#141. Could She Be the Reincarnation of the God of War?
December 19, 2023
For the next two days, the Lamore army coolly and methodically slaughtered the Kartian forces.
The result was the ghastly scene now spread out before them.
Mesra clicked his tongue as he surveyed the battlefield, strewn with corpses so numerous that the thought of cleaning them up was absurd.
Inside the fortress there had been a battle, but outside it was almost total annihilation—most had perished in the fire.
The only survivors were those who had remained within the walls.
“This couldn’t have been mere coincidence. After all, Her Highness personally explained everything to us after the battle.”
The one who answered with composed clarity was Shachel, standing at his side.
“Well, yes… I suppose so,” Mesra muttered, his tone still uncertain.
After three days of battle, Blanche had called the high command together, saying she would convene a war council. Perhaps it was to discuss distribution of credit for military achievements?
But how could merit even be divided, when most of the enemy had been wiped out by fire? Well, perhaps it was about the fighting that had taken place inside the walls.
It had been such an overwhelming and unexpected victory that the commanders’ minds were still reeling.
They had not thought it strange when, after such a triumph, a war council—unlike any before the battle—was suddenly called.
Yet the meeting was not what they had imagined.
“I summoned you not to divide spoils, but to explain why I rejected your counsel.”
Her voice, sharp and stiff for someone not yet twenty, sounded almost overly formal.
But they all assumed it was simply the young princess’s way of projecting authority, since she had never before commanded in war.
“True, as you said, the enemy forces were formidable. With reinforcements, we would have been outnumbered beyond contest.”
Oddly, though, her tone was so natural it was as if she had been speaking like this from birth.
“But the enemy knew this too. Had we launched a premature assault, they would only have fortified their defenses and waited for reinforcements.”
That was true. Any of them, in the Kartians’ place, would have done the same.
“And in a siege, the defender always has the advantage. Even if our numbers surpassed theirs before reinforcements arrived, the casualties would have been severe. And had we taken the fortress at such cost, we would only have faced the Kartian reinforcements weakened and bloodied—doomed to defeat.”
What had seemed incomprehensible before was, in her explanation, undeniably logical.
“Thus, I judged it wiser to wait for their reinforcements, to strike when they were complacent. A loss at that point would devastate their morale.”
“…So that was your reasoning…”
If only she had explained it so clearly before, when they had raised their objections.
They felt embarrassed, remembering how they had complained behind her back, dismissing Blanche as an ignorant child unfit to hold their fates. Now they sought excuses to justify themselves.
“Then allow me to hear your reasoning. Lord Delion—how did you intend to break through the fortress gates?”
“…What?”
The veteran of the kingdom’s army, who had spoken most strongly about attacking before reinforcements arrived, was caught off guard.
“When you urged me to attack, surely you had at least one or two concrete strategies? Or was your plan nothing more than to throw our men at the walls and die gloriously?”
Of course, they had devised some tactics.
But every plan shared the same flaw Blanche had pointed out: they first had to breach the enemy’s formidable walls.
They had no means of storming the fortress with fewer losses than she had achieved. Nor could they hope to take it faster.
Naturally, he could not answer.
“Can’t respond? Very well. Lord Mesra—what about you?”
This time she pointed to Mesra, second only to Dagon among the Nikal tribe, who in practice had been leading in Shachel’s stead.
“When you cried out that I was leading us to slaughter, what was the great strategy you held back? Speak now—I will hear it.”
But Mesra, too, could not answer.
She went down the line, naming each commander in turn. Not one could offer a reply.
The only one spared was Shachel, who had supported Blanche’s plan from the beginning.
“…I cannot understand this.”
Her voice, once calm, now grew sharp with irritation. Blanche’s face darkened with displeasure unbefitting a victor of such magnitude.
“Am I to believe your silence means you had no strategy at all? That you never considered the reinforcements? That you cared only for killing the enemy before you, regardless of our own dead? That you would celebrate a hollow victory, only to see our army crushed when their main host arrived?”
At last they understood: this council was not to apportion merit, but to deliver censure.
The commanders, twice her age on average, bowed their heads as if to bury them in the ground. They had no defense.
“If you have an excuse, speak now.”
She gave them thirty seconds. None dared answer.
“Very well. Then I take your silence as admission—that you sought short-sighted victory, disregarded the grand strategy, and disobeyed the orders of your supreme commander.”
Some lifted their heads at this harsh judgment, but under Blanche’s piercing gaze, they lowered them again.
“You know well this borders on insubordination. Had Shachel not supported me, I might have yielded to your demands—then the responsibility for defeat would rest squarely on you.”
“…We have no excuse.”
Only Shachel managed a reply—and even then, not in defiance, but in apology, as though speaking for the Nikal warriors as their representative.
The other Nikal leaders, seeing a child take the blame for them, felt only deeper unease.
“By military law, this deserves severe punishment. But for this one time only, I will overlook it. Only once. There will be no second leniency. Now go—distribute wine and meat to the soldiers, let them feast for a week. While they rest, we will prepare the next campaign. In ten days we march across the border and into Kartian lands. Dismissed.”
The commanders raised their heads just enough to salute, then departed.
That had been two days ago. The soldiers had been granted rest, but the officers were ordered to remain vigilant.
They might have grumbled at the harshness—but after being thoroughly chastened, none dared voice complaint.
Besides, how could they, when their commander had delivered such an overwhelming victory?
Even if wine and meat were allowed, no officer could truly relax and drink without care.
Better to think of it as a mild punishment for their unspoken insubordination.
And so Mesra found himself patrolling the outer walls—a duty not even required of him.
“Do you still doubt Her Highness’s ability?”
“No! Of course not! After what we’ve seen, how could I?”
Startled, Mesra waved his hands quickly, afraid of seeming disloyal to Blanche.
“It’s just… this whole thing feels unreal. Even if Lord Dagon himself had led us, I don’t think it would feel like this. It was all too easy…”
The Kartian army’s losses were estimated at nearly half a million.
The Lamore kingdom and the Nikal tribes combined had only fifty thousand men.
Fifty thousand against five hundred thousand—yet the Lamore army had taken almost no losses.
Even in the fighting within the walls, the Kartians had wasted precious time before realizing a battle was underway, distracted by the fire outside and obsessing over the gates.
All Lamore needed to do was strike them from behind as they threw themselves suicidally at the gates, like moths to a flame.
They had even been ordered not to worry if the gate fell, further easing their minds.
Thus, when the Kartians, battered and bloodied, finally forced the gates open, the sight that greeted them was nothing short of hell.
It was inevitable. There had been no way to bring in water to fight the fires.
The moment they opened the gate, hoping for salvation, they instead saw hundreds of thousands of their comrades burning alive outside.
The Kartian army’s will shattered instantly.
White flags were raised soon after. Only that spared them from complete annihilation.
“How could this be possible…?”
Even recalling it now, Mesra felt as though they had all been bewitched.
He shook his head, but the dreamlike haze would not leave him.
“…Could she truly be the reincarnation of the God of War?”
