipated.

Using the tents as cover, they easily repelled the Etruscan light cavalry that charged in from the left.

“The situation on the right flank is dire!”

The Etruscan army's right wing, which charged in the second wave, was their most reliable unit, the Royal Guard Knights of the capital.

Surging heavy cavalry could not be stopped by mere infantry.

However, Cesare's lack of talent and experience contributed to the defeat.

The right and left flanks were supposed to engage in a pincer offensive, moving in sync like clockwork, but the right flank's deployment was delayed, entering the battlefield only after the left flank had been obliterated.

“The center is collapsing!”

Gallico's six thousand infantrymen sequentially repelled the Etruscan left and right flanks, buying time for their heavy cavalry to advance.

And the Montpellier Heavy Cavalry, having finally reformed their ranks and appeared, swept away the Etruscan infantry brigade—which had been waiting to encircle the Gallican encampment in a crescent formation—like they were mere reeds.

“Your Grace, you must escape...”

The last army the Kingdom of Etruscan had managed to assemble was falling before Cesare's very eyes.

They vanished at a speed that made one question if they had ever existed, like snowflakes melting under the sun.

His aide urged him again.

“Your Grace! You must withdraw immediately!”

If the commander-in-chief were captured, matters would become far worse.

As Cesare hesitated, unable to give the order to retreat, his aide shouted in his stead.

“Protect the Commander-in-Chief!”

The reason Cesare, who valued his own skin above all else, could not bring himself to flee the battlefield was because he knew, deep down.

That what was collapsing before his eyes was not only Etruscan's last hope, but also his own future standing.

“Clear a path! Southward, southward!”

The aide practically snatched the reins of Cesare's black steed, urging him onward. He looked ready to spur the horse for him.

Cesare had no choice but to be dragged along the wide, straight path south that his aide had cleared, glancing back at the northern plains battlefield several times.

***

News of the crushing defeat at the Battle of the Savoyard Plains quickly set San Carlo ablaze with rumor.

“Did you hear? Duke Cesare suffered a massive defeat!”

“What's going to happen to us now?”

“Don't worry, the Royal Guard is still intact. Surely those barbarians won't march all the way to San Carlo?”

While the commoners and lower nobility, unaware of the full situation, held onto a sliver of hope, those in the know could not hide their grim expressions at the news of the Duke of Pisano—no, the Etruscan commander-in-chief's—defeat.

“...That was the last of our forces, wasn't it.”

“Further mobilization in the south is impossible. Because of the great plague.”

Raphael de Valdesal sat in Ariadne de Mare's drawing room, meeting her for the first time in a long while, and moistened his lips with warm tea.

Tea leaves were a luxury that was becoming increasingly rare in the capital. The Black Death had brought the movement of goods to a standstill.

“What does His Majesty the King intend to do?”

“...I wonder. Father hasn't said much. Only he would know if he's keeping silent because it's a secret even from me, or if he has no plan and thus nothing to say.”

*The latter*, Ariadne thought with a dry laugh. Raphael asked in return.

“It seems Palazzo Carlo's only hope is His Holiness Pope Ludovico. Have you heard anything from that quarter?”

Now it was Ariadne's turn to give an equally hopeless reply.

“You know that His Majesty the King refused to sponsor the holy war. Unless some grand offer accompanies the request, Pope Ludovico is unlikely to side with the Kingdom of Etruscan and offer to mediate.”

Raphael gave a bitter smile.

“That's right. He refused to sponsor it.”

He added in a murmur, a confession that could only be shared between close friends.

“To his own son. It's too cruel.”

Hearing this, Ariadne's face visibly darkened. While Raphael was biting his tongue for his slip, she asked cautiously.

“Um... have you heard any news of Alfonso?”

Ariadne hadn't received a single letter from Alfonso since he left for the Kingdom of Gallico.

Nothing had changed even after the prince fled to Iesca. They had not spoken for nearly four or five months since confirming their feelings for each other.

Raphael schooled his features to hide his complex emotions. To be honest, he was glad that Ariadne had not heard from Alfonso.

“You are aware that the prince has left for Iesca, aren't you?”

The story that the prince had fled to Iesca with the crusaders was still a secret circulating quietly only among the high nobility of the capital.

How long it could be kept hidden was uncertain.

If the Gallican army continued south and marched on the capital, questions would surely arise about the safety of the heir to the throne, who was in Gallican territory.

But for some reason, Leo III had issued a gag order and remained tight-lipped.

“I've heard that much through the grapevine.”

Paradoxically, Raphael felt a little relieved by Ariadne's answer. He was currently battling his own ugly inner turmoil.

The desire for Ariadne to remain ignorant of Alfonso's news was tangled up with the guilt of not telling her what he knew, as a friend to them both.

The fact that she already knew lightened that burden slightly.

“I haven't heard anything specific since then. I did hear that His Majesty Leo III was furious because the prince hasn't been contacting him either.”

Ariadne's expression grew even darker.

“Nothing... must be wrong, I hope. If he can't even contact his own father...”

“The sea is wide and the road is long; it must be difficult to send word.”

Raphael comforted Ariadne with feigned cheerfulness.

“Don't worry too much. He'll manage.”

“...Why hasn't he returned yet?”

If Ariadne had been in Alfonso's position, she would have returned home the moment she crossed the Gallican border and escaped Philip's grasp.

She couldn't even imagine that Alfonso was stuck in Iesca because he lacked the means to return.

If she were Leo III, she would have dispatched the fastest galley immediately.

“...I'm not sure.”

Raphael knew that Leo III was not providing Prince Alfonso with military funds, but since Alfonso's letter requesting a ship was in the hands of the Grand Duke Eudes of Gallico, his detailed circumstances remained unknown to anyone in the Kingdom of Etruscan.

“Perhaps he wishes to achieve military glory in the 'holy war.' Boys always have such dreams, don't they?”

Young Alfonso, raised by the devout Queen Marguerite, had always wanted to be a 'knight-king' in the Iescan tradition.

A righteous monarch who wins wars, commands the loyalty of his feudal lords, distributes spoils of war fairly, and cares for the lives of his people.

Raphael, who had spent a lot of time with Alfonso since childhood, knew this well.

“However, there are rumors that His Majesty the King is delaying financial support for the prince.”

“What?”

Ariadne was stunned. Alfonso, having gone as an envoy to Gallico, couldn't possibly have prepared to set out for Iesca.

To procure everything locally would require a fortune in gold. And yet, his own country wasn't even providing financial support?

“I heard Duchess Rubina whispered something to His Majesty, but I don't know the specifics. My father advised him once or twice, but with the Gallican army causing chaos and the Black Death spreading...”

“My goodness...”

*How much he must be suffering...* Ariadne's expression crumpled. Seeing her emotional distress, Raphael quickly changed the subject.

“By the way, does the House of Cardinal de Mare intend to remain in San Carlo?”

“Pardon?”

“Because of the Gallican army's advance south. The only army Etruscan has left is the Royal Guard. If we end up having to make a stand in San Carlo, things could get very difficult.”

'Making a stand in San Carlo' was a gentle way of putting it. San Carlo was a bustling commercial city, not a fortified one. If the Gallican army attacked, it was likely to fall. And if the largest metropolis on the central continent fell to an army... looting and arson would be a given, and the women would be in grave danger.

“We are considering whether we should evacuate to the south.”

Raphael's family had discussed a plan where only Marquis de Valdesal, who had to attend to state affairs, would remain in the capital, while the rest of the family would leave northern Etruscan under Raphael's lead.

“...But the plague is rampant in the south as well.”

“Yes. It would be foolish to flee the army only to catch the Black Death in the south.”

The House of Marquis de Valdesal was a capital-based noble family, a rarity among the high nobility. This was because they had no large fiefdoms in the provinces; their power base was the capital itself.

Naturally, they were not in a position to leave the capital under the pretext of tending to their rural estates.

“Has the House of Cardinal de Mare discussed any plans?”

Ariadne furrowed her brow.

In her past life, the Kingdom of Gallico had been satisfied after reclaiming the Gaeta region and had turned back, so their army had never advanced into the central territories.

Naturally, Cardinal de Mare and his household had not moved from San Carlo, their power base and a relatively safe location.

“...I'm not sure. We haven't considered any particular measures yet.”

“The Gallican army's target is likely San Carlo.”

Raphael said in a grave voice.

“You can tell by their southward route.”

To the top graduate in military studies from the University of Padua, the Gallican army's intentions were as clear as a letter written on paper.

“Everyone is reassuring themselves that it won't happen, but that army is moving with a clear objective.”

And Raphael de Valdesal's prediction soon became reality.