# Equitania
The city closest to the northeastern border was Portabella. Like most border cities of that era, it was more of a trading hub than a military stronghold, connected to the northern trade routes.
As such, Portabella's walls were more ostentatious than practical. They were ornate but unsuitable for defense. And the enemies had artillery.
Unlike the days of trebuchets, artillery could actually pierce through walls. This weapon, distributed alongside trains during the Great War, had fundamentally distorted the structure of siege warfare.
"Damn it."
Standing on the wall gallery, a knight spoke with resignation. Beyond the border, banners could be seen fluttering on the horizon.
A crowned stag—the military banner of Elsros. Judging by the emblems beneath it, this was a large army with at least three counts participating.
A substantial military force. The amusing part was that this wasn't even their full strength. These were merely the vanguard, sent to gauge their opponent's capabilities.
Since the other Southern Six Nations hadn't yet formed their crusader armies, this was just a minor effort to rack up some military achievements before the official crusade began.
It was truly a minor military skirmish. Nothing more than a show of force reconnaissance.
But the knights gathered here were assembled to die at the hands of that reconnaissance force.
"Life really is miserable, isn't it?"
So that the enemies would "underestimate" the national strength.
So that Elsros would advance deeper into the territory without caution.
To offer just enough military achievement while appearing as a peace-weakened opponent.
"Lord Cavalcanti, there's no need for you to go personally."
A young knight with a stern face addressed him. He was a newly commissioned lad who had received his formal knighthood not long ago.
"I can go instead. Anyone could go, really. If we just put someone in armor, how would they know whether he's from the Royal Knights or not?"
What the enemy needed was military achievement, not fact-checking. They needed to provide the achievement of killing a nobleman, even a Royal Knight, but there was no need for an actual Royal Knight to sacrifice himself.
They hadn't trained with the sword for sacrifice. They had honed their blades and dedicated their lives for honorable combat, solely for honor.
An order to die helplessly—wasn't that too dishonorable?
Cavalcanti chuckled and patted the young knight's shoulder.
"Are you suggesting we dress a serf in my armor?"
"If it means you can survive to fight another day. You could achieve greater honors on a more worthy battlefield."
"Hahaha, Roberto. What meaning is there in living just to survive?"
Cavalcanti put on his helmet with a bitter smile. Beneath the open visor, the face of a brightly smiling man could be seen.
"Is it honorable to preserve one's life at the cost of a weaker man's?"
"But, my lord...!"
"Did we not swear to be the shields of this nation? Did we not pledge to protect the weak and die with honor?"
"There is no greater dishonor than this!"
"Do not seek honor in military achievements. That's my final lesson, Roberto. Honor should be the final torch you carry within yourself. Find honor not in killing others for glory, but in the lives you save by protecting others."
He smiled faintly and lowered his visor. With a click, the fully armored knight rose to his imposing height.
"Bring the banner. Open the gates. Cavalry, follow me."
"My lord...!"
"Go to the western front and deliver my message. Tell them Ricardo de Cavalcanti has begun the operation."
Without further reply, he descended from the wall and mounted his horse. A squire approached and handed him the banner. The emblem of an eagle clutching a sword, symbolizing the Royal Guard, fluttered above his shoulder.
He held the banner in one hand and a cavalry lance in the other. The gates opened with a thunderous sound.
"Cavalry!"
"For Equitania!"
"For the eternal glory of the Della Torre royal family!!"
The cavalry raised their lances in salute. Blowing horns, these horsemen—fading in an age of trains and artillery—raised their weapons.
"Shields of Equitania!!"
The horse at the front raised the banner high. The eagle insignia fluttered widely, casting a long shadow.
"Let us go forth to break!!"
Clop, clop. A group of cavalry rode out through the open gates.
The young knight who watched his final departure made the sign of the cross and whispered.
"Even if the Lord does not watch over us, your righteousness will be remembered, Master."
The knight soon mounted his horse and rode in the opposite direction.
All the people of Portabella and its surroundings had been completely evacuated.
The time needed to guide them all behind the final defense line designated as the "defense zone" was equal to the time bought by the high knights of the Royal Knights Order.
Scorched earth tactics had begun across northeastern Equitania, with vast farmlands burning and cities offering no resistance.
Many knights had to die.
In exchange, many more civilians could escape the war zone without major casualties.
"Urgent message from Portabella. Lord Ricardo de Cavalcanti has engaged in battle!"
"We shall remember that name."
Ivan responded to the squire's message while scanning the audience. Some knights looked at him with dissatisfaction, and there were frightened magicians as well. Around the edges of the table with the military map spread across it, his companions were gathered.
Ivan looked at his companions and said:
"Remember all the names here, and all those possible in the east."
Prayers for the departed are always meaningless. Thousands of flowers offered for the dead are worth less than a single smile they could have made while alive.
But those who live on behalf of others have a duty to remember the names of those who have departed. Especially if one is a Hero.
Ivan finished speaking briefly and looked around at those watching him. There were no commanders here. Tactical command was not his role.
His role, as always, was not command but action. He could fairly assess himself as being more suited to cavalry captain than field commander.
He couldn't teach anyone grand strategy or great tactics. Sometimes he wished he had been transmigrated into a strategy game. That was his only regret.
But even so, there remained things he could do. As always, not saving someone, but killing someone.
And in that death, leading his allies at the forefront.
"Vengeance."
Ivan was not skilled at speeches. He rose, pointing at the map.
The eastern cities—Portabella, Castello, Viarato, Lucabella, Palazone. The territories that would fall one after another, and the knights who would die in place of the citizens.
"Vengeance."
He tapped the table again lightly. Thud. His steel gauntleted hand struck the wooden table with a clanking sound. The iron smell reminiscent of blood wafted heavily.
There is an atmosphere that emanates only from people who have lived focusing on a single field for a long time. Like the paper smell from scholars, the acrid carbon smell from blacksmiths, the manure smell from farmers.
The smell, atmosphere, gaze, posture, and aura that represent the person themselves.
If such things truly exist, the atmosphere Ivan possessed symbolized only one thing.
War.
Throughout his entire life, until 30 years had passed since he fell into this world.
From beginning as a young peasant soldier in his early teens until now.
The atmosphere exuded by one who has lived solely for war is this dark, thick, and sinister.
The iron smell reminiscent of blood, a growling voice like clashing steel, cold eyes and straight posture that overwhelmed the audience by themselves.
"Vengeance."
Ivan's voice swept through the silent audience. In the dark night, those gathered here carried torches in their hearts. Vengeance for the fallen heroes.
Though meaningless.
It would be hard to find a more fitting tribute for those who died meaninglessly.
"Vengeance!"
The audience responded to Ivan's words. Thud, thud, thud. Each struck the table and stamped the floor as they shouted. They stomped their feet, shouting until small murmurs became massive roars.
"VENGEANCE!!!"
For vengeance, let us go.
Ivan concluded and put on his helmet. With him, everyone donned their helmets and took up their weapons. As the tent opened, all the waiting troops began to arm themselves.
Northwestern front. The Albinia-Equitania border. Argento.
Equitania launched a surprise preemptive attack, striking Albinia's crusader army that was still being assembled.
"Have these fools gone mad?!"
The next morning, King Domenico della Visale of Albinia looked at his subjects in shock after hearing the urgent messenger from the front.
"A preemptive attack? They're saying they lit the first spark in a war that would have been delayed until summer anyway?"
"Lead the army, Your Majesty! We must teach these heretics a lesson!"
"Send me to the front, Your Majesty! I shall honor our fallen soldiers with the blood of heretics!!"
The subjects expressed their outrage, each trying to prove their loyalty. The king sat on his throne, deep in thought.
Even if their forces weren't fully prepared, the damage wasn't that extensive. They couldn't advance beyond a certain point, and had only destroyed a few military camps.
That was to be expected. Equitania's warfare had to focus on defense. They weren't a country wealthy enough to waste military resources on offense after turning all six Southern Nations against them.
But what was this uneasy feeling?
They dare to launch an offensive? A country that couldn't survive the coming summer even if they poured all their resources into defense?
In the king's silence, another messenger arrived at court, knelt, and shouted:
"Your Majesty!! Urgent news from Elsros! They have crossed the Equitanian border, captured Portabella, and begun advancing south!"
"Didn't they lack the Papal support yet?"
"The... the message says... they have sufficient resources of their own..."
"Madness!"
The king exclaimed in outrage.
"If they had attacked the castle, they couldn't have crossed the border so quickly! If they had engaged in battle, there should have been at least two rounds, and the situation should have been deadlocked for at least ten more days!"
"If Equitania is more incompetent than initially expected..."
"Moving armies based on the enemy's incompetence? Strategy should always be formulated assuming a competent enemy! And if the enemy was that incompetent, does that mean our soldiers who marched to the southern front were even more incompetent?"
Under the king's fury, the subjects quietly bowed their heads. The king continued, breathing heavily:
"Tell the Southern Corps. Begin the march without further delay! If we are later than those weak Elsrosians, it either means we are more incompetent or...!"
The king finished with a contorted face:
"Or it means someone else has already received support that we haven't."