"A head-on breakthrough is nothing short of suicidal."
A commander from the Imperial Alliance pointed to the map spread out on the table with his fingertips and said.
"The moment the army enters the ramp, you will be bombarded with falling rocks and arrows from the walls. However, there are no other routes that can be detoured.
"It's not like there isn't it at all."
Darren, who was scrutinizing the complex terrain marked on the map with his arms crossed, spoke up.
"What do you think about moving north and approaching the back of the castle, as His Highness the Grown Prince has tried? If you only pay attention to ambushes, this route is the most realistic plan. If we can build a position behind the fortress, we will be able to occupy a more advantageous geographical position."
"As long as you can get in safely, that's fine."
Kailias, who was sitting at the end of the long table with a stern expression, pointed to the path marked on the map and added scathingly.
"To access the rebel base, you have to pass through a mountain road narrow enough for only two wagons to pass through. In addition, the Jotungar Mountains often have thick fog even in the middle of the day. If you're unlucky, you might end up in a fog where you can't see an inch ahead."
The man glared at him and spat out each word as if pressing it down.
"That was also the reason we were helplessly caught in the ambush."
Barcas stared blankly down at the map depicting the topography of Jotungar in detail, without saying a word.
The fortress where the rebels were stationed was backed by a steep rock face to the east, making access impossible, and although a relatively gentle slope continued to the south, the access road was narrow, making it unsuitable for deploying large-scale troops.
As Darren said, attacking the rear of the castle was the most realistic method.
The problem was that the enemy couldn't possibly be unaware of that fact either.
He rubbed his temples, recalling his cousin's reckless advance. If Gareth had kept in mind the possibility of an ambush on the flank and deployed his troops a little more cautiously, the current situation would not have occurred.
'Overconfident that he was catching the enemy off guard, he must have hastily concluded that the possibility of an ambush was low.'
Barcas let out a heavy sigh.
Even if he overlooks Gareth's recklessness, as it was nothing new, it was difficult to dismiss the fact that the entire situation unfolded excessively in the enemy's favor as a mere coincidence.
The fact that they threw a timely bait to Gareth, who was indignant at the news of the engagement, induced a sudden reaction. Given that the timing of the ambush was excessively precise, there was likely an inside collaborator.
His suspicion went straight toward the person who would be most welcoming of this situation.
If 'that woman' is behind all of this...
Barcas covered his forehead with one hand. If his guess is correct, that woman can only be seen as insane.
If it is revealed that she collaborated with a traitor to cause the division of the empire and pushed the Crown Prince into a trap, she cannot escape execution by hanging.
The punishment will not end there. Not only the family to which she belongs, but even her children...
"What are your thoughts, Your Excellency?"
When things got complicated, his thought process snapped.
Barcas turned his head to look at the man who had asked the question. Theoric Hart, one of the key figures of the Roem Knights, was looking at him with a pensive gaze.
"Rather than attempting a reckless attack right now, wouldn't it be better to block the passage leading to the fortress and hold out? As for His Royal Highness the Crown Prince as well..."
The man, who had been dragging out his words as if choosing them carefully, added cautiously.
"I believe it is advisable to leave room for negotiation. Otherwise, Your Excellency could end up bearing the responsibility for His Royal Highness the Crown Prince's safety."
"Thank you for your concern, but I have no intention of reversing my decision."
Barcas, having spat out his words firmly, rose from his seat and picked up an iron pen. Then, marking a suitable location on the map to serve as a base, he gave instructions.
"Split the unit in two. The main force will establish a position here to the south. The rest will flank to the north and approach from the rear. For now, position yourselves at the foot of the mountain leading to the access road, and move immediately along the route once the signal is given."
"As I have warned you repeatedly, the detour carries a risk of surprise attack...!"
"Stop the unnecessary meddling."
Barcas cut off Kailias's counter-argument with a single stroke.
"The opinion of a defeated soldier who handed over His Royal Highness the Crown Prince to the enemy doesn't seem worth heeding."
At the softly flowing venomous remark, the faces of not only Kailias but also all the Roem Knights seated in the conference room stiffened.
Undeterred by the chilly atmosphere, he calmly continued speaking.
"Send a reconnaissance unit in advance to cautiously survey the area around the fortress, and make sure to select suitable personnel."
"We will deploy our special unit as scouts."
Darren, who had been silent, lightly raised one hand and spoke.
Barcas nodded.
"It seems the general outline has been decided, so let's disperse now."
As the meeting was unilaterally brought to an end, the commanders, who had been glancing at each other out of the corner of their eyes, soon rose from their seats one by one.
Barcas watched the knights slowly scattering away, then left the tent.
Just then, Darren's voice was heard from behind.
"Your Excellency."
As he turned his head, he saw the worried face of the adjutant.
He gestured toward the outskirts of the military camp and spoke.
"Could we talk for a moment?"
Barcas turned in the direction he was pointing without a word.
As they crossed the densely packed campsite and reached the outskirts of the basin, pitch-black darkness enveloped them.
Darren, who had been walking in silence for a while, finally spoke only when he reached the barricade.
"...Do you really intend to leave His Royal Highness the Crown Prince alone like this?"
Barcas looked up only at the blackened sky without saying a word. Darren continued speaking anxiously.
"It is an undeniable fact that His Royal Highness the Crown Prince is very impulsive and immature. However, is the Second Prince just as unstable?"
Darren's voice grew even heavier.
"Senevere Tarren is behind the Second Prince. The current Empress will become a more dangerous presence than His Royal Highness the Crown Prince."
The man paused for a moment, stared intently at his face, and added cautiously.
"Furthermore, Your Excellency, did you not swear to the late Empress Bernadette to protect His Royal Highness the Crown Prince? If it becomes known that you have broken a vow made on the line of life and death, it will leave a fatal stain on your honor."
"Is that all there is to say?"
Barcas took a flask from his waist, moistened his mouth, and asked back in a dry voice.
Darren continued in an irritable tone, as if frustrated.
"There are still many people who criticize Your Excellency for unilaterally breaking off the engagement with the Princess. If you turn your back on His Highness the Crown Prince in the midst of this, everyone will assume that the Grand Duke's family has sided with the Empress."
A dry, bitter laugh escaped from between Barcas's lips as he silently listened to his long monologue.
"It seems Grand Duke Sheerkhan is afraid that he will be criticized for abandoning his loyalty and honor after being infatuated with the Empress's daughter."
Darren tightly closed his lips, unable to affirm or deny.
After closing the lid of the flask, Barcas straightened his body, which had been leaning against the fence.
"Don't worry, I will never tarnish the family name."
“What does that mean...?"
Barcas turned to where his tent was set up, ignoring the question.
"I should head inside now. If I plan to be on the move as soon as dawn breaks tomorrow, shouldn't I conserve some energy?"
Then, gripping Darren's shoulder tightly once before letting go, he trudged out of the campsite shrouded in deep darkness.
***
The next day, Barcas, who had marched north leading his army, stopped his march at the foot of the mountain when the sun was high in the sky.
Then, as decided the previous day, he divided the troops into two, deploying the main force in front of the fortress and ordering the remaining unit to move to the rear by circling around the mountain ridge surrounding the fortress.
Soon after, approximately 14,000 soldiers began to move in perfect order.
While they were building positions and setting up siege weapons, Barcas led a few thirty soldiers up the steep mountainside.
The terrain was extremely rugged and the mountains steep, making it unsuitable for stationing large-scale troops, but it was the perfect place for small units to move while avoiding the enemy's gaze.
He nimbly leaped up the steep mountain slope, which was practically a cliff, and gestured to the soldiers following behind him in the right direction.
How far did they travel like that?
By the time the sun began to set, they were able to reach a position overlooking the enemy fortress.
Barcas climbed onto a large rock and examined the structure of the fortress's interior with a cautious gaze.
"Couldn't you have left the task of scouting the enemy lines to the scouts? Why are you going to such trouble yourself, Your Excellency?"
Edric Rubon, who was out of breath from chasing after him, grumbled as if he couldn't understand.
Instead of answering, Barcas pointed to a steep mountain path.
"Let's go a little further."
Then he started climbing the rock wall again.
Finally, when he reached a suitable spot, he ordered the completely exhausted soldiers to rest, took out a parchment from his bosom, and began to record the interior map of the fortress.
The enemy's stronghold had a very sturdy structure. The size of the stationed troops far exceeded expectations, and the defensive facilities were also impenetrably organized.
'This won't be easy.'
He clicked his tongue softly and roughly ran his hand through his sweat-soaked hair. Then, sensing a strange gaze, he turned his head.
Edric, who had slumped to the floor to catch his breath, was staring at him blankly.
Barcas frowned as he noticed that his gaze was lingering on his waist.
"What are you staring at?"
"No. I was worried because you were so cold right up until the day you left...But I guess you finally got the message across."
Barcas, narrowing his eyes at the incomprehensible words, glanced down at his waist.
A pouch with Eastern-style embroidery was attached to the belt prepared by the attendant.
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