Chapter Twenty-Five: The Outbreak of War

As Lancer and Gawain were petrified into statues, a discordant voice suddenly broke the silence.

“Sir! Urgent dispatch from the front!” An eyepatched man burst through the window, but Toria did not lose her temper. It was a rule they had established together—when urgent military matters arose, one could disregard all circumstances and report directly. As for interrupting someone’s private affairs, well, that depended on the situation…

Toria snatched the document, glanced over it, and slammed her fist onto the desk. “Damn it!” Lancer and Gawain immediately seized the dispatch.

“Urgent! It appears Vikings at the border have made contact with Roman forces, immediate support required!” It was a brief line, but everyone grasped the gravity of the matter. The war with the Vikings had seemed a certain victory, but now, with this turn of events, the unexpected had already begun.

“Lancer, take the Viper squad and proceed to the border at once. Gawain, continue clearing the area, and have Gareth prepare to depart at any moment.” Toria, seeing the expressions on Lancer and Gawain’s faces, issued her orders without hesitation. After a knightly salute, the two set off immediately.

With a sharp whistle, the great white falcon swooped to Lancer’s side. He fastened a note to its leg and then hurried to his own quarters.

Within mere seconds, more than a dozen shadows appeared in Lancer’s chamber.

“Everyone prepare—we’re heading to the border!” With that, he went straight to the city gate to await them.

Soon, all stood before Lancer, each with a rucksack slung over their back.

“I have little to say. You all know well enough what those beasts have done in the past. This time, I don’t want to see a single enemy officer escape our reach!” With those words, he led the charge up the mountain.

“Yes, sir!” The resounding reply drew the attention of all who passed the city gates.

At that moment, Bors was at the gate, negotiating with the guards. As a somewhat renowned knight, the guards weren’t giving him a hard time, but they refused to let him pass. Even commoners could enter after an inspection, but with Lancer now in command, exceptions were few.

When he saw Lancer and his men dash away, Bors turned to the guards, asking, “What are they up to? Is there something on the mountain?” Realizing there was little point in giving chase, he decided instead to learn more about his future “beloved’s” exploits.

“Oh, it’s no secret. That’s the base of Lord Lancer’s personal squad, the Vipers. Up there, they have something called a ‘glider’ that lets a person stay aloft for a short while, but only Viper members know how to use it.” The guard’s tone brimmed with envy. Even knowing it wasn’t true flight, who wouldn’t want to soar through the skies?

“Is there anyone here who hasn’t used one?” Since recruitment for the Vipers was irregular, there might be untrained members. Fortunately, the gliders could carry an extra person. In this era, conventional means could never have produced such long-gliding wings, but this was a time when “magic” existed. Merlin would regularly imbue them with the “Blessing of the Wind Spirit,” improving their lift and control. Without Merlin’s sanction, using one was as good as courting death. The gliders were always kept by Lancer and the Viper squad captains.

Just as Lancer finished speaking, two members raised their hands.

“Heh, Maple, you lucky devil—I’ll take you. Quinta, you take the other. Quick now, take off—we need to reach the border within two hours. No complaints about the time: Britain’s territory isn’t vast, and with our superior transport, two hours is reasonable.”

“White Night, go find a current blowing east!” The white falcon appeared again by Lancer, then soared into the sky. Lancer took the opportunity to give Maple some basic instructions. In less than ten minutes, White Night’s cry was heard.

“Heaven favors us—prepare yourselves!” Everyone readied themselves at once.

——— Borderline ———

“Kars, do you think the commander can make it back in time?” one middle-aged man asked another.

“Should be fine. At the warhawk’s speed, about two hours. Everyone knows Lord Lancer’s unit is even more mobile than the knights. I think he’ll be quick.”

“Sir! Bad news, they’re at it again. Our men are nearly exhausted! Are those beasts not afraid of death?” He muttered a curse under his breath.

“Enough. For now, only our outpost is under attack. Lord Lancer should arrive soon for support.” Though Lancer was nowhere in sight, the commander chose to share the news, hoping to boost morale.

——— Time divides here ———

As they passed a mountain peak, Lancer spoke to Maple at his side. “Once we’re down, the gliders will be sent by the wind spirits to that mountain over there. When your task is done, regroup there. As for your mission, ask your captains.” Maple wondered at Lancer’s sudden explanation, but simply replied, “Understood.” Just then, the clash of steel rang out from below.

“All right, men, below us lies the battlefield. When you jump, open your packs and hurl your smoke bombs at those beasts down there.” These were Lancer’s suggestions, crafted by Merlin.

Maple knew these instructions were for him and the other new member.

“Yes, sir!” they answered loudly.

“Well done.” With that praise, Lancer fell silent.

“We’re here! Prepare for landing. Do not fear—Master Merlin’s enchantments ensure your descent is more guarded than even I could break. Stay calm before landing.”

Taking a deep breath, he added, “I’ll be waiting for you all to return. I think you’ll find my drills more enjoyable than the fight below.” And with that, he leapt.

A white parachute instantly blossomed over the battlefield. One after another, the squad jumped, Maple among them, plunging headlong after a deep breath.

With the Vipers’ arrival, smoke bombs rained down. Though their own side was affected, none complained—they knew what manner of warriors had joined them.

“Scum! Your Lord Lancer has returned!” On the field, Lancer was utterly changed—whether from the bloodlust of battle or his rage at the Vikings, he was like a red-hot iron plunged into icy water.

As each member landed—though fewer than twenty—the tide shifted at once. The weary soldiers, exhausted from prolonged fighting, found new strength surging through them. Save the two newcomers, all had fought such battles before; they landed right by the enemy’s command, sowing chaos among their ranks.

“The counterattack begins! Send out half the reserve—I want to devour every last one of their troops,” ordered Commander Grat with conviction, knowing the battle was nearly won.

Lifting his gaze to the gloomy sky, he muttered, “Brothers, I’ve defended this place once more. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll join you, but I swear—not a single beast shall cross the line we’ve built with our lives.” Though now a commander, he’d once been a mere slave-soldier. When Toria became queen, many officers of humble birth but proven valor were promoted. Seeing victory within reach, he recalled the hard-won days with his fallen comrades, and a familiar fire returned to his veins.

“All guards, follow me to the battlefield!” He drew his sword and charged.

“Heh, old as I am, I’m still at it,” Kars said, unsheathing his blade and following.

When the troops saw their highest commander charging at their side, morale flared anew; the enemy’s defeat was now inevitable.