The prelude to war

"What the hell? Where did that army come from?"

McDonald held up his Monocular and looked at the unidentified men who had suddenly appeared on the hillside beside the battlefield. He nearly fell off his horse in fright.

There were not many of these enemies in unfamiliar black uniforms, perhaps two hundred in all.

But they were well equipped. The musketeers at the front advanced briskly in a disciplined formation, holding the Double-Headed Eagle Banner high. They covered fifty meters in one stretch, without needing to stop until they reached halfway down the slope.

The men following the musketeers looked rather disorganized, though. Judging by their weapons and equipment, they were melee troops-a typical infantry company mixing elite soldiers with cannon fodder.

So who did they serve, and why had they appeared here?

McDonald hurriedly had the standard-bearer beside him wave his flag, bringing the entire advancing Restoration Army company to a halt about two hundred meters from the enemy.

Then he sent two mounted messengers toward Small Hill.

Chris did not have his men leave the advantageous terrain of the hillside. He put fifty Players at the front and had them halt once they reached their positions, with the mercenaries and caravan hands stopping behind them.

Those in the latter group who could form ranks did so. Those who could not simply followed their respective Player bosses, holding their weapons and making up the numbers, ready to serve as loaders... If possible, Chris really hoped they would not have to fight.

Chris knew that apart from the Players and a handful of veterans, his people were little more than a rabble. They might have been trained by X and learned how to load and fire.

But that was their performance in training. It did not mean they could perform as well on a battlefield.

Any soldier who could match his training-ground performance on the battlefield could be called elite.

Chris saw the two Restoration Army horsemen approaching in the distance and waved his hand. Barbarossa, wearing the Sword Medal, rode a rather tall workhorse out of the ranks and briskly approached them.

"We're the Bagnia Restoration Army! Who are you? What are you doing here?"

One of the messengers shouted at Barbarossa from more than ten meters away. Barbarossa proudly thrust out his chest, displaying the Sword Medal pinned to it.

"The Bagnia Defense Force. On Prince Chris Lin's orders, we have come to take control of Bich Town. Leave at once, and do not interfere with our operation!"

The two messengers exchanged looks.

What Bagnia Defense Force?

We've never heard of it!

And who's this Prince Chris? Which country is he a prince of?

But those two hundred seemingly well-trained, fully armed soldiers were real enough. The messengers did not dare linger. They quickly turned their horses around and rode back to report to their company commander.

McDonald was somewhat surprised when he heard their report.

The Bagnia Defense Force? Prince Chris?

"Have any of you heard of them?"

McDonald asked his noble friends beside him. They exchanged looks and shook their heads, though after a moment's hesitation, one of them recalled something.

"Chris Lin... I remember that our king, the one who fled abroad, does indeed have a son by that name."

"Bagnia really does have a Prince Chris?"

McDonald turned to ask in astonishment.

"Yes. I remember he went abroad to study in Inyama, in the Bohemian Empire, when he was young... Yes, I believe he studied at the Academy of the God of Light."

"So Prince Chris really exists. What's this Defense Force, then?"

"Whatever it is, we've already come this far. We can't back down now."

McDonald made his decision at once. He glanced to either side and gave his orders.

"Sergeant major, stay here with a hundred spearmen. I'll take the musketeers and the Sword-and-Shield Fighters to see what they're capable of."

McDonald held the rebels of Bich Town in contempt. Not only were they poorly equipped and had never undergone any military drills, but they were now so hungry they could barely stand.

The two hundred enemy soldiers on the hillside were the complete opposite. McDonald judged this army of unknown origins to be the greater threat and decided he had to deal with them first.

Otherwise, he could hardly attack and slaughter the rebels under their guns... There was one final option: simply retreat.

But how could he possibly do that?

McDonald had brought his private army here over dozens of miles of mountain roads, spending a great deal of money and time. He had not come just to take a look and go home.

The messengers' shouts carried the new orders throughout the company. The spearmen stayed where they were, while the musketeers in cloth uniforms and the Sword-and-Shield Fighters in breastplates began turning toward the hillside and advancing.

The military musicians slowed their drumbeat, guiding the steps of two hundred soldiers as they trampled the wheat shoots that had only just emerged from the soil.

Two hundred meters away, Bruno watched with an aching heart. He and the people of his hometown had endured hunger to sow that wheat with the last of their seed!

Wheat shoots might withstand being stepped on, but that meant one or two people's feet, not the trampling of a two-hundred-man formation.

After a formation of more than two hundred pairs of feet passed over them, never mind the wheat shoots-even the ground was packed hard.

The sight pained Bruno.

And with the Restoration Army advancing toward the hillside, Bruno knew exactly what the enemy intended.

He did not know who those black-clad men carrying the Double-Headed Eagle Banner were, but there was no doubt that their appearance now was good news for Bich Town.

If the Bich Town militia did not want to die beneath the Restoration Army's blades, they needed to advance, take the offensive, and tie down its troops.

"Quick, sound the bagpipes!"

Bruno turned and shouted at a man in a skirt beside him, raising his musket to point at the enemy marching toward the hillside.

"We attack! Attack the enemy!"

"No, Bruno. Why should we attack?"

The man carrying the bagpipes refused to obey his order.

"Our people are hungry and barely have any strength as it is. If the Restoration Army wants to attack the hill, let them. Once they're tired and more of them have died, then we'll go in."

"That's right, that's right..."

"Acha's right."

The young men surrounding Bruno voiced their agreement, leaving him frantic with frustration.

"No, brothers and sisters, that's not how it works! We can't do that..."

Bruno was desperately anxious. He paced in front of them, but he did not know what to say to persuade them to change their minds.

In the end, he could only thrust his matchlock into the hands of someone beside him, raise his two-handed knight's sword, and turn toward the enemy.

"Follow me! Come on! We can't just watch! We absolutely can't just watch..."

PS: This chapter was a bit rambling, but personally, I felt it would be wrong not to lay out the necessary groundwork before the battle began.

Still, I don't know whether it worked well once written, or how best to write it, so I'd like to hear everyone's opinions.