Chapter Sixty-Four: Run, Rabbit, Run

Three days had passed since the last reconnaissance mission. In that time, the Thirteenth Cavalry Corps had hastened their preparations for battle; vast quantities of supplies and equipment had been delivered to the camp. Just last night, a regiment of cavalry had already departed ahead of the main force, setting out northward according to the battle plan for a powerful sweep.

The central command tent was now busier than ever. Over these three days, leaders from regiment after regiment came and went without pause, tense strategy meetings were held, and all tasks had been assigned. The camp’s alert level had been raised to its highest.

But for the moment, none of this concerned Shaya. He lay on his cot, mind still turning over the insights gained from today’s drills, seizing the brief hour of rest to fully recover his strength. Though he had yet to truly step onto the battlefield, that brief clash in the woods with the Odin Empire’s Frost Hunters had already shown him the harshness of war.

He liked being here. He liked these new friends—whether it was Kevin, Kato, or the burly Sarba, all of them he liked. These men were straightforward, direct, and once you were accepted among them, they treated you with genuine sincerity—a camaraderie utterly absent in Wildfire Town.

In his eighteen years, aside from the recent short adventure on the Wildfire Plains, Shaya had never truly had friends, so he cherished this feeling deeply.

Yet he was keenly aware: this was the army. The army existed to fight. War was cruel.

So he had to hone his skills. These days, he threw himself into training by day, and at night he volunteered for patrol duty, taking every chance to improve his horsemanship. Whenever he was on patrol, he would seize the opportunity to ask the other cavalrymen for advice on fighting with lance and sword from horseback.

He knew well—a single simple technique might one day save his life on the battlefield. It wasn’t that he was especially clever, but rather a vigilance forged from years of wrestling wild beasts in the forest.

The hour of rest slipped by quickly. Poor Dodoro brought water, but Shaya had no time for a bath; he sprang up, donned the newly polished armor cleaned by the mage, and dashed out of the tent. The mage spat hard behind him, flung the brush to the ground, and lay down on Shaya’s cot.

God, bless this country bumpkin—let him fall off his horse during patrol…

The mage prayed fervently.

※※※

According to orders, Shaya joined the patrol squad. As they exited the camp gates, he saw a troop approaching in the distance, led by a cavalryman bearing the Imperial Army’s standard, their ranks neat and solemn.

“Who are they?” Shaya asked a companion.

“They’re from the Sixth Corps… Heard they’ll be passing through these days. Heh… Rookie, you’re lucky—just arrived and already you get to see a big battle!” chuckled a seasoned cavalryman.

The approaching troop quickly shifted formation, raising the friendly banner from afar. The patrol squad immediately yielded the road, letting them pass. Shaya and the others watched from the roadside as the troop rode by—a force of just over a hundred, with a squad of armored cavalry guarding a general mounted on a magnificent red horse. The general was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted; though clad in gleaming gold armor, he looked more portly than formidable.

“That’s General Roul of the Sixth Corps,” a patrolman informed Shaya.

A general? Shaya instantly compared this man to General Adric, and felt a trace of contempt. This fellow looked more like a chef…

“He is a chef, in fact,” another cavalryman whispered with a laugh. “General Roul belongs to the Minas family. He used to be Duke Minas’s cook, and for some reason was favored and promoted. Duke Minas is famous as a commander, but he must have misjudged this one.”

The Thirteenth Corps cavalry seemed to hold little respect for General Roul.

And understandably so.

The Thirteenth Cavalry’s motto was “Advance, or die!” In the corps’ history, they had never retreated. But General Roul held a unique record in the Byzantine Empire: the forces he commanded always suffered the lowest losses, preserved most intact after every campaign!

Roul possessed a remarkable talent—he could sense imminent danger, and then… swiftly lead his troops out before disaster struck.

Note—it was withdrawal, not flight! He never left battle in violation of orders, which would earn him court-martial. His peculiarity was to always find a way out in the direst moments, bringing his men safely through.

Once, as a flag officer leading the vanguard, Roul’s forces were trapped deep in enemy territory by a surprise flanking maneuver. Surrounded by over forty thousand foes, he managed to find a narrow path through the complex terrain, weaving his two thousand men out of the trap.

Remarkably, except for a few who twisted ankles during the escape, he lost not a single soldier!

If not a miracle, it was certainly a masterpiece of tactical art.

In thirty years of service, Roul had never fought a pitched battle, but his troops always excelled at flanking maneuvers or rapid support. They advanced quickly, and retreated even faster.

He also held an enviable record among all Byzantine commanders: his forces once faced, head-on, the acknowledged greatest warrior on the continent, Odin’s God of War, Hasting.

Hasting, famed as the continent’s foremost general, was the pride of the Odin Imperial Army. Against Odin, the Byzantine Empire had won and lost in equal measure, but against Hasting’s troops, even the Thirteenth Iron Cavalry had suffered heavy defeats.

Yet Roul was different…

About six years ago, war broke out between the two empires. Roul, newly promoted to general and given command of a corps, was unlucky enough to encounter Hasting’s army on the field.

His orders: delay Hasting’s forces for at least two days.

Roul began with bravado, sending Hasting a letter of challenge filled with heroic boasts, inviting him to a decisive battle. The letter was full of noble spirit, admitting he was no match for Hasting, but…

“To defend the dignity of warriors, to uphold the honor of the Empire, my army swears to fight unto death, to write the valor of a Byzantine soldier in blood!”

“To battle you, sir, is an honor worth dying for!”

—These were the very words of the letter.

Moved by such chivalrous resolve, Hasting readily accepted, replying with respectful words in return.

Yet, when Hasting arrived two days later for the promised battle, he found Roul’s camp empty.

It turned out, upon receiving Hasting’s reply, Roul abandoned all supplies and equipment, fleeing with his troops in the night.

When Hasting, furious, pursued, Roul was already two hundred leagues away…

Though he lost all materiel, Roul had succeeded in delaying Hasting for two days, and thus suffered no censure from headquarters.

Hasting, incensed by his cunning adversary, remarked: “Of all Byzantine generals, Roul is the most despicably sly. He’s a fox… No! Even foxes are bolder. He’s a rabbit—a rabbit that runs very fast!”

And thus, General Roul earned the nickname “Rabbit Run.”

One amusing anecdote: the bombastic letter Roul sent Hasting, which Hasting tore up in rage after realizing the trick, was later painstakingly pieced together and kept by the Odin general, serving as a reminder never to underestimate an opponent.

This story spread, and Roul’s reputation only grew.

※※※

Watching Roul’s force pass, Shaya listened to the cavalrymen recount the exploits of the “Rabbit General.” Unlike them, his gaze held no contempt as he looked at the distant troops, but rather a hint of contemplation and admiration.

(This fat man—he’s certainly no ordinary coward…)